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diff --git a/old/52715-0.txt b/old/52715-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 56cf05d..0000000 --- a/old/52715-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,12734 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Woman’s War, by Warwick Deeping - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: A Woman’s War - A Novel - -Author: Warwick Deeping - -Release Date: August 4, 2016 [eBook #52715] -[Most recently updated: August 24, 2021] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Mardi Desjardins & the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A WOMAN’S WAR *** - - - - - A WOMAN’S WAR - - A Novel - - - - - BY - - WARWICK DEEPING - - AUTHOR OF - “BESS OF THE WOODS” - “THE SLANDERERS” - ETC. - - - LONDON AND NEW YORK - HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS - MCMVII - - - - - Copyright, 1907, by HARPER & BROTHERS. - - _All rights reserved._ - - Published June, 1907. - - - - - TO - - COULSON KERNAHAN - - MY FATHER’S FRIEND—AND MINE - IN MEMORY OF - MANY GENEROUS WORDS—AND DEEDS - - - - - A WOMAN’S WAR - - - - - CHAPTER I - - -There was a ripple of chimes through the frosty air as Catherine -Murchison turned from King’s Walk into Lombard Street, and saw the moon -shining white and clear between the black parapets and chimney-stacks of -the old houses. St. Antonia’s steeple was giving the hour of three, and -a babel of lesser tongues answered from the silence of the sleeping -town. Hoar-frost glittered on the cypresses that stood in a garden -bounding the road, and the roofs were like silver under the hard, -moonlit sky. - -Catherine Murchison stopped before the great red-brick house with its -white window-sashes, and its Georgian air of solidity and comfort. The -brass lion’s-head on the door seemed to twinkle a welcome to her above -the plate that carried her husband’s name. She smiled to herself as she -drew the latch-key from the pocket under her sables, the happy smile of -a woman who comes home with no searchings of the heart. Several -shawl-clad figures went gliding along under the shadows of the -cypresses, giving her good-night with a flutter of laughter and tapping -of shoes along the stones. Catherine waved her hand to the beshawled -ones as they scurried home, and caught a glimpse of St. Antonia’s spire -diademed by the winter stars. She remembered such a night seven years -ago, and man’s love and mother’s love had come to her since then. - -Catherine closed the door gently, knowing that her husband would be -asleep after a hard day’s work. It was not often that he went with her -to the social gatherings of Roxton. Professional success, fraught with -the increasing responsibilities thereof, brightened his own fireside for -him, and Catherine his wife would rather have had it so. James Murchison -was no dapper drawing-room physician. The man loved his home better than -the dinner-tables of his patients. He was young, and he was ambitious -with his grave and purposeful Saxon sanity. His wife took the social -yoke from off his shoulders, content in her heart to know that she had -made the man’s home dear to him. - -A standard-lamp was burning in the hall, the light streaming under a -red-silk shade upon the Oriental rugs covering the mellow and much -polished parquetry. There were a few old pictures on the walls, pewter -and brass lighting the dead oak of an antique dresser. Catherine -Murchison looked round her with a breathing in of deep content. She -unwrapped the shawl from about her hair, rich russet red hair that waved -in an aureole about her face. Her sable cloak had swung back from her -bosom, showing the black ball-dress, red over the heart with a knot of -hothouse flowers. There was a wholesome and generous purity in the white -curves of her throat and shoulders. - -Catherine laid her cloak over an old Dutch chair, and turned to the -table where fruits, biscuits, and candles had been left for her. Her -husband’s gloves lay on the table, and his hat with one of Gwen’s dolls -tucked up carefully herein. Catherine’s eyes seemed to mingle thoughts -of child and man, as she ate a few biscuits and looked at Miss Gwen’s -protégé stuffed into the hat. James Murchison had had a long round that -day, with the cares and conflicts of a man who labors to satisfy his own -conscience. Catherine hoped not to wake him; she had even refused to be -driven home lest the sound of wheels should carry a too familiar warning -to his ears. She lit her candle, and, reaching up, turned out the lamp. -Her feet were on the first step of the stairs when a streak of light in -the half-darkness of the hall brought her to a halt. - -Some one had left the lamp burning in her husband’s study. She stepped -back across the hall, and hesitated a moment as other thoughts occurred -to her. Housebreaking was a dead art in Roxton, and she smiled at the -melodramatic imaginings that had seized her for the moment. - -A reading-lamp stood on the table before the fire, that had sunk to a -dull and dirty red in the smokeless grate. The walls of the room were -panelled with books and the glass faces of several instrument -cabinets—the room of no mere specialist, no haunter of one alley in the -metropolis of intelligence. On the sofa lay the figure of a man asleep, -his deep breathing audible through the room. - -To the wife there was nothing strange in finding her husband sleeping -the sleep of the tired worker before the dying fire. Her eyes had a -laughing tenderness in them, a sparkle of mischief, as she set down the -candle and moved across the room. Her feet touched something that rolled -under her dress. She stooped, and looked innocent enough as she picked -up an empty glass. - -“James—” - -There was mirth in the voice, but her eyes showed a puzzled intentness -as she noticed the things that stood beside the lamp upon the table. An -open cigar-box, a tray full of crumbled ash and blackened matches, a -couple of empty syphons, a decanter standing in an ooze of spilled -spirit. Memory prompted her, and she smiled at the suggestion. Porteus -Carmagee, that prattling, white-bobbed maker of wills and codicils had -slipped in for a smoke and a gossip. James Murchison never touched -alcohol, and the inference was obvious enough, for her experience of Mr. -Carmagee’s loquacity justified her in concluding that he had droned her -husband to sleep. - -Wifely mischief was in the ascendant on the instant. She stooped over -the sleeping man whose face was in the shadow, put her lips close to -his, and drew back with a little catching of the breath. The room seemed -to grow dark and very cold of a sudden. She straightened, and stood -rigid, staring across the room with a sense of hurrying at the heart. - -Then, as though compelling herself, she lifted the lamp, and held it so -that the light fell full upon her husband’s face. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - -Man is the heir of many ancestors, and his inheritance of life’s estate -may prove cumbered by mortgages unredeemed by earlier generations. - -In the spring of the year the blood is hot, and the quicksilver of youth -burns in the brain. The poise of true manhood is not reached at twenty, -the experience to know, the strength to grapple. James Murchison of the -broad back and sunny face, first of good fellows, popular among all, had -followed the joy of being and feeling even into shady back-street rooms. -In the hospital “common-room” he had always had a knot of youngsters -round him, lounging, smoking, lads with no studied vice in them, but -lads to whom life was a thing of zest. For Murchison it had been the -crest of the wave, the day of the world’s youth. An orphan with money at -his bank, the liberty of London calling him, a dozen mad youngsters to -form a coterie! As for heredity and such doctrines of man’s ascent and -fall, he had not studied them in the thing he called himself. - -James Murchison had carved up corpses, electrified frogs, and learned -the art of dispensing physic before the world taught him to discover -that there were other things to conquer besides text-books and -examiners. His father had died of drink, and his grandfather before him, -and God knows how many fat Georgian kinsmen had contributed to the -figures on the debit side. From his mother he had inherited wholesome -yeoman blood, and the dower perhaps had made him what he was, -straight-backed, clean-limbed, strong in the jaw, brave and blue about -the eyes. There had been no blot on him till he had gone up to London as -a lonely boy. There in the solitude the world had caught him, and tossed -him out of his dingy rooms to taste the wine of the world’s pleasures. - -The phase was natural enough, and there had been plenty of young fools -to applaud it in him. The first slip had come after a hospital concert; -the second after a football match; the third had followed a successful -interview with the Rhadamanthi who passed candidates in the duties of -midwifery. An ejectment from a music-hall, a brawl in Oxford Street, a -_liaison_ with a demi-mondaine, complaints from landladies, all these -had reached the ears of the Dean’s “great ones” who sat in conclave. -Murchison had been argued with in private by a gray-haired surgeon who -had that strong grip on life that goes with virility and the noble -sincerity of faith. - -“Fight yourself, sir,” the old man had said; “fight as though the devil -had you by the throat. If you bring children into the world you will set -a curse on them unless you break your chains.” And Murchison had gone -out from him with a set jaw and an awakened manhood. - -Then for the first time in life he learned the value of a friend. The -man was dead now; he had died in Africa, dragged down by typhoid in some -sweltering Dutch town. James Murchison remembered him always with a -warming of the heart. He remembered how they had gone together to a -little Sussex village by the sea, taken a coast-guard’s disused cottage -for eighteen pence a week, bathed, fished, cooked their own food, and -pitched stones along the sand. James Murchison had fought himself those -summer weeks, growing brown-faced as a gypsy between sun and sea. He had -taken the wholesome strength of it into his soul, passed through the -furnace of his last two years unscathed, and set out on life, a man with -a keen mouth, clean thoughts, and six feet of Saxon strength. The world -respected him, never so much as dreaming that he had the devil of -heredity tight bound within his heart. - - * * * * * - -“Dear, are you better now?” - -He had told her everything, sitting in the dusk before the fire, one -fist under his chin, and his eyes the eyes of a strong man enduring -bitter shame. Woman’s love had watched over him that day. She had -striven to lift him up out of the dust of his deep remorse, and had -opened her whole heart to him, showing the quiet greatness of her nature -in her tenderness towards this strong man in his sorrow. - -“Kate, how can you bear this!” - -“Bear it, dear?” - -“Finding so much of the beast in me. My God, I thought the thing was -dead; we are never dead, dear, to our father’s sins.” - -She came and sat beside him before the fire, a man’s woman, pure, -generous, trusty to the deeps. The light made magic in her hair, and -showed the unfathomable faith within her eyes. - -“Put the memory behind you,” she said, looking up into his face. - -He groaned, as though dust and ashes still covered his manhood. - -“You are too good to me, Kate.” - -“No,” and she drew his hands down into her bosom; the warmth thereof -seemed to comfort him as a mother’s breast comforts a child at night. - -“I am glad you have told me—all.” - -“Yes—all.” - -“It helps me, it will help us both.” - -“I ought to have told you long ago,” he said. - -“But then—” - -“I thought that I had killed the thing, and I loved you, dear, and -perhaps I was a coward.” - -She drew closer to him, leaning against his knee, while one of his -strong arms went about her body. The warm darkness of the room seemed -full of the sacred peace of home. They were both silent, silent for many -minutes till the sound of children’s laughter came down from the rooms -above. - -James Murchison bent forward, and drew a deep breath as though in pain. -The flash of sympathy was instant in its passage. Husband and wife were -thinking the same thoughts. - -“Kate, you must help me to fight this down—” - -“Yes.” - -“For their sakes, the children—for yours. I think that I have worked -too hard of late. When the strength’s out of one, the devil comes in and -takes command. And the servants, you are sure—?” - -She felt the spasmodic girding of all his manhood, and yearned to him -with all her heart. - -“They knew nothing; I saved that. Don’t let us talk of it; the thing is -over”—and she tried not to shudder. “Ah—I am glad I know, dear, I can -do so much.” - -James Murchison bent down and drew her into his arms, and she lay there -awhile, feeling that the warmth of her love passed into her husband’s -body. The hearth was red before them with the fire-light, and they heard -the sound of their children playing. - -“Shall we go up to them?” she said, at last. - -“Yes”—and she knew by his face that he was praying, not with mere -words, but with every life-throb of his being—“it will do me good. God -bless you—” - -And they kissed each other. - - - - - CHAPTER III - - -Mrs. Betty Steel sat alone at the breakfast-table with a silver teapot -covered with a crimson cosy before her, and a pile of letters and -newspapers at her elbow. The west front of St. Antonia’s showed through -the window, buttress and pinnacle glimmering up into the morning -sunlight. Frost-rimed trees spun a scintillant net against the blue. The -quiet life of the old town went up with its lazy plumes of smoke into -the crisp air. - -Mrs. Betty Steel drew a slice of toast from the rack, toyed with it, and -looked reflectively at her husband’s empty chair. She was a dark, -sinuous, feline creature was Mrs. Betty, with a tight red mouth, and an -olive whiteness of skin under her black wreath of hair. Her hands were -thin, mercurial, and yet suggestive of pretty and graceful claws. A -clever woman, cleverer with her head than with her heart, acute, -elegant, aggressive, yet often circuitous in her methods. She had -abundant impulse in her, blood, and clan, even evidenced by the way in -which she ripped the wrapper from a copy of the _Wilmenden Mail_. - -Mrs. Betty buried her face in the pages, crumbling her toast irritably -as her eyes ran to and fro over the head-lines. She glanced up as her -husband entered, a smooth-faced, compressed, and professional person, -with an assured manner and an incisive cut of the mouth and chin. - -“Any news in this hub of monotony?” - -His wife put down the paper, and called back the dog who was poking his -nose near the bacon-dish on the fire-guard. - -“Quack medicines much in evidence. The fellows are arrant Papists, -Parker; they promise to cure everything with nothing. Tea or coffee?” - -Mrs. Betty spoke with the slight drawl that was habitual to her. Her -admirers felt it to be distinguished, but its effect upon shop -assistants was to spread the instincts of socialism. - -Dr. Parker Steel declared for coffee, and took salt to his porridge. He -was not a man who wasted words, save perhaps on the most paying -patients. Professional ambition, and an aggressive conviction that he -was to be the leading citizen in Roxton filled the greater part of the -gentleman’s sphere of consciousness. - -“And local sensations?” - -“Mrs. Pindar’s ball, a very dull affair, sausage-rolls and jelly, and a -floor like glue—probably.” - -“Any one there?” - -“The Lombard Street clique, the Carnabys, Tom Flemming, Kate Murchison, -etc., etc., etc.” - -Parker Steel grunted, and appeared to be estimating the number of cubes -in the sugar bowl by way of exercising himself in the compilation of -statistics. - -“Murchison not there, I suppose?” he asked. - -“The wife—quite sufficient.” - -Her husband smiled, showing the regular white teeth under his trim, -black mustache with scarcely any flow of feeling in his features. Dr. -Parker Steel was very proud of his teeth and finger-nails. - -“You don’t love that lady much, eh?” - -Mrs. Betty’s refined superciliousness trifled with the suggestion. - -“Kate Murchison? I cannot say that I ever trouble much about her. Rather -fat and vulgar—perhaps. Fat women do not appeal to me; they seem to -carry sentimentality and gush about with them like patchouli. Do you -think that you are gaining ground on Murchison, Parker, eh?” - -The husband appeared confident. - -“Perhaps.” - -“Old Hicks will resign the Hospital soon; you must take it.” - -“Not worth the trouble.” - -Mrs. Betty’s dark eyes condemned the assertion. - -“Dirt’s money in the wrong place, as they say in trade, Parker.” - -“Well?” And the amused consort glanced at her with a cold flicker of -affection. - -“Study it on utilitarian principles. Lady Twaddle-twaddle sends her -cook, or her gardener, or her boot-boy to be treated in Roxton Hospital. -You exercise yourself on the boot-boy or the cook, and Lady -Twaddle-twaddle approves the cure. Praise is never thrown away. Let the -old ladies who attend missionary meetings say of you, ‘that Dr. Steel is -so kind and attentive to the poor.’ We have to lay the foundation of a -palace in the soil.” - -Parker Steel chuckled, knowing that behind Mrs. Betty’s elegant verbiage -there was a tenacity of purpose that would have surprised her best -friends. - -“I wonder whether Murchison is as privileged as I am?” he said, passing -his cup over the red tea cosy. - -“I suppose the woman gushes for him, just as I work my wits for you.” - -“The Amazons of Roxton.” - -“We live in a civilized age, Parker, but the battle is no less bitter -for us. I use my head. Half the words I speak are winged for a final -end.” - -“You are clever enough, Betty,” he confessed. - -“We both have brains”—and she gave an ironical laugh—“I shall not be -content till the world, our world, fully recognizes that fact. Old Hicks -is past his work. Murchison is the only rival you need consider. -Therefore, Parker, our battle is with the gentleman of Lombard Street.” - -“And with the wife?” - -“That is my affair.” - -Such life feuds as are chronicled in the hatred of a Fredegonde for a -Brunehaut may be studied in miniature in many a modern setting. Ever -since childhood Betty Steel and Catherine Murchison had been born foes. -Their innate instincts had seemed antagonistic and repellent, and the -life of Roxton had not chastened the tacit feud. Girls together at the -same school, they had fought for leadership and moral sway. Catherine -had been one of those creatures in whom the deeper feelings of womanhood -come early to the surface. Children had loved her; her arms had been -always open to them, and she had stood out as a species of little mother -to whom the owners of bleeding knees had run for comfort. - -The rivalry of girlhood had deepened into the rivalry of womanhood. They -were the “beauties” of Roxton; the one generous, ruddy, and -open-hearted; the other sleek, white-faced, a studied artist in elegance -and charm. Both were admired and championed by their retainers; -Catherine popular with the many, Betty served by the few. Miss Elizabeth -had beheld herself the less favored goddess, and as of old the apple of -Paris had had the power to inflame. - -Catherine’s final crime against her rival had been her marrying of James -Murchison. Miss Betty had chosen the gentleman for herself, though she -would rather have bitten her tongue off than have confessed the fact. -The hatred of the wife had been extended to the husband, and Dr. Parker -Steel had assuaged the smart. And thus the rivalry of these two women -lived on intensified by the professional rivalry of two men. - -As for my lady Betty, she hated the wife in Lombard Street with all the -quiet virulence of her nature. It was the hate of the head for the -heart, of the intellect for the soul. Envy and jealousy were sponsors to -the bantling that Betty Steel had reared. Catherine Murchison had -children; Mrs. Steel had none. Her detestation of her rival was the more -intense even because she recognized the good in her that made her loved -by others. Catherine Murchison had a larger following than Mrs. Steel in -Roxton, and the truth strengthened the poison in the stew. - -With Catherine the feeling was more one of distaste than active enmity. -Betty Steel repelled her, even as certain electrical currents repel the -magnet. She mistrusted the woman, avoided her, even ignored her, an -attitude which did not fail to influence Mrs. Betty. Catherine -Murchison’s heart was too full of the deeper happiness of life for her -to trouble her head greatly about the pale and fastidious Greek whose -dark eyes flashed whenever she passed the great red brick house in -Lombard Street. Life had a June warmth for Catherine. Nor had she that -innate restlessness of soul that fosters jealousy and the passion for -climbing above the common crowd. - -Parker Steel reminded his wife, as he rose from the breakfast-table, of -a certain charity concert that was to be given at the Roxton public hall -the same evening. - -“Are you going?” - -“Yes, I believe so; Mrs. Fraser extorted a guinea from us; I may as well -get something for my money. And you?” - -Her husband smoothed his hair and looked in the mirror. - -“Expecting a confinement. If you get a chance, be polite to old Fraser, -she would be worth bagging in the future, and Murchison thieved her from -old Hicks.” - -Catherine Murchison sang at the charity concert that night, and Mrs. -Betty listened to her with the outward complacency of an angel. The big -woman in her black dress, with a white rose in her ruddy hair, bowed and -smiled to the enthusiasts of the Roxton slums who knew her nearly as -well as they knew her husband. Catherine Murchison’s rare contralto -flowed unconcernedly over her rival’s head. She sang finely, and without -effort, and the voice seemed part of her, a touch of the sunset, a -breath from the fields of June. Catherine’s nature came out before men -in her singing. A glorious unaffectedness, a charm with no trick of the -self-conscious egoist. It was this very naturalness, this splendid -unconcern that had forever baffled Mrs. Betty Steel. The woman was proof -against the mundane sneer. Ridicule could not touch her, and the burrs -of spite fell away from her smooth completeness. - -“By George, what a voice that woman has!” - -The bourgeoisie of Roxton was piling up its applause. Mrs. Murchison had -half the small boys in the town as her devoted henchmen. Politically her -personality would have carried an election. - -“It comes from the heart, sir.” - -Porteous Carmagee, solicitor and commissioner for oaths, had his bald -head tilted towards Mr. Thomas Flemming’s ear. Mr. Flemming was one of -the cultured idlers of the town, a gentleman who was an authority on -ornithology, who presided often at the county bench, and could dash off -a cartoon that was not quite clever enough for _Punch_. - -“What did you say, Carmagee? The beggars are making such a din—” - -“From the heart, sir, from the heart.” - -“Indigestion, eh?” - -Mr. Carmagee was seized with an irritable twitching of his creased, -brown face. - -“Oh, an encore, that’s good. I said, Tom, that Kate Murchison’s voice -came from her heart.” - -“Very likely, very likely.” - -“I could sit all night and hear her sing.” - -“I doubt it,” quoth the man of culture, with a twinkle. - -The opening notes rippled on the piano, and Mr. Carmagee lay back in his -chair to listen. He was a little monkey of a man, fiery-eyed, wrinkled, -with a grieved and husky voice that seemed eternally in a hurry. He knew -everybody and everybody’s business, and the secrets his bald pate -covered would have trebled the circulation of the _Roxton Herald_ in a -week. Porteous Carmagee was godfather to Catherine Murchison’s two -children. She was one of the few women, and he had stated it almost as a -grievance, who could make him admit the possible advantages of -matrimony. - -“Bravo, bravo”—and Mr. Carmagee slapped Tom Flemming’s knee. ‘When the -swans fly towards the south, and the hills are all aglow.’ I believe in -woman bringing luck, my friend.” - -“Oh, possibly.” - -“Murchison took the right turning. Supposing he had married—” - -Mr. Flemming trod on the attorney’s toe. - -“Look out, she’s there; people have ears, you know; they’re not chairs.” - -Mr. Carmagee nursed a grievance on the instant. - -“Mention a name,” he snapped. - -And Thomas Flemming pointed towards Mrs. Betty with his programme. - -Parker Steel’s wife drove home alone in her husband’s brougham, ignoring -the many moonlight effects that the old town offered her with its -multitudinous gables and timbered fronts. She was not in the happiest of -tempers, feeling much like a sensuous cat that has been tumbled -unceremoniously from some crusty stranger’s lap. Betty had attempted -blandishments with the distinguished Mrs. Fraser, and had been favored -with a shoulder and half an aristocratic cheek. Moreover, she had -watched the great lady melt under Catherine Murchison’s smiles, and such -incidents are not rose leaves to a woman. - -Mrs. Betty lay back in a corner of the brougham, and indulged herself in -mental tearings of Catherine Murchison’s hair. What insolent naturalness -this rival of hers possessed! Mrs. Betty was fastidious and critical -enough, and her very acuteness compelled her to confess that her enmity -seemed but a blunted weapon. Catherine Murchison was so cantankerously -popular. She looked well, dressed well, did things well, loved well. The -woman was an irritating prodigy. It was her very sincerity, the -wholesomeness of her charm, that made her seem invulnerable, a woman who -never worried her head about social competition. - -Parker Steel sat reading before the fire when his wife returned. He -uncurled himself languidly and with deliberation, pulled down his dress -waistcoat, and put his book aside carefully on the table beside his -chair. - -“Enjoyed yourself?” - -“Not vastly. I wonder why vulgar people always eat oranges in public?” - -“Better than sucking lemons.” - -Mrs. Betty tossed her opera-cloak aside and slipped into a chair. Her -husband’s complacency irritated her a little. He was not a sympathetic -soul, save in the presence of prominent patients. - -“You look bored, dear. Who performed?” - -“The usual amateurs. I am tired to death; are you coming to bed?” - -Parker Steel looked at the clock, and sighed. - -“I shall not be wanted till about five,” he said. “Confound these guinea -babies. I hope to build a tariff wall round myself when we are more -independent.” - -“Yes, of course.” - -“And Mrs. Fraser?” - -“Safe in the other camp, dear.” - -Parker Steel was dropping off to sleep that night when he felt his -wife’s hand upon his shoulder. He turned with a grunt, and saw her white -face dim amid her cloud of hair. - -“Anything wrong?” - -“No. Do you believe in Murchison, Parker?” - -“Believe in him?” - -“Yes, is he reliable; does he know his work?” - -Her husband laughed. - -“Why, do you want to consult the fellow?” - -“You have never caught him tripping?” - -“Not yet. What are you driving at?” - -“Oh—nothing,” and she turned away, and put the hair back from her face, -feeling feverish with the ferment of her thoughts. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - -No one in Roxton would have imagined that any shadow of dread darkened -the windows of the house in Lombard Street. Even to his most intimate -friends, James Murchison would have appeared as the one man least likely -to be dominated by any inherited taint of body or mind. His face was the -face of a man who had mastered his own passions, the mouth firm yet -generous, the jaw powerful, the eyes and forehead suggesting the -philosopher behind the virility of the man of action. He had built up a -substantial reputation for himself in Roxton and the neighborhood. His -professional honesty was unimpeachable, his skill as a surgeon a matter -of common gossip. But it was his warm-heartedness, the sincerity of his -sympathy, his wholesome Saxon manliness that had won him popularity, -especially among the poor. - -For Catherine the uncovering of the past had come as a second awakening, -a resanctification of her love. Women are the born champions of hero -worship, and to generous natures imperfections are but as flints -scattered in the warm earth of life. Women will gather them and hide -them in their bosoms, breathing a more passionate tenderness perhaps, -and betraying nothing to the outer world. - -James Murchison and his wife had held each other’s hands more firmly, -like those who approach a narrow mountain path. They were happy in their -home life, happy with each other, and with their children. To the -woman’s share there was added a new sacredness that woke and grew with -every dawn. There were wounds to be healed, bitternesses to be warded -off. The man who lay in her arms at night needed her more dearly, and -there was exultation in the thought for her. She loved him the more for -this stern thorn in the flesh. The pity of it seemed to make him more -her own, to knit her tenderness more bravely round him, to fill life -with a more sacred fire. She was not afraid of the future for his sake, -believing him too strong to be vanquished by an ancestral sin. - -It was one day in April when James Murchison came rattling over the -Roxton cobbles in his motor-car, to slacken speed suddenly in Chapel -Gate at the sight of a red Dutch bonnet, a green frock, and a pair of -white-socked legs on the edge of the pavement. The Dutch bonnet belonged -to his daughter Gwen, a flame-haired dame of four, demure and serious as -any dowager. The child had a chip-basket full of daffodils in her hand, -and she seemed quite alone, a most responsible young person. - -A minute gloved hand had gone up with the gravity of a constable’s paw -signalling a lawbreaker to stop. James Murchison steered to the footway, -and regarded Miss Gwen with a surprised twinkle. - -“Hallo, what are you doing here?” - -Miss Gwen ignored the ungraceful familiarity of the inquisitive parent. - -“I’ll drive home, daddy,” she said, calmly. - -“Oh—you will! Where’s nurse?” - -“Mending Jack’s stockings.” And the lady with the daffodils dismissed -the question with contempt. - -Murchison laughed, and helped the vagrant into the car. - -“Shopping, I see,” he observed, refraining from adult priggery, and -catching the spirit of Miss Gwen’s adventuresomeness. - -“Yes. I came out by myself. I’d five pennies in my money-box. Nurse was -so busy. The daffies are for mother.” - -Her father had one eye on the child as he steered the car through the -market-place and past St. Antonia’s into Lombard Street. The youth in -him revolted from administering moral physic to Miss Gwen. Even the -florist seemed to have treated her pennies with generous respect, and -like the majority of sympathetic males, Murchison left the dogmatic -formalities of education to his wife. The very flowers, the child’s -offering, would have withered at any tactless chiding. - -Mary, the darner of Mr. Jack’s stockings, was discovered waddling up -Lombard Street with flat-footed haste. Miss Gwen greeted her with the -composure of an empress, proud of her flowers, her father, the -motor-car, and life in general. To Mary’s “Oh—Miss Gwen!” she answered -with a sedate giggle and hugged her basket of flowers. - -Murchison saw his wife’s figure framed between the white posts of the -doorway. He chuckled as he reached for his instrument bag under the -seat, and caught a glimpse of Mary’s outraged authority. - -“Look, mother, look, you love daffies ever so much. I bought them all -myself.” - -Catherine’s arms were hugging the green frock. - -“Gwen, you wicked one,” and she caught her husband’s eyes and blushed. - -“We are growing old fast, Kate. I picked her up in Chapel Gate.” - -“The dear flowers; come, darling. Jack, you rascal, what are you doing?” - -“Master Jack! Master Jack!” - -Male mischief was astir also in Lombard Street, having emerged from the -school-room with the much-tried Mary’s darning-basket. There was an -ironical humor in pelting the fat woman with the stockings she had -mended and rolled so conscientiously. His father’s appearance in the -hall sent Master Jack laughing and squirming up the stairs. He was -caught, tickled, and carried in bodily to lunch. - -James Murchison was smoking in his study early the same afternoon, -ticking off visits in his pocket-book, when his wife came to him with a -letter in her hand. - -“From Marley, dear. A man has just ridden in with it. They need you at -once.” - -“Marley? Why, the Penningtons belong to Steel.” - -He tore open the envelope and glanced through the letter, while his wife -looked whimsically at the chaos of books and papers on his desk. The -ground was holy, and her tact debarred her from meddling with the -muddle. The room still had a sense of shadow for her. She could not -enter it without an indefinable sense of dread. - -Murchison did not show the letter to his wife. He put it in his pocket, -knocked out his pipe, and picked up his stethoscope that was lying on -the table. - -“I am afraid you will have to go to the Stantons’ without me, dear,” he -said; “Steel wants me at Marley.” - -Catherine gave him a surprised flash of the eyes. - -“Something serious?” - -“Possibly.” - -“Parker Steel is not fond of asking your advice.” - -“Who is, dear?” - -“I’m sorry,” she said. - -“So am I, dear,” and he kissed her, and rang the bell to order out his -car. - -Marley was an old moated house some five miles from Roxton, a place that -seemed stolen from a romance, save that there was nothing romantic about -its inmates. A well-wooded park protected it from the high-road, the red -walls rising warm and mellow behind the yews, junipers, and cedars that -grew in the rambling garden. Spring flowers were binding the sleek, -sun-streaked lawns with strands of color, dashes of crimson, of azure, -and white, of golden daffodils blowing like banners amid a sheaf of -spears. Here and there the lawns were purple with crocuses, and the -singing of the birds seemed to turn the yew-trees into towers of song. - -The panting of Murchison’s car seemed to outrage the atmosphere of the -place, as though the fierce and aggressive present were intruding upon -the dreamy past. A manservant met the doctor, and led him across the -Jacobean hall to the library, whose windows looked towards the west. - -Parker Steel was standing before the fire, biting his black mustache. He -had the appearance of a man whose vanity had been ruffled, and who was -having an unwelcome consultation forced upon him by the preposterous -fussing of some elderly relative. - -The two men shook hands, Steel’s white fingers limp in his rival’s palm. -His air of cultured hauteur had fallen to freezing point. He -condescended, and made it a matter of dignity. - -“Sorry to drag you over here, Murchison. Mr. Pennington has been on the -fidget with regard to his daughter, and to appease him I elected to send -for you at once.” - -Murchison warmed his hands before the fire. Steel’s grandiloquent manner -always amused him. - -“I am glad to be of any use to you. Who is the patient, Miss Julia -Pennington?” - -“Yes.” - -“Anything serious?” - -“Nothing; only hysteria; the woman’s a tangle of nerves, a mass of -emotions. I have grown to learn her idiosyncrasies in a year. One month -it is palpitation—and imaginary heart disease, next month she is -swearing that she has cancer of the œsophagus and cannot swallow. The -lady has headaches regularly every other week, and merges on melancholia -in the intervals.” - -Murchison nodded. - -“What is the present phase?” he asked. - -“Acute migraine and facial neuralgia. She is worrying about her eyes, -seems to see nothing—and everything, mere hysterical phantasmagoria. -The woman is not to be taken seriously. She is being drenched with -bromide and fed upon phenacetin. Come and see her.” - -Parker Steel led the way from the library as though he regarded the -consultation as a mere troublesome formality, a pandering to domestic -officiousness that had to be appeased. Miss Julia Pennington was lying -on a sofa in the drawing-room with a younger sister holding her hand. -The room smelled horribly of vinegar, and the blinds were down, for the -patient persisted that she could not bear the light. - -The younger lady rose and bowed to Murchison, and drew aside, with her -eyes fixed upon her sister’s face. Miss Julia was moaning and whimpering -on the sofa, a thin and neurotic spinster of forty with tightly drawn -hair, sharp features, and the peevish expression of a creature who had -long been the slave of a hundred imaginary ills. - -Murchison sat down beside her, and asked whether she could bear the -light. His manner was in acute contrast to Parker Steel’s; the one -incisive, almost brusque in his effort to impress; the other calm, -quiet, deliberate, sympathetic in every word and gesture. - -The younger Miss Pennington drew up the blinds. Murchison was -questioning her sister, watching her face keenly, while Parker Steel -fidgeted to and fro before the fire. - -“Much pain in the eyes, Miss Pennington?” - -“Oh, Dr. Murchison, the pain is terrible, it runs all over the face; you -cannot conceive—” - -She broke away into a chaos of complaints till Murchison quieted her and -asked a few simple questions. He rose, turned the sofa bodily towards -the light, and proceeded to examine the lady’s eyes. - -“Things look dim to you?” he asked her, quietly. - -“All in a blur, flashes of light, and spots like blood. I’m sure—” - -“Yes, yes. You have never had anything quite like this before?” - -“Never, never. I am quite unnerved, Dr. Murchison, and Dr. Steel won’t -believe half the things I tell him.” - -Her voice was peevish and irritable. Parker Steel grinned at the remark, -and muttered “mad cat” under his breath. - -“You are hardly kind to me, Miss Pennington,” he said, aloud, with a -touch of banter. - -“I’m sure I’m ill, Dr. Steel, very ill—” - -“Please lie quiet a moment,” and Murchison bent over her, closed her -lids, and felt the eyeballs with his fingers. Miss Pennington indulged -in little gasps of pain, yet feeling mesmerized by the quiet earnestness -of the man. - -Murchison stood up suddenly, looking grave about the mouth. - -“Do you mind ringing the bell, Steel? I want my bag out of the car.” - -Steel, who appeared vexed and restless despite his self-conceit, went -out in person to fetch the bag. When he returned, Murchison had drawn -the blinds and curtains so that the room was in complete darkness. - -“Thanks; I want my lamp; here it is. I have matches. Now, Miss -Pennington, do you think you can sit up in a chair for five minutes?” - -The thin lady complained, protested, but obeyed him. Murchison seated -himself before her, while Parker Steel held the lamp behind Miss -Pennington. A beam of light from the mirror of Murchison’s -ophthalmoscope flashed upon the woman’s face. She started hysterically, -but seemed to feel the calming influence of Murchison’s personality. - -Complete silence held for some minutes, save for an occasional word from -Murchison. Parker Steel’s face was in the shadow. The hand that held the -lamp quivered a little as he watched his rival’s face. There was -something in the concentrated earnestness of Murchison’s examination -that made Mrs. Betty’s husband feel vaguely uncomfortable. - -Murchison rose at last with a deep sigh, stood looking at Miss -Pennington a moment, and then handed the ophthalmoscope to Steel. The -lamp changed hands and the men places. Miss Pennington’s supply of nerve -power, however, was giving out. She blinked her eyes, put her hands to -her face, and protested that she could bear the light from the mirror no -longer. - -Parker Steel lost patience. - -“Come, Miss Pennington, come; I must insist—” - -“I can’t, I can’t, the glare burns my eyes out.” - -“Nonsense, my dear lady, control yourself—” - -His irritability reduced Miss Pennington to peevish tears. She called -for her sister, and began to babble hysterically, an impossible subject. - -Parker Steel pushed back his chair in a dudgeon. - -“I can’t see anything,” he said; “utterly hopeless.” - -Murchison drew back the curtains and let dim daylight into the room. He -helped Miss Pennington back to the sofa, very gentle with her, like a -man bearing with the petulance of a sick child, and then turned to Steel -with a slight frown. - -“Shall we talk in the library?” - -“Yes.” - -“I will just put my lamp away.” - -They crossed the hall together in silence, and entered the room with its -irreproachable array of books, and the logs burning on the irons. -Murchison went and stood by one of the windows. A red sunset was -coloring the west, and the dark trees in the garden seemed fringed with -flame. - -Parker Steel had closed the door. He looked irritable and restless, a -man jealous of his self-esteem. - -“Well? Anything wrong?” - -The big man turned with his hands in his trousers pockets. Steel did not -like the serious expression of his face. - -“Have you examined Miss Pennington’s eyes?” - -Parker Steel shifted from foot to foot. - -“Well, no,” he confessed, with an attempt at hauteur, “I know the -woman’s eccentricities. She may be slightly myopic—” - -Murchison drew a deep breath. - -“She may be stark blind in a week,” he said, curtly. - -“What!” - -“Acute glaucoma.” - -“Acute glaucoma! Impossible!” - -“I say it is.” - -Parker Steel took two sharp turns up and down the room. His mouth was -twitching and he looked pale, like a man who has received a shock. He -was conscious, too, that Murchison’s eyes were upon him, and that his -rival had caught him blundering like any careless boy. There was -something final and convincing in Murchison’s manner. Parker Steel hated -him from that moment with the hate of a vain and ambitious egotist. - -“Confound it, Murchison, are you sure of this?” - -“Quite sure, as far as my skill serves me.” - -“Have you had much experience?” - -There was a slight sneer in the question, but Murchison was proof -against the challenge. - -“I specialized in London on the eyes.” - -Parker Steel emitted a monosyllable that sounded remarkably like “damn.” - -“Well, what’s to be done?” - -“We must consider the advisability of an immediate iridectomy.” - -They heard footsteps in the hall. The library door opened. A spectacled -face appeared, to be followed by a long, loose-limbed body clothed in -black. - -“Good-day, Dr. Murchison. I have come to inquire—” - -Parker Steel planted himself before the fire, a miniature Ajax ready to -defy the domestic lightning. He cast a desperate and half-appealing look -at Murchison. - -“We have just seen your daughter, Mr. Pennington.” - -A pair of keen gray eyes were scrutinizing the faces of the two doctors. -Mr. Pennington was considered something of a terror in the neighborhood, -a brusque, snappish old gentleman with a ragged beard, and ill-tempered -wisps of hair straggling over his forehead. - -“Well, gentlemen, your opinion?” - -Murchison squared his shoulders, and seemed to be weighing every word he -uttered. He was too generous a man to seize the chance of distinguishing -himself at the expense of a rival. - -“I think, Mr. Pennington, that Dr. Steel and I agree in the matter. We -take, sir, rather a serious view of the case. Is not that so, Steel?” - -The supercilious person bent stiffly at the hips. - -“Certainly.” - -“Perhaps, Steel, you will explain the urgency of the case.” - -Mr. Pennington jerked into a chair, took off his spectacles and dabbed -them with his handkerchief. - -“I am sorry to have to tell you, sir, that your daughter’s eyesight is -in danger.” - -The gentleman in the chair started. - -“What! Eyesight in danger! Bless my bones, why—” - -“Dr. Murchison agrees with me, I believe.” - -“Absolutely.” - -“Good God, gentlemen!” - -“A peculiarly dangerous condition, sir, developing rapidly and -treacherously, as this rare disease sometimes does.” - -Perspiration was standing out on Parker Steel’s forehead. He flashed a -grateful yet savage glance at Murchison, and braced back his shoulders -with a sigh of bitter relief. - -“I think a London opinion would be advisable, Murchison, eh?” - -“I think so, most certainly, in view of the operation that may have to -be performed immediately.” - -“Thank you, gentlemen, thank you. I presume this means my writing out a -check for a hundred guineas.” - -“Your daughter’s condition, sir—” - -“Of course, of course. Don’t mention the expense. And you will manage—” - -Parker Steel resumed his dictatorship. - -“I will wire at once,” he said; “we must lose no time.” - -He accompanied Murchison from the house, jerky and distraught in manner, -a man laboring under a most unwelcome obligation. The rivals shook -hands. There was much of the anger of the sunset in Parker Steel’s heart -as he watched Murchison’s car go throbbing down the drive amid the -slanting shadows of the silent trees. - - - - - CHAPTER V - - -Parker Steel’s wife, in a depressed and melancholy mood, wandered -restlessly about the house in St. Antonia’s Square, with the chimes of -St. Antonia’s thundering out every “quarter” over the sleepy town. Mrs. -Betty had attended a drawing-room meeting that afternoon in support of -the zenana missions, and such social mortifications, undertaken for the -good of the “practice,” usually reduced her to utter gloom. Mrs. Betty -was one of those cultured beings who suffer seriously from the effects -of boredom. Her mercurial temper was easily lowered by the damp, gray -skies of Roxton morality. - -The tea was an infusion of tannin in the pot, and still the unregenerate -male refused to return in time to save a second brew. Betty Steel had -tried one of the latest novels, and guessed the end before she had read -ten pages; she was an admirer of the ultra-psychological school, and -preferred their bloodless and intricate verbiage to the simpler and more -human “cry.” Even her favorite fog philosopher could not keep her quiet -in her chair. The desire for activity stirred in her; it was useless to -sit still and court the mopes. - -Betty Steel went up-stairs to her bedroom, looked through her jewel-box, -folded up a couple of silk blouses in tissue paper, rearranged her hair, -and found herself more bored than ever. After drifting about aimlessly -for a while, she climbed to the second floor landing, and entered a room -that looked out on St. Antonia’s and the square. A tall, brass-topped -fender closed the fireless grate. There were pictures from the Christmas -numbers of magazines upon the walls, and rows of old books and toys on -the shelves beside the chimney. In one corner stood a bassinet hung with -faded pink satin. The room seemed very gray and silent, as though it -lacked something, and waited for the spark of life. - -Mrs. Betty looked at the toys and books; they had belonged to her these -twenty years, and she had thought to watch them torn and broken by a -baby’s hands. Parker Steel’s wife had borne him no children. Strange, -cultured egotist that she was, it had been a great grief to her, this -barrenness, this sealing of the heart. Betty was woman enough despite -her psychology to feel the instincts of the sex piteous within her. A -mother in desire, she still kept the room as she had planned it after -her marriage, and so spoken of it as “the nursery,” hoping yet to see it -tenanted. - -Feeling depressed and restless, she went to the window and looked out. -Clouds that had been flushed with transient crimson in the east, were -paling before the grayness of the approaching night. On the topmost -branch of an elm-tree a thrush was singing gloriously, and the traceried -windows of the church were flashing back the gold of the western sky. - -Parker Steel’s wife saw something that made her lips tighten as she -stood looking across the square. Two children were loitering on the -footway, the boy rattling the railings with his stick, the girl tucking -up a doll in a miniature mail-cart. They were waiting for a tall woman -in a green coat, faced with white, who had stopped to speak to a laborer -whose arm was in a sling. - -The boy ran back and began dragging at the woman’s hand. - -“Mummy, mummy, come along, do.” - -“Good-day, Wilson, I am so glad you are getting on well.” - -The workman touched his cap, and watched Mrs. Murchison hustled away -impulsively by her two children. The thrush had ceased singing, silenced -by the clatter of Mr. Jack’s stick. Betty Steel was leaning against the -shutter and watching the mother and her children with a feeling of -bitter resentment in her heart. Even in her home-life this woman seemed -to vanquish her. Catherine Murchison was taking her children’s hands, -while Betty Steel stood alone in the darkening emptiness of the -“nursery.” - -Perhaps the rushing up of simpler, deeper impulses made her hurry from -the room when she saw her husband’s carriage stop before the house. He -was the one living thing that she could call her own, and this -pale-faced and cynical woman felt very lonely for the moment and -conscious of the dusk. Parker Steel had signalized his return by a -savage slamming of the heavy door. Betty met him in the hall. She went -and kissed him, and hung near him almost tenderly as she helped him off -with his fur-lined coat. - -“You poor thing, how late you are!” - -Her husband growled, as though he were in no mood for a woman’s fussing. - -“I should like some tea.” - -“Of course, dear; you look tired.” - -“Hurry it up, I’m busy.” - -And he marched into the dining-room, leaving Betty standing in the hall. - -The warmer impulses of the moment flickered and died in the wife’s -heart. Her eyes had been tender, her mouth soft, and even lovable. The -slight shock of the man’s preoccupied coldness drove her back to the -unemotional monotony of life. Husbands were unsympathetic creatures. She -had read the fact in books as a girl, and had proved it long ago in the -person of Parker Steel. - -“What is the matter, dear, you look worried?” - -Her husband was battering at the sulky fire as though the action -relieved his feelings. - -“Oh, nothing,” and he kept his back to her. - -Mrs. Betty rang the bell for fresh tea. - -“What a surly dog you are, Parker.” - -“Surly!” - -“Yes.” - -“Confound it, can’t you see that I’m dead tired? You women always want -to talk.” - -Betty Steel looked at him curiously, and spoke to the maid who was -waiting at the door. - -“I always know, Parker, when you have lost a patient,” she drawled, -calmly, when the girl had gone. - -“Who said anything about losing patients?” - -“Have you quarrelled with old Pennington?” - -“Well, if you must know,” and he snapped it out at her with a vicious -grin; “I’ve made an infernal ass of myself over at Marley.” - -His wife’s most saving virtue was that she rarely lost control either of -her tongue or of her temper. She could on occasion display the -discretion of an angel, and smile down a snub with a beatific simplicity -that made her seem like a child out of a convent. She busied herself -with making her husband’s tea, and chatted on general topics for fully -three minutes before referring to the affair at Marley. - -“You generally exaggerate your sins, Parker,” she said, cheerfully. - -“Do I? Damn that Pennington woman and her humbugging hysterics.” - -Mrs. Betty studied him keenly. - -“Is Miss Julia really and truly ill for once?” - -“I have just wired for Campbell of ‘Nathaniel’s’.” - -“Indeed!” - -“The idiot’s eyesight is in danger. Old Pennington got worried about -her, and insisted on a consultation.” - -Betty cut her husband some cake. - -“So you have sent for Campbell?” - -“I had Murchison first.” - -“Parker!” - -“The fellow spotted the thing. I hadn’t even looked at the woman’s eyes. -Nice for me, wasn’t it?” - -Betty Steel’s face had changed in an instant, as though her husband had -confessed bankruptcy or fraud. The sleek and complacent optimism -vanished from her manner; her voice lost its drawl, and became sharp and -almost fierce. - -“What did Murchison do?” - -“Do!” And Parker Steel laughed with an unpleasant twitching of the -nostrils. “Bluffed like a hero, and helped me through.” - -Mrs. Betty’s bosom heaved. - -“So you are at Murchison’s mercy?” - -“I suppose so, yes.” - -“Parker, I almost hate you.” - -“My dear girl!” - -“And that woman, of course he will tell her.” - -“Who?” - -“Kate Murchison.” - -“No one ever accused Kate Murchison of being a gossip.” - -“She will have the laugh of us, that is what makes me mad.” - -Betty Steel pushed her chair back from the table, and went and leaned -against the mantel-piece. She was white and furious, she who rarely -showed her passions. All the vixen was awake in her, the spite of a -proud woman who pictures the sneer on a rival’s face. - -“Parker!” And her voice sounded hard and metallic. - -“Well, dear.” - -“You love Murchison for this, I suppose?” - -Steel gulped down his tea and laughed. - -“Not much,” he confessed. - -“Parker, we must remember this. Lie quiet a while, and take the fool’s -kindnesses. Our turn will come some day.” - -“My dear girl, what are you driving at?” - -“The Murchisons are our enemies, Parker. I will show this Kate woman -some day that her husband is not without a flaw.” - -The great Sir Thomas Campbell arrived that night at Roxton, and was -driven over to Marley in Steel’s brougham. The specialist confirmed the -private practitioner’s diagnosis, complimented him gracefully in Mr. -Pennington’s presence, and elected to operate on the lady forthwith. -Parker Steel’s mustache boasted a more jaunty twist when he returned -home that night after driving Sir Thomas Campbell to the station. He had -despatched a reliable nurse to attend to Miss Julia at Marley, and felt -that his reputation was weathering the storm without the loss of a -single twig. - -As for James Murchison, he kept his own council and said never a word. -Even doctors are human, and Murchison remembered many a mild blunder of -his own. He received a note in due course from Parker Steel, thanking -him formally for services rendered, and informing him that the operation -had been eminently successful. Murchison tore up the letter, and thought -no more of the matter for many months. Work was pressing heavily on his -shoulders with influenza and measles epidemic in the town, and he had -his own “dragon of evil” to battle with in the secret arena of his -heart. - -Gossip is like the wind, every man or woman hears the sound thereof -without troubling to discover whence it comes or whither it blows. The -details of Miss Julia Pennington’s illness had been wafted half across -the county in less than a week. Nothing seems to inspire the tongues of -garrulous elderly ladies more than the particulars of some particular -gory and luscious slashing of a fellow-creature’s flesh. Miss -Pennington’s ordeal had been delicate and almost bloodless, but there -were vague and dramatic mutterings in many Roxton side streets, and -gusts of gossip whistling through many a keyhole. - -It was at a “Church Restoration” _conversazione_ at Canon Stensly’s that -Mrs. Steel’s ears were first opened to the tittle-tattle of the town. -The month was May, and the respectable and genteel Roxtonians had been -turned loose in the Canon’s garden. Mrs. Betty chanced to be sitting -under the shelter of a row of cypresses, chatting to Miss Gerraty, a -partisan of the Steel faction, when she heard voices on the other side -of the trees. The promenaders, whosoever they were, were discussing Miss -Pennington’s illness, and the tenor of their remarks was not flattering -to Parker Steel. Mrs. Betty reddened under her picture-hat. The thought -was instant in her that Catherine Murchison had betrayed the truth, and -set the tongues of Roxton wagging. - -Half an hour later the two women met on the stretch of grass outside the -drawing-room windows. A casual observer would have imagined them to be -the most Christian and courteous of acquaintances. Mrs. Betty was -smiling in her rival’s face, though her heart seethed like a mill-pool. - -“What a lovely day! I always admire the Canon’s spring flowers. Did you -absorb all that the architectural gentleman gave us with regard to the -value of flying buttresses in resisting the outward thrust of the church -roof?” - -“I am afraid I did not listen.” - -“Nor did I. Technical jargon always bores me. So we are to have a -bazaar; that is more to the point, so far as the frivolous element is -concerned. I have not seen Dr. Murchison yet; is he with you?” - -Catherine was looking at Mrs. Betty’s pale and refined face. She did not -like the woman, but was much too warm-hearted to betray her feelings. - -“No, my husband is too busy.” - -“Of course. Measles in the slums, I hear. Is it true that you are taking -an assistant.” - -Catherine opened her eyes a little at the faint flavor of insolence in -the speech. - -“Yes, my husband finds the work too heavy.” - -“I sympathize with you. Dr. Steel never would take club and dispensary -work; not worth his while, you know; he is worked to death as it is. The -curse of popularity, I tell him. How are the children? I hear the -younger looks very frail and delicate.” - -Mrs. Steel’s condescension was cunningly conveyed by her refined drawl. -Catherine colored slightly, her pride repelled by the suave assumption -of patronage Parker Steel’s wife adopted. - -“Gwen is very well,” she said, curtly. - -“Ah, one hears so much gossip. Roxton is full of tattlers. I am often -astonished by the strange tales I hear.” - -She flashed a smiling yet eloquent look into her rival’s eyes, and was -rewarded by the sudden rush of color that spread over Catherine -Murchison’s face. Mrs. Betty exulted inwardly. The shaft had flown true, -she thought, and had transfixed the conscience of the originator of the -Pennington scandal. - -“Please remember me to your husband, Mrs. Murchison,” and she passed on -with a glitter of the eyes and a graceful lifting of the chin, feeling -that she had challenged her rival and seen her quail. - -But Catherine was thinking of that frosty night in March when she had -found her husband drink drugged in his study. