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diff --git a/old/53157-h/53157-h.htm b/old/53157-h/53157-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index c8999ab..0000000 --- a/old/53157-h/53157-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,28042 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Wood and Stone, by John Cowper Powys. - </title> - - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - -<style type="text/css"> - -a { - text-decoration: none; -} - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - -h1,h2 { - text-align: center; - clear: both; -} - -hr { - width: 65%; - margin-left: 17.5%; - margin-right: 17.5%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: 0.5em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: 0.5em; - text-indent: 1em; -} - -table { - max-width: 35em; - margin: 1em auto 1em auto; -} - -td { - padding-left: 0.25em; - padding-right: 0.25em; - vertical-align: top; -} - -.bbox { - margin: 3em auto 1em auto; - max-width: 25em; -} - -.bbox-top { - border-top: 2px solid black; - border-right: 2px solid black; - border-bottom: 1px solid black; - border-left: 2px solid black; -} - -.bbox-middle { - border-top: 1px solid black; - border-right: 2px solid black; - border-bottom: 1px solid black; - border-left: 2px solid black; -} - -.bbox-bottom { - border-top: 1px solid black; - border-right: 2px solid black; - border-bottom: 2px solid black; - border-left: 2px solid black; -} - -.center { - text-align: center; -} - -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -.larger { - font-size: 150%; -} - -.pagenum { - position: absolute; - right: 4%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - font-style: normal; -} - -.poetry-container { - text-align: center; - margin: 1em; -} - -.poetry { - display: inline-block; - text-align: left; -} - -.poetry .verse { - text-indent: -3em; - padding-left: 3em; -} - -.poetry .indent1 { - text-indent: -2em; -} - -.poetry .indent2 { - text-indent: -1em; -} - -.smaller { - font-size: 80%; -} - -.smcap { - font-variant: small-caps; - font-style: normal; -} - -.tdr { - text-align: right; -} - -.titlepage { - text-align: center; - margin-top: 3em; - text-indent: 0em; -} - -@media handheld { - -.poetry { - display: block; - margin-left: 1.5em; -} - -} - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Wood and Stone, by John Cowper Powys - -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'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Wood and Stone - A Romance - -Author: John Cowper Powys - -Release Date: September 28, 2016 [EBook #53157] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WOOD AND STONE *** - - - - -Produced by Stephen Rowland and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span></p> - -<p class="titlepage larger">WOOD AND STONE</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p> - -<div class="bbox"> - -<div class="bbox-top"> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Books by</span><br /> -JOHN COWPER POWYS</p> - -</div> - -<div class="bbox-middle"> - -<table summary="books"> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The War and Culture, 1914</span></td><td class="tdr">$ .60</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Visions and Revisions, 1915</span></td><td class="tdr">$2.00</td> - </tr> -</table> - -</div> - -<div class="bbox-bottom"> - -<p class="center">PUBLISHED BY G. ARNOLD SHAW<br /> -GRAND CENTRAL TERMINAL, NEW YORK</p> - -</div> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p> - -<p class="titlepage larger">WOOD AND STONE</p> - -<p class="titlepage">A ROMANCE</p> - -<p class="titlepage">BY<br /> -JOHN COWPER POWYS</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">Licuit, semperque licebit</div> -<div class="verse">Parcere personis, dicere de vitiis.</div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;"> -<img src="images/publishers_device.jpg" width="200" height="100" alt="Aere perennius" /> -</div> - -<p class="titlepage">1915<br /> -G. ARNOLD SHAW<br /> -NEW YORK</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="titlepage smaller">COPYRIGHT, 1915<br /> -BY G. ARNOLD SHAW</p> - -<p class="titlepage smaller">COPYRIGHT IN GREAT BRITAIN<br /> -AND COLONIES</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p> - -<p class="titlepage">DEDICATED</p> - -<p class="titlepage smaller">WITH DEVOTED ADMIRATION<br /> -TO THE GREATEST POET AND NOVELIST<br /> -OF OUR AGE</p> - -<p class="titlepage">THOMAS HARDY</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p> - -<h2>PREFACE</h2> - -<p>The following narrative gathers itself round -what is, perhaps, one of the most absorbing -and difficult problems of our age; the problem -namely of getting to the bottom of that world-old -struggle between the “well-constituted” and the “ill-constituted,” -which the writings of Nietzsche have -recently called so startlingly to our attention.</p> - -<p>Is there such a thing at all as Nietzsche’s born and -trained aristocracy? In other words, is the secret -of the universe to be reached only along the lines of -Power, Courage, and Pride? Or,—on the contrary,—is -the hidden and basic law of things, not Power -but Sacrifice, not Pride but Love?</p> - -<p>Granting, for the moment, that this latter alternative -is the true one, what becomes of the drastic -distinction between “well-constituted” and “ill-constituted”?</p> - -<p>In a universe whose secret is not self-assertion, but -self-abandonment, might not the “well-constituted” -be regarded as the vanquished, and the “ill-constituted” -as the victors? In other words, who, in such -a universe, <em>are</em> the “well-constituted”?</p> - -<p>But the difficulty does not end here. Supposing we -rule out of our calculation both of these antipodal -possibilities,—both the universe whose inner fatality -is the striving towards Power, and the universe whose -inner fatality is the striving towards Love,—will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span> -there not be found to remain two other rational -hypotheses, either, namely, that there is no inner -fatality about it at all, that the whole thing is a -blind, fantastic, chance-drifting chaos; or that the -true secret lies in some subtle and difficult reconciliation, -between the will to Power and the will to -Love?</p> - -<p>The present chronicle is an attempt to give an -answer, inevitably a very tentative one, to this -formidable question; the writer, feeling that, as in -all these matters, where the elusiveness of human -nature plays so prominent a part, there is more hope -of approaching the truth, indirectly, and by means of -the imaginative mirror of art, than directly, and by -means of rational theorizing.</p> - -<p>The whole question is indeed so intimately associated -with the actual panorama of life and the -evasive caprices of flesh and blood, that every kind -of drastic and clinching formula breaks down under -its pressure.</p> - -<p>Art, alone,—that mysterious daughter of Life,—has -the secret of following the incalculable movements -of the Force to which she is so near akin. A -story which grossly points its moral with fixed indicative -finger is a story which, in the very strain of -that premature articulation, has lost the magic of -its probability. The secret of our days flies from -our attempts at making it fit such clumsy categories, -and the maddening flavour of the cosmic cup refuses -to be imprisoned in any laboratory.</p> - -<p>At this particular moment in the history of our -planet it is above all important to protest against -this prostituting of art to pseudo-science. It must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span> -not be allowed to these hasty philosophical conclusions -and spasmodic ethical systems, to block up and -close in, as they are so ready to do, the large free -horizons of humour and poetry. The magic of the -World, mocking both our gravity and our flippancy, -withdraws itself from our shrewd rationalizations, only -to take refuge all the deeper in our intrinsic and -evasive hearts.</p> - -<p>In this story the author has been led to interest -himself in the curious labyrinthine subtleties -which mark the difference,—a difference to be observed -in actual life, quite apart from moral values,—between -the type of person who might be regarded -as born to rule, and the type of person who might -be regarded as born to be ruled over. The grand -Nietzschean distinction is, in a sense, rejected here -upon its own ground, a ground often inconsequently -deserted by those who make it their business to condemn -it. Such persons are apt to forget that the -whole assumption of this distinction lies in a substitution -of <em>æsthetic</em> values, for the values more commonly -applied.</p> - -<p>The pivotal point of the ensuing narrative might -be described as an attempt to suggest, granting such -an æsthetic test, that the hearts of “ill-constituted” -persons,—the hearts of slaves, Pariahs, cowards, -outcasts, and other victims of fate,—may be at -least as <em>interesting</em>, in their bizarre convolutions, as -the hearts of the bravest and gayest among us. And -<em>interest</em>, after all, is the supreme exigency of the -æsthetic sense!</p> - -<p>In order to thrust back from its free horizons these -invasions of its prerogatives by alien powers, Art<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span> -must prove itself able to evoke the very tang and -salt and bitter-sweetness of the actual pell-mell of -life—its unfolding spaces, its shell-strewn depths. -She must defend herself from those insidious traitors -in her own camp who would betray her into the hands -of the system-makers, by proving that she can approach -nearer to the magic of the world, without a -system, than all these are able to do, with all of -theirs! She must keep the horizons open—that must -be her main concern. She must hold fast to poetry -and humour, and about her creations there must be -a certain spirit of <em>liberation</em>, and the presence of -large tolerant after-thoughts.</p> - -<p>The curious thing about so many modern writers -is, that in their earnest preoccupation with philosophical -and social problems, they grow strained and -thin and sententious, losing the mass and volume, as -well as the elusive-blown airs, of the flowing tide. -On the other hand there is an irritating tendency, -among some of the cleverest, to recover their lost -balance after these dogmatic speculations, by foolish -indulgence in sheer burlesque—burlesque which is -the antithesis of all true humour.</p> - -<p>Heaven help us! It is easy enough to criticize -the lath and plaster which, in so many books, takes -the place of flesh and blood. It is less easy to catch, -for oneself, the breath of the ineffable spirit!</p> - -<p>Perhaps the deplorable thinness and sententiousness, -to which reference has been made, may be due to -the fact that in the excitement of modern controversy, -our enterprising writers have no time to read. -It is a strange thing, but one really feels as though, -among all modern English authors, the only one who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span> -brings with him an atmosphere of the large mellow -leisurely humanists of the past,—of the true classics, -in fact,—is Mr. Thomas Hardy.</p> - -<p>It is for this reason, for the reason that with this -great genius, life is approached in the old ample -ironic way, that the narrator of the following tale -has taken the liberty of putting Mr. Hardy’s name -upon his title-page. In any case mere courtesy and -decency called for such a recognition. One could -hardly have the audacity to plant one’s poor standard -in the heart of Wessex without obeisance being paid -to the literary over-lord of that suggestive region.</p> - -<p>It must be understood, however, that the temerity -of the author does not carry him so far as to regard -his eccentric story as in any sense an attempted -imitation of the Wessex novelist. Mr. Hardy cannot -be imitated. The mention of his admirable name at -the beginning of this book is no more than a humble -salutation addressed to the monarch of that particular -country, by a wayward nomad, lighting a -bivouac-fire, for a brief moment, in the heart of a -land that is not his.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a><br /> -<a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table summary="Contents"> - <tr> - <td class="tdr smaller">CHAPTER</td><td></td><td class="tdr smaller">PAGE</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">I.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Leo’s Hill</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">II.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Nevilton</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">III.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Olympian Conspiracy</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">IV.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Reprisals from Below</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">V.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Francis Taxater</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">VI.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">The Pariahs</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">VII.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Idyllic Pleasures</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">VIII.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">The Mythology of Sacrifice</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">IX.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">The Mythology of Power</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">X.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">The Orchard</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_184">184</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">XI.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Art and Nature</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_212">212</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">XII.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Auber Lake</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_247">247</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">XIII.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Lacrima</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_276">276</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">XIV.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Under-Currents</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_317">317</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">XV.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Mortimer Romer</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_355">355</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">XVI.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Hullaway</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_386">386</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">XVII.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Sagittarius</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_430">430</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">XVIII.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Voices by the Way</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_460">460</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">XIX.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Planetary Intervention</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_489">489</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">XX.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Vox Populi</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_519">519</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">XXI.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Cæsar’s Quarry</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_536">536</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">XXII.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">A Royal Watering-Place</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_572">572</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[xiv]</a></span><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">XXIII.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Ave atque Vale!</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_595">595</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">XXIV.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">The Granary</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_621">621</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">XXV.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Metamorphosis</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_650">650</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">XXVI.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Various Encounters</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_667">667</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">XXVII.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Vennie Seldom</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_679">679</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">XXVIII.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Lodmoor</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_696">696</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">XXIX.</a></td><td><span class="smcap">The Goat and Boy</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_714">714</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> - -<h1>WOOD AND STONE</h1> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I<br /> -<span class="smaller">LEO’S HILL</span></h2> - -<p>Midway between Glastonbury and Bridport, -at the point where the eastern plains -of Somersetshire merge into the western -valleys of Dorsetshire, stands a prominent and -noticeable hill; a hill resembling the figure of a -crouching lion.</p> - -<p>East of the hill, nestling at the base of a cone-shaped -eminence overgrown with trees and topped -by a thin Thyrsus-like tower, lies the village of -Nevilton.</p> - -<p>Were it not for the neighbourhood of the more -massive promontory this conical protuberance would -itself have stood out as an emphatic landmark; -but Leo’s Hill detracts from its emphasis, as it -detracts from the emphasis of all other deviations -from the sea-level, between Yeoborough and the -foot of the Quantocks.</p> - -<p>It was on the apex of Nevilton Mount that the -Holy Rood of Waltham was first found; but with -whatever spiritual influence this event may have endowed -the gentler summit, it is not to it, but to -Leo’s Hill, that the lives and destinies of the people -of Nevilton have come to gravitate. One might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> -indeed without difficulty conceive of a strange -supernatural conflict going on between the consecrated -repository of Christian tradition guarding its -little flock, and the impious heathen fortress to which -day by day that flock is driven, to seek their material -sustenance.</p> - -<p>Even in Pre-Celtic times those formidably dug -trenches and frowning slopes must have looked down -on the surrounding valley; and to this day it is the -same suggestion of tyrannical military dominance, -which, in spite of quarries and cranes and fragrant -yellow gorse, gives the place its prevailing character.</p> - -<p>The rounded escarpments have for centuries been -covered with pleasant turf and browsed upon by -sheep; but patient antiquarian research constantly -brings to light its coins, torques, urns, arrow-heads, -amulets; and rumour hints that yet more precious -things lie concealed under those grassy mounds.</p> - -<p>The aboriginal tribes have been succeeded by the -Celt; the Celt by the Roman; the Roman by the -Saxon; without any change in the place’s inherent -character, and without any lessening of its tyranny -over the surrounding country. For though Leo’s -Hill dominates no longer by means of its external -strength, it dominates, quite as completely, by means -of its interior riches.</p> - -<p>It is, in fact, a huge rock-island, washed by the -leafy waves of the encircling valleys, and containing, -as its hid treasure, stone enough to rebuild -Babylon.</p> - -<p>In that particular corner of the West Country, so -distinct and deep-rooted are the legendary survivals, -it is hard not to feel as though some vast<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> -spiritual conflict were still proceeding between the -two opposed Mythologies—the one drawing its -strength from the impulse to Power, and the other -from the impulse to Sacrifice.</p> - -<p>A village-dweller in Nevilton might, if he were -philosophically disposed, be just as much a percipient -of this cosmic struggle, as if he stood between the -Palatine and St. Peter’s.</p> - -<p>Let him linger among the cranes and pulleys of -this heathen promontory, and look westward to the -shrine of the Holy Grail, or eastward to where -rested the Holy Rood, and it would be strange if he -did not become conscious of the presence of eternal -spiritual antagonists, wrestling for the mastery.</p> - -<p>He would at any rate be made aware of the fatal -force of Inanimate Objects over human destiny.</p> - -<p>There would seem to him something positively -monstrous and sinister about the manner in which -this brute mass of inert sandstone had possessed -itself of the lives of the generations. It had come -to this at last; that those who owned the Hill -owned the dwellers beneath the Hill; and the Hill -itself owned them that owned it.</p> - -<p>The name by which the thing had come to be -known indicated sufficiently well its nature.</p> - -<p>Like a couchant desert-lion it overlooked its prey; -and would continue to do so, as long as the planet -lasted.</p> - -<p>Out of its inexhaustible bowels the tawny monster -fed the cities of seven countries—cities whose halls, -churches, theatres, and markets, mocked the caprices -of rain and sun as obdurately as their earth-bound -parent herself.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p> - -<p>The sandstone of Leo’s Hill remains, so architects -tell us, the only rival of granite, as a means for the -perpetuation of human monuments. Even granite -wears less well than this, in respect to the assaults of -rain and flood. The solitary mysterious monoliths -of Stonehenge, with their unknown, alien origin, alone -seem to surpass it in their eternal perdurance.</p> - -<p>As far as Nevilton itself is concerned everything in -the place owes its persuasive texture to this resistant -yet soft material. From the lordly Elizabethan mansion -to the humblest pig-stye, they all proceed from -the entrails of Leo’s Hill; and they all still wear—these -motley whelps of the great dumb beast—its -tawny skin, its malleable sturdiness, its enduring -consistence.