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - -A doctor’s life is not lightly to be envied. Like a traveller in a -half-barbarous country, he must be prepared for all emergencies, -trusting to his own mother-wit and the resourcefulness of his manhood. -He may be challenged from cock-crow until midnight to do battle with -every physical ill that affects humanity on earth, and to act as arbiter -between life and death. The common functions of existence are hardly -granted him; he is a species of supramundane creature to whom sleep and -food are scarcely considered vital. However critical the strain, he must -never slacken, never show temper when pestered by the old women of the -sick-room, never lose the suggestion of sympathy. People will run to -catch him “at his dinner-hour,” poor wretch, and drag him from bed to -discover that some fat old gentleman has eaten too much crab. Of all men -he must appear the most infallible, the most assured and resolute of -philosophers. He walks on the edge of a precipice, for the glory of a -thousand triumphs may be swallowed up in the blunder of a day. - -The responsibilities of such a life are heavy, and may be said to -increase with the sensitiveness of the practitioner’s conscience. The -man of heart and of ideals will give out more of the vital essence than -the mere intellectual who works like a marvellous machine. Yet, flow of -soul is necessary to true success in the higher spheres of the healing -art. There is a vast difference between the mere chemist who mixes -tinctures in a bottle, and the psychologist whose personality suggests -the cure that he wishes to complete. - -James Murchison was a practitioner of the higher type, a man who -wrestled Jacob-like with problems, and took his responsibilities to -heart. He was no clever automaton, no perfunctory juggler with the woes -and sufferings of his fellows. Life touched him at every turn, and there -was none of the cynical adroitness of the mere materialist about -Murchison. He worked both with his heart and with his head, a man whose -mingled strength and humility made him beloved by those who knew him -best. - -The winter’s work had been unusually heavy, and the burden of it had not -lightened with the spring. Murchison enjoyed the grappling of -difficulties, that keen tautness of the intellect that vibrates to -necessity. Strong as he was, the strain of the winter’s work had told on -him, and his wife, ever watchful, had seen that he was spending himself -too fast. Interminable night work, the rush of the crowded hours, and -hurried meals, grind down the toughest constitution. Murchison was not a -man to confess easily to exhaustion, possessing the true tenacity of the -Saxon, the spirit that will not realize the nearness of defeat. It was -only by constant pleading that Catherine persuaded him to consider the -wisdom of hiring help. Sleeplessness, the worker’s warning, had troubled -her husband as the spring drew on. - -One Wednesday evening in May, Murchison came home dead tired and faint -for want of food. The day had been rough and stormy, a keen wind -whirling the rain in gray sheets across the country, beating the bloom -from the apple-trees, and laying Miss Gwen’s proud tulips in red ruin -along the borders. Murchison’s visiting-list would have appalled a man -of frailer energy and resolution. The climbing of interminable stairs, -the feeling of pulses, and all the accurate minutes of the craft, the -interviewing of anxious relatives, slave work in the slums! A premature -maternity case had complicated the routine. Murchison looked white and -almost hunted when he sat down at last to dinner. - -Catherine dismissed the maid and waited on him in person. - -“Thanks, dear, this is very sweet of you.” - -She bent over him and kissed him on the forehead. - -“You look tired to death.” - -“Not quite that, dear; I have been rushed off my legs and the flesh is -human.” - -“Crocker will send a suitable man down in a day or two. He can take the -club work off your hands. You have finished for to-night?” - -He lay back in his chair, the lines of strain smoothed from his face a -little, the driven look less evident in his eyes. - -“Only a consultation or two, I hope. I shall get to bed early. Ah, -coffee, that is good!” - -Catherine played and sang to him in the drawing-room after dinner, with -the lamp turned low and a brave fire burning on the hearth. Murchison -had run up-stairs to kiss his children, and was lying full length on the -sofa when the “detestable bell” broke in upon a slumber song. The -inevitable message marred the relaxation of the man’s mind and body, and -the tired slave of sick humanity found himself doomed to a night’s -watching. - -“What is it, dear?” - -He had read the note that the maid had brought him. - -“No peace for the wicked!” and he almost groaned; “a maternity case. -Confound the woman, she might have left me a night’s rest!” - -His wife looked anxious, worried for him in her heart. - -“How absolutely hateful! Can’t Hicks act for you to-night?” - -“No, dear, I promised my services.” - -“Will it take long?” - -“A first case—all night, probably.” - -He got up wearily, threw the letter into the fire, and going to his -study took up his obstetric bag and examined it to see that he had all -he needed. Catherine was waiting for him with his coat and scarf, -wishing for the moment that the Deity had arranged otherwise for the -bringing of children into the world. - -“Shall you walk?” she asked. - -“Yes, it is only Carter Street. Go to bed, dear, don’t wait up.” - -She kissed him, and let her head rest for a moment on his shoulder. - -“I wish I could do the work for you, dear.” - -He laughed, a tired laugh, looking dearly at her, and went out into the -dark. - -A vague restlessness took possession of Catherine that night, when she -was left alone in the silent house. She had sent the servants to bed, -and drawing a chair before the fire, tried to forget herself in the -pages of romance. Color and passion had no glamour for her in print, -however. It was as though some silent watcher stood behind her chair, -and willed her to brood on thoughts that troubled her heart. - -She put the book aside at last, and sat staring at the fire, listening -to the wind that moaned and sobbed about the house. The curtains swayed -before the windows, and she could hear the elm-trees in the garden -groaning as though weary of the day’s unrest. There was something in the -nature of the night that gave a sombre setting to her thoughts. She -remembered her husband’s tired and jaded face, and her very loneliness -enhanced her melancholy. - -The Dutch clock in the hall struck eleven, the antique whir of wheels -sounding strange in the sleeping house. Catherine stirred the fire -together, rose and put out the lamp. She lit her candle in the hall, -leaving a light burning there, and climbed the stairs slowly to her -room. Instinct led her to cross the landing and enter the nursery where -her children slept. - -The two little beds stood one in either corner beside the fireplace, -each headed by some favorite picture, and covered with red quilts edged -with white. Gwen was sleeping with a doll beside her, her hair tied up -with a blue ribbon. The boy had a box of soldiers on the bed, and one -fist cuddled a brass cannon. - -Catherine stood and looked at them with a mother’s tenderness in her -eyes. They spelled life to her—these little ones, flesh of her flesh, -bone of her bone. They were her husband’s children, and they seemed to -bring into her heart that night a deep rush of tenderness towards the -man who had given her motherhood. All the joy and sorrow that they had -shared together stole up like the odor of a sacrifice. - -“When the strength’s out of a man, the devil’s in.” - -She remembered those words he had spoken, and shuddered. Was it -prophetic, this voice that came to her out of the deeps of her own -heart? Tenderly, wistfully, she bent over each sleeping child, and stole -a kiss from the land of dreams. Betty Steel’s speech recurred to her as -she passed to her own room, feeling lonely because the arms she yearned -for would not hold her close that night. - -Catherine went to bed, but she did not sleep. Her brain seemed clear as -a starlit sky, the thoughts floating through it like frail clouds over -the moon. She heard the wind wailing, the rain splashing against the -windows, the slow voice of the hall clock measuring out the hours. Some -unseen power seemed to keep her wakeful and afraid, restless in her -loneliness, listening for the sound of her husband’s return. - -The clock struck five before she heard the jar of a closing door. -Footsteps crossed the hall, and she heard some one moving in the room -below. For some minutes she sat listening in bed, waiting to hear her -husband’s step upon the stairs. Her heart beat strangely when he did not -come; the room felt cold to her as she shivered and listened. - -A sudden, vague dread seized her. She slipped out of bed, lit the candle -with trembling hands, and throwing her dressing-gown round her, went out -on to the landing. The lamp was still burning in the hall, and the door -of the dining-room stood ajar. Shading the candle behind her hand, she -went silently down the stairs into the hall. The only sound she heard -was the clink of a glass. - -“James, husband!” - -Catherine stood on the threshold, her hair loose about her, the candle -quivering in her hand. For the moment there was an agony of reproach -upon her face. Then she had swayed forward, snatched something from the -table, and broke it upon the floor. - -“My God, Kate, forgive me!” - -He sank down into a chair and buried his head in his arms upon the -table. Catherine bent over him, her hands resting on his shoulders. - -“Oh, my beloved, I had dreaded this.” - -He groaned. - -“Miserable beast that I am!” - -“No, no, you are tired, you are not yourself. Come with me, come with -me, lie in my arms—and rest.” - -He turned and buried his face in the warmth of her bosom. - -“Thank God you were awake,” he said. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - -Roxton, that little red town under a June sky, looked like a ruby strung -upon the silver thread of a river and set in a green hollow of the -hills. As yet the enterprising builder had not stamped the mark of the -beast glaringly upon the place, and the quaint outreachings of the town -were suffered to dwindle through its orchards into the June meadows, -where the deep grass was slashed and webbed with gold. The hills above -were black with pine thickets that took fire with many a dawn and -sunset, and to the north great beech-woods hung like purple clouds -across the blue. - -The most miserly of mortals might have warmed with the ridge view from -Marley Down. Southward a violet haze of hills, larch-woods golden spired -in glimmering green valleys, bluff knolls massive with many oaks, waving -fields, blue smoke from a few scattered cottages. From Marley Down with -its purple heather billowing between the pine woods like some Tyrian -sea, the road curled to the red town sleeping amid its meadows. - -Mrs. Betty Steel was at least an æsthetician, and her eyes roved -pleasurably over the woods and valleys as she drove in her smart -dog-cart over Marley Down. She had been ridding her conscience of a -number of belated country “calls” with a friend, Miss Gerratty, beside -her, a plump little person in a pink frock. There was a certain cottage -on Marley Down that Betty Steel had coveted for months, an antique gem, -oak panelled, brick floored, with great brown beams across the ceilings. -Betty Steel had the woman’s greed for the possession of pretty things. -The house in St. Antonia’s Square seemed too large and cumbersome for -her at times. Perhaps it was something of a mausoleum, holding the ashes -of a dead desire. Often she wearied of it and the endless domestic -details, and longed for some nook where her restless individualism could -live in its own atmosphere. - -A glazier was tinkering at one of the cottage casements when Mrs. Betty -drove up the grass track between sheets of glowing gorse. A pine wood -backed the cottage on the west; in front, before the little lawn, a -white fence linked up two banks of towering cypresses. Mrs. Betty drew -rein before the gate, and called to the man who was releading the -casement frames. - -“I hear the cottage is to let. Can you tell me where Mr. Pilgrim, the -owner, lives. Somewhere on the Down, is it not?” - -The man, an unpretentious, wet-nosed creature, crossed the grass plot, -wiping his hands on a dirty apron. - -“Mr. Pilgrim’s just ’ad an offer, miss.” - -“Has he?” - -“Well, we’re doin’ the repairs. I ’ave ’eard that Mrs. Murchison of -Roxton ’ave taken it.” - -“Dr. Murchison’s wife?” - -The man nodded. - -“How utterly vexatious. I suppose Mr. Pilgrim would not sell?” - -“Don’t know, miss, I ’ain’t the authority to say.” - -Parker Steel’s wife flicked her horse up with the whip and turned back -to the main road, a woman with a grievance. Her companion in pink -offered sympathy with a twitter. Being of the Steel faction, she was -wise as to the friction between the households, and a friend’s grievance -has always an element of wickedness for a woman. - -“How very annoying, dear!” - -Mrs. Betty waved her whip. - -“I have had that cottage in mind for over a year. Some one must have -told the selfish wretch that I was after it.” - -“Strangely like spite, dear,” cooed the dove in pink. - -“I wonder what the Murchisons want with the place? To make a summer -beer-garden for their brats, perhaps.” - -“Marley Down’s so bracing. I hear Jim Murchison has been overworking -himself. Probably he intends spending his week-ends here.” - -“Rather curious.” - -Miss Gerratty’s blue eyes were too shallow for the holding of a mystery. - -“I can’t see anything strange in it, Betty. Jim Murchison has that -assistant of his, a finnicking little fellow in glasses, with a neck -like a giraffe’s. Strange that they should have snapped up your -particular cottage.” - -“Oh, that’s just like Kate Murchison,” and Mrs. Betty’s brown eyes -sparkled. - -Hatred, like love, is a transfiguration of trifles, and nothing is too -paltry to be registered against a foe. Parker Steel’s wife drove home in -the most unenviable of tempers, untouched by the scent of the -bean-fields in bloom, or by the flash of the river through the green of -June. She rattled down the steep hill into Roxton town at a pace that -made Miss Gerratty wince. Metaphorically, Betty Steel would have given -much to have had her bit in Catherine Murchison’s mouth, and to have -treated her to a taste of her nimble whip. - -Leaving Miss Gerratty at the end of Queen’s Walk by the old Jacobean -Market-House, Mrs. Steel drove home alone, to find some half-dozen -letters waiting for her, the mid-day post that she had missed by -lunching with Mrs. Feveril, of The Cedars. She shuffled the letters -irritably through her hands like a pack of cards, her eyes sparkling -into sudden vivacity as a foreign envelope showed among the rest. The -letter bore the Egyptian Sphinx and pyramids, and the familiar writing -of a friend. - -The letter lay unopened in her lap awhile, as she sat by the open window -of the drawing-room and looked out over the beds that were gorgeous with -the flare of Oriental poppies. The lawn, studded with standard roses, -swept to the trailing branches of an Indian cedar. Rhododendrons were -still in bloom in the little shrubbery under the rich green shade shed -by two great oaks. - -She tore open the envelope at last, having lingered like one who shirks -the reading of news long waited for. The familiar squirl of the man’s -handwriting made her smile, bringing back memories of a first serious -_affaire de cœur_ with the quaint grotesqueness of the foolish past. She -remembered the thin, raw-boned youth with the red mouth and the -strenuous eyes who had kissed her one night after a river-party. He was -still vivid to her, even to the recollection how his boating-shirt had -slipped a button and given her a glimpse of a hairy chest. What a little -fool she had been in those days! Mrs. Betty was not the slave of -sentiment, and Surgeon-Major Shackleton had slipped with his somewhat -strenuous love-making into the past. She still had occasional letters -from him, and from other sundry friends, letters that she always showed -her husband. Parker Steel was not a jealous being. He was mildly pleased -by the conviction that he was still envied in secret by a bevy of old -rivals. - - “Dear Betty,—” - -Mrs. Steel made a little grimace as she pictured the number of “dear -Betties” who had probably drifted within the sphere of Charlie -Shackleton’s passion for romance. She skipped through the letter with -watchful eyes, ignoring the surgeon-major’s bantering persiflage, the -familiar gibes of an old friend. It was on the fourth page that she -unearthed the news she delved for, tangled beneath the splutterings of -an execrable pen. - - “I think you asked me in your last letter whether I knew a - fellow named Murchison at St. Peter’s. Haven’t you mentioned - ‘the creature’ to me before? I remember Jim Murchison just as - you describe him, a solid, brown-faced six-footer, one of those - happy-go-lucky beggars who seem ready to punch creation. I left - the place two years before he qualified; he had brains, but if - my pate serves me, he was the sworn slave of a drug we catalogue - as C_{2}H_{5}OH. Not a bad sort of fool, but bibulous as - blotting-paper. Funny he should have turned up your way, and - married Kate of the golden hair. Mark this private, and let my - friend Parker deal with the above formula. Glad to hear that he - is raking in the guineas—” - -The letter ended with a few personal paragraphs that Mrs. Betty hardly -troubled to read. She crossed the hall to her husband’s study, hunted -out a text-book on chemistry from the shelves, and proceeded with much -patience and deliberation to unearth the scientific hieroglyph the -surgeon-major’s letter contained. She found it at last, and smiled -maliciously at its vulgar triteness. - -“C_{2}H_{5}OH, ethyl alcohol; commonly known as alcohol; a generic term -for certain compounds which are the hydroxides of hydrocarbon radicals. -The active principle of intoxicating liquors.” - -Mrs. Betty put the book back on the shelf, and buttoned Mr. Shackleton’s -letter into her blouse. There was a queer glitter in her eyes, a -spiteful sparkle of satisfaction. She went back to the drawing-room, and -seating herself at the piano, played Mendelssohn’s “Spring Song” with -fine verve and feeling. - -Her husband found her in a brilliant mood that night at dinner. She -looked sleek and handsome, blood in her cheeks and mischief in her eyes. -Mrs. Betty at her best could be a very inflammatory and sensuous -creature, like a Greek nymph taken from some Bacchic vase. - -“The latest news, Parker—the Murchisons have snapped up my cottage on -Marley Down.” - -“The dickens they have! You don’t appear jealous.” - -“No, I have a forgiving heart. The place is like a hermitage. What can -the Murchisons want with such a cottage?” - -Her husband, cold intellectualist, warmed to her beauty as to true -Falernian. - -“Am I a crystal gazer?” - -“Read me the riddle.” - -Parker Steel laughed, and looked at her with a slight loosening of the -mouth. - -“Riddle-de-dee! You women are always analyzing imaginary motives. -Murchison has been looking run to death, lean as an overdriven horse. I -don’t blame him for wishing to munch his oats in rustic seclusion.” - -Mrs. Betty bubbled over with sparkles of intuition. - -“What does C_{2}H_{5}OH stand for, Parker?” - -“C_{2}H_{5}OH! What on earth have you to do with chemical formulæ?” - -“Answer my question.” - -“Gin, if you like; the stuff the blue-ribbonites battle with.” - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - -Porteus Carmagee, the lawyer, and his sister lived in Lombard Street, in -a grim, blind-eyed, stuccoed house with laurels in tubs before it, and -chains and posts defending an arid stretch of shingle. There was -something about the house that suggested law, a dry and close-mouthed -look that was wholly on the surface. Porteus Carmagee was a little man, -who forever seemed spluttering and fuming under some grievance. He was -hardly to be met without an irritable explosion against his own physical -afflictions, the delinquencies of tradesmen and Radicals, or the sins of -the boy who brought the morning paper. The lawyer’s almost truculent -attitude towards the world was largely the result of “liver”; his -sourness was on the surface; one glimpse of him cutting capers with Kate -Murchison’s children would dissipate the notion that he was a cadaverous -and crusty hater of mankind. - -Miss Phyllis Carmagee was remarkable for the utter unfitness of her -Christian name, and for the divine placidity that contrasted with her -brother’s waspishness. A big, moon-faced, ponderous woman, she was a -rock of composure, a species of human banyan-tree under whose blessed -branches a hundred fretful mortals might rest in the shade. Her -detractors, and they were few, asserted that she was a mere mass of -amiable and phlegmatic fat. Miss Carmagee was blessed with a very happy -sense of humor; she had a will of her own, a will that was formidable by -reason of its stubborn inertia when once it had come to rest. - -Some six years had passed since Miss Carmagee had deposited herself as a -supporter of James Murchison on his professional platform. Her pleasant -stolidity had done him service, for Miss Carmagee impressed her -convictions on people by sitting down with the serene look of one who -never argues. She was a woman who stated her opinions with a buxom -frankness, and who sat on opposition as though it were a cushion. She -was perhaps the only woman who gave no sparks to the flint of Mrs. -Steel’s aggressive vivacity. Miss Carmagee’s placidity was unassailable. -To attack her was like throwing pease against a pyramid. - -“Well, my dear, so you have furnished the cottage.” - -She lay back contentedly in her basket-chair—chairs were the few things -that nourished grievances against her—and beamed on Catherine -Murchison, who sat shaded by the leaves of a young lime. The tea-table -stood between them. Miss Carmagee liked basking in the sun like some -sleek, fat spaniel. - -“It is such a dear little place.” And the young wife’s eyes were full of -tenderness. “I want James to keep the gray hairs from coming too fast. I -shall lure him away to Marley Down, one day in seven, if I can.” - -“Of course, my dear, you can persuade him.” - -“Jim has such an obstinate conscience. He gives his best to people, and -naturally they overwork him. We have rivals, too, to consider. I know -that Betty Steel is jealous of us, but then—” - -A touch of wistfulness on Catherine’s face brought Miss Carmagee’s -optimism to the rescue. - -“You need not fear the Steels, my dear.” - -“No, perhaps not.” - -“Many people—I, for one—don’t trust them. The woman is too thin to be -sincere,” and Miss Carmagee’s bust protested the fact. - -“Betty’s kind enough in her way.” - -“When she gets her way, my dear. But tell me about the cottage. Are the -drains quite safe, and are there plenty of cupboards?” - -Catherine was launched into multitudinous details—the staining of -floors, the choosing of tapestries, the latest bargains in old -furniture. It eased her to talk to this placid woman, for, despite her -courage, her heart was sad in her and full of forebodings for her -husband. The truth had become as a girdle of thorns about her, worn both -day and night. She bore the smart of it without a flicker of the lids, -and carried her head bravely before the world. - -The strip of garden, with its prim and old-fashioned atmosphere, was -invaded abruptly by the rising generation. There was a flutter of feet -round the laurel hedge bordering the path to the front gate, and Mr. -Porteus pranced into view, a veritable light-opera lawyer with youth at -either elbow. - -“Hello, godma! may I have some strawberries?” - -Master Jack Murchison plumped himself emphatically into Miss Carmagee’s -lap, oblivious of the fact that he was sitting on her spectacles. - -“Jack, dear, you must not be so rough.” - -Mr. Porteus crossed the grass with the more dignified and less voracious -Dutch bonnet beside him. Miss Gwen and the bachelor always treated each -other with a species of stately yet twinkling civility. The lawyer’s -wrinkles turned into smile wreaths in the child’s presence, and there -was less perking up of his critical eyebrows. - -“Here’s a handful for you, Kate; I was ambuscaded and captured round the -corner. Who said strawberries? Will Miss Gwendolen Murchison deign to -deprive the blackbirds of a few?” - -“Do you grow stawberries for the blackbirds, godpa?” - -“Do I, Miss Innocent! No, not exactly.” - -Catherine had removed her son and heir from Miss Carmagee’s lap. The fat -lady looked cheerful and unperturbed. Master Jack was suffered to ruffle -her best skirts with impunity. - -“Don’t let them eat too much, Porteus.” - -Her brother cocked a birdlike eye at Miss Gwen. - -“Sixpence for the biggest strawberry brought back unnibbled. Off with -you. And don’t trample on the plants, John Murchison, Esq.” - -The pair raced for the fruit-garden, Master Jack’s enthusiasm rendering -him oblivious to the crime of taking precedence of a lady. Gwen -relinquished the van to him, and dropped to a demure toddle. Her -brother’s flashing legs suggested the thought to her that it was -undignified to be greedy. - -“Pardon me, Kate, I think you are wanted over the way.” - -Mr. Carmagee’s sudden soberness of manner brought the color to -Catherine’s cheeks. The lawyer was rattling the keys in his pocket, and -blinking irritably at space. Intuition warned her that he was more -concerned than he desired her to imagine. She rose instantly, as though -her thoughts were already in her home. - -“Good-bye; you will excuse me—” - -She bent over Miss Carmagee and kissed her, her heart beating fast under -the silks of her blouse. - -“I’ll bring the youngsters over presently, Kate.” - -“Thank you so much.” - -“And send some fruit with them.” - -“You are always spoiling us.” - -And Porteus Carmagee accompanied her to the gate. - -The lawyer rejoined his sister under the lime-tree, biting at his gray -mustache, and still rattling the keys in his trousers pocket. He walked -with a certain jerkiness that was peculiar to him, the spasmodic and -irritable habit of a man whose nerve-force seemed out of proportion to -his body. - -“Murchison’s an ass—a damned ass,” and he flashed a look over his -shoulder in the direction of the fruit-garden. - -Familiarity had accustomed Miss Carmagee to her brother’s forcible -methods of expression. He detonated over the most trivial topics, and -the stout lady took the splutterings of his indignation as a matter of -course. - -“Well?” and she examined her bent spectacles forgivingly. - -“Murchison’s been overworking himself.” - -“So Kate told me.” - -“The man’s a fool.” - -“A conscientious fool, Porteus.” - -Mr. Carmagee sniffed, and expelled a sigh through his mustache. - -“I’ve warned him over and over again. Idiot! He’ll break down. They had -to bring him home in a cab from Mill Lane half an hour ago.” - -His sister’s face betrayed unusual animation. - -“What is the matter?” - -“Heat stroke, or fainting fit. I saw the cab at the door, and collared -the youngsters as they were coming round the corner with the nurse. Poor -little beggars. I shall tell Murchison he’s an infernal fool unless he -takes two months’ rest.” - -Miss Carmagee knew where her brother’s heart lay. He generally abused -his friends when he was most in earnest for their salvation. - -“Kate will persuade him, Porteus.” - -“The woman’s a treasure. The man ought to consider her and the children -before he addles himself for a lot of thankless and exacting sluts. -Conscience! Conscience be damned. Why, only last week the man must sit -up half the night with a sweep’s child that had diphtheria. Conscience! -I call it nonsense.” - -Miss Carmagee smiled like the moon coming from behind a cloud. - -“You approve of Parker Steel’s methods?” - -“That little snob!” and the lawyer’s coat-tails gave an expressive -flick. - -“James Murchison only wants rest. Leave him to Kate; wives are the best -physicians often.” - -Mr. Carmagee’s keys applauded the remark. - -“Taken a cottage on Marley Down, have they?” - -“Yes.” - -“I’ll recommend a renewal of the honeymoon. Hallo, here comes the -sunlight.” - -Mr. Porteus romped across the grass to poke his wrinkled face into the -oval of the Dutch bonnet. - -“Hallo, who says senna to-night? What! Miss Gwendolen Murchison approves -of senna!” - -“I’ve won that sixpence, godpa.” - -“Indeed, sir, I think not.” - -“Jack can have the sixpence; it’s his buffday to-morrow.” - -“A lady who likes senna and renounces sixpences! Go to, Master John, you -must run to Mr. Parsons, the clockmaker, and buy godma a pair of new -spectacles.” - -“Spectacles!” and Master Jack mouthed his scorn. - -“A sad day for us, Miss Carmagee, when babies sit upon our infirmities!” - -Parker Steel dropped into his Roxton tailor’s that same afternoon to -have a summer suit fitted. The proprietor, an urbane and bald-headed -person with the deportment of a diplomat, rubbed his hands and remarked -that professional duties must be very exacting in the heat of June. - -“Your colleague, I understand, sir—Dr. Murchison, sir—has had an -attack from overwork; sunstroke, they say.” - -“What! Sunstroke?” - -“So I have been informed, sir.” - -“Indeed!” - -“Or an attack of faintness. Dr. Murchison is a most laborious worker. -Four buttons, thank you; a breast-pocket, as before, certainly. Any -fancy vestings to-day, doctor? No! Greatly obliged, sir, I’m sure,” and -the diplomat dodged to the door and swung it open with a bow. - -Parker Steel found his wife reading under the Indian cedar in the -garden. She was dressed in white, with a red rose in her bosom, the -green shadows of the trees and shrubs about her casting a sleek sheen -over her olive face and dusky hair. Poets might have written odes to -her, hailing the slim sweetness of her womanliness, using the lily as a -symbol of her beauty and the Madonna-like radiance of her spiritual -face. - -She glanced up at her husband as he came spruce and complacent, like any -Agag, over the grass. - -“Murchison has had a sunstroke.” - -“What! Who told you?” - -“Rudyard, the tailor.” - -The book was lying deprecatingly at Mrs. Betty’s feet. Her eyes swept -from her husband to dwell reflectively on the scarlet pomp of the -Oriental poppies. - -“Do you think it was a sunstroke, Parker?” - -Her husband glanced at his neat boots and whistled. - -“What a melodramatic mind you have,” he said. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - -James Murchison’s motor-car drew up before a row of buildings in Mill -Lane, a series of brick boxes that were flattered with the name of -“Prospect Cottages.” So far as prospect was concerned, the back yard of -a tannery offered no “patches of purple” to the front windows of the -row, and the breath that blew therefrom had no kinship to a land breeze -from the Coromandel coast. In blunt Saxon, Mill Lane stank, and with the -whole-heartedness of a mediæval alley. Over the gray cobbles that dipped -between the houses to the river came a glimpse of the foam and glitter -of the mill pool and the dull thunder of the wheels and water hummed -perpetually up the narrow street. - -Murchison swung open the gate, and in three strides stood at the -blistered door of No. 9 Prospect Row. A painted board hung beside the -door bearing a smoking chimney “proper,” and for supporters two bundles -of sweep’s brushes that looked wondrous like Roman fasces. The -letter-press advertised Mr. William Bains as a sweeper of chimneys, soot -merchant, and extinguisher of fires. The little front garden was neat as -a good housewife’s linen cupboard, with double daisies along the -borders, and nasturtiums, claret, crimson, and gold, scrambling up -pea-sticks below the window. - -A stout woman, who smelled of soup, opened the door to Murchison and -welcomed him with the most robust good-will. - -“Good-morning, doctor; hope I ’aven’t kept you waiting. Step in, sir, if -you please.” - -Murchison stepped in, bending his head by force of habit, as though -accustomed to cottage doorways. Mrs. Bains in a starched apron made way -for him like a ship in sail. She was a very capable woman, so said her -neighbors, black-eyed, sturdy, with a nose of the retroussé type, and -patches of color over her rather prominent cheek-bones. - -“You’re looking better, doctor, excuse me saying it. I can tell you you -gave us a bit of a shock when you went off in that there dead faint on -Tuesday.” - -Mrs. Bains was a woman with a sanguine temper, a temper that made her an -aggressive enemy, but a very loyal and active friend. Her black eyes -twinkled with motherly concern as she watched Murchison pull off his -gloves and stuff them into his hat. - -“They tell me that I have been working too hard,” he said, with a smile. - -“Lor’, sir, you do work; you don’t do your cooking with no pepper. I was -taking it to myself, sir, the power of worry we’ve give you over the -child.” - -“A good fight is worth winning, Mrs. Bains. I am proud of the victory.” - -“And I reckon none else would ’a’ done it, and so says the neighbors. -Will you step up-stairs, sir? Don’t mind my man, he’s just scrubbing the -soot off ’im.” - -A pair of huge fore-arms, a gray flannel shirt, and a red face covered -with soap-suds saluted Murchison from the steaming copper in the -scullery. - -“Good-mornin’, sir; ’ope you’re well.” - -“Better, Bains, thanks. Washing the war-paint off, eh?” - -“That’s it, sir,” and the sweep grinned good-will and sturdy admiration; -“the kid’s doing fine, I hear.” - -“Could not be better, Bains.” - -“I reckon you’ve done us a rare good turn, sir.” - -Murchison’s eyes smiled at the man’s words. - -“I’m glad we won,” he said; “a child’s life is worth fighting for.” - -“It be, sir, it be,” and the sweep swished the soap-suds from his face -till it shone like the sun brightening from behind a cloud. - -Murchison climbed the stairs to the front bedroom, a room liberally -decorated with cheap china and colored texts. The patient, a little -girl, christened Pretoria by her patriotic parents, lay on the bed -beneath the window. The satiny whiteness of the child’s skin contrasted -with the cherry-pink night-gown that she wore. It had been a case of -diphtheria, a case that would probably have ended in disaster before the -days of serum. Murchison had sat up half one night, doubtful whether he -would not have to tracheotomize the child. - -“Hallo, Babs, how’s that naughty throat?” - -He sat down on the edge of the bed and chatted boyishly to Pretoria, -whose shy eyes surveyed him with a species of delighted adoration. The -hero worship that children give to men is pathetic in its ideal -trustfulness. - -“I’m better, thank you, sir.” - -“That’s right; you are beginning to know all about it, eh? Tongue fine -and red. She’ll be a talker, Mrs. Bains. Taking her milk well, yes. Keep -her lying down.” - -Mrs. Bains’s big, red hands were fidgeting under her white apron. - -“Begging your pardon, doctor, but the child’s been a-bothering me since -you called last, to know whether she mayn’t give you some flowers.” - -Mrs. Bains reached across the bed to where a cheap mug on the -window-sill held a posy of pink daisies. - -“They’re just common things,” said the sweep’s wife, with an apologetic -smile. - -The child’s hand went out, and there was a slight quivering of the -bloodless lips. - -“For the doctor, with Pretoria’s love.” - -Murchison took the flowers tenderly in his strong, deft hand. - -“Who’s spoiling me, I should like to know? Aren’t they beauties? -Supposing I put two in my button-hole? Thank you, little one,” and he -bent and kissed the child’s forehead. - -“You won’t drop ’em in the street, sir?” - -The pathetic touch of unconscious cynicism went to the man’s heart. - -“What, lose my flowers! You wait, miss, to see whether I don’t wear some -of them to-morrow.” - -The little white face beamed. - -“You’re that kind to humor the kid, sir,” quoth Mrs. Bains, with -feeling, as she followed Murchison down the stairs. - -An hour later Mr. William Bains was hanging his clean face over the -garden fence as an example to the neighbors, when a smart victoria -stopped at the upper end of Mill Lane. A dapper gentleman sprang out, -and came quickly down the footway as though the reek of the tannery -disgusted his polite nostrils. He glanced right and left with -stiff-necked dissatisfaction, his sleek, fashionable figure reminding -one of some aristocratic fragment of Sheraton plumped down amid battered -oddments in some dealer’s shop. - -Mr. William Bains scanned him, and grunted, noting the effeminate sag of -the shoulders and the glint of the patent-leather boots. There was a -certain insolent gentility in the dapper figure that made the man of the -brawny fore-arms feel an instinctive and workman-like contempt. - -“Can you inform me where a Mrs. Randle lives?” - -The sweep caught the white of Dr. Steel’s left eye, and jerked his -pipe-stem laconically at the next cottage down the lane. - -“No. 10.” - -“Obliged,” and Parker Steel passed on. - -Five minutes later the door of No. 10 Prospect Row was clapped -snappishly on the doctor’s heels. It opened again when the smart -physician had regained his carriage and driven off. A thin woman, with -an old cloth cap perched on her mud-colored hair, came out bare-elbowed. -Her face warned Mr. Bains of the fact that she was the possessor of a -grievance. - -“See the gent come along?” - -The sweep nodded. - -“Sort of kid-gloved gentleman that makes a respectable woman think of -this ’ere charity as an insult. Mrs. Gibbins sent him to see my Tom. I’m -thinking she might as well mind ’er business.” - -Mr. Bains cocked his pipe and chuckled. - -“Dr. Steel’s one of the smart ’uns,” he said. - -“Toff! I’d like to give ’im toffee! Comes into my ’ouse with ’is ’at on, -and looks round ’im as though ’e was afraid to touch the floor with ’is -boots. Sh’ld ’ear ’im talk, just as though ’is voice ’adn’t any stomach -in it. I told ’im we had Murchison, Mrs. Gibbins or no Mrs. Gibbins. ’E -looked me over as though I was a savage, and said, ‘Haw, yes, Dr. -Murchison ’as all the parish cases, I believe.’ ‘And a good job, sir,’ -says I. Lor’, I wouldn’t as much as scrub ’is dirty linen.” - -Mr. Bains fingered his chin and sucked peacefully at his pipe. - -“I likes brawn in a man,” he said, “and a big voice, and a bit of spark -in th’ eye.” - -“Don’t give me any of yer ‘trousers stretchers’ or yer fancy -weskits—Murchison’s my man.” - -“Grit, blessed grit to the bone of ’im.” - -“And a real gentleman. Takes ’is ’at off in a ’ouse. T’other chap ’ain’t -no manners.” - -It is a cheap age, and cheap sentiment satisfies the masses, a mere -matter of melodrama in which the villain is hissed and the “stage child” -applauded when she points to heaven and invokes “Gawd” through her -cockney nose. Sentiment in the more delicate phases may be either the -refinement of hypocrisy or the shining out of the godliness in man. The -trivial incidents of life may betray the true character more finely than -the throes of a moral crisis. The average male might have dropped Miss -Pretoria’s flowers round the nearest corner, or thrown them into his -study grate to wither amid cigar ends and burned matches. James -Murchison kept the flowers and gave them to his wife. - -“Put them in water, dear, for me.” - -“From a lady, sir?” and Catherine’s eyes searched the lines upon his -face. She was jealous for his health, but her eyes were smiling. Dearest -of all virtues in a woman are a brave cheerfulness and a tactful tongue. - -Her husband kissed her, and it was a lover’s kiss. - -“A thank-offering, dear, from the Bains child.” - -“How sweet! Somehow I always treasure a child’s gift; it seems so fresh -and real.” - -“Poor little beggar,” and he smiled as he spoke. “I wouldn’t have lost -that life, Kate, for a very great deal. It was something to feel that -fellow Bains’s hand-grip when I told him we had won.” - -Catherine was settling the flowers in a glass bowl. - -“It was just a bit of life, dear,” she said. - -“Yes, it is life that tells. I think I would rather have saved that -child, Kate, than have written the most brilliant book.” - -She turned to him and put her arms about his neck. - -“That is the true man in you,” and her eyes honored him. - -“You dear one.” - -“Kiss me.” - -Marriage had been no problem play for these two. - -Catherine lay thinking that night, with her hair in tawny waves upon the -pillow, waiting for her husband to come to bed. She was happier and less -troubled at heart than she had been for many weeks. The strain had -lessened for her husband with the summer, and he seemed his more breezy, -strenuous self, a great child with his children, a man who appeared to -have no dark corners in the house of life. Wilful optimist that she was, -she could not conceive it possible that a mere “inherited lust” could -bear down the man whose strength and honor were bound up for her in her -religion. Where great love exists, great faith lives also. Catherine was -too ready, perhaps, to forget her fears, to regard them as mere -thunder-clouds, black for the hour, but destitute of heavier dread. She -ascribed his momentary weakness to the brain strain of the winter’s -work. The words that had terrified her in Porteus Carmagee’s garden had -proved but a fantasy, for a trick of the heart had explained the -incident and given the denial to Mrs. Betty’s insinuations. The ordeal -need never be repeated, so she told herself. Murchison could be saved -from overwork. The assistant he had engaged was a youngster of tact and -education. - -Love will stand trustfully through the storm, under a tree, braving the -lightning; nor had Catherine realized how vivid his own frailty appeared -to the man she loved. He was sitting alone in his study while she -comforted herself with dreams in the room above, his head between his -hands, his heart heavy in him for the moment. An inherited habit is -never to be despised. The gods of old were prone to mortal weakness in -the flesh, and no man is so masterful that he can command his own -destiny unshaken. We are what the world and our ancestors have made us. -The individual hand is there to hold the tiller, but even a Ulysses must -meet the storm. - -Murchison turned his tired face towards the light, heaved back his -shoulders, and sighed like a man in pain. He rose, put out the lamp, -locked the study door, and taking his candle went up to his -dressing-room that looked out on the garden. The blind was up, the -window open, the darkness of space afire with many stars. He stood -awhile at the open window in deep thought, letting the night breeze play -upon his face. He was glad of his home life, glad that a woman’s arms -were waiting for him, ready to shelter him from himself. He thanked God, -as a strong man thanks God, for blessings given. The breath of his home -was sweet to him, its life full of tenderness and good. - -His wife’s bedroom had an air of delicacy and refinement with its -cherished antique furniture, its linen curtains flowered with red, the -paper and carpet a rich green. Candles in brass sticks were burning on -the dressing-table, where a silver toilet-set—brushes, mirror, combs, -and pin-boxes—recalled to the wife her marriage day. There were -books—red, green, and white—on a copper-bound book-shelf over the -mantel-piece. The room suggested that those who slept in it had kept the -romance of life untarnished and unbedraggled. There was no slovenly -realism to hint at apathy or the materialism of desire. - -“Have you been reading, dear?” - -“Yes, reading.” - -Murchison was not a man who could act what he did not feel. He looked at -his wife’s face on the pillow, and wondered at the beauty of her hair. - -“It is good to see you there, Kate,” he said. - -The unrestrainable wistfulness of his look made her arms flash out to -him. He knelt down beside the bed and let her fondle him with her hands. - -“You regret nothing, dear?” - -“Regret!” - -“It is always in my mind—this curse. I am not a coward, Kate, but I go -in deadly fear at times of my own flesh.” - -“Always—this!” - -“Would to God I could bear it all myself.” - -“Come,” and she hung over him; “I understand, I am not afraid. You must -rest; we will go away together to the cottage—a little honeymoon. You -are not yourself as yet. Oh, my beloved, I want you here, here—at my -heart!” - -Darkness enveloped them, and she pillowed her husband’s head upon her -shoulder. He heard her heart beating, heard the drawing of her breath. -In a little while he fell asleep, but Catherine lay awake for many -hours, her love hovering like some sacred flame of fire over the tired -man at her side. - - - - - CHAPTER X - - -A white-capped servant came running across Lombard Street from Mr. -Carmagee’s, and hailed Murchison’s chauffeur, who had just swung the car -to the edge of the footway outside the doctor’s house. The white -streamers of the maid’s apron were fluttering jauntily in the wind. Some -weeks ago the chauffeur had discovered the fact that the lawyer’s -parlor-maid had an attractive simper. - -“Good-day, miss; can I oblige a lady?” - -“Mr. Carmagee wants to know whether the doctor and the missus are going -to Marley Down this afternoon?” - -“Yes, straight away. I’m waiting for ’em to finish tea.” - -“You’re to step over to Mr. Carmagee’s garden door at once.” - -“Thank you. And who’s to mind the car?” - -“It won’t catch cold,” and the maid showed her dimples for a bachelor’s -benefit. - -The chauffeur crossed the road with her, and was met at the green gate -in the garden by Mr. Porteus himself. A hamper lay on the gravel-path at -the lawyer’s feet, with straw protruding from under the lid. Mr. -Carmagee twinkled, and gave the man a shilling. - -“Stow this in the car, Gage; you’ve room, I suppose.” - -“Plenty, sir.” - -“Don’t say anything about it to your master. Just a little surprise, a -good liver-tonic, Gage—see?” - -The man grinned, touched his cap, and, picking up the hamper, recrossed -the street. He packed Mr. Carmagee’s offering away with the light -luggage at the back of the car, and after grimacing at the maid, who was -still watching him from the garden door, busied himself with polishing -the lamps. - -“Good-bye, darling, good-bye. Be a good boy, Jack, and do what Mary -tells you.” - -Catherine was bending over her two children in the hall, a light dust -cloak round her, a white veil over her summer hat. Miss Gwen, looking a -little pensive and inclined to weep, hugged her mother with a pair of -very chubby arms. Master Jack was more militant, and inclined to insist -upon his rights. - -“Oh, I say, mother, I don’t call it fair!” - -“You shall come next week, dear.” - -“Gage says he’ll teach me to drive. I’ll come next week. You’ve promised -now—you know.” - -Catherine kissed him, and laughed like a young bride when her husband -came up and lifted the youngster off his feet. - -“Who wants to boss creation, eh?” - -Master John clapped his heels together. - -“It’s no fun with old Mary, father.” - -“You must learn to be a philosopher, my man.” - -“I’m going to buy a busting big pea-shooter at Smith’s,” quoth the -heckler, meaningly, as he regained the floor. - -Murchison caught his daughter up in his strong arms. - -“Good-bye, my Gwen—” - -“Dood-bye, father.” - -“No tears, little sunlight. What is it, a secret?—well.” - -The child was whispering in his ear. Murchison listened, fatherly -amusement shining in his eyes. - -“I put ’em in muvver’s bag.” - -“All right. I’ll see to it.” - -“They’re boofy; I tried one, jus’ one.” - -Murchison laughed, and hugged the child. - -“What a wicked fay it is! You shall come with us next time. We’ll have -tea in the woods, stir up ant-heaps, and play at Swiss Family Robinson. -Good-bye,” and he carried her with him to the door to take her child’s -kiss as the sunlight touched her hair. - -Summer on Marley Down was a pageant such as painter’s love. Heather -everywhere, lagoons of purple amid the rich green reefs of the rising -bracken. Scotch firs towering into mystery against the blue, roofing -magic aisles where shadows played on grass like velvet, bluff banks and -forest valleys, heather and whortleberry tangling the ground. In the -marshy hollows of the down the moss was as some rich carpet from the -Orient, gold, green, and bronze. Asphodel grew in these rank green -hollows, with the red whorls of the sundew, and the swinging sedge. -Everywhere a broad, breezy sky, brilliant with color above a brilliant -world. - -The palings of the cottage-garden glimmered white between the sombre -cypresses, and the dark swell of the fir-wood topped the red of the -tiled roof. This nook in Arcady had the charm of a surprise for -Murchison, for Catherine had made him promise that he would leave the -stewardship to her. She had spent many an hour over at Marley Down, and -her year’s allowance from her mother had gone in art fabrics, carpets, -and old furniture. Catherine had taken Gwen with her more than once, -having sworn the child to secrecy on these solemn motherly trifles, and -Gwen had hidden her bubbling enthusiasm even from her father. - -“Here we are! Is it not a corner of romance?” - -“The place looks lovely, dear.” - -“Wait!” and she seemed happily mysterious. - -“I can guess your magic. Carry the luggage in, Gage; Dr. Inglis may want -you for an hour or two at home.” - -He gave his hand to Catherine, and together they passed into the little -garden. Murchison looked about him like a man who had put the grim world -out of his heart. The peacefulness of the place seemed part of the -woodland and the sky. Purple clematis was in bloom, with a white rose -over the porch. The beds below the windows were fragrant with sweet -herbs, lavender and thyme, rosemary and sage. A crimson rambler blazed -up nearly to the overhanging eaves, and there were rows of lilies, milk -white, beneath the cypress-trees. - -Within, a woman’s careful and happy tenderness welcomed him everywhere. -A dozen nooks and corners betrayed where Catherine’s hands had been at -work. Flowered curtains at the casements; simple pottery, richly -colored, on the window shelves; his favorite books; a great lounge-chair -for him before an open window. The place was a dream cottage, brown -beamed, brown floored, its walls tinted with delicate greens and reds, -old panelling beside the red brick hearths, beauty and quaintness -everywhere, flowers in the garden, flowers in the quiet room. - -“What a haven of rest!” - -He stood in the little drawing-room, looking about him with an -expression of deep contentment on his face. Catherine knew that his -heart thanked her, and that her simple idyl was complete. - -He turned and put his arm across her shoulders. - -“You have worked hard, dear.” - -“Have I?” and she laughed and colored. - -“It is all good. I am wondering whether I deserve so much.” - -Her happy silence denied the thought. - -“Your spirit is in the place, Kate.” - -“My heart, perhaps,” she answered. - -He bent and kissed her, and drew from her with smiling mouth as they -heard the man Gage come plodding down the stairs. - -He stopped at the door and touched his cap. - -“All in, sir. I’ve put your bag in what the old lady told me was your -dressing-room.” - -“Thanks, Gage.” - -“Any message to Dr. Inglis, sir?” - -“Oh, ask him to call at Mrs. Purvis’s in Carter Street; I forgot to put -her on the list.” - -“Right, sir,” and they heard the clash of the garden gate; then the -panting of the car, and the plaintive wail of the “oil horse” as it got -in gear. - -“Out—old world,” and Murchison swept his wife towards the piano; “give -me a song, Kate.” - -“Now?” and her eyes were radiant. - -“Yes, I shall remember the first song you sing to me in this dear -place.” - -Catherine had gone to her room, when Murchison stumbled on the hamper -that Porteus Carmagee had given the man Gage to carry in the car. The -fellow had set it down in the little hall, between an oak settle and a -table that held a bowl of roses by the door. Murchison imagined that his -wife had been investing in china or antiques. A letter was tucked under -the cord, and, looking closer, he recognized his own name and the -lawyer’s scrawl, the “qualifications” added with a humorous flourish of -Mr. Carmagee’s pen. - -Murchison sat on the oak settle, opened the envelope, and drew out the -paper with its familiar crest. - - “MY DEAR FELLOW,—Being a hearty admirer of your wife’s - management of your health, I, a ridiculous bachelor, presume to - afflict you with medicine of my own, gratis. I send you half a - dozen bottles of Martinez’s 1887, as good a port as you will - find in any cellar. I know that you are an abstemious beggar, - but take the stuff for the tonic it is, and drink to an - ‘incomparable’ wife’s health. The wine has purpled me out of the - gray dumps on many an occasion. Not that you will need it, sir, - for such a disease. Chivalry forbid! Yours ever, - - “PORTEUS CARMAGEE.” - - “P. S.—Gage is smuggling this over for me in the car.” - -Murchison read the letter through as though this eccentric but lovable -gentleman had written to bully him on behalf of some injured client. Six -bottles of Martinez’s 1887, plumped by this dear old blunderer into -Kate’s haven of refuge! Had Murchison believed in the personal existence -of the devil, he would have imagined that the Spirit of Evil had -bewitched the innocent heart of Mr. Porteus Carmagee. Good God! what a -frail fool he was that such a thing should have the least significance -for him! James Murchison scared by a drug in a bottle! And yet the first -impulse that he had was to dash the hamper on the floor, and watch the -red juice dye the stones. - -He heard his wife singing in her room above, singing with that tender -yet subdued abandonment that goes with a happy heart. He heard the door -open, her footstep on the landing. - -“James, dear.” - -He started as though guilty, and crumpled the letter in his hand. - -“Yes.” - -“Would you like supper now, and a walk later? There will be a moon.” - -“Let us have supper,” he answered back. - -“I will come in a minute. Have you seen the sunset? It is grand over the -heath.” - -She went back into her bedroom, humming some old song, her very -happiness hurting the man’s heart. What was this lust, this appetite, -this thirst in the blood, that it should make him the creature of such a -chance? Had he not free will, the self-respecting strength of his own -manhood? Strange irony of life that six bottles of choice wine should -typify the father’s sins visited upon the children! A scientific -platitude! And yet the thought was pitiful to him, pitiful that the -spiritual beauty of a woman’s love could be challenged by such a -pathetic thing as this. He had grappled and thrown the passion time on -time, and yet it had slunk away to come grinning back to him with open -mouth and burning eyes. - -He was still sitting on the settle with the letter crumpled in his hand, -when Catherine called to him again from her bedroom. - -“Do look at the sky, dear, it is wonderful.” - -His wife’s innocent happiness stung him with its unconscious pathos. She -had conceived this Eden for him, and lo—the serpent was amid the -flowers her hands had gathered. He roused himself, picked up the hamper -by the cord, and carried it into the little dining-room beyond the hall. -Ignorance was bliss for her; knowledge would dash her joyous confidence -in a moment. There was no need for her to know; he felt sure of himself, -safe with her in such a place. Looking round him a moment, he pushed the -hamper under the deep window-seat, where it was hidden by the drapings. -Poor Porteus, how little he thought that an asp lurked under the leaves -of the vine! - -A full moon was rising in the east when husband and wife went out into -the garden. The glimmering witchery of the night bathed the world in -silent splendor. From the cottage the broad swell of the heathland -rolled back under the sky to where a forest of firs rose like distant -peaks against the moon. Mists, white and ghostly, were rising in the -meadows of the plain, vistas of woodland, vague and mysterious, shining -up through the gathering vapor. In the garden the scent of the lilies -mingled with the old world sweetness of the herbs. The flowers stood -white before the cypresses, and the dew was falling. - -Not a sound save the distant baying of a dog. Murchison opened the -little gate to the path that wound amid the gorse and heather. The -turmoil and clamor of the world seemed far from them under the moonlit -sky; the breath of the night was cool and fragrant. - -Catherine’s head was on her husband’s shoulder, his arm about her body. -She leaned her weight on him with the happy instinct of a woman, her -face white towards the moon, her eyes full of the light thereof. - -“Eight years,” she said, as though speaking her inmost thoughts. - -“Eight years!” and he echoed her. - -“Do you remember that night at Weybourne? It was just such a night as -this.” - -His arm tightened about her. - -“Memories are like books,” he said, “a few live in our hearts through -life, the rest, like the bills we pay, are read, and then forgotten.” - -“You were very nervous.” And she laughed, alluringly. - -“I can remember stammering.” - -“And how you held my wrist?” - -“Like that,” and he proved that he had not forgotten. - -They wandered on for a while in silence, looking towards the fir-woods -whose spires were touched by the light of the moon. - -“I hope the children are asleep.” - -“And that poor Mary has not been blinded by your son’s propensity for -blowing pease.” - -“Jack will be like you, dear.” - -“Poor child, he might do better.” - -He spoke lightly, caught up self-consciousness, and sighed. His wife’s -eyes looked swiftly at his face. - -“You feel that you can rest here, dear?” - -“With you, yes.” - -She felt the pressure of his hand, and saw his mouth harden, his brows -contract a little. The subject saddened him, brought back the -introspective mood, and recalled the darker past. Catherine broke from -it instinctively, knowing that it was poor comfort to let him brood. - -“To-morrow—” - -“What are your plans?” - -“Shall we walk to Farley church?” - -“Yes, I love the old place, the cedars and yews shading the graves. It -has repose—poetry.” - -His mind recoiled on happier things. Catherine felt it, and was -comforted. - -“I often went to Farley as a child.” - -“The memory suits you, dear. I can see a little, golden-headed woman -sitting in the sunlight in one of those black old pews.” - -“I was like our Gwen, but more noisy.” - -“Gwen cannot do better than repeat her mother.” - -The moon sailed high over Marley Down when husband and wife returned to -the cottage. The old village woman whom Catherine had hired had lit the -lamp in the small drawing-room, and the warm glow flooded through the -casement upon the flowers and the dew-drenched grass. Catherine wandered -to the piano, her husband lying in the chair before the open window. She -played and sang to him, the old songs she had sung when they had been -betrothed. - -She rose at last, and, bending over him, put her arms about his neck, -while his hands held hers. - -“I am going to bed.” - -“Dustman, eh?” - -“And you?” - -He looked through the window at the black sweep of the heath and the -stars above it. - -“I shall sit up awhile, dear, and do some work.” - -“Work, traitor!” - -He glanced up at her with a smile. - -“I brought a ledger over with me. No time like the sweet and idle -present. There are such things as bills, dear.” - -Catherine brushed the commonplace aside with a woman’s adroitness. - -“Well, an hour’s exile, and no more.” - -“I promise that.” - -“Good-night, till you come—” - -She kissed him, glided away, and went up to her room, humming one of -Schubert’s songs. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - -Murchison sat for a while before the open window after his wife had gone -to bed. He could hear her moving to and fro in the room above him, the -only sound in the silence of the night. He was at rest, and happy, her -very nearness filling him with a sense of peace and strength. The -tenderness of her love breathed in the air, and he still seemed to hear -her radiant singing. - -We mortals are often in greater peril of a fall when we trust in the -cheerful temerity of an imagined strength. To a man standing upon the -edge of a precipice the lands beneath seem faint and insignificant, and -yet but a depth of air lies between him and the plain. Our frailties may -seem pitiful, nay, impossible to us when we listen to noble music, or -watch the sunrise on the mountains. The man who is exalted in the spirit -lives in a clearer atmosphere, and wonders at the fog that may have -drifted round him yesterday. He may even laugh at the _alter ego_ framed -of clay, and ask whether this soft-bodied, cringing thing could ever -have answered to the name of “self.” - -Some such feeling of optimism took possession of Murchison that night. -The words of his wife’s songs were in his brain; he heard her moving in -the room above, and felt the dearness of her presence in the place. -Everywhere he beheld the work of her hands—the curtains at the windows, -the flowers in the bowls. Her photograph stood on the mantel-shelf, and -he rose and looked at it, smiling at the eyes that smiled at him. Could -he, the husband of such a woman, and the father of her children, be the -mere creature of the juice of the grape? Was he no stronger than some -sot at a street corner? He gazed at his own photograph that stood before -the mirror, gazed at it critically, as though studying a strange face. -The eyes looked straight at him, the mouth was firm, the jaw crossed by -a deep shadow that betrayed no degenerate sloping of the chin. Was this -the face of a man who was the victim of a lust? He smiled at the memory -of his weaker self as a man smiles at a rival whom he can magnanimously -pity. - -The pride of strength suggested the thought of proof. Old Porteus -Carmagee had sent him this choice wine, and was he afraid of six bottles -in a basket? Why not challenge this _alter ego_, this mean and -treacherous caricature of his manhood, and prove in the grapple that he -was the master of his earthly self? There was a combative stimulus in -the thought that appealed to a man who had been an athlete. It fired the -element of action in him, made him knit his muscles and expand his -chest. - -Murchison looked at himself steadily in the mirror, held up his hand, -and saw not the slightest tremor. He crossed the hall, entered the -dining-room, and dragged the hamper from under the window-seat with -something of the spirit of a Greek hero dragging some classic monster -from its lair. Coolly and without flurry he carried the thing into the -drawing-room and set it down on the little gate-legged table. He cut the -cord, raised the lid, and let the musty fragrance of the lawyer’s cellar -float out into the room. The simile of Pandora’s box did not occur to -him. He put the straw aside, and pulled out a cobwebbed bottle from its -case. His knife served him to break up the cork; he sniffed the wine’s -bouquet, and looked round him for a glass. - -He found one among Catherine’s curios, an old Venetian goblet of quaint -shape. Half filling it, he tossed Porteus Carmagee’s letter on to the -straw, and standing before his wife’s portrait, looked steadily into the -smiling eyes. - -“Kate, I drink to you. One glass to prove it, and the open bottle left -untouched.” - -Deliberately he raised the glass and drank, looking at his wife’s face -in its framing of silver on the mantel-shelf. - - * * * * * - -More than two hours had passed since she had left him, and Catherine was -lying awake, watching the moonlight glimmering on the moor. Her heart -was tranquil in her, her thoughts free from all unrest as she lay in the -oak bed, happily lethargic, waiting for her husband’s step upon the -stairs. The day had been very sweet to her, and there was no shadow -across the moon. She lay thinking of her children, and her childhood, -and of the near past, when she had first sung the songs that she had -sung to the man that night. - -The crash of broken glass and the sound of some heavy body falling -startled Catherine from her land of dreams. She sat up, listening, like -one roused from a first sleep. Murchison must have turned out the lamp -and then blundered against some piece of furniture in the dark. If it -were her treasured and much-sought china! She slipped out of bed, opened -the door, and went out on to the landing. - -“James, what is it?” - -The narrow hall lay dark below her, and she won no answer from her -husband. - -“Are you hurt, dear?” - -Still no reply; the door was shut. - -“James, what has happened?” - -She crept down the stairs, and stepped on the last step. A curious, -“gaggling” laugh came from the room across the hall. At the sound she -stiffened, one hand holding the bosom of her laced night-gear, the other -gripping the oak rail. A sudden blind dread smote her till she seemed -conscious of nothing save the dark. - -“James, are you coming?” - -Again she heard that mockery of a laugh, and a kind of senseless -jabbering like the babbling of a drunken man. A rush of anguish caught -her heart, the anguish of one who feels the horror of the stifling sea. -She tottered, groped her way back into her room, and sank down on the -bed in an agony of defeat. Was it for this that her love had spent -itself in all the tender planning of this little place? How had it -happened? Not with deceit! Even in her blindness she prayed to God that -he had not wounded her with willing hand. - -“Oh, God, not that, not that!” - -She rose, catching her breath in short, sharp spasms, shaking back the -hair from off her shoulders. The torture was too sharp with her for -tears. It was a wringing of the heart, a dashing of all devotion, a -falling away of happiness from beneath her feet! She stretched out her -arms in the dark like a woman who reaches out to a love just dead. - -Catherine turned, saw the empty bed, and the white face of the moon. The -memories of the evening rushed back on her, wistful and infinitely -tender. “No, no, no!” Her heart beat out the contradiction like a bell. -It was unbelievable, unimaginable, that he should have played the -hypocrite that night. They had spoken of the children, their children, -and would he have lied to her, knowing that this vile devil’s drug was -in the house? Her heart cried out against the thought. Her love came -forth like an angel with a burning sword. - -With white hands trembling in the moonlight, Catherine lit her candle, -slipped her bare feet into her shoes, and went down the stairs. The -inarticulate and pitiable mumbling still came from the little room. In -the hall she halted, irresolute, the candle wavering in her hand. The -shame of it, the pity of it! Could she go in and see the “animal” -stammering in triumph over the “man”? No, no, it would be desecration, -ignominy, an unhallowed wounding of the heart. He would sleep presently. -The madness would flicker down like fire and die. Yes, she would wait -and watch till he had fallen asleep. To see him in the throes of it, no, -she could not suffer that! - -With a dry sob in the throat, Catherine set the candle down on the -table, beside the bowl of roses that she had arranged but yesterday with -her own hands. How cold the house was, even for summer! She returned to -her bedroom, took down her dressing-gown from behind the door, and -wrapped it round her, thanking Heaven in her heart that she was alone -with her husband in the house. The village woman slept away, and came at -seven in the morning. She had all the night before her to recover her -husband from his shame. - -Going down to the hall again, she walked to and fro, listening from time -to time at the closed door. The restless babbling of the voice had -ceased. The fumes were dulling the wine fire in his brain. She prayed -fervently that he would fall asleep. - -An hour passed, and she heard no sound save the sighing of her own -breath. For a moment the pathos of it overcame her as she leaned against -the wall, the child in her crying out for comfort, for she felt alone in -the emptiness of the night. The weakness lasted but a second. She -grappled herself, opened the door noiselessly and looked in. - -The lamp was still burning in the room, its shade of crocus yellow -tempering the light into an atmosphere of mellow gold. On the -gate-legged table stood Porteus Carmagee’s ill-omened hamper, the lid -open, and straw scattered about the floor. Fragments of broken glass -glittered among the litter, with the twisted stem of the Venetian -goblet. An empty bottle had trackled its lees in a dark blot on the -green of the carpet. - -Catherine would not look at her husband for the moment. She was -conscious of a shrunken and huddled figure, a red and gaping face, the -reek of the wine, the heavy sighing of his breath. Her nerve had -returned to her with the opening of the closed door. Her heart knew but -one great yearning, the prayer that the downfall had not been -deliberately cruel. - -A sheet of note paper lay crumbled amid the straw. She stooped and -reached for it, and recognized the writing. It was Porteus Carmagee’s -half-jesting letter, and she learned the truth, how the fatal stuff had -come. - -“I know that you are an abstemious beggar, but take the stuff for the -tonic it is, and drink to an ‘incomparable’ wife’s health. . . . Gage is -smuggling this over for me in the car.” - -She stood holding the letter in her two hands, and looking at the -senseless figure on the floor. Love triumphed in that ordeal of the -night. There was nothing but pity and great tenderness in her eyes. - -“Thank God!” and she caught her breath; “thank God, you did not do this -wilfully! Oh, my beloved, if I had known!” - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - -The surest test of a man’s efficiency is to leave him in a responsible -post with nothing to trust to save his own skill and courage. Young -doctors, like raw soldiers, are prone to panic, and your theoretical -genius may bungle over the slitting of a whitlow, though he be the -possessor of numberless degrees. - -Mere book lore never instilled virility into a man, and Frederick -Inglis, B.A., A.M., B.Sc., D.Ph., gilded to the last button with the -cleverness of the schools, was an amiable fellow whose cultured and -finnicking exterior covered unhappy voids of self-distrust. It had been -very well for him so long as he could play with a few new drugs, look -quietly clever, and leave the grimness of the responsibility to -Murchison. Dr. Inglis had found private practice a pleasant pastime. He -had come from the laboratories full to the brim with the latest -scientific sensations, and a preconceived pity for the average sawbones -in the provinces. He boasted a brilliant air so long as he was second in -command. It was possible to pose behind the barrier of another man’s -strength. - -That same Saturday night Murchison’s highly educated assistant had been -dragged out of bed at two in the morning, and taken in a bumping -milk-cart to a farm some five miles north of Roxton. His youth had been -flouted on the very threshold by a stern, keen-eyed woman who had -expressed herself dissatisfied with the offer of a juvenile opinion. Dr. -Inglis had blushed, and rallied his dignity. Dr. Murchison had intrusted -the practice to him; what more could a mere farmer’s wife desire? - -Above, in a big bed, Dr. Inglis discovered a fat man writhing with what -appeared to be a prosaic and violent colic. A simple case, perhaps, to -the lay understanding, but abdominal diagnosis may be a nightmare to a -surgeon. It is like feeling for a pea through the thickness of a pillow. - -Two straight-backed, hard-faced, and very awesome ladies stood at the -bottom of the bed and watched Dr. Inglis with sceptical alertness. The -assistant fumbled, stammered, and looked hot. The women exchanged -glances. A man’s personal fitness is soon gauged in a sick-room. - -“Well, doctor, what’s your opinion?” - -The challenge was given with a tilt of the nose and a somewhat -suggestive sniff. - -“Abdominal colic, madam. The pain is often very violent.” - -“Ah, eh, and what may abdominal colic be due to?” - -Dr. Inglis bridled at the tone, and attempted the part of Zeus. - -“Many causes, very many causes. Mr. Baxter has never had such an attack -before, I presume.” - -“Never.” - -“Yes—how are you feeling, sir?” - -“Bad, mighty bad,” came the voice from the feather pillows. - -The two austere women seemed to grow taller and more aggressive. - -“Do you think you understand the case, doctor?” - -“Madam!” - -“I wish Dr. Murchison had come himself; my husband has such faith in -him.” - -Dr. Inglis grew hot with noble indignation. - -“Just as you please,” he said, with hauteur, yet looking awed by the -tall women beside the bed. “My qualifications are as good as any man’s -in Roxton.” - -The conceit failed before those two hard and Calvinistic faces. - -“I believe in experience, sir; no offence to you.” - -“Then you wish me to send for Dr. Murchison?” - -“I do.” - -And the theoretical youth experienced guilty relief despite the insult -to his age and dignity. - -Sunday morning came with a flood of gold over Marley Down. The greens -and purples were brilliant beyond belief; a blue haze covered the -distant hills; woodland and pasture glimmered in the valleys. The faint -chiming of the bells of Roxton stirred the air as Kate Murchison walked -the garden before the cottage, looking like one who had been awake all -night beside a sick-bed. Her face betrayed lines of exhaustion, a -dulling of the natural freshness, streaks of shadow under the eyes. She -had that half-blind expression, the expression of those whose thoughts -are engrossed by sorrow; the trick of seeing without comprehending the -significance of the things about her. - -She turned suddenly by the gate, and stood looking over the down. The -very brilliancy of the summer coloring almost hurt her tired eyes. A -familiar sound drowned the Roxton chiming as she listened, and brought a -sharp twinge of anxiety to her face. Rounding the pine woods the rakish -outline of her husband’s car showed up over the banks of gorse between -the cottage and the high-road. The machine came panting over the down, -leaving a drifting trail of dust to sully the sunlight. Catherine caught -her breath with impatient dread. This day of all days, when defeat was -heavy on her husband! Could they not let him rest? If these selfish sick -folk only knew! - -Dr. Inglis’s gold-rimmed pince-nez glittered nervously over the fence. -He was a spare, boyish-looking fellow, with twine-colored hair, weak -eyes, and a mouth that attempted resolute precision. Catherine hated him -for the moment as he lifted his hat, and opened the gate with a -deprecating and colorless smile. Dr. Inglis had the air of a young man -much worried, one whose self-esteem had been severely ruffled, and who -had been forbidden sleep and a hearty breakfast. - -“Good-morning. A mean thing, I’m sure, to bother Dr. Murchison, but -really—” - -Catherine met him, looking straight and stanch in contrast to the -theorist’s faded feebleness. - -“What is the matter?” - -“Mr. Baxter, of Boland’s Farm, is seriously ill. An obscure case. His -wife wishes—” - -Catherine foreshadowed what was to come. The assistant appeared to have -suffered at the hands of anxious and nagging relatives. - -“Well?” - -“A serious case, I’m afraid. I am sure Dr. Murchison would not wish me -to assume all the responsibility. The wife, Mrs. Baxter, is rather an -excitable woman—” - -His apologetics would have been amusing at any other season. Catherine -bit her lip and ignored the limp youth’s deprecating and sensitive -distress. - -“They wish to see my husband?” - -“Yes; I must suggest, Mrs. Murchison—” - -“I understand the matter perfectly. Dr. Murchison cannot come.” - -She was bold, nay, aggressive, and the theorist looked blank behind his -glasses. - -“Am I to infer—?” - -“Dr. Murchison is not well,” and she hesitated, groping fiercely for -excuses; “he has had—I think—some kind of ptomaine poisoning. Yes, he -is better now, and asleep. I cannot have him disturbed.” - -“Indeed! I am excessively sorry. May I—?” - -She saw the proposal quivering on his lips, and beat it back ere it was -uttered. - -“Thank you, no; you had better call in Dr. Hicks; he will advise you -temporarily. Dr. Murchison will be able to resume work, I hope, -to-morrow. If the case is very urgent—” - -Dr. Inglis tugged at his gloves. - -“I will send over word,” he said, dejectedly. - -“Thank you; you sympathize, I am sure.” - -“Of course.” And being a nice youth he showed his consideration by -retreating and buttoning his coat up over his burden of incompetence. - -The physical prostration of a strong man who has sinned against his body -is as nothing to the bitter humiliation of his soul. Ethical defeat is -the most poignant of all disasters. Like an athlete who has strained -heart and lungs only to be beaten, he feels that anguish of exhaustion, -that miserable sense of impotence, the conviction that his strength has -been of no avail. Spiritual defeat has its more subtle agonies. In some -such overwhelming of the soul the man may turn his face like Hezekiah to -the wall, and refuse to be comforted because of his own shame. - -To Catherine her husband’s awakening anguish had been pitiable in the -extreme. He had lain like one wounded to the death, refusing to be -comforted or to be assured of hope. Slowly, as she had sat by him and -held his hand, he had told her everything, blurting out the confession -with a sullen yet desperate self-hate. The very pathos of her trust in -him, the divine quickness in her to forgive, had been as girdles of -thorn about his body. What had he done to justify her love? Disgraced -and humiliated her in this haven of rest her hands had made for him! - -To appreciate to the full the irony of life, a man has but to be -unfortunate for—perhaps—three days. It was about four in the afternoon -when Catherine, sitting beside her husband’s bed, heard the unwelcome -panting of the car. The man Gage had driven fast from Boland’s Farm. He -had a letter from Dr. Inglis, an urgent message, so he had been told. - -Catherine met him at the gate, and took the letter to her husband. - -“A message, dear, from Dr. Inglis.” - -He reached for it with a hand that trembled, his eyes faltering from her -face. She sat down by the bed, watching him silently as he tore open the -envelope and read the letter. - - “DEAR MURCHISON,—Please come over at once, if possible. Hicks - has diagnosed acute internal strangulated hernia. He has been - called off to a midwifery case. The relatives are getting out of - hand. I think an immediate operation will be necessary. I have - been to Lombard Street, and got the instruments together. - - “INGLIS.” - -The jerky, straggling sentences betrayed the theorist’s loss of nerve -and self-control. It was evident that the gentleman with the gilded -degrees was in no enviable panic. - -“Well, dear?” - -She bent over him, and touched his forehead. - -“I shall have to go,” he said, sombrely. - -“Go, but you are not fit!” - -He sat up in bed, looked at her, and gave a wry and miserable smile. - -“If I had not been such an infernal fool! The last time, Kate, I swear!” - -She caught the letter and read it through. - -“Inglis is a miserable thing to lean on.” - -“Don’t blame the youngster. At least he is sober.” - -She winced, as though his self-condemnation hurt her, and surrendering -her fortitude of a sudden, broke out into tears. Murchison looked at her -helplessly, feeling like a man bound and chained by the shame of his own -manhood. He felt himself unworthy to touch her, too much humiliated even -to offer comfort. The very sincerity of his self-disgust drove him to -action. He sprang out of bed and began to dress. - -Catherine, still sobbing, went to the window and strove to overcome the -shuddering weakness that had seized her. Her husband’s determination -appeared to increase at the expense of her surrender. It was as though -they had exchanged moods in a moment, and that the wife’s tears had -given the man courage. - -“Kate.” - -She leaned against the window, and brushed her tears aside with her -hand. - -“Forgive me, dear. I was a fool, an accursed fool. Never again. Trust -me.” - -He touched her arm appealingly, like an awed lover who fears to offend. -Catherine turned her head and looked at him, her courage shining through -her tears. - -“Your words hurt me. You called yourself a drunkard. No, no, you are not -that. Oh, my beloved, I need you now—and you must go.” - -His arms were round her in an instant. - -“Wife, look up. God help me, I will conquer the curse! How can I fail, -with you?” - -“Never again?—swear it.” - -“Never. It was a trick of the brain, a damned piece of moral vanity. And -I am a man who advises others!” - -She turned, and, standing before the glass, pinned on her hat and threw -her dust cloak round her. - -“I will come with you.” - -“Where?” - -“Home, to the children,” and she gave a great sob. “Mrs. Graham can look -after the cottage. You will want me at home.” - -“Wife, I want you always.” - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - -It is the privilege of short-tempered women to wax testy under the touch -of trouble, and Mrs. Baxter, her hard face querulous and unlovely, stood -in the doorway of Boland’s Farm, watching the road for the flash of the -doctor’s lamps. A couple of cypress-trees, dead and brown towards the -house, built a deep porch above the door. Beyond the white palings of -the garden the broad roof of a barn swept up against the sombre azure of -the summer night; and the blackness of the byres and outhouses -contrasted with the lawn that was lit by the lighted windows. To the -west stood four great Lombardy poplars whose leaves made the night -breeze seem restless about the house. - -The austere figure of her sister joined itself to Mrs. Baxter’s under -the cypresses. They talked together in undertones as they watched the -road, their voices harsh and unmusical even in an attempted whisper. -Mrs. Baxter and Miss Harriet Season were tall and sinewy women, narrow -of face and mind, hard in eye and body, their sense of sex reduced to -insignificance. The unfortunate Inglis, who sat pulling at his -watch-chain beside Mr. Thomas Baxter’s bed, had found their hawk faces -too keen and uncompromising for his self-esteem. They had scented out -his incompetence as two old crows will scent out carrion. - -“Drat the man, is he never coming!” - -Mrs. Baxter smoothed her dress, and stood listening irritably, an -angular and inelegant silhouette against the lamp-light. - -“Just hear Tom groaning.” - -“And that poor ninny sitting by the bed and trying to look wise. Ain’t -that a light over the willows? I shall lose my temper if it ain’t -Murchison.” - -Miss Harriet tilted her head like an attentive parrot. - -“I can hear the thing puffing.” - -“Just keep quiet—can’t you?” - -“Lor, Mary, you are peevish!” - -“How can I listen with all your chattering?” - -Murchison, depressed and out of heart, met these two ladies at the -farm-house door. They greeted him with no relieved and hysterical -profuseness. Mrs. Baxter extended a red-knuckled hand, looking like a -woman ready to express a grievance. - -“Glad you’ve come at last, doctor; we’ve been waiting long enough.” - -They ushered Murchison into the parlor, a room that cultivated ugliness -from the wool-work mantel-cover to the red and yellow rug before the -door. Murchison, like most professional men, had become accustomed to -the impertinent petulance of sundry middle-class patients. Unstrung and -inwardly humiliated as he was that night, the austere woman’s tartness -roused his impatience. - -“My car broke down on the way. How is Mr. Baxter?” and he pulled off his -gloves. - -“Bad, sir, sorry to say. I can’t think, doctor, how you could send that -young chap over here.” - -“Dr. Inglis?” - -“He don’t know his business; we hadn’t any faith in him from the minute -he entered the door.” - -“Dr. Inglis is perfectly competent to represent me when I am away from -Roxton.” - -“Indeed, doctor, I beg to differ.” - -Mrs. Baxter’s grieved contempt suggested that Murchison had no Christian -right to rest or eat when duty called him. Had the lady been less -selfish and aggressive she might have been struck by the man’s tired -eyes and nervous, irritable manner. But Mrs. Baxter was one of those -crude and complacent people who never consider the sensitive -complexities of others. - -“I will see your husband at once.” - -“I hope you’re not going to operate, doctor.” - -Murchison’s face betrayed his irritation as he moved towards the door. - -“My dear madam, do you wish me to attend your husband, or do you not?” - -The bony woman tilted her chin. - -“I don’t hold with people being cut about with knives.” - -Ignorance when insolent is doubly exasperating, and Murchison was in no -mood for an argument. - -“Mrs. Baxter, from what Dr. Hicks has said, your husband will die unless -operated on immediately.” - -The farmer’s wife shrugged, and pressed her lips together. - -“Very well, doctor, have your own way.” - -“If I am to attend your husband you must trust in my opinion.” - -“Oh—of course. Do what you think proper, sir. I know we don’t signify.” - -Murchison abandoned Mrs. Baxter to her prejudices, and climbed the -stairs to the bedroom, where Dr. Inglis dabbled scalpels and artery -forceps in surgical trays. The assistant’s thin face welcomed his -superior with a worried yet grateful smile. No heroine of romance had -listened more eagerly for the sound of her lover’s gallop than had Dr. -Inglis for the panting of Murchison’s car. - -On the bed with its white chintz valance and side curtains lay the -farmer, skin ashy, eyes sunken, the typical facies of acute abdominal -obstruction. A sickly stench rose from a basin full of brown vomit -beside the bed. The man hiccoughed and groaned as he breathed, each -spasm of the diaphragm drawing a quivering gulp of pain. - -Murchison, his eyes noting each significant detail, seated himself on -the edge of the bed. He had hoped that Inglis might have been mistaken, -and that he should find the case less grave than Dr. Hicks had -suggested. Murchison dreaded the thought of an operation, even as a -tired man dreads the duty he cannot justify. He felt unequal to the -nerve strain that the ordeal demanded, for his hand was not the steady -hand of the master for the night. Slowly and with the uttermost care he -examined the man, realizing with each sign and symptom that Hicks’s -diagnosis appeared too true. There was no escaping from the gravity of -the crisis. Unless relieved, Thomas Baxter would surely die. - -Murchison rose with a tired sigh, and pressing his eyes for a moment -with the fingers of his right hand, went to the table where Inglis had -been arranging the instruments and dressings. - -“You have anæsthetics?” - -“Yes. Are you going to operate?” - -“Yes, I must. It is our only chance.” - -“And the bed, it is a regular feather pit.” - -“We have to put up with these things in the country. I have performed -tracheotomy with a pair of scissors and a hair-pin.” - -Inglis had faith enough in his chief’s resources. True, Murchison looked -fagged and out of fettle, yet the theorist little suspected how greatly -the elder man dreaded what was before him. Poor Porteus Carmagee’s port -had worked havoc with that delicate marvel, the brain of the scientific -age. Murchison had sustained a moral shock, and he was still tremulous -with humiliation and remorse. One of the most trying ordeals of surgery -lay before him, with every disadvantage to test his skill. A weaker man -might have temporized, or played the traitor by surrendering to nature. -Murchison’s conscience was too strong to suffer him to shirk his duty. - -He crossed the room to the bed, and bent over the farmer. - -“Mr. Baxter, you are very ill; we must give you chloroform.” - -The man’s sunken eyes looked up pathetically into Murchison’s face. - -“Oh, dear Lord, doctor, anything; I can’t stand the gripe of it much -longer.” - -“You understand that I am going to operate on you?” - -“All right, sir, do just what you think proper.” - -In a few minutes the instrument table, with a powerful electric -surgical-lamp, had been brought near the bed. Murchison had taken off -his coat, tied on an apron, and was soaking his hands in perchloride of -mercury. Inglis had the chloroform mask over the farmer’s face. The man -was weak with the anguish he had suffered, and took the anæsthetic -without a struggle. Soon came the twitching of the limbs and the -incoherent babbling as the vapor took effect. Murchison gave a rapid -glance at the instrument table to see that everything he needed was to -hand. Then he bared the farmer’s body, packed it round with towels, and -began to scrub and cleanse the skin. - -“He’s nearly under, sir.” - -“Good.” - -Murchison felt Baxter’s pulse, and frowned. - -“We must waste no time,” he remarked, setting back his shoulders. - -“The pupil reflex has gone.” - -“Keep him as lightly under as you can.” - -There was the glimmer of a knife, and a long streaking of the skin with -red. Murchison worked rapidly, spreading the lips of the wound with the -fingers of his left hand while he plied the knife. The patient’s -stertorous breathing seemed to fill the room. Murchison swabbed the -wound briskly, and worked on with grim and quiet patience. - -Soon half a dozen artery forceps were dangling about the wound. -Murchison was bending over the farmer, insinuating his hand into the -abdominal cavity. Inglis glanced at him with a worried air. - -“Can you feel anything, sir?” - -“Not yet.” - -“I don’t like the pulse.” - -“We must risk it; watch the breathing.” - -Murchison’s forehead had become full of lines. His face was the face of -a man whose intelligence is strained to the utmost pitch of -sensitiveness. The ordeal of touch, the education of four finger-tips, -stood between failure and success. - -Inglis shot a questioning glance at his chief’s face. - -“Found anything?” - -“No. I must enlarge the wound.” - -The knife went to work again, with swabs and artery forceps to choke the -blood flow. Murchison was sweating as though he had run half a mile -under a July sun. There was an impatient twitching of the muscles of his -face. He breathed fast and deeply, like a man whose staying power is -being taxed. - -“Confound the man’s fat!” - -Inglis smiled feebly but sympathetically. - -“Not an easy case.” - -“Wait. No, I thought I had something. Look after the pulse.” - -The strain was beginning to tell on Murchison after the overthrow of the -previous night. He looked jaded, pale, and impatient. The reek of the -anæsthetic made the blood buzz in his temples. At such a time a surgeon -needs superhuman nerve, that iron patience that is never flustered. - -Minutes passed, and the skilled fingers were still baffled. Murchison -straightened his back with a kind of groan. - -“Wipe my forehead,” he said, curtly. - -Inglis leaned forward, and wiped the sweat away with a napkin. - -“Thanks,” and he went to work again, yet with a hand that trembled. That -supreme self-control had deserted him for the moment. He seemed feverish -and spasmodic, out of temper with the difficulties of the case. - -“The devil take it! Ah—at last.” - -He drew a relieved breath, his eyes brightening, his face clearing a -little. The deft fingers had succeeded, and swabs and sponges were soon -at work. Sweat dropped from his forehead into the wound, but Murchison -did not heed it in his strained intentness. - -“Pass me some sponges. Thanks. Count for me.” - -More minutes passed before Murchison lifted his head with a great sigh -of relief. - -“Thank God, that’s over.” - -“Shall I stop the chloroform?” - -“No, keep it on a little longer. How many sponges were there? Six? One, -two, three, four, five, and the last. Now for the ligatures,” and he -handled the threads with quivering fingers. - -Inglis was feeling the man’s pulse. - -“He won’t stand much more, Murchison.” - -“All right, you can stop.” - -Scarcely had the concentration of his mind force relaxed for him than -Murchison felt dizzy in the head, and saw a luminous fog before his -eyes. Sweat ran from him; the room seemed saturated with the reek of -chloroform. The reaction rushed on him with a feeling of nausea and a -great sense of faintness at the heart. Bandage in hand, he swayed back, -collapsed into a chair, and bent his head down between his knees. - -A decanter of brandy stood on the dressing-table. Inglis, not a little -scared, darted for it, and poured out a heavy dose into a tumbler. - -“What’s up, Murchison? Here, drink this down. Baxter’s all right for the -moment.” - -Murchison lifted a gray face from between his hands to the light. - -“Thanks, Inglis, I feel done up. Don’t bother about me. I shall be right -again in a moment.” - -He put the brandy aside, and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his -shirt. Inglis was completing the bandaging of the wound that Murchison -had left unfinished. The farmer was breathing heavily, a streak of foam -blubbering at his blue and swollen lips. - -“You had better turn home, sir, I can manage now.” - -Murchison rose wearily and went to wash his hands. - -“You must be fagged, Inglis,” he retorted. - -“Not a bit of it,” and the theorist displayed more courage now that the -responsibility was on other shoulders. - -“You might stay for an hour or two. I left word in Roxton for Nurse -Sprange to come out. You must put up with the old ladies’ tongues.” - -The assistant frowned slightly as he recollected Mrs. Baxter and her -sister. - -“You will see them, Murchison, before you go?” - -“Yes, of course.” - -The two shallow-chested women were waiting for news in the hideous -parlor. Even Mrs. Baxter’s stupidity could not ignore the look of -distress on Murchison’s face. By the time the doctors had taken, she -guessed that an operation had been performed, and by Murchison’s manner -that it had not proved successful. - -“Well, doctor, bad news, I suppose?” - -Mrs. Baxter was more ready to quarrel than to weep. - -“The operation has been perfectly satisfactory.” - -“Indeed!” - -“Your husband is still in very grave danger, but I see no reason why he -should not recover.” - -Murchison picked his gloves out of his hat. An expressive glance passed -between Mrs. Baxter and her sister. - -“You’re not going, doctor?” - -“Yes, Dr. Inglis remains in charge. One of the Roxton nurses will be -here any moment.” - -The farmer’s wife betrayed her indignation. - -“What, that ninny! He ain’t fit to doctor a cat. I tell you, Dr. -Murchison, I don’t want him in my house.” The man’s eyes flashed in his -tired face. The woman’s impertinence was insufferable. - -“Really, madam, Dr. Inglis is perfectly competent to be left in charge. -I shall see your husband early to-morrow.” - -Mrs. Baxter sniffed. - -“Well, I call it an insult!” - -“Call it what you will, my dear woman, but I need rest—like other -people, and I must go.” - -And go he did, leaving two sour and quarrelsome faces at the farm-house -door. - -At Lombard Street, Catherine was waiting for her husband after putting -Gwen and Jack to bed. She rose anxiously at the sound of the car, and -met Murchison in the hall. His face shocked her even in the shaded -lamplight. He looked like a man who had come through some great travail. - -“James, dear—how—” - -“I’m through with it, thank God!” - -“Safely?” - -“Yes.” - -“Well done—well done. I know how you have suffered.” - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - -Murchison slept the sleep of the just that night, to wake to the golden -stillness of a July day. With the return of consciousness came a feeling -of profound relief as he remembered the ordeal of the preceding evening. -Catherine had risen while he was yet asleep, and was standing before the -pier-glass combing her lambent hair. Murchison’s eyes had opened to all -the familiar beauty of the room, the delicate touches of color, the -books and pictures, the sunlight shining upon the curtains with their -simple stencilling of scarlet tulips. He lay still awhile, watching his -wife, and the tremulous glimmer of the golden threads tossed from the -sweeping comb. Catherine had been spared the lot of many of the married, -that casual kindness, that familiar monotony that smothers all romance. -Love is often blessed when gleaning the fields of sorrow, and the pathos -of life is an inspiration towards poetry. Those who suffer most are the -children of the spirit. Life never loses its mystery for the idealist, -while your _épicier_ has no stronger joy than the purchasing of a -red-wheeled gig or the building of some abominable and inflamed-face -villa. - -Murchison rose, kissed his wife, and dressed to the sound of his -children laughing and romping in the nursery. There was something -invigorating to him in their noisy prattle, a breath of the east wind, a -glimpse of the sea. On the landing he met Miss Gwen running to him with -open arms. Murchison seized on the child, and kissed her, as though God -had given him a pledge of honor. The clean home-life seemed very sweet -to him that morning. He felt strong and sure again, ready to retrieve -the unhappiness of yesterday. - -The day’s first rebuff met him at the breakfast-table when a rough cart -stopped outside the house, and the maid brought him a dirty note from -Boland’s Farm, with “Immediate” scrawled across the corner of the -envelope. Instinct warned Murchison that it contained bad news, and -Catherine saw the clouding of her husband’s face as he read the letter. - -“Mr. Baxter is worse, dear?” - -“Yes,” and he passed her the note; “it is the species of case that -breeds bad feeling.” - -Catherine flushed angrily as she read the letter. It came from Mrs. -Baxter, and was the impertinent production of a vulgar and half-educated -mind. - -“What an insufferable person. And this is gratitude! Shall you go, -dear?” - -“I must. They refuse to see Inglis.” - -Catherine’s eyes glistened as she returned the letter. - -“Professional men have much to bear,” she said. - -“Chiefly the criticism of ignorant people.” - -“And the ingratitude!” - -Murchison smiled. - -“I have found the good to outweigh the bad,” he said; “but these cases -sadden one.” - -The hours had passed stormily at Boland’s Farm. There had been a brisk -battle between Mrs. Baxter and the nurse, before the latter lady had -spent sixty minutes under the farm-house roof, a battle that had -originated in the simple brewing of a basin of beef-tea. The nurse and -the housewife advocated different methods, and the trivial variation had -been sufficient to set the women quarrelling. Dr. Inglis had intervened -in the middle of the discussion, only to divert Mrs. Baxter’s anger to -himself. She had assured the theorist bluntly that they needed him no -further, and had requested him to inform Dr. Murchison that the Baxters, -of Boland’s Farm, were not to be insulted by being served by an -assistant. Despite the energy of his wife’s tongue, Thomas Baxter’s -condition had grown markedly worse. The nurse and the two shrews had -watched by him through the night, their pitiable peevishness unmoved by -the sick man’s peril. - -At seven o’clock Nurse Sprange had favored Mrs. Baxter with her opinion. - -“Worse, of course!” the housewife had exclaimed; “what can any Christian -creature expect after the way they hacked the poor soul about?” - -The nurse had ruffled up in defence of the profession. - -“You had better send at once for Dr. Murchison.” - -“I should think we had. The lad can drive over in the milk-cart. -Murchison did the thing; he’d better mend it, if he can.” - -Murchison drove through the July fields where the corn was rustling for -the harvest. The cottage gardens were full of flowers, sweet-pease -a-flutter in the sun, the borders packed with scent and color. On the -river’s bank the willows drooped lazily, and the meadows had been shorn -of their fragrant hay. To the south the pine woods of Marley Down -touched the azure of the sky. - -His welcome at Boland’s Farm was neither cordial nor inspiring. -Murchison had expected sour faces, and sour and sinister they were. Mrs. -Baxter was a cynic by choice, one of those women who count their change -carefully to the last farthing as though forever expecting to be -cheated. Her manner towards Murchison was abrupt and aggressive. She -bore herself towards him with a threatening dourness, as though she held -him responsible for her husband’s critical condition. - -“I am sorry to hear Mr. Baxter is no better.” - -The lady looked supremely sapient, as though the brilliance of her -genius had foreshadowed the event. - -“I think I told you, doctor, that I don’t hold with all this operating.” - -“I am sorry that we disagree.” - -“Perhaps you will step up-stairs, doctor, and just see Mr. Baxter for -yourself.” - -Madam’s presence was not enthralling, and Murchison escaped from her -with relief. The ugly parlor, with its texts and its piety, seemed part -and parcel of the world to which farmer Baxter’s wife belonged. But sick -men cannot be responsible for their wives, and Murchison knew that Tom -Baxter was more sinned against than sinning. - -Nurse Sprange was sitting by the patient’s bed, looking limp and tired, -as though her patience had been torn to tatters by Mrs. Baxter’s -restless temper. She rose as Murchison entered, and drew back the -curtains to let more light into the room. Murchison nodded to her, and -took the chair that she had left. The farmer was lying very still and -straight, his eyes half closed, his breathing shallow, as though any -expansion of the chest gave him acute pain. - -“Well, Baxter, how do you feel?” - -The man turned his head feebly. - -“Ay, doctor, not mighty grand.” - -“Any pain now?” - -“Pain, sir, plenty; not like the gripe, but just as if I had a lot of -weed-killer sluicing about inside of me.” - -“Ah! Any tenderness?” - -The farmer winced under Murchison’s hand. - -“Bless you, doctor, it be damned sore!” - -“Where?” - -“All over. What d’you think of me, sir? I guess I’m pretty bad.” - -The man’s eyes were searching Murchison’s face. He had been a fat and -hearty liver, a full-blooded man who had loved life, where his wife was -not, and was loath to leave it. There was something pathetic in his -almost bovine dread, as though like one of his own oxen he had an -instinct of the end. Murchison pitied him. He had seen many such men -die, some like frightened animals, others sullen and sturdy against -their doom. - -“You must keep up your pluck, Baxter,” he said. - -“I know, sir, but—” - -“My dear fellow, you are very bad, it is no use shirking it. I hope yet -to see you recover.” - -“All right, doctor, you’ve done your best,” and he turned his face away -with a groan of despair. - -Murchison took the nurse out with him to the head of the stairs, and -questioned her as to any symptoms she had observed during the night. Her -evidence only tended to strengthen the gloomy prognosis he had already -made. Nothing remained for him but to consider Mrs. Baxter’s unsensitive -soul. - -The lady did not weep. On the contrary, she displayed gathering -resentment, the prejudice of an inferior nature, and gave Murchison the -benefit of her free opinion. - -“I may as well tell you, doctor, that I’m not satisfied. If my Tom had -had proper attention from the first—” - -“Well?” - -“You wouldn’t have had to use that there knife. And it’s my opinion, -sir, that you’ve done more harm than good.” - -Murchison’s patience was being severely tested. - -“I don’t think you are quite yourself, Mrs. Baxter,” he remarked. - -“Not myself, indeed!” - -“I cannot hold you responsible for what you are saying.” - -The suggestion of any hysterical weakness on her part offended the lady -more than her husband’s probable decease. - -“Look here, doctor, I’m no fool, and I tell you you’ve done your -business badly.” - -“My dear woman, this is absolutely unwarranted.” - -“I beg to differ, sir, and—” - -Murchison prevented the imminent insult. - -“If you care to place the case in other hands, by all means do so.” - -“I shall send for Dr. Steel.” - -“As you please.” - -“And don’t you be afraid of getting your money.” - -“That is a secondary consideration.” - -“Oh, I guess not, operations don’t cost twopence-halfpenny. I’ll send -for Steel at once.” - -Murchison took his hat and gloves. - -“Then, Mrs. Baxter, I had better wish you good-morning?” - -And being too much of a philosopher to accuse the lady of ingratitude, -he left her in possession of her prejudices. - -It had been the season of garden-fêtes at Roxton, when the gracious -gowns of the mesdames and demoiselles glorified the sleek lawns and -herb-scented gardens of the old town. Gay colors and piquant hats were -in July flower, save for the few sober weeds who put forth no gaudy -corolla to attract the winged messengers of love. Mrs. Betty had paraded -the terraces and yew walks in dove-colored silk, in crimson, and in -lilac. Her successive sunshades were as so many royal flowers that came -as by magic from the house of glass. She was an æsthetic spirit, and -loved beauty, particularly when the picture was painted upon the surface -of her own pier-glass. - -Yet, delectable as she was with her pale and sinuous glamour, Mrs. Betty -had many rebuffs to remember within the sound of St. Antonia’s bells. -Dull, domesticated ladies in a country town do not embrace with -enthusiasm a young and fascinating woman who has a habit of drawing the -men about her. Mrs. Betty was regarded as a dangerous person, a species -of Circe who looked sidelong into the faces of respectable married men, -and possessed a mother-wit and a vivacity that made her seem like -sparkling wine beside the “domestic ditch-water” she abhorred. - -Catherine Murchison succeeded with her sister-women where Betty Steel -failed utterly. There was a frankness, an absolute lack of the guile of -the Cleopatra, about her that set jealous matrons at their ease. She was -so notoriously devoted to her own husband and her home that the -respectable flock welcomed her with pleasant bleatings. It was this very -popularity of hers that impressed itself on the social pageantries of -Roxton. The quick-eyed Betty saw her rival receive the smiles of the -feminine community, while she herself was favored with polite distrust. -Catherine Murchison was considered orthodox, and to be orthodox is the -first proof of gentility among genteel people. Mrs. Steel might be -stigmatized as something of a social heretic. And women, being the most -outrageous Tories in their heart of hearts, dreaded the fascinating and -glib-tongued Socialist who would perhaps reform the marriage laws into -free love. - -Hence, through all the galaxy of the Roxton garden-parties, Parker -Steel’s wife had accumulated many incidental grievances against her -rival. Women are sensitive beings, so sensitive that their feelings may -be diffused into a smart gown or a Paris hat. The old battle-fire burned -in Mrs. Betty’s Circassian eyes. She was amassing her grievances, -slowly, surely, and with that curious secretiveness that has often -characterized the feminine heart. - -“Thomas Baxter, of Boland’s Farm, is dead.” - -Parker Steel whisked his serviette over his knees, and looked with a -peculiar glint of the eye at his wife in her orange-silk tea-gown. - -“Dead, no!” - -“Dead as Marley.” - -“But they only turned Murchison out yesterday.” - -“Exactly. And the dear wife is in the most militant of tempers, the -Puritanical old fraud.” - -Betty Steel’s olive skin had flushed. She was breathing deeply, and her -glance had a significant and inspired glitter. - -“Parker.” - -“Well?” - -“What else?” - -The spruce physician showed his teeth. - -“You expect more?” - -“Yes, you are teasing me, keeping back some delicate morsel. Has -Murchison blundered?” - -“The wish seems mother to the thought.” - -“Perhaps.” - -“Mrs. Baxter has demanded a post-mortem examination. I am to perform -it.” - -His wife’s lips parted, and closed again into a hard line. She looked -wickedly handsome in her yellow gown. - -“I shall take Brimley, of Cossington, with me.” - -“Good. You must have a second opinion, and Brimley does not love the -six-footer. What do you think, Parker?—tell me frankly.” - -The doctor wiped his mustache, took up his sherry glass and sipped the -wine. - -“Can’t say—yet,” he answered. - -“But supposing—” - -“Well, what am I to suppose?” - -“That Murchison blundered badly.” - -Dr. Steel meditated an instant. - -“Professional etiquette”—he began. - -Mrs. Betty’s eyes flashed. - -“Professional nonsense! If—Parker, you must not lose a possible -chance.” - -Her husband regarded her with amused interest. - -“You would strike your little Italian stiletto into Murchison’s -reputation,” he said. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - -There is little that is beautiful in death, save, perhaps, in the faces -of children, and those taken in the heyday of their youth. As in life -the majority of mortals are ugly and grotesque, so in death the body -grows in repulsiveness as it nears the grave. The lily corpse with the -angelic smile is rarely seen, save perhaps by irresponsible poets. -Blotched and stiff, shrunken or inflated, the nameless thing welcomes -putrefaction and decay. Beauty of outline is lost to the limbs, the -bones show at the joints, the muscles stand out in stiff and unnatural -relief. Nothing but the glamour of sentiment preserves this ruined -tabernacle of the flesh from being designated as a “carcass.” - -At Boland’s Farm the house had that sickly and indescribable smell of -death. Farmer Baxter’s bullocks grazed peacefully in the great -fourteen-acre lot to the east of the garden; the hens clucked and -scratched in the rickyard; the pigs sucked and paddled in the swill. The -laborers were at work as though their master was still alive to curse -them across fields and hedgerows. The soil pays no heed to death; it is -a natural occurrence; only we human beings elevate it into an incident -of singularity and note. The farm-hands who passed through the yard cast -curious and awed looks at the darkened windows of the house. Mrs. Baxter -had given them their orders, and they knew there would be no shirking -where that lady was concerned. - -A couple of traps were standing before the garden gate, and in the -death-chamber two intent figures bent over the bed that had been drawn -close to the open window. The sun shone upon the body, a mere mountain -of flesh, loathsome, gaping, flatulent, lying naked from loins to chin. -In death this carcass seemed to dishonor all the higher aspirations of -the race. A myriad organisms were usurping the tissues that had worked -the will of what men call “the soul.” - -Dr. Brimley, of Cossington, a little, spectacled cherub of a man, held -back the yellow flaps of fat-laden skin while his confrère groped and -delved within the cavity. There was a wrinkle of disgust about Parker -Steel’s sharp mouth. He had never vanquished that loathing of contact -with the nauseous slime of death. The cold and succulent smoothness of -the inert tissues repelled his cultured instincts. Yet even the -superfine sneer vanished from about his nostrils as he drew out a black -and oozing object from the dead man’s body. - -“Good God, Brimley, look at this!” - -The spectacled cherub peered at it, puckered up his lips and gave a -whistle. - -“A sponge!” - -“Nice mess, eh?” - -“Relieved that I haven’t the responsibility.” - -Steel’s delicate hands were at work again. A sharp exclamation of -surprise escaped him as he drew out a pair of artery forceps, and held -them up to Brimley’s gaze. - -“This is a pretty business!” - -Dr. Brimley’s eyes seemed to enlarge behind his spectacles. - -“Confoundedly unpleasant for the operator. The man must have lost his -head.” - -“Put your hand in here,” and Parker Steel guided his confrère’s fingers -into the cavity, “tell me what you feel.” - -Brimley groped a moment, and then elevated his eyebrows. - -“Good Lord!—what was Murchison at? A rent in the bowel three inches -long!” - -“We had better have a look at it.” - -And the evidence of the sense of vision confirmed the evidence of the -sense of touch. - -Both men perched themselves on the bed, and looked questioningly into -each other’s eyes. Success demands the survival of the fittest, and in -the scramble for gold and reputation men may ignore generosity for -egotistical and self-serving cant. Parker Steel did not determine to act -against his rival, without a struggle. He remembered his wife’s words, -and they decided him. - -“What are you going to do?” - -Parker Steel looked Dr. Brimley straight in the face. - -“There is only one thing to be done,” he retorted. - -“Well, sir, well?” - -“I have no personal grudge against Murchison, but before God, Brimley, I -can’t forgive him this abominable bungling. Professional feeling or no, -I can’t stretch my conscience to such a lie.” - -Dr. Brimley stared and nodded. He was somewhat impressed by Steel’s -cultured indignation, a professional Brutus waxing public-spirited over -Cæsar’s body. Moreover, he was no friend of Murchison’s, and was -secretly pleased to hear another man assume the moral responsibility of -injuring his reputation. - -“So you will tell the old lady?” - -“I take it to be a matter of duty.” - -“Quite so; I agree with you, Steel. But it will about smash Murchison.” - -Parker Steel moved to the wash-stand and began to rinse his hands. - -“I cannot see how I can give a death certificate,” he said; “the man -must have been drunk. It is a case for the coroner.” - -Dr. Brimley puckered his chubby mouth and whistled. - -“There is no other conclusion to accept,” he answered. - -Mrs. Baxter was awaiting the two gentlemen in the darkened parlor, -dressed in her black silk Sabbath gown. She had a photograph-album on -her knee, and was chastening her grief by referring to the faded -pictures of the past. Each photograph stood for a season in the late -farmer’s life. Tom Baxter as a fat and plethoric-looking youth of -twenty, in a braided coat and baggy trousers, one hand on a card-board -sundial, the other stuffed into a side-pocket. Tom Baxter, ten years -later, in his Yeomanry uniform, mustachioed, tight-thighed, nursing a -carbine, with an air of assertive self-satisfaction. Tom Baxter and his -bride awkwardly linked together arm in arm, toes out, top hat and bridal -bouquet much in evidence. Tom Baxter, fat, prosperous, and middle-aged, -smoking his pipe in a corner of the orchard, his Irish terrier at his -feet; a snapshot by a friend. The widow studied them all with solemn -deliberation, glancing a little scornfully at her sister Harriet, who -was snivelling over a copy of Eliza Cook’s poems. - -They heard the voices of the two doctors above, the sound of a door -opening, and footsteps descending the stairs. Parker Steel, suave, -quiet, and serious as a black cat, appeared at the parlor door. Mrs. -Baxter rose from her chair, and signalled to her sister to leave her -with Parker Steel. - -“Harriet, go out. Sit down, doctor,” and she replaced the album on its -pink wool mat in the middle of the circular table. - -Harriet absented herself without a murmur, Miss Cook’s volume still -clasped in her bony fingers. From the direction of the stables came the -plaintive howling of a dog, Tom Baxter’s Irish terrier, Peter, who had -been chained up because he would haunt the landing outside his dead -master’s room. Mrs. Baxter had fallen over the poor beast as he crouched -at the top of the stairs, and poor Peter’s loyalty had not saved him -from chastisement with the lady’s slipper. - -Parker Steel seated himself on the extreme edge of an arm-chair, a great -yellow sunflower in a Turkish-red antimacassar haloing him like a saint. -He had assumed an air of studied yet anxious reserve, as though the -matter in hand required delicate handling. - -“Well, doctor, it’s all over, I suppose.” - -Steel nodded, hearing Miss Harriet’s voice in the distance rasping out -endearments to the dead man’s dog. - -“Dr. Brimley and I have completed the examination.” - -“Poor Tom! poor Tom!” - -“I can sympathize with you, Mrs. Baxter.” - -“Thank you, doctor. How that dog do howl, to be sure! And now, sir, -let’s come to business.” - -The widow sat erect and rigid in her chair, her hands clasped in her -lap, an expression of determined alertness on her face. Steel, student -of human nature that he was, felt relieved that it was Murchison and not -he who had incurred the resentment of this hard-fibred woman. - -“Will you be so good as to tell me, doctor, just what my husband died -of?” - -Parker Steel fidgeted, and studied his finger-nails. - -“It is rather painful to me,” he began. - -“Painful, sir!” - -“To have to confess to a brother-doctor’s misman—misdirection of the -case.” - -His tactful disinclination reacted electrically upon Mrs. Baxter. She -leaned forward in her chair, and brandished a long forefinger with -exultant solemnity. - -“Just what I thought, doctor.” - -Parker Steel cleared his throat and proceeded. - -“You understand my professional predicament, Mrs. Baxter. At the same -time, I feel it to be my duty—” - -“Just you tell me the plain facts, doctor; what did my husband die of?” - -Steel rose from his chair, walked to the window, and stood there a -moment looking out into the garden, as though struggling with the ethics -and the etiquette of the case. - -“Frankly, Mrs. Baxter,” and he turned to her with a grieved air, “I am -compelled to admit that this operation hastened your husband’s death.” - -Mrs. Baxter bumped in her chair. - -“Doctor, I could have sworn it. Go on, I can bear the scandal.” - -“Dr. Murchison made a very grave mistake.” - -“He did!” - -“A sponge and a pair of artery forceps were left in your husband’s body. -As for the operation, well, the less said of it the better.” - -Mrs. Baxter rose and went to the mantel-shelf, and taking down a bottle -of smelling-salts, applied them deliberately to either nostril. - -“Then this man Murchison killed my husband!” - -Parker Steel gave an apologetic shrug. - -“I have to state facts,” he explained. “I cannot swear to what might -have happened.” - -“Let the ‘might have’ alone, doctor. I’ve pulled the pease out of the -pod, and by the Holy Spirit I’ll boil my water in Murchison’s pot!” - -Parker Steel attempted to pacify her, confident in his heart that any -such effort would be useless. - -“My dear Mrs. Baxter, let me explain to you—” - -“Explain! What is there to explain? This man’s killed my husband. I’ll -sue him, I’ll make him pay for it.” - -“Pardon me, one word—” - -The widow raised her hands and patted Steel solemnly on the shoulders. - -“You’ve done your duty by me, doctor, for I reckon it isn’t proper to -tell tales of the profession. Now, listen, I’ll relate what Jane -Baxter’s going to do.” - -Steel’s silence welcomed the confession. - -“Well, I’m going to order the market-trap out, the trap my poor Tom used -to drive in to Roxton every Monday, the Lord have pity on him!—” - -“Yes.” - -“I’m going straight to call at Lawyer Cranston’s.” - -“Indeed!” - -“And just set him to pull Dr. Murchison’s coat from off his back.” - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - -There was a dance that night at one of the Roxton houses, and Mrs. -Betty, brilliant in cream and carnation, swept through the room with all -the verve of a girl of twenty. Her partners discovered her in wondrous -fettle—swift, splendid, and audacious, color in her cheeks, a sparkle -of conscious triumph in her eyes. Her tongue was in sympathy with the -quickness of her feet. She prattled, laughed, and was as deliciously -impertinent as any minx who has a theory of fascination. - -Mrs. Hamilton-Hamilton, the hostess of the night, was a patient of James -Murchison’s, and Catherine’s more gracious comeliness came as a contrast -to Mrs. Betty’s faylike glamour. The Hamiltons were brewers, wealthy -plebeians who had assimilated that lowest of all arts, the art of making -money, without absorbing a culture that was of the same temper as their -gold. Catherine had left her husband to his pipe and his books at -Lombard Street. She had come to serve him, because as a doctor’s wife -she knew the value of smart publicity. In small towns trifles are of -serious moment. Orthodoxy is in the ascendant, and individual -singularity of opinion is considered to be “peculiar.” A professional -gentleman suspected of free thought may discover his social standing -being damaged by the vicaress behind his back. Bigotry dies hard despite -the broadening of our culture, and “eccentric” individuals may be -ostracized by the sectarians of a town. Forms and formularies produce -hypocrites. It is perilous for professional gentlemen to appear -eccentric. Even if they abstain from lip service in person, their wives -must be regular in helping to populate the parish pews. - -Kate Murchison and Mrs. Betty passed and repassed each other in the -vortex of many a waltz. To Parker Steel’s wife there was a prophetic -triumph on the wind. She found herself calculating, as she chatted to -her partners, how long these people would remain loyal to the surgeon of -Lombard Street when his repute was damaged by the scandal at Boland’s -Farm. Catherine had a peculiar interest for her that night, for Mrs. -Betty’s hate was tempered by exultation. She watched for the passing and -repassing of Catherine’s aureole of shimmering hair, smiling to herself -at the woman’s happy ignorance of the notoriety that threatened her -husband’s name. - -To Catherine also, with each sweep of the dance, came that olive-skinned -and complacent face, whose eyes seemed ever on the watch for her. She -caught the rattle of the dark woman’s persiflage as she drifted past to -the moan of the violins. She remarked an exaggerated vivacity in Mrs. -Betty’s manner, a something that suggested triumph with each nearness of -their faces. Always the slightly cynical smile, the teeth glimmering -between the lips; always that curious flash of the eyes, sudden and -momentary, like the flash of a light over the night sea. With women the -vaguest of emotions lead to intuitive gleams of thought, and Mrs. -Betty’s exultation inspired Catherine with reasonless unrest. - -The two women met in the doorway of the supper-room, Parker Steel’s wife -on Mr. Cranston’s arm, Catherine escorted by Captain Hensley, of the -Buffs. Their eyes met with a glitter of defiance and distrust. Catherine -would have drawn aside, but Betty, with a laugh, gave her a pretty sweep -of the hand. - -“Seniores priores, dear. How is your husband? What a delicious evening!” - -The presentiment of treachery asserted itself with superstitious -strangeness. Catherine colored, stung, despite herself, by Parker -Steel’s wife’s patronizing drawl. - -“Thanks. My husband is very well. Has he been ill?” and the ironical -question conveyed a challenge. - -Mrs. Betty’s lips parted over their perfect teeth. - -“Mr. Cranston is such an enthusiast that I must not lose him the next -waltz. Try the pâté de foie gras, it is excellent,” and she swept out, -with a glitter of amusement, on the lawyer’s arm. - -They were soon moving in the midst of the music, a score of rustling -dresses swinging their colors over the polished floor. - -“Poor Mrs. Murchison,” and the lawyer looked curiously into his -partner’s face. - -“Strange that we should have met her, just then!” - -“After our discussion at supper!” - -“Yes; she knows nothing.” - -“My dear Mrs. Steel, the penny-post carries more poison than the rings -of the old Italians.” - -“But then we are more civilized in our methods.” - -“Possibly. The cruelties of civilization are more refined, of the soul -rather than of the body. Shall we reverse?” - -“Yes. There are some fatalities that cannot be reversed, Mr. Cranston, -eh?” - -Catherine returned to the great house in Lombard Street that night with -a vague feeling of melancholy and unrest. She was beginning to know the -terror of a secret in a house, a hidden shame to be held sacred from the -eyes of the world. Nor was it that she did not trust her husband, nor -respect his strength, for few men would have fought as he had fought, -and even in defeat she beheld a pathos that was wholly tragic, never -sordid. - -She was haunted by the thought that night that Betty Steel had guessed -her secret, and only women know the feline cruelty of their sex. The -greater part of the social snobberies and tyrannies of life are inspired -by the spiteful egotism of women. Catherine knew enough of Betty’s -nature to forecast the mercy she might expect from her rival’s tongue. -Moreover, the very home-coming from the dance recalled to her that March -night when she had first uncovered her husband’s shame. There are some -memories that are like aggressive weeds, no tearing up by the roots can -banish them from the human heart. Their tendrils creep and thrust into -every crevice of the mind. Their fruit is full of a poisoned juice, -their flowers red as hyssop—for all the world to see. - -As for the sake of irony, the letters that Betty Steel and Mr. Cranston -had discussed, were opened by Murchison at the breakfast-table before -the faces of his children and his wife. Master Jack had been clamoring -to be taken to the cottage on Marley Down, and Gwen had crept round to -her father’s elbow to overpersuade him with the winsomeness of -childhood. The first letter that Murchison opened was from Cranston; the -second from Parker Steel. Miss Gwen, doll in hand, stood unheeded at her -father’s elbow. It was Catherine who rose, called the two children, and -took them out into the garden to play. - -They clung, one to either hand, the boy prancing and chattering, the -girl solemn-eyed because of her father’s silence. - -“Mother, when may we go to Marley?” - -“Soon, dear, soon.” - -“Oh, I say, do they keep rabbits there?” - -“And will daddy come too?” - -Catherine disentangled herself, and left them on the lawn under the -great plane-tree, her heart heavy with some half-expected dread. - -“Daddy will come too, dear. I will call you when you are to come in.” - -Murchison was still sitting at the breakfast-table when she returned, -looking like a man who had lost his all at cards. His figure appeared -shrunken, and hollow at the shoulders, his face expressionless as though -from some sudden palsy of the brain. - -“James!” - -He started as though he had not heard her enter. - -“The children, where—?” - -“In the garden. Tell me, what has happened?” - -“Happened? My God, Kate, see, read!—what have I done?” - -She stretched out her hand, her face piteously brave. - -“This letter?” - -He nodded. - -“From whom?” - -“Steel. There is to be an inquest at Boland’s Farm.” - -Catherine read it, and the lawyer’s also, an angry glow welling up into -her eyes. She crumpled the letters in her hand, and stood silent a -moment, with quivering lips. - -“Now, now—I know—” - -Murchison stared at her like one half-dazed. - -“You have read it?” - -“Yes. A blunder! No, I’ll not believe it, James; there is malice here. I -read it in Betty Steel’s eyes last night.” - -“But the facts,” and he groaned. - -“Facts! Are they facts? Is Parker Steel infallible? Wait, I know what I -will do.” - -Murchison’s eyes watched her like the eyes of a dog. - -“I will see Dr. Parker Steel. I will ask him by what right he has dared -to act as he has acted.” - -Her words seemed to shake her husband from his stupor. - -“Kate, you cannot do it.” - -“Why not?” - -“Beg a favor of that fop! Besides, the case has gone too far. The facts -are there. I blundered. I knew that I had lost my nerve.” - -She looked at him with a woman’s pity, her pride and her love still -strong and heroic in their trust. - -“It was not you, dear—not you.” - -“Not I, Kate, but my baser self. Fate takes us when we are in the -toils.” - -They heard the children in the garden, their laughter close beneath the -window. Murchison’s hands caught the arms of his chair. His children’s -happiness seemed part of the mockery of fate. - -“Don’t let them come in. I can’t bear it. I—” and he broke down -suddenly into that most pitiful and tragic pass when a strong man’s -anguish brings him even to tears. - -Catherine, her face transfigured, bent over him, and seized his hands. - -“Oh, not that! Why, we are here together, and you look on the darker -side—” - -His tears were on her hands; he was ashamed, and hung his head. - -“Kate, it is true, I feel it. Steel—” - -“Steel?” - -“Is too cold a man to risk what he cannot prove.” - -She drew her breath, and kissed him, the kiss of a mother and a wife. - -“I will go to him,” she said. - -“Kate!” - -“No, not to plead. I could not plead with such a man as Steel.” - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - -Parker Steel was compiling his list of visits for the day, when, -following the sharp “burr” of the electric bell, came the announcement -that Mrs. Murchison, of Lombard Street, waited to see him in the -drawing-room. A momentary cloud of annoyance passed over the physician’s -sleek and shallow face. Few men care to appear ungenerous in the eyes of -a woman, and Parker Steel was not devoid of the passion for -indiscriminate popularity. The craving to appear excellent in the eyes -of others is a more potent power for the polishing of man’s character -than the dogmatics of a state religion, and Mrs. Betty’s husband purred -like a cat about the silk skirts of society. Man for man, he could have -dealt with Murchison on hard and scientific lines, but with a woman the -logic of unsympathetic facts could be consumed by the lava flow of the -more passionate privileges of the heart. - -He continued scribbling at his desk, mentally considering the attitude -he should assume, and hesitating between an air of infinite regret and a -calm assumption of stoical responsibility. The door opened on him as he -still studied his part. Mrs. Betty stood on the threshold, eyes -a-glitter, an eager frown on her pale face. - -She closed the door and approached her husband, leaning the palms of her -hands on the edge of the table. - -“Well, Parker, are you prepared with sal-volatile and a dozen -handkerchiefs?” - -Steel looked uneasy, a betrayal of weakness that his wife’s sharp eyes -did not disregard. - -“I suppose I must see the woman,” and he fastened the elastic band about -his visiting-book with an irritable snap. - -“See her? By all means, unless you are afraid of needing a tear bottle.” - -“Perhaps you would prefer to interview—” - -A flash of malicious amusement beaconed out from his wife’s eyes. - -“No, no, sir, you must assume the responsibility. I shall enjoy myself -by listening to your diplomatic irrelevances.” - -Parker Steel pushed back his chair. - -“Betty, you are a woman, what do you advise?” - -“Advise!” and she laughed with delicious satisfaction. “Am I to advise -infallible man?” - -“Well, you know the tricks of the sex.” - -“Do I, indeed! Firstly, then, my dear Parker, beware of tears.” - -The physician gave an impatient twist to his mustache. - -“Kate Murchison is not that sort of creature,” he retorted. - -“No, perhaps not. But you may find her dangerous if she makes use of her -emotions.” - -“Hang it, Betty, I hate scenes!” - -“Scenes are easily avoided.” - -“How?” - -“By a process of refrigeration. Be as ice. Do not give the lady an -opportunity to melt. Compel her to restrain herself for the sake of her -self-respect.” - -Steel smiled ironically at his wife’s earnestness. - -“An antagonistic attitude—” - -“Exactly. Polite north-windedness. Be an iceberg of professional -propriety. Kate Murchison has pride; she will not catch you by the -knees. Heavens, Parker”—and she brimmed with mischief—“I should like -to see you trying to disentangle your legs from some hysterical lady’s -embraces!” - -Her husband glanced at himself in the glass, and adjusted his tie as a -protest against his wife’s raillery. - -“The sooner the interview is ended—the better,” he remarked. - -“Wait, let me see you attempt the necessary stony stare!” - -And she glided up and kissed him, much to the spruce physician’s sincere -surprise. - -Catherine had been moving restlessly to and fro in the drawing-room, -glancing at the photographs and pictures, and listening to the murmur of -voices that reached her from Parker Steel’s consulting-room. The air of -the house seemed oppressive to her, and there was even an unwelcome -strangeness about the furniture, as though the inanimate things could -conspire against her and repel her sympathies. The environment was the -environment of an unfamiliar spirit. The personality of the possessor -impresses itself upon the home, and to Catherine there seemed -superciliousness and a sense of antagonism in every corner. Her woman’s -pride put on the armor of a warlike tenderness. She thought of her -children, and was caught thinking of them by Parker Steel. - -“Good-morning, Mrs. Murchison.” - -“Good-morning.” - -“Won’t you sit down?” - -There was a questioning pause. Catherine remained standing, her eyes -studying the man’s smooth, clever, but soulless face. - -“I have come, Dr. Steel, half as a friend—” - -The physician’s smile completed the inimical portion of the sentence. - -“I cannot but regret,” and he rested his white and manicured hands on -the back of a Chippendale chair, “that you have thought fit to interview -me, Mrs. Murchison, on such a matter.” - -Catherine watched his face as he spoke. - -“Of course you realize—” - -“The nature of the case? I realize it, Mrs. Murchison, too gravely to -admit this meeting to be a pleasure.” - -His chilly suavity reacted on Catherine as Betty Steel had promised. -Individual antipathy comes quickly to the surface. Any display of -feeling before Parker Steel would have been like throwing a burning -torch down into the snow. - -“I presume you realize the nature of the responsibility you are -assuming?” - -Her tone had nothing of pacification or appeal. The curve of her neck -became the more haughty as she realized the purpose of the man to whom -she spoke. - -“It is my responsibility, Mrs. Murchison,” and he bent his slim and -black-sheathed figure slightly over the rail of the chair, “that makes -this interview the more painful to me.” - -“You have accused my husband of gross incompetence and carelessness.” - -“I have stated facts.” - -“Dr. Murchison’s surgical experience is not that of a mere theorist. It -has an established reputation. You understand me?” - -Parker Steel understood her perfectly, his nostrils lifting at the -rebuff. - -“My duty, Mrs. Murchison, is towards my own conscience.” - -“I do not deny your sense of duty.” - -“And the facts of the case—” - -“Say—rather—your interpretation of those facts.” - -“Madam!” - -“For in the interpretation lies the meaning of your action. I can only -warn you, for your own sake, to be careful.” - -Parker Steel’s mask of unsympathetic suavity lost its unflurried -coldness for the moment. - -“My dear Mrs. Murchison, I have my day’s work before me, and I am a busy -man. It is my misfortune to have earned your resentment by the discovery -of a blunder. Please consider the question to be beyond our individual -interests.” - -“Then I am to understand—?” - -“That I have already adopted the only course that seemed honest to me. I -have declined to give a death certificate and I have communicated with -the coroner.” - -Catherine took the blow without flinching, though a deep resentment -stirred in her as she remembered how her husband had bulwarked Parker -Steel. - -“Then I think there is nothing more to be said between us.” - -The physician made a step towards the door. - -“Accept my regrets”—the vanity of the man, the desire to stand well in -the eyes of a handsome woman, was not wholly to be suppressed. - -“I accept no regrets, Dr. Steel—” - -“Indeed.” - -“For no regrets are given. My eyes are open to the truth.” - -Steel turned the handle of the door. - -“A sense of duty makes us enemies, Mrs. Murchison.” - -“Perhaps, sir, your very lively sense of duty may lead you some day into -a lane that has no turning.” - -Whether by chance, or by premeditated malice, Mrs. Betty crossed the -hall as Catherine left the drawing-room. She halted, smiled, and -extended a languid hand. Her eyes recalled to Catherine the eyes of the -previous night. - -“Ah, good-morning, Kate.” - -There was not a quiver of emotion on Catherine Murchison’s face. She -looked at Mrs. Betty as she would have looked at some pert shop-girl who -assured her that some warranted material had been ruined by chemicals in -the wash. Parker Steel’s wife was deprived of any suggestion of a -triumph. - -“I hope you are not tired after Mr. Cranston’s enthusiasm.” - -“Intelligent partners never tire me. May I echo the inquiry?” - -Her feline spite marred the perfection of Mrs. Betty’s patronizing pity. - -“Many thanks. You will excuse me, since I am a woman with -responsibilities. You have no children to act as mother to, Betty.” - -The barren woman’s lips tightened. The words, with all their innocent -irony, went home. - -“Oh, I detest children. All the philosophers will tell you that they are -a doubtful blessing.” - -“A matter of temperament, perhaps.” - -“Some of us resemble rabbits, I suppose.” - -Their mutual courtesy had reached the limit of extreme tension. Parker -Steel, who had been watching the lightning flashes, the play between -positive clouds and negative earth, opened the door to let the imminent -storm disperse. - -Catherine passed out with a slight bending of the head. - -“How beautiful these July days are!” she remarked. - -“Superb,” and Steel took leave of her with a cynical smile. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - -Catherine’s lips were tightly set as she turned from the shadows of St. -Antonia’s elms, where the sunlight made a moving fret of gold upon the -grass. The sky was a broad canopy of blue above the town, the wooded -hills about it far and faint with haze. To Catherine the summer -stillness of the place, the dim blazoned windows of the church, the -wreathing smoke, the circling pigeons, were parts of a quaint and homely -tenderness that made her realize the more the repellent coldness of the -house she had just left. - -She had come by one conviction through her visit, the conviction that -those two intellectualists hungered to humiliate her and her husband. -Mrs. Betty’s eyes had betrayed too much. She would be content with -nothing but sensational head-lines, and the discussion of “the scandal” -in every Roxton home. The brain behind that ethereal yet supercilious -face knew no flush of feeling for a rival in distress. The pair were -exulting over the chance James Murchison had given them, and the wife -had realized it with a bitter flooding up of loyalty and love. - -Catherine had made her plans before she reached the glare of Lombard -Street. She had left her husband sitting in the darkened room, the -blinds drawn down over his humiliation and self-shame. Her heart grieved -in her for the strong man whose sensitive consciousness had been -paralyzed by the realization of his own irrevocable blunder. Her pity -left him undisturbed, like a sick man needing rest. Inglis had taken the -work for the whole day, for Catherine had interviewed him in the -surgery, and shocked the theorist by imparting a portion of the truth to -him. - -“Incredible!” had been Mr. Inglis’s solitary remark, and Catherine’s -heart had blessed him for that single adjective. - -As she passed the house in Lombard Street, her face seemed overshadowed -for the moment by the unpropitious heaviness of her thoughts. The vision -of her husband’s pale and troubled face saddened her more utterly than -any regretfulness her pride might feel. Nor did she pass her home -unchallenged, for at the barred but open window of the nursery, a ripple -of gold in the sunlight bathed her daughter Gwen’s round face, - -“Muvver, muvver!” and a doll’s red pelisse was waved over the -window-sill. Catherine felt all her womanhood yearn longingly towards -the child. - -“Muvver. I’ve spelled a whole page. Daddy’s gone out. May I come wid -you?” - -Catherine shook her head, her eyes very bright with tenderness under her -blue sunshade. How little the child realized the grim beneathness of -life! - -“No, dear, no. I shall be back soon. Ask Mary to take you for a walk in -the meadows,” and she passed on with a lingering look at the red pelisse -and the golden curls. - -Porteus Carmagee, white as to waistcoat, brown as to face, jumped up -briskly from his well-worn leather chair when his head clerk announced -Mrs. Catherine Murchison. The lawyer, despite his eccentricities, was a -keen and tenacious man of business, the emphasis of whose advice might -have impressed an audience more cynical than the English House of -Commons. He had a habit of snapping at his syllables with a vindictive -sincerity that stimulated nervous clients suffering from the -neurasthenia of indecision. - -“What!—a professional visit? My dear Kate, this is a most portentous -event; all my musty deeds must blush into new pink tape. Sit down. Do -you want damages against your washerwoman for spoiling the underlinen? -Believe me—I have been asked to advise on such questions. Ah, and how -did your husband like my port?” - -An inward shudder swept through Catherine. The memories of that night at -Marley Down were brutally vivid to her, like the bizarre dreams of a -feverish sleep remembered in the morning. Porteus had been the innocent -cause of all this misery. Tell him she could not, that his very kindness -had brought her husband to the brink of ruin. - -“We ought to have thanked you”—and the words clung to her throat. -“James has had one of his attacks of nervous depression and an endless -amount of worry.” - -Porteus Carmagee’s keen brown eyes sparkled with intentness as he -watched her face. She looked white, uneasy, haggard about the mouth, -like one who has suffered from the strain of perpetual self-repression. -Catherine had always moved before him as a serene being, a woman whose -face had symbolized the quiet splendor of an evening sky. He had often -quoted her as one of the few people in the world whose happiness -displayed itself in the beauty of radiant repose. The stain of suffering -on her face was new to him, and the more remarkable for that same -reason. - -“You speak of worries, Kate. Am I to be concerned in them as a fatherly -friend?” - -She tried to give him one of her happy smiles. - -“You see—I have to run to you—because I am in trouble.” - -The pathetic simplicity of her manner touched him. - -“My dear Kate,” and his voice lost its usual snappishness, “how can I -serve you—as a friend? It is not usual to see you worried.” - -“You know James has been overworked.” - -“Have I not lectured the rogue on a dozen different occasions?” - -“Yes, yes, I know; and he was ill at Marley Down on Sunday, in the -little place where I had hoped to give him rest. Oh, Porteus, how brutal -the responsibilities of life can be at times! Inglis, our assistant, -sent for him to attend a serious case. James’s sense of duty dragged him -away from Marley. He went, braved a critical operation, and—” - -She faltered, her face aglow, as though the very loyalty of her love -made the confession partake of treachery. The wrinkles about Porteus -Carmagee’s eyes seemed to grow more marked. - -“And made a mess of it, Kate, eh?” - -His brusquerie passed with her as a characteristic method of concealing -emotion. - -“Yes.” - -“Ugh!” and he jerked one leg over the chair; “confound his sense of -duty, risking his reputation to ease some old woman’s temper.” - -Catherine looked at him with a quivering of the lips. - -“Porteus, you can’t blame him. It seems hard that one slip may undermine -so much.” - -“Why ‘undermine’?—why ‘undermine’? The law does not expect -infallibility.” - -“I know—but then—the man died.” - -“Who? What man?” - -“Farmer Baxter, of Boland’s Farm.” - -“A fool who has been eating himself to death for years.” - -Catherine spread her open hands with the look of a pathetic partisan. - -“James was not in a fit state to meet the strain. The wife quarrelled -with him after the operation, and refused to let him continue the case.” - -“My dear, inferior females always quarrel!” - -“And we have enemies.” - -“So had the saints, and plenty.” - -“It was Parker Steel—” - -Porteus Carmagee sat up briskly in his chair, his wrinkled face -twitching with intelligence. - -“Now we are growing vital. Well, I can forecast that gentleman’s -procedure.” - -“Steel was called in, and the man died.” - -“Most natural of mortals!” - -“He performed a post-mortem with Dr. Brimley, of Cossington, at the -widow’s request. As a result he has refused to give a death certificate -and has written to the coroner. And Mrs. Baxter has instructed Cranston -to institute an action against us for malpraxis and incompetence.” - -Porteus Carmagee sat motionless for a moment, his legs tucked under his -chair, his brown face suggestive of the ugliness of some carved mediæval -corbel. - -“I flatter myself that I recognize the inspiring spirit, Kate,” he said, -at last. - -“Betty Steel.” - -“That’s the lady; we have learned to respect our capabilities, Mrs. -Betty—and I.” - -He pushed his chair back, established himself on the hearth-rug, and -began the habitual rattling of his bunch of keys. - -“Well, Kate, you want me to act for you.” - -“If you will.” - -“If I will? My dear girl, don’t insult my affection for you all. I must -confess that I like to feel vindictive when I undertake a case. No city -dinner could have made me more irritable, vulpine, and liverish in your -service.” - -Catherine’s eyes thanked him sufficiently, but they were still brimming -with questioning unrest. - -“Porteus, tell me what you think.” - -“My dear Kate, don’t worry.” - -“How can I help worrying?” - -The brown and intelligent face, like the face of a sharp and keen-eyed -dog, lit up with a peculiar flash of tenderness for her. - -“Come, Kate, I am not a full-blooded optimist, as you know, but your -woman’s nature makes the affair seem more serious than it is. Your -husband was overworked, and ill at the time, yet these people -insisted—I take it—on his assuming the full responsibility of the -case. Steel is notoriously an unprincipled rival; as for Brimley, of -Cossington, the fellow is known as the most saintly humbug as ever made -ginger and water appear as potent as the elixir vitæ. My dear Kate, I -know more of the secret squabbles of this town than you do. People have -threatened to sue Parker Steel before now—yes, in this very room. If -spite and spleen are dragged into the case, I think I can promise our -opponents a somewhat stormy season.” - -A look of relief melted into Catherine’s eyes. Porteus Carmagee was -emphatic, and women look for emphasis in the advice of a man. - -“You are doing me good, Porteus.” - -“That’s right. The law is a crabbed old spinster, but she can be -exhilarating on occasions. Tell me, when did you receive the challenge?” - -“This morning, by letter.” - -“From whom?” - -“Parker Steel and Mr. Cranston.” - -“Exactly. And your husband?” - -She faltered, and looked aside. - -“James was deeply shocked by the thought.” - -“Of course—of course. He is a man with a conscience. What is he doing?” - -“I left him at home—to rest. I ought to tell you, Porteus, that I have -seen Parker Steel.” - -The lawyer frowned. - -“Unwise, Kate, unwise. I hope—” - -“No,” and she flushed, hotly; “I made no pretence of weakness. They had -defiance from me.” - -“Good girl—good girl.” - -“They are bitter against us. It was easy to discover that.” - -Porteus Carmagee drew out his watch. - -“In an hour, Kate, I will run over and see your husband. Oblige me by -telling him not to look worried. Now, my dear girl, nonsense, you -needn’t.” - -Catherine had risen, and had put her hands upon his shoulders. And on -that single and momentous occasion, Porteus Carmagee blushed as his -bachelor face was touched by the lips of June. - -The words of a friend in the dry season of trouble are like dew to the -parched grass. Catherine left Porteus Carmagee’s office with a feeling -of gratitude and relief, as though the sharing of her burden with him -had eased her heart. From a feeling of forlorn impatience she sprang to -a more sanguine and happy temper, with her gloomier forebodings left -among the deeds and documents of the dusty office. She thought of her -husband and her children without that wistful stirring of regret, that -fear lest some store of evil were being laid up for them in the home she -loved. Her reprieve was but momentary, had she but known it, for the cup -of her humiliation was not full to the brim. - -As she turned into Lombard Street, she came upon her two children -returning with Mary from a ramble in the meadows. The youngsters raced -for her, eyes aglow, health and the beauty thereof in every limb. The -omen seemed propitious, the incident as sacred as Catherine could have -wished. Perhaps to the two children her kisses seemed no less warm and -heart-given than of yore, but to the mother the moment had a meaning -that no earthly poetry could portray. - -“Ah—my darlings—” - -“Where have you been, muvver—where?” - -“At Uncle Porteus’s. Mary, run around to Arnsbury’s and ask him to send -me in some fruit. I will take the children home.” - -Mary departed, leaving youth clinging to the maternal hands. Master Jack -Murchison pranced like a war-horse, his curiosity still cantering -towards Marley Down. - -“Oh, I say, mother, when are we going to the cottage?” - -“Saturday, dear, perhaps.” - -“Daddy said we might have tea in the woods.” - -“Boys who put pepper on the cat’s nose don’t deserve picnics.” - -Master Jack giggled over the originality of the crime. “Old Tom did -sneeze!” - -“You was velly cruel, Jack,” and Gwen’s face reproved him round her -mother’s skirts. - -“Little girls don’t know nuffin.” - -“I can spell ‘fuchsia,’ I can.” - -“What’s the use of spelling! Any one can spell—can’t they, mother?” - -“No, dear,” and the mother laughed; “many people are not as far advanced -as Gwen.” - -They were within twenty yards of the great house in Lombard Street, with -its warm red walls and its white window frames, when a crowd of small -boys came scattering round the northeast corner of St. Antonia’s Square. -In the middle of the road a butcher had stopped his cart, and several -people were loitering by the railings under the elms, watching something -that was as yet invisible to Catherine and the children. - -“I specs it’s Punch and Judy,” and Master Jack tugged at his mother’s -hand. - -“Wait, dear, wait.” - -“Muvver, may I give the Toby dog a biscuit?” - -“Two, Gwen, if you like.” - -“I just love to see old Punch smack silly old Judy with a stick!” - -“Jack, you are velly cruel,” and the little lady disassociated herself -once more from all sympathy with her brother’s barbaric inclinations. - -A man turned the corner of the street suddenly, cannoned two small boys -aside, and hurried on with the half-scared look of one who has seen a -child crushed to death under a cart. He stopped abruptly when he saw -Catherine and the children, his white and resolute face glistening with -sweat. - -“Mrs. Murchison, take the children in—” - -Catherine stared at him; it was John Reynolds, her husband’s dispenser. - -“What is it—what has happened?” - -The man glanced backward over his right shoulder as though he had been -followed by a ghost. - -“Dr. Murchison was taken ill at the County Club. They sent round for me. -Good God, ma’am, get the children out of the way!” - -For a moment Catherine stood motionless with the sun blazing upon her -face, her eyes fixed upon a knot of figures dimly seen under the shadows -of the mighty elms. A great shudder passed through her body. She -stooped, caught up Gwen, and carried the wondering child into the house. -Reynolds, the dispenser, followed with the boy, who rebelled -strenuously, his querulous innocence making the tragedy more poignant -and pathetic. - -“Shut up, silly old Reynolds—” - -“There, there, Master Jack,” and the man panted; “be quiet, sir. Mrs. -Murchison, I must—you understand.” - -Catherine, her face wonderful in its white restraint, her eyes full of -the horror of keen consciousness, hurried the two children up the -stairs. Outside in the sunlit street the club porter and a laboring man -were swaying along with an unsteady figure grappled by either arm. The -troop of small boys sneaked along the sidewalk, and on the opposite -pavement some dozen spectators watched the affair incredulously across -the road. - -“Dang me if it ain’t the doctor.” - -“What, Jim Murchison?” - -“Drunk as blazes.” - -A little widow woman in black slipped away with a shudder from the -coarse voices of the men. “How horrible!” And she looked ready to weep, -for she was one of Murchison’s patients and had known much kindness at -his hands. - -John Reynolds had gone to help the two men get Murchison up the steps -into the house. - -“Good God, sir,” he said, “pull yourself together!” - -“Lemme go, R’nolds, I can walk.” - -“Steady, sir, steady! For the love of your good lady, get inside.” - -And between them they half carried him into the house, three men awed by -a strong man’s shame. - -Catherine had locked the two children into the nursery. She stood on the -stairs, and saw the limp figure of her husband lifted across the hall -into his consulting-room. It was as though fate had given her the last -most bitter draught to drink. Their cause was lost. She felt it to be -the end. - -Reynolds, the dispenser, came to her across the hall. The man was almost -weeping, so bitterly did he feel the misery of it all. - -“I—I have sent for Dr. Inglis.” - -“Thank you, Reynolds.” - -“Shall I stay?” - -“Yes, for God’s sake, do!” - -The other two men came out from the consulting-room, and crossed the -hall sheepishly, without looking at Catherine. She turned, and -reascended the stairs, leaving to Reynolds the task of watching by her -husband. The sound of a small fist beating on the nursery door seemed to -echo the loud throbbing of her heart. She steadied herself, choked back -her anguish, unlocked the door, and went in to her children. - -“Muvver, muvver!” Gwen’s eyes were full of tears. - -“Yes, darling, yes.” - -“Is daddy ill?” - -“Daddy—daddy is ill,” and she took the two frightened children in her -arms, and wept. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - - -By certain scientific thinkers life is held to be but a relative term, -and the “definitions” of the ancients have been cast aside into the very -dust that they despised as gross and utterly inanimate. Whether radium -be “alive” or no, the thing we ordinary mortals know as “life” shows -even in its social aspects a significant sympathy with the Spencerian -definition. The successful men are those who react and respond most -readily, and most selfishly to the externals of existence. Vulgarly, we -call it the seizing of opportunities, though the clever merchant may -react almost unconsciously and yet instinctively to the market of the -public mind. All life is an adjustment of relationships, of husband to -wife, of mother to child, of cheat to dupe, of capital to labor. - -Thus, in social death, so to speak, a man may be so placed that he is -unable to adapt himself to his surroundings. His reputation dies and -disintegrates like a body that is incapable of adjusting itself to some -blighting change of climate. Or, in the terminology of physics, -responsible repute may be likened to an obelisk whose instability -increases with its height. A flat stone may remain in respectable and -undisturbed equilibrium for centuries. The poised pinnacle is pressed -upon by every wind that blows. - -The fall of some such pinnacle is a dramatic incident in the experience -of the community. The noise thereof is in a hundred ears, and the -splintered fragments may be gaped at by the crowd. Thus it had been with -James Murchison in Roxton town. Neither doctors nor engine-drivers are -permitted to indulge in drink, and in Murchison’s case the downfall had -been the more dramatic by his absolute refusal to qualify the disgrace. -An inquest, an unflattering finding by the coroner’s jury, a case for -damages threatening to be successfully instituted by an outraged widow. -Amid such social humiliations the brass plate had disappeared abruptly -from the door of the house in Lombard Street. It was as though -Murchison’s pride had accepted the tragic climax with all the finality -of grim despair. He had even made no attempt to sell the practice, but, -like Cain, he had gone forth with his wife and with his children, too -sensitive in his humiliation to brave the ordeal of reconquering a lost -respect. - - * * * * * - -Many months had passed since the furniture dealers’ vans had stood in -the roadway outside the house in Lombard Street, with bass and straw -littering the pavement, and men in green baize aprons going up and down -the dirty steps. Frost was in the air, and the winter sun burned vividly -upon the western hills. A fog of smoke hung over the straggling town, -lying a dark blurr amid the white-misted meadows. Lights were beginning -to wink out like sparks on tinder. The dull roar of a passing train came -with hoarse strangeness out of the vague windings of the valley. - -As the dusk fell, a smart pair of “bays” switched round the northwest -corner of St. Antonia’s Square and clattered over the cobbles under the -spectral hands of the towering elms. The church clock chimed for the -hour as Parker Steel, furred like any Russian, stepped out of the -brougham, and, slamming the door sharply after him, ordered the coachman -to keep the horses on the move. Dr. Steel’s brougham was not the only -carriage under St. Antonia’s sleeping elms. A steady beat of hoofs and a -jingling of harness gave a ring of distinction to the quiet square. - -Parker Steel glanced at the warm windows of his house as he crossed the -pavement, and fumbled for his latch-key in his waistcoat pocket. The -sound of music came from within, ceasing as the physician entered the -hall, and giving place to the brisk murmur of many voices. A smart -parlor-maid emerged from the drawing-room, carrying a number of teacups, -blue and gold, on a silver tray. The babble of small talk unmuffled by -the open door suggested that Mrs. Betty excelled as a hostess. - -Ten minutes elapsed before Parker Steel, spruce and complacent, was -bowing himself into his own drawing-room with the easy unction of a man -sure of the distinction of his own manners. Quite twenty ladies were -ready to receive the physician’s effeminate white fingers. Mrs. Betty -had gathered the carriage folk of Roxton round her. The heat of the room -seemed to have stimulated the scent of the exotic flowers. The shaded -standard lamp, burning in the bay-window beside the piano, shed a -brilliant light upon a pink mass of azaleas in bloom. Mrs. Betty herself -was still seated upon the music-stool, one hand resting on the key-board -as she chatted to Lady Sophia Gillingham, sunk deep in the luxurious -cushions of a lounge-chair. - -Mrs. Betty, a study in saffron, her pale face warmed by the light of the -lamp, caught her husband’s eye as he moved through the crowded room. -Sleek, brilliant, pleased as a cat that has been lapping cream, she made -a slight gesture that he understood, a gesture that brought him before -Lady Gillingham’s chair. - -“Parker.” - -“Yes, dear.” - -“Will you touch the bell for me?—I want to show Mignon to Lady Sophia.” - -Parker Steel’s smile congratulated his wife on her deft handling of the -weapons of social diplomacy. He rang the bell, and meeting the servant -at the door, desired her to bring Mrs. Betty’s blue Persian and the -basket of kittens from before the library fire. - -The physician took personal charge of Mignon and her children, and -returning between the chairs and skirts, presented the family to Lady -Sophia. - -Parker Steel had an ecstatic lady at either elbow as he held the basket -lined with red silk, the three mouse-colored kittens crawling about -within. Mignon, the amber-eyed, had made a leap for Mrs. Betty’s lap. - -“The dears!” - -“How absolutely sweet!” - -“Such tweety pets.” - -The two elderly canaries cheeped in chorus while Lady Sophia’s fat and -pudgy hand fondled the three kittens. Her red and apathetic face became -more human and expressive for the moment, though there was a suggestion -of cupidity in her dull blue eyes. - -“The dear things!” and she lifted one from the basket into her lap, -where it mewed rather peevishly, and caught its claws in Lady Sophia’s -lace. - -“Mignon is a prize beauty,” and Mrs. Betty caressed the cat, and looked -up significantly into her husband’s face. - -“Perfectly lovely. There, there, pet, what a fuss to make!” and the -dowager’s red-knuckled hand contrasted with the kitten’s slate-gray -coat. “I suppose they are all promised, Mrs. Steel?” - -“Well, to tell the truth, they have created quite a rage among my -friends.” - -“No doubt, the dears. You could ask quite a fancy price for such prize -kittens.” - -Parker Steel had been prompted by an instant flash of his wife’s eyes. - -“I am sure if Lady Gillingham would like one of the kittens—” - -He appeared to glance questioningly, and for approval, at Mrs. Betty. - -“Of course—I shall be delighted.” - -“Really?” - -“Why, yes.” - -“Then—may I buy one?” - -Parker Steel elevated his eyebrows, and, with the air of a Leicester, -refused to listen to any such proposal. - -“Do not mention such a matter. We shall only be too glad.” - -“But, my dear Mrs. Steel—” - -“I agree wholly with my husband.” And Mrs. Betty stretched out a white -hand, and stroked the ball of fluff in Lady Sophia’s lap. “Choose which -you like. They can leave the mother in a week or two.” - -Lady Gillingham’s plebeian face beamed upon Mrs. Betty. - -“This is really too generous.” - -“Why, not at all,” and her vivacity was compelling. - -“Then I may choose this one?” - -“With pleasure.” - -“Isn’t it a pet?” - -Mignon, purring on Mrs. Betty’s lap, failed to realize in the least how -valuable a social asset she had proved. There was a rustling of skirts, -a shaking of hands, as the room began to empty of its silks and laces. -Lady Sophia struggled up with a fat sigh from the depths of her chair, -stroked Mignon’s ears, and held out a very gracious hand to Mrs. Steel. - -“Can you dine with us on Monday?” - -“Delighted.” - -“Sir Gerald Gerson and the Italian ambassador will be with us. I want to -show you some choice Dresden that my husband has just bought at -Christie’s.” - -Mrs. Betty received the favor with the smiling and enthusiastic -simplicity of an ingenuous girl. - -“How kind of you! I am so fond of china.” - -Parker Steel gave his arm to the great lady, and escorted her to her -carriage, his deportment a professional triumph in the consummation of -such a courtesy. - -He found Mrs. Betty alone in the drawing-room when he returned. She was -lying back in the chair that Lady Gillingham’s stout majesty had -impressed, and had Mignon and a kitten on her lap. - -Parker Steel, standing on the hearth-rug, looked round him with the air -of a man to whom the flowers in the vases, the lilies and azaleas in -bloom, seemed to exhale an incense of success. Social prosperity and an -abundance of cash; the expensive arm-chairs appeared to assert the facts -loudly. - -“A satisfactory party, dear, eh?” - -Mrs. Betty, fondling Mignon’s ears, looked up and smiled. - -“I think we have conquered Boadicea at last,” she said. - -“It appears so.” - -“She should be a most excellent advertisement.” - -Parker Steel fingered his chin, and looked meditatively at the carpet. A -self-satisfied and half-cynical smile hovered about the angles of his -clean-cut mouth. - -“A year ago, Betty,” he remarked, “Lady Sophia pertained to Catherine -Murchison, and showed us the cold shoulder. Well, we have changed all -that.” - -“We?” - -“Well, say the workings of the ‘spirit,’ or the infirmities of the -flesh.” - -Mrs. Betty held Mignon against her cheek and laughed. - -“What a dear, soft, fluffy thing it is!” - -“Set a cat to catch a cat, eh? I wonder what our friend Murchison is -doing?” - -“Murchison! I never trouble to think.” - -Parker Steel studied his boots. - -“Poor devil, he made a pretty mess of a first-class practice. They were -hard up, too, I imagine. Damages and costs must have cleared out most of -Murchison’s investments, and their furniture sold dirt cheap. I can’t -tell why the ass did not try to sell the practice.” - -“Pride, I suppose.” - -“It meant making me a present of most of his best patients.” - -“My dear Parker, never complain.” - -“Hardly, when we should be booking between two and three thousand a -year—at least. Well, I must turn out again before dinner.” - -The physician returned to his fur coat and his brougham, leaving Mrs. -Betty fondling Mignon and her kittens. - - - - - CHAPTER XX - - -A hundred rows of mud-colored brick “boxes,” set face to face and back -to back. Scores of cobbled streets, a gray band of stone, and two gray -bands of slate. Interminable brown doors and dingy windows; interminable -black and sour back yards, festoons of sodden underclothing, moping -chickens caged up in corners, rubbish, broken boxes, cinder heaps, and -smoke. - -Hardness in every outline, in the dirty, yellow-walled houses, in the -faces of the women, and in the crude straightness of every street. An -atmosphere of granite, brick, cast-iron, and slate. No softness of -contour, no flow of curves, no joy in the sweep of land or sky. The -color scheme a smirch of gray, yellow, and dingy red. Scarcely a streak -of green in the monotonous streets. The sky itself, at best a dusty -blue, sliced up into lengths by slate roofs and cast-iron gutters. - -To the south of this wilderness of brick and stone rose the chimneys and -cage wheels of the Wilton collieries. Here the sketch had been worked in -charcoal, black wharves beside a black canal, hillocks of coal, black -smoke, black faces. The whirr of wheels, the grinding of shovels, the -banging of trucks being shunted to and fro along the sidings. The -eternal spinning of the cage wheels, the panting and screaming of -engines, the toil and travail of a civilization that disembowels the -very earth. - -In Wilton High Street, where electric trams sounded their gongs all day, -and cheap shops ogled the cheap crowd, there was a broad window that had -been colored red and topped by a line of gold some eight feet above the -pavement. On this sanguinary window ran an inscription in big, black -letters: - - DR. TUGLER, M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P. - Consulting hours, 8 to 10 and 6 to 9 - Consultations one shilling. Medicines included. - -Those be-shawled ladies who carried their rickety infants into Dr. -Tugler’s shop, might find the doctor and one of his two professional -assistants seated in the two cheap, cane-bottomed arm-chairs before two -baize-topped tables. There were wooden benches round the room, a -glass-fronted cabinet in one corner, medical almanacs on the walls, a -placard over the mantel-piece instructing patients “To bring their own -bottles.” An inner door with ground glass panels led to a dingy surgery, -a white sink in one corner, and a dresser littered with instrument -cases, packages of lint, reels of plaster, and boxes of bandages. A -third door opened from the surgery into the dispensary, a veritable -bower of bottles, lit by a skylight, a ledger desk under the gas-jet in -one corner, medicine glasses standing on the sloppy drug-stained -dresser, a spirituous reek filling the little room. Oil-cloth, worn -patternless, covered all the floors. The gas-jet in the surgery flared -perpetually through all the winter months, for the sky-light was too -small and dirty to gather much light from the December skies. - -It was Saturday night at Wilton, and hucksters were shouting up their -wares in High Street, despite the fine and almost impalpable rain that -wrapped everything in a dismal mist. The gongs of the tram-cars clanged -impatiently past Dr. Tugler’s surgery, where a row of stalls ranged -beside the pavement gathered a crowd of marketers under their naphtha -lamps. Trade had been busy behind the red window that Saturday evening. -Piles of shillings and sixpences lay in the drawer of Dr. Tugler’s -consulting-table, small change left by anæmic, work-worn women, who -needed food and rest more than Dr. Tugler’s cheap and not very effectual -mixtures. The room had been full of the bronchitic coughing of old men, -the whining of children, the scent of wet, warm, dirty clothes. - -The front room had emptied itself at last, an old woman with a cancerous -lip being the last to go. Dr. Tugler was sitting at the table nearest to -the red window, counting up the miscellaneous and greasy pile of small -coins, and packing them pound by pound into a black hand-bag that lay -across his knees. He was a vulgar little man with a cheerful, blustering -manner, and a kind of plump and smiling self-assurance that was never at -a loss for the most dogmatic of opinions. - -Among the Wilton colliery folk he was known distinctively as “the -doctor.” A man of finer fibre might have been wasted amid such -surroundings. Dr. Tugler, florid, bumptious, ever ready with a -semi-decent joke, and boasting an aggressive yet generous aplomb, -contrived to impress his uncultured clients with a sense of sufficiency -and of rough-and-ready power. But for his frock-coat, and for the -binoral stethoscope that dangled from the top button of his fancy -waistcoat, he might have been taken for a prosperous publican, a -bookmaker, or a butcher. - -Dr. Tugler swept the remaining small change into his bag, locked it, and -jumped up with the air of a man eminently satisfied with the day’s -trade. The assistant at the other table was pencilling a few notes into -a pocket-book, and humming the tune of a popular, music-hall song. The -surgery door opened as Dr. Tugler deposited the black bag on the -mantel-shelf, and a swarthy collier, with one hand bandaged, came -slouching out, swinging an old cap. - -“Good-night, doctor.” - -Dr. Tugler faced round with his hands stuffed into his trousers pockets. - -“Hallo, Smith, find the knife sharp, eh?” - -The man grinned, and glanced at his bandaged hand. - -“There was a tidy lot of muck in it,” he said. - -“Good thing we’ve saved the finger. Paid your bob, eh? Right. Keep off -the booze, and go straight home to the missus.” - -Tugler turned down the gas-jets, and entered the surgery. A big man in a -white cotton coat was bending over the sink and washing a porcelain tray -under the hot-water tap. Blood-stained swabs of wool lay in an old paper -basket under the sink. A couple of scalpels, a pair of dressing forceps -and scissors, a roll of lint, dental forceps still clutching a decayed -tooth, an excised cyst floating in a bowl of blood-stained water, such -were the details that completed the picture of a general surgeon at -work. - -Dr. Tugler cast a quick and observant glance round the room, turned down -the gas a little, and counted the bandages in a card-board box on the -dresser. - -“Feel fagged, Murchison, eh?” - -The big man turned, his lined and powerful face wearing a look of -patient self-restraint. - -“No—thanks.” - -“Be easy on the bandages,” and Dr. Tugler gave a frowning wink; “we -can’t do the beggars à la West End on a bob a time.” - -The big man nodded, and began to clean his knives. - -“A message has just come round from Cinder Lane, No. 10. Primip. Glad if -you’d see to it. I feel dead fagged myself.” - -An almost imperceptible sigh and a slight deepening of the lines about -Murchison’s mouth escaped Dr. Tugler’s notice. - -“I will start as soon as I have cleaned these instruments. No. 10, is -it?” - -“Yes. Here’s the week’s cash.” - -Dr. Tugler rapped down three sovereigns and three shillings on the -dresser, and turning into the dispensary, busied himself by inspecting -the contents of the bottles with the critical eye of a man who realizes -that details decide the difference between profit and loss. - -In ten minutes Murchison had taken off his white cotton coat, pocketed -his money, put on a blue serge jacket and overcoat, and taken a rather -shabby bowler from the peg on the surgery door. He picked up an -obstetric bag from under the dresser, and crossing the outer room with a -curt “good-night” to his fellow-assistant, plunged into the glare and -drizzle of Wilton High Street. - -Despite the rain, the sidewalks were crowded with Saturday-night -bargainers who loitered round the stalls under the flaring naphtha -lamps. The strident voices of the salesmen mingled with the clangor of -the passing teams and the plaintive whining of the overhead wires. Here -and there the glare from a public-house streamed across the pavement, -and through the swing-doors, Murchison, as he passed, had a glimpse of -the gaudy fittings, the glittering glasses, the rows of bottles set out -like lures to catch the eye. The bars were crowded with men and women, -the discordant hubbub of their voices striking out like the waters of a -mill-race into the more even murmur of the streets. - -The man with the bag shuddered as he passed these glittering dens, and -felt the hot breath of the “drink beast” on his face. His eyes seemed to -fling back the glare of the lights with a fierceness that was not far -from fanatical disgust. Possibly there was an element of mockery for him -in the coarse chattering and the braying laughter. His fingers -contracted about the handle of his bag. He seemed to hurry with the air -of some grim wayfarer in the _Pilgrim’s Progress_, escaping from sights -and sounds poignant with the prophecies of despair. - -In Cinder Lane, Murchison found the door of No. 10 half open, and a man -sitting reading in his shirt-sleeves in the little front parlor. A -significant whimpering came from the room above, the first faint crying -of a new-born child. A flash of relief passed across Murchison’s face. -The sound reprieved him from a possible night-watch in the stuffy heat -of a room that smelled of paraffin, stale beer, and unwashed clothes. - -“All over, I think.” - -The man with the paper rose, removed his clay pipe, jerked back his -chair, and grinned. - -“Jus’ so, doctor.” - -“So much the better for every one.” - -“Lord love you, doctor, I feel as though I’d bin sittin’ on ’ot coals -for ten mortal hours.” - -Murchison swung his overcoat over a chair, and climbed the stairs, a -half open door showing a band of light blotted by the shadow of a -woman’s head. The proud father returned to his pipe and to his paper and -the mug of beer on the table at his elbow. He looked a mere lad, sickly, -beardless, hatchet-faced, with high shoulders and no chest. Coal-dust -seemed to have been grimed into the pores of his greasy and wax-white -skin. - -The lad’s smirk was a quaint mixture of pride and sheepishness when -Murchison came down the stairs half an hour later and congratulated him -on the possession of a son. - -“Glad it’s over, doctor. ’Ave a drop?” and he reached for a clean glass. - -Murchison’s face hardened. - -“No, thanks very much. Your wife has come through it very well.” - -The man put his paper down and held Murchison’s overcoat for him. - -“Well, it’s a mercy, doctor, that it ain’t twins.” - -“Not a double responsibility, eh?” - -The lad winked. - -“Why, there’s a cove bin writin’ in this paper as ’ow every man ought t’ -have a woppin’ fam’ly. I sh’ld like to ask ’im, ‘’ow about the bread and -cheese?’” - -“And the beer, perhaps?” - -“Ther, doctor, only two bob a week—reg’lar. That ain’t ruination. It’s -a bit sweaty down in the coal-’ole. I give the missus most of the -money.” - -“So do I,” and Murchison smiled at the lad with something fatherly in -his eyes. - -“You do that, doctor?” - -“I do.” - -“Well, there ain’t much mistake in makin’ the missus yer banker when -she’s clean and tidy, and looks to a man’s buttons.” - -Murchison turned out again into the drizzling rain, and swung along a -dozen dreary streets that resembled each other much as one curbstone -resembles another. A church clock was striking eleven as he reached a -row of little, red brick villas on the outskirts of the town, with a -dirty piece of waste-land in front and the black canal behind. He -stopped before a gate that bore, as though in irony, the name -“Clovelly.” There was no blue, boundless Atlantic within glimpse of -Wilton town, no flashing up of golden coast-lines in the sunlight, no -towering cliffs piling green foam towards a sapphire sky. - -The front door opened at the click of the garden gate, if ten square -feet of garden and a gravel-path could be flattered with the name of a -garden. A woman’s figure stood outlined by the lamp burning in the hall. -She was dressed in a cheap cotton blouse, and skirt of dark-blue serge, -but the clothes looked well on her, better than silks on the body of -another. - -Her husband’s face drew out of the darkness into the light. Catherine’s -eyes had rested half-questioningly on it for a moment, the eyes of a -woman whose love is ever on the watch. - -“I am late, dear,” and he went in with a feeling of tired relief. - -They kissed. - -“Come, your supper is ready. Dear me, what a long day you have had!” and -she glanced at the bag, understanding at once what had kept him to such -an hour. - -“How are the youngsters?” - -“Asleep since nine.” - -Catherine took his coat and hat, and put her arm through his as they -went into the little front room together. A coke fire glowed in the -diminutive grate, a saucepan full of soup stood steaming on the trivet. -Murchison sat down at the table that was half covered by a white cloth. -At the other end lay his wife’s work-basket, with a dozen pairs of socks -and stockings. Her eyes had been tired before the opening of the garden -gate. Now they were bright and vital, for love had wiped all weariness -away—that heroic, quiet love that conquers a thousand sordid trifles. - -“Saturday is always busy.” - -“I know,” and she smiled as she poured him out his soup. - -“I think we had nearly a hundred people to-night. Thanks, dear, thanks,” -and he touched her hand. - -Catherine sat down on the sofa, and took up her stockings, seeing that -he was tired, too tired to care to talk. Her woman’s instinct was rarely -at a loss, and a tired man appreciates restfulness in a wife. - -When he had finished, she rose and drew the solitary arm-chair before -the fire, and brought him his pipe and his tobacco. Murchison’s face -softened. He never lost the consciousness of all she had forgiven. - -He drew out the week’s money when they had talked for a while, and -handed the three sovereigns to her, keeping only the three shillings for -himself. Catherine wore the key of their cash-box tied to a piece of -ribbon round her neck. It was Murchison who had insisted on this -precaution. Every week he gave the money to her, and saw her lock it in -the cash-box on her desk. - -“Shall I still keep the key, dear?” - -“Keep it.” - -“Yes,” and she colored like a girl, “you know that I trust you.” - -“I know it, but I have sworn to myself, dear, to risk nothing.” - -She rose slowly and put the money away, glad in her heart of his quiet -and determined strength. - -“I understand—” - -“That I mean to crush this curse now—once—and forever.” - -Murchison finished his pipe, and Catherine put her work away. The front -door was locked, the gas turned out. Husband and wife went up the stairs -together, Catherine carrying the lighted candle. She opened a door -leading from the narrow landing, and they went in, hand in hand, to look -at their two children who were asleep. - -A wistful smile hovered about Murchison’s mouth. - -“Poor little beggars, they don’t see much of me!” - -He was thinking of the past and of the future. Indeed, he thought the -same thoughts nightly as he looked at the two heads upon the pillows. - -“Gwen is looking better again.” - -“Is she?” and he sighed. - -“We had quite a long walk to-day before it began to rain.” - -They spoke in undertones, Murchison leaning over Gwen’s little bed. He -looked at her very lovingly, as though wishing to feel her small arms -about his neck. - -“Good-night, little one. Good-night, Mischief Jack,” and he turned to -his wife with the air of a man repeating a solemn and nightly prayer. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - - -Failure is bitter enough in itself to a man of energy and strength of -purpose, but more bitter still are the humiliations and the sufferings -that failure may impose on those he loves. - -Reputation, resources, his very home, had been swallowed up, but in -Murchison there was that dogged northern spirit, that stubborn uplift -against odds, that is at its strongest when confronted with defeat. Like -a man brought to the edge of a black cliff at night, he had looked down -grimly into the depths, depths that waited not for him alone, but for -the innocent children who held his hands. - -As a cheap assistant in a colliery town, James Murchison had joined -issue with his own unfitness for the ordeal of life. A tight-mouthed and -rather silent man, he had entered upon the rebuilding of his -self-respect with the dogged patience of a Titan. The little, red brick -villa, with the dirty piece of waste land in front and the black canal -behind, might have suggested no stage for heroic drama to the casual -eyes of Murchison’s neighbors. The big, brown-faced man stalked to and -fro to work, quiet and unobtrusive, a figure that was soon familiar to -most of the middle-class people who lived on either side. He seemed one -of those many mortals who move through life without a history, an ant in -an ant world, busy, monotonously busy, earning his paltry pounds a week, -without glamour, and without fame. - -Man suffers most in seeing those dear to him in suffering, and the -tragic tones of life are caught from the lips of those he loves. The -wounds of a wife or of a child are open in the heart of the husband or -father. Remorse or self-accusation, if there be cause for such a -feeling, is as the vinegar on the sponge to the man crucified by his own -sin. One has but to come in contact with the material side of -civilization to discover how desperately sordid this twentieth-century -life can be. How great the contrast was between Roxton lying amid its -woods and meadows, and the dismal colliery town, Murchison, as a father, -realized too soon. The one smelled of the fresh earth, primal and -invigorating; the other of soap-works, soot, cabbage-water, and rancid -oil. In Roxton the mortality was low; in the colliery town hundreds of -infants died yearly before they were four weeks old. - -Such realism, the vivid heritage of thousands, might well make a man go -grimly through life, the burden of care very heavy on his shoulders. - -To watch a wife’s face fade, despite her courage, poverty and sorrow -bringing weariness to the serenest eyes. - -To know that drudgery burdens the dear life of the home. - -To watch the lapsing of a child from sheer health into sickness, the -beautiful aliveness vanishing, the bloom marred like the bloom on -handled fruit. - -The consciousness of dependence and obligation, the receiving of brusque -instructions from a man of cheap and vulgar fibre. - -Sordid surroundings, sordid neighbors, an utter dearth of friends. - -Work, eternal work, day in, day out; no Sabbath rest, no time for home -life, no money to give joy to those most dear. - -A vivid ghost past following, like a shadow. - -A dim and unflattering future before the eyes, a future darkened by the -prophetic dread of leaving wife and children alone in a selfish world. - -Such were the realities that filled James Murchison’s sphere of -consciousness, realities that were responsible for many a sleepless -night. - - * * * * * - -It was the afternoon of a February day when Murchison stopped before the -theatre in Wilton High Street, for the colliery town delighted in -melodrama, and pulling out a pigskin purse, examined the contents with -critical consideration. He had saved a few shillings by stinting himself -in tobacco, and in his daily lunch at a cheap eating-house near Dr. -Tugler’s surgery. The pantomime “Puss in Boots” was still running at the -theatre, and at the box-office Murchison bought four tickets for the -upper circle. - -In the old days the children had gone up yearly to Drury Lane, and -Master Jack had been making many allusions to the gaudy “posters” -covering a hoarding near the row of red brick villas. More than once the -boy’s thoughtless words had hurt the father’s heart. It was chiefly of -Gwen that Murchison thought as he thrust the envelope with its yellow -slips into his breast-pocket. - -At Clovelly, Catherine, her sleeves turned up, stood in the little back -kitchen making a suet-pudding. The Murchisons had dispensed with a -servant because of the expense, for their income had practically no -margin, and money had to be scraped together to pay the yearly dividend -on the husband’s life-insurance. Catherine’s mother, a somewhat stern, -pious, and bedridden old lady, living in a respectable south-coast town, -allowed her daughter a small sum each year. Mrs. Pentherby was the -possessor of a comfortable income, but suffered from a meanness of mind -and a severity of prejudice that had made her rather merciless to -Murchison in the hour of his misfortune. Such money as she sent was to -be spent “solely on the children.” Catherine’s face had often reddened -over the contents of her mother’s drastic and didactic letters. Her love -and her loyalty were hurt by the old lady’s blunt and Puritanical -advice. As for James Murchison, he had too much pride to ever dream of -touching Mrs. Pentherby’s “ear-marked” donations to his children. - -On several occasions a five-pound note had reached Clovelly anonymously -from another quarter. Murchison had suspected Porteus Carmagee of this -noiseless generosity, but he had been unable to discover whence the -money came. The little lawyer of Lombard Street alone knew how the -phenomenal damages accorded to Mrs. Baxter by a sentimental jury had -swept away all Murchison’s savings, and even the money realized by the -sale of his furniture and his car. Yet these five-pound notes were -always placed in Catherine’s hands, to be deposited in the post-office -savings-bank in Gwendolen Murchison’s name. At Christmas a huge hamper -had reached them from Roxton, a hamper whose bulk had symbolized the -abundant kindness of Miss Carmagee’s virgin heart. Friends in adversity -are friends worthy of honor, and Miss Carmagee, good woman, had packed -the hamper with her own fat and generous hands. - -Catherine, her fore-arms white with flour, stood in the little back -kitchen, tying a piece of cloth over the pudding-bowl before sinking it -in the steaming saucepan on the fire. The winter day was drawing towards -twilight. Mists hung over the black canal. Through the windows could be -seen the zinc roofs of a number of storage sheds attached to the -buildings of a steam-mill. - -In the front parlor the horse-hair sofa had been drawn beneath the -window, and Gwen, her golden head on a faded blue cushion, lay, trying a -new frock on a great wax doll. The child’s eyes looked big and strange -in her pale face, and the blue veins showed through the pearly skin. -Apathy in a child is pathetic in its unnaturalness, the more so when the -sparkle of health has but lately left the eager eyes. Gwen had whitened -like a plant deprived of life. Her black-socked legs were no longer -brown and chubby. She had the unanimated and drooping look of a child -languid under the spell of some insidious disease. - -The garden gate closed with a clash as Master Jack came crunching up the -gravel-path, swinging his ragged school-books at the end of a strap. He -grimaced at Gwen, and rang the bell with the cheerful verve of youth, -for John Murchison was a sturdy ragamuffin, capable of adapting himself -to changed surroundings. The young male is a creature of mental -resilience and resource. Toys were fewer, puddings plainer, parties -unknown. But a boy can find treasures in a rubbish heap and mystery in -the dirty waters of a canal. - -Master Jack’s return from school was usually a noisy incident. He -appeared loud and emphatic, an infallible autocrat of eight. - -“I say—I’m hungry.” - -Bang went the books into a corner of the hall. For the hundredth time -Catherine reproved her son, and insisted on Master Jack’s “primers” -being put in order on the proper shelf. The boy, much under compulsion, -stooped for those battered symbols of civilization, disclosing in the -act a disastrous rent in his blue serge knickers. - -“Jack, dear, what have you been doing to your clothes?” - -“What clothes, mother?” - -The boy’s innocent yet subtle obtuseness did not save him from further -catechisation. - -“I only mended your knickers yesterday, Jack, and they were new last -month.” - -“My knickers, mother!” - -“What have you been doing?” - -Master Jack passed a hypocritical hand over a certain region. - -“Lor!” - -“Don’t say ‘lor,’ dear.” - -“Well, I never! I was only climbin’ with Bert Smith.” - -“You don’t think, Jack, that clothes cost money.” - -It was perfectly plain that no such thought ever entered Jack -Murchison’s head. Children are serenely insensible to the worries of -their elders, and, moreover, Master Jack had at the moment a grievance -of his own. - -“Bert Smith’s going to the pantomime,” and he pushed past his mother -into the front room; swinging his books. - -“Jack, be careful!” - -“Why don’t we go to the pantomime? It’s a beastly shame!” - -Catherine’s lips quivered almost imperceptibly. The blatant -self-assertiveness of boyhood hurt her, as the thoughtless grumblings of -a child must often hurt a mother. - -“Put those books down, dear, and go and change your knickers.” - -Jack obeyed, if swinging the books into a corner could be called -obedience. Catherine restrained a gesture of impatience. Gwen, lying on -the sofa, winced at the clatter as though morbidly sensitive to sounds. - -“You are silly, Jack!” - -“Shut up.” - -“Muvver’s tired.” - -Reproof from a supposed inferior is never particularly welcome. Jack -made a clutch at his sister’s doll, landed it by one leg, and proceeded -to dangle it head downward before the fire. - -“Jack—Jack—don’t!” - -The boy chuckled like a tyrant as Gwen, peevish and hypersensitive, -burst into a flood of tears. Catherine, who had turned back into the -kitchen, reappeared in time to rescue the doll from being melted. - -“Jack, I am ashamed of you.” - -She took the doll from him, and went to the window to comfort Gwen. John -Murchison, conscious of humiliation, adopted an attitude of aggressive -scorn. - -“Silly old doll.” - -“Jack, go up to the nursery.” - -“Sha’n’t.” - -His courage melted rather abruptly, however, before the look upon his -mother’s face. He retreated at his leisure, climbed the stairs slowly, -whistling as he went, and kicking the banisters with the toes of his -boots. - -A grieved voice reached Catherine from the half-dark landing. - -“Mother?” - -“Yes.” - -“Why can’t we go to the pantomime?” - -“Go into the nursery, dear, and don’t grumble.” - -“Bert Smith’s going. I call it a beastly shame.” - -“Jack, if you say another word I shall send you to bed.” - -Five minutes had hardly elapsed before Catherine heard her husband’s -footsteps on the path, and the rattle of his latch-key in the lock. In -the front room he found poor Gwen still sobbing spasmodically in her -mother’s arms. - -The sight damped the glow on Murchison’s face. - -“Hallo, what’s the matter?” and the anxious lines came back in his -forehead. - -“Nothing, dear, nothing.” - -“Why, little one, what is it?” - -Catherine surrendered her place to him. Murchison’s arms went round the -child. Gwen, though struggling to be brave, broke out again into -uncontrollable and helpless weeping. - -“I—I’s tired, father.” - -“Tired! there, there! You must not cry like this,” and the big man’s -face was a study in troubled tenderness. - -“What has upset her, Kate?” - -He looked at his wife. - -“Jack has been teasing her.” - -“The young scoundrel.” - -“The boy’s in one of his trying moods.” And she could find no more to -say against her son. - -Gwen grew comforted in her father’s arms. Yet to this man who had -learned to watch the faces of the sick, there was something ominous in -the child’s half-fretful eyes, in the way she flushed, and in the -hurrying of her heart. He felt her hands; they were hot and feverish. - -Husband and wife looked at each other. - -“Tired, little one, eh?” - -“Yes, very tired.” - -She lay with her head on her father’s shoulder, looking with large, -languid eyes up into his face. - -“By-bye time for little girls who are going to see ‘Puss in Boots’ -to-morrow.” - -Gwen’s eyes brightened a little; her hands held the lappets of her -father’s coat-collar. - -“Oh—daddy!” - -Murchison felt in his pocket and drew out the envelope with the yellow -tickets. - -“So you would like to see ‘Puss in Boots’?” - -“Yes, oh yes.” - -“Little girls who go to pantomimes must go to bed early. Shall daddy -carry you up-stairs?” - -A tired but ecstatic sigh accepted the condition. Murchison lifted the -child, kissed her, and smiled sadly at his wife. - -“What about your unregenerate son?” - -Catherine turned, and called to Jack, who was listening at the nursery -door. - -“Jack, dear, you may come down.” - -A clatter of feet pounded down the stairs. - -“Quiet, dear, quiet.” - -“Daddy, Bert Smith’s going to the pantomime.” - -“He is, is he? Well, so are we.” - -“To ‘Puss in Boots’?” - -“Yes, if a certain young gentleman is good.” - -Jack gave a shout of triumph, kissed Gwen, and skipped round the room as -Murchison went out with his daughter in his arms. - -The boy ran to Catherine, and jumped up to her embrace. - -“I’m sorry, mother,” and his bright face vanquished her. - -“Sorry, Jack?” - -“I tore my knickers.” - -And Catherine took the confession in the spirit that it was given. - - - - - CHAPTER XXII - - -Though the most agile of mock cats cut capers behind the foot-lights, -and though forty fairies in green and crimson fluttered their gauzy -wings under the paste-board trees, Gwen Murchison sat silent and -solemn-eyed beside her father, while her brother shouted over the -vagaries of Selina the Cook. The glitter, the kaleidoscopic color, the -gaudy incidentalism of the mummery could charm only a transient light -into Gwen’s eyes. She sat beside Murchison, with one hot hand in his, -her face shining like a white flower out of the depths of the crowded -balcony. - -“Daddy, I’m so tired.” - -They were in the theatre arcade with a great electric light blazing -above their heads. People were pouring from the vestibule. A line of -trams and cabs waited in the roadway to drain the human flood streaming -out into the night. - -“Tired, little one?” - -“So tired, daddy! My head, it does ache.” - -Under the glare of the electric arc Murchison’s face had a haggard look -as he took Gwen up like a baby in his arms. Jack was hanging to his -mother’s hand, garrulous and ecstatic, a slab of warm chocolate browning -his fingers. - -“Let’s go in the tram, mother.” - -Catherine was following her husband’s powerful figure, as he pushed -through the crowd with Gwen lying in his arms. Murchison had hailed a -cab, a luxury that he had not allowed himself for many a long week. The -wife caught a glimpse of her husband’s face as he turned to her. There -was something in his eyes that made her look at Gwen. - -“I say, daddy, how that old—” - -“Quiet, dear, quiet.” - -The boy’s shrill voice died down abruptly. He looked puzzled, and a -little offended, and began cramming chocolate into his mouth. Murchison -had opened the cab door. - -“Gwen?” - -Catherine’s eyes interrogated her husband. - -“Get in, dear; can you take her from me? The child is dead tired.” - -Gwen appeared half asleep. Her eyes opened vaguely as her father lifted -her into the cab. - -“My head aches, muvver.” - -“Does it, dear?” and Catherine’s arms drew close about her; “we shall -soon be home.” - -“In with you, Jack.” - -The boy scrambled into a corner, fidgeted to and fro, and stared at his -mother. Murchison followed him, closing the door gently, and putting up -both windows, for the night was raw and cold. The cab rumbled away over -the Wilton cobbles, the windows clattering like castanets, the light -from the street-lamps flashing in rhythmically upon the faces of -Catherine and her children. Murchison had sunk into his corner with a -heavy sigh. The cab had a sense of smothering confinement for him. With -the crunching wheels and the chattering windows, he was too conscious, -through the oppressive restlessness of it all, of Gwen’s tired and -apathetic face. - -“Don’t, Jack, don’t—” - -The child stirred in her mother’s arms with a peevish cry. Her brother, -who had devoured his chocolate, had squirmed forward to tickle his -sister’s legs. - -“Sit still.” - -Murchison’s voice was fierce in its suppressed impatience. Jack crumbled -into his corner, while his mother soothed Gwen and stroked her hair. A -distant church clock chimed the quarter as the cab turned a corner -slowly, and stopped before the blank-faced villa. Murchison climbed out -and took Gwen from his wife’s arms. He unlocked the door, and laid the -child on the sofa by the window, before returning to pay the man his -fare. - -“How much?” - -“Two bob, sir.” - -Murchison felt in his pockets, and brought out a shilling, a sixpence, -and two half-pennies. The little cash-box in Catherine’s desk had to be -unlocked before the cab rattled away, leaving a solitary candle burning -in the front room of Clovelly. - -In half an hour the two children were in bed; Gwen feverish, restless, -Jack reduced to silence by his father’s quiet but unquestionable -authority. Murchison examined Gwen anxiously as she lay with her curls -gathered up by a blue ribbon. He made her up a light draught of bromide, -sweetened it with sugar, and persuaded the child to drink it down. -Master Jack Murchison was ordered to lie as quiet as a mouse. Then -Catherine and her husband went down to a plain and rather dismal supper, -cold boiled mutton, rice-pudding, bread and cheese. - -When the meal was over, Catherine glided up-stairs to look at Gwen. She -found both children asleep. Jack curled up like a puppy, the girl -flushed, but breathing peacefully. In the dining-room Murchison had -drawn an arm-chair before the fire, and was stirring the dull coal into -a blaze. He glanced uneasily over his shoulder as he heard his wife’s -step upon the threshold. Catherine was struck by his lined and -thoughtful face. - -“Well?” - -“Both asleep.” - -Her husband continued to stir the fire, his eyes catching a restless -gleam from the wayward flicker of the flames. - -“I am bothered about the child, Kate.” - -“Yes.” - -She turned a chair from the table. - -“This last month—” - -“You have noticed the change?” - -“Yes, dear.” - -“So have I.” - -He rested his elbows on his knees, and sat close over the fire, moving -the poker to and fro as though beating time. - -“She has lost flesh and color. There is a swollen gland in the neck, -too. This beast of a town, I suppose, with its dirt and smoke. Thank -God, the boy seems fit enough.” - -He spoke slowly, yet with an emphatic curtness that might have suggested -lack of feeling to a sentimentalist. Catherine sat in silence, watching -him with troubled eyes. - -“Do you suspect anything?” - -“Suspect?” - -He turned sharply, and she could see the nervous twitching of his brows. - -“Anything serious? Oh—James, don’t keep me in ignorance.” - -She slipped from her chair, and sat down beside him on the hearth-rug, -leaning against his knees. - -“The child is out of health, dear. It may mean anything or nothing. I am -wondering”—and he stopped with a tired sigh—“whether we can give her a -change of air.” - -“Dear, why not?” - -She met his eyes, and colored. - -“That is—” - -“If we can find the money.” - -Catherine pretended not to notice the humiliating bitterness in his -voice. - -“It can be managed. I think mother would take Gwen. I’m sure she would -take her.” - -Murchison smiled the unpleasant, cynical smile of a man unwilling to ask -a favor. - -“Grandparents are always more merciful to their grandchildren,” he said; -“I suppose because there is less responsibility.” - -Catherine reached for his hand, and drew it down into her bosom. - -“I will write at once, James, if you are willing.” - -“I have no right to object.” - -“Object!” - -“Beggars are not choosers.” - -“James, don’t.” - -“I realize my position, dear, and I accept it as a law of nature.” - -Her face, wistful with a wealth of unshed tears, appealed to him for -mercy towards himself. - -“Don’t let us talk of it. Oh, James, why should we? Then, I may write to -mother?” - -“Yes.” - -She knelt up and kissed him. - -“Beloved, if Gwen should die!” - -Life was a somewhat monotonous affair at Dr. Tugler’s dispensary. Method -was essential to the management of such a business, for there was more -of the commercial enterprise in Dr. Tugler’s profession than a wilful -idealist could have wished. Surgery hours began at eight, and Dr. -Tugler’s was a punctual personality. Day in, day out, he bustled into -the red-windowed front room as the hand of the clock came to the hour. -Nothing but the most flagrant necessity was permitted to interfere with -the precision of his practice. And since John Tugler did not spare his -own body, it was not reasonable that he should spare those who worked -for hire. - -It was March 2d, a Tuesday, with a wet fog clogging the streets, when -James Murchison arrived at the dispensary as the clock struck nine. The -front room, packed as to its benches, steamed like a stable. The -indescribable odor that emanates from the clothes of the poor made the -air heavy with the smell of the unwashed slums. - -Dr. Tugler glanced up briskly as the big man entered, screwed up his -mouth, nodded, and jerked an elbow in the direction of the clock. - -“Bustle along, Mr. Murchison. There are half a dozen cases waiting for -you in the surgery.” - -Murchison said nothing, but passed on. His face had a white, drawn look, -and he seemed to move half-blindly, like a man exhausted by a long march -in the sun. - -Tugler looked at him curiously, frowned, and then rattled off a string -of directions to an old woman seated beside him, her red hands clutching -the old leather bag in her lap. - -“Medicine three times a day—before meals. Drop the drink. Regular food. -Come again next week. Shilling? That’s right. Next—please.” - -The old woman’s sodden face still poked itself towards the doctor with -senile eagerness. - -“I ’ope you won’t be minding me, sir, but this ’ere—” - -Dr. Tugler became suddenly deaf. - -“Next, please.” - -There was something in the atmosphere suggestive of a barber’s shop. A -robust collier was already waiting for the old lady to vacate her chair. - -“I was goin’ to ask you, doctor—” - -“This time next week. We’re busy. Good-morning, Smith; sit down.” - -The woman licked a drooping lip with a sharp, dry tongue, looked at the -doctor dubiously, and began to fumble in her bag. - -“I’ve got a box of pills ’ere, sir, as—” - -“Hem.” - -Tugler cleared his throat irritably, and appeared surprised to find her -still sitting at his elbow. - -“Pills?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“What for?” - -“The bowels, sir.” - -“Need ’em?” - -“Well, sir, as I might say, sir, I’m obstinate, very obstinate—” - -“Let’s look at the box.” - -“You don’t be thinkin’, doctor, there’s any ’arm?” - -“Harm! Bread and ginger. Take the lot. Sit down, Smith,” and Dr. -Tugler’s emphasis ended the discussion with the finality of fate. - -When the room had cleared, and the last bottle had been passed through -the dispensary window, that opened like the window of a railway -booking-office into the alley at the side of the shop, Dr. Tugler -marched into the surgery where Murchison had finished syringing the wax -out of an old man’s ears. - -“Overslept yourself, Murchison? I must buy you an alarum, you know, if -it happens again.” - -Murchison was washing his hands at the tap over the sink. - -“No,” he said, “I was up half the night.” - -John Tugler, cheerful little bully that he was, noticed the sag of the -big man’s shoulders, and the peculiar harshness of his voice. - -“Get through with it all right?” - -Murchison stared momentarily at Dr. Tugler over his shoulder, a glance -that had the significance of the flash of a drawn sword. - -“It was not one of your cases,” he said. - -“Private affair, eh?” - -“My child is ill.” - -“Your child?” - -“Yes; I’m a bit worried, that’s all.” - -Murchison turned the tap off with a jerk, rasped the dirty towel round -the roller, and began to dry his hands as though he were trying to crush -something between his palms. Dr. Tugler thrust out a lower lip, looked -hard at Murchison, and fidgeted his fists in his trousers-pockets. - -“What’s the matter?” - -The big man’s silence suggested for a moment that he resented the -abruptness of the question. - -“Can’t say—yet.” - -“Serious?” - -“I’m afraid so, yes.” - -Dr. Tugler frowned a little, stared hard at the ventilator, and pulled -his hands out of his pockets with a jerk. - -“Look here, Murchison, you’ve lost your nerve a little. I’ll come round -and have a look at the youngster. You had better knock off work to-day.” - -“Thanks, I’d rather stick to it. You might see the child, though. I—” - -“Well?” - -Murchison had turned his face away, and was standing by the window, -fumbling with his cuff links. - -“I don’t like the look of things. I don’t know why, but a man’s nerve -seems to go when he’s doctoring his own kin.” - -“That’s so,” and Dr. Tugler nodded. - -“Then you’ll come round?” - -“Supposing we go at once?” - -“It’s good of you.” - -“Bosh.” - -And Dr. Tugler turned into the front room, took his top-hat from the gas -bracket, and began to polish it with his sleeve. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII - - -A March wind blew the dust and dead leaves in eddies through the breadth -of Castle Gate as Dr. Steel’s brougham drew up before the timbered front -of a Jacobean house. The mellow building with its carved barge-boards -and great sweeping gables bore the date of 1617, and still carried a -weather-worn sign swinging on an iron bracket. For the last fifty years -the ground floor had been used as a grocery shop, a dim, rambling cavern -of a place fragrant with the scent of coffee and spices. The proprietor, -Mr. Isaac Mainprice, a very superior tradesman who dabbled in -archæology, had refrained from gilt lettering above the door; nor did -the quaint leaded windows glare with advertisements, whiskey bottles, -and Dutch cheeses. Every one within ten miles of Roxton knew Mr. -Mainprice. His prosperity did not need to be flaunted upon his windows. - -“Good-day, madam. Terribly windy. Permit me.” - -Mrs. Betty had swept across the pavement in her sables, an opulent -figure wooed by the March wind. Mr. Mainprice had fussed forward in -person. He bowed in his white apron, swung a chair forward, and then -dodged behind the counter. The shop was empty, and three melancholy -assistants studied Mrs. Betty from behind pyramids of sweetmeats and -packages of tea, for the face under the white toque had all the -imperative fascination of smooth and confident beauty. - -Mrs. Steel drew out a little ivory memorandum-book, and glanced at it -perfunctorily, before looking up into Mr. Mainprice’s attentive face. He -was a weak-eyed, damp-haired man, with a big nose and a loose, -good-tempered mouth. A patch of red on either cheek seemed to suggest -that the _épicier_ cultivated an authoritative taste in port, sherry, -and Madeira. - -“I want some jellies and soups, Mr. Mainprice.” - -“Certainly, madam.” - -“There are a few poor people my husband attends. I want to help them -with a few little delicacies.” - -Mrs. Betty’s drawl was most confidentially sympathetic, and Mr. -Mainprice ducked approvingly behind the counter. - -“What brand, madam? Lazenby’s, Cross & Blackwell’s—?” - -“Oh—the best—what you recommend.” - -“Thank you, madam.” - -“Let me see,” and Mrs. Betty’s eyes wandered with an air of delightful -innocence about the shop; “I like the glassed jellies best. Six. Yes, -six. And six tins of desiccated soup.” - -“Certainly, madam. The large size?” - -“Yes. Will you have them made up into different parcels? I will take -them in the carriage.” - -“Certainly, madam.” - -Mr. Mainprice nodded sharply to the three melancholy assistants, and -then bent over the counter to scribble in his order-book. - -“Very windy weather, madam.” - -Mrs. Betty glanced up brightly at the suave, thin-whiskered face, and -smiled. She had a great variety of smiles, and Mr. Mainprice was an -intelligent person, and a man who was not ashamed of wearing a white -apron. Moreover, he was an excellent patient, the father of five tall -and unhealthy daughters, and the sympathetic husband of a neurasthenic -wife. - -“Terribly windy,” she agreed. “This is a dear old house, but I suppose -it is rather draughty.” - -“No, madam, no, we find it very comfortable. I have had double windows -fitted to the upper rooms.” - -“They make such a difference.” - -“Such a difference, madam.” - -There was a short pause. Mr. Mainprice was a nervous man. He had a habit -of sniffing, and of opening and shutting his order-book as though it was -imperative for him to keep his hands occupied. - -“Dr. Steel is very busy, madam?” - -“Oh, very busy; so much influenza.” - -“I am afraid, madam,” and Mr. Mainprice elongated himself over the -counter with a waggish side twist of the head—“I am afraid we selfish -people don’t show Dr. Steel much mercy.” - -Mrs. Betty laughed. - -“I believe you yourself have been particularly wicked this winter, Mr. -Mainprice.” - -“I must plead guilty, madam.” - -“You are quite well now, I hope?” - -Mr. Mainprice frowned, and half shut one eye. - -“Nearly well, madam. I ventured out last night without orders.” - -“The Primrose League Concert?” - -“Now, madam, you have found me out!” - -Mrs. Betty and the _épicier_ regarded each other with a sympathetic -sense of humor. - -“We were there, Mr. Mainprice, and I was so annoyed because Dr. Steel -was called away just before your daughter sang.” - -“Indeed, madam,” and Mr. Mainprice sniffed with nervous satisfaction. - -“The best item on the programme. Such a sweet contralto, and such -musical feeling. I remember poor Mrs. Murchison used to sing some of the -same songs. Of course she never had your daughter’s artistic instinct.” - -Mr. Mainprice colored, and looked coy. - -“The girl has had first-class lessons, Mrs. Steel. I believe in having -the best of everything. I have been very fortunate, madam, and though I -ought not to mention it, money is no consideration.” - -The grocer straightened his back suddenly, with a mild snigger of -self-salutation. - -“Money well spent, Mr. Mainprice—” - -“Is money invested, madam. Exactly. And a good education is an -investment in these days.” - -Two of the melancholy assistants were carrying the parcels to Mrs. -Betty’s carriage. She rose with a rustle of silks, her rich fur jacket -setting off her slim but sensuous figure. Mr. Mainprice dodged from -behind the counter, and preceded her to the door. - -“If it will be any convenience, Mrs. Steel, we can deliver the parcels -immediately.” - -“Thank you, I want to see the people myself. I like to keep in touch -with the poor, Mr. Mainprice.” - -The grocer’s weak eyes honored a ministering angel. - -“Exactly, madam. Permit me—” - -He edged through the door with a nervous clearing of the throat, blinked -as the wind blew a cloud of dust across the road, and escorted my Lady -Bountiful to her carriage. - -“What address, madam?” - -“Thank you so much, Mr. Mainprice, the coachman knows.” - -And Mr. Mainprice stood on the curb for fully ten seconds, watching Dr. -Steel’s brougham bear this most charming lady upon her round of -Christian kindness and pity. - -It is wise in this world to cultivate a reputation for philanthropy, -though like the priestly dress it may be a mere sanctity of the surface. -Few people are honest enough to be open egotists, and to attain our ends -it is necessary to skilfully bribe our neighbors’ prejudices. Though -self-interest is the motive power that keeps the world from flagging, it -is neither discreet nor cultured to blatantly acknowledge such a truth, -for without a certain measure of hypocrisy life would be a sorry -scramble. That man should be taught to love his neighbor as himself is -both admirable and inspiring, and yet no one who respects his banking -account could ever seriously accept so unbusiness-like a theory. There -was more shrewd, honest, and unflinching truth-telling in Hobbes than in -the vaporings of a flimsy sentimentalism. - -Now Mrs. Betty had no more love for a washerwoman sick with a carbuncle -on her neck than she had for an old and mildewed boot. Poverty and the -inevitable sordidness thereof were more than distasteful to her, and yet -she was so far sound in her worldly philosophy as to dissemble her -distaste for expediency’s sake. It is never foolish to be suspected of -generosity. And in Roxton, where the ladies counted one another’s yearly -record as to hats, it was necessary to assume some sort of benignant -attitude towards the heathen or the poor. Betty Steel, as the leading -physician’s wife, recognized the power of judicious and moral -self-advertisement. She had lived down her mischievous desire to shock -the good people who paid her husband’s pleasant bills. No doubt she -derived some delicate satisfaction from playing the fair lady in her -furs, and from conferring favors on her humbler neighbors. The sense of -superiority is always pleasant. That man is a liar who describes himself -as utterly indifferent to obloquy or favor. - -Mrs. Betty stopped at a florist’s shop on her way and bought three -bundles of Scilla flowers. The golden blooms made a kind of splendor -beside her sable coat. Colonel Feveril, Roxton’s most antique dandy, -passed as she returned towards her brougham, and the brisk sweep of the -soldier’s hat saved her the trouble of remembering her mirror. - -At the top of one of the alleys leading to the river, Dr. Steel’s wife -disembarked upon her errand of mercy. A small boy whipping a top on the -narrow sidewalk served as a porter for the carrying of her jellies. One -or two greasy heads were poked out of the pigeon-holes of windows. Mrs. -Betty, demure and sweet as any Dorcas, knocked at the door of No. 5. - -“Good-day, Mrs. Ripstone.” - -An elderly woman in a faded blue flannel blouse had thrust a beak of a -nose round the edge of the door. - -“Good-day, ma’am.” - -The thin, hard face offered no very fulsome welcome. - -“How is your husband? Dr. Steel told me yesterday that he was a little -better.” - -Mrs. Ripstone’s lethargic eyes rested for a moment on the small boy -carrying the parcels. Mrs. Betty herself bore the golden flowers. - -“Much obliged, ma’am; my ’usband is doin’ as well as can be expected. -Will you step in? We ain’t particular tidy.” - -Mrs. Betty stepped in, and sat down calmly on a very rickety chair. - -“I have brought you a little soup, and two glasses of jelly.” - -“Much obliged to you, ma’am.” - -The two women looked curiously at each other. They were utterly unlike -in any characteristic. Mrs. Betty in her furs looked like a Russian -countess in the hovel of a peasant. - -The room was unconditionally dirty, and smelled of burned fat. There was -nothing to admire in it, nothing to provide the lady with a subject for -enthusiasm. - -“I am glad your husband is better, Mrs. Ripstone.” - -“Thank you, ma’am.” - -The woman in the blue blouse stood stolidly by the table. Mrs. Betty’s -words made no evident impression on her. It was as though she regarded -the visit as a necessary evil, and was only persuaded to be polite by -such tangible blessings as might accrue. - -“Have you any children?” - -Mrs. Ripstone stared. - -“Ten, ma’am.” - -Her brevity was expressive. - -“You must be very busy.” - -“I am that, ma’am.” - -“Are they all grown up?” - -“Grow’d up?” - -“Yes.” - -“Well, ma’am,” and the woman in the blue blouse gave a peculiar smile, -“if you’ll listen you’ll ’ear the baby ’ammerin’ a tin pot in the yard.” - -The reek of the burned fat began to prove too powerful for Mrs. Betty’s -sensitive soul. She and Mrs. Ripstone seemed out of sympathy. -Conversation languished. The lady, with all her cleverness, was wholly -at a loss what to say next. - -Two minutes had passed when Dr. Steel’s wife rose. She smiled one of her -perfunctory smiles at the woman in the blue blouse, and turned with a -rustling petticoat towards the door. - -“I hope your husband will like the soup, Mrs. Ripstone.” - -“Thank you, ma’am.” - -“Good-afternoon.” - -“Good-afternoon, ma’am.” - -The woman watched Mrs. Betty to her carriage, and then closed the door -with an expression of rather sour relief. She turned to the flowers and -parcels on the table, untied the string, and examined the contents. - -“Wonder what she’s left ’em for;” such was Mrs. Ripstone’s solitary and -cynical remark. - -In her carriage Mrs. Betty was holding an enamelled scent-bottle to her -nose. - -“I wonder why they are so dirty and so reserved,” she thought; “I don’t -think that woman was the least bit grateful. I don’t like the poor. -Anyway, I have done my duty.” - -The west was wreathed with the torn crimson of a wind-blown sky at -sunset when Mrs. Betty drove home from her essay in almsgiving. St. -Antonia’s spire, a black and slender wedge, seemed to cleave the -vastness of the flaming west. The tall elms about the church were very -restless with the wailing of the wind. - -In Parker Steel’s dining-room there was an air of warmth and luxury, a -sense of deep shelter from the blustering melancholy of the dying day. -The table was laid for tea, a silver kettle singing above the -spirit-lamp, a plate of hot cakes on the trivet before the piled-up -fire. It was the hour of soft, slanting shadows, and of the wayward yet -sleepy flickering of the flames. Betty swept into the room with the -sensuous satisfaction of a cat. The thick Turkey carpet muffled her -footsteps like the moss of a forest “ride.” - -At the window, his figure outlined by the gold and purple of a fading -sky, she saw her husband standing motionless, his head bent forward over -an out-stretched hand. He appeared to be examining something closely in -the twilight. She could see his keen, clear profile, intent and a little -stern. - -“Parker, Parker, the cakes are burning!” - -Her husband turned with a start, taken unawares, like the hero of Wessex -in the swineherd’s hut. Betty Steel had glided towards the fire. - -“Preoccupation—thy name is man! Parker, quick, your handkerchief. The -dish is as hot as—Say something, do.” - -Before the glow of the fire she noticed the irritable frown upon her -husband’s face. - -“Most worried of men, what is the matter?” - -“Matter!” - -“Fate cannot touch us, the cakes are saved. Misery, Parker! Quick, the -kettle!” - -The silver spout was spouting hot water over Mrs. Betty’s treasured -Japanese tray. Her husband with a “damn the thing,” turned down the cap -of the spirit-lamp with a spoon. - -“What an infernal fool that girl Symons is!” - -Mrs. Betty drew a chair forward with her foot, reached for the -tea-caddy, and glanced whimsically across the table at her much grieved -mate. - -“The king did not try to shift the responsibility, Parker.” - -Dr. Steel sat down abruptly, with the air of a man in no mood for -persiflage. - -“What were you studying so intently?” - -“I?” - -“Learning palmistry?” - -Parker Steel helped himself to one of the hot cakes. - -“Oh, nothing,” he said, curtly. - -His wife laughed. - -“What a retort to give a woman!” - -The physician shifted his chair. - -“Really, Betty, am I to go into a lengthy dissertation on every trifle -because you happen to be inquisitive?” - -“Tell me the trifle, and you shall have your tea.” - -“I was looking at a chilblain on my finger.” - -“What admirable bathos, Parker! I might have taken you for Hamlet -soliloquizing for the last time over Ophelia’s tokens.” - -“Oh, quite possibly,” and he began to sip his tea; “you have forgotten -the sugar. What execrable memories you women have!” - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV - - -“Daddy, my head, my head!” - -“Lie quiet, little one. Hold her hands, Kate. Drink it all down, Gwen.” - -“I can’t! Daddy, my head, oh, my head!” - -Dr. John Tugler, standing before the nursery window, bit one corner of -his mustache, and stared hard at the chimney of the steam-mill trailing -a plume of smoke across the dull gray of the sky. The monotonous cooing -of a dove came from a wooden cage hung in the back yard of the next-door -house. A hundred yards away an iron railway bridge crossed the canal, -and the thunder of each passing train made peace impossible in the -little villa. - -Dr. Tugler pulled down the blind. - -“Beast of a back room,” he thought; “they must wring the neck of that -confounded bird.” - -He turned, and stood looking in silence at the two figures bending over -the little bed. Catherine had one arm under the child’s head, and was -smoothing back the hair from Gwen’s forehead. The child’s eyes were -closed, her face flushed. Tugler saw her turn restlessly from her -mother’s arm, as though the least touch was feverishly resented. - -“Don’t, don’t—” - -“There, dear, there!” - -The look in the mother’s eyes betrayed how sharply such an innocent -repulse could wound. - -“Come, Gwen, darling.” - -“I should let her rest, dear.” - -Murchison’s voice was peculiarly quiet. He was standing at the foot of -the bed, bending forward a little over the bar, his eyes fixed on the -face of the child. - -Dr. Tugler moved softly from the window. His habitual bluster had -disappeared completely. His full blue eyes looked dull and puzzled. - -“Not much of a room—this,” he said, apologetically, touching -Murchison’s elbow. - -The father turned and looked at him with the slow and almost stupid -stare of a man suffering from shock. - -“I suppose it isn’t.” - -“We can move her to the front room.” - -Catherine had caught John Tugler’s meaning. She was kneeling beside the -bed, her eyes fixed on the little man’s plebeian but good-natured face. - -“Move her, Mrs. Murchison.” - -“At once?” - -“Yes. She must be kept absolutely quiet; no light, no noise.” - -Catherine looked at him almost helplessly. A train was clanging over the -iron bridge, and the caged dove cooed irrepressibly, a living symbol of -vexatious sentimentalism. - -“There will be less noise in the front room.” - -Her husband nodded. - -“We can have straw put down.” - -“And tell the next-door people to strangle that confounded pigeon.” - -“I will ask them.” - -“And remember, no light.” - -A shrill cry came from the sick child’s lips, as though driven from her -by some sudden flaring up of pain. - -“My head, my head! Muvver—” - -Catherine’s hands flashed out to Gwen, hovering, as though fearing to -touch the fragile thing she loved. She tried to soothe the child, a -woman whose wounded tenderness overflowed in a flood of broken and -disjointed words. Her husband watched her, his firm mouth loosened into -a mute and poignant tremor of distress. - -Tugler touched him on the shoulder. - -“Let’s go down.” - -Murchison straightened, and followed the doctor to the door. He looked -back for a moment, and saw Catherine’s head, a dull gleam of gold above -the child’s flushed face. A strange shock of awe ran through him, like -the deep in-drawing of a breath before some picture that tells of tears. -His vision blurred as he closed the door, and followed John Tugler -slowly down the stairs. - -Both men were silent for a moment in the little front room of Clovelly. -Tugler had taken his stand between the sofa and the table, and was -watching Murchison out of the angles of his eyes. He was accustomed to -dealing with ignorant people, but here he had to satisfy a man whose -professional education had been far better than his own. - -“Why didn’t you tell me of this before, Murchison?” - -“Tell you what?” - -“About the child.” - -Murchison glanced at him blankly. - -“Well, it was my own affair.” - -“Didn’t like to bother any one, eh? You never ought to have kept the -youngster in this beast of a town. I could have told you a lot about -Wilton if you had asked.” - -John Tugler, like many amiable but rather coarse-fibred people, was -often most brusque when meaning to be kind. Moreover, he had a certain -measure of authority to maintain, and for the maintenance of authority -it was customary for him to wax aggressive. - -“I tried to get the child away.” - -Murchison spoke monotonously, yet with effort. - -“We wrote to her grandmother, but the old lady was ill, and put us off -with excuses. The child was only ailing then. It was a matter of money. -The only money I could lay my hands on was a small sum deposited with -the post-office in the child’s own name. And when I got the money—I saw -that it would be no good.” - -The florid little man looked sincerely vexed. - -“You ought to have mentioned it,” he said—“you ought to have mentioned -it. I’m not so damned stingy as not to give a brother practitioner’s -child a chance.” - -Murchison lifted his head. - -“Thanks,” he said. “I suppose it is too late now?” - -His eyes met Dr. Tugler’s. The grim question in that look demanded the -sheer truth. John Tugler understood it, and met it like a man. - -“We can’t move her now,” he said. - -“No.” - -It is incredible what meaning a single word can carry. With Murchison -that “no” meant the surrender of a life. - -Dr. Tugler stared out of the window, and rattled his keys. - -“Did you notice the squint?” he asked, softly. - -“Yes.” - -“And the retraction of the head? She’s been sick, too: cerebral -vomiting. Damn the disease, I’ve seen too much of it!” - -Murchison’s face might have been sculptured by Michael Angelo. - -“Then you think it is that?” he asked, dully. - -“Tubercular meningitis?” - -“Yes.” - -John Tugler nodded. - -There was a short and distraught silence before the little man picked up -his hat. He smoothed it gently with the sleeve of his coat. Murchison -stood motionless, staring at the floor. - -“Look here, Murchison.” - -He glanced up and met the other man’s dull eyes. - -“You can’t work to-day. It doesn’t signify. And about the cash—” - -“Thanks, but—” - -“Now, now, we’re not going to quarrel, are we? The work’s been pretty -thick this winter. I’m rather thinking you’ve done rather more than your -share. It would make things more comfortable, now—wouldn’t it?” - -Murchison gave a kind of groan. - -“It’s good of you, Tugler.” - -“Oh, bosh, man! Am I a bit of flint? Call it another pound a week. It -isn’t much at that. I’ll send you a fiver on account.” - -He gave his hat a last rub, crammed it on his head, and walked hurriedly -towards the door. - -“It’s good of you, Tugler. I—” - -“All right. I don’t want it talked about.” - -The little man was already in the hall, and fumbling for the handle of -the front door. He opened it, slipped out like a guilty debtor, and -crunched down the gravel, swearing to himself after the manner of the -egregious male. - - - - - CHAPTER XXV - - -The windows of Parker Steel’s consulting-room looked out on the garden -at the back of the house, where Lent lilies were already swinging their -golden heads over borders of crocuses, purple, yellow, and white. The -lower part of the window was screened by a wire gauze blind, and the red -serge curtains were looped back close to the shutters. - -However drab and dismal it may be, a physician’s consulting-room has -much of the mystery that shadows the confessional of the priest. The -uninitiated enter with a pleasurable sense of awe. Wisdom seems to -admonish them from her temple of text-books piled up solemnly in the -professional bookcase. There is an air of suave confidence and quiet -reserve about the room. Even the usual Turkey carpet suggests -comfortable sympathy and the touch of the healing hand. - -Even as it is unnatural to suspect a priest of the sins he rebukes in -others, so to the lay mind the physician appears as a being above the -diseases that he treats. There is always something illogical in a doctor -needing his own physic. And yet of all men he is the last that can boast -of the bliss of ignorance. He knows the curses that afflict man in the -flesh, how grim and inevitable his own end may be. He is too well aware -of the malignant significance of symptoms, and a month of dyspepsia may -reduce him to a state of morbid and half hypocondriacal -self-introspection. It is told of a great surgeon how he lay awake all -through one night imagining that he had discovered an aneurism of his -aorta. It is dangerous to know too little, but on occasions it may be -desperately unpleasant to know too much. - -It was a serious and rather worried figure that moved to and fro in the -lofty room, as the March day drew towards a dreary close. The house was -silent, a depressing silence, suggestive of stagnation and cynical -melancholy. A fitful wind set the tops of the cypress-trees swaying and -jerking in the garden. The only living thing visible from Dr. Steel’s -window was a black cat stalking birds under the shadow of a bank of -laurels. - -Parker Steel had taken off his coat and folded it carefully over the -back of a chair. He stood by the window, fumbling at his cuff-links, a -preoccupied frown pinching up the skin of his forehead above the thin, -acquisitive nose. After turning up his shirt-sleeves, he picked up a -pocket-lens from the table and focused the light upon the forefinger of -his right hand. - -The hand that held the lense trembled very perceptibly. On the right -forefinger, immediately above the base of the nail, a dull red papule -stood out upon the skin. It was clearly circumscribed in outline, and -hard to the touch. Parker Steel noticed all these details with the -strained air of a man scrutinizing an unpleasant statement of accounts. - -Presently he laid the lens down on the flap of the bureau by the window, -and, unbuttoning his waistcoat, passed his left hand under his shirt and -vest. The deft fingers half buried themselves in the hollow of his right -armpit. Parker Steel’s eyes had a peculiar, hard, staring look, the -expression seen in the eyes of the expert whose whole intelligence is -concentrated for the moment in the sense of touch. His lower lip fell -away slightly from his teeth. Sharp lines of strain were visible upon -his forehead. - -“Good Lord!” - -The words escaped from him involuntarily as he drew his hand out from -under his shirt. The smooth face had grown suddenly haggard and sallow, -and there was a glint of ugly fear in the eyes. Parker Steel stood -staring at his hand, his mouth open, the lips softening as the lips of a -coward soften when his manhood melts before some physical ordeal. The -dapper figure has lost its alertness, its neat and confident symmetry, -and had become the loose and slouching figure of a man suffering from -shock. - -Parker Steel roused himself at last, forced back his shoulders, and -walked slowly towards the door. He turned the key in the lock, and stood -listening a moment before picking up a hand-mirror from among the -multifarious books and papers on the table. Returning to the window, he -peered at the reflection of his own face, furtively, as though dreading -what he might discover. The sallow skin was blemishless as yet. Not a -spot or blur showed from the line of the hair to the clean curve of the -well-shaven chin. - -In another minute Parker Steel was turning over the leaves of his -journal with impetuous fingers. He worked back page by page, running a -finger down each column of names, stopping ever and again to recollect -and reconsider. It was on a page dated “February 12th” that he -discovered an entry that gave him the final pause. - -“Mrs. Rattan, 10 Ford Street. Partus, 5 A.M.” - - * * * * * - -A foot-note had been added at the bottom of the page, a foot-note whose -details were significant to the point of proof. - -Parker Steel threw the book upon the table. - -“Good Lord!” - -He looked round him like a man who has taken poison unwittingly, and -whose brain refuses to act under the paralyzing pressure of fear. He, -Parker Steel, a—! Physician and egoist that he was, he could not bring -himself to think the word, to brand himself with the poor fools who -crowd the hospitals of great cities. The very vision, a hundred visions -such as he had seen in the dingy “out-patient rooms” of old, made the -instinct of cleanliness in him sicken and recoil. For Parker Steel had -much of the delicate niceness of a cat. This sense of unutterable -pollution struck at his vanity and his self-respect. - -He moved close to the window, and stood staring over the wire blind into -the garden. - -Was it not possible that he might be mistaken? He could consult an -expert. And yet in the inmost corners of his heart he knew that the -truth was merciless towards him. - -What then? - -The question threw him into a more desperate dilemma. He remembered his -wife. - -Again, his profession? He would have to abandon it for one year, perhaps -for two. And Parker Steel knew that success in professional life is -largely a matter of personality. Withdraw that individual power, and the -whole structure, like the city of an Eastern fable, may melt abruptly -into mist. - -Baffled and irritated, a man with no great moral hold on the deeper -truths of life, he moved aimlessly about the room, holding his right -hand a little from him like one with bleeding fingers, who fears the -blood may stain his clothes. The leather-padded consulting-chair stood -empty before the table. Parker Steel dropped into it by the casual -chance of habit, and sat staring dully at the patterning of the paper on -the wall. - -It was the ordeal of an egoist unlightened by a signal sense of -self-abnegation or of public duty. Mercenary motives and professional -ambition prompted a compromise at any hazard. The temptation to -procrastinate is ever with us, and the man of the polite world is the -most ingenious of sophists. For more than half an hour Parker Steel sat -silent and almost motionless in his chair. When he at last left it, it -was with the air of a man to whom sanity, the sanity of the self-centred -ego, had returned after the hideous doubt and discord of a dream. - -The wisest course was for him to temporize, seeing that it was possible -that he might be mistaken. - -He recognized no immediate need for trusting any one with mere -suspicions. - -Was he not a physician, and therefore wise as to all precautions? - -As for his wife? That was a problem that might have to be considered. - -The sound of the front door closing roused him to the needs of the -impending present. He noticed to his surprise that it was growing dark, -and that the room was full of deepening shadows. - -“Is Dr. Steel in, Symons?” - -It was his wife’s voice, and Parker Steel slipped into his coat and -unlocked the door. - -“Tea nearly ready, dear?” - -“Parker, are you there?” - -“Yes.” - -“Any one with you?” - -“No. I will be with you in a minute.” - -He groped for a box of matches on the mantel-shelf and lit the gas. -Turning, he was startled by the reflection of his own white face staring -at him mistrustfully from the mirror over the fire. It was as though -Parker Steel shirked the glance of his own eyes. He had a sense of -unflattering discomfort and deceit as he walked to a glass-fronted -cabinet fitted with drawers that stood in one corner of the room. - -They were in the middle of tea when Betty Steel glanced at her husband’s -hand. - -“Have you hurt yourself, Parker?” - -“I?” - -“Yes. Ah, the bathotic chilblain, of course! Has it broken?” - -Her husband felt afraid behind his mask of casual indifference. - -“I must have rasped the skin and got some dirt into the place,” he said. -“A mere nothing. I have just put on this finger-stall. So you have heard -that the De la Mottes are leaving, eh? They were not much good in the -town, so far as the practice was concerned?” - -Parker Steel’s reply to his wife’s question had flashed a suggestive -gleam across his mind. Very probably it was too late for him to defend -her against himself. And even if his fears proved true, he could swear -absolute ignorance as to the presence of the disease. No guilt attached -to him. He was merely striving to neutralize the effects of a damnable -and undeserved misfortune. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI - - -James Murchison, walking along the pavement of Wilton High Street with -the sharp, savage strides of a man tortured by his own thoughts, turned -into Dr. Tugler’s surgery as the clock struck eight, finding in this -stern routine a power to steady him against despair. He slipped off his -overcoat, folded it slowly and methodically over the back of a bench, -and hung his hat on one of the gas brackets projecting from the wall. To -John Tugler, who was seated at one of the tables, examining a girl with -a red rash covering her face, there was something in the big man’s slow -and restrained patience that betrayed how sorrow was shadowing his -assistant’s home. - -John Tugler pushed back his chair, and crossed the room to the corner -where Murchison was bending over his open instrument bag. The droop of -the shoulders, the whole pose of the powerful figure, told of the burden -that lay heavy upon the father’s heart. - -“Murchison.” - -The face that met John Tugler’s was haggard and stupid with two -sleepless nights. - -“Yes.” - -“Any news?” - -“Oh—worse,” and he snapped the bag to with an irritable closure of the -hands. - -John Tugler looked at him as he might have looked at a refractory -friend. - -“Come now, Murchison, you’re feeling damned bad. Knock off to-day. -Stileman and I can manage.” - -“Thanks. I must work.” - -“Must, eh?” - -“It helps.” - -“Like punching something when you’re savage. Perhaps you’re right.” - -Tugler returned to the girl with the red rash, while Murchison passed on -to the surgery, where some half-score patients were waiting to be -treated. - -“Good-morning,” and he glanced round him like a man in a hurry; “first -case. Well, how’s the leg?” - -A scraggy, undersized individual with a narrow, swarthy face was pulling -up a trousers leg with two dirty, drug-stained hands. He was a worker in -a chemical factory, and his ugly, harsh, and suspicious features seemed -to have taken the low moral stamp of the place. - -“No worse, doct’r.” - -“No worse! Well, have you been resting?” - -“Half an’ half.” - -“I suppose so. You may as well come here and grumble for months unless -you do what we tell you. It is quite useless continuing like this.” - -He bent down and began to unwind the dirty bandage from the man’s leg. -The chemical worker expanded the broad nostrils of his carnivorous nose, -sniffed, and cocked a battered bowler onto the back of his head. Manners -were not mended in Dr. Tugler’s surgery. - -“God’s truth, doct’r, easy with it—” - -Murchison had stripped a sodden pad of lint and plaster from the ulcer -on the man’s leg. - -“Nonsense; that didn’t hurt you.” - -“Beg to differ, sir.” - -“When did you dress this last?” - -The patient hesitated, eying Murchison sulkily as though tempted to be -insolent. - -“Yesterday.” - -“Speak the truth and say three days ago. You’re on your ‘club’—of -course.” - -“Well, what’s the harm?” - -“And you don’t trouble much how long you draw club-money, eh?” - -“That’s your business, I reckon.” - -“My business, is it? Well, my friend, you carry out my instructions or -there will be trouble about the certificate. You understand?” - -The man cast an evil look at Murchison’s broad back as he turned to -spread boracic ointment on clean lint. - -“I don’t know as how I come here to hear your sauce,” he remarked, -curtly. - -Murchison faced him with an irritable glitter of the eyes. - -“What do you mean!” - -“I suppose some of us poor fellows cost you gentlemen too much in tow -and flannel.” - -“There you are just a little at sea, my friend. What we do is to prevent -the Friendly Societies being imposed upon by loafers. Dress your leg -every day. Rest it, you understand, and keep out of the pubs. You had -better come by some manners before next week.” - -The chemical worker snarled out some vague retort, and then relapsed -into silence. Such shufflers had no pity from James Murchison. He was in -no mood that morning to bear with the impertinences of malingerers and -humbugs. - -The clock struck eleven before the last patient passed out into Wilton -High Street with its thundering drays and clanging trams. Murchison had -done the work of two men in the surgery that morning, silent, skilful, -and determined, a man who worked that the savage smart of sorrow might -be soothed and assuaged thereby. With the women and the children he was -very gentle and very patient. His hands were never rough and never -clumsy. Perhaps none of the people whose wounds he dressed guessed how -bitter a wound was bleeding in the heart of this sad-eyed, patient-faced -man. - -John Tugler sidled in when Murchison had pinned up the last bandage. He -swung the door to gently, sighed, and pretended to examine the entries -in the ledger. Murchison was washing his hands at the sink, staring hard -at the water as it splashed from the tap upon his fingers. - -“Not much visiting to-day.” - -“No.” - -“I’ll hire a cab, and drive down to Black End. Most of them seem to lie -that way.” - -Murchison was looking for a clean place in the roller-towel. - -“I can manage the visiting down there,” he said. - -John Tugler surveyed him attentively over a fat shoulder. - -“You’ll knock up, old man,” he remarked, quietly. - -Murchison started. The familiarity had a touch of tenderness that lifted -it from its vulgar setting. - -“Thanks, no.” - -“Very bad, is she?” - -“Comatose.” - -“Oh, damn!” - -The little man whipped over the leaves of the ledger, as though looking -for something that he could not find. - -“It seems a beastly shame,” he said, presently. - -“Shame?” - -“Yes, this sort of smash-up of a youngster’s life. They call it -Providence, or the Divine Will, or something of that sort, don’t they? -Must say I can’t stick that sort of bosh.” - -Murchison was wringing his hands fiercely in the folds of the rough -towel. - -“It is a natural judgment, I suppose,” he said. - -“A judgment?” - -“It was my fault that the child ever came here. It need not have been -so—” and he broke off with a savage twisting of the mouth. - -John Tugler ran one finger slowly across a blank space in the ledger. - -“Don’t take it that way,” he said, slowly; “it doesn’t help a man to -curse himself because a damned bug of a bacillus breeds in this holy -horror of a town. Curse the British Constitution, the law-mongers, or -the local money shufflers who’d rather save three farthings than clean -their slums.” - -James Murchison was silent. Yet in his heart there burned the fierce -conviction that the father’s frailty had been visited upon the innocent -body of the child. - -Four o’clock had struck, and the houses were casting long shadows across -the waters of the canal, before Murchison turned in at the gate of -Clovelly after three hours visiting in the Wilton slums. He let himself -in silently with his latch-key, hung his hat and coat in the hall, and -entered the little front room where tea was laid on the imitation walnut -table. On the sofa by the window he found Catherine asleep, her head -resting against the wall. It was as though sheer weariness, the spell of -many sleepless nights, had fallen on her, and that but a momentary -slacking of her self-control had suffered nature to assert her sway. - -Murchison stood looking at his wife in silence. Sleep had wiped out much -of the sorrow from her face, and she seemed beautiful as Beatrice -dreaming strange dreams upon the walls of heaven. A stray strand of -March sunlight had woven itself into her hair. Her hands lay open beside -her on the sofa, open, palms upward, with a quaint suggestion of -trustfulness and appeal. To Murchison it seemed that if God but saw her -thus, such prayers as she had uttered would be answered out of pity for -the brave sweetness of her womanhood. - -If peace lingered in sleep, there would be sorrow in her waking. -Murchison was loath to recall her to the world of coarse reality and -unpitying truth. A great tenderness, a strong man’s tenderness for a -woman and a wife, softened his face as he watched the quiet drawing of -her breath. And yet what ultimate kindness could there be in such delay? -Life and death are but the counterparts of day and night. - -Catherine awoke with a touch of her husband’s hand upon her cheek. She -sighed, put out her arms to him, a consciousness of pain vivid at once -upon her face. - -“You here!” - -She put her hands up to her forehead. - -“I never meant to sleep. What a long day you must have had!” - -“It is better that I should work.” - -“Yes.” - -“How is she?” - -“The same; I can see no change.” - -Catherine rose with a suggestion of effort, and leaned for a moment on -her husband’s arm. The impulse seemed simultaneous with them, the -impulse that drew them to the room above. They went up together, hand in -hand, silent and restrained, two souls awed by the mysteries of death -and life. - -On the bed by the window lay Gwen, with childishly open yet sightless -eyes. A flush of vivid color showed on either cheek, her golden hair -falling aside like waves of light about her forehead. Her breathing was -tranquil and feeble, and spaced out with a peculiar rhythm. The pupils -of the eyes were markedly unequal; one lid drooped slightly, and the -right angle of the red mouth was a little drawn. - -It is a certain pitiful semblance of health that mocks the heart in many -such cases. Children who die thus are often beautiful. They seem to -sleep with open eyes. The flush on the cheeks has nothing of the -gathering grayness of death. - -Catherine, bending low, looked at Gwen with the long look of one who -will not see the vanishing torch of hope. - -“She is still asleep.” - -“Yes, asleep.” - -The man’s voice was a tearless echo. - -“James, it can’t be. Look, what a color! And the eyes—” - -Murchison laid a hand gently on her shoulder. - -“I know; I have seen such things before.” - -“But she will wake presently?” - -“Presently.” - -“Yes. This long sleep will do her good.” - -Murchison sighed. - -“She will not wake for us, wife,” he said. - -“Not wake!” - -Catherine’s eyes were incredulous, full of the intenseness of a mother’s -love. - -“No, not here.” - -“But look—look at her!” - -“That is the pity of it.” - -“Then I shall not hear her speak again; she will never see me?” - -“Never.” - -“But why? I cannot believe—” - -“Dear, it is death—the way some children die.” - -They stood silent, side by side. Then Catherine bent low; child’s mouth -and mother’s mouth met in a long dream kiss. There was a sound of -broken, troubled whispering in the room, a sound as of inarticulate -tenderness and wordless prayer. Murchison’s right hand covered his face. -His wife’s eyes and cheeks were wet with tears. - -“Kate.” - -She bowed herself over the child, and did not stir. - -“No, no, these last hours, they are so precious.” - -He looked at her mutely, put a hand to his throat, and turned away. It -was too solemn, too poignant a scene for him to outrage it with words. -Gwen, dead in life, would see her mother’s face no more. - -Murchison was on the stairs when the blare of a tin trumpet seemed to -hurt the silence of the little house. An impatient fist was beating a -tattoo on the front door. It was the boy Jack come home from school. - -Murchison’s mouth quivered, and then hardened. He went to the door, and -opened it to a blast of the boy’s trumpet. - -“Hallo, I say—” - -A strong hand twisted the toy from the boy’s fingers. - -“Silence.” - -Jack Murchison’s mouth gaped. He looked at his father’s face, -wonderingly, grievedly, and was awed into a frightened silence, child -egoist that he was, by the expression in his father’s eyes. - -Murchison pointed to the sitting-room door. - -“Go and sit down.” - -The boy obeyed, sullen and a little stupefied. His father closed and -locked the door on him, and then passed out into the space behind the -house that they called a garden. A few crocuses were gilding the sour, -black earth. They were flowers that Gwen had planted before -Christmas-time. And Murchison, as he looked at them, thought that she -should take them in her little hands to the Great Father of all -Children. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII - - -Miss Carmagee sat crying at the breakfast-table over a letter that she -held in her fat, white hand. It was a letter from Catherine, and told of -the last resting-place of Gwen, a narrow bed of clay amid white -headstones on the Wilson hills. She had been reading the letter aloud to -her brother, whose face was a study in the irritable suppression of his -feelings. - -“Damn that bird!” - -The canary in its cage by the window was filling the room with shivers -of shrill sound. Porteus pushed his chair back, jerked an antimacassar -from the sofa, and flung it over the bird’s cage. - -“Go on, dear, go on. I am expecting Dixon to see me in ten minutes.” - -Miss Carmagee wiped her spectacles, and blundered on brokenly through -the letter. There were eight pages, closely written, and whether it was -the indistinctness of Catherine’s writing, or the dimness of Miss -Carmagee’s eyes, the old lady’s progress was sluggish in the extreme. -She had forgotten to add milk to her untasted cup of tea, and the -rashers of bacon on her plate were congealing into unappetizing grease. - -Porteus sat fidgeting at the far end of the table. The vitality of his -interest betrayed itself in a frowning and jerky spirit of impatience. - -“Well, what are they going to do now, eh? Stay on and lose the boy? -Murchison ought to have more sense.” - -Miss Carmagee’s eyes had assumed an expression of moist surprise behind -her spectacles. She appeared to be digesting some unexpected piece of -news in silence, and with the amiable forgetfulness of a lethargic mind. - -Porteus had handed her his empty cup. Some seconds elapsed before his -sister noticed the intrusion of the china. - -“Dear, what a coincidence!” - -She took the cup and filled it mechanically, her eyes still fixed upon -the letter. - -“Well, what is it?” - -“If only it had happened earlier, the money would have been of use.” - -Mr. Porteus betrayed the natural impatience of the energetic male. - -“Bless my soul, are you contriving a monopoly?” - -Miss Carmagee lifted her mild spectacles to her brother’s face. - -“Mrs. Pentherby is dead,” she said. - -“Dead!” - -“Yes.” - -“No extreme loss to the community. Ah—would you—!” and he cast a -threatening glance in the direction of the bird-cage at the sound of an -insinuating “tweet.” “Well, what about the money?” - -The lawyer’s eyes twinkled as though Mrs. Pentherby’s dividends were -more interesting than her person. - -“She has left nearly all her money and her furniture to Catherine. She -died the very same day as Gwen.” - -“Pity it wasn’t six months ago. The old lady had some first-class china, -and a few fine pictures. Does Catherine say how much?” - -“How much what, Porteus?” - -“Money, my dear, money.” - -“I don’t think she says.” - -Her brother pushed back his chair, and glanced briskly at his watch. - -“I’ll take it with me,” he said, stretching out a brown and energetic -hand for the letter. - -“I haven’t quite finished it, Porteus.” - -“Never mind; there’s your breakfast getting cold. You had better have -some fresh tea made.” - -His sister surrendered the letter with a spirit of amiable -self-negation. - -“The money ought to make a difference to them,” she said, softly, taking -off her spectacles and wiping them with slow, pensive hands. - -“Money always makes a difference, my dear, especially when people are -heroically proud.” - -Miss Phyllis Carmagee’s thoughts were towards that gray-skied, slaving, -sordid town where Gwen was buried, as she sipped her tea and looked at -her brother’s empty chair. She was a woman whom many of her neighbors -thought stolid and reserved, a woman not gifted with great powers of -self-expression. Friendship with many is a mere gratification of the -social ego. The vivacious people who delight in conversationalism, take -pleasure in those personalities that are new and pleasing for the -moment, even as they are interested in new and complex flowers. To -Phyllis Carmagee, however, her friends had more of the enduring dearness -of familiar trees. They were part of her consciousness, part of her -daily and her yearly life. - -Porteus’s sister came by an idea as she sat alone at the breakfast-table -that morning. Serene and obese natures are slow in conceiving, yet the -concept may have the greater stability for the very slowness of the -progress. The crystallization of that idea went on all day, till it was -ready to be displayed in its completeness to her brother as he dined. -Miss Carmagee had decided to go down to Wilton, and to show that her -friendship was worth a long day’s journey. A sentimental and unctuous -letter would have sufficed for a mere worldling. But Porteus Carmagee’s -sister had that rare habit of being loyal and sincere. - -“I should like to see the child’s grave,” she said, quietly, her round, -white face very soft and gentle in the light of the shaded lamp; “it -seems hard to realize that the little thing is dead. Gwen meant so much -to her father. I wonder what they are going to do.” - -Porteus Carmagee stared hard at the silver epergne full of daffodils -before him on the table. They were at dessert, and alone, with the -curtains drawn, and a wood fire burning in the old-fashioned grate. The -whole setting of the room spoke of a generation that was past. It -suggested solidity and repose, placid kindliness, prosaic comfort. - -“Murchison ought never to have left us,” said the lawyer, curtly. - -“No.” - -“The affair might have blown over in a year.” - -“You think so, Porteus.” - -“If he had only stuck to his guns. People always wait to see what a man -will do. If he skedaddles they draw their own inferences. Life is -largely a game of bluff.” - -The eyes of brother and sister met in a sudden questioning glance. -Possibly the same thought had occurred to both. - -“Would it be possible?” - -“Possible for what?” - -“For James Murchison to come back to Roxton?” - -The lawyer reached for his napkin that had slipped down from his knees. - -“That is the question,” he confessed, “it is not easy to rebuild a -reputation. I would rather face fire than the sneers of my genteel -neighbors.” - -Miss Carmagee’s placid face had lost its habitual air of contentment and -repose. - -“I know it would require courage,” she said. - -“People would probably call it impertinence. It requires more than -courage to be successfully impertinent in this world.” - -“Cleverness, Porteus?” - -“Genius, the genius of patience, magnanimity, and self-restraint.” - -His sister pondered a moment, while Porteus sipped his port. - -“Then—there is Catherine?” - -Her brother’s keen eyes lit up at the name. - -“Ah, there we have a touch of the divine fire.” - -“She could help him.” - -“Next to God.” - -There was silence again between them for a season. The dim and homely -room seemed full of a quiet dignity, a pervading restfulness that was -clean and good. The most prosaic people grow great and lovable when -their hearts are moved to succor others. The words of a beggar may -strike the noblest chords of time, and live with the utterances of -martyrs and of prophets. - -“Porteus.” - -Brother and sister looked at each other. - -“I might speak to them.” - -“Perhaps, dear, better than any one.” - -“And if they need money? Mrs. Pentherby’s property cannot come to them -at once. The law—” - -Porteus’s face twinkled benignantly. - -“The law, like a mule, is abominably slow. If I can be of any use to -them—remind Kate that I am still alive.” - -Miss Carmagee regarded her brother affectionately across the table. - -“Then I shall go to-morrow,” she said, with a quiet sigh. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVIII - - -An increased sallowness and a slight thinning of the hair were the only -changes that might have been noticed in Parker Steel that spring. The -characteristic symptoms had been slight and evanescent, the “rash” so -faint and transient that a delicate dusting of powder had hidden it even -from Mrs. Betty’s eyes. A few of his most intimate friends had noticed -that Parker Steel had the tense, strained look of a man suffering from -overwork. That he had given up his nightly cigar and his wine, pointed -also to the fact that the physician had knowledge of his own needs. - -To such a man as Steel the zest of life lay in the energetic stir and -ostentatious bustle of success. His conceit was in his cleverness, in -the smartness of his equipage and reputation, and in the flattering -gossip that haunts a healer’s name. Parker Steel was essentially a -selfish mortal, and selfish men are often the happiest, provided they -succeed. - -Yet no man, however selfish, can wholly stifle his own thoughts. That -the silence he kept was an immoral silence, no man knew better than did -Parker Steel. People would have shrunk from him had they known the -truth, as a refined woman shrinks from the offensive carcass of a -drunken tramp. His own niceness of taste revolted from the consciousness -of chance and undeserved pollution. Ambition was strong in him, however, -and the cold tenacity to hold what he had gained. More isolated than -Selkirk on his island, he had to bear the bitterness of it alone, -knowing that sympathy was locked out by silence. - -The supreme trying of his powers of hypocrisy came for him in his -attitude towards his wife. Parker Steel was in no sense an uxorious -fellow, and neither he nor Betty were ever demonstrative towards each -other. An occasional half-perfunctory meeting of the lips had satisfied -both after the first year of marriage. For this reason Parker Steel’s -ordeal was less complex and severe than if he had had to repulse an -emotional and warm-blooded woman. - -The first diplomatic development had been insomnia; at least that was -the excuse he made to Betty when he chose to sleep alone in his -dressing-room at the back of the house. The faintest sound disturbed -him, so he protested, and the rattle of wheels over the cobbles of the -Square kept him irritably sleepless in the early hours of the morning. -To Betty Steel there was no inconsistency in the excuse he gave. She -thought him worried and overworked, and there was abundant justification -for the latter evil. Winter and early spring are the briskest seasons of -a doctor’s life. Dr. Steel had had seven severe cases of pneumonia on -his list one week. - -“You are too much in demand, Parker,” she had said. “There is always the -possibility of a partner to be considered.” - -“Thanks, no; I am not a believer in a co-operative business.” - -“You must take a jaunt somewhere as soon as the work slackens.” - -“All in good time, dear.” - -“Sicily is fashionable.” - -Parker Steel had indulged in optimistic reflections to distract her -vigilance. She had sought to prove that he was in stale health by -remarking that the wound on his forefinger had not completely healed. He -was still wearing the finger-stall that covered the _fons et origo -mali_. - -“There is absolutely no need for you to fuss about me,” he had answered; -“I am not made of iron, and the work tells. Three thousand a year is not -earned without worry.” - -“As much as that, Parker?” - -He had touched a susceptible passion in her. - -“Perhaps more. We shall be able to call our own tune before we are -five-and-forty.” - -“Heaven defend us, Parker, you hint at terrible things. Respectable -obesity, and morning prayers.” - -Her husband had laughed, and given her plausible comfort. - -“You will be more dangerous then than you are now,” he had said. - -In truth, their fortunes were very much in the ascendant, and the social -side of professional life had prospered in Mrs. Betty’s hands. The -brunette was supreme in Roxton so far as beauty was concerned, supreme -also in the yet more magic elements of graceful _savoir-faire_ and tact. -She was one of those women who had learned to charm by flattery without -seeming to be a sycophant; moreover, she had tested the wisdom of -propitiating her own sex by appearing even more amiable to women than to -men. Since the passing of the Murchisons she had had nothing in the way -of rivalry to fear. True, two “miserable squatters” had put up brass -plates in the town, and scrambled for some of the poorer of James -Murchison’s patients. Mrs. Betty had been able to call upon the wives -with patronizing magnanimity. They were both rather dusty, round-backed -ladies, with no pretensions to style, either in their own persons or in -the persons of their husbands. One of these professional gentlemen, a -huge and flat-faced Paddy, resembled a police constable in plain -clothes. The other was rather a meek young man in glasses, destitute of -any sense of humor, and very useful in the Sunday-school. - -Roxton had weathered Lent and Easter, and Lady Sophia Gillingham, Dame -President of the local habitation of the Primrose League; patroness of -all Roxton charities, Dissenting enterprises excepted; and late -lady-in-waiting to the Queen; had called her many dear friends together -to discuss the coming Midsummer Bazaar that was held annually for the -benefit of the Roxton Cottage Hospital. Roxton, like the majority of -small country towns, was a veritable complexity of cliques, and by -“Roxton” should be understood the superior people who were Unionists in -politics, and Church Christians in religion. There were also Chapel -Christians in Roxton, chiefly of Radical persuasion, and therefore -hardly decent in the sight of the genteel. People of “peculiar views” -were rare, and not generally encouraged. Some of the orthodox even -refused to buy a local tradesman’s boots, because that particular -tradesman was not a believer in the Trinity. The inference is obvious -that the “Roxton” concerned in Lady Sophia’s charitable bazaar, was -superior and highly cultured Roxton, the Roxton of dinner-jackets and -distinction, equipages, and Debrett. - -To be a very dear friend of Lady Sophia Gillingham’s was to be one of -the chosen and elect of God, and Betty Steel had come by that supreme -and angelic exaltation. Perhaps Mignon’s kitten had purred and gambolled -Mrs. Betty into favor; more probably the physician’s wife had nothing to -learn from any cat. Betty Steel and her husband dined frequently at -Roxton Priory. The brunette had even reached the unique felicity of -being encouraged in informal and unexpected calls. Lady Sophia possessed -a just and proper estimate of her own social position. She was fat, -commonplace, and amiable, poorly educated, a woman of few ideas. But she -was Lady Sophia Gillingham, and would have expected St. Peter to give -her proper precedence over mere commoners in the anteroom of heaven. - -The third Thursday after Easter Mrs. Betty Steel drove homeward in a -radiant mood, with the spirit of spring stolen from the dull glint of a -fat old lady’s eyes. There had been an opening committee meeting, and -Lady Sophia had expressed it to be her wish that Mrs. Steel should be -elected secretary. Moreover, the production of a play had been -discussed, a pink muslin drama suited to the susceptibilities of the -Anglican public. The part of heroine had been offered, not unanimously, -to Mrs. Betty. And with a becoming spirit of diffidence she had accepted -the honor, when pressed most graciously by the Lady Sophia’s own -prosings. - -Mrs. Betty might have impersonated April as she swept homeward under the -high beneficence of St. Antonia’s elms. The warmth of worldly well-being -plumps out a woman’s comeliness. She expands and ripens in the sun of -prosperity and praise, in contrast to the thousands of the -ever-contriving poor, whose sordid faces are but the reflection of -sordid facts. - -Betty Steel’s face had an April alluringness that day; its outlines were -soft and beautiful, suggestive of the delicacy of apple bloom seen -through morning mist. She was exceeding well content with life, was Mrs. -Betty, for her husband was in a position to write generous checks, and -the people of Roxton seemed ready to pay her homage. - -Parker Steel was reading in the dining-room when this triumphant and -happy lady came in like a white flower rising from a sheath of green. It -was only when selfishly elated that the wife showed any flow of -affection for her husband. For the once she had the air of an -enthusiastic girl whom marriage had not robbed of her ideals. - -“Dear old Parker—” - -She went towards him with an out-stretching of the hands, as he dropped -the _Morning Post_, and half rose from the lounge chair. - -“Had a good time?” - -“Quite splendid.” - -She swooped towards him, not noticing the furtive yet watchful -expression in her husband’s face. - -“Give me a kiss, old _Morning Post_.” - -“How is Madam Sophia?” - -“Most affable.” - -Parker Steel had caught her out-stretched hands. It was as though he -were afraid of touching his wife’s lips. - -“Making conquests, eh?” - -“Waal—I guess that”—and she spoke through her nose. - -“Dollars?” - -“Enticing them into the family pocket.” - -Something in her husband’s eyes touched Betty Steel beneath her vivacity -and easy persiflage. Her husband had risen from his chair, released her -hands, and moved away towards the fire. She had a sudden instinct -telling her that he was not glad of her return. - -The wife’s airiness was damped instantly. Parker Steel had repelled her -with the semi-playful air of a man not wishing to be bothered. She had -noticed this suggestion of aloofness much in him of late, and had -ascribed it to irritability, the result of overwork. - -“Anything the matter, dear?” - -“Matter?” - -He looked at her frankly, with arched brows and open eyes. - -“Yes, you seem tired—” - -“There is some excuse for me. This is the first ten minutes I have had -to myself—all day. It is an effort to talk when one’s tongue has been -going for hours.” - -His wife’s face appeared a little _triste_ and peevish. She glanced at -herself in the mirror over the mantel-piece, and found herself wondering -why life seemed composed of actions and reactions. - -“Have you had tea?” - -“No, I waited,” and he turned and rang the bell with a feeling of -relief. It was trying to his watchfulness for Parker Steel to be left -alone with his own wife. Even the white cap of the parlor-maid was -welcome to him, or the flimsiest barrier that could aid him in his -ordeal of silent self-isolation. The art of hypocrisy grows more complex -with each new statement of relationships. And hypocrisy in the home is -the reguilding of a substance that tarnishes with every day. The wear -and tear of life erase the lying surface, and the daily daubing becomes -a habit by necessity, even as a single dying of the hair pledges the -vain mortal to perpetual self-decoration. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIX - - -There were many men in Wilton who had looked at their children’s graves, -little banks of green turf ranged on the hill-side where the winds -wailed in winter like the mythical spirits of the damned. A gaunt, -graceless place, this cemetery, a place where the insignificant dead -lived only in the few notches of a mason’s chisel upon stone. A high -yellow brick wall encompassed its many acres. Immediately within the -iron gates stood a tin chapel, a building that might have stood for the -Temple of Ugliness, the deity of commercialized towns. On either side of -the main walk a row of sickly aspens lifted their slender branches -against a hueless sky. - -To the man and the woman who stood in one corner of this burial-ground, -looking down upon a grave that had been but lately banked with turf, -there was an infinite and sordid sadness in the scene. Two graves, not -ten yards away, had been filled in but the day before, and the grass was -caked and stained with yellow clay. Near them stood the black wooden -shelter used by the officiating priest in dirty weather. A few wreaths, -sodden, rain-drenched, the flowers already turning brown, seemed to mock -the hands that had placed them there. - -White headstones everywhere; a few obelisks; a few plain wooden crosses; -rank mounds where no name lingered after death. Ever and again the thin -clink of the hopeless chapel bell. A gray sky merging into a wet, gray -landscape. In the valley—Wilton, prostrate under mist and smoke. - -James Murchison, standing bareheaded before Gwen’s grave, gazed at the -wet turf with the eyes of a man who saw more beneath it than mere -lifeless clay. There was nothing of rebellion in the pose of the tall -figure—rather, the slight stoop of one poring over some rare book with -the reverence of him who reads to learn. - -For Catherine there was no consciousness of penance as she stood beside -him, silent and distant-eyed. Her hands were clasped together under her -cloak. She stood as one waiting, heart heavy, yet ready to awake to the -new life that opens even for those who grieve. - -There were not a few such groups scattered about this upland -burial-ground, colorless, subdued figures seen dimly through the -drizzling mist of rain. Quite near to Murchison a working-man was -arranging a few flowers in a large white jam-pot; the grave, by the name -on the headstone, was the grave of his wife. A few children, who had -wandered up to see some funeral, were playing “touch wood” between the -aspens of the main walk. There was an irresponsible callousness in their -shrill, slum-hardened voices. To them this place of Death was but a -field to play in. - -Murchison had turned from Gwen’s grave, and was looking at his wife. -There seemed some bond more sacred between them now that they had shared -both life and death in the body of their child. - -“You are cold, dear.” - -He touched her cheek with his hand as he turned up the collar of her -cloak. Her hair was wet and a-glisten with the rain, her face cold like -the face of one fresh from the breath of an autumn sea. - -“Only my skin.” - -“The wind is keen, though. It is time we turned back home.” - -“Yes.” - -“Good-bye, my child.” - -He spoke the words in a whisper as they moved away from the corner. - -Before them, seen dimly through a haze of rain, lay the colliery town, a -vague splash of darkness in the valley. Here and there a tall chimney -stood trailing smoke, or the faint glow of a fire gave a thin -opalescence to the shell of mist. Sounds, faint and far, yet full of the -significance of labor, drifted up the bleak slopes of the hillside, like -the sounds from ships sailing a foggy sea. The rattle of a train, the -shriek of a steam-whistle, the slow strokes of some great clock striking -the hour. - -James Murchison’s eyes were fixed upon this town beside the pit mouths, -this pool of poverty and toil, where the eddies of effort never ceased -upon the surface. It was strange to him, this colliery town, and yet -familiar. Always would his manhood yearn towards it because of the dear -dead, even though its memories were hateful to him, full of the -bitterness of ignominy and pain. - -Gwen’s death had come to Murchison as a sudden silence, a strange void -in the hurrying entities of life. It was as though the passing of this -child had changed the phenomena of existence for him, and given a new -rhythm to the pulse of Time. He had become aware of a new setting to -life, even as a man who has walked the same road day by day discovers on -some winter dawn a fresh and unearthly beauty in the scene. He felt an -unsolved newness in his being, a solemnity such as those who have looked -upon the dead must feel. And no strong nature can pass through such a -phase without creating inward energy and power. Sorrow, like winter, may -be but a season of repose, troubled and drear perhaps, but moving -towards the miracle of spring. - -Wilton cemetery, with its zinc-roofed chapel, its yellow walls and iron -gates, lay behind them, while the dim horizon ran in a gray blur along -the hills. Husband and wife walked for a time in silence, for each had a -burden of deep thought to bear. - -It was the man who spoke first, quietly, and with restraint, and yet -with something of the fierce spirit of an outcast Cain visible upon his -face. - -“I have been thinking of what I said to you last night.” - -She was looking at him with a brave clearness of the eyes. - -“I suppose sensible people would call such a venture—mad.” - -“We are often strongest, dear, when we are most mad.” - -He swung on beside her, his eyes at gaze. - -“The madness of a forlorn hope. No, it is not that. I have not any of -the impudence of the adventurer. It is something more solemn, more grim, -more for a final end.” - -“Beloved, I understand.” - -“Are you not afraid for me?” - -“No, no.” - -She put her hand under his arm. - -“God give us both courage, dear,” she said. - -They had reached the outskirts of Wilton, and the ugliness of the place -was less visible in these outworks of the town. The streets had -something of the quaintness of antiquity about them, for this was a part -of the real Wilton, an old English townlet that had been gripped and -strangled by the decapod of the pits. - -“About your mother’s money, Kate.” - -The rumble of a passing van compelled silence for a moment. - -“You must retain the whole control.” - -“I?” - -“Yes.” - -He heard a woman’s unwillingness in her voice. - -“It is my wish, dear. I shall need a certain sum to start with, but my -life-insurance can be made a security for that.” - -“James!” - -Her face reproached him. - -“Are we so little married that what is mine is not yours also?” - -“It is because you are my wife, Kate, that I consider these things. Your -mother was wise, though her instructions do not flatter me. Legally, I -cannot touch a single penny.” - -She looked troubled, and a little impatient. - -“I shall hate the money—if—no, I don’t mean that. But, dear,” and she -drew very close to him in the twilight of the streets, “it will make no -difference. You will not feel—?” - -“Feel, Kate?” - -“That it is mine, and not yours. You know, dear, what I mean. I don’t -want to think—to think that you will feel as though you had to ask.” - -They looked, man and wife, into each other’s eyes. - -“I shall ask, Kate, because—” - -“Because?” - -“You are what you are. It will not hurt me to remember that the stuff is -yours.” - -Now, quite an hour ago a battered and moth-eaten cab had deposited a -stout lady on the doorstep of Clovelly. The stout lady had a round white -face that beamed sympathetically from under the arch of a rather -grotesque bonnet. A girl, hired for the month, and dressed in a -makeshift black frock, had opened the door three inches to Miss -Carmagee. There had been a confidential discussion between these two, -the girl letting the gap between door and door-post increase before the -lady in the grotesque bonnet. The doctor and the “missus” were out, and -Master Jack having tea at a friend’s house in the next street. So much -Miss Carmagee had learned before she had been admitted to the little -front room. - -It was quite dusk when Catherine and her husband turned in at the garden -gate. The blinds were down, the gas lit. Murchison opened the front door -with his key, remembering, as he ever remembered, the golden head that -would shine no more for him in that diminutive, dreary house. - -He was hanging his coat on a peg in the passage, when he heard a sharp -cry from Catherine, who had entered the front room. There was the -rustling of skirts, the sound of an inarticulate greeting between two -eager friends. - -No one could have doubted Miss Carmagee’s solid identity. She was -resting her hands on Catherine’s shoulders. They had kissed each other -like mother and child. - -“Why, when did you come? We had no letter. James, James—” - -Murchison found them holding hands. There were tears in Miss Carmagee’s -mild blue eyes. Warned of her coming, he might have shirked the meeting -with the pride of a man too sensitive towards the past. But Miss -Carmagee in the flesh, motherly and very gentle, with Catherine’s kisses -warm upon her face, stood for nothing that was critical, or chilling to -the heart. - -He met her with open hands. - -“You have taken us by surprise.” - -Miss Phyllis’s eyes were on the sad, memory-shadowed face. - -“I had to come,” and her voice failed her a little. “I sha’n’t worry -you; we are old friends.” - -She put up her benign and ugly face, as though the privilege of a mother -belonged to her by nature. - -“I have felt it all so much.” - -A flash of infinite yearning leaped up and passed in the man’s eyes. - -“You must be tired,” he said, clinging to commonplaces. “Have they sent -your luggage up?” - -Miss Carmagee sank into a chair. - -“I left it at the hotel. I’m not going to be a worry.” - -“Worry!” - -“Of course not, child.” - -“Oh—but we must have you here. James—” - -“My dear,” and the substantial nature of the old lady’s person seemed to -become evident, “I insist on sleeping there to-night. Now, humor me, or -I shall feel myself a nuisance.” - -Miss Carmagee’s solidity of will made her contention impregnable. -Moreover, the common-sense view she took of the matter boasted a large -element of discretion. People who live in a small house on one hundred -and sixty pounds a year cannot be expected to be prepared for social -emergencies. Even a philosopher is limited by the contents of his -larder, and Miss Carmagee was one of those excellent women whose -philosophy takes note of the trivial things of life—pots, pans, and -linen, the cold end of mutton, a rice-pudding to supply three. It is -truly regrettable that a man’s Promethean spirit should be bound down by -such contemptible trifles. Yet a tactful refusal to share a suet-pudding -may be worth more than the wittiest epigram ever made. - -Miss Carmagee and Catherine spent an hour alone together that evening, -for Murchison had patients waiting for him at Dr. Tugler’s surgery in -Wilton High Street. Master Jack had returned from his tea-party, to be -hugged, presented with a box of soldiers, a clasp-knife, and a -prayer-book, and then hurried off to bed. The soldiers and the knife -shared the sheets with him; the prayer-book (amiable aunts forgive!) was -left derelict under an arm-chair. - -But the great event that night for these two women, such contrasts and -yet so alike in the deeper things of the soul, came with that communing -together before the fire, the lights turned low, the room in shadow. It -was somewhile before Miss Carmagee approached the purpose that had -brought her across England with bag and baggage. She was a woman of -tact, and it is not easy to be a partisan at times without wounding -those whom we wish to help. - -The elder woman had hardly broached the subject, before Catherine, -sitting on a cushion beside Miss Carmagee’s chair, turned from the -fire-light with an eager lifting of the head. - -“Why, it was only yesterday that James spoke to me of such a plan.” - -“To return to us?” - -“Yes, and win back what he lost.” - -Miss Carmagee saw her way more clearly. - -“You know, child, you have many friends.” - -“I?” - -“Yes, and your husband also. Porteus and I discussed the matter. You -must not think us busybodies, dear.” - -A kiss was the surest answer. - -“I was afraid when James first spoke of it.” - -“Afraid?” - -“Yes,” and she colored; “it was cowardly of me, but I remembered how we -left the place. It will be an ordeal. We shall have to walk through fire -together. But still—” - -“Well, child,” and Miss Carmagee let her have her say. - -“Still, there is a greatness in the plan that takes my heart. We women -love our husbands to be brave. I know what it will mean to James. He -says that many people will think him mad.” - -Miss Carmagee sat stroking one of Catherine’s hands. - -“It is the right kind of madness,” she said, softly. - -“To rise above public opinion?” - -“Yes, when we are in the right.” - -They sat for a while in silence, looking into the fire, Catherine’s head -against Miss Carmagee’s shoulder. Above, in the nursery, Jack Murchison -was trying his new knife on the rail of a bedroom chair. He had crept -out of bed, rummaged up some matches, and lit the gas. The boy had no -eyes for the empty cot in the far corner of the room. He had not yet -grasped what the loss of a life in the home meant. - -“I want you to promise me something, dear.” - -Miss Carmagee’s hand touched the mother’s hair. - -“Yes?” - -“I want you to tell me frankly—about the money.” - -Catherine looked up into the benign, white face. - -“You mean—?” - -“I mean, dear, that there is a lot of dusting and polishing to be done -before the lawyers allow people to step into their own shoes. I have a -pair that I could lend you for a year or so.” - -Catherine smiled at the simile, despite the occasion. Miss Carmagee’s -shoes were as large and generous as her heart. - -“It is too good of you. They tell me I have inherited property that will -bring in an income of seven to eight hundred a year. I don’t think—” - -“Well?” - -“That we could let you be so generous.” - -Miss Carmagee leaned forward in her chair. - -“Generous? It is not generous, dear; a mere matter of convenience.” - -“You call it merely ‘convenience’?” - -“No, child, I ought to call it a blessing to me, a true blessing. Don’t -you understand that it would make me very happy?” - -“Yes, I understand.” - -“That’s right.” - -“How good and kind you are.” - -“Nonsense, dear, nonsense.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXX - - -Mr. Gehogan, the gentleman from Ireland who had attempted to possess -himself of the scatterings of James Murchison’s practice, had discovered -no proper spirit of appreciation in Roxton, and as though to register -his displeasure, had departed abruptly, so abruptly that he had left -behind him many unpaid bills. The house in Lombard Street had held him -and his progeny for some seasons, and the family had left its mark upon -the place in more instances than one. Miss Carmagee and her brother, who -went over the house for some unexplained reason, concluded that clean -paint and paper, and many scrubbings with soap and water, were needed -for the effacement of an atmosphere of mediæval sanctity. The charwoman -averred—an excellent authority—that the late tenant had kept pigs in a -shed at the end of the garden, and had salted and stored the bacon in -the bath. The house itself had been left littered with all sorts of -rubbish. Dr. Gehogan’s youngsters had turned the back garden into a -species of pleasaunce by the sea. There was a big puddle in the middle -of the lawn, and oyster-shells, broken bricks, and jam-jars had -accumulated to an extraordinary extent. - -About the end of April such people of observation as passed down Lombard -Street, discovered that the great red-brick house was preparing for new -tenants. Mr. Clayton, the decorator, had hung his professional board -from the central first-floor window. Sashes were being repainted white, -the front door an æsthetic green. Paper-hangers were at work in the -chief rooms, and whitewash brushes splashed and flapped in the kitchen -quarters. Questioned by interested fellow-tradesmen as to the name and -nature of the incoming tenant, Mr. Clayton blinked and confessed his -ignorance. He was working under Mr. Porteus Carmagee’s orders. Mr. -Clayton had even heard that the house had changed hands, and that the -lawyer had bought it from the late owner, but whether it was let, Mr. -Clayton could not tell. Even Mr. Beasely, the local house-agent, was no -wiser in the matter. Speculation remained possible, while the more -pushing of the local tradesmen were ready at any moment to tout for the -new-comers’ “esteemed patronage.” - -One afternoon early in May a large furniture van, manœuvring to and fro -in Lombard Street and absorbing the whole road, compelled a stylish -carriage and pair to come to a sharp halt. The carriage was Dr. Parker -Steel’s, and it contained his wife, a complacent study in pink, with a -pert little white hat perched on a most elaborate yet seemingly simple -coiffure. The footway opposite the Murchison’s old house was littered -with straw, and stray odds and ends of furniture, while two men in green -baize aprons were struggling up the steps with a Chesterfield sofa. -Through one of the open windows of the dining-room, Betty Steel’s sharp -eyes caught sight of Miss Carmagee, rigged up in a white apron and -unpacking china with the help of one of her maids. - -The furniture van had made port, and Parker Steel’s carriage rolled on -into St. Antonia’s Square. Mrs. Betty’s eyes had clouded a little under -her Paris hat, for unpleasant thoughts are invariably suggested by the -faces of people who do not love us. The ego in self-conscious mortals is -sensitive as a piece of smoked-glass. The passing of the faintest shadow -is registered upon its surface, and its lustre may be dimmed by a chance -breath. - -This house in Lombard Street had never lost for Betty Steel its -suggestion of passive hostility. Its associations always stirred the -energies of an unforgotten hate, and though triumphant, she often found -herself frowning when she passed the place. Moreover, Miss Carmagee had -been the other woman’s friend, and in life there can be no neutrality -when rivals fight for survival in the business of success. - -Betty Steel had come from the orchards that were white about Roxton -Priory, yet the glimpse of the stir and movement in that red-brick house -had blown the May-bloom from her thoughts. Did Kate Murchison ever wish -herself back in Lombard Street? What had become of her and her children? -Betty Steel woke from a moment’s reverie as the carriage drew up before -her own home. - -The elderly parlor-maid, five feet of starch, to say nothing of the cap, -opened the front door to Mrs. Betty. There was an inquisitive lift about -the woman’s eyelids, and Betty Steel, an expert in the deciphering of -faces, expected news of some sort or another. - -“Any one in the drawing-room, Symons?” - -“No, ma’am.” - -“Well?” - -“Dr. Steel is in the study. He wished me to say that he would see you -the moment you came home.” - -Nearly twenty-four hours had passed since Betty Steel had seen her -husband. The physician had been called up in the night, and had -breakfasted away. She herself had lunched with Lady Gillingham, so that -their paths had run uncrossed since yesterday. - -“Has any one called?” - -“No, ma’am.” - -“You may bring up tea.” - -The Venetian blinds were down in the consulting room, an initial -coincidence, for Parker Steel was a believer in light. He was sitting at -the bureau by the window, but glanced over his shoulder as his wife -entered. - -“Is that you, dear?” - -“Yes; what is it?” - -She was playing with her silk scarf, and looking with rather a puzzled -air at her husband. - -“I’ve just sent off a wire to town.” - -“A wire?” - -“Yes, to Turner, for a first-class locum. The man will be here early -to-morrow. Shut the door, dear—shut the door.” - -There was an irritable harshness of voice and a jerkiness of manner that -betrayed unusual lack of self-control. Her husband’s back was half -turned to her, and he was scribbling on a sheet of paper that he had -before him, but she could see the frown upon his forehead and the -nervous working of his lips. - -“What is the matter, Parker?” - -“Oh, nothing serious, only one of your prophecies come home to roost.” - -“My prophecies?” - -“Yes, about overwork. I was a fool not to knock off earlier. Some -inflammatory trouble in my eyes.” - -“Eyes?” - -She echoed the word, showing for the first time some stirrings of alarm. - -“What is it?” - -“Strain, nothing more. It came on quite suddenly. I shall have to have a -month’s absolute rest.” - -He leaned back, and put a hand up to his forehead. - -“Let me look.” - -Betty went to him, and leaned her hands upon the side rail of his chair. - -“You won’t make much of them. See, I’m just writing out a few hints and -directions. - -“They look inflamed, Parker.” - -He shrugged impatiently. - -“Don’t bother about the eyes. See, I want you to give these notes to -Turner’s locum when he comes. The list is complete, with a cross against -the more important people. The work’s lighter again; he can manage it -alone.” - -“Yes,” but she still looked troubled. - -“I shall get away by the 10.15 to-morrow morning.” - -“Where are you going?” - -“Oh—to Torquay. I’ve wired to a hotel. Ramsden is doing eye-work down -there, you know. He will soon put me right.” - -Betty stood with her hands resting on the back of his chair. His -assurances had not wholly satisfied her. She had a vague feeling that he -was keeping something back. - -“Parker.” - -“Yes, dear.” - -He appeared busy dashing down professional hieroglyphics on the paper -before him. - -“You are not keeping anything from me?” - -“Anything from you!” - -“Yes. It is nothing dangerous?” - -“My dear girl, I ought to know!” - -She sighed, looked at the darkened window, and then stooping suddenly, -kissed him softly on the cheek. - -“Parker—” - -He had reddened and drawn aside, with an irritable knitting of the -brows. - -“Leave me alone, dear, for a while. I want to put the practice in -order.” - -Repulsed, she removed her hands from the chair. - -“I was only anxious—” - -“Don’t worry; there’s no cause. You will stay here and look after things -for me?” - -“Yes. I can have Madge to stay.” - -“And, Betty—” - -“Yes.” - -“Don’t say much about the eyes. It doesn’t do for a professional man to -get a reputation for feebleness in his physical equipment.” - -“I shall not say anything.” - -“Thanks. You see, I’m rather busy.” - -She turned, looked round the room vaguely, her face cold and empty of -any marked expression. Then she went slowly to the door, opened it, and -passed out into the hall. The house seemed peculiarly dim and lonely as -she climbed the stairs to her own room. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXI - - -“Good-bye, Mrs. Murchison; good-bye, old man; wish you could have stayed -with us. Shake hands, sonny, now you’re off.” - -A barrow-load of belated luggage went clattering by as the shrill pipe -of the guard’s whistle sounded the departure. On the opposite platform a -couple of porters were banging empty milk-cans on to a truck. Yet from -the noise and turmoil of it all, John Tugler’s red face shone out with a -redeeming exuberance of good-will. - -“Good-bye.” - -Murchison was leaning from the window, and the two men shook hands. - -“Good luck to you.” - -“Thanks. You have been very good to us. We shall not forget it.” - -“Bosh, man, bosh!” and John Tugler gave Catherine a final flourish of -his hat. - -The train was on the move, but Murchison still leaned from the window, -to the exclusion of his excited and irrepressible son. We grow fond of -people who have stood by us in trouble, and John Tugler, bumptious and -money-making mortal that he was, carried many generous impulses under -his gorgeous waistcoat. The gift of sympathy covers a multitude of -imperfections, for the heart craves bread and wine from others, and not -the philosopher’s stone. - -Interminable barriers of brick, back yards, sour, rubbish-ridden gardens -were gliding by. Factories with their tall chimneys, the minarets of -labor, stood out above the crowded grayness of the monotonous streets. -Hardly a tree, and not an acre of green grass, in Wilton. It was as -though nature had cursed the place, and left it no symbol of the season, -no passing pageantry of summer, autumn, or of spring. - -Catherine had kept Jack by her side, and the boy was kneeling on the -seat and looking out of the window. She felt that her husband was in no -mood for the child’s chattering. In leaving Wilton he was leaving a -poignant part of reality behind, to enter upon a life that should try -the strength of his manhood as a bowman tries a bow. - -An old lady and a consumptive clerk were their only fellow-travellers. -Murchison had chosen a corner whose window looked towards the west, and -an intense and determined face it was that stared out over the ugliness -of Wilton town. Houses had given place to market-gardens, acres of -cabbages, flat, dismal, and dotted with zinc-roofed sheds. Beyond came -the slow, sad heave of the Wilton hills, and, seen dimly—white specks -upon the hill-side—the crowded head-stones where the dead slept. - -The eyes of husband and wife met for a moment. They smiled at each other -with the wistful cheerfulness of two people who have determined to be -brave, a pathetic pretence hardly created to deceive. Moroseness need -not testify deep feeling. The gleam from between the clouds turns even -the wet clouds to gold. - -Jack Murchison was watching a couple of colts cantering across a field -beside the line. - -“Mother, look at the old horses.” - -“Yes, dear.” - -“Silly old things. They’re making that old cow run. The brown one’s like -Wellington, the horse we had before dad bought the car.” - -“So it is, dear.” - -“P’r’aps it is Wellington?” - -“No, dear, Wellington must be dead by now.” - -The old lady in the opposing corner was looking at Jack over her -spectacles, and the boy took to returning the stare with the inimitable -composure of youth. Catherine had turned again towards the other window, -but the white head-stones no longer checkered the hill-side. Instead, -she saw her husband’s profile, stern and determined, yet infinitely sad. - -Life has been described as a series of sensations; and though some days -are dull and passionless, others vibrate with a thousand waves of -feeling. To Murchison the day had been crowded with sensation since the -break of dawn. It was a day of disruption, a plucking up of routine from -the soil, a change of attitude that concerned the soul even more than -the body. He yearned towards Wilton, and yet fled from it with -gratitude; his old home called to him, and yet he dreaded it as a -disgraced man might fear the shocked faces of familiar friends. It was a -day of unrest, self-judgment, and great forethought for him. The -physical atoms seemed to tremble and vibrate, till the manhood in him -might have been likened to a tremulous vapor. He could eat nothing, fix -his mind on nothing. Even the sagging wires, coming and going as the -train swept from pole to pole, were not unsymbolical of his thoughts. - -Two hundred miles, with an hour’s wait in London, and the monotonous -Midlands gave place to the more mysterious and dreamy south. -Pine-crowned hills, great oaks and beeches purpling the villages, the -blue distance of a more magical horizon. In orchards and meadows the -infinite glamour of a golden spring. Quiet rivers curling through the -mists of green. In many a park the stately spruce built sombre, windless -thickets; larches glimmered with Scotch firs red-throated towards the -west. Trees in whispering and triumphant multitudes. Quiet, dreamy -meadows where the willows waved. Mysterious Isles of Avalon imaginable -towards the setting sun. - -Murchison, leaning back in his corner, watched for the pine woods about -Roxton town with a deep commingling of yearning and of dread. It was to -be a home-coming, and yet what a home-coming! The return of a prodigal, -but no cringing prodigal; the return of a man, stiff-necked and -square-jawed, ready to fight but not to conciliate. There was something -of the tense expectancy of the hour before the bugles blow the assault. -Every nerve in Murchison’s body tingled. - -The boy Jack was jumping from foot to foot at the other window. - -“Look, mother, look, there’s old Mr. Tomkin’s farm! And there’s the -river. Look—and the kingcups are out! Gwen used to call ’em—” - -He stopped suddenly, for his mother had drawn him to her and smothered -the words with her mouth. - -“You take care of the rugs and umbrellas, dear.” - -“Yes. Shall I get ’em down?” - -“In a minute. Sit still, dear, and don’t worry.” - -She looked across quickly at her husband. Their eyes met. He was pale, -but he smiled at her. - -“Here we are, at last.” - -“At last.” - -Both felt that the ordeal had begun. - -They let the boy lean out of the open window as the train ran in and -slowed up beside the platform. Porteus Carmagee and his sister were -waiting by the door of the booking-office. Jack sighted them and waved a -salute, their coach running far beyond the office, for they were in the -forepart of the train. - -Murchison was the first out of the carriage. He lifted the boy down, and -stood waiting to help his wife with some of her parcels. - -“Luggage, sir?” - -Murchison turned, and stared straight into the face of one of his old -patients. The man looked at him blankly for a moment before recognition -dawned upon his face. - -“Good-day, doctor. Didn’t know you, sir, at first,” and he touched his -cap. - -Murchison’s upper lip was stiff. He looked like one who had come to -judge rather than to be judged. - -“Get my luggage out, Johnson. Three trunks, a Gladstone, hat-box, and -two wooden cases.” - -“Yes, sir.” - -The man was polite, though ready to be inquisitive. - -“Glad to see you again in Roxton, sir.” - -“Thanks.” - -“Cab, sir? There’s Timmins’s fly.” - -“Yes, that will do.” - -Murchison turned abruptly from the porter to find Miss Carmagee and -Catherine kissing, and Jack tugging at his godfather’s hands. It was -Porteus in a new Panama hat, whose whiteness made his face look brown as -an Asiatic’s. - -“Ah, my dear Murchison, ten minutes late; beast of a line this.” - -“It was good of you to come.” - -“Eh, what?—not a bit of it. Where’s your luggage? I abhor stations; -can’t talk in comfort. This imp of darkness can come along with us.” - -An unprejudiced observer would have imagined the little man in the most -peppery of tempers. He tweaked Jack by the ear, frowned hard at -Catherine, and bit his mustache as though possessed by some -uncontrollable spirit of impatience. - -His sister was straightening her bonnet-strings. - -“You can drive straight home, dear; everything is ready.” - -“You don’t know how much I feel all this.” - -“There, you must be tired. We are going to take the boy to-night.” - -Miss Carmagee’s stout figure seemed to stand like a breakwater between -Catherine and the world, and there was an all-sufficing courage on her -face. - -People were staring; Murchison became aware of it as they moved towards -the booking-office. Several familiar faces seemed to start up vividly -out of the past. He noticed two porters grinning and talking together -beside a pile of luggage near the bridge, and his sensitive pride -concluded that they were making him their mark. The ticket collector was -a thin, gray-headed man whom Murchison had known for years. He found -himself conjecturing, as one conjectures over trifles at such a pass, -whether the man would remember him or not. The official received the -tickets without vouchsafing a glimmer of recognition. But he stared -after Murchison when he had passed, with that curious, peering insolence -typical of the breed. - -Outside the station a very throaty individual in a very big cap, Harris -tweed suit, white stock, and mulberry red waistcoat, was giving -instructions to a porter with regard to a barrow-load of luggage. A trim -dog-cart stood by the curb, with a sleek little woman in a tailor-made -costume perched on the seat, and looking down on everybody with -something of the keenness of a hawk. - -It so happened that this exquisite piece of “breeding,” this Colonel -Larter of county fame, stepped back against Murchison in turning towards -his dog-cart. - -“Beg pardon.” - -The words were reinforced by a surprised and rather impertinent stare. - -“What!” - -“Don’t trouble to mention it, sir.” - -“How d’you do? Had heard you were knocking about down our way. Wife -well?” - -Colonel Larter’s glance had passed the figure in black, and had fixed -itself on the Carmagees and Catherine. There is always some charm about -a handsome woman that can command courtesy, and Colonel Larter walked -round Murchison with the _sang-froid_ of a superior person, and ignored -the husband in appearing impressive to the wife. - -“How d’you do, Mrs. Murchison? Back in Roxton? Miss Carmagee has been -keeping secrets from us. Quite a crime, I’m sure.” - -Catherine had seen the slighting of her husband. - -“We are back again, Colonel Larter.” - -“That’s good. To stay?” and he nodded affably to the lawyer. - -“Yes, to stay.” - -“And the piccaninnies? Hallo, here’s one of them! And where’s my little -flirt? What! Left her behind?” - -Colonel Larter had one of those high-pitched, patronizing voices that -carry a goodly distance and allow casual listeners to benefit by their -remarks. Yet even his obtuse conceit was struck by Catherine Murchison’s -manner. A sudden sense of distance and discomfort obtruded itself upon -the gentleman’s consciousness. He caught Porteus Carmagee’s brown, -birdlike eye, and the glint thereof was curiously disconcerting. - -“Expect you’re busy. My wife’s waiting for me; mustn’t delay,” and he -withdrew with a jerk of his peaked cap, repassing Murchison with an -oblivious serenity, and rejoining his wife, who had acknowledged the -presence of acquaintances by a single inclination of the head. - -“Insufferable ass! Where’s that luggage? Ah, here we are,” and Porteus -opened the cab-door with emphasis. - -“Get in, Kate, you’ll find everything shipshape at home.” - -“You will come across later?” - -“If I’m wanted.” - -“Then we shall expect you both. We have not thanked you yet.” - -“Oh, if I’m to be thanked, I sha’n’t come.” - -“Don’t say that,” and Murchison’s hand rested for a moment on Porteus -Carmagee’s shoulder. - -Lombard Street again, broad, tranquil Lombard Street, warm with its -red-walled houses, shaded by its cypresses, its budding elms and limes, -St. Antonia’s steeple clear against the blue. The old house itself, -white-sashed and sun-steeped, curtains at the windows, the steps white -and fresh as snow. - -A head disappeared from the hall window as the cab drove up; the front -door opened; they were welcomed by a homely and familiar face. - -“Mary!” - -“Yes, ma’am.” - -“This is like home.” - -“I’m glad, ma’am, I’m glad—” - -Catherine kissed her. They were both good women, and heart met heart in -that home-coming, so full of memories of mingled joy and pain. - -“It is good to see you here, Mary,” and Murchison held out a hand. - -“Oh, sir, it was good to come.” - -“You will only have one to worry you now.” - -“It wasn’t a worry, sir.” - -And she retreated because her weakness was a woman’s weakness and showed -itself in tears. - -A man was helping the cabman with the luggage. He came in carrying one -end of a heavy trunk, cap in hand, gaiters on legs, a smart figure that -seemed a little faded and out of fortune, to judge by the threadbare -cleanliness of its clothes. - -“What, you here, Gage?” - -The man colored up like a boy. - -“Glad to see you, sir, and you, ma’am. The old house begins to look -itself again.” - -“You are right, Gage. Old faces make a welcome surer. We shall want you -if you are free.” - -“Only too happy, sir. Family man now, sir.” - -“What, married!” - -“A year last Easter, sir,” and he disappeared up the stairs, carrying -the lower end of the trunk. - -An hour had passed. Husband and wife had wandered over the whole house -together, and found many an old familiar friend that had been saved from -the wreck of that disastrous year. The sympathetic touch showed -everywhere, a reverent and sensitive spirit had schemed and plotted to -retain the past. The coloring of each room was the same as of old; much -of the furniture had been rebought; the very pictures were as so many -memories. It was home, and yet not the home they had known of yore. - -“Does it feel strange to you?” - -“Strange?” - -“Yes, it is all so real, and yet there is something we shall always -miss.” - -They were standing together at the study window, looking out into the -garden that was lit with flowers. Polyanthuses were as so many gems -scattered on the brown earth of the beds. An almond-tree was still in -bloom, a blush of pink against the sky. Tulips, red, white, and yellow, -lifted their cups to the falling dew. - -“It can never be the same, dear.” - -“No.” - -“Gwen?” - -“Yes, our little one. And yet—in death—” - -“In death?” - -“My child has given me victory over myself. As I trust God, dear, I -believe that curse is dead.” - -“Yes, it is dead.” - -“The house is cleansed; we have come home together. I am ready now to -face my fellow-men.