</p> - -<p>Who can resist a momentary wonder at the strange -mutability of the fate that governs these things? -The actual slabs, for example, out of which the high -shafts and slender pinnacles of the church-tower were -originally hewn, must once have lain in littered heaps -for children to scramble upon, and dogs to rub -against. And now they are the windy resting-places, -and airy “coigns of vantage,” of all the feathered -tribes in their migrations!</p> - -<p>What especially separates the Stone of Leo’s Hill -from its various local rivals, is its chameleon-like -power of taking tone and colour from every element -it touches. While Purbeck marble, for instance, -must always remain the same dark, opaque, slippery -thing it was when it left its Dorset coast; while -Portland stone can do nothing but grow gloomier -and gloomier, in its ashen-grey moroseness, under the -weight of the London fogs; the tawny progeny of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> -this tyrant of the western vales becomes amber-streaked -when it restricts the play of fountains, -orange-tinted when it protects herbacious borders, -and rich as a petrified sunset when it drinks the -evening light from the mellow front of a Cathedral -Tower.</p> - -<p>Apart from any geological affinity, it might almost -seem as though this Leonian stone possessed some -weird occult relation to those deep alluvial deposits -which render the lanes and fields about Nevilton so -thick with heavy earth.</p> - -<p>Though closer in its texture to sand than to clay, -it is with clay that its local usage is more generally -associated, and it is into a clay-bed that it crumbles -at last, when the earth retakes her own. Its prevailing -colour is rather the colour of clay than of sand, -and no material that could be found could lend itself -more congruously to the clinging consistence of a -clay floor.</p> - -<p>It would be impossible to conceive of a temple of -marble or Portland stone rising out of the embrace -of the thick Nevilton soil. But Leonian sandstone -seems no more than a concentrated petrifaction of -such soil—its natural evocation, its organic expression. -The soil calls out upon it day and night with -friendly recognition, and day and night it answers the -call. There is thus no escape for the human victims -of these two accomplices. In confederate reciprocity -the stone receives them from the clay, and the clay -receives them from the stone. They pass from homes -built irretrievably of the one, into smaller and more -permanent houses, dug irretrievably out of the other.</p> - -<p>The character of the soil in that corner of Somersetshire<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> -is marked, beyond everything else, by the clinging -tenacity of its soft, damp, treacherous earth. -It is a spot loved by the west-wind, and by the rains -brought by the west-wind. Overshadowed by the -lavish fertility of its abounding foliage, it never seems -to experience enough sunshine to draw out of it the -eternal presence of this oppressive dampness. The -lush pastures may thicken, the rich gardens blossom, -the ancient orchards ripen; but an enduring sense of -something depressing and deep and treacherous lurks -ever in the background of these pleasant things. -Not a field but has its overshadowing trees; and not -a tree but has its roots loosely buried in that special -kind of soft, heavy earth, which an hour’s rain can -change into clinging mud.</p> - -<p>It is in the Nevilton churchyard, when a new -grave is being dug, that this sinister peculiarity of -the earth-floor is especially noticeable. The sight of -those raw, rough heaps of yellow clay, tossed out -upon grass and flowers, is enough to make the living -shrink back in terror from the oblong hole into which -they have consigned their dead. All human cemeteries -smell, like the hands of the Shakespearean king, -of forlorn mortality; but such mortality seems more -palpably, more oppressively emphasized among the -graves of Nevilton than in other repositories of the -dead. To be buried in many a burying-ground one -knows, would be no more than a negative terror; no -more than to be deprived, as Homer puts it, of the -sweet privilege of the blessed air. But to be buried -in Nevilton clay has a positive element in its dreadfulness. -It is not so much to be buried, as to be -sucked in, drawn down, devoured, absorbed. Never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> -in any place does the peculiar congruity between the -yellowness of the local clay and the yellowness of the -local stone show so luridly as among these patient -hillocks.</p> - -<p>The tombstones here do not relieve the pressure of -fate by appealing, in marble whiteness, away from -the anthropophagous earth, to the free clouds of -heaven. They are of the earth, and they conspire -with the earth. They yearn to the soil, and the soil -yearns to them. They weigh down upon the poor -relics consigned to their care, in a hideous partnership -with the clay that is working its will upon them.</p> - -<p>And the rank vegetation of the place assists -this treachery. Orange-tinted lichen and rusty-red -weather-stains alternate with the encroachments of -moss and weeds in reducing each separate protruding -slab into conformity with what is about it and beneath -it. This churchyard, whose stone and clay -so cunningly intermingle, is in an intimate sense the -very navel and centre of the village. Above it rises -the tall perpendicular tower of St. Catharine’s church; -and beyond it, on the further side of a strip of pasture, -a stagnant pond, and a solitary sycamore, stands the -farm that is locally named “the Priory.” This -house, the most imposing of all in the village except -the Manor, has as its immediate background the -umbrageous conical eminence where the Holy Rood -was found. It is a place adapted to modern usage -from a noble fragment of monastic ruin. Here, in -mediæval days, rose a rich Cistercian abbey, to which, -doubtless, the pyramidal mount, in the background, -offered a store of consecrated legends.</p> - -<p>North of the churchyard, beyond the main village<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> -street with its formal town-like compactness, the -ground slopes imperceptibly up, past a few enclosed -cottage-orchards, to where, embosomed in gracious -trees and Italianated gardens, stands the pride and -glory of Nevilton, its stately Elizabethan house.</p> - -<p>This house, founded in the reign of Henry VIII, -synchronized in its foundation with the overthrow of -the Cistercian Order, and was constructed entirely -of Leonian stone, removed for the purpose of building -it from the scene of the Priory’s destruction. Twice -over, then, in their human history, since they left -the entrails of that brooding monster over which the -Nevilton people see the sun set each day, had these -carved pieces of sandstone contributed to the pride -of the rulers of men.</p> - -<p>Their first use had not been attended with an -altogether propitious destiny. How far their present -use will prove of happier omen remains a secret of -the adamantine Fates. The imaginary weaving of -events, upon which we are just now engaged, may -perhaps serve, as certain liturgical formulæ of propitiation -served in former days, as a means of averting -the wrath of the Eumenides. For though made use -of again and again for fair and pious purposes, something -of the old heathen malignity of the Druid hill -still seems to hang about the stone it yields; and over -the substance of that stone’s destiny the two Mythologies -still struggle; Power and Sacrifice dividing the -living and the dead.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II<br /> -<span class="smaller">NEVILTON</span></h2> - -<p>Until within some twenty years of the date -with which we are now concerned, the distinguished -family who originally received the -monastic estates from the royal despot had held -them intact and unassailed. By an evil chance however, -the property had extended itself, during the -eighteenth century, so as to include the larger portion -of Leo’s Hill; and since that day its possession had -been attended by misfortune. The ancient aboriginal -fortress proved as fatal to its modern invaders as it -had proved in remoter times to Roman, Saxon and -Norman.</p> - -<p>A fanciful imagination might indeed have amused -itself with the curious dream, that some weird Druidic -curse had been laid upon that grass-grown island of -yellow rock, bringing disaster and eclipse to all who -meddled with it. Such an imagination would have -been able to fortify its fancy by recalling the suggestive -fact that at the bottom of the large woodland -pond, indicated in this narrative under the name of -Auber Lake, was discovered, not many years before, -an immense slab of Leonian stone, inscribed with -symbols baffling interpretation, but suggesting, to one -antiquarian mind at least, a hint of prehistoric Devil-Worship. -However this may be, it is certain that -the family of Seldom found themselves finally faced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> -with the alternative of selling the place they loved or -of seeing it lapse under their hands into confusion -and neglect. Of these evil alternatives they chose the -former; and thus the estates, properties, royalties, -and appurtenances, of the historic Manor of Nevilton -fell into the hands of a clever financier from Lombard -Street.</p> - -<p>The family of Mr. Mortimer Romer had never at -any time bowed its knee in kings’ houses. Nor were -its religious antecedents marked by orthodox reputation. -Mr. Romer was indeed in every sense of the -word a “self-made man.” But though neither Christian -nor Jew,—for his grandfather, the fish-monger -of Soho, had been of the Unitarian persuasion—it -cannot be denied that he possessed the art of making -himself thoroughly respected by both the baptized -and the circumcised. He indeed pursued his main -purpose, which was the acquiring of power, with -an unscrupulousness worthy of a Roman Emperor. -Possibly it was this Roman tenacity in him, combined -with his heathen indifference to current theology, -which propitiated the avenging deities of Leo’s Hill. -So far at any rate he had been eminently successful -in his speculations. He had secured complete possession -of every quarry on the formidable eminence; -and the company of which he was both director and -president was pursuing its activities in a hundred new -directions. It had, in the few last years, gone so far -as to begin certain engineering assaults upon those -remote portions of the ancient escarpments that had -been left untouched since the legions of Claudius -Cæsar encamped under their protection.</p> - -<p>The bulk of Mr. Romer’s stone-works were on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> -Hill itself; but others, intended for the more delicate -finishing touches, were situated in a convenient spot -close to Nevilton Station. Out of these sheds and -yards, built along the railway-track, arose, from -morning to night, the monotonous, not unpleasing, -murmur of wheels and saws and grindstones. The -contrast between these sounds and the sylvan quietness -of the vicarage garden, which sloped down -towards them, was one of the most significant indications -of the clash of the Two Mythologies in this -place. The priest meditating among his roses upon -the vanity of all but “heavenly habitations” might -have been in danger of being too obtrusively reminded -of the pride of the houses that are very definitely -“made with hands.” Perhaps this was one of the -reasons why the present incumbent of Nevilton had -preferred a more undisturbed retreat.</p> - -<p>The general manager of Mortimer Romer’s quarries -was a certain Mr. Lickwit, who served also as his -confidential adviser in many other spheres.</p> - -<p>The works at Nevilton Station were left to the -superintendence of two brothers named Andersen, -skilled stone-cutters, sons of the famous Gideon -Andersen known to architects all over the kingdom -for his designs in Leonian stone. Both Gideon -and his wife Naomi were buried in Nevilton churchyard, -and the brothers were condemned in the -village as persons of an almost scandalous piety -because of their innocent habit of lingering on warm -summer evenings over their parents’ grave. They -lived together, these two, as lodgers with the station-master, -in a newly built cottage close to their work. -Their social position in the place was a curious and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> -anomalous one. Their father’s reputation as a sculptor -had brought him into touch with every grade of -society; and the woman who became his wife was by -birth what is usually termed a lady. Gideon himself -had been a rough and gross fellow; and after his -wife’s death had hastened to take his sons away from -school and apprentice them to his own trade. They -were in many respects a noteworthy pair, though -scarcely favourites, either with their fellow-workmen -or their manager.</p> - -<p>James Andersen, the elder by some ten years, was -of a morose, reserved temper, and though a capable -workman never seemed happy in the work-shop. -Luke, on the contrary, possessed a peculiarly sunny -and serene spirit.</p> - -<p>They were both striking in appearance. The -younger approximated to that conventional type of -beauty which is popularly known as being “like a -Greek god.” The elder, tall, swarthy, and sinister, -suggested rather the image of some gloomy idol -carved on the wall of an Assyrian temple. What, -however, was much more remarkable than their -appearance was their devoted attachment to one -another. They lived, worked, ate, drank, walked -and slept together. It was impossible to separate -them. Had Mr. Lickwit dismissed James, Luke would -immediately have thrown down his tools. Had -Luke been the banished one, James would have -followed him into exile.</p> - -<p>It had fallen to Mr. Romer, some seven years -before our narrative begins, to appoint a new vicar -to Nevilton; and he had appointed one of such -fierce ascetic zeal and such pronounced socialistic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> -sympathies, that he had done nothing since but -vehemently and bitterly repent his choice.</p> - -<p>The Promoter of Companies had been betrayed -into this blunder by the impulse of revengeful -caprice, the only impulse in his otherwise well-balanced -nature that might be termed dangerous to -himself.</p> - -<p>He had quarrelled with the bishop over some -matter connected with his stone-works; and in -order to cause this distinguished prelate grief -and annoyance he had looked about for someone -to honour who was under the episcopal ban. The -bishop, however, was of so discreet a temper and -so popular in his diocese that the only rebel to his -authority that could be discovered was one of the -curates of a church at Yeoborough who had insisted -upon preaching the Roman doctrine of Transubstantiation.</p> - -<p>The matter would probably have lapsed into -quiescence, save for the crafty interference in the -local newspaper of a group of aggressive Nonconformists, -who took this opportunity of sowing desirable -dissension between the higher and lower orders -of the hated Establishment.</p> - -<p>Mr. Romer, who, like Gallio, cared for none of -these things, and was at heart a good deal worse -than a Nonconformist, seized upon the chance -offered by the death of Nevilton’s vicar; and installed -as his successor this rebel to ecclesiastical -authority.</p> - -<p>Once installed, however, the Rev. Hugh Clavering -speedily came to an understanding with his bishop; -compromised on the matter of preaching Transubstantiation;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> -and apparently was allowed to go on -believing in it.</p> - -<p>And it was then that the Promoter of Companies -learned for the first time how much easier it is to -make a priest than to unmake him. For situation -after situation arose in which the master of the -Leonian quarries found himself confronted by an -alien Power—a Power that refused to worship -Sandstone. Before this rupture, however, the young -Priest had persuaded Mr. Romer to let him live in -the Old Vicarage, a small but cheerful house just -opposite the church door. The orthodox vicarage, -a rambling Early Victorian structure standing in -its own grounds at the end of the West Drive, -was let—once more at the Priest’s suggestion—to -the last living representatives of the dispossessed -Seldoms.</p> - -<p>It indicated a good deal of spirit on the part of -Valentia Seldom and her daughter thus to return to -the home of their ancestors.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Seldom was a cousin of the man who had -sold the estate. Her daughter Vennie, brought up -in a school at Florence, had never seen Nevilton, -and it was with the idea of taking advantage for the -girl’s sake of their old prestige in that corner of -England that Valentia accepted Mr. Romer’s offer -and became the vicarage tenant.</p> - -<p>The quarry-owner himself was influenced in carrying -through this affair, by his anxiety, for the sake -of <em>his</em> daughter, to secure a firmer footing with the -aristocracy of the neighborhood. Here again, however, -he was destined to disappointment: for once -in possession of her twenty years’ lease the old lady<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> -showed not the least intention of letting herself be -used as a social stepping-stone.</p> - -<p>She had, indeed, under her own roof, cause enough -for preoccupation and concern.</p> - -<p>Her daughter—a little ghost-moth of a girl, of -fragile delicacy—seemed entirely devoid of that -mysterious magnetic attraction which lures to the -side of most virgins the devotion of the opposite -sex. She appeared perfectly content to remain forever -in her tender maidenhood, and refused to exert -the slightest effort to be “nice” to the charming -young people her mother threw in her way. She -belonged to that class of young girls who seem to -be set apart by nature for other purposes than those -of the propagation of the race.</p> - -<p>Her wistful spirit, shrinking into itself like the -leaves of a sensitive plant at the least approach of -a rough hand, responded only to one passionate -impulse, the impulse of religion.</p> - -<p>She grew indeed so estranged from the normal -world, that it was not only Valentia who concealed -the thought that when she left the earth the ancient -race of Seldoms would leave it with her.</p> - -<p>Nor was it only in regard to her child’s religious -obsession that the lady suffered. She had flatly -refused to let her enter into anything but the coldest -relations with “those dreadful people at the -House”; and it was with a peculiar shock of dismay -that she found that the girl was not literally obeying -her. It was not, however, to the Romers themselves -that Vennie made her shy overtures, but to a luckless -little relative of that family now domiciled with -them as companion to Gladys Romer.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p> - -<p>This young dependent, reputed in the village to -be of Italian origin, struck the gentle heart of the -last of the Seldoms with indescribable pity. She -could not altogether define the impression the girl -produced upon her, but it was a singularly oppressive -one, and it vexed and troubled her.</p> - -<p>The situation was wretchedly complicated. It was -extremely difficult to get a word with the little companion -without encountering Gladys; and any approach -to intimacy with “the Romer girl” would -have meant an impossible scene with Mrs. Seldom. -Nor was it a light undertaking, in such hurried -interviews as she did manage to secure, to induce -the child to drop her reserve. She would fix her -great brown foreign eyes—her name was Lacrima -Traffio—on Vennie’s face, and make curious little -helpless gestures with her hands when questions -were asked her; but speak of herself she would not.</p> - -<p>It was clear she was absolutely dependent on her -cousins. Vennie gathered as much as that, as she -once talked with her under the church wall, when -Gladys was chatting with the vicar. A reference to -her own people had nearly resulted in an outburst -of tears. Vennie had had to be content with a -broken whisper: “We come from Rapallo—they -are all dead.” There was nothing, it appeared, that -could be added to this.</p> - -<p>It was perhaps a little inconsistent in the old lady -to be so resolute against her daughter’s overtures to -Lacrima, as she herself had no hesitation in making -a sort of protégé of another of Mr. Romer’s tribe.</p> - -<p>This was an eccentric middle-aged bachelor who -had drifted into the place soon after the new-comer’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> -arrival and had established himself in a dilapidated -cottage on the outskirts of the Auber woods.</p> - -<p>Remotely related to Mrs. Romer, he had in some -way become dependent on her husband, whose financial -advantage over him was not, it seemed, as time -went on, exerted in a very considerate manner.</p> - -<p>Maurice Quincunx, for such was his unusual name, -was an illegitimate descendant of one of the most -historic houses in the neighborhood, but both his -poverty and his opinions caused him to live what -was practically the life of a hermit, and made him -shrink away, even more nervously than little Vennie -Seldom, from any intercourse with his equals.</p> - -<p>The present possessors of his queer ancient name -were now the Lords of Glastonbury, and had probably -never so much as heard of Maurice’s existence.</p> - -<p>He would come by stealth to pay Valentia visits, -preferring the evening hours when in the summer -she used to sit with her work, on a terrace overlooking -a sloping orchard, and watch Vennie water -her roses.</p> - -<p>The vicarage terrace was a place of extraordinary -quiet and peace, eminently adapted to the low-voiced, -nervous ramblings of a recluse of Maurice Quincunx’s -timidity.</p> - -<p>The old lady by degrees quite won this eccentric’s -heart; and the queerly assorted friends would pace -up and down for hours in the cool of the evening -talking of things in no way connected either with -Mr. Romer or the Church—the two subjects about -which Mr. Quincunx held dangerously strong views.</p> - -<p>Apart from this quaint outcast and the youthful -parson, Mrs. Seldom’s only other intimate in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> -place was a certain John Francis Taxater, a gentleman -of independent means, living by himself with -an old housekeeper in a cottage called The Gables, -situated about half-way between the vicarage and -the village.</p> - -<p>Mr. Taxater was a Catholic and also a philosopher; -these two peculiarities affording the solution to what -otherwise would have been an insoluble psychic -riddle. Even as it was, Mr. Taxater’s mind was of -so subtle and complicated an order, that he was at -once the attraction and the despair of all the religious -thinkers of that epoch. For it must be -understood that though quietly resident under the -shadow of Nevilton Mount, the least essay from Mr. -Taxater’s pen was eagerly perused by persons interested -in religious controversy in all the countries of -Europe.</p> - -<p>He wrote for philosophical journals in London, -Paris, Rome and New York; and there often appeared -at The Gables most surprising visitors -from Germany and Italy and Spain.</p> - -<p>He had a powerful following among the more -subtle-minded of the Catholics of England; and was -highly respected by important personages in the social, -as well as the literary circles, of Catholic society.</p> - -<p>The profundity of his mind may be gauged from -the fact that he was able to steer his way successfully -through the perilous reefs of “modernistic” -discussion, without either committing himself to heretical -doctrine or being accused of reactionary ultramontanism.</p> - -<p>Mr. Taxater’s written works were, however, but -a trifling portion of his personality. His intellectual<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> -interests were as rich and varied as those of some -great humanist of the Italian Renaissance, and his -personal habits were as involved and original as his -thoughts were complicated and deep.</p> - -<p>He was perpetually engaged in converting the -philosopher in him to Catholicism, and the Catholic -in him to philosophy—yet he never permitted either -of these obsessions to interfere with his enjoyment -of life.</p> - -<p>Luke Andersen, who was perhaps of all the inhabitants -of Nevilton most conscious of the drama -played around him, used to maintain that it was -impossible to tell in the last resort whether Mr. -Taxater’s place was with the adherents of Christ or -with the adherents of Anti-Christ. Like his prototype, -the evasive Erasmus, he seemed able to be on -both sides at the same time.</p> - -<p>Perhaps it was a secret consciousness of the singular -position of Nevilton, planted, as it were, between -two streams of opposing legend, that originally led -Mr. Taxater to take up his abode in so secluded -a spot.</p> - -<p>It is impossible to tell. In this as in all other -transactions of his life he combined an unworldly -simplicity with a Machiavellian astuteness. If the -Day of Judgment revealed him as being on the side -of the angels, it might also reveal him as having -exercised, in the microcosmic Nevilton drama, as -well as in his wider sphere, one of the most subtle -influences against the Powers of Darkness that those -Powers ever encountered in their invisible activity.</p> - -<p>At the moment when the present narrative takes -up the woven threads of these various persons’ lives<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> -there seemed every prospect that in external nature -at least there was going to be an auspicious and -halcyon season. June had opened with abnormal -pleasantness. Exquisite odours were in the air, -wafted from woods and fields and gardens. White -dust, alternating with tender spots of coolness where -the shadows of trees fell, lent the roads in the -vicinity that leisured gala-day expectancy which -one notes in the roads of France and Spain, but -which is so rare in England.</p> - -<p>It seemed almost as though the damp sub-soil -of the place had relaxed its malign influence; as -though the yellow clay in the churchyard had -ceased its calling for victims; and as though the -brooding monster in the sunset, from which every -day half the men of the village returned with their -spades and picks, had put aside, as irrelevant to a -new and kindlier epoch, its ancient hostility to the -Christian dwellers in that quiet valley.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III<br /> -<span class="smaller">OLYMPIAN CONSPIRACY</span></h2> - -<p>The depths of Mr. Romer’s mind, as he paced -up and down the Leonian pavement under the -east front of his house on one of the early days -of this propitious June, were seething with predatory -projects. The last of the independent quarries on the -Hill had just fallen into his hands after a legal process -of more than usual chicanery, conducted in person -by the invaluable Mr. Lickwit.</p> - -<p>He was now occupied in pushing through Parliament -a bill for the reduction of railway freight -charges, so that the expense of carrying his stone to -its various destinations might be materially reduced. -But it was not only of financial power that he thought -as the smell of the roses from the sun-baked walls -floated in upon him across the garden.</p> - -<p>The man’s commercial preoccupations had not by -any means, as so often happens, led to the atrophy -of his more personal instincts.</p> - -<p>His erotic appetite, for instance, remained as -insatiable as ever. Age did not dull, nor finance -wither, that primordial craving. The aphrodisiac instincts -in Mortimer Romer were, however, much less -simple than might be supposed.</p> - -<p>In this hyper-sensual region he had more claim -to artistic subtlety than his enemies realized. He -rarely allowed himself the direct expansion of frank<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> -and downright lasciviousness. His little pleasures -were indirect, elaborate, far-fetched.</p> - -<p>He afforded really the interesting spectacle of -one whose mind was normal, energetic, dynamic; -but whose senses were slow, complicated, fastidious. -He was a formidable forward-marching machine, with -a heart of elaborate perversity. He was a thick-skinned -philistine with the sensuality of a sybarite.</p> - -<p>I do not mean to imply that there was any lack -of rapacity in the senses of Mr. Romer. His senses -were indeed unfathomable in their devouring depths. -But they were liable to fantastic caprices. They -were not the simple animal senses of a Gothic barbarian. -They assumed imperial contortions.</p> - -<p>The main eccentricity of the erotic tendencies of -this remarkable man lay in the elaborate pleasure he -derived from his sense of power. The actual lure of -the flesh had little attraction for him. What pleased -him was a slow tightening of his grip upon people—upon -their wills, their freedom, their personality.</p> - -<p>Any impression a person might make upon Mr. -Romer’s senses was at once transformed into a -desire to have that person absolutely at his mercy. -The thought that he held such a one reduced to -complete spiritual helplessness alone satisfied him.</p> - -<p>The first time he had encountered Lacrima Traffio -he had been struck by her appealing eyes, her fragile -figure, her frightened gestures. Deep in his perverted -heart he had desired her; but his desire, under the -psychic law I have endeavoured to explain, quickly -resolved itself into a resolution to take possession -of her, not as his mistress, but as his slave.</p> - -<p>Nor did the subtle elaboration of his perversity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> -stop there. It were easy and superficial to dominate -in his own person so helpless a dependent. What -was less easy was to reduce her to submission to -the despotic caprices of his daughter, a girl only a -few years older than herself.</p> - -<p>The enjoyment of a sense of vicarious power was -a satisfaction curiously provocative to his predatory -craving. Nor did subtlety of the situation stop at -that point. It was not only necessary that the girl -who attracted him should be at his daughter’s -mercy; it was necessary that his daughter should -not be unconscious of the rôle she herself played. -It was necessary that they should be in a sense -confederates in this game of cat-and-mouse.</p> - -<p>As Mr. Romer paced the terrace of his imposing -mansion a yet profounder triumph presented itself -in the recesses of his imperial nature.</p> - -<p>He had lately introduced into his “entourage” a -certain brother-in-law of his, the widower of his -sister, a man named John Goring. This individual -was of a much simpler, grosser type than the recondite -quarry-owner. He was, indeed, no more than -a narrow-minded, insolent, avaricious animal. He -lacked even the superficial gentility of his formidable -relation. Nor had his concentrated but unintelligent -avarice brought him, so far, any great wealth. He -still remained, in spite of Romer’s help, what he -had been born, an English farmer of unpropitiating -manners and supernal greed.</p> - -<p>The Promoter of Companies was, however, not -unaware, any more than was Augustus Cæsar, of -the advantage accruing to a despot from the possession -of devoted, if unattractive, tools; and contemptuously<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> -risking the shock to his social prestige of -such an apparition in the neighborhood, he had -secured Mr. Goring as a permanent tenant of the -largest farm on his estate. This was no other than -the Priory Farm, with its gentle monastic memories. -What the last Prior of Nevilton would have thought -could he have left his grave under St. Catharine’s -altar and reappeared among his dove-cotes it is -distressing to surmise. He would doubtless have -drawn from the sight of John Goring a profoundly -edifying moral as to the results of royal interference -with Christ’s Holy Church. Nor is it likely -that an encounter with Mr. Romer himself would -have caused less astonishment to his mediæval -spirit. He would, indeed, have recognized that what -is now called Progress is no mere scientific phrase; -but a most devastating reality. He would have -found that Nevilton had “progressed” very far. He -would have believed that the queer stone-devils that -his monks had carved, half emerging from the eaves -of the church-roof, had got quite loose and gone -abroad among men. Had he probed, in the manner -of clairvoyant saints, the troubled recesses of Mr. -Romer’s mind as that gentleman inhaled the sweet -noon air, he would have cried aloud his indignation -and made the sign of the cross as if over a mortuary -of spiritual decomposition.</p> - -<p>For as the mid-day sun of that hot June morning -culminated, and the clear hard shadows fell, sharp -and thin, upon the orange-tinted pavement, it entered -Mr. Romer’s head that he might make a more -personal use of his farmer-brother than had until -now been possible.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p> - -<p>With this idea in his brain he entered the house -and sought his wife in her accustomed place at the -corner of the large reception-hall. He sat down -forthright by the side of her mahogany table and -lit a cigar. As Mr. Romer was the species of male -animal that might be written down in the guidebook -of some Martian visitor as “the cigar-smoking -variety” his wife would have taken her place among -“the sedentary knitting ones.”</p> - -<p>She was a large, fair, plump, woman, as smooth -and pallid as her husband was grizzled and ruddy. -Her obsequious deference to her lord’s views was only -surpassed by her lethargic animal indolence. She -was like a great, tame, overgrown, white-skinned -Puma. Her eyes had the greenish tint of feline eyes, -and something of their daylight contraction. Her -use of spectacles did not modify this tendency, but -rather increased it; for the effect of the round glass -orbs pushed up upon her forehead was to enhance -the malicious gleam of the little narrow-lidded slits -that peered out beneath them.</p> - -<p>It may be imagined with what weary and ironical -detachment the solemn historic portraits of the ancient -Seldoms—for the pictures and furniture had been -sold with the house—looked out from their gilded -frames upon these ambiguous intruders. But neither -husband nor wife felt the least touch of “compunctuous -visiting” as they made themselves at ease under -that immense contempt.</p> - -<p>“I have been thinking,” said Mr. Romer, puffing -a thick cloud of defiant smoke into the air, so that -it went sailing up to the very feet of a delicate -Reynolds portrait; “I have been thinking that I am<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> -really quite unjustified in going on with that allowance -to Quincunx. He ought to realize that he has -completely exhausted the money your aunt left him. -He ought to face the situation, instead of quietly -accepting our gift as if it were his right. And they -tell me he does not even keep a civil tongue in his -head. Lickwit was only complaining the other day -about his tampering with our workmen. He has -been going about for some time with those damned -Andersen fellows, and no doubt encouraging them in -their confounded impertinence.</p> - -<p>“I don’t like the man, my dear;—that is the plain -truth. I have never liked him; and he has certainly -never even attempted to conceal his dislike of me.”</p> - -<p>“He is very polite to your face, Mortimer,” murmured -the lady.</p> - -<p>“Exactly,” Mr. Romer rejoined, “to my face he is -more than polite. He is obsequious; he is cringing. -But behind my back—damn him!—the rascal is -a rattlesnake.”</p> - -<p>“Well, dear, no doubt it has all worked out for -the best”; purred the plump woman, softly counting -the threads of her knitting. “You were in need of -Aunt’s money at the time—in great need of it.”</p> - -<p>“I know I was,” replied the Promoter of Companies, -“I know I was; and he knows I was. That -is why I have been giving him six per cent on what -he lent me. But the fellow has had more than -that. He has had more by this time than the whole -original sum; and I tell you, Susan, it’s got to end;—it’s -got to end here, now, and forever!”</p> - -<p>Mr. Romer’s cigar-smoke had now floated up above -the feet of the Reynolds Portrait and was invading<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> -its gentle and melancholy face. It was a portrait -of a young girl in the court-dress of the time, but -with such pathetic nun-like features that it was -clear that little Vennie was not the only one of her -race to have grown weary of this rough world.</p> - -<p>“It is a providential thing, dear,” whispered the -knitting female, “that there were no horrid documents -drawn up about that money. Maurice cannot -impose upon us in that way.”</p> - -<p>“He is doing worse,” answered her husband. “He -is imposing upon us on the strength of a disgusting -sort of sickly sentiment. He has had all his money -back and more; and he knows he has. But he wants -to go on living on my money while he abuses me -on every occasion. Do you know, he even preaches -in that confounded social meeting? I shall have that -affair put a stop to, one of these days. It is only an -excuse for spreading dissatisfaction in the village. -Lickwit has complained to me about it more than -once. He says that Socialistic scoundrel Wone is -simply using the meeting to canvass for his election. -You know he is going to stand, in place of Sir -Herbert Ratcliffe? What the Liberal Party is doing -I cannot conceive—pandering to these slimy windbags! -And your blessed relation backs him up. The -thing is monstrous, outrageous! Here am I, allowing -this fellow a hundred a year to live in idleness; and -he is plotting against me at my very doorstep.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps he does not know that the Conservative -member is going to retire in your favour,” insinuated -the lady.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> -<p>“Know? Of course he knows! All the village -knows. All the country knows. You can never hide -things of that kind. He knows, and he is deliberately -working against me.”</p> - -<p>“It would be nice if he could get a place as a -clerk,” suggested Mr. Quincunx’s relative, pensively. -“It certainly does not seem fair that you, who work -so hard for the money you make, should support him -in complete idleness.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Romer looked at her thoughtfully, knocking -the ashes from his cigar. “I believe you have hit -it there, my dear,” he said. Then he smiled in a -manner peculiarly malignant. “Yes, it would be very -nice if he could get a place as a clerk—a place -where he would have plenty of simple office work—a -place where he would be kept to his desk, and not -allowed to roam the country corrupting honest workmen. -Yes, you are quite right, Susan; a clerk’s -place is what this Quincunx wants. And, by Heaven, -what he shall have! I’ll bring the affair to a head -at once. I’ll put it to him that your aunt’s money is -at an end, and that I have already paid him back -in full all that he lent me. I’ll put it to him that -he is now in my debt. In fact, that he is now -entirely dependent on me to the tune of a hundred -a year. And I’ll explain to him that he must either -go out into the world and shift for himself, as better -men than he have had to do, or enter Lickwit’s -office, either in Yeoborough or on the Hill.”</p> - -<p>“He will enter the office, Mortimer,” murmured -the lady; “he will enter the office. Maurice is not -the man to emigrate, or do anything of that kind. -Besides he has a reason”—here her voice became -so extremely mellifluous that it might almost be -said to have liquefied—“to stay in Nevilton.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p> - -<p>“What’s this?” cried Romer, getting up and throwing -his cigar out of the window. “You don’t mean -to tell me—eh?—that this scarecrow is in love -with Gladys?”</p> - -<p>The lady purred softly and replaced her spectacles. -“Oh dear no! What an idea! Oh certainly, certainly -not! But Gladys, you know, is not the only girl in -Nevilton.”</p> - -<p>“Who the devil is it then? Not Vennie Seldom, -surely?”</p> - -<p>“Look nearer, Mortimer, look nearer”; murmured -the lady with sibilant sweetness.</p> - -<p>“Not Lacrima! You don’t mean to say—”</p> - -<p>“Why, dear, you needn’t be so surprised. You -look more angry than if it had been Gladys herself. -Yes, of course it is Lacrima. Hadn’t you observed -it? But you dear men are so stupid, aren’t you, in -these things?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Romer rubbed one white hand over the -other; and beamed upon her husband through her -spectacles.</p> - -<p>Mr. Romer frowned. “But the Traffio girl is so, -so—you know what I mean.”</p> - -<p>“So quiet and unimpressionable. Ah! my dear, -it is just these quiet girls who are the very ones to -be enjoying themselves on the sly.”</p> - -<p>“How far has this thing gone, Susan?”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> -<p>“Oh you needn’t get excited, Mortimer. It has not -really ‘gone’ anywhere. It has hardly begun. In -fact I have not the least authority for saying that -she cares for him at all. I think she does a little, -though. I <em>think</em> she does. But one never can tell. -I can, however, give you my word that he cares for -her. And that is what we were talking about, weren’t -we?”</p> - -<p>“I shall pack him off to my office in London,” -said Mr. Romer.</p> - -<p>“He wouldn’t go, my dear. I tell you he wouldn’t -go.”</p> - -<p>“But he can’t live on nothing.”</p> - -<p>“He can. He will. Sooner than leave Nevilton -Maurice would eat grass. He would become lay-reader -or something. He would sponge on Mrs. -Seldom.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then he shall walk to Yeoborough and -back every day. That will cool his blood for him.”</p> - -<p>“That will do him a great deal of good, dear; a -great deal of good. Auntie always used to say that -Maurice ought to take more exercise.”</p> - -<p>“Lickwit will exercise him! Make no mistake about -that.”</p> - -<p>“How you do look round you, dear, in all these -things! How impossible it is for anyone to fool <em>you</em>, -Mortimer!”</p> - -<p>As Mrs. Romer uttered these words she glanced -up at the Reynolds portrait above their heads, as -if half-suspecting that such fawning flattery would -bring down the mockery of the little Lady-in-Waiting.</p> - -<p>“I can’t help thinking Lacrima would make a very -good wife to some hard-working sensible man,” -Mr. Romer remarked.</p> - -<p>His lady looked a little puzzled. “It would be -difficult to find so suitable a companion for Gladys,” -she said.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> -<p>“Oh, of course I don’t mean till Gladys is married,” -said the quarry-owner quickly. “By the way, when -<em>is</em> she going to accept that young fool of an -Ilminster?”</p> - -<p>“All in good time, my dear, all in good time,” -purred his wife. “He has not proposed to her yet.”</p> - -<p>“It’s very curious,” remarked Mr. Romer pensively, -“that a young man of such high connections should -<em>wish</em> to marry our daughter.”</p> - -<p>“What things you say, Mortimer! Isn’t Gladys -going to inherit all this property? Don’t you suppose -that a younger son of Lord Tintinhull would -jump at the idea of being master of this house?”</p> - -<p>“He won’t be master of it while <em>I</em> live,” said Mr. -Romer grimly.</p> - -<p>“In my opinion he never will be”; added the lady. -“I don’t think Gladys really intends to accept him.”</p> - -<p>“She’ll marry somebody, I hope?” said the master -sharply.</p> - -<p>“O yes she’ll marry, soon enough. Only it’ll be a -cleverer man, and a richer man, than young Ilminster.”</p> - -<p>“Have you any other pleasant little romance to -fling at me?”</p> - -<p>“O no. But I know what our dear Gladys is. I -know what she is looking out for.”</p> - -<p>“When she does marry,” said Mr. Romer, “we -shall have to think seriously what is to become of -Lacrima. Look here, my dear,”—it was wonderful, -the pleasant ejaculatory manner in which this flash -of inspiration was thrown out,—“why not marry -her to John? She would be just the person for a -farmer’s wife.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Romer, to do her justice, showed signs of -being a little shocked at this proposal.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p> - -<p>“But John,”—she stammered;—“John—is not—exactly—a -marrying person, is he?”</p> - -<p>“He is—what I wish him to be”; was her husband’s -haughty answer.</p> - -<p>“Oh well, of course, dear, it’s as you think best. -Certainly”—the good woman could not resist this -little thrust—“it’s John’s only chance of marrying -a lady. For Lacrima is <em>that</em>—with all her faults.”</p> - -<p>“I shall talk to John about it”; said the Promoter -of Companies. Feline thing though she was, Susan -Romer could not refrain from certain inward qualms -when she thought of the fragile hyper-sensitive Italian -in the embraces of John Goring. What on earth set -her husband dreaming of such a thing? But he was -subject to strange caprices now and then; and it was -more dangerous to balk him in these things than in his -most elaborate financial plots. She had found that -out already. So, on the present occasion, she made -no further remark, than a reiterated—“How you do -look all round you, Mortimer! It is not easy for -anyone to fool <em>you</em>.”</p> - -<p>She rose from her seat and collected her knitting. -“I must go and see where Gladys is,” she said.</p> - -<p>Mr. Romer followed her to the door, and went out -again upon the terrace. The little nun-like Lady-in-Waiting -looked steadily out across the room, her -pinched attenuated features expressing nothing but -patient weariness of all the ways of this mortal world.