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXXII - - -It is said that a pretty woman is never out of patience when she has a -glass to gaze at, and Betty Steel, casting critical yet complacent -glances into the depths of a Venetian mirror, awaited the descent of her -very particular friend, Madge Ellison, with the sweet content of a lily -waiting for the moon. Mrs. Betty’s face was a Diana’s face, but her body -was of the color of a blush-rose in her summer-rose dress. The figure -had charm enough as it idled to and fro in the spacious, mellow-tinted -room. Mirror and window showed her patronage; the one, symbolical of -self alone; the other of that same self’s outlook upon life at large. -Betty was in one of her most radiant moods. A letter had come for her -from her husband by the morning post; his eyes were much better, and -there was no cloud upon the horizon. - -Parker Steel’s wife heard the frou-frou of a silk petticoat sweeping -down the stairs, the sudden opening of the study door, a man’s footstep -crossing the hall. - -“What, out to tea again in your best frock?” - -The rustling of silk ceased for a moment at the foot of the stairs. -Betty Steel smiled like a wise and intelligent elder sister. Madge -Ellison, and their most stylish _locum-tenens_, Dr. Little, had reached -that degree of familiarity that permits two people to spar amiably with -each other. - -“A grievance, as usual! I suppose you grudge us the carriage?” - -“Nothing half so selfish, I assure you.” - -“Why not come and pay calls with us?” - -“The old proverb, Miss Ellison.” - -“A little goes a long way, is that it?” - -“Am I so little?” - -“What’s in a name!” and she passed on with a significant side glance and -an arch lifting of the chin. - -Dr. Little, a black-chinned, tailor-waisted, superfine person, with a -distinct “air,” proceeded on a hypothetical expedition up the stairs. He -had remembered leaving his latch-key in his bedroom, a useful excuse for -meeting a pretty woman on the way, as though the coincidence were -supremely natural. - -“Au revoir.” - -Miss Ellison favored him with an undeniable wink as she picked up a pink -parasol from the hall table. She was one of those women who remind one -forcibly of the stage-beauty as seen on very young men’s mantel-pieces. -Madge Ellison would show as much of an open-work stocking as was -compatible with social refinement. A _retroussé_ nose and a round and -rather cheeky chin associated themselves naturally with her methods of -fascination. - -“Madge!” - -“Yes, dear.” - -“Here, quick, I want you!” - -“Bless my soul, why this tragic note?” - -“Look, the window; do you recognize any one by the church-railings?” - -There was a hard abruptness in Betty Steel’s voice. She was leaning -forward with her hand on the window-sill, her face curiously changed in -its expression from the purring contentment of two minutes ago. - -“I see a solitary female, dear.” - -“Don’t you recognize her?” - -Miss Ellison gave a quaint and expressive little whistle. - -“No, surely, it can’t be!” - -“Kate Murchison.” - -“By George, dear, it is!” - -The two friends watched the figure in black disappear under the old -gate-house that stood at the northwest corner of the square. For Madge -Ellison there was nothing more inspiriting than curiosity in the event. -To Betty Steel that passing glimpse had opened up all the hatred of the -past. - -“What’s in your mind, Madge?” - -Miss Ellison was buttoning her gloves. - -“I’ll bet a tea-cake to a penny bun, dear, that it is the Murchisons who -have taken their house in Lombard Street again.” - -“Nonsense!” - -Betty Steel’s eyes grew hard and dangerous at the suggestion. - -“Why nonsense?” - -“The Murchisons would hardly have the impudence to sneak back to Roxton. -People don’t care to be bungled into the next world by a drunkard.” - -“My word, Betty, draw it mild. I never heard that the man drank.” - -“You were in Italy, then, I believe.” - -“Nasty, nasty! You are peevish over the poor people’s failings!” - -“I hate that woman, Madge.” - -Miss Ellison laughed at the sincerity of her friend’s spite. - -“Why, what earthly harm can that woman do you by choosing to live in -Roxton?” - -“I tell you, Madge, there are some people in this world who set one’s -teeth on edge. After all, what need for all this waste of antipathy. -Kate Murchison must be staying with the Carmagees. I’ll risk that as my -explanation.” - -Spirited away on a round of social duties, Betty Steel and her friend -paid their third call that afternoon at the Canonry in Canon’s Court, -off Cloister Street. A row of carriages under the avenue of limes, and a -liveried servant standing on duty under the Georgian portico, reminded -Betty Steel that the third Friday in the month was the date printed on -Mrs. Stensly’s cards. Betty and her gossip were announced in the crowded -drawing-room, where a number of bored figures were balancing teacups and -talking with forced animation. A few men, severely saddened by their -responsibilities, were treading on each other’s heels, and looking -anxiously for ladies who would take pity on sandwiches or cake. The -French windows of the room were open to the May sunshine of the garden, -and the fringes of a cedar could be seen sweeping the sleek grass. - -Individual faces disassociate themselves slowly from such an assemblage, -and Betty Steel, blockaded under the lee of a grand-piano, had but half -the room under the ken of her keen eyes. Madge Ellison had been left to -chat with Mr. Keightly, a very popular and enthusiastic curate who had -rendered his character doubly fascinating by professing to hold -prejudices in favor of celibacy. Betty had a brewer’s wife at her elbow. -They had exchanged ecstatic confidences on the exquisite shape and color -of Mrs. Stensly’s tea-service, and were both groping for some further -topic to keep the conversation moving. - -“And how is the play going, Mrs. Steel?” - -“The play?” - -Mrs. Betty seemed unusually pensive and distraught. - -“Lady Sophia’s play.” - -“As well as a piece can go—with amateurs. We all find fault with our -neighbors.” - -“I hear it is a splendid little play.” - -“Not at all bad.” - -“I must say I like the pathetic style of play.” - -“Oh yes, quite charming.” - -“I saw Julia Neilson play in that play, oh—what was the play called?—” - -“‘A Woman of no Ideal,’ most likely,” thought Mrs. Betty. “I wonder how -many more times she is going to tread on that one unfortunate word.” - -She waited demurely for the title to recur, but it appeared lost in the -limbo of the fat lady’s mind. The brewer’s wife continued to grope for -it like a conscientious housewife who has lost the Sabbath threepenny -bit in her glove-box while dressing for church. - -Betty Steel, however, had become utterly oblivious of her presence for -the moment. She was gazing towards one of the open windows where a -woman’s figure, tall and comely in simple black, showed against the rich -green of the grass. The woman’s back was turned towards the room, but -Betty knew her by her figure and the lustre of her hair. - -“Very odd, Mrs. Steel, I can’t remember the name of that play.” - -“Really, I beg your pardon, I was thinking of other things.” - -A slight rearranging of this aggregate of Roxton culture released Betty -Steel from this amiable mass of irresponsible bathos. She contrived to -wedge herself beside Madge Ellison, whose _retroussé_ nose had failed to -tempt the celibate to expand. - -“You see?” - -A smart hat was tilted significantly towards the window. - -“I do.” - -“Any news?” - -“You have lost, dear. The tea-cake is on top. The sensation of Roxton. -They are here to stay.” - -Mrs. Betty’s face expressed infinite pity. - -“How eccentric!” - -“Kate Murchison has had money left her.” - -“And the husband?” - -“I hear his plate is up in Lombard Street.” - -Whether it was a mere matter of coincidence or the working of a definite -purpose, the fact was curiously self-evident to Betty Steel that the -drawing-room of the Canonry had divided itself into two camps. -Window-ward sat Miss Carmagee, dressed in black, her large face shining -like a buckler against the embattled foe. Porteus—the irascible Porteus -who blasphemed all tea-parties—was chattering like a little brown -baboon. Several of Kate Murchison’s old friends appeared to have -congregated together on the opposition benches. Mrs. Betty remarked all -this, and her mouth grew a mere line in her pale and alert face. - -The breweress had risen to depart. A number of nervous people who had -been waiting for some bold spirit to initiate the movement, followed the -fat lady’s inspiriting example. Mrs. Stensly was in the garden. The -breweress and her flock of sheep filed through the open window to shake -hands—and go. - -“Madge.” - -“Hallo, dear, am I sitting on you? Whither away?” - -“To pay my most dutiful respects!” - -Catherine Murchison and the Canon had left the window, and were pacing -the grass under the benisons of the great cedar. By the expression of -their faces, and the serious yet sympathetic inflection of their voices, -they had broken the mere social surface, and were speaking of deeper -things. It is the fashion to abuse the priesthood in the abstract, yet -any critic who took the clean-girt manliness of Canon Stensly’s -character might find his rhetoric chilled in its free flow. - -“You have done the right thing, and your true friends will be glad of -it.” - -“It was my husband’s wish.” - -“The wish of a brave man.” - -“What a wonderful thing is sympathy! You have helped me so much this -afternoon. It was an ordeal. You know, we dread the -unknown—uncertainty.” - -The big, gray-headed man looked down at her with much of the affection -of a father. His hands had given her confirmation and joined her hand in -marriage. - -“Doubt is a great distorting glass,” he said, simply; “the difficulties -of life decrease the moment they are faced.” - -“I am glad you are on our side.” - -“I should be a poor Christian if I were not.” - -A figure in a pink dress, sumptuous and perfect as to the milliner’s -craft, glided across the grass, and cast a shadow at Catherine’s feet. - -“How d’you do, Kate? You have surprised us all—assuredly.” - -The two women touched hands. Betty Steel’s drawl ascended towards -patronage. She assumed the air of a mistress of a _salon_ whose -salutation decided destinies and dispensed fame. - -“How is Dr. Murchison? This long rest must have done him good.” - -“Thanks. My husband is very well.” - -“I am afraid we all misunderstood your plans. We thought you had left -Roxton for good. I suppose Dr. Murchison will not expose himself again -to the strain of general practice. Surgical cases are such a -responsibility.” - -It is the ability of women to be politely insolent and to cover a taunt -with ironical courtesy. There were at least a dozen people within range -of Mrs. Betty’s aggressive drawl, and Betty Steel had no intention of -letting Roxton forget James Murchison’s past. - -“And how are the children?” - -Her eyes were studying the details of Catherine’s dress with the -critical acuteness so trying to a woman. - -“The boy is very well, thanks.” - -“And the other—a girl, was it not?” - -“You need not trouble to remember her.” - -“That sounds as though you were disappointed. I remember how you used to -read me texts on the divinity of motherhood.” - -“The child is dead, Betty, that is all.” - -“I’m sorry to hear that. I always thought the girl was delicate.” - -Canon Stensly’s massive shadow interposed itself between the slighter -silhouettes upon the grass. - -“Your husband has kept his promise, Mrs. Murchison.” - -“Is he here?” - -“Yes, yonder, with my wife.” - -Betty Steel’s face was tinged with a malignity that leaked from her eyes -and from the sneering angles of her mouth. She felt glad that -Catherine’s favorite child was dead. The incomprehensible malice in the -thought justified itself in the reflection that Catherine had lost -something that she, Betty, had always lacked. - -She passed James Murchison as she returned towards the house, a man with -a certain dignity of past suffering writ heavily upon his face. He was -talking to two old friends. Betty swept by him without troubling to -notice whether he bowed to her or not. The man was a mere pawn in the -game so far as she was concerned. Any humiliation that he might suffer -was only valuable so far as it humiliated his wife. - -The carriage was waiting for them under the limes of Canon’s Court. -Madge Ellison flounced down in her corner with a relieved sigh. - -“What a function! Well, how is she, charming as ever?” - -“Who?” - -“You know whom I mean, Betty?” - -“That beast?” - -“I heard you call her that once when we were at school,” and Miss -Ellison tittered; “I believe she’ll make the whole town swallow the -past.” - -“Will she—indeed!” - -“You don’t relish the idea?” - -“Wait, my dear girl; we have not seen the end of the game yet.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIII - - -Roxton, like a certain lady of literary fame, was ever ready with its -free opinions on any subject that it did not understand. The return of -the Murchisons had exercised the town’s capacity for criticism, and -inaugurated a debate that was to be heard at public-house bars, as well -as in the parlors of the pious. The facts of the case were generally -agreed upon; but facts are things that the ingenious mind of man can -juggle with. The complexion of the affair varied with the convictions of -the debater, and the sacred incidents of home life profaned or honored -according to the temper of the tongue that dealt with them. - -In Mill Lane the case had a most energetic exponent in the person of Mr. -William Bains, the sweep. A certain brewer’s drayman, who had won some -crude celebrity as an atheist, had taken upon himself to argue on the -adverse side. The two gentlemen squared to each other one evening at the -bottom of the lane, and thrashed it out strenuously before a meagre but -attentive crowd. - -“What about the inquest? Didn’t we read the ’ole of it in the _Mail and -Times_? Yer can’t get away from facts, can yer?” - -“And supposin’ he did make a mistake for once, does that mean callin’ a -man a fool and a danger to the public? Who drove his cart last week into -a pillar-box by Wilson’s grocery shop?” - -Mr. Bains scored a palpable hit. The audience laughed. - -“Got ’im there, William,” said a neighbor. - -The drayman sniffed, and threw out his stomach. - -“Facts is facts. Doctorin’ ain’t drivin’ ’osses.” - -“Thank the Lord, Mr. Sweetyer, it ain’t, for our sakes.” - -“I say the man blundered.” - -“And who ’asn’t run ’is nose into a lamp-post on occasions? Why, look -’ere,” and Mr. Bains stretched out a didactic forefinger, “when my -little girl ’ad the diphtheria, who pulled ’er through? And who saved -old Jenny Lowther’s leg? And there was young Ben Thompson, who some -London joker swore was a dyin’ man!” - -“That’s true,” said a bony woman in an old red blouse. - -The drayman, finding the neighbors inclined to take the sweep’s view of -the matter, began to look hot, and a little nettled. - -“Well, what ’ave yer got to say about the booze?” he asked. - -“I reckon that’s more your business than mine.” - -Again the audience caught the gibe and laughed. - -“Three gallons a day, that’s ’is measure,” interjected a morose -gentleman, who was hanging over his garden gate and smoking the stump of -a clay pipe. - -“Wasn’t ’e carried ’ome from the club?” - -“P’r’aps ’e was, p’r’aps ’e wasn’t. Any fool could ’ave seen that the -man ’ad been workin’ hisself to death. Why, he fainted bang off one -mornin’, round at our ’ouse. Ask my missus. A thimbleful o’ brandy would -’ave made a man in ’is state ’ug the railin’s.” - -“Anyhow, he hugged ’em,” said the obdurate opponent. - -“We ain’t always responsible for what we do when we’ve ’ad a bad smack -over the side of the jaw.” - -“Doct’rs oughtn’t ter touch it.” - -“You’re a nice one to preach, now, ain’t yer?” - -“He is that,” quoth the laconic worthy at the gate. - -“Look ’ere, don’t you go shovin’ it into me—sideways.” - -“Let me argue ’im, Mr. Catt.” - -“Argue, you ’ain’t got a leg to stand on!” - -“Haven’t I, my boy!” and the two disputants began to glare. - -The drayman wiped his hands on the back of his breeches. - -“Some fool’ll be callin’ me a liar soon,” he remarked. - -“It’s on the cards.” - -“Look ’ere, Bill Bains, I’ve ’ad enough of your sarce. Stow it.” - -“You go and bully your kids. Can’t I speak my mind when I bloomin’ well -like?” - -“Course ’e can,” said the lady in the red blouse; “and ’e speaks it -well, ’e does. Murchison was always a right down gentleman; better than -that there little nipper, Steel.” - -“Right for you, Mrs. Penny. We don’t go blackguardin’ other people’s -characters, do we?” - -“I ain’t blackguardin’ the man, I’m statin’ facts.” - -“Facts, facts—why, the man’s clean daft on facts. Facts must be another -name for a pint of bitter.” - -“I’ll smash your jaw, Bill Bains, if you don’t stow it.” - -“Smash away, my buck. Who’s afraid of a bloomin’ cask?” - -Whereon the dwellers in Mill Lane were treated to an exhibition of two -minutes straight hitting, an exhibition that ended in the intervention -of friends. But since the drayman departed with a red nose and a swollen -eye, it may be inferred that the sweep had the best of the argument. - -To have one’s past, present, and future dragged through the back streets -of a country town is not an experience that a man of self-respect would -welcome. A sensitive spirit cannot fail to feel the atmosphere about it. -It may see the sun shining, the clouds white against the blue, the -natural phenomena of health and of well-being; or the faces of a man’s -fellows may be as sour puddles to him, their sympathy a wet December. - -Trite as the saying is, that in trouble we make trial of our friends, -only those who have faced defeat know the depth and meaning of that -time-worn saying. A week in Roxton betrayed to Catherine and her husband -the number and the sincerity of their friends. The instinct of pride is -wondrous quick in detecting truth from shams, even as an expert’s -fingers can tell old china by the feel. The population of the place was -soon mapped out into the priggishly polite, the piously distant, the -vulgarly inquisitive, the unaffected honest, and the honestly -indifferent. Catherine met many a face that brightened to hers in the -Roxton streets. The past seemed to have banked more good-will for them -then they had imagined. It was among the poor that they found the least -forgetfulness, less of the cultured and polite hauteur, less -affectation, less hypocrisy. As for the practice, they found it -non-existent that first humiliating yet half-happy week. - -But perhaps the sincerest person in Roxton at that moment was the wife -of Dr. Parker Steel. Betty was not a passionate woman in the matter of -her affections, but in her capabilities for hatred she concentrated the -energy of ten. She had come quite naturally to regard herself as the -most gifted and interesting feminine personality that Roxton could -boast. Every woman has an instinctive conviction that her own home, and -her own children, are immeasurably superior to all others. With Betty -Steel, this spirit of womanly egotism had been largely centred on -herself. She had no children to make her jealous and critical towards -other women’s children. It was the symmetry of her own success in life -that had developed into an enthralling art, an art that absorbed her -whole soul. - -It might have been imagined that she had climbed too high to trouble -about an old hate; that she was too sufficiently assured of her own -glory to stoop to attack a humbled rival. Jealousy and a sneaking -suspicion of inferiority had embittered the feud for her of old; and -Kate Murchison, saddened and aged, half a suppliant for the loyalty of a -few good friends, could still inspire in Betty a spirit of aggressive -and impatient hate. She remembered that she had seen Catherine -triumphant where she herself had received indifference and disregard. -The instinct to crush this antipathetic rival was as fierce and keen in -her as ever. - -“Call on her,” had been Madge Ellison’s suggestion. - -“Call on her!” - -“It would be more diplomatic.” - -“Do you imagine, Madge, that I am going to make advances to that woman? -She used to snub me once; my turn has come. I give the Murchisons just -six months in Roxton.” - -How little mercy Betty Steel had in that intolerant and subtle heart of -hers was betrayed by the strategic move that opened the renewal of -hostilities. She had driven Kate Murchison out of Roxton once, and the -arrogance of conquest was as fierce in this slim, refined-faced woman as -in any Alexander. She moved in a small and limited sphere, but the -aggressive spirit was none the less inevitable in its lust to overthrow. -The motives were the meaner for their comparative minuteness. - -Lady Sophia’s Bazaar Committee met in Roxton public hall one day towards -the end of May, to consider the arrangement of stalls, and to settle a -number of decorative details. Betty had spent half the morning at her -escritoire sorting letters, meditating chin on hand, scribbling on the -backs of old envelopes, which she afterwards took care to burn. - -She seemed in her happiest vein that afternoon, as she left Madge -Ellison to provide tea for Dr. Little, and drove to the public hall with -her despatch-box full of the Bazaar Fund’s correspondence. No one would -have imagined it possible for such refinement and charm to cover -instincts that were not unallied to the instincts found in an Indian -jungle. Mrs. Betty went through her business with briskness and -precision; the committee left their chairs to discuss the grouping of -the stalls about the room. There were to be twelve of these booths, each -to represent a familiar flower; Lady Sophia had elected herself a rose. -Mrs. Betty’s choice had been Oriental poppies. - -Lady Sophia was parading the hall with a pair of pince-nez perched on -the bridge of her nose, and a memorandum-book open in her hand. A group -of deferential ladies followed her like hens about the farmer’s wife at -feeding-time. The most trivial suggestion that fell from those -aristocratic lips was seized upon and swallowed with relish. - -“Betty, dear, have you heard from Jennings about the draperies?” - -The glory of it, to be “my deared” in public by Lady Sophia Gillingham! - -“Yes, I have a letter somewhere, and a list of prices.” - -“You might pin up the letter and the price-list on the black-board by -the door, so that the stall-holders can take advantage of any item that -may be of use to them.” - -Betty moved to the table and rummaged amid her multifarious -correspondence. She was chatting all the while to a Miss Cozens, a thin, -wiry little woman, alert as a Scotch-terrier in following up the scent -of favor. - -“What a lot of work the bazaar has given you, Mrs. Steel!” - -“Yes, quite enough,” and she divided her attention between Miss Cozens -and the pile of papers. - -“When is the next rehearsal?” - -“Tuesday, I believe.” - -“I hear you are the genius of the play.” - -“Am I?” and Betty smiled like an ingenuous girl. “I am most horribly -nervous. I always feel that I am spoiling the part. Oh, here’s -Jennings’s letter, and the list, I think.” - -She left the two papers lying unheeded for the moment, while she -answered Miss Cozens’s interested questions on costume. - -“Primrose and leaf green, that will be lovely.” - -“Yes, so everybody says.” - -Lady Sophia’s voice interrupted the gossip. She was beckoning to Betty -with her memorandum-book. - -“Betty, can you spare me a moment?” - -Miss Cozens’s sharp eyes gave an envious twinkle. - -“Shall I pin up the papers for you, Mrs. Steel?” - -“Would you?” - -“With pleasure.” - -And Betty swept two sheets of paper towards Miss Cozens without -troubling to glance at them, and turned to wait on Lady Sophia. - -Several ladies congregated about the black-board as Miss Cozens pinned -up the letter and the price-list with such conscientious promptitude -that she had not troubled to read their contents. Had she had eyes for -the faces of her neighbors she might have been struck by the puzzled -eagerness of their expression. One elderly committee woman readjusted -her glasses, and then touched Miss Cozens with a pencil that she -carried. - -“Excuse me.” - -“Yes.” - -“There is some mistake—I think.” - -“Mistake?” - -“Yes, that letter”—and the spectacled lady pointed to the black-board -with her pencil. - -Miss Cozens took the trouble to investigate the charge. The letter was -written on one broad sheet in a neat, bold hand. Miss Cozens’s prim -little mouth pursed itself up expressively as she read; her brows -contracted, her eyes stared. - -“Good Heavens!—what’s this? I must have taken the wrong letter.” - -She tore the sheet down, pushed past her neighbors, and crossed the room -towards Betty Steel. The group about the black-board appeared to be -discussing the incident. Mr. Jennings’s list of silks and drapings -seemed forgotten. - -“Mrs. Steel, excuse me—” - -“Yes?” - -“This letter; there’s some mistake. It’s the wrong one. I pinned it up, -and Mrs. Saker called my attention to the error.” - -“Let me see.” - -Miss Cozens gave her the sheet, intense curiosity quivering in every -line of her doglike face. - -“Good Heavens!—how did this get mixed up with my business -correspondence?” - -She looked perturbation to perfection. - -“Miss Cozens, what am I to do? Has any one read it?” - -The little woman nodded. - -“How horrible! I must explain—It must not go any further.” - -Betty hurried across the hall towards the door, hesitated, and looked -round her as though baffled by indecision. She knew well enough that -inquisitive eyes were watching her. Her skill as an actress—and she was -consummately clever as a hypocrite—served to heighten the meaning that -she wished to convey. - -“Lady Sophia.” - -Betty had doubled adroitly in the direction of the amiable aristocrat. - -“Yes, dear—” - -“Can I speak to you alone?” - -“What is it?” - -“Oh, I have done such an awful thing. Do help me. You have so much nerve -and tact.” - -“My dear child, steady yourself.” - -“I looked out Jennings’s papers; Miss Cozens was chattering to me, and -when you called me, she offered to pin the things on the board. How on -earth it happened, I cannot imagine, but a private letter of mine had -got mixed up with the bazaar correspondence. It must have been lying by -Jennings’s list, for Miss Cozens, without troubling to read it, pinned -it on the board.” - -The perturbed, sensitive creature was breathless and all a-flutter. Lady -Sophia patted her arm. - -“Well, dear, I see no great harm yet—” - -“Wait! It was a letter from an old friend abroad, a letter that -contained certain confessions about a Roxton family. What on earth am I -to do? Look, here it is, read it.” - -Lady Sophia read the letter, holding it at arm’s-length like the music -of a song. - -“Good Heavens, Betty, I never knew the man drank, that it had been a -habit—” - -“Don’t, Lady Sophia, don’t!” - -“You should have been more careful.” - -“I know—I know. I shall never forgive myself. For goodness’ sake, help -me. You have so much more tact than I.” - -Her ladyship accepted the responsibility with stately unction. - -“Leave it to me, dear. I can go round and have a quiet talk with all -those who happened to read the letter. How unfortunate that the opening -sentences should have contained this information. Still, it need never -get abroad.” - -“How good of you!” - -“There, dear, you are rather upset, most naturally so—” - -“I think I had better retreat.” - -“Yes, leave it to me.” - -“Thank you, oh, so much. Tell them not to whisper a word of it.” - -“There will be no difficulty, dear, about that.” - -Betty, white and troubled, added a sharper flavor to the stew by -withdrawing dramatically from the stage. And any one wise as to the -contradictoriness of human nature could have prophesied how the news -would spread had he seen the Lady Sophia voyaging on her diplomatic -mission round the hall. - -“Poor Mrs. Steel! Such an unfortunate coincidence! Not a woman easily -upset, but, believe me, my dear Mrs. So-and-So, it was as much a shock -to her as though she had heard bad news of her husband. Now, I am quite -sure this unpleasant affair will go no further. Of course not. I rely -absolutely on your discretion.” - -And since the discretion of a provincial town is complex to a degree of -an ever-repeated confession, coupled with a solemn warning against -repetition, it was not improbable that this froth would haunt the pot -for many a long day. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIV - - -June is the month for the old world garden that holds mystery and -fragrance within its red-brick walls. In Lombard Street you would -suspect no wealth of flowers, and yet in the passing through of one of -those solid, mellow, Georgian houses you might meet dreams from the -bourn of a charmed sleep. - -Aloofness is the note of such a garden. It is no piece of pompous -mosaic-work spread before the front windows of a stock-broker’s villa, a -conventional color scheme to impress the public. The true garden has no -studied ostentation. It is a charm apart, a quiet corner of life -smelling of lavender, built for old books, and memories that have the -mystery of hills touched by the dawn. You will find the monk’s-hood -growing in tall campaniles ringing a note of blue; columbines, fountains -of gold and red; great tumbling rose-trees like the foam of the sea; -stocks all a-bloom; pansies like antique enamel-work; clove-pinks -breathing up incense to meet the wind-blown fragrance of elder-trees in -flower. You may hear birds singing as though in the wild deeps of a -haunted wood whose trees part the sunset into panels of living fire. - -Mary of the plain face and the loyal heart had opened the green front -door to a big man, whose broad shoulders seemed fit to bear the troubles -of the whole town. He had asked for Catherine and her husband. - -“They are in the garden, sir.” - -“Alone?” - -“Yes, only Master Jack.” - -Canon Stensly bowed his iron-gray head under the Oriental curtain that -screened the passage leading from the hall to the garden. - -“Thanks; I know the way.” - -The Rector of St. Antonia’s came out into the sunlight, and stood -looking about him for an instant with the air of a man whose eyes were -always open to what was admirable in life. A thrush had perched itself -on the pinnacle of a yew, and was singing his vesper-song with the broad -west for an altar of splendid gold. The chiming of the hour rang from -St. Antonia’s steeple half hid by the green mist of its elms. A few -trails of smoke rising from red-brick chimney-stacks alone betrayed the -presence of a town. - -To an old college-man such an evening brought back memories of sunny -courts, cloisters, and sleek lawns, the ringing of bells towards sunset, -the dark swirl of a river under the yawn of bridges that linked gardens -to gardens beneath the benisons of mighty trees. Yet the light on Canon -Stensly’s face was not wholly a placid light. It was as though he came -as a messenger from the restless, bickering outer world, a friend whom -friendship freighted with words not easy to be said. - -A glimmer of white under an old cherry-tree showed where Catherine sat -reading, with the boy Jack prone on the grass, the _Swiss Family -Robinson_ under his chin. Murchison was lying back in a deck-chair, -watching the smoke from his pipe amid the foliage overhead. - -Master Jack, rolling from elbow to elbow, as he thrilled over the -passage of the “tub-boat” from the wreck, caught sight of the Canon -crossing the lawn. Catherine was warned by a tug at her skirts, and a -very audible stage-aside. - -“Look out, here’s old Canon Stensly—” - -“S-sh, Jack.” - -“Should like to see him afloat in a tub-boat. Take a big—” - -A tweak of the ear nipped the boy’s reflection in the bud. His father -gave him a significant push in the direction of the fruit garden. - -“See if there are any strawberries ripe.” - -“I’ve looked twice, dad.” - -“Oh, no doubt. Go and look again.” - -Canon Stensly’s big fist had closed on Catherine’s fingers. He was not -the conventional figure, the portly, smiling cleric, the man of the -world with a benignant yet self-sufficient air. Like many big men, -silent and peculiarly sensitive, his quiet manner suggested a diffidence -anomalous in a man of six feet two. To correct the impression one had -but to look at the steady blue of the eye, the firm yet sympathetic -mouth, the stanchness of the chin. It is a fallacy that lives -perennially, the belief that a confident face, an aggressive manner, and -much facility of speech necessarily mark the man of power. - -A courtly person would have remarked on the beauty of the evening, and -discovered something in the garden to praise. Canon Stensly was not a -man given to pleasant commonplaces. He said nothing, and sat down. - -Murchison handed him his cigar-case. - -“Thanks, not before dinner.” - -His habit of silence, the silence of a man who spoke only when he had -something definite to say, gave him, to strangers, an expression of -reserve. Canon Stensly invariably made talkative men feel uncomfortable. -It was otherwise with people who had learned to know the nature of his -sincerity. - -“Hallo, what literature have we here?” - -He picked up Jack’s discarded book, and turned over the pages as though -the illustrations brought back recollections of his own youth. As a boy -he had been the most irrepressible young mischief-monger, a youngster -whom Elisha would have bequeathed to the bear’s claws. - -“Ever a member of the Robinson family, Mrs. Murchison?” - -Catherine caught a suspicious side glint in his eye. - -“I suppose all children read the book.” - -“I wonder how much of the moralizing you remember?” - -“Very little, I’m afraid.” - -“Nor do I. Children demand life—not moralizing upon life,” and the -Canon scrutinized a picture portraying the harpooning of a turtle, as -though he had gloated over that picture many times as a boy. - -Catherine had caught a glimpse of Mary’s white apron signalling for help -in some domestic problem. She was glad of the excuse to leave the two -men together. The sense of a woman is never more in evidence than when -she surrenders her husband to a friend. - -“Can you spare me half an hour for a talk?” - -“I am not overburdened with work—yet.” - -“Oh, it will come.” - -He turned over the pages deliberately, glancing at each picture. - -“Your wife looks well.” - -“Yes, in spite of everything.” - -“A matter of heart and pluck.” - -“She has the courage of a Cordelia.” - -Canon Stensly put the book down upon the grass. The two men were silent -awhile; Murchison lying back in his chair, smoking; the churchman -leaning forward a little with arms folded, his massive face set rather -sternly in the repose of thought. - -“There is something I want to talk to you about.” - -Murchison turned his head, but did not move his body. - -“Yes?” - -“Don’t set me down as a busybody. I think I have a duty to you as a -friend. It is a matter of justice.” - -The Canon’s virtues were of the practical, workman-like order. He was -not an eloquent man in the oratorical sense, having far too -straightforward and sincere a personality to wax hysterical for the -benefit of a church full of women. But he was a man who was listened to -by men. - -Murchison turned half-restlessly in his chair. - -“With reference to the old scandal?” he asked. - -“Yes.” - -“Something unpleasant, of course.” - -“Things that are put about behind one’s back are generally unpleasant. -It was my wife who discovered the report. Women hear more lies than we -do, you know.” - -“As a rule.” - -“I decided that it was only fair that you should know, since slandered -people are generally the last to hear of their own invented sins.” - -“Thanks. I appreciate honesty.” - -Canon Stensly sat motionless a moment, staring at the house. Then he -rose up leisurely from his chair, reached for one of the branches of the -cherry-tree, drew it down and examined the forming fruit. - -“They say that you used to drink.” - -Murchison remained like an Egyptian Memnon looking towards Thebes. The -churchman talked on. - -“I have heard the same thing said about one or two of my dearest -friends. Vile exaggerations of some explainable incident. The report -originated from a certain lady who resides over against my church. Her -husband is a professional man.” - -He pulled down a second bough, and brushed the young fruit with his -fingers to see whether it was set or not. The silence had something of -the tension of expense. Murchison knew that this old friend was waiting -for a denial. - -“That’s quite true; I drank—at one time.” - -A man of less ballast and less unselfishness would have rounded on the -speaker, perhaps with an affected incredulity that would have embittered -the consciousness of the confession. Canon Stensly did nothing so -insignificant. He let the branch of the cherry-tree slip slowly through -his fingers, put his hands in his pockets, and walked aside three paces -as though to examine the tree at another angle. - -“Tell me about it.” - -There was a pause of a few seconds. - -“My father drank; poor old dad! I’m not trying to shelve the affair by -putting it on his shoulders. My father and my grandfather both died of -drink. My wife knows. She did not know when we were married. That was -wrong. If ever a man owed anything to the love of a good woman, I am -that man.” - -Canon Stensly returned to his chair. His face bore the impress of deep -thought. He had the air of a man ready to help in the bearing of a -brother’s burden, not with any bombast and display, but as though it -were as natural an action as holding out a hand. - -“It can’t have been very serious,” he said. - -Murchison set his teeth. - -“A sort of hell while it lasted, a tempting of the devil; not often; -perhaps the worse for that.” - -“Ah, I can understand.” - -“It was when I was overworked.” - -“Jaded.” - -“The wife was something better than a ministering angel, she was a brave -woman. She fought for me. We should have won—without that scandal, but -for a mad piece of folly I took to be heroism.” - -The churchman extended a large hand. - -“I’ll smoke after all,” he said. - -“Do.” - -Murchison opened his cigar-case. Canon Stensly was as deliberate as a -man wholly at his ease. There was not a tremor as he held the lighted -match. - -“Do you know, Murchison, I appreciate this—deeply?” - -He returned the match-box. - -“It puts you in a new light to me, a finer light, with that rare wife of -yours.” - -Murchison was refilling his pipe, lines of thought crossing his -forehead. - -“When my child died—” - -“Yes—” - -“I seemed to lose part of myself. I had crushed the curse then. I don’t -know how to explain the psychology of the affair, but when she died, the -other thing died also.” - -Canon Stensly nodded. - -“It was what we call dipsomania. I never touched alcohol for years. I -had been a fool as a student. At my worst, I only had the crave now and -again.” - -“And you are sure—” - -“Sure that that curse killed my child, indirectly. Is it strange that -her death should have killed the curse?” - -“As I trust in God, no.” - -The thrush was singing again on the yew-tree, another thrush answering -it from a distant garden. Canon Stensly lay back in his chair and -smiled. - -“Stay here,” he said, quietly. - -“In Roxton?” - -“Yes. You have friends. Trust them. There is a greater sense of justice -in this world than most cynics allow. I never knew man fight a good -fight, a clean up-hill fight, and lose in the end.” - -They were smoking peacefully under the cherry-tree when Catherine -returned. She had no suspicion of what had passed, for no storm spirit -had left its torn clouds in the summer air. Her husband’s face was -peculiarly calm and placid. - -“Where’s that boy of yours, Mrs. Murchison?” - -“Jack?” - -“Yes.” - -“He was hunting the strawberry-beds half an hour ago.” - -“Tell him,” and the Canon chuckled, “tell him I am not too big yet—for -a tub.” - -“Oh, Canon Stensly—” - -“My dear Mrs. Murchison, I said many a truer thing when I was a boy. -Children strike home. To have his vanity chastened, let a man listen to -children.” - -The big man with the massive head and the broad British chest had gone. -Husband and wife were sitting alone under the cherry-tree. - -“You told him—all?” - -“All, Kate.” - -“And it was Betty? That woman! May she never have to bear what we have -borne!” - -Murchison was sitting with his elbows on his knees, his chin upon his -fists. - -“Well—they know the worst—at last,” he said, grimly. “We can clear for -action. That’s a grand man, Kate. I shall stay and fight—fight as he -would were he in my place.” - -She stretched out a hand and let it rest upon his shoulder. - -“You are what I would have you be, brave. Our chance will come.” - -“God grant it.” - -“You shall show these people what manner of man you are.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXXV - - -Dr. Little descended the stairs of Major Murray’s house with the alert -and rather furtive look of a man who has been for days subjected to the -semi-sceptical questions of interested relatives. Parker Steel had -attended at the introduction of a third Miss Murray into the world; the -whole affair had seemed but the ordinary yearly incident in the great, -rambling, florid-faced house, whose windows appeared to have copied its -owner’s military stare. It was during Dr. Little’s regency that Major -Murray’s wife had developed certain sinister symptoms that had worried -the locum-tenens very seriously. Concern for his own self-conceit rather -than concern for the patient, characterized Dr. Little’s attitude -towards the case. The professional spirit when cultivated to the -uttermost end of complexity, becomes an impersonation of the -intellectual ego. - -A thin, acute-faced woman with sandy hair appeared at the dining-room -door as Dr. Little reached the hall. This lady with the sandy hair and -freckles happened to be the most inquisitive, suspicious, and -unrebuffable of sisters that Dr. Little had ever encountered on guard -over her brother’s domestic happiness. - -“Good-morning.” - -“Damn the woman—Ah, good-morning.” - -Miss Murray’s attitude betrayed the inevitable catechisation. Dr. Little -followed her into the dining-room. - -“And how do you find my sister-in-law this morning. Dr. Little?” - -Miss Murray had an aggressive, expeditious manner that disorganized any -ordinary mortal’s sense of self-sufficiency and vain repose. In action -her hair seemed to become sandier in color, her freckles more yellow and -independent. In speech she reminded the _locum-tenens_ of a quick-firing -gun whose exasperating detonations numbered so many snaps a minute. - -“Mrs. Murray is no worse this morning. In fact—I can—” - -“The temperature?” - -“The temperature is a little above normal.” - -Dr. Little’s “distinguished air” became ten times more distinguished. He -articulated in his throat, and began to pull on his gloves with gestures -of great finality. - -“Did you notice that reddish rash?” - -“It is our duty, Miss Murray, to notice such things.” - -“And the throat? It seems very red and angry—” - -“A certain degree of pharyngitis is present.” - -“Well, and what’s the meaning of it all, Dr. Little?” - -“Meaning, Miss Murray? Really—” - -“There’s a cause for everything, I imagine.” - -“Certainly. The problem—” - -“You admit then that there is something problematic in the case, Dr. -Little.” - -“There is a problem in every—” - -“Of course. But in my sister-in-law’s case, that is the matter under -discussion.” - -“Pardon me, madam, it is impossible to discuss certain—” - -“My brother desires something definite. He was obliged to go to town -to-day.” - -“I should prefer to give my opinion—” - -“Major Murray left instructions that I should wire to his club—” - -“His club?” - -“Whether any definite conclusion had been arrived at.” - -The two disputants had been volleying and counter-volleying at -point-blank range. Neither displayed any sign of giving ground or of -surrender. The Scotch lady’s voice had harshened into a slight rasp of -natural Gaelic. Dr. Little still fumbled at the buttons of his gloves, -his words very much in his throat, his whole pose characteristic of the -profession upon its dignity. - -“It is quite impossible, Miss Murray, for me to discuss this case.” - -The thin lady’s pupils were no bigger than pin-heads, so that her eyes -looked like two circles of hard, blue glass. - -“Very well, Dr. Little. I must telegraph to my brother that no -conclusion has been reached—” - -“Pardon me, that would be indiscreet—” - -“To provide—me—with a solution!” - -The distinguished gentleman had completed the buttoning of his gloves. - -“I shall hope to see Major Murray in person to-morrow.” - -“You shall see him, Dr. Little, without fail.” - -The _locum-tenens_ conducted a dignified retreat, fully aware of the -fact that the sandy-haired lady believed him to be an ignoramus. - -“Confound the woman! How can I tell her what I think?” he reflected. “It -seems to me that there is half a ton of domestic dynamite waiting to be -exploded in that house. I hardly relish the responsibility. If matters -don’t clear in a day or two, I shall wire for Steel. It is his case, not -mine.” - -To a much-hustled man, whose temper had been chastened by a series of -irritating incidents, the picture of a pretty woman smiling up at him -from a neat luncheon-table revivified the more sensuous satisfactions of -existence. Men who live to eat, smoke, and enjoy the curves of a woman’s -figure are in the main very docile mortals. The savor of a well-cooked -entrée will dispel despair and bring down heaven. - -Dr. Little sat down with a grieved sigh, unfolded his napkin, and -accepted Miss Ellison’s sympathy as though it were his just and -sovereign due. He still had a vision of freckles and sandy hair, and -echoes of an aggressive voice that revived memories of the dame school -he had attended when in frocks. - -“What a morning you must have had! It is nearly two.” - -“A delightful morning, I can assure you. Excuse me, Miss Ellison, the -cover of that magazine you have been reading reminds me of a certain -female’s hair. Would you mind removing it from sight?” - -“Is the memory so poignant?” - -“Poignant! And she has freckles the size of pease. Ugh! I wonder why it -is that one’s patients always seem to conspire against one by being -mulish and irritating all on the same day?” - -“Something in the air, perhaps. Poor man!” - -“Poor man, it is, I assure you, when you have had a series of -cantankerous old ladies to blarney. I wonder if I might have a glass of -sherry? Oh, don’t bother, let me get it.” - -As though the mere offer absolved him from all further effort, Dr. -Little sat still and fed while Madge Ellison rummaged in the sideboard -for the decanter. - -“How much, a tumblerful?” - -She bent over him as she poured out the wine, the gold chain she wore -dangling against his cheek. - -“Thanks. Three fingers. How angelic a thing is woman!” - -“Even when she has freckles and straw-colored hair?” - -“Forbear, forbear. Ah, now I began to revive a little.” - -He drank the wine, wiped his mustache, and leaned back in his chair as -though to reflect on the natural philosophy of life. Madge Ellison -entered into the system as a pleasing and satisfactory protoplasmic -development. To this bachelor, who already showed a tendency to -plumpness below the heart, she was bracketed with good wine, nine-penny -cigars, and well-cooked dishes, a thing pleasant to look at and pleasant -perhaps to taste. - -“How is Mrs. Steel?” - -Cutlets and new pease were pushed aside. Dr. Little helped himself -generously to sponge custard, his eyes fixed affectionately upon the -dish. - -“I am rather worried about Betty.” - -“Worried?” - -The bachelor began to look sleek and happy. His outlook upon life -changed greatly after a few magical passes with a spoon and fork. - -“I wish you would go up and see her after lunch.” - -“Anything to oblige a lady who can show no freckles. What is the woe? A -cold in the head?” - -Madge Ellison had returned to her chair, and was rocking it gracefully -to and fro on two legs. She might have posed as a living metronome -marking the rhythm for the epicure’s busy spoon. - -“How frivolous you doctors are!” - -Dr. Little wiped a streak of custard from his mustache with his dinner -napkin. - -“It is my hour of relaxation. Haven’t you heard the tale of the two -bishops who played leap-frog at the end of a church conference. But, to -be serious, what are the symptoms?” - -“She seems rather feverish and has a sore throat. I noticed something -that looked like herpes on her lip.” - -“Herpes, eh? Will she let me see her?” - -“I’ll run up and ask.” - -“Thanks. Is the paper reposing anywhere? Oh, don’t bother. On the -window-sill? Thanks, much obliged.” - -And he propped the paper against the decanter, and so consoled himself -with the happy facility of a bachelor. - -Betty Steel, in a richly laced dressing-jacket, was sitting up in bed -with Persian Mignon in her lap. - -“Bring the man up, dear, if it will give you any satisfaction. Any news -in the town?” - -Madge Ellison sat down and chatted for five minutes, while the cat -purred under Betty’s hand. - -“I saw Kate Murchison in Castle Gate this morning.” - -“Alone?” - -“No; being convoyed by the Canoness.” - -Betty Steel’s mouth curved into a sneer. - -“A most respectable connection. Did you see any blue ribbon about?” - -“You are rather hard on the poor wretches, Betty.” - -“Am I?” and she gave a short, sharp laugh; “every woman sides with her -husband—I suppose. You might rub some scent on my forehead, dear.” - -Dr. Little finished a cigar, and yawned in turn over every page of the -paper before ascending to Mrs. Betty’s room. Madge Ellison opened the -door to him. His shoulder brushed her arm as he entered, quite the -professional Agag where the patient was a woman and under fifty. - -Dr. Little remained some fifteen minutes beside Mrs. Betty’s bed. His -air of lazy refinement left him by degrees, giving place to the -interested and puzzled alertness of the physician. It was the curious -nodular swelling on Parker Steel’s wife’s lip that led him to discover -glandular enlargement under her round, white chin. - -“Hair falling out at all?” he asked, casually. - -“Why refer to a woman’s one eternal woe?” - -“Oh, nothing,” and he smiled a little stiffly; “the throat is sore, is -it not?” - -“Yes.” - -“Let me look. Turn to the light, please. Open the mouth wide, and say -‘ah.’ Hum, yes, rather inflamed,” and Dr. Little, after moving his head -from side to side, like a man peering down the bowl of a pipe, drew back -from the bed, his eyes fixed momentarily on Betty Steel’s face with a -peculiarly intent stare. - -“I’ll send you up a gargle for the throat.” - -“Thanks. I shall be all right for Saturday, I suppose?” - -“I hope so.” - -“It is the last rehearsal. I must not miss it.” - -“Have you heard from Dr. Steel to-day?” - -Betty was holding Mignon’s head between her two hands, and looking into -the cat’s yellow eyes. Something in the intonation of Dr. Little’s voice -seemed to startle her. She glanced up at him with a questioning smile. - -“I expect him back in a week or so. Madge, get me that letter, dear. I -think he said next Wednesday. Is there anything—?” - -Little had moved towards the door. - -“I only wanted to know the date. I promised some months ago to do locum -work for an old friend next week.” - -Betty had glanced through her husband’s letter. She laid it aside when -Dr. Little had gone, and took Mignon back into her lap. - -“That man’s worried about something, Madge,” she said. - -“Worried, not a bit of it, dear.” - -“Why not?” - -“It’s not in the bachelor nature to worry, provided food is plentiful -and work slack. Pins wouldn’t prick him. They’re selfish beasts.” - -“I thought you liked the man, Madge.” - -“The men we flirt with, dear, are not often the men we marry.” - -Meanwhile, Dr. Little had descended the stairs, looking as serious as -any middle aged demi-god who had been snubbed by a school-girl. He -crossed the hall to Parker Steel’s consulting-room, took out a bottle -containing tabloids of perchloride of mercury from the cabinet, -dissolved two in the basin fixed in one corner of the room, and -sedulously and carefully disinfected his hands. - -“How the devil—!” - -This meditative exclamation appeared to limit the gentleman’s -reflections for the moment. He stood with bent shoulders, staring at his -hands soaking in the rose-tinted water, like some mediæval wiseacre -striving to foresee the future in a pot of ink. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVI - - -The glitter of the sea visible between the foliage of flowering-shrubs -seemed to add a touch of vivacity to the June somnolence that hung like -a summer mist over the south-coast town. Parker Steel, half lying in a -basket-chair under a red May-tree in the hotel garden, betrayed his -sympathy with the poetical paraphernalia of life by reading through a -list of investments recommended by his brokers. A satisfactory breakfast -followed by the contemplation of a satisfactory banking account begets -peace in the heart of man. - -It was about ten o’clock, and a few enthusiasts were already quarrelling -over croquet, when the hotel “buttons” came out with a telegram on a -tray. - -“No. 25, Dr. Steel?” - -“Here.” - -“Any reply, sir?” - -The boy waited with the tray held over that portion of his figure where -his morning meal reposed, while Parker Steel tore open the envelope and -read the message. - -“No answer.” - -“Right, sir.” - -“Wait; tell them at the office to get my bill made up. I have to leave -after lunch.” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“And bring me a time-table, and a whiskey and soda.” - -Parker Steel glanced at his watch, thrust the investment list into the -breast-pocket of his coat, and lay back again in his chair with the -telegram across his knee. Faces vary much in their expression when the -mind behind the face labors with some thought that fills the whole -consciousness for the moment. The smooth indolence had melted from the -physician’s features. His face had sharpened as faces sharpen in bitter -weather, for a man who is a coward betrays his cowardice even when he -thinks. - -A much-grieved croquet-player in a blue-and-white check dress was -confiding her criticisms to a very sympathetic gentleman in one corner -of the lawn. - -“It is such a pity that Mrs. Sallow cheats so abominably. I hate playing -with mean people. Every other stroke is a spoon, and she is always -walking over her ball, and shifting it with her skirt when it is wired.” - -“People give their characters away in games.” - -“It is so contemptible. I can’t understand any self-respecting person -cheating.” - -The continuous click of the balls appeared to irritate Parker Steel, as -he sat huddled up in his chair with the telegram on his knee. He found -himself listening—without curiosity—to the young lady in the -blue-and-white whose complaints suggested that the immoral Mrs. Sallow -was the cleverer player of the two. Dishonesty is only dishonest, to -many people, when it comes within the cognizance of the law, and how -thoroughly symbolical those four balls were of the opportunities mortals -manipulate in life, Parker Steel might have realized had not his mind -been clogged with other things. - -The boy returned with a time-table and the whiskey and soda on a tray. - -“A fast train leaves at 2.30, sir.” - -“Thanks; get me a table. You can keep the change.” - -“Much obliged, sir,” and he touched a carefully watered forelock; “will -you drive, sir, or walk?” - -“Order me a cab.” - -“Right, sir.” - -And the boy noticed, as he turned away, that the hand shook that reached -for the glass, and that some of the stuff was spilled before it came to -the man’s lips. - - * * * * * - -No one met Parker Steel at Roxton station that June evening. A porter -piled his luggage on a cab, for the physician’s own carriage was not -forthcoming. A sense of isolation and neglect took hold upon him as he -drove through the sleepy streets of the old town. Loneliness is never -comforting to a man who is cursed with an irrepressible conscience, and -his own restless imaginings rose like a cold fog into the June air. -Parker Steel shivered as he had often shivered when driving through -moonlit mists to answer a midnight message. The very elms about St. -Antonia’s spire had a shadowy strangeness for him, a gloom that gave -nothing of the glow of a return home. - -Parker Steel stood in his own dining-room, waiting and listening, as -though he were in a stranger’s house. Symons, the starched servant, had -opened the door to him without a smile; his luggage had been carried -up-stairs. He had heard voices, faint, distant voices, that had -tantalized him with words that he could not understand. He had been -ready to ask the woman Symons a dozen questions, but had faltered from a -self-conscious fear of betraying his own thoughts. The house seemed full -of some indefinable dread as the dusk deepened towards night. - -A door opened above. He heard footsteps descending the stairs, so slowly -in the silence of the darkening house, that the sound reminded the man -of the slow drip of water into a well. Parker Steel found himself -counting them as they descended towards the hall. If it was Betty, how -was he to construe the message of the morning? The suffering of suspense -drove him to action. He turned sharply, crossed the room, and, opening -the door, looked out into the hall. - -“Hallo, dear, is it you?” - -She was in white, and her foot was on the last step of the stairs. - -“I am glad that you have come, Parker.” - -“I had your wire early. I imagined—” - -“That I was ill?” - -“Yes, that you were ill.” - -She halted with one hand on the carved foot-post of the balustrading. -The dusk of the hall showed nothing but a white figure and a gray oval -to mark her face. Some mysterious psychic force seemed to hold husband -and wife apart. Their two personalities had become incompatible through -some subtle ferment of distrust. - -“Parker!” - -He made a step forward. - -“No, I want you to go into that room and light the gas.” - -The insistent note in her voice repulsed him. His walk approached a -self-conscious shuffle as he turned and re-entered the darkening room. -Betty heard him groping for the matches. A sudden glare of light -followed the sharp purr of a flaring match. She drew a deep and sighing -breath, pressed her hands to her breast, and entered the room. - -Parker Steel was drawing the blinds. His wife closed the door, and -waited for him to turn. - -“When I had your wire, dear—” - -“Yes.” - -“I wondered what I should find—here. The wording—Good Heavens, -Betty—” - -She stood back from him and leaned against the sideboard, the glare from -the gas falling full upon her face. It was red, repulsive, tinged with -an ooze that had hardened here and there into yellow scabs. - -“You see, Parker, why I sent for you.” - -He looked for the moment like a man shocked into immobility by a sudden -storm of wind and sleet beating on his face. - -“When did this appear?” - -He moved towards her, the shallow gleam of sympathy in his eyes darkened -by something more terrible than mere fear. Betty stood her ground. It -was the man who betrayed the incoherency of panic. - -“Come, tell me.” - -His eyes were fixed upon her face, upon her mouth. - -“It is I, Parker, who want to know—” - -“Yes, yes, of course, dear, I can understand. You should have sent for -me sooner.” - -Intuition is a gift of the gods to women, a power—almost unholy in its -brilliant reading of the hearts of others. Betty’s eyes were searching -her husband’s face as though it were some delicately finished miniature -in which every piece of shading had significance. Her breath came and -went more deeply than when life had a normal flow. For all else she was -cold, very quiet, the mistress even of her own repulsive face. - -“I want you to tell me, Parker—” - -She saw the muscles about his mouth quiver. - -“Have you seen any one?” - -“Yes.” - -“Who?” - -“Dr. Little, and Dr. Brimley.” - -“Well? What—?” - -“They would tell me nothing.” - -“Nothing?” - -She saw him breathe out deeply like a man who has seen a child escape -the wheels of a heavy cart. - -“They gave me mere phrases, Parker. A woman can tell when men are hiding -the truth.” - -“What had they to hide, dear? Come closer—here—to the light.” - -She did not stir. - -“I must know, Parker.” - -“Yes, of course.” - -“The whole truth. Listen—I happened to go yesterday morning into your -consulting-room. Dr. Little had been reading; he had left the book -open—at a certain page. You know, Parker, that many men only read the -big text-books when they are puzzled by a particular case.” - -Steel’s face seemed nothing but a gray and frightened mask to her. - -“Betty, you are imagining things—” - -“Well, tell me the truth.” - -“A form of eczema.” - -“Parker!” - -Her voice had the ring of iron in it. - -“That was not the word I read.” - -“Good God, Betty!” - -“It was this.” - -She spoke the word without flinching, with a distinctness that had that -cold and terrible conciseness that science loves. Her eyes did not leave -her husband’s face. Even as he answered her, hotly, haltingly, she knew -him to be a liar. - -“Impossible! You are seizing on a mad coincidence, a mere ridiculous -conclusion. I can swear—” - -“Yes, swear—” - -“That it is nothing, nothing of what you have said.” - -His eyes had the furtive fierceness of eyes searching her soul for -unbelief. - -“Come, Betty, wife—” - -She remained unmoved. - -“What? You think that I—” - -“No, don’t touch me. I don’t believe that you have told me the truth.” - -“Not believe—that I—!” - -“No, God help me, I cannot!” - -Her body had hardly changed the pose that it had taken from the first -moment. It was as though it had stiffened with the slow, pitiless -hardening of her heart. Parker Steel looked at her like the moral coward -that he was, too crushed by his own keen consciousness of shame to -pretend to the courage that he could not boast. - -“Betty, am I—?” - -She flung aside from him with an indescribable gesture of passionate -repulsion. - -“Don’t. I can’t look at you, or be looked at. Madge is waiting for me. -They will bring you your dinner. Good-night.” - -She moved towards the door. - -“Betty—” - -He would have hindered her, but the manhood in him had neither the power -nor the pride. She swept out and left him. He heard the sound of sobbing -as she climbed the stairs. - -“Good God—!” - -Parker Steel stood listening, staring at the door, a man who could -neither think nor act. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVII - - -On two successive days the society of loafers that lounged outside the -gates of Roxton station for the ostensible purpose of carrying hand-bags -and parcels, had noticed Major Murray’s red-wheeled dog-cart meet the -afternoon express from town. The society of luggage loafers boasted a -membership of four. It was not an energetic brotherhood, and had put up -a living protest against the unseemly scurry and bustle of -twentieth-century methods. The society’s loafing ground ran along the -white fence that closed in the “goods” yard, a fence that carried, from -four distinct patches of discoloration, the marks left by the brothers’ -bodies in their postures of dignified and independent ease. - -All the comings and goings of Roxton seemed known to these four -gentlemen, whose eyes were ever on the alert, though their hands -remained in their trousers-pockets. A fly basking on the sidewalk within -six feet would be seen and dislodged by a brisk discharge of saliva from -between one of the member’s lips. Like Diogenes, they “had reduced -impertinence to a fine art”; and the major portion of the society’s -funds was patriotically disbursed to swell the state’s revenue on beer. - -“Psst—’Ere ’e is ag’in.” - -“’oo?” - -A mouth was wiped by the back of a hand. - -“Murray’s man.” - -“Same un?” - -“Yas. Little feller with the twirly mustache. What d’yer guess ’e be, -Jack?” - -“Looks as though ’e might have come t’ wind the clocks.” - -“You bet! Ter do with the babies, I’ve ’eard.” - -“Ah, ’ow was that?” - -“Murray’s man, ’e told me, t’other evening. This little feller be what -they call a ‘Lonnan Special.’ Dunno what edition.” - -Three pairs of eyes, one member was absent on duty at the pub, followed -Major Murray’s dog-cart with an all-engrossing stare as its red wheels -whirled by in the June sunshine. - -“Thought Steel ’ad the managin’ of all Murray’s badgers.” - -“So ’e ’as. Didn’t yer see ’im come back by the 7.50 t’other day?” - -“I did.” - -“An’ the other feller who’s bin wearin’ Steel’s breeches all the -month—went off by the 4.49.” - -“’E did.” - -“Saucy lookin’ chap.” - -“Give me Jim Murchison and blow the liquor. ’E tells you what’s what, -and no mistake. Said I sh’ld drink meself to death—and so I shall.” - -“What, ’ad the roups again, Frank?” - -“Yes, all along with my old liver. Chucks it out of me every marnin’, -reg’lar as clock-work.” - -The observations of the brotherhood were reliable as far as the identity -of the gentleman in Major Murray’s dog-cart was concerned. He was named -Dr. Peterson, and his caliber may be appreciated by the fact that he -received a check for twenty-five guineas when he travelled forty miles -to and fro from his house in Mayfair. Moreover, he had left his card the -preceding day on Dr. Parker Steel, with a note urging that an interview -between them was urgent and inevitable. Parker Steel’s face had betrayed -exceeding discomfort and alarm on reading the name on the piece of -paste-board that Dr. Peterson had left on the general practitioner’s -hall table. - -It was about four o’clock on the afternoon of Thursday when Major -Murray’s dog-cart clattered over the cobbles of St. Antonia’s Square, -and deposited a very spruce little man in a well-cut frock-coat, and a -blemishless tall hat at Parker Steel’s door. - -The imperturbable Symons recognized him as the caller of yesterday. - -“Dr. Steel’s out, sir.” - -“Out?” - -“Very sorry, sir—” - -“You gave him my card and note?” - -“Certainly, sir. Will you wait? Dr. Steel should be back at any minute.” - -Dr. Peterson glanced at his watch, and stepped like a dapper little -bantam into the hall. His reddish hair was plastered from a broad -pathway in the middle, so as to conceal the premature tendency to -baldness that his pate betrayed. Dr. Peterson’s figure boasted a -juvenile waist; his face, smooth and very sleek, almost suggested the -craft of the beauty specialist. A red-and-green bandanna handkerchief -protruded from his breast coat-pocket, an æsthetic patch of color -harmonizing with his sage-green tie. He wore black-and-white check -trousers, patent-leather boots, and a tuberose in his button-hole. -Moreover, his person smelled fragrantly of scent. - -Dr. Peterson deposited his hat and gloves on the hall table. - -“I can spare half an hour. My train goes at five. It is highly important -that I should see Dr. Steel.” - -“I will tell him, sir, the minute he returns,” and she showed Dr. -Peterson into the drawing-room. - -A bedroom bell rang as Symons was descending the stairs to the kitchen. -She turned with a “Drat the thing!” and dawdled heavenward to her -mistress’s room. - -“Who has called, Symons?” - -“Dr. Peterson, ma’am.” - -“From Major Murray’s?” - -“Yes, ma’am; wants to see the master, most particular.” - -“Dr. Steel’s not in?” - -“No, ma’am, but he left word that he would be at home about four.” - -“Thanks, Symons, you can go.” - -The servant’s ill-conditioned stare was bitterness to a woman of Betty’s -pride and penetration. The finer touches of courtesy, the more delicate -instincts, are rarely developed in the lower classes. Even the starched -Symons was utterly cowlike in her manners. Betty felt her face sore -under the servant’s eyes. - -A big red book lay open upon the dressing-table amid Betty Steel’s crowd -of silver knick-knacks. It was the _Medical Directory_, and lay open at -the London list, and at the letter P. Dr. Peterson’s name headed the -left-hand page, as staff-physician to sundry hospitals and charitable -institutions, and as a holder of medals, diplomas, and degrees galore. A -cursory glance at the titles of his contributions to medical literature -would have marked him out as one of the leading authorities on diseases -of the skin. - -Betty Steel looked in her pier-glass, fluffed out her hair a little, and -fastening the scarf of her green tea-gown, crossed the landing towards -the stairs. She had that steady and almost staring expression of the -eyes that betrays a purpose suddenly but seriously matured. She had not -spoken with her husband since their meeting on the night of his return. - -“Dr. Peterson, I believe?” - -The specialist had been reviewing the photographs on the mantel-piece, -and had displayed his good taste by electing a handsome cousin of -Betty’s as his ideal for the moment. He set the silver frame down rather -hurriedly, and turned at the sound of the door opening, a dapper, -diplomatic, yet rather finicking figure, the figure more of a little man -about town than of a brilliant and prosperous London consultant. - -“Mrs. Steel—?” - -He had glanced up with a slight puckering of the brows into Betty’s -face. - -“Yes. I am sorry my husband is out. I have taken the opportunity, Dr. -Peterson, of consulting you—” - -She moved towards the window, graceful, well poised, and unembarrassed. -The specialist stood aside, his face a sympathetic blank, a birdlike and -inquisitive alertness visible in his eyes. - -“You have noticed my face, Dr. Peterson?” - -She stood before him unflinchingly, a woman of distinction and of charm -of manner despite her great disfigurement. The fingers of Dr. Peterson’s -right hand were fidgeting with his watch-chain. It was wholly improper -for a London consultant to appear embarrassed. - -“You wish to consult me?” - -“Yes.” - -He hesitated, elevated his eyebrows, and then met her with a -conciliatory smile. - -“I do not know, Mrs. Steel, whether—” - -She understood his meaning and the significance of his hesitation. - -“My husband? Yes—Your opinion will be of interest to him. Let us be -frank.” - -Dr. Peterson advanced one patent-leather boot, put the forefinger of his -right hand under Betty’s chin, and turned her face towards the light. -She could see that he was profoundly interested despite his air of -shallow smartness. Also that he was somewhat perplexed by the -responsibility she had thrust upon him. - -“Hum! How long have you noticed the swelling on the lip?” - -“Five weeks or more, perhaps longer.” - -“The throat?” - -She opened her mouth wide. Dr. Peterson peered into it and frowned. - -“The rash has been present some days?” - -“Yes.” - -“You are paler than usual?” - -“I think so.” - -“Feverish?” - -“A little.” - -“Of course, Dr. Steel has seen all this?” - -“Yes.” - -“Hum!” - -He was embarrassed, troubled, and betrayed the feeling in an increased -fussiness and polite magniloquence of manner. - -“You must pardon me, Mrs. Steel.” - -“I want you to be quite frank with me. I am ready to answer any -questions. You may think my attitude unusual—” - -“Not at all—not at all,” and he flicked his handkerchief from his -pocket and began to polish a lens in a tortoise-shell setting. - -“I must confess, Dr. Peterson, that I have been subjected to a great -deal of worry and—and doubt. My husband only returned yesterday. Of -course, you know about that. Dr. Little sent for you to see Major -Murray’s wife, I believe.” - -Dr. Peterson still flourished his handkerchief. - -“Has Dr. Steel expressed any opinion to you?” - -“About this?” - -“Yes.” - -“He told me that it was a form of eczema.” - -The specialist threw a sharp, penetrating look at her face. - -“That was your husband’s diagnosis?” - -“I believe it to be incorrect.” - -“Indeed!” - -“And that he knows that he has not told me the truth.” - -Both heard the rattle of a latch-key in the lock of the front door, and -the sound of footsteps in the hall. Symons could be heard hurrying up -the stairs from the kitchen. She spoke to some one in the hall, a tired -and toneless voice answering her in curt monosyllables. It was Parker -Steel. - -Dr. Peterson walked up the room and back again to the window, glancing -rather nervously at the clock as he passed. His attitude was that of a -man who has been entangled in the meshes of a very delicate dilemma, and -he was waiting to see how Betty Steel’s mood shaped. She was standing -with one hand resting on the back of a chair, as though steadying -herself for the inevitable crisis. - -“Ah, good-day; I must apologize—Betty!” - -He had entered with an elaborate flourish intended to suggest the brisk -candor of a man much hurried in the public service. His wife’s figure, -outlined against the window, brought him to a dead halt on the -threshold. The blood seemed to recede from his face in an instant. The -alert, confident manner became a tense effort towards naturalness and -self-control. - -“You will excuse us, Betty. Dr. Peterson and I have matters to discuss.” - -He held the door open for her, but she did not budge. - -“I am consulting Dr. Peterson, Parker.” - -Her husband’s face seemed to grow thin and haggard, with the lights and -shadows of the hall for a checkered background. The specialist stood -jerking his watch-chain up and down. - -“I think,” he began— - -Betty turned to him with the air of a mistress of a salon. - -“This is a family affair, Dr. Peterson, is it not? There are no secrets -that a husband and wife cannot share. I may tell my husband what I -believe your opinion to be?” - -“My opinion, madam!” - -His voice betrayed the rising impatience of a man irritated by finding -his discretion taxed beyond its strength. The grim touch of the tragic -element banished the veneer of formalism from his face. To pose such a -man as Dr. Peterson with a problem in ethics, engendered anger and -impatience. - -“I am not aware that I have pledged myself to any expression of -opinion.” - -“No,” and she smiled; “but I can ask you a blunt question, to which -‘yes’ or ‘no’ will be inevitable.” - -The specialist met her eyes, and realized that the subtlety of a woman -may make a man’s prudence seem ridiculous. He was a rapid thinker, and -the complexities of the situation began to shape themselves in his mind. -Betty Steel was not a woman whom he would care to hinder with a lie. - -“You put me in a most embarrassing position—” - -“Believe me, no.” - -“With regard to another case I have some authority to speak.” - -“Consider my case within your jurisdiction.” - -“Betty:” Her husband’s face was turned to hers in miserable reproof. -“Remember, we are something to each other. I cannot bear—” - -He faltered as he read the unalterable purpose in her eyes. It is the -nature of some women to appear incapable of pity when their self-love -has received a poignant shock. - -“Then, Parker, you admit—” - -“For God’s sake, Betty, let me have five minutes’ privacy—” - -She looked at him calmly, as though considering his inmost thoughts. - -“I think Dr. Peterson can deal with you more forcibly than I can. It is -sufficient that we understand each other.” - -“Have you no consideration for my self-respect?” - -“It is my self-respect that accuses you in this.” - -And she turned and left the two men together. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVIII - - -It was a wet evening in June, and a steady downrush of rain purred on -the tiled roofs of the old town and set the broad eaves and high-peaked -gables dripping. A summer sweetness breathed in the gardens where the -fallen petals of rhododendrons lay like flame upon the green grass. The -roses were weighed down with dew, and each leaf diamonded with a -glimmering tear. In Lombard Street the tall cypresses stood like solemn -monks cowled and coped against the rain. - -The downpour had lessened a little, and Jack Murchison, flattening his -nose against the nursery window, saw a country cart driven by a man in a -white mackintosh swing into Lombard Street from the silver, -rain-drenched sheen of St. Antonia’s trees. The man’s big white body -streamed with wet, his face shining out like a drenched peony under the -brim of his hat, that dripped like the flooded gutter of a house. -Tremulous rain-drops fell rhythmically from the big man’s nose, and the -apron that covered his legs was full of puddles. - -The country cart drew up outside the doctor’s house, and Master Jack saw -the big man in the white mackintosh climb out laboriously, the cart -tilting under his weight. He threw the leather apron over the horse’s -loins, and swung the water out of his hat, disclosing to the boy above a -round bald patch about the size of a saucer. - -The bell rang, a good, rattling, honest peal that told of a -straightforward and unaffected fist. Jack heard Mary’s rather nasal -treble answering the big man’s vigorous bass. The white mackintosh was -doffed and hung considerately on the handle of the bell. There was much -wiping of boots, while the man Gage appeared at the side gate in the -garden wall, and came forward to hold the farmer’s horse. - -“Sorry to bother you, doctor, on such a beast of an evening.” - -“Come in, Mr. Carrington.” - -“You remember me, sir?” - -“I don’t forget many faces. Come into my study.” - -The doffing of the white mackintosh had uncovered a robust and rather -corpulent, thick-set figure in rough tweed jacket and breeches and -box-cloth leggings. The farmer had one of those typically solid English -faces, fresh-colored though deeply wrinkled, and chastening its good -humor with an alert, world-wise watchfulness in the rather deep-set -eyes. Mr. Carrington was considered rather a masterful man by his -friends, a man who could laugh while his wits were at work bettering a -bargain. He was one of the most prominent farmers in the neighborhood, -and one of the few who confessed to making money despite the times. - -“My trap’s waiting outside, doctor. I want you to come back with me -right away to Goldspur Farm.” - -Mr. Carrington was sitting on the extreme edge of a chair, and wiping -the rain from his face with a silk handkerchief. - -“Anything much the matter?” - -“Well, doctor, you know I have taken to growing a lot of ground-fruit, -and I’ve had about fifty pickers down from town this year.” - -Murchison nodded. - -“They’re camped out in two tin shanties and a couple of tents down at -Goldspur Farm. East-enders, all of them; and you never quite know, -doctor, what an East-ender carries. Well, to be frank, I’m worried about -some of ’em.” - -Mr. Carrington sat squarely in his chair, and tapped the floor with the -soles of his boots. He looked thoughtful, and the corners of his big, -good-tempered mouth had a melancholy droop. - -“There’s one woman in particular, doctor, and her youngster, who seem -bad. Sick and sweating; won’t take food; they just lie there in the -straw like logs. My foreman didn’t tell me anything about it till this -afternoon, but when I’d seen the woman I had the horse put in, and came -straight here.” - -Murchison glanced at his watch, and then crossed the room and rang the -bell. - -“Can you have me driven back?” he asked. - -“Certainly, doctor.” - -“Good. Ah, Mary, will you ask your mistress to have dinner postponed -till eight. And tell Gage to take these letters to the post. Now, Mr. -Carrington, my mackintosh and I are at your service.” - -“You’ll need it, doctor, and an old hat.” - -A slender vein of gold gashed the dull west as they left the outskirts -of the town behind. As the rent in the sky broadened, long rays of light -came down the valley, making the woods and meadows a glory of shimmering -green, and firing the rain pools so that they shone like brass. The -farmer took the private road that ran through Ulverstone Park, a rolling -wilderness of beeches and Scotch firs, whose green “rides” plunged into -the glimmering rain-splashed umbrage of tall trees. Here were tangled -banks of purpling heather, and great stretches of sweet woodland turf. -Old yews brooded in the deeps of the domain, solemn and still, most -ancient and wise of trees. - -“Get up, Molly,” and Mr. Carrington shook a raindrop from his nose, and -flicked the brown mare with the whip. “Clearing a little. Sorry for the -people who cut their hay yesterday.” - -“Somewhat damp. How is the fruit doing?” - -“Oh, pretty fair, pretty fair, as far as our strawberries are concerned. -The finest year, doctor, is when you have a first-class crop and your -neighbors can only put up rubbish. It’s no good every one being in -tip-top form. I’ve got rid of tons, and at no dirt price, either.” - -Mr. Carrington’s British face beamed slyly above his angelic white -mackintosh. It was a face in which stolid satisfaction and stolid woe -were easily interchanged, for the heavy lines thereof could be twisted -into either expression. - -Murchison was listening to the hoarse rattle of the clearing shower -beating upon a myriad leaves. The gold band in the west was broadening -into a canopy of splendor. Had Mr. Carrington been educated up to more -pushing and aggressive methods of making money, he would have seen in -that sky nothing but a magnificent background for some silhouetted -sky-sign shouting “Try Our Jam.” - -“And these pickers of yours, how long have they been with you?” - -The lines in the farmer’s face rearranged themselves abruptly. - -“Poor devils, they look on this as a sort of yearly picnic, doctor. -There are about fifty of them, and they’ve been at Goldspur about ten -days.” - -“Many children?” - -“Children? Plenty. If they were Irish, they’d bring the family pig out, -doctor, just to give him some new sort of dirt to wallow in. But then, -what can you expect—what can you expect?” - -They had left the park by the western lodge, and came out upon a stretch -of undulating fields closed in the near distance by woods of oak and -beech. A tall, gabled farm-house of red brick rose outlined against the -sky with a great fir topping its chimney-stacks like the flat cloud seen -above a volcano in full eruption. Near it, fronting the road, were a few -nondescript cottages; farther still a jumble of barns, outhouses, and -stables. In the middle of a fourteen-acre field Murchison could see two -zinc-roofed sheds and a couple of old military tents standing isolated -in a waste of sodden, dreary soil. - -Mr. Carrington pointed to them with his whip. - -“There’s the colony. Will you come in first, doctor, and have—” he -reconsidered the words and cleared his throat—“and have—a cup of tea?” - -Murchison had noticed the break in the invitation, and had reddened. - -“No, thanks. We had better walk, I suppose?” - -“Sit light, doctor; we have a sort of road, though it ain’t exactly -Roman.” - -The farmer passed Murchison the reins, and climbed down, the trap -swaying like a small boat anchored in a swell. He opened a gate leading -into the field, his white mackintosh flapping about his legs. - -“Not worth while getting up again,” he said, laconically. “Drive her on, -doctor, I’ll follow.” - -Murchison heard the click of the gate, and the squelch of Mr. -Carrington’s boots in the mud, as the trap bumped at a walking pace -towards the zinc sheds in the field. The larger of the two resembled a -coach-house, and could be closed at one end by two swinging doors. The -rain was still rattling on the roof as Murchison drove up, and a thin -swirl of smoke drifted out sluggishly from the darkness of the interior. -The two tents had a soaked and slatternly appearance. Empty bottles, old -tins, scraps of dirty paper, and miscellaneous rubbish littered the -ground. On a line slung between two chestnut poles three dirty towels -were hanging, either to wash or to dry? - -As the trap stopped at the end of the rough road, Murchison could see -that the larger shed was like a big hutch full of live things crowded -together. A litter of straw, ankle deep, lay round the walls. A fire -burned in the middle of the earth floor. The faces that were lit up by -the light from the fire were coarse, quick-eyed, and hungry, the faces -seen in London slums. - -Half a dozen children scuttled out like a litter of young pigs, and -stood in the slush and rain, staring at the trap. Murchison’s appearance -on the scene seemed to arouse no stir of interest among the adult -dwellers in the shed. They stared, that was all, one or two breaking the -silence with crude and characteristic brevity. - -“’Ello, ’ere’s the b——y doctor.” - -“There’s ’air!” - -“Look at the hold boss, with a phiz like a round o’ raw beef stuck hon -top of a sack of flour.” - -Mr. Carrington arrived with his boots muddy and the lines of his face -emphatic and authoritative. - -“Some one hold the mare. Why don’t you keep the kids in out of the wet? -This way, doctor, the second tent.” - -Mr. Carrington opened the flap, and, letting Murchison enter, contented -himself with staring hard at two figures lying on an old flock mattress -with a coat rolled up for a pillow. One was a woman, thin, still pretty, -in a hollow-cheeked, hectic way, with a ragged blouse open at the -throat, and a couple of sacks covering her. The other was a child, a -girl with flaxen hair tossed about a flushed and feverish face. The -child seemed asleep, with half an orange, sucked to the pulp, clutched -by her grimy fingers. - -Murchison remained for perhaps half an hour in that rain-soaked tent, -while Mr. Carrington stumped up and down impatiently, kicking the mud -from his boots and eying the rubbish that marked the presence of these -London poor. The eastern sky was filling fast with the oblivion of night -when Murchison emerged. The woman had been able to answer his questions -in a dazed and apathetic way. - -Mr. Carrington met him with a squaring of his sturdy shoulders and a -bluff uplift of the chin. - -“Well, doctor?” - -“I’m glad you sent for me.” - -“As bad as that, is it?” - -“Typhoid, or I am much mistaken.” - -The farmer thrust his hands into the side pockets of his mackintosh, and -flapped them to and fro. - -“Well, I’m damned!” was all he said. - -The cold sky rose dusted with a few stars in the west when the farmer’s -cart set Murchison down in Lombard Street before his own door. Dinner -had been waiting more than an hour. Catherine’s face, bright, yet a -little troubled, met him in the shaded glow of the hall. - -“You must be soaked to the skin, dear,” and she felt his clothes. - -“No, nothing much. I’m more hungry than wet.” - -“A long case. Dinner is ready.” - -They went into the dining-room together, Murchison’s arm about her body. - -“Some responsibility for me at last,” he said, quietly; “I believe it is -typhoid.” - -“Where, at Goldspur Farm?” - -“Yes, among Carrington’s pickers.” - -“Poor things!” - -“They are cooped up like cattle in a shed.” - -He was silent for some minutes, for Mary had set a plateful of hot soup -before him, and even doctors are sufficiently human to enjoy food. - -“There is a child ill,” he said, staring at the bowl of roses in the -middle of the table. - -“Poor little thing!” - -“Strange, Kate, but she reminds me—wonderfully, very wonderfully—of -Gwen.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIX - - -It was on the second morning following his interview with Dr. Peterson -that Parker Steel received two letters, heralding the shadow of an -approaching storm. - - “I have laid the facts of the case,” wrote the demi-god from - Mayfair, “before the General Medical Council. I consider this - action of mine to partake of the nature of a public duty; for - your abuse of your position has been too gross even for medical - etiquette to cover. I cannot understand how a practitioner of - your reputation could be so mad as to run so scandalous a risk. - That you contracted the disease innocently in the pursuit of - duty would have won you the sympathy of your - fellow-practitioners. Your concealment of the disease puts an - immoral complexion on the case. . . . Needless to say, I have - given Major Murray the full benefit of an honest opinion.” - -Such a letter from a physician of Dr. Peterson’s standing would have -been sufficient in itself to demoralize a man of more courage and -tenacity than Parker Steel. The curt declaration of war that reached him -from Major Murray, by the very same post, exaggerated the effect that -the specialist’s letter had produced. - - “SIR,—I have received from Dr. Peterson a statement that - convicts you of the most scandalous mal praxis. Needless to say, - I am placing the matter in the hands of my solicitor; I consider - it to be a case deserving of publicity, however repugnant the - atmosphere surrounding the affair may be to me and mine. - - “MURRAY.” - -Those who have touched the realities of war will tell you that they have -seen men with faces pinched as by a frost, their teeth chattering like -castanets, even under the blaze of an African sun. It was at the -breakfast-table that Parker Steel read those two ominous letters. The -man looked ill and yellow, and his nerves were none too steady, to judge -by the way he had gashed himself in shaving. The very clothes he wore -seemed to have grown creased and shabby in a week, as though they felt -the wearer’s figure limp and shrunken, and had lost tone in consequence. - -It may be remembered that the Immortal Three displayed varying symptoms -when at grips with death. The tongue of Ortheris waxed feverishly -profane; the Yorkshireman broke out into song; Mulvaney, the Paddy, was -incontinently sick. Parker Steel emulated the Irishman in this -eccentricity that morning, save that his nausea was inspired by panic, -and not by heroic rage. - -Shaken and very miserable, he sat down at the bureau in his -consulting-room, leaned his head upon his hands, and shivered. For two -nights he had had but short snatches of sleep, brief lapses into -oblivion that had been rendered vain by dreams. The imminent dread of a -hundred ignominies had held him sick and cold through the short darkness -of the summer nights. Dawn had come and found him feverish and very -weary. To a coward it is torture to be alone with his own thoughts. - -The third night he had taken sulphonal, a full dose, and had slept till -Symons knocked at his bedroom door. The fog of the drug still clung -about his brain as he sat at the bureau and tried to think. He seemed -incapable of putting any purpose into motion, like an exhausted battery -whose cells have been drained of their electric charge. - -Parker Steel picked up a pen after he had crouched there silently for -some twenty minutes. He opened a drawer, drew out several sheets of -note-paper, and began to scribble confused, jerky sentences, to alter, -to reconsider, and to erase. The power to determine and to act, even on -paper, were lost to him that morning. He wrote two letters, only to tear -them up and scatter the pieces in the grate, where a lighted match set -them burning. He was still on his knees, turning over the charred -fragments, when the door-bell rang. - -The sedate Symons came to announce a patient. - -“Mrs. Prosser, sir.” - -“Tell her I can’t see her.” - -Symons stared. Her master had something of the air of an angry dog. - -“Tell her I’m busy. She can call again.” - -“Yes, sir.” - -She still stood in the doorway, irresolute, surprised. - -“What the devil are you waiting there for, Symons?” - -“Nothing, sir.” - -And she withdrew, with her dignity balanced on the tip of a very much -tilted nose. - -Parker Steel opened the window wide, and leaning his hands on the sill, -looked out into the garden. It was air that he needed—air amid the -stifling complexities of life that were crowding tumultuous upon his -future. The garden with the sumptuous serenity of its trees and flowers -had no sympathetic touch for him in his agony of isolation. It was his -loneliness that weighed upon him heavily at that moment. He had outlawed -himself, as it were, from the heart of his own wife. The very house was -a pest-house in which two stricken souls were sundered and held apart. - -If Betty would only see him. If she could only bring herself to -understand that he had acted this disastrous part in order to retain the -social satisfactions that she loved. Any companionship, even the -companionship of a half-estranged wife, seemed preferable to the -isolation that he felt deepening about him. He argued that it was his -realization of Betty’s ambition that had made him dissemble for her -sake. Any argument, however suspicious, is pressed into the service of a -man whose whole desire is to justify himself. - -Unfortunately, when a woman’s trust has been once shocked from its -foundations, no buttressing and underpinning can save that -superstructure of sentiment that has taken years to build. Betty had -kept to her room with no one but Madge Ellison to give her sympathy and -advice. The husband had always found the friend embarrassing with her -presence any _rapprochement_ between him and his wife. - -As he stood at the open window, with the words of the two letters he had -read weaving a hopeless tangle of bewilderment in his brain, he heard -some one descend the stairs and go out by the front door into the -square. Parker Steel realized that this ubiquitous and embarrassing -friend had left Betty alone in the room above. There was some chance at -last of his seeing her alone, and of attempting to break down the -barrier of her reserve. - -He climbed the stairs slowly, and stood listening for several seconds on -the landing before turning the handle of his wife’s door. The door was -locked. - -Parker Steel frowned over the ineptitude of the manœuvre. A dramatic -entry might at least have given some dignity to the trick. As it was, he -felt like a sneaking boy who had been balked and taken in some none too -honorable artifice. - -“Betty.” - -“Yes, what is it?” - -She was in a chair near the window, reading, with her dark hair spread -upon her shoulders. Her mouth hardened as she recognized her husband’s -voice. It was the very day, and she remembered it, the day of Lady -Sophia’s fashionable bazaar when Betty Steel had foreseen the people of -Roxton at her feet. She had asked Madge Ellison to bring out the dress -that she should have worn. Primrose and leaf-green, it hung across the -foot-rail of her bed. - -“I want to speak to you, Betty.” - -“Is there anything that we can discuss?” - -The level tenor of her voice, its unflurried callousness, gave him an -impression of obstinate estrangement. - -“Betty.” - -She did not answer. - -“Let me in. If you will only give me a chance to justify myself—” - -The very words he chose were the words least calculated to move a woman. -Betty, lying back in her chair, pictured to herself a cringing, -deprecating figure that could boast none of the passionate forcefulness -of manhood. A woman may be won by courage and strength, even in the -person of the man who has done her wrong; but let her have the repulsion -of contempt, and her instinct towards forgiveness will be frozen into an -unbending pride. - -“I do not wish you to make excuses, Parker.” - -“But, Betty—” - -“Well?” - -“It was for the sake of the home, the practice, everything. Can’t you -understand? Can’t you imagine what I have gone through?” - -Her momentary silence seemed to suggest a sneer. - -“So you would justify a lie?” - -“Betty, don’t talk like this. I am worried to death by other matters as -it is.” - -“I can understand that perfectly.” - -He began to pace the landing, halting irresolutely from time to time -before the locked door. - -“I have heard from Peterson this morning.” - -No reply. - -“He is reporting the matter to the General Council, and he has given the -truth away to Murray. You know what that must mean.” - -Still no reply. - -“Betty.” - -Had he been able to see the cynical smile upon her face, Parker Steel -might have understood that by acting the suppliant for her pity he only -intensified her contempt. - -“Betty, is this fair to me?” - -He shook the door with a sudden gust of petulant impatience. - -“Show me some little consideration. I have some right to demand—” - -“Demand what you please, Parker, but oblige me by not making so much -noise.” - -“You will regret this.” - -His voice was harsh now and beyond control. - -“I have regretted much already.” - -“Your marriage, I suppose?” - -“There is no need, Parker, to indulge in details.” - -“This is beyond my patience!” - -“And mine, I assure you.” - -He turned, and retreated from the attack at the same moment that Madge -Ellison reappeared upon the stairs. They passed each other without a -word; the woman, clear-eyed and uncompromising; the man gliding close to -the wall. Madge Ellison found Betty sitting with closed eyes before the -open window, the June sunshine dappling the bosoms of the tall trees in -the square with gold. - - - - - CHAPTER XL - - -The month was August, and August at its worst, a month of glare and -dust, and an atmosphere more trying to the temper than all the insolent -bluster of a bragging March. - -Mr. Carrington, in his shirt sleeves, and white linen sun-hat crammed -down over his eyes, stood under the acacia-tree at his garden gate, -chatting to the Reverend Peter Burt, Curate of Cossington, who had -tramped three miles to visit some of the sick people on the farm. Mr. -Burt was rather a shy little man, very much in earnest, and very much -convinced of the responsibility of his position. - -“All this must have been a great worry to you,” said the clergyman, with -a comprehensive sweep of an oak stick. - -“Worry—don’t talk of it, sir. What with the heat, and the Medical -Officer of Health, and the Sanitary Inspector, I’ve been pretty near -crazy. I don’t know what I should have done, Mr. Burt, but for Murchison -and his good lady.” - -“Mrs. Murchison seems to have been a local Florence Nightingale.” - -Mr. Carrington stared. - -“I don’t happen to know the woman’s name,” he said; “but she must have -been a good ’un, Mr. Burt, to be showed in the same class as the -doctor’s lady. Why—” and the farmer withdrew his hands from his pockets -and tapped his left palm with his right forefinger—“why, d’you know -what she did when she’d been over here and seen how we were fixed?” - -Mr. Carrington paused expressively, and looked the young clergyman in -the face, as though defying him to conceive the nature of this unique -woman’s genius. - -“No, I have not heard.” - -“Well, Mr. Burt, there’s religion and there’s religion; some of us wear -black coats on a Sunday and put silver in the plate; some of us aren’t -so regular and respectable, but we play the game, and that’s more than -many of your sitting pew-hens do. Excuse me, sir, I’m rather rough in -the tongue. Well, Mrs. Murchison, she doesn’t strike you as a district -visiting sort of lady to look at; she’s got a fine face and a head of -hair, like the Countess of Camber, who gave the prizes away at our -Agricultural Show last season. Well, Mr. Burt, she came over here, and -saw what sort of a fix we were in, two grumbling nurses, and not much -more than straw and sacking. Well, what does she do but take one of my -wagons and my men and go off to Roxton all on her own.” - -Mr. Carrington paused for breath, took off his sun-hat and wiped his -forehead with it, his eyes remaining fixed emphatically on the Curate’s -face. - -“And what d’you think, sir? Back came that wagon of mine loaded up with -linen, and basins, and crockery, a bed or two, and God knows what. She’d -ransacked her own house, sir, and gone round to all the neighbors -begging like a papist. Get the stuff? She did that. Not easy to say no -to a woman with a face and a voice like hers. Carmagee joined in, and -Canon Stensly, and a good score more. And dang my soul, Mr. Burt, she’d -been working with her husband here, day in, day out; and that’s the sort -of thing, sir, that I call religion.” - -The Curate began to look vaguely uncomfortable under the farmer’s -concentrated methods of address. It took much to move Mr. Carrington to -words, but when once moved, the result resembled the eruption of a long -quiescent volcano, the vigor of the eruption corresponding roughly to -the length of the period of quiescence. - -“I quite agree with you, Mr. Carrington,” he said, with a certain boyish -stiffness, as though he considered it superfluous for the farmer to -condemn his soul to perdition. - -“You must excuse my language, Mr. Burt; when I get worked up over a -subject I must let fly. And it’s these dirty lies that have been flying -abroad about this good lady’s husband that have made me hot, sir, to see -justice done.” - -Mr. Burt appeared interested by the windows of the house that glimmered -from amid a mass of creepers like water shining through the foliage of -trees. - -“One hears very curious rumors,” he acknowledged, with a discreet frown. - -“I suppose you’ve heard them over at Cossington?” - -“Well, I have heard reports.” - -“About our doctor here and the drink?” - -Mr. Burt nodded. - -“But I don’t think anyone believed them,” he confessed. - -The farmer’s right forefinger began to tap his left palm again. - -“Look here, sir, I ought to know something about Dr. Murchison’s -character, I imagine. The man’s been here nearly a month, living in my -house, and working like a Trojan. We’ve had nearly sixty cases, what -with the pickers and our own people. You haven’t seen what the doctor’s -been through in this little epidemic of ours, Mr. Burt, and I have. You -get to the bottom of a man’s nature when he’s working eighteen hours out -of the twenty-four, doing the nurse’s jobs as well as his own, and -feeding some of the kids with his own hands. I’ve seen him come into my -parlor, sir, at night, and go slap off to sleep on the sofa, he was that -done. And never, not on one single blessed occasion, have I seen that -man show the white feather or touch a drop of drink!” - -Mr. Burt appeared to become more and more embarrassed by being stared at -vehemently in the face, as the farmer’s right fist smacked the points of -his argument into his left palm. He had to return Mr. Carrington’s -stare, eye to eye, as a pledge of sincerity. He began to fidget, to scan -the horizon, and to fumble with his watch-chain. - -“Your evidence sounds conclusive,” he said; “I think it is time I—” - -Mr. Carrington ignored the little man’s restiveness, and came and stood -outside the gate. - -“Now, I make it a rule in life, Mr. Burt, to take people just as I find -’em, and not to listen to what all the old women say. The rule of a -practical man, you understand. Now—” - -The Curate cast a flurried glance up the road, and pulled out his watch. - -“You must really excuse me, Mr. Carrington.” - -“In a hurry, are you? Well, I was only going to say that some of us -people have come by a shrewd notion how all this chaff got chucked about -in these parts. Murchison was a first-class man, and some people got -jealous of him, and played a low-down game to get him out of the town. -You take my meaning, Mr. Burt?” - -“Yes, certainly. Good Heavens, it is nearly twelve. I must really say -good-bye, Mr. Carrington; I hope—” - -“One moment, sir. I won’t mention any name, but perhaps you are just as -wise as I am. And what’s more, Mr. Burt, from what I’ve heard, that -gentleman that we know of has just been treated as he tried to treat a -better man than himself. It was his wife, they say—” - -“Excuse me, Mr. Carrington, but some one is calling you, I think.” - -“They can wait. Now—” - -“To be frank with you, Mr. Carrington, I can’t.” - -“Oh, well, sir, if you are in such a hurry, I’ll postpone my remarks. I -was only going to say—” - -But Mr. Burt gave him a wave of the hand, and fled. - -A girl of seventeen came down the path from the house, between the -standard roses, her black hair already gathered up tentatively at the -back of a brown neck, and the smartness of her blouse and collar -betraying the fact that she considered herself a mature and very -eligible woman. - -“Dad, are you deaf?” - -Mr. Carrington turned with the leisurely composure of a father. - -“What’s all this noise about, Nan?” - -“I’ve been calling you for five minutes. They’re all there—in the -fourteen-acre.” - -“Who?” - -“Why, Mrs. Murchison and the Canon, and old Lady Gillingham, and half a -dozen more. Dr. Murchison sent one of the boys over for you.” - -Mr. Carrington began to hustle. - -“Dang it, I expected them to-morrow!” - -“What a man you are, dad!” and she stood like an armed angel of scorn in -the middle of the path; “you can’t go and see them in your -shirt-sleeves.” - -“Bless my soul, Nan, where’s my coat?” - -“On the fence. You were talking to Mr. Burt long enough to forget it. -Why didn’t you bring him in?” - -Mr. Carrington was struggling into his alpaca coat, his daughter -watching his contortions with the superior serenity of seventeen. - -“Bring who in?” - -“Mr. Burt.” - -“The little man’s as shy as a calf.” - -“Perhaps you talked him silly.” - -“Look here, my dear, it’s too hot to argue. Is my tie proper?” - -His daughter regarded him with critical candor. - -“It will do,” she answered, resignedly, as though her father’s ties were -beyond all promise of salvation. - -The camp of the fruit-pickers in Mr. Carrington’s fourteen-acre stood -out like a field-hospital under the August sun. There were half a dozen -white tents pitched near the two sheds, and on an ingenious frame-work -of poles an awning had been spread so that convalescents could be -brought out to lie in the shade, and gain the maximum amount of air. The -whole place looked trim and clean, and a faint perfume of some coal-tar -disinfectant permeated the air. - -Mr. Carrington, as he emerged from the orchard gate, saw quite a -representative gathering moving through the camp. Several of the Roxton -celebrities who had subscribed to the relief fund, had been invited by -Porteus Carmagee, the treasurer, to drive over and see how the money had -been spent. The farmer recognized Lady Gillingham’s carriage and pair -waiting in the roadway beyond the white field-gate. The Canon’s landau -had drawn up deferentially behind it, while Mrs. Murchison’s pony, that -drew her governess car, was being held by one of the pickers who had -lost two children but a week ago. - -Lady Sophia appeared to be holding quite a state inspection, for she had -Murchison in his white linen jacket at one elbow, and the Canon in his -black coat at the other. She was making considerable use of her -lorgnette—a very affable, commonplace, and well-meaning great lady, who -felt it to be a most Christian condescension on her part to drive out -and examine this temporary hospital and its London poor. Catherine -Murchison and Mrs. Stensly were talking to one of the women lying under -the awning. The treasurer had remained judiciously in the background, -and was snapping away to three Roxton ladies who appeared to be -fascinated by some subject foreign to enteric fever and pickers of -fruit. - -Porteus Carmagee looked very much amused. A thin little lady in a hat -far too big for her, giving her an indistinct resemblance to a mushroom, -was attempting to draw more definite information from the lawyer by the -feminine pretence of unbelief. - -“But are you sure, Mr. Carmagee? It may only be a rumor; one hears so -many extraordinary things.” - -“I am perfectly sure, madam. There are facts, however, that cannot well -be discussed.” - -The suggestion of mystery lent a double glamour to Porteus Carmagee’s -information. - -“Then he has left the town for good?” - -“I think I may swear to that as a fact.” - -“And alone?” - -“Quite alone.” - -“But surely his wife—?” - -Mr. Carmagee tightened up his mouth and stared reflectively into space. - -“Don’t ask me to unravel the complexities of other people’s households, -Mrs. Blount.” - -“But how extraordinary! Of course everyone knows that she is ill.” - -“Every one knows a great deal more of one’s private affairs, madam, than -one knows one’s self.” - -The three ladies exchanged glances; they formed three spokes of -curiosity, with Mr. Carmagee for the hub. - -“And no one has seen Betty Steel for some weeks.” - -“That is so.” - -“And it is rumored—” - -“Then you have heard that too?” - -“What, my dear?” - -“That it is an affection of the skin.” - -The lawyer extricated himself from the group, and moved to where -Catherine’s golden head shone Madonna-like over the face of a little -child. - -“Affection of tom-cats,” quoth he, under his breath; “it is curious the -way these women play with a piece of scandal like a cat with a mouse. It -mustn’t die, or half the zest of the game would be gone. Catherine, my -friend, you are different from the rest.” - -During these digressions Mr. Carrington had brought himself within the -ken of Lady Gillingham’s lorgnette. It appeared to the farmer that the -great lady’s eyes were fixed critically upon his tie. His right shoulder -blushed as he remembered that there was a three-inch rent there in the -seam of his alpaca coat. Such is the judgment that overtakes those who -are mistaken as to dates. - -“Good-morning, Mr.—Mr. Carrington. We are admiring how beautifully you -have managed everything for these poor people. So clean, and so—so -airy. I am sure you must have suffered a great deal of inconvenience and -worry.” - -Mr. Carrington blushed. Porteus Carmagee, who was watching the drama -from a distance, felt for Mr. Carrington a species of ironical pity. The -farmer’s boots described an angle of ninety degrees with one another, -and the vehement smirk upon his face made the redness thereof seem -dangerously sultry. - -“We have all been so interested, Mr. Carrington—” - -“Very good of your ladyship, I’m sure.” - -“I sent you an iron bedstead, you may remember. I hope it has been of -use.” - -“Great use, your ladyship.” - -“Ah, that is right; and is your family quite well, Mr. Carrington? I -hope none of you have contracted the disease?” - -“Only my youngest boy, your ladyship, but Dr. Murchison soon had him in -hand.” - -“Ah, quite so; good-day, Mr. Carrington,” and she relieved him from the -splendor of her notice, and turned to Murchison, who was waiting at her -elbow. - -“What a noble profession, the physician’s, Dr. Murchison!” - -The big, brown-faced man smiled, and his eyes wandered unconsciously in -the direction of his wife. - -“It has its responsibilities,” he said, “and also its compensations.” - -Lady Sophia waved her lorgnette to and fro, and beamed to the extent of -the five-guinea check she had contributed to the relief fund. She was -wondering whether it was possible that this quiet, clear-eyed man could -ever have been the victim of such a thing as drink. If so—then he was -to be pitied, and not abused. - -“It must be so gratifying, Dr. Murchison, to save the life of a -fellow-being.” - -“Yes, it is something to be grateful for.” - -“How well your wife looks! I hear she has been working here, like any -trained nurse.” - -Catherine, dancing a doll before the thin little hands of a child of -four, was serenely oblivious of the great lady’s praise. Porteus -Carmagee was watching her, smiling, and rattling his keys in his pocket. - -“Your wife is very fond of children, Dr. Murchison.” - -He looked into the distance, and then at the laughing girl of four. - -“She lost a child, and that means much to a woman.” - -“Ah, of course, undoubtedly. Poor little creature!” and her ladyship -tended benignly in the direction of the awning. - -Canon Stensly and Murchison were left alone together by one of the -tents. A man was delirious within it, and they could hear the -meaningless patter of fever flowing in one monotonous tone. - -“A doctor’s life is no sinecure,” and he stroked his firm round chin. - -“No, perhaps no. We walk daily at the edge of a precipice. And yet it -has great compensations.” - -They were silent a moment, watching Lady Sophia trying to coquet with a -rather overpowered child. - -“You have heard about Steel?” - -“Yes, my wife told me.” - -“One of those strange fatalities we meet with in life. And yet I think -there was something of the nature of a judgment in it.” - -“Possibly. I am sorry for the woman.” - -“Then you are magnanimous.” - -“No, I have learned the true values of life. When one has suffered—” - -“One loses the meaner impulses?” - -“That is so.” - -“And remains thankful for what one has?” - -“For what one has.” - -And Murchison’s eyes were smiling towards his wife. - - - - - CHAPTER XLI - - -Betty Steel sat alone at the open window of her room one evening as the -sun went down over the red roofs of the old town. Lying back in her -chair, with her head on a cushion of yellow silk, she could see nothing -of the life in the square below, but only the tops of the elm-trees, the -black spire of the church, and an infinite expanse of cloud-barred sky. -The west stood one great splendor of scarlet and of gold. Above, at the -zenith, the clouds were bathed in a radiance of auriferous rose. A cold -chalcedony blue held the eastern arch, where the purple rim of the night -merged into the amethystine shadows of the woodland hills. - -Betty Steel was alone, save for the cat Mignon, curled up asleep in her -mistress’s lap. Half covering the cat was a crumpled letter, a letter -that had been read and reread by eyes that were blind to the pageant of -the summer sky. She stirred now and again in her chair, and shivered. -The evening seemed cold to her despite all this chaos of color, this -kindling of the torches of the west. The house, too, had an empty -silence, like a lonely house where death had been and set a seal upon -its lips. - -Betty lifted Mignon from her lap, rose, crossed the room, and rang the -bell. She took a crimson opera-cloak from a wardrobe in the corner, -flung it across her shoulders, and returned to her chair, with the -crumpled letter still in her hand. - -“Yes, ma’am.” - -A white cap and apron were framed by the shadows of the landing. - -“Is Miss Ellison back yet, Symons?” - -“No, ma’am. She said—” - -“Listen! Isn’t that the front door?” - -“Yes, ma’am.” - -“Will you ask her to come to me here?” - -The white cap and apron vanished into the shadows. Betty, lying back in -her chair, looked vacantly at the paling sky, with the blood-red cloak -deepening the darkness of her hair. The cat Mignon sprang into her lap. -Dreamily, and as by habit, she began to stroke the cat, while listening -to the murmur of the two voices in the hall below. - -Brisk footsteps ascended the stairs, with the swish of silk, and the -soft sighing of a woman’s breath. - -“Here I am, dear, at last.” - -“Shut the door, Madge.” - -“I missed my train. You must have wondered what had happened.” - -“I have ceased to wonder at anything in life.” - -Madge Ellison looked curiously at Betty lying back in her chair, and -crossed the room slowly, unbuttoning her gloves. - -“You sound rather down, dear. What’s that? Have you heard—?” - -Betty Steel’s hand closed spasmodically upon the crumpled letter that -she held. Her face was hard and reflective in its outlines. And yet in -the eyes there was a pathos of unrest, the unrest of a woman whose gods -have left her utterly alone. - -“I have heard from Parker.” - -Madge Ellison threw her gloves on the bed, unpinned her hat, and waited. - -“He is leaving England.” - -“Leaving England?” - -“Yes, for the Cape.” - -“And you?” - -“My own mistress to do everything—anything that I please.” - -She gave a curious little laugh, and began straightening out the letter -on her knee, looking at it with eyes that strove to make cynicism cover -the wounded instincts of her womanhood. - -“Of course—he does not care. He was afraid to face things.” - -“The coward!” - -Madge Ellison bent over her, and laid one hand along her cheek. - -“And he has left you here?” - -“I suppose he thought there was nothing else to do. He says—” and she -still smoothed the creased letter under her hand—“you have your own -money to live on. The practice is worth nothing under the circumstances. -I should advise you to let the house. You cannot afford to live in it on -two hundred pounds a year.” - -“Is that all you have?” - -“My father left it me.” - -“Wise father!” - -“I never thought, Madge, I should value two hundred pounds so much.” - -Mignon, who still possessed some of the kittenish spirit of her youth, -rolled over in Betty’s lap, and began to clutch at the letter with her -paws. There was something pathetic in the way the wife suffered that -scrap of paper to be a plaything for her pet. - -“Then he says nothing, dear—?” - -“Nothing?” - -“About your joining him?” - -Betty’s lips curled into a cynical smile. - -“Why should he?” - -“But, surely—” - -“It was I who broke the ties between us. I think I hated him. He had so -little—so little manliness and strength.” - -Madge Ellison lifted up her face to the fading sky. She was serious for -one occasion in her life, a woman touched by the realism of life’s -tragedies. - -“Can you never—?” - -“Don’t ask me that, Madge.” - -“You will be well, soon, your old self. It is only temporary.” - -“I know.” - -“Then—” - -“If it were only skin deep; but it is deeper, deep to the heart.” - -The confidante gave a sad shrug of her shapely shoulders. - -“Don’t say that yet,” she said; “you might repent of it.” - -“You think so?” - -“I don’t know what to think.” - -The sky had darkened; the clouds had cast their cloaks of fire, and in -the west one broad band of crimson and of gold held back the banners of -the approaching night. From St. Antonia’s steeple came the chiming of -the hour, slow, solemn tones that filled the silence with mysterious -eddies of lingering sound. - -Madge Ellison was still leaning over Betty’s chair, her hands touching -her friend’s face. - -“Try not to brood too much on it, dear. I know I am not much of a woman -to give advice. You might say that I had no experience.” - -“And I too much! Listen,” and she straightened in her chair, “can’t you -hear people shouting?” - -“Shouting?” - -“Yes; as though there were a fire. It seems to come from Castle Gate.” - -They were both silent, listening, and leaning towards the open window. -Vague, scattered cries rose from the shadowiness of the darkening town. -They seemed to be drawing from Castle Gate towards the square, a low -flux of sound that rose and fell like the cadence of the sea upon a -shore at night. - -Betty sank back in her chair with a glimmer of impatience on her face. - -“Of course—I remember.” - -From under the arch of the old gate-house a crowd of small boys came -scattering into the far corner of the square. A number of men followed, -lined along a couple of stout ropes. They were dragging a carriage over -the gray cobbles and under the dark elms in the direction of Lombard -Street. - -Madge Ellison drew back from the window. Not so Betty. She rose from her -chair, and stood looking down upon those rough men of the Roxton lanes -who were shouting and waving caps with the unsophisticated and -exhilarating zest of children. - -The carriage with its plebeian team passed under Betty’s window. In it -were a man and a woman, the woman holding a boy upon her knees. - -Whether some subtle thought-wave passed between those two or not, it -happened that Catherine looked up and saw the face at the open window -overhead. It seemed to her in the hurly-burly of this little triumph, -that the face above looked down at her out of a gloom of loneliness and -humiliation. A sudden cry of womanly pity sounded in her heart. -Catherine’s arms tightened unconsciously about her boy, and her eyes, -that had been smiling, grew thoughtful and very sad. - -The carriage rounded the corner and disappeared into Lombard Street, -with a small crowd of men, women, and children following in its wake. -Betty Steel turned from the window with a laugh. - -“It reminds one of a political demonstration.” - -Madge Ellison had picked up the letter that the wife had left forgotten -on the floor. - -“Shall I shut the window, Betty?” - -“No, it amuses me; cela va sans dire.” - -The men at the ropes had trundled the carriage down Lombard Street, and -brought to before the great house opposite the cypress-trees in Porteus -Carmagee’s garden. They were very hot and very happy, these Roxton -workers, with Mr. William Bains, a stentorian choragus to the crew. A -child threw a bunch of flowers into Catherine’s lap. - -“Hooray! three cheers for the doctor!” - -“Hooray! hooray! hooray!” - - THE END - - * * * * * - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -Hyphenation and archaic spellings have been retained as in the original. -Punctuation and type-setting errors have been corrected without note. - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A WOMAN’S WAR *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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