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV<br /> -<span class="smaller">REPRISALS FROM BELOW</span></h2> - -<p>It was approaching the moment consecrated to -the close of the day’s labour in the stone-works -by Nevilton railway-station. The sky was -cloudless; the air windless. It was one of those -magical arrests of the gliding feet of time, which -afternoons in June sometimes bring with them, holding -back, as it were, all living processes of life, in -sweet and lingering suspense. The steel tracks of the -railway-line glittered in the sun. In the fields, that -sloped away beyond them, the browsing cattle wore -that unruffled air of abysmal indifference, which seems -to make one day in their sight to be as a thousand -years. To these placid earth-children, drawing the -centuries together in solemn continuity, the tribes of -men and their turbulent drama were but as vapours -that came and went. The high elms in the hedges -had already assumed that dark monotonous foliage -which gives to their patient stillness on such a day -an atmosphere of monumental expectancy. A flock -of newly-sheared sheep, clean and shining in the hot -sun, drifted in crowded procession down the narrow -road, leaving a cloud of white dust behind them that -remained stationary in the air long after they had -passed. In the open stone-yard close to the road the -brothers Andersen were working together, chipping -and hammering with bare arms at an enormous Leonian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> -slab, carving its edges into delicate mouldings. -The younger of the two wore no hat, and his closely -clipped fair curls and loose shirt open at the throat, -lent him, as he moved about his work with easy -gestures, a grace and charm well adapted to that -auspicious hour.</p> - -<p>A more sombre form by his brother’s side, his broad -brimmed hat low down over his forehead, the elder -Andersen went on with his carving, in imperturbable -morose absorption.</p> - -<p>Watching them with languid interest, their arms -linked together, stood the figures of two girls. The -yellow dust from the sandstone rose intermittently -into the air, mingling with the white dust from the -road and settling, as it sank earthward, upon the -leaves of the yet unbudded knapweed and scabious -which grew in the thin dusty grass.</p> - -<p>Between Gladys and her cousin—for the girls had -wandered as far as this in search of distraction after -their lazy tea on the great lawn—a curious contrast -was now displayed.</p> - -<p>Gladys, with slow provocative interest, was intent -on every movement of Luke’s graceful figure. Lacrima’s -attention wandered wistfully away, to the -cattle and the orchards, and then to the sheep, which -now were being penned in a low line of spacious -railway trucks.</p> - -<p>Luke himself was by no means unaware of the -condescending interest of his master’s daughter. He -paused in his work once or twice. He turned up his -shirt-sleeves still higher. He bent down, to blow -away the dust from the moulding he had made. -Something very like a flash of amorous admiration<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> -passed across his blue eyes as he permitted them slyly -to wander from Gladys’ head to her waist, and from -her waist to her shoes. She certainly was an alluring -figure as she stood there in her thin white dress. The -hand which pulled her skirt away from the dust -showed as soft and warm as if it were pleading for a -caress, and the rounded contours of her bosom looked -as if they had ripened with the early peaches, under -the walls of her stately garden. She presently unlinked -her arm from her companion’s, and sliding it -softly round Lacrima’s side drew the girl close against -her. As she did this she permitted a slow amorous -glance of deliberate tantalization to play upon the -young carver. How well Luke Andersen knew that -especial device of maidens when they are together—that -way they have of making their playful, innocent -caresses such a teasing incentive! And Luke knew -well how to answer all this. Nothing could have -surpassed in subtle diplomacy the manner in which -he responded, without responding, to the amorous -girl’s overtures. He let her realize that he himself -understood precisely the limits of the situation; that -she was perfectly at liberty to enter a mock-flirtation -with him, without the remotest risk of any “faux -pas” on his part spoiling the delicacy of their relations.</p> - -<p>What was indeed obvious to her, without the necessity -of any such unspoken protestation, was the fact -that he found her eminently desirable. Nor did her -pride as “the girl up at the house” quarrel with her -vanity as the simple object of Luke’s admiration. -She wanted him to desire her as a girl;—to desire -her to madness. And then she wanted to flout him, -with her pretensions as a lady. This particular<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> -occasion was by no means the first time she had -drifted casually down the vicarage hill and lingered -beside the stone-cutters. It was, however, an epoch -in their curious relations. For the first time since -she had been attracted to him, she deliberately moved -close up to the stone he worked at, and entered into -conversation. While this occurred, Lacrima, released -from her rôle as the accomplice of amorous teasing, -wandered away, picking listlessly the first red poppies -of the year, which though less flaunting in -their bold splendour than those of her childhood’s -memories, were at least the same immortal classical -flowers.</p> - -<p>As she bent down in this assuaging pastime, letting -her thoughts wander so far from Nevilton and its -tyrants, Lacrima became suddenly conscious that -James Andersen had laid down his tools, resumed his -coat, and was standing by her side.</p> - -<p>“A beautiful evening, Miss”; he said respectfully, -holding his hat in his hand and regarding her with -grave gentleness.</p> - -<p>“Yes, isn’t it?” she answered at once; and then -was silent; while a sigh she could not suppress rose -from the depths of her heart. For her thoughts -reverted to another fair evening, in the days when -England was no more than a name; and a sudden -overpowering longing for kind voices, and the shadows -of olives on warm hill-sides, rushed, like a wave, over -her.</p> - -<p>“This must be near the Angelus-hour,” she thought; -and somehow the dark grave eyes of the man beside -her and his swarthy complexion made her think -of those familiar forms that used to pass driving<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> -their goats before them up the rocky paths of the -Apennine range.</p> - -<p>“You are unhappy, Miss,” said James in a low -voice; and these words, the only ones of genuine -personal tenderness, except for poor Maurice’s, that -had struck her sense for the last twelve months, -brought tears to her eyes. Vennie Seldom had -spoken kindly to her; but—God knows—there is a -difference between the kindness even of the gentlest -saint and this direct spontaneous outflow of one -heart to another. She smiled; a little mournful smile.</p> - -<p>“Yes; I was thinking of my own country,” she -murmured.</p> - -<p>“You are an Italian, Miss; I know it”; continued -Andersen, instinctively leading her further away from -the two golden heads that now were bending so close -together over the Leonian stone.</p> - -<p>“I often think of Italy,” he went on; “I think I -should be at home in Italy. I love everything I hear -of it, everything I read of it. It comes from my -mother, this feeling. She was a lady, you know Miss, -as well born as any and with a passionate love of -books. She used to read Dante in that little ‘Temple’ -Series, which perhaps you have seen, with the -Italian on one side and the English on the other. I -never look at that book without thinking of her.”</p> - -<p>“You have many books yourself, I expect,—Mr.—Andersen. -You see I know your name.” And -Lacrima smiled, the first perfectly happy smile she -had been betrayed into for many months.</p> - -<p>“It is not a very nice name,” said James, a little -plaintively. “I wish I had a name like yours Miss—Traffio.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Why, I think yours is quite as nice,” she answered -gravely. “It makes me think of the man who wrote -the fairy stories.”</p> - -<p>James Andersen frowned, “I don’t like fairy -stories,” he said almost gruffly. “They tease and fret -me. I like Thomas Hardy’s books. Do you know -Thomas Hardy?” Lacrima made a little involuntary -gesture of depreciation. As a matter of fact her -reading, until very lately, had been as conventual as -that of a young nun. Vennie Seldom or the demure -Reynolds girl could not have been more innocent of -the darker side of literature. Hardy’s books she had -seen in the hands of Gladys, and the association -repelled her. Pathetically anxious to brush away this -little cloud, she began hurriedly talking to her new -friend of Italy; of its cities, its sea-coasts, its monasteries, -its churches. James Andersen listened with -reverential attention, every now and then asking a -question which showed how deeply his mother’s love -of the classical country had sunk into his nature.</p> - -<p>By this time they had wandered along the road as -far as a little stone bridge with low parapets which -crosses there a muddy Somersetshire stream. From -this point the road rises quite steeply to the beginning -of the vicarage garden. Leaning against the parapet -of the little bridge, and looking back, they saw to -their surprise that Gladys and Luke had not only not -followed them but had completely disappeared.</p> - -<p>The last of the unskilled workmen from the sheds, -trailing up the road together laughing and chatting, -turned when they passed, and gazed back, as our -two companions were doing, at the work-shops -they had left, acknowledging Lacrima’s gentle “good-night”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> -with a rather shifty salutation.—This girl -was after all only a dependent like themselves.—They -had hardly gone many steps before they burst -into a loud rough guffaw of rustic impertinence.</p> - -<p>Lacrima struck the ground nervously with her -parasol. “What has happened?” she asked; “where -has Gladys gone?”</p> - -<p>James Andersen shrugged his shoulders, “I expect -they have wandered into the shed,” he rejoined, “to -look at my brother’s work there.”</p> - -<p>She glanced nervously up and down the road; -gave a quaint little sigh and made an expressive -gesture with her hands as if disclaiming all responsibility -for her cousin’s doings. Then, quite suddenly, -she smiled at Andersen with a delicious childish smile -that transfigured her face.</p> - -<p>“Well, I am glad I am not left alone at any rate,” -she said.</p> - -<p>“I have a presentiment,” the stone-cutter answered, -“that this is not the last time you will be -thrown upon my poor company.”</p> - -<p>The girl blushed, and smiled confidingly. Her -manner was the manner of a child, who has at last -found a safe protector. Then all of a sudden she -became very grave. “I hope,” she said, “that you -are one of the people who are kind to Mr. Quincunx. -He is a <em>great</em> friend of mine.”</p> - -<p>Never had the melancholy intimation, that one -could not hope to hold anything but the second place -in a woman’s heart, been more tenderly or more -directly conveyed!</p> - -<p>James Andersen bowed his head.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p> -<p>“Mr. Quincunx has always been very kind to <em>me</em>,” -he said, “and certainly, after what you say, I shall -do all in my power to help him. But I can do very -little. I believe Mrs. Seldom understands him better -than anyone else.”</p> - -<p>He had hardly finished speaking when the figures -of two men made themselves visible opposite the -back entrance of the vicarage. They were leisurely -strolling down the road, and every now and then they -would pause, as if the interest of their conversation -was more than the interest of the way.</p> - -<p>“Why! There <em>is</em> Mr. Quincunx,” cried the Italian; -and she made an instinctive movement as if to put a -little further space between herself and her companion. -“Who is that person with him?” she added.</p> - -<p>“It looks like George Wone,” answered the stone-cutter. -“Yes, it is George; and he is talking as -usual at the top of his voice. You’d suppose he -wanted to be heard by all Nevilton.”</p> - -<p>Lacrima hesitated and looked very embarrassed. -She evidently did not know whether to advance in -the direction of the new-comers or to remain where -she was. Andersen came to her rescue.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps,” said he, “it would be better if I went -back and told Miss Romer you are waiting for her.” -Lacrima gave him a quick glance of responsive -gratitude.</p> - -<p>“O, that would be really kind of you, Mr. Andersen,” -she said.</p> - -<p>The moment he had gone, however, she felt annoyed -that she had let him go. It looked so odd, she -thought, his leaving her so suddenly, directly Maurice -came on the scene. Besides, what would Gladys say -at this interruption of her pleasure? She would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> -suppose she had done it out of pure spitefulness! -The moments seemed very long to her as she waited -at the little bridge, tracing indecipherable hieroglyphics -in the dust with the end of her parasol. -She kept her eyes steadily fixed on the tall retreating -figure of the stone-cutter as he slouched with his long -shambling stride towards the work-shop. The two -men were not, however, really long in approaching. -Maurice had seen her from the beginning, and his -replies to Mr. Wone’s oratory had grown proportionally -brief.</p> - -<p>When they reached her, the girl shook hands with -Maurice and bowed rather coldly to Mr. Wone. -That gentleman was not however in the least quelled -or suppressed. It was one of his most marked -characteristics to have absolutely no consciousness of -season or situation. When less clever people would -have wished the earth to swallow them up, Mr. Wone -remained imperviously self-satisfied. Having exchanged -greetings, Lacrima hastened to explain that -she was waiting at this spot till Miss Romer should -rejoin her. “Luke Andersen is showing her his -work,” she said, “and James has gone to tell her I am -waiting.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Wone became voluble at this. “It is a shame -to keep a young lady like yourself waiting in the -middle of the road.” He turned to Mr. Quincunx.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> -“We must not say all we think, must we? But -begging this young lady’s pardon, it is just like the -family. No consideration! No consideration for -anyone! It is the same with his treatment of the -poor. I am talking of Mr. Romer, you know, Miss. -I would say the same thing to his face. Why is it -that hard-working clever fellows, like these Andersens -for instance, should do all the labour, and he get all -the profits? It isn’t fair. It’s unjust. It’s an insult -to God’s beautiful earth, which is free to all.” He -paused to take breath, and looked to Maurice for -confirmation of his words.</p> - -<p>“You are quite right, Wone; you are quite right,” -muttered the recluse in his beard, furtively glancing -at Lacrima.</p> - -<p>Mr. Wone continued his discourse, making large -and eloquent allusion to the general relations in -England between employer and employed, and implying -plainly enough his full knowledge that at least -one of his hearers belonged to the latter class. His -air, as he spoke, betrayed a certain disordered fanaticism, -quite genuine and deeply felt, but queerly -mingled with an indescribable element of complacent -self-conceit. Lacrima, in spite of considerable sympathy -with much that he said, felt that there was, in -the man himself, something so slipshod, so limp, so -vague, and so patently vulgar, that both her respect -for his sincerity and her interest in his opinions were -reduced to nothing. Not only was he narrow-minded -and ignorant; but there was also about him, in spite -of the aggressive violence of his expressions, an odd -sort of deprecatory, apologetic air, as though he were -perpetually endeavouring to cajole his audience, by -tacit references to his deferential respect for them. -There was indeed more than a little in him of the sleek -unction of the nonconformist preacher; and one could -well understand how he might combine, precisely as -Mr. Lickwit suspected, the divergent functions of the -politician and the evangelist.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I tell you,” he was saying, “the country will not -long put up with this sort of thing. There is a movement, -a tendency, a volcanic upheaval, a stirring of -waters, which these plutocrats do not realize. There -is a surging up from the depths of—of—” He -paused for a word.</p> - -<p>“Of mud,” murmured Mr. Quincunx.</p> - -<p>“—Of righteous revolt against these atrocious inequalities! -The working people are asleep no longer. -They’re roused. The movement’s begun. The thunder’s -gathering on the horizon. The armies of the -exploited are feeling the impulse of their own strength, -of that noble, that splendid anger, which, when it is -conceived, will bring forth—will bring forth—”</p> - -<p>“Damnation,” murmured Mr. Quincunx.</p> - -<p>The three figures as they stood, thus consorted, -on the little stone bridge, made up a dramatic group. -The sinking sun threw their shadows in long wavering -lines upon the white road, distorting them to so -grotesque a length that they nearly reached the open -gates of the station.</p> - -<p>Human shadows! What a queer half-mocking commentary -they make upon the vanity of our passionate -excitements, roused by anything, quieted by -nothing, as the world moves round!</p> - -<p>Lacrima, in her shadow, was not beautiful at all. -She was an elongated wisp of darkness. The beard -of Mr. Quincunx looked as if it belonged to a mammoth -goat, and the neck of Mr. Wone seemed to -support, not a human cranium at all, but a round, -wagging mushroom.</p> - -<p>The hushed fields on each side of the way began to -assume that magical softness which renders them,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> -at such an hour, insubstantial, unreal, remote, transformed. -One felt as though the earth might indeed -be worthy of better destinies than those that traced -their fantastic trails up and down its peaceful surface. -Something deeply withheld, seemed as though it only -needed the coming of one god-like spirit to set it free -forever, and, with it, all the troubled hearts of men. -It was one of those moments which, whether the participants -in them recognize them or not, at the actual -time, are bound to recur, long afterwards, to their -memory.</p> - -<p>Lacrima, half-listening to Mr. Wone, kept her head -anxiously turned in the direction of the sheds, into -one of which she had observed James Andersen enter.</p> - -<p>Maurice Quincunx, his mood clogged and clotted -by jealousy, watched her with great melancholy grey -eyes, while with his nervous fingers he plucked at his -beard.</p> - -<p>“The time is coming—the time is coming”; cried -Mr. Wone, striking with the back of his fist, the -parapet against which he leaned, “when this exploitation -of the poor by the rich will end once for all!” -The warmth of his feeling was so great, that large -drops of sweat trickled down his sallow cheeks, and -hanging for a moment at the end of his narrow chin, -fell into the dust. The man was genuinely moved; -though in his watery blue eyes no trace of any fire -was visible. He looked, in his emotion, like an -hypnotized sick person, talking in the stress of a -morbid fever. It was the revolt of one who carried -the obsequious slavery of generations in his blood, -and could only rebel in galvanized moribund spasms. -The fellow was unpleasing, uninspiring: not the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> -savage leader of a race of stern revolutionary devotees -fired by the iron logic of their cause, but the inchoate -inarticulate voice of clumsy protest, apologizing and -propitiating, even while it protested. The vulgarity -and meanness of the candidate’s tone made one -wonder how such a one as he could ever have been -selected by the obscure working of the Spirit of Sacrifice, -to undertake this titanic struggle against the -Spirit of Power. One turned away instinctively from -his febrile rhetoric, to cast involuntary incense at the -feet of the masterful enemy he opposed. He had no -reticence in his enthusiasm, no reserve, no decency.</p> - -<p>“You may perhaps not know,” he blundered on; -“that the General Election is much nearer than people -think. Mr. Romer will find this out; he will find it -out; he will find it out! I have good authority -for what I say. I speak of what I know, young -lady.” This was said rather severely, for Lacrima’s -attention was so obviously wandering.—“Of course -you will not breathe a word of this, up there,”—he -nodded in the direction of the House. “It -would not do. But the truth is, he is making a great -mistake. I am prepared for this campaign, and he -is not. He is even thinking of reducing the men’s -wages still further. The fool—the fool—the fool! -For he <em>is</em> a fool, you know, though he thinks he is so -clever.”</p> - -<p>Even Mr. Wone would scarcely have dared to -utter these bold asseverations in the ear of Gladys -Romer’s cousin, if Maurice’s innate indiscretion had -not made it the gossip of the village that the Italian -was ill-treated “among those people.” To the -pathetic man’s poor vulgar turn of mind there was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> -something soothing in this confidential abuse of the -lord of Nevilton Manor to his own relation. It had -a squalid piquancy. It was itself a sort of revenge.</p> - -<p>Once more he began his spasmodic enunciation of -those sad economic platitudes that are the refuge of -the oppressed; but Mr. Quincunx had crossed the -road, in the pursuit of a decrepit tiger-moth, and was -listening no more. Lacrima’s attention was completely -withdrawn.</p> - -<p>“Well, dear friends,” he concluded, “I must really -be getting back to my supper. Mrs. Wone will be -unbearable if I am late.” He hesitated a moment -as if wondering whether the occasion called for any -further domestic jocosity, to let these high matters -lightly down to earth; but he contented himself with -shaking hands with Mr. Quincunx and removing his -hat to Lacrima.</p> - -<p>“Good night, dear friends,” he repeated, drifting -off, up the road, humming a hymn tune.</p> - -<p>“Poor man!” whispered the girl, “he means well.”</p> - -<p>“He ought to be shot!” was the unexpected response -of the hermit of Dead Man’s Cottage, as he -let the tiger-moth flutter down into the edge of the -field. “He is no better than the rest. He is an -idiot. He ought to learn Latin.”</p> - -<p>They moved together towards the station.</p> - -<p>“I don’t like the way you agree with people to -their face,” said Lacrima, “and abuse them behind -their backs.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t like the way you hang about the roads -with handsome stone-cutters,” was Mr. Quincunx’s -surly retort.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, a quite interesting little drama had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> -been unfolding itself in the neighbourhood of the -half-carved block of sandstone. Instructed, by a -swift flash of perception, into what the situation -implied, Luke’s quick magnetic fingers soon drew -from his companion’s an electric responsive clasp, as -they leant together over the mouldings. The warmth -and pliable softness of the girl’s body seemed to -challenge the man with intimations of how quickly it -would yield. He pointed to the shed-door, wide open -behind them.</p> - -<p>“I will show you my work, in there, in a moment,” -he murmured, “as soon as they have gone.”</p> - -<p>Her breast rose and fell under the increased excitement -of her breathing. Violent quivers ran up and -down her frame and communicated themselves to -him. Their hearts beat fiercely in reciprocal agitation. -Luke’s voice, as he continued his conventional -summary of the quality and destination of the stone, -shook a little, and sounded queer and detached.</p> - -<p>“It is for Shaftesbury church,” he said, “for the -base of the column that supports the arch. This -particular moulding is one which my father designed. -You must remember that upon it will rest a great -deal of the weight of the roof.”</p> - -<p>His fellow workmen had now collected their tools -and were shuffling nervously past them. It required -all Gladys’ sang-froid to give them the casual nod due -from the daughter of the House to those who laboured -in its service. As soon as they were well upon their -way, with a quick glance at the distant figures of -Lacrima and James, Gladys turned rapidly to her -companion.</p> - -<p>“Show me,” she said.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p> - -<p>He went before her and stood in the entrance of -the work-shop. When she had passed him into its -interior, he casually closed behind them one of the -rough folding doors. The contrast from the horizontal -sun outside, turning the sandstone blocks into -ruddy gold, to the shadowy twilight within, was -strangely emphatic. He began to speak; saying he -hardly knew what—some kind of stammered nonsense -about the bases and capitals and carved mouldings -that lay around them. But Gladys, true to her -feminine prerogative, swept all this aside. With a -bold audacity she began at once.</p> - -<p>“How nice to be alone and free, for a little while!”</p> - -<p>Then, moving still further into the shadow, and -standing, as if absorbed in interest, before the rough -beginnings of a fluted pillar which reached as high as -the roof—</p> - -<p>“What kind of top are you going to put on to that -thing?”</p> - -<p>As she spoke she leant against the pillar with a -soft, weary relaxation of her whole form.</p> - -<p>“Come near and tell me about it,” she whispered, -as if her breath caught in her throat.</p> - -<p>Luke recognized the tone—the tone that said, so -much more distinctly than words, “I am ready. -Why are you so slow?” He came behind her, and as -gently and lightly as he could, though his arms -trembled, let his fingers slide caressingly round her -flexible figure. Her breath came in quick gasps, and -one hot small hand met his own and pressed it against -her side. Encouraged by this response, he boldly -drew her towards him. She struggled a little; a shy -girlish struggle, more than half conventional—and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> -then, sliding round in his arms with a quick feline -movement, she abandoned herself to her craving, and -embraced him shamelessly and passionately. When -at last in sheer weariness her arms relaxed and she -sank down, with her hands pressed to her burning -cheeks, upon an unfinished font, Luke Andersen -thought that never to his dying day would he forget -the serpentine clinging of that supple form and the -pressure of those insatiable lips. He turned, a little -foolishly, towards the door and kicked with his foot a -fragment of a carved reredos. Then he went back to -her and half-playfully, half-amorously, tried to remove -her hands from her face.</p> - -<p>“Don’t touch me! I hate you!” she said.</p> - -<p>“Please,” he whispered, “please don’t be unkind now. -I shall never, never forget how sweet you’ve been.”</p> - -<p>“Tell me more about this work of yours,” she -suddenly remarked, in a completely changed voice, -rising to her feet. “I have always understood that -you were one of our best workmen. I shall tell my -father how highly I think of what you’re doing—you -and your brother. I am sure he will be glad to -know what artists he has among his men.”</p> - -<p>She gave her head a proud little toss and raised -negligent deliberate hands to her disarranged fair -hair, smoothing it down and readjusting her wide-brimmed -hat. She had become the grand lady again -and Luke had become the ordinary young stone-mason. -Superficially, and with a charming grace, he -adapted himself to this change, continuing his conventional -remarks about fonts, pillars, crosses, and -capitals; and calling her “Miss” or “Miss Gladys,” -with scrupulous discretion. But in his heart, all the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> -while, he was registering a deep and vindictive vow—a -vow that, at whatever risk and at whatever cost, -he would make this fair young despot suffer for her -caprice. Gladys had indeed, quite unwittingly, -entered into a struggle with a nature as remorseless -and unscrupulous as her own. She had dreamed, in -her imperial way, of using this boy for her amusement, -and then throwing him aside. She did not for -a moment intend to get entangled in any sentimental -relations with him. A passing “amour,” leading to -nothing, and in no way committing her, was what she -had instinctively counted on. For the rest, in snatching -fiercely at any pleasure her fervent senses craved, -she was as conscienceless and antinomian, as a young -tiger out of the jungle. Nor had she the remotest -sense of danger in this exciting sport. Corrupt and -insensitive as any amorous courtezan of a pagan age, -she trusted to her freedom from innocence to assure -her of freedom from disaster. Vaguely enough in -her own mind she had assumed, as these masterful -“blond beasts” are inclined to assume, that in -pouncing on this new prey she was only dealing once -more with that malleable and timorous humanity she -had found so easy to mould to her purpose in other -quarters. She reckoned, with a pathetic simplicity, -that Luke would be clay in her hands. As a matter -of fact this spoiled child of the wealth produced by -the Leonian stone had audaciously flung down her -challenge to one who had as much in him as herself -of that stone’s tenacity and imperviousness. The -daughter of sandstone met the carver of sandstone; -and none, who knew the two, would have dared to -predict the issue of such an encounter.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> - -<p>The young man was still urbanely and discreetly -discoursing to his lady-visitor upon the contents of -the work-shop, when the tall figure of James Andersen -darkened the door.</p> - -<p>“Excuse me, Miss,” he said to Gladys, “but Miss -Lacrima asked me to tell you that she was waiting -for you on the bridge.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, James,” answered the girl simply, -“I will come. I am afraid my interest in all the -things your brother has been so kindly showing me -has made you both late. I am sorry.” Here she -actually went so far as to fumble in her skirt for her -purse. After an awkward pause, during which the -two men waited at either side of the door, she -found what she sought, and tripping lightly by, -turned as she passed Luke and placed in his hand, -the hand that so recently had been clasped about her -person, the insolent recompense of a piece of silver. -Bidding them both good-night, she hurried away -to rejoin Lacrima, who, having by this time got rid -of Mr. Quincunx, moved down the road to meet -her.</p> - -<p>Luke closed and locked the door of the shed without -a word. Then to the astonishment of James Andersen -he proceeded to dance a kind of grotesque war-dance, -ending it with a suppressed half-mocking -howl, as he leant exhausted against the wall of the -building.</p> - -<p>“I’ve got her, I’ve got her, I’ve got her!” he -repeated. “James, my darling Daddy James, I’ve got -this girl in the palm of my hand!” He humorously -proceeded to toss the coin she had given him high in -the air. “Heads or tails?” he cried, as the thing fell<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> -among the weeds. “Heads! It’s heads, my boy! -That means that Miss Gladys Romer will be sorry -she ever stepped inside this work-shop of ours. Come, -let’s wash and eat, my brother; for the gods have -been good to us today.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V<br /> -<span class="smaller">FRANCIS TAXATER</span></h2> - -<p>The day following the one whose persuasive -influence we have just recorded was not -less auspicious. The weather seemed to have -effected a transference of its accustomed quality, -bringing to the banks of the Yeo and the Parret the -atmospheric conditions belonging to those of the -Loire or the Arno.</p> - -<p>Having finished her tea Valentia Seldom was strolling -meditatively up and down the vicarage terrace, -alternately stopping to pick off the petals of a dead -flower, or to gaze, with a little gloomy frown, upon -the grass of the orchard.</p> - -<p>Her slender upright figure, in her black silk dress, -made a fine contrast to the rich green foliage about -her, set on one side with ruby-coloured roses and on -the other with yellow buttercups. But the old lady -was in no peaceful frame of mind. Every now and -then she tapped the gravel impatiently with her -ebony stick; and the hand that toyed with the -trinkets at her side mechanically closed and unclosed -its fingers under the wrist-band of Mechlin lace. It -was with something of an irritable start, that she -turned round to greet Francis Taxater, as led by the -little servant he presented himself to her attention. -He moved to greet her with his usual imperturbable -gravity, walking sedately along the edge of the flowery<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> -border; with one shoulder a little higher than the -other and his eyes on the ground.</p> - -<p>His formidable prelatical chin seemed more than -ever firmly set that afternoon, and his grey waistcoat, -under his shabby black coat, was tightly drawn -across his emphatic stomach. His coal-black eyes, -darkened yet further by the shadow of his hat, -glanced furtively to right and left of him as he advanced. -In the manner peculiar to persons disciplined -by Catholic self-control, his head never followed, by -the least movement, the shrewd explorations of these -diplomatic eyes.</p> - -<p>One would have taken him for a French bishop, of -aristocratic race, masquerading, for purposes of discretion, -in the dress of a secular scholar.</p> - -<p>Everything about Francis Taxater, from the noble -intellectual contours of his forehead, down to his -small satyr-like feet, smacked of the courtier and the -priest; of the learned student, and the urbane frequenter -of sacred conclaves. His small white hand, -plump and exquisitely shaped, rested heavily on his -cane. He carried with him in every movement and -gesture that curious air of dramatic weight and importance -which men of diplomatic experience are -alone able to use without letting it degenerate into -mannerism. It was obvious that he, at any rate, -according to Mr. Quincunx’s favourite discrimination, -“knew Latin.” He seemed to have slid, as it were, -into this commercial modern world, from among the -contemporaries of Bossuet. One felt that his authors -were not Ibsen or Tolstoy, but Horace and Cicero.</p> - -<p>One felt also, however, that in sheer psychological -astuteness not even Mr. Romer himself would be a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> -match for him. Between those two, the man of -modern wisdom and the man of ancient wisdom, any -struggle that might chance to occur would be a singularly -curious one. If Mr. Taxater really was “on the -side of the angels,” he was certainly there with the -full weight of organized hierarchies. If he did exert -his strength upon the side of “meekness,” it would -be a strength of no feverish, spasmodic eruption.</p> - -<p>If Satan threw a Borgia in Mr. Taxater’s path, -that Borgia, it appeared, would find his Machiavel.</p> - -<p>“Yes, it is a lovely day again,” said the old lady, -leading her visitor to a seat and placing herself by his -side. “But what is our naughty Monsignor doing, -playing truant from his consistory? I thought you -would be in London this week—at the Eucharist -Conference your people are holding? Is it to the -loveliness of the weather that we owe this pleasant -surprise?”</p> - -<p>One almost expected—so formal and old-fashioned -were the two interlocutors—that Mr. Taxater would -have replied, in the tone of Ivanhoe or the Talisman, -“A truce to such jesting, Madam!” No doubt if he -had, the lady would hardly have discerned any -anachronism. As a matter of fact he did not answer -her question at all, but substituted one of his own.</p> - -<p>“I met Vennie in the village,” he said. “Do you -think she is happier now, in her new English circle?”</p> - -<p>“Ah! my friend,” cried the old lady, in a nervous -voice, “it is of Vennie that I have been thinking all -this afternoon. No, I cannot say I think she is happier. -I wonder if it is one thing; and then I wonder -if it is another. I cannot get to the bottom of it and -it worries me.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I expect it is her nerves,” said the diplomatist. -“Though the sun is so warm, there has been a constant -east wind lately; and, as you know, I put down -most of our agitations to the presence of east wind.”</p> - -<p>“It will not do, Mr. Taxater; it will not do! It -may be the east wind with you and me. It is not -the east wind with Vennie. Something is troubling -her. I wish I could discern what it is?”</p> - -<p>“She isn’t by any chance being vexed by some -theological dispute with the Vicar, is she? I know -how seriously she takes all his views. And his views -are, if I may say so, decidedly confusing. Don’t -misunderstand me, dear lady. I respect Mr. Clavering -and admire him. I like the shape of his head; especially -when he wears his beretta. But I cannot -feel much confidence in his wisdom in dealing with a -sensitive child like your daughter. He is too impulsive. -He is too dogmatic. He lives too entirely -in the world of doctrinal controversy. It is dangerous”; -here Mr. Taxater luxuriously stretched out his -legs and lit a cigarette; “it is dangerous to live only -for theology. We have to learn to live for Religion; -and that is a much more elaborate affair. <em>That</em> -extends very far, Mrs. Seldom.” The old lady let -her stick slide to the ground and clasped her hands -together. “I want to ask you one thing, Mr. Taxater. -And I implore you to be quite direct with me. You -do not think, do you, that my girl is tending towards -<em>your</em> church—towards Rome? I confess it would -be a heavy blow to me, one of the heaviest I have -ever had, if anything of that kind happened. I know -you are tolerant enough to let me speak like this -without scruple. I like <em>you</em>, my dear friend—”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> -Here a soft flush spread over Valentia’s ivory-coloured -cheeks and she made a little movement as if to put -her hand on her companion’s arm. “I like you -yourself, and have the utmost confidence in you. But -Oh, it would be a terrible shock to me if Vennie became -a Roman Catholic. She would enter a convent; I -<em>know</em> she would enter a convent and that would be -more than I could bear.” The accumulated distress -of many years was in the old lady’s voice and tears -stood in her eyes. “I know it is silly,” she went on -as Mr. Taxater steadily regarded the landscape. -“But I cannot help it. I do so hope—Oh, I can’t tell -you how much—that Vennie will marry and have -children. It is the secret burden of my life, the -thought that, with this frail little thing, our ancient -race should disappear. I feel it my deepest duty—my -duty to the Past and my duty to the Future—to -arrange a happy marriage for her. If only that -could be achieved, I should be able to die content.”</p> - -<p>“You have no evidence, no authority for thinking,” -said Mr. Taxater gravely, “that she is meditating -any approach to <em>my</em> church, as you call it, have you?”</p> - -<p>“Oh no!” cried the old lady, “quite the contrary. -She seems absorbed in the services here. She works -with Mr. Clavering, she discusses everything with -Mr. Clavering, she helps Mr. Clavering with the poor. -I believe”—here Valentia lowered her voice; “I -believe she confesses to Mr. Clavering.”</p> - -<p>Francis Taxater smiled—the smile of the heir of -Christendom’s classic faith at these pathetic fumblings -of heresy—and carefully knocked the ashes from his -cigarette against the handle of his cane.</p> - -<p>“You don’t think, dear lady,” he said, “that by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> -any chance—girls are curiously subtle in these little -things—she is ‘in love,’ as they call it, with our -nice handsome Vicar?”</p> - -<p>Valentia gave an involuntary little start. In her -heart there rose up the shadow of a shadow of questioning, -whether in this last remark the great secular -diplomatist had not lapsed into something approaching -a “faux pas.”</p> - -<p>“Certainly not,” she answered. “Vennie is not a -girl to mix up her religion with things of that sort.”</p> - -<p>Francis Taxater permitted the flicker of a smile to -cross his face. He slightly protruded his lower lip -which gave his countenance a rather sinister expression. -His look said, more clearly than words, that in -his opinion there was no woman on earth who did -not “mix up these things” with her religion.</p> - -<p>“I have not yet made my request to you,” continued -the old lady, with a certain nervous hesitation. -“I am so afraid lest you should think it an evidence -of a lack of confidence. It isn’t so! It really isn’t -so. I only do it to relieve my mind;—to make my -food taste better, if you understand?—and to stop -this throbbing in my head.” She paused for a moment, -and picking up her stick, prodded the gravel -with it, with lowered face. The voices of not less -than three wood-pigeons were audible from the -apple-orchard. And this soft accompaniment to her -words seemed to give her courage. Fate could not, -surely, altogether betray her prayers, in a place so -brooded over by “the wings of the dove.” In the -exquisite hush of the afternoon the birds’ rich voices -seemed to take an almost liturgical tone—as though -they were the ministers of a great natural temple.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> -To make a solemn request of a dear friend under such -conditions was almost as though one were exacting -a sacred vow under the very shadow of the altar.</p> - -<p>So at least Valentia felt, as she uttered her serious -petition; though it may well be that Mr. Taxater, -skilled in the mental discipline of Saint Ignatius, knew -better how to keep the distracting influences of mere -“Nature,” in their proper secondary place.</p> - -<p>“I want you faithfully to promise me,” she said, -“that you will in no way—in no way at all—use -your influence over Vennie to draw her from her -English faith.” The old lady’s voice became quite -husky in her emotion. “It would be dreadful to me -to think,—I could not bear to think”—she went -on, “that you should in the smallest degree use your -great powers of mind to disturb the child’s present -attitude. If she is not happy, it is not—Oh, I assure -you, it is not—in any sense due to her being dissatisfied -with her religion. It must be something -quite different. What it is, I cannot guess; but it -must be something quite different from <em>that</em>. Well, -dear friend,” and she did now, quite definitely, lay -her hand on his arm, “will you promise this for me? -You will? I know you will.”</p> - -<p>Francis Taxater rose from his seat and stood over -her very gravely, leaning upon his cane.</p> - -<p>“You have done well to tell me this, Mrs. Seldom,” -he said. “Most certainly I shall make no attempt to -influence Vennie. It would be indeed contrary to all -that I regard as wise and suitable in the relations -between us. I never convert people. I believe you -will find that very few of those who are born Catholics -ever interfere in that way. It is the impetuosity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> -of new-comers into the church that gives us this -bad name. They often carry into their new faith -the turbulent theological zeal which distinguished -them in their old one. I, at any rate, am not like -that. I leave people alone. I prefer to watch them -develop on their own lines. The last thing I should -wish to do would be to meddle with Vennie’s religious -taste. It would be a blunder as well as an impertinence. -Vennie would be the first to resist any such -proceeding. It would destroy her respect for me. It -might even destroy her affection for me. It certainly -would not move her. Indeed, dear lady, if I wished -to plant the child’s soul irrevocably in the soil prepared -by our good vicar I could not do anything -more effective than try to persuade her of its deficiencies. -No, no! You may rely upon me to stand -completely aside in this matter. If Vennie <em>were</em> led -to join us—which for your sake, dear Mrs. Seldom, -I hope will never happen,—you may accept -my word of honour it will be from her own spontaneous -impulse. I shall make not the least movement -in the direction you fear. <em>That</em> I can devoutly -promise.”</p> - -<p>He turned away his head and regarded with calm, -placid detachment the rich, shadowy orchard and -the golden buttercups.</p> - -<p>The contours of his profile were so noble, and the -pose of his head so majestic, that the agitated mother -was soothed and awed into complete confidence.</p> - -<p>“Thank God!” she exclaimed. “<em>That</em> fear, at any -rate, has passed. I shall be grateful to you forever, -dear friend, for what you have just now said. It is -a direct answer to my prayers.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p> - -<p>“May I, in my turn,” said Mr. Taxater, resuming -his seat by her side, “ask you a bold and uncalled -for question? What would you do, if in the changes -and chances of this life, Vennie <em>did</em> come to regard -Mr. Clavering with favour? Would you for a moment -consider their union as a possible one?”</p> - -<p>Valentia looked not a little embarrassed. Once -more, in her heart, she accused the urbane scholar -of a lack of delicacy and discretion. These little -questions are not the ones to put to a perturbed -mother.</p> - -<p>However, she answered him plainly enough. “I -should not like it, I confess. It would disappoint -me. I am not ambitious, but sometimes I catch -myself desiring, for my beloved child, a marriage that -would give her the position she deserves, the position—pardon -a woman’s weakness, sir!—that her ancestors -held in this place. But then, again, I am -only anxious for her happiness. No, Mr. Taxater. -If such a thing did occur I should not oppose it, -Mr. Clavering is a gentleman, though a poor one and, -in a sense, an eccentric one. But I have no prejudice -against the marriage of our clergy. In fact I -think they ought to marry. It is so suitable, you -know, to have a sensible woman endowed with such -opportunities for making her influence felt. I would -not wish Vennie to marry beneath her, but sooner -than not see her married—well!—That is the -kind of feeling I have about it, Mr. Taxater.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p> -<p>“Thank you—thank you. I fear my question -was impertinent; but in return for the solemn oath -you exacted from me, I think I deserved some reward, -don’t you? But seriously, Mrs. Seldom, I -do not think that any of these less desirable fates -will befall our dear child. I think she will marry a -pillar of the aristocracy, and remain herself a pillar -of the Anglican Church! I trust she will not, whatever -happens, lose her regard for her old Catholic -friend.”</p> - -<p>He rose as he spoke and held out his hand. Mrs. -Seldom took it in her own and held it for a moment -with some emotion. Had he been a real Monsignor, -he could not have looked more calm, more tolerant, -more kind, than he looked at that moment. He -wore the expression that high ecclesiastics must come -to wear, when devoted but somewhat troublesome -daughters of the church press close to kiss the amethystine -ring.</p> - -<p>A few minutes later he was passing out of the -vicarage gate. The new brood of warblers that -flitted about the tall bushes at that spot heard—with -perfect unconcern—a mysterious Latin quotation -issue from that restrained mouth. They could -hardly be blamed for not understanding, even though -they had migrated to these fields of heresy from more -classic places, that the plain English interpretation -of the dark saying was that all things are lawful to -him whose motive is the “Potestas Civitatis Dei!”</p> - -<p>He crossed the dusty road and was proceeding -towards his own house, which was hardly more than -a hundred yards away, when he saw through a wide -gap in the hedge a pleasant and familiar sight. It -was a hay-field, in the final stage of its “making,” -surrendering to a great loose stack, built up beneath -enormous elm-trees, the last windrows of its sweet-scented -harvest.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> - -<p>Pausing for a moment to observe more closely this -pleasant scene—for hay-making in Dorsal Field -amounted to a village ritual—Mr. Taxater became -aware that among the figures scattered in groups -about the meadow were the very two whose relation -to one another he had just been discussing. Vennie -and the young clergyman were engaged in an animated -conversation with three of the farm-boys.</p> - -<p>Mr. Taxater at once climbed through the gap, and -crossing the field approached the group unobserved. -It was not till he was quite close that Vennie caught -sight of him. Her pale, pinched little face, under its -large hat, flushed slightly as she held out her hand; -but her great steady grey eyes were full of friendly -welcome.</p> - -<p>Mr. Clavering too was effusive and demonstrative -in his greeting. They chatted a little of indifferent -matters, and the theologian was introduced to the -shy farm-boys, who stared at him in rustic wonder.</p> - -<p>Then Hugh Clavering said, “If you’ll pardon me -for a moment, I think I ought to go across and speak -to John Goring,” and he indicated the farmer’s -figure bending over a new gleaning-machine, at the -opposite end of the field. “Don’t go away, please, -Mr. Taxater, till I come back. You will keep him, -won’t you, Miss Seldom?”</p> - -<p>He strode off; and the boys drifted away after -him, leaving Mr. Taxater and the girl together, -under the unfinished hay-stack. “I was so much -wanting to speak to you,” began Vennie at once.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> -“I very nearly ran in to the Gables; but I saw Mrs. -Wotnot over the wall, and she told me you were -out. I am in serious need of advice upon a thing -that is troubling me, and you are the only person -who can really help.”</p> - -<p>The expression of Mr. Taxater’s face at that moment -was so sympathetic, and yet so grave, that one -would hardly have been surprised to hear him utter -the conventional formula of a priest awaiting confession. -Though unuttered, the sacred formula must -have been telepathically communicated, for Vennie -continued without a pause, holding her hands behind -her back, and looking on the ground. “Ever since -our last serious conversation—do you remember?—after -Easter, I have been thinking so much about -that phrase of yours, referring to the Pope, as the -eternal living defender of the idea of Love as the -secret of the universe. Mr. Clavering talks to -me about love—you know what I mean,” she smiled -and blushed prettily, with a quick lifting of her head, -“but he never gives me the feeling of something real -and actual which we can approach on earth—something -personal, I mean. And I have been feeling so -much lately that this is what I want. Mr. Clavering -is very gentle with me when I try to explain my -difficulties to him; but I don’t think he really understands. -The way he talks is beautiful and inspiring—but -it somehow sounds like poetry. It does not -give me anything to lay hands on.” And she looked -into Mr. Taxater’s face with a pathetic wide-eyed -appeal, as if he were able to call down angels from -heaven.</p> - -<p>“Dear child,” said the diplomatist, “I know only -too well what you mean. Yes, that is the unfortunate -and necessary limitation of a heretical church. -It can only offer mystic and poetic consolations. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> -has lost touch with the one true Vine, and consequently -the full stream of life-giving sap cannot flow -through its veins.”</p> - -<p>“But I have felt so strengthened,” said Vennie -mournfully, “by the sacrament in our Church; so -strengthened and inspired! It seems dreadful that -it should all be a sort of mockery.”</p> - -<p>“Do not speak like that, dear child,” said Mr. -Taxater. “God is good; and in his knowledge of -our weakness he permits us to taste of his mystery -even in forbidden cups. The motive in your heart, -the faith in your soul, have been pure; and God has -given to them some measure, though but an imperfect -one, of what he will grant to your complete -obedience.”</p> - -<p>Vennie bent down and picking up a swathe of -sweet-scented hay twisted it thoughtfully in her -fingers. “God has indeed been working miracles on -your behalf,” continued Mr. Taxater. “It must have -been your guardian angel that led me to speak to -you as I did at that time. For in future, I regret -to say, I shall be less free. But the good work has -been done. The seed has been sown. What follows -must be at your own initiative.”</p> - -<p>Vennie looked at him, puzzled, and rather alarmed. -“Why do you say you will be less free? Are we -going to have no more lovely conversations at the -bottom of our orchard? Are you going to be too -busy to see me at all?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Taxater smiled. “Oh no, it isn’t as bad as -that,” he said. “It is only that I have just faithfully -promised your mother not to convert you to -Catholicism.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Mother had no right to make you give any such -promise,” cried the girl indignantly.</p> - -<p>“No,” responded the diplomatist, “she had no -such right. No one has a right to demand promises -of that kind. It is one of the worst and subtlest -forms of persecution.”</p> - -<p>“But you did not promise? You surely did not -promise?”</p> - -<p>“There was no escaping it,” replied Mr. Taxater. -“If I had not done so she would have given you no -peace, and your future movements would have been -mercilessly watched. However,” he went on, smilingly, -“a promise exacted under that kind of compulsion -must be interpreted in a very large and -liberal way. Relatively I must avoid discussing -these things with you. In a higher and more absolute -sense we will combine our thoughts about them, -day and night, until we worship at the same altar.”</p> - -<p>Vennie was silent. The noble and exalted sophistry -of the subtle scholar puzzled and bewildered her. -“But I have no idea of what to do next,” she protested. -“I know no Catholics but you. I should -feel very nervous on going to the priest in Yeoborough. -Besides, I don’t at all like the look of him. -And the people here say he is often drunk. You -wouldn’t send me to a man like that, would you? -Oh, I feel so angry with mother! She had no right -to go to you behind my back.”</p> - -<p>Francis Taxater laid his hand gently on the girl’s -shoulder. “There is no reason for haste,” he said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> -“There is no cause to agitate yourself. Just remain -quietly as you are. Say nothing to your mother. -It would only cause her unnecessary distress. I -never promised not to lend you books. All my -shelves are at your service. Read, my dear Vennie, -read and think. My books will supply the place of -my words. Indeed, they will serve the purpose much -better. In this way we shall at once be obeying -your earthly mother, and not disobeying your heavenly -mother, who is now—Ave Maria gratiæ plena!—drawing -you so strongly towards her.”</p> - -<p>“Shall I say anything to Mr. Clavering?”</p> - -<p>“Not a word! not a word! And enter as little as -possible into argument with him. If he fancies, from -your silence, that he has quelled your doubts, let -him fancy so. The mistake will be due to his own -pride and not to any deception. It is wrong to lie—but -we are not called upon to dispel illusions arising -from the self-conceit of others.”</p> - -<p>“But you—will—think—of me?” pleaded little -Vennie. “I may know that you have not deserted -me? That you are always ready—always there?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Taxater smiled benignly. “Of course I shall -be ready, dear child. And you must be ready. That -is why I only ask you to read and think. God will -answer your prayers if you show patience. He has -taught his church never to clamour for hurried conversions. -But to wait, with all her reservoirs of mysteries, -till they come to her of their own accord. -You will come, Vennie, you will come! But it will be -in God’s hour and not in ours.”</p> - -<p>Vennie Seldom thanked him with a timid glance of -infinite gratitude and confidence. A soft luminous -happiness suffused her being, into which the scents -and sounds of that felicitous hour poured their offerings -of subtle contentment. In after years, in strange<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> -and remote places, she never forgot the high thrilling -exultation, calm, yet passionate as an indrawn wave, -of that unrecurring moment.</p> - -<p>The security that filled her passed, indeed, only -too quickly away. Her face clouded and a little anxious -frown puckered her narrow white forehead.</p> - -<p>“There is something else I wanted to ask you,” -she said hurriedly, “and I must say it quickly because -I am afraid of Mr. Clavering coming back. -It has to do with Mr. Clavering. I do not think -you realize what influence you have over people, -what powerful influence! Mr. Clavering adores you. -He would do anything for you. He respects you as a -thinker. He venerates you as a good man. Now, -Mr. Taxater, please, please, use your influence with -him to save him—to save him—” She stopped -abruptly, and a flood of colour rushed to her cheeks.</p> - -<p>“To save him from what, dear child? I am afraid -there is no hope of Mr. Clavering coming to our -way of thinking.”</p> - -<p>“It isn’t that, Mr. Taxater! It’s something else;—something -to do with his own happiness, with his -own life. Oh, it is so hard for me to tell you!” She -clenched her hands tightly together and looked -steadily away from him as she spoke. “It is that -that dreadful Gladys Romer has been plaguing him -so—tempting him to flirt with her, to be silly about -her, and all that sort of thing. He does not really -like her at all. That I <em>know</em>. But he is passionate -and excitable, and easily led away by a girl like that. -Oh, it all sounds so absurd, as I say it,” cried poor -Vennie, with cheeks that were by this time flaming,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> -“but it’s much, much more serious than it sounds. -You see, I know Mr. Clavering very well. I know -how simple and pure-minded he is. And I know how -desperately he prays against being led away—like -this. Gladys does not care for him really a bit. -She only does it to amuse herself; to satisfy her -wicked, wicked nature! She would like to lead him as -far as she possibly could, and then to turn upon -him and make him thoroughly miserable. She is -the kind of girl—Oh what am I saying to you, Mr. -Taxater?—that men always are attracted by. Some -men I believe would even call her beautiful. I don’t -think she’s that at all. I think she is gross, fleshly, -and horrid! But I know what a danger she is to -Mr. Clavering. I know the dreadful struggle that -goes on in his mind; and the horrible temptation she -is to him. I know that after seeing her he always -suffers the most cruel remorse. Now, Mr. Taxater, -use your influence to strengthen him against this -girl’s treachery. She only means him harm, I know -she does! And if a person like you, whom he loves -and admires so much, talked to him seriously about -it, it would be such a help to him. He is so young. -He is a mere boy, and absolutely ignorant of the -world. He does not even realize that the village has -already begun its horrid gossip about them. Do—do, -do something, Mr. Taxater. It is like that young -Parsifal, in the play, being tempted by the enchantress.”</p> - -<p>“But how do they meet?” asked the diplomatist, -with unchanged gravity. “I do not see how they -are ever alone together.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p> -<p>“She has arranged it. She is so clever; the bad, -bad girl! She goes to him for confirmation lessons. -He teaches her in his study twice a week—separately -from the others.”</p> - -<p>“But her father is a Unitarian.”</p> - -<p>“That does not interfere. She does what she likes -with Mr. Romer. Her game now is to want to be -baptized into our church. She is going to be baptized -first, and then confirmed.”</p> - -<p>“And the preparation for baptism is as dangerous -as the preparation for confirmation,” remarked the -scholar; straightening the muscles of his mouth, after -the discipline of St. Ignatius.</p> - -<p>“The whole thing is horrible—dreadful! It frets -me every hour of the day. He is so good and so -innocent. He has no idea where she is leading him.”</p> - -<p>“But I cannot prevent her wanting to be baptized,” -said Mr. Taxater.</p> - -<p>“You can talk to him,” answered Vennie, with -intense conviction. “You can talk to him and he -will listen to you. You can tell him the danger he -is in of being made miserable for life.” She drew her -breath deeply. “Oh the remorse he will feel; the -horrible, horrible remorse!”</p> - -<p>Mr. Taxater glanced across the hay-field. The sun, -a red globe of fire, was resting on the extreme edge -of Leo’s Hill, and seemed like a great blood-shot -eye regarding them with lurid interest. Long cool -shadows, thrown across the field by the elms in the -hedge and by the stack beside them, melted magically -into one another, and made the hillocks of still ungathered -grass soft and intangible as fairy graves.</p> - -<p>“I will do my best,” said the scholar. “I will do -my best.” And indicating to Vennie, who was absorbed -in her nervous gratitude, the near approach<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> -of the object of their saintly conspiracy, he led her -forward to meet the young clergyman with an appropriate -air of friendly and casual nonchalance.</p> - -<p>“I am sorry to have to say it,” was Mr. Clavering’s -greeting, “but that farmer-fellow is the only person in -my parish for whom I have a complete detestation. -I wish to goodness Mr. Romer had never brought -him into the place!”</p> - -<p>“I don’t like the look of his back, I must say,” -answered the theologian, following with his eyes the -retreating figure of Mr. John Goring.</p> - -<p>“He is,” said the young priest, “without exception -the most repulsive human being I have ever met in -my life. Our worthy Romer is an angel of light -compared with him.”</p> - -<p>With Mr. Goring still as their topic, they strolled -amicably together towards the same gap in the hedge, -through which the apologist of the papacy had -emerged an hour before. There they separated; -Vennie returning to the vicarage, and the young -clergyman carrying off Mr. Taxater to supper with -him in his house by the church.</p> - -<p>Clavering’s establishment consisted of a middle-aged -woman of inordinate volubility, and the woman’s -daughter, a girl of twelve.</p> - -<p>The supper offered by the priest to his guest was -“light and choice”—nor did it lack its mellow -accompaniment of carefully selected, if not “Attic,” -wine. Of this wine Mr. Taxater did not hesitate to -partake freely, sitting, when the meal was over, -opposite his host at the open window, through which -the pleasant murmurs of the evening, and the voices of -the village-street, soothingly and harmoniously floated.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p> - -<p>The famous theologian was in an excellent temper. -Rich recondite jests pursued one another from his -smiling lips, and his white hands folded themselves -complacently above the cross on his watch-chain.</p> - -<p>Lottie Fringe, the child of Clavering’s servant, -tripped sportively in and out of the room, encouraged -in her girlish coquetries by the amiable scholar. -She was not yet too old to be the kittenish plaything -of the lighter moments of a wise and scholarly man, -and it was pleasant to watch the zest with which the -vicar’s visitor entered into her sportive audacities. -Mr. Taxater made her fill and refill his glass, and -taking her playfully on his knee, kissed her and -fondled her many times. It was the vicar himself, -who finally, a little embarrassed by these levities, sent -the girl off to the kitchen, apologizing to his guest for -the freedom she displayed.</p> - -<p>“Do not apologize, dear Mr. Clavering,” said the -theologian. “I love all children, especially when they -are girls. There is something about the kisses of a -young girl—at once amorous and innocent—which -reconciles one to the universe, and keeps death at a -distance. Could one for a moment think of death, -when holding a young thing, so full of life and beauty, -on one’s knee?”</p> - -<p>The young priest’s face clouded. “To be quite -honest with you, Mr. Taxater,” he murmured, in -a troubled voice, “I cannot say that I altogether -agree. We are both unconventional people, so I may -speak freely. I do not think that one does a child -any good by encouraging her to be playful and -forward, in that particular way. You live with your -books; but I live with my people, and I have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> -known so many sad cases of girls being completely -ruined by getting a premature taste for coquetry of -that kind.”</p> - -<p>“I am afraid, my friend,” answered Mr. Taxater, -“that the worst of all heresies is lodged deep in your -heart.”</p> - -<p>“Heresies? God knows,” sighed the priest, “I -have enough evil in my heart—but heresies? I am -at a loss to catch your meaning.”</p> - -<p>In the absence of his playful Clerica—to use the -Pantagruelian allusion—the great Homenas of Nevilton -was compelled to fill his “tall-boy of extravagant -wine” with his own hand. He did so, and continued -his explanation.</p> - -<p>“By the worst of all heresies I mean the dangerous -Puritan idea that pleasure itself is evil and a thing -detestable to God. The Catholic doctrine, as I -understand it, is that all these things are entirely -relative to the persons concerned. Pleasure in itself -is, in the Aristotelian sense, a supreme good. Everyone -has a right to it. Everyone must have it. The -whole thing is a matter of proportion and expediency. -If an innocent playful game, of the kind you have -just witnessed, was likely in this definite particular -case to lead to harm, then you would be justified in -your anxiety. But there must be no laying down of -hard general rules. There must be no making a -virtue of the mere denying ourselves pleasure.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Clavering could hardly wait for his guest to -finish.</p> - -<p>“Then, according to your theory,” he exclaimed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> -“it would be right for you, or whoever you will,—pardon -my making the thing so personal—to indulge -in casual levities with any pretty barmaid, as long as -you vaguely surmised that she was a sensible girl and -would not be harmed?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly it would be right,” replied the papal -apologist, sipping his wine and inhaling the perfume -of the garden, “and not only right, but a plain duty. -It is our duty, Mr. Clavering, to make the world -happier while we live in it; and the way to make -girls happier, especially when their occupations are -laborious, is to kiss them; to give them innocent and -admiring embraces.”</p> - -<p>“I am afraid you are not quite serious, Mr. Taxater,” -said the clergyman. “I have an absurd way of -being direct and literal in these discussions.”</p> - -<p>“Certainly, I am serious. Do you not know—young -puritan—that some of the noblest spirits in -history have not hesitated to increase the pleasure of -girls’ lives by giving them frequent kisses? In the -Greek days he who could give the most charming kiss -was awarded a public prize. In the Elizabethan days -all the great and heroic souls, whose exquisite wit -and passionate imagination put us still to shame, -held large and liberal views on this matter. In the -eighteenth century the courtly and moral Joseph -Addison used never to leave a coffee-house, however -humble and poor, without bestowing a friendly -embrace upon every woman in it. The religious -Doctor Johnson—a man of your own faith—was -notoriously in the habit of taking his prettier visitors -upon his knee, and tenderly kissing them. It is no -doubt due to this fact, that the great lexicographer -was so frequently visited;—especially by young -Quakers. When we come to our own age, it is well<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> -known that the late Archbishop Taraton, the refuter -of Darwin, was never so happy as when romping -round the raspberry-canes in his garden with a crowd -of playful girls.</p> - -<p>“These great and wise men have all recognized the -fact that pleasure is not an evil but a good. A good, -however, that must be used discreetly and according -to the Christian self-control of which God has given -his Church the secret. The senses are not under a -curse, Mr. Clavering. They are not given us simply -to tempt and perplex us. They are given for our -wise and moderate enjoyment.”</p> - -<p>Francis Taxater once more lifted his glass to his -lips.</p> - -<p>“To the devil with this Protestant Puritanism of -yours! It has darkened the sun in heaven. It is -the cause of all the squalid vice and gross excesses -of our forlorn England. It is the cause of the -deplorable perversities that one sees around one. It -is the cause of that odious hypocrisy that makes -us the laughing-stock of the great civilized nations -of France, Italy and Spain.” The theologian drew -a deep breath, and continued. “I notice, Mr. -Clavering, that you have by your side, still unfinished, -your second glass of wine. That is a mistake. -That is an insult to Providence. Whatever -may be your attitude towards these butterfly-wenches, -it cannot, as a matter of poetic economy, be right -to leave a wine, as delicate, as delicious as this, to -spoil in the glass.</p> - -<p>“I suppose it has never occurred to you, Mr. Clavering, -to go and sit, with the more interesting of your -flock, at the Seldom Arms? It never has? So I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> -imagined from my knowledge of your uncivilized -English ways.</p> - -<p>“The European café, sir, is the universal school -of refined and intellectual pleasure. It was from -his seat in a Roman café—a place not unknown to -me myself—that the great Gibbon was accustomed -to survey the summer moon, rising above the -Pantheon.</p> - -<p>“It is the same in the matter of wine as in the other -matter. It is your hypocritical and puritanical fear -of pleasure that leads to the gross imbibing of villainous -spirits and the subterranean slavery of prostitution. -If you allowed yourselves, freely, naturally, and -with Christian moderation, to enjoy the admirable -gifts of the supreme giver, there would no longer be -any need for this deplorable plunging into insane vice. -As it is—in this appalling country of yours—one -can understand every form of debauchery.”</p> - -<p>At this point Mr. Clavering intervened with an -eager and passionate question. He had been listening -intently to his visitor’s words, and his clear-cut, mobile -face had changed its expression more than once during -this long discourse.</p> - -<p>“You do not, then, think,” said he, in a tone of -something like supplication, “that there is anything -wrong in giving ourselves up to the intense emotion -which the presence of beauty and charm is able to -excite?”</p> - -<p>“Wrong?” said Mr. Taxater. “It is wrong to -suppress such feelings! It is all a matter of proportion, -my good sir, a matter of proportion and common -sense. A little psychological insight will soon -make us aware whether the emotion you speak of is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> -likely to prove injurious to the object of our admiration.”</p> - -<p>“But oneself—what about oneself?” cried the -young priest. “Is there not a terrible danger, in all -these things, lest one’s spiritual ideal should become -blurred and blighted?”</p> - -<p>To this question Mr. Taxater returned an answer -so formidable and final, that the conversation was -brought to an abrupt close.</p> - -<p>“What,” he said, “has God given us the Blessed -Sacraments for?”</p> - -<p>Hugh Clavering escorted his visitor to the corner of -the street and bade him good-night there. As he -re-entered his little garden, he turned for a moment to -look at the slender tower of St. Catharine’s church, -rising calm and still into the hot June sky. Between -him and it, flitted like the ghost of a dead Thaïs or -Phryne, the pallid shadow of an impassioned temptress -holding out provocative arms. The form of the -figure seemed woven of all the vapours of unbridled -poetic fantasy, but the heavy yellow hair which most -of all hid the tower from his view was the hair of -Gladys Romer.</p> - -<p>The apologist of the papacy strolled slowly and -meditatively back to his own house with the easy -step of one who was in complete harmony both with -gods and men. Above him the early stars began, one -by one, to shine down upon the earth, but as he -glanced up towards them, removing his hat and -passing his hand across his forehead, the great -diplomatist appeared quite untroubled by the ineffable -littleness of all earthly considerations, under the remoteness -of those austere watchers.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p> - -<p>The barking of dogs, in distant unknown yards, -the melancholy cry of new-shorn lambs, somewhere -far across the pastures, the soft, low, intermittent -breathing, full of whispers and odours, of the whole -mysterious night, seemed only to throw Mr. Taxater -back more completely and securely upon that firm -ecclesiastical tradition which takes the hearts of men -in its hands and turns them away from the Outer -Darkness.</p> - -<p>He let himself quietly into the Gables garden, by -the little gate in the wall, and entered his house. -He was surprised to find the door unlocked and -a light burning in the kitchen. The careful Mrs. -Wotnot was accustomed to retire to rest at a much -earlier hour. He found the good woman extended at -full length upon three hard chairs, her head supported -by a bundle of shawls. She was suffering from one -of her chronic rheumatic attacks, and was in considerable -distress.</p> - -<p>To a less equable and humane spirit there might -have been something rather irritating than pathetic -about this unexpected finale to a harmonious day. -But Mr. Taxater’s face expressed no sign of any feeling -but that of grave and gentle concern.</p> - -<p>With some difficulty, for the muscles of her body -were twisted by nervous spasms, the theologian supported -the old woman up the stairs, to her room -under the eaves. Here he laid her upon the bed, and -for the rest of the night refused to leave her room, -rubbing with his white plump hands her thin old -legs, and applying brandy to her lips at the moments -when the nervous contractions that assailed her -seemed most extreme. The delicate light of dawn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> -showed its soft bluish pallour at the small casemented -window before the old lady fell asleep; but it was -not till relieved by a woman who appeared, several -hours later, with their morning’s milk, that the -defender of the Catholic Faith in Nevilton retired to -his well-earned repose.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE PARIAHS</span></h2> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx was digging in his garden. -The wind, a little stronger than on the -previous days and still blowing from the -east, buffeted his attenuated figure and ruffled his -pointed beard, tinged with premature grey. He dug -up all manner of weeds, some large, some small, and -shaking them carefully free of the adhesive earth, -flung them into a wheel-barrow by his side.</p> - -<p>It was approaching noon, and in spite of the chilly -gusts of wind, the sun beat down hotly upon the -exposed front of Dead Man’s Cottage. Every now -and then Mr. Quincunx would leave his work; and -retiring into his kitchen, proceed with elaborate -nicety to stir a small pot of broth which simmered -over the fire. He was a queer mixture of epicurean -preciseness and ascetic indifference in these matters, -but, on the whole, the epicurean tendency predominated, -owing to a subtle poetic passion in the eccentric -man, for the symbolic charm of all these little necessities -of life. The lighting of his fire in the morning, -the crackling of the burning sticks, and their fragrant -smell, gave Mr. Quincunx probably as much pleasure -as anything else in the world.</p> - -<p>Every bowl of that fresh milk and brown bread, -which, prepared with meticulous care, formed his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> -staple diet, was enjoyed by him with more ceremonious -concentration than most gourmands devote -to their daintiest meat and wine.</p> - -<p>The broiling of his chicken on Sunday was a -function of solemn ritual. Mr. Quincunx bent over -the bird, basting it with butter, in the absorbed -manner of a priest preparing the sacrament.</p> - -<p>The digging up of onions or lettuces in his garden, -and the stripping them of their outer leaves, was a -ceremony to be performed in no light or casual haste, -but with a prepared and concentrated spirit.</p> - -<p>No profane hand ever touched the little canister of -tea from which Mr. Quincunx, at the same precise -hour every day, replenished his tea-pot.</p> - -<p>In all these material things his scrupulous and punctilious -nicety never suffered the smallest diminution. -His mind might be agitated to a point bordering upon -despair, but he still, with mechanical foresight, sawed -the fagots in his wood-shed and drew the water from -his well.</p> - -<p>As he pulled up weed after weed, on this particular -morning, his mind was in a state of extreme nervous -agitation. Mr. Romer had called him up the night -before to the House, and had announced that his -present income—the sum regarded by the recluse as -absolutely secure—was now entirely to cease, and -in the place of it he was destined to receive, in return -for horrible clerical work performed in Yeoborough, -a considerably smaller sum, as Mr. Romer’s paid -dependent.</p> - -<p>The idea of working in an office was more distasteful -to Mr. Quincunx than it is possible to indicate to -any person not actually acquainted with him. His<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> -exquisitely characteristic hand, admirably adapted to -the meticulous diary he had kept for years, was -entirely unsuited to competing with type-writing -machines and machine-like type-writers. The walk -to Yeoborough too,—a matter of some four or five -miles—loomed upon him as a hideous purgatory. -Walking tired him much more than working in his -garden; and he had a nervous dread of those casual -encounters and salutations on the way, which the -habitual use of the same road to one’s work necessarily -must imply.</p> - -<p>His mind anticipated with hideous minuteness -every detail of his future dreary life. He decided -that even at the cost of the sacrifice of the -last of his little luxuries he would make a point of -going one way at least by train. That walk, twice a -day, through the depressing suburbs of Yeoborough -was more than he could bear to contemplate. It was -characteristic of him that he never for a moment -considered the possibility of an appeal to law. -Law and lawyers were for Mr. Quincunx, with his -instincts of an amiable anarchist, simply the engines -through which the rich and powerful worked their -will upon the weak and helpless.</p> - -<p>It was equally characteristic of him that it never -entered his head to throw up his cottage, pack his -scanty possessions and seek his fortune in another -place. It was not only Lacrima that held him from -such a resolution. It was as impossible for him to -think of striking out in a new soil as it would have -been for an aged frog to leave the pond of its nativity -and sally forth across the fields in search of new -waters. It was this inability to “strike out” and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> -grapple with the world on equal terms, that had -led, in the beginning, to his curious relation to the -Romers. He clung to Susan Romer for no other -reason than that she supplied a link between his -past and his present.</p> - -<p>His lips trembled with anger and his hand shook, -as he recalled the interview of the preceding night. -The wife had annoyed him almost more than the -husband. His brutality had been gross and frank. -The lascivious joy of a strong nature, in deliberately -outraging a weaker one, had gleamed forth from his -jeering eyes.</p> - -<p>But there had been an unction, an hypocritical -sentimentality, about Mrs. Romer’s tone, that had -made him hate her the more bitterly of the two. The -fact that she also—stupid lump of fawning obesity -as she was!—was a victim of this imperial tyrant, -did not in the least assuage him. The helot who is -under the lash hates the helot who crouches by the -master’s chair, more deeply than he hates the master. -It is because of this unhappy law of nature that there -are so few successful revolts among our social Pariahs. -The well-constituted ruler of men divides his serfs -into those who hold the whip and those who are -whipped. Yes, he hated her the most. But how he -hated them both!</p> - -<p>The heart of your true Pariah is a strange and -dark place, concealing depths of rancorous animosity, -which those who over-ride and discount such feelings -rarely calculate upon. It is a mistake to assume that -this curious rôle—the rôle of being a Pariah upon -our planet—is one confined to the submerged, the -outcast, the criminal.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> - -<p>There are Pariahs in every village. It might be -said that there are Pariahs in every family. The -Pariah is one who is born with an innate inability -to deal vigorously and effectively with his fellow -animals. One sees these unfortunates every day—on -the street, in the office, at the domestic hearth. -One knows them by the queer look in their eyes; -the look of animals who have been crushed rather -than tamed.</p> - -<p>It is not only that they are weaker than the rest -and less effectual. They are <em>different</em>. It is in their -difference that the tragedy of their fate lies. Commonplace -weaklings, who are not born Pariahs, have -in their hearts the same standards, the same ambitions, -the same prejudices, as those who rule the -world. Such weaklings venerate, admire, and even -<em>love</em> the strong unscrupulous hands, the crafty unscrupulous -brains, who push them to and fro like -pawns.</p> - -<p>But the Pariah does not venerate the Power -that oppresses him. He despises it and hates it. -Long-accumulated loathing rankles in his heart. He -is crushed but not won. He is penned, like a shorn -sheep; but his thoughts “wander through Eternity.”</p> - -<p>And it is this difference, separating him from the -rest, that excites such fury in those who oppress him. -The healthy-minded prosperous man is irritated beyond -endurance by this stranger within the gate—this -incorrigible, ineffectual critic, cumbering his road. -The mob, too, always ready, like spiteful, cawing -rooks, to fall upon a wounded comrade, howl remorselessly -for his destruction. The Pariah is seldom -able to retain the sweetness of his natural affections.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p> - -<p>Buffeted by the unconscious brutality of those -about him, he retorts with conscious and unfathomable -hatred. His soul festers and gangrenes within -him, and the loneliness of his place among his fellows -leads him to turn upon them all—like a rat in -a gin. The pure-minded capable man, perceiving -the rancorous misanthropy of this sick spirit, longs -to trample him into the mud, to obliterate him, to -forget him. But the man whose strength and cunning -is associated with lascivious perversity, wishes -to have him by his side, to humiliate, to degrade, to -outrage. A taste to be surrounded by Pariahs is an -interesting peculiarity of a certain successful class. -Such companionship is to them a perpetual and -pleasing reminder of their own power.</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx was a true Pariah in his miserable -combination of inability to strike back at the people -who injured him, and inability to forget their injuries. -He propitiated their tastes, bent to their will, conciliated -their pride, agreed with their opinions, and -hated them with demoniacal hatred.</p> - -<p>As he pulled up his weeds in the hot sun, this -particular morning, Maurice Quincunx fantastically -consoled himself by imagining all manner of disasters -to his enemies. Every time he touched with his -hands the soft-crumbling earth, he uttered a kind of -half-conscious prayer that, in precisely such a way, -the foundations of Nevilton House should crumble and -yield. Under his hat—for he was hypochondriacally -apprehensive about sunstrokes—flapped and waved -in the wind a large cabbage leaf, placed carefully at -the back of his head to protect his neck as he bent -down. The shadow of this cabbage leaf, as it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> -thrown across the dusty path, assumed singular and -sinister shapes, giving the impression sometimes that -the head of Mr. Quincunx was gnome-like or goblin-like -in its proportions.</p> - -<p>Perhaps the most unfortunate characteristic of -Pariahs is that though they cling instinctively to one -another they are irritated and provoked by each -other’s peculiarities.</p> - -<p>This unhappy tendency was now to receive sad -confirmation in our weed-puller’s case, for he was -suddenly interrupted by the appearance at his gate -of Lacrima Traffio.</p> - -<p>He rose to meet her, and without inviting her to -pass the entrance, for he was extremely nervous of -village gossip, and one never knew what a casual -passer-by might think, he leant over the low wall -and talked with her from that security.</p> - -<p>She seemed in a very depressed and pitiable mood -and the large dark eyes that fixed themselves upon -her friend’s face were full of an inarticulate appeal.</p> - -<p>“I cannot endure it much longer,” she said. “It -gets worse and worse every day.”</p> - -<p>Maurice Quincunx knew perfectly well what she -meant, but the curious irritation to which I have just -referred drove him to rejoin:</p> - -<p>“What gets worse?”</p> - -<p>“Their unkindness,” answered the girl with a quick -reproachful look, “their perpetual unkindness.”</p> - -<p>“But they feed you well, don’t they?” said the -hermit, removing his hat and rearranging the cabbage-leaf -so as to adapt it to the new angle of the sun.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> -“And they don’t beat you. You haven’t to scrub -floors or mend clothes. People, like you and I, must -be thankful for being allowed to eat and sleep at all -on this badly-arranged earth.”</p> - -<p>“I keep thinking of Italy,” murmured Lacrima. -“I think it is your English ways that trouble me. -I don’t believe—I can’t believe—they always mean -to be unkind. But English people are so heartless!”</p> - -<p>“You seemed to like that Andersen fellow well -enough,” grumbled Mr. Quincunx.</p> - -<p>“How can you be so silly, Maurice?” cried the -girl, slipping through the gate in spite of its owner’s -furtive glances down the road. “How can you be so -silly?”</p> - -<p>She moved past him, up the path, and seated herself -upon the edge of the wheel-barrow.</p> - -<p>“You can go on with your weeding,” she said, “I -can talk to you while you work.”</p> - -<p>“Of course,” murmured Mr. Quincunx, making no -effort to resume his labour, “you naturally find a -handsome fellow like that, a more pleasant companion -than me. I don’t blame you. I understand it very -well.”</p> - -<p>Lacrima impatiently took up a handful of groundsel -and spurge from the dusty heap by her side and flung -them into the path.</p> - -<p>“You make me quite angry with you, Maurice,” -she cried. “How can you say such things after all -that has happened between us?”</p> - -<p>“That’s the way,” jeered the man bitterly, plucking -at his beard. “That’s the way! Go on abusing me -because you are not living at your full pleasure, like a -stall-fed upper-class lady!”</p> - -<p>“I shan’t stay with you another moment,” cried -Lacrima, with tears in her eyes, “if you are so unkind.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> - -<p>As soon as he had reduced her to this point, Mr. -Quincunx instantaneously became gentle and tender. -This is one of the profoundest laws of a Pariah’s -being. He resents it when his companion in helplessness -shows a spirit beyond his own, but directly such -a one has been driven into reciprocal wretchedness, -his own equanimity is automatically regained.</p> - -<p>After only the briefest glance at the gate, he put -his arms round the girl and kissed her affectionately. -She returned his embrace with interest, disarranging -as she did so the cabbage-leaf in his hat, and causing -it to flutter down upon the path. They leant together -for a while in silence, against the edge of the -wheel-barrow, their hands joined.</p> - -<p>Thus associated they would have appeared, to the -dreaded passer-by, in the light of a pair of extremely -sentimental lovers, whose passion had passed into the -stage of delicious melancholia. The wind whirled -the dust in little eddies around them and the sun beat -down upon their heads.</p> - -<p>“You must be kind to me when I come to tell you -how unhappy I am,” said the Italian. “You are the -only real friend I have in the world.”</p> - -<p>It is sad to have to relate that these tender words -brought a certain thrill of alarm into the heart of -Mr. Quincunx. He felt a sudden apprehension lest -she might indicate that it was his duty to run away -with her, and face the world in remote regions.</p> - -<p>No one but a born Pariah could have endured the -confiding clasp of that little hand and the memory -of so ardent a kiss without being roused to an impetuosity -of passion ready to dare anything to make her -its own.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p> - -<p>Instead of pursuing any further the question of his -friend’s troubles, Mr. Quincunx brought the conversation -round to his own.</p> - -<p>“The worst that could happen to me has happened,” -he said, and he told her of his interview with -the Romers the day before. The girl flushed with -anger.</p> - -<p>“But this is abominable!” she cried, “simply -abominable! You’d better go at once and talk it -over with Mrs. Seldom. Surely, surely, something -can be done! It is clear they have robbed you of -your money. It is a disgraceful thing! Santa Maria—what -a country this is!”</p> - -<p>“It is no use,” sighed the man helplessly. “Mrs. -Seldom can’t help me. She is poor enough herself. -And she will know as well as I do that in the matter -of law I am entirely in their hands. My aunt had -absolute confidence in Mr. Romer and no confidence -in me. No doubt she arranged it with them that -they were to dole me out the money like a charity. -Mr. Romer did once talk about my <em>lending</em> it to him, -and his paying interest on it, and so forth; but he -managed all my aunt’s affairs, and I don’t know what -arrangement he made with her. My aunt never -liked me really. I think if she were alive now she -would probably support them in what they are doing. -She would certainly say,—she always used to say—that -it would do me good to do a little honest -work.” He pronounced the words “honest work” -with concentrated bitterness.</p> - -<p>“Probably,” he went on, “Mrs. Seldom would say -the same. I know I should be extremely unwilling to -try and make her see how horrible to me the idea of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> -work of this kind is. She would never understand. -She would think it was only that I wanted to remain -a “gentleman” and not to lose caste. She would -probably tell me that a great many gentlemen have -worked in offices before now. I daresay they have, -and I hope they enjoyed it! I know what these -gentlemen-workers are, and how easy things are made -for them. They won’t be made easy for me. I can -tell you that, Lacrima!”</p> - -<p>The girl drew a deep sigh, and walked slowly a few -paces down the path, meditating, with her hands -behind her. Presently she turned.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps after all,” she said, “it won’t be as bad -as you fancy. I know the head-clerk in Mr. Romer’s -Yeoborough office and he is quite a nice man—altogether -different from that Lickwit.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx stroked his beard with a trembling -hand. “Of course I knew you’d say that, Lacrima. -You are just like the rest. You women all think, -at the bottom of your hearts, that men are no good -if they can’t make money. I believe you have an -idea that I ought to do what people call ‘get on a -bit in the world.’ If you think that, it only shows -how little you understand me. I have no intention of -‘getting on.’ I <em>won’t</em> ‘get on’! I would sooner walk -into Auber Lake and end the whole business!”</p> - -<p>The suddenness and injustice of this attack really -did rouse the Italian to anger. “Good-bye,” she said -with a dark flash in her eyes. “I see it’s no use -talking to you when you are in this mood. You -have never, <em>never</em> spoken to me in that tone before. -Good-bye! I can open the gate for myself, thank -you.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p> - -<p>She walked away from him and passed out into -the lane. He stood watching her with a queer -haggard look on his face, his sorrowful grey eyes -staring in front of him, as if in the presence of an -apparition. Then, very slowly, he resumed his work, -leaving however the fallen cabbage-leaf unnoticed on -the ground.</p> - -<p>The weeds in the wheel-barrow, the straight -banked-up lines of potatoes and lettuces, wore, as he -returned to them, that curious air of forlorn desertion -which is one of nature’s bitterest commentaries upon -the folly of such scenes.</p> - -<p>A sickening sense of emptiness took possession of -him, and in a moment or two became unendurable. -He flung a handful of weeds to the ground and ran -impetuously to the gate and out into the lane. It -was too late. A group of farm-labourers laughing -and shouting, and driving before them a herd of -black pigs, blocked up the road. He could not -bring himself to pass them, thus hatless and in his -shirt-sleeves. Besides, they must have seen the girl, -and they would know he was pursuing her.</p> - -<p>He returned slowly up the path to his house, -and—to avoid being seen by the men—entered -his kitchen, and sat gloomily down upon a chair. -The clock on the mantelpiece ticked with contemptuous -unconcern. The room had that smell -of mortuary dust which rooms in small houses often -acquire in the summer. He sat down once more on a -chair, his hands upon his knees, and stared vacantly -in front of him. A thrush outside the window was -cracking a snail upon a stone. When the shouts of -the men died away, this was the only sound that came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> -to him, except the continual “tick—tick—tick—tick” -of the clock, which seemed to be occupied in -driving nails into the heavy coffin-lid of every mortal -joy that time had ever brought forth.</p> - -<p>That same night in Nevilton House was a night -of wretched hours for Lacrima, but of hours of a -wretchedness more active than that which made the -hermit of Dead Man’s Cottage pull the clothes over -his head and turn his face to the wall, long ere the -twilight had vanished from his garden.</p> - -<p>On leaving her friend thus abruptly, her heart full -of angry revolt, Lacrima had seen the crowd of men -and animals approaching, and to escape them had -scrambled into a field on the border of the road. -Following a little path which led across it, and crossing -two more meadows, she flung herself down under -the shadow of some great elms, in a sort of grassy -hollow beneath an overgrown hedge, and gave full -vent to her grief. The hollow in which she hid -herself was a secluded and lonely spot, and no sound -reached her but the monotonous summer-murmur of -the flies and the rustle of the wind-troubled branches. -Lying thus, prone on her face, her broad-brimmed hat -with its poppy-trimmings thrown down at her side, -and her limbs trembling with the violence of her -sobs, Lacrima seemed to insert into that alien landscape -an element of passionate feeling quite foreign -to its sluggish fertility. Not alien to the spot, however, -was another human form, that at the same hour -had been led to wander among those lush meadows.</p> - -<p>The field behind the high bank and thick-set hedge -which overshadowed the unhappy girl, was a large -and spacious one, “put up,” as country people say,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> -“for hay,” but as yet untouched by the mowers’ -machines. Here, in the heat of the noon, walked the -acquisitive Mr. John Goring, calculating the value of -this crop of grass, and deciding upon the appropriate -date of its cutting.</p> - -<p>What curious irony is it, in the blind march of -events, which so frequently draws to the place of our -exclusive sorrow the one particular spectator that we -would most avoid? One talks lightly of coincidence -and of chance; but who that has walked through life -observingly has not been driven to pause with sad -questioning before accidents and occurrences that -seem as though some conscious malignity in things -had <em>arranged</em> them? Are there, perhaps, actual telepathic -vibrations at work about us, drawing the -hunter to his prey—the prey to the hunter? Is -the innocent object of persecution, hiding from its -persecutors, compelled by a fatal psychic law—the -law of its own terror—to call subconsciously upon -the very power it is fleeing from; to betray, against -its will, the path of its own retreat? Lacrima in any -case, as she lay thus prostrate, her poppy-trimmed -hat beside her, and her brown curls flecked with spots -of sun and shadow, brought into that English landscape -a strangely remote touch,—a touch of tragic -and passionate colour. A sweet bruised exile, she -seemed, from another region, flung down, among all -this umbrageous rankness, to droop like a transplanted -flower. Certainly the sinister magic, whatever -it was, that had drawn Mr. Goring in that fatal -direction, was a magic compounded of the attraction -of contrary elements.</p> - -<p>If Mr. Romer represented the occult power of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> -sandstone hill, his brother-in-law was the very -epitome and culmination of the valley’s inert clay. -The man breathed clay, looked clay, smelt clay, -understood clay, exploited clay, and in a literal sense -<em>was</em> clay.</p> - -<p>If there is any truth in the scientific formula -about the “survival” of those most “adapted” to -their “environment,” Mr. Goring was sure of a -prolonged and triumphant sojourn on this mortal -globe. For his “environment” was certainly one of -clay—and to clay he certainly was most prosperously -“adapted.”</p> - -<p>It was not long before the tragic sobs of the unhappy -Lacrima, borne across the field on the east-wind, -arrested the farmer’s attention. He stood still, -and listened, snuffing the air, like a great jungle-boar. -Then with rapid but furtive steps he crossed over to -where the sound proceeded, and slipping down -cautiously through a gap in the hedge, made his way -towards the secluded hollow, breathing heavily like -an animal on a trail.</p> - -<p>Her fit of crying having subsided, Lacrima turned -round on her back, and remained motionless, gazing -up at the blue sky. Extended thus on the ruffled -grass, her little fingers nervously plucking at its roots -and her breast still heaving, the young girl offered a -pitiful enough picture to any casual intruder. Slight -and fragile though she was, the softness and charm of -her figure witnessed to her Latin origin. With her -dusky curls and olive complexion, she might, but for -her English dress, have been taken for a strayed -gipsy, recovering from some passionate quarrel with -her Romany lover.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p> - -<p>“What’s the matter, Miss Lacrima?” was the -farmer’s greeting as his gross form obtruded itself -against the sky-line.</p> - -<p>The girl started violently, and scrambled rapidly -to her feet. Mr. Goring stepped awkwardly down -the grassy slope and held out his hand.</p> - -<p>“Good morning,” he said without removing his hat. -“I should have thought ’twas time for you to be up -at the House. ’Tis past a quarter of one.”</p> - -<p>“I was just resting,” stammered the girl. “I hope -I have not hurt your grass.” She looked apprehensively -down at the pathetic imprint on the ground.</p> - -<p>“No, no! Missie,” said the man. “That’s nothing. -’Tis hard to cut, in a place like this. May-be they’ll -let it alone. Besides, this field ain’t for hay. The -cows will be in here tomorrow.”</p> - -<p>Lacrima looked at the watch on her wrist.</p> - -<p>“Yes, you are right,” she said. “I am late. I -must be running back. Your brother does not like -our being out when he comes in to lunch.” She -picked up her hat and made as if she would pass him. -But he barred her way.</p> - -<p>“Not so quick, lassie, not so quick,” he said. -“Those that come into farmers’ fields must not -be too proud to pass the time of day with the -farmer.”</p> - -<p>As he spoke he permitted his little voracious pig’s -eyes to devour her with an amorous leer. All manner -of curious thoughts passed through his head. It was -only yesterday that his brother-in-law had been talking -to him of this girl. Certainly it would be extremely -satisfactory to be the complete master of -that supple, shrinking figure, and of that frightened<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> -little bosom, that rose and fell now, like the heart of -a panting hare.</p> - -<p>After all, she was only a sort of superior servant, -and with servants of every kind the manner of -the rapacious Mr. Goring was alternately brutal and -endearing. Encouraged by the isolation of the spot -and the shrinking alarm of the girl, he advanced still -nearer and laid a heavy hand upon her shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Come, little wench,” he said, “I will answer for it -if you’re late, up at the House. Sit down a bit with -me, and let’s make ourselves nice and comfortable.”</p> - -<p>Lacrima trembled with terror. She was afraid to -push him away, and try to scramble out of the -hollow, lest in doing so she should put herself still -further at his mercy. She wondered if anyone in the -road would hear if she screamed aloud. Her quick -Latin brain resorted mechanically to a diplomatic -subterfuge. “What kind of field have you got over -that hedge?” she asked, with a quiver in her voice.</p> - -<p>“A very nice field for hay, my dear,” replied the -farmer, removing his hand from her shoulder and -thinking in his heart that these foreign girls were -wonderfully easy to manage.</p> - -<p>“I’ll show it to you if you like. There’s a pretty -little place for people like you and me to have a chat -in, up along over there.” He pointed through the -hedge to a small copse of larches that grew green and -thick at the corner of the hay-field.</p> - -<p>She let him give her his hand and pull her out of -the hollow. Quite passively, too, she followed him, -as he sought the easiest spot through which he might -help her to surmount the difficulties of the intervening -hedge.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> - -<p>When he had at last decided upon the place, -“Go first, please, Mr. Goring,” she murmured, -“and then you can pull me up.”</p> - -<p>He turned his back upon her and began laboriously -ascending the bank, dragging himself forward by the -aid of roots and ferns. It had been easy enough to -slide down this declivity. It was much less easy to -climb up. At length, however, stung by nettles and -pricked by thorns, and with earth in his mouth, he -swung himself round at the top, ready to help her to -follow him.</p> - -<p>A vigorous oath escaped his lips. She was already -a third of the way across the field, running -madly and desperately, towards the gate into -the lane.</p> - -<p>Mr. Goring shook his fist after her retreating figure. -“All right, Missie,” he muttered aloud, “all -right! If you had been kind to the poor farmer, -he might have let you off. But now”—and he dug -his stick viciously into the earth—“There’ll be no -dilly-dallying or nonsense about this business. I’ll -tell Romer I’m ready for this marriage-affair as soon -as he likes. I’ll teach you—my pretty darling!”</p> - -<p>That night the massive Leonian masonry of Nevilton -House seemed especially heavy and antipathetic -to the child of the Apennines, as it rose, somnolent -and oppressive about her, in the hot midsummer air.</p> - -<p>In their spacious rooms, looking out upon the east -court with its dove-cotes and herbacious borders, -the two girls were awake and together.</p> - -<p>The wind had fallen, and the silence about the -place was as oppressive to Lacrima’s mind as the -shadow of some colossal raven’s wing.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p> - -<p>The door which separated their chambers was -ajar, and Gladys, her yellow hair loose upon her -shoulders, had flung herself negligently down in a -deep wicker-chair at the side of her companion’s bed.</p> - -<p>The luckless Pariah, her brown curls tied back -from her pale forehead by a dark ribbon, was lying -supine upon her pillows with a look of troubled terror -in her wide-open eyes. One long thin arm lay upon -the coverlet, the fingers tightened upon an open book.</p> - -<p>At the beginning of her “visit” to Nevilton House -she had clung desperately to these precious night-hours, -when the great establishment was asleep; -and she had even been so audacious as to draw the -bolt of the door which separated her from her cousin. -But that wilful young tyrant had pretended to her -mother that she often “got frightened” in the night, -so orders had gone out that the offending bolt should -be removed.</p> - -<p>After this, Gladys had her associate quite at -her mercy, and the occasions were rare when the -pleasure of being allowed to read herself to sleep -was permitted to the younger girl.</p> - -<p>It was curiously irritating to the yellow-haired -despot to observe the pleasure which Lacrima derived -from these solitary readings. Gladys got into -the habit of chattering on, far into the night, so as -to make sure that, when she did retire, her cousin -would be too weary to do anything but fall asleep.</p> - -<p>As the two girls lay thus side by side, the one in -her chair, and the other in her bed, under the weight -of the night’s sombre expectancy, the contrast between -them was emphasized to a fine dramatic point. -The large-winged bat that fluttered every now and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> -then across the window might have caught, if for a -brief moment it could have been endowed with -human vision, a strange sense of the tragic power -of one human being over another, when the restriction -of a common roof compels their propinquity.</p> - -<p>One sometimes seeks to delude oneself in the fond -belief that our European domestic hearths are places -of peace and freedom, compared with the dark haunts -of savagery in remoter lands. It is not true! The -long-evolved system that, with us, groups together, -under one common authority, beings as widely -sundered as the poles, is a system that, for all its -external charm, conceals, more often than anyone -could suppose, subtle and gloomy secrets, as dark and -heathen as any in those less favoured spots.</p> - -<p>The nervous organization of many frail human animals -is such that the mere fact of being compelled, -out of custom and usage and economic helplessness, -to live in close relation with others, is itself a tragic -purgatory.</p> - -<p>It is often airily assumed that the obstinate and -terrible struggles of life are encountered abroad—far -from home—in desolate contention with the -elements or with enemies. It is not so! The most -obstinate and desperate struggles of all—struggles -for the preservation of one’s most sacred identity, of -one’s inmost liberty of action and feeling—take -place, and have their advances and retreats, their -treacheries and their betrayals, under the hypocritical -calm of the domestic roof. Those who passionately -resent any agitation, any free thought, any legislative -interference, which might cause these fortresses of -seclusion to enlarge their boundaries, forget, in their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> -poetic idealization of the Gods of the Hearth, that -tragedies are often enacted under that fair consecration -which would dim the sinister repute of Argos or -of Thebes. The Platonic speculations which, all -through human history, have erected their fanciful -protests against these perils, may often be unscientific -and ill-considered. But there is a smouldering passion -of heroic revolt behind such dreams, which it is -not always wise to overlook.</p> - -<p>As these two girls, the fair-haired and the dark-haired, -let the solemn burden of the night thus press -unheeded upon them, they would have needed no -fantastic imagination, in an invisible observer, to be -aware of the tense vibration between them of some -formidable spiritual encounter.</p> - -<p>High up above the mass of Leonian stone which -we have named Nevilton House, the Milky Way -trailed its mystery of far-off brightness across the -incredible gulfs. What to it was the fact that one -human heart should tremble like a captured bird in -the remorseless power of another?</p> - -<p>It was not to this indifferent sky, stretched equally -over all, that hands could be lifted. And yet the -scene between the girls must have appeared, to such -an invisible watcher, as linked to a dramatic contest -above and beyond their immediate human personalities.</p> - -<p>In this quiet room the “Two Mythologies” were -grappling; each drawing its strength from forces of an -origin as baffling to reason as the very immensity of -those spaces above, so indifferent to both!</p> - -<p>The hatred that Gladys bore to Lacrima’s enjoyment -of her midnight readings was a characteristic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> -indication of the relations between the girls. It is -always infuriating to a well-constituted nature to -observe these little pathetic devices of pleasure in -a person who has no firm grip upon life. It excites -the same healthy annoyance as when one sees some -absurd animal that ought, properly speaking, not to -be alive at all, deriving ridiculous satisfaction from -some fantastic movement incredible to sound senses.</p> - -<p>The Pariah had, as a matter of fact, defeated her -healthy-minded cousin by using one of those sly -tricks which Pariahs alone indulge in; and had -craftily acquired the habit of slipping away earlier -to her room, and snatching little oases of solitary -happiness before the imperious young woman came -upstairs. It was in revenge for these evasions that -Gladys was even now announcing to her companion -a new and calculated outrage upon her slave’s peace -of mind.</p> - -<p>Every Pariah has some especial and peculiar dread,—some -nervous mania. Lacrima had several innate -terrors. The strongest of all was a shuddering -dread of the supernatural. Next to this, what she -most feared was the idea of deep cold water. Lakes, -rivers, and chilly inland streams, always rather -alarmed than inspired her. The thought of mill-ponds, -as they eddied and gurgled in the darkness, -often came to her as a supreme fear, and the image -of indrawn dark waters, sucked down beneath weirs -and dams, was a thing she could not contemplate -without trembling. It was no doubt the Genoese -blood in her, crying aloud for the warm blue waves -of the Mediterranean and shrinking from the chill -of our English ditches, that accounted for this peculiarity.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> -The poor child had done her best to conceal -her feeling, but Gladys, alert as all healthy minded -people are, to seize upon the silly terrors of the ill-constituted, -had not let it pass unobserved, and was -now serenely prepared to make good use of it, as a -heaven-sent opportunity for revenge.</p> - -<p>It must be noted, that in the centre of the north -garden of Nevilton House, surrounded by cypress-bordered -lawns and encircled by a low hedge of carefully -clipped rosemary, was a deep round pond.</p> - -<p>This pond, built entirely of Leonian stone, lent -itself to the playing of a splendid fountain—a fountain -which projected from an ornamental island, -covered with overhanging ferns.</p> - -<p>The fountain only played on state occasions, and -the coolness and depth of the water, combined with -the fact that the pond had a stone bottom, gave the -place admirable possibilities for bathing. Gladys herself, -full of animal courage and buoyant energy, had -made a custom during the recent hot weather of -rising from her bed early in the morning, before the -servants were up, and enjoying a matutinal plunge.</p> - -<p>She was a practised swimmer and had been lately -learning to dive; and the sensation of slipping out -of the silent house, garbed in a bathing-dress, with -sandals on her feet, and an opera-cloak over her -shoulders, was thrilling to every nerve of her healthy -young body. Impervious animal as she was, she -would hardly have been human if those dew-drenched -lawns and exquisite morning odours had not at least -crossed the margin of her consciousness. She had -hitherto been satisfied with a proud sense of superiority -over her timid companion, and Lacrima so far,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> -had been undisturbed by these excursions, except in -the welcoming of her cousin on her return, dripping -and laughing, and full of whimsical stories of how -she had peeped down over the terrace-wall, and seen -the milk-men, in the field below, driving in their -cattle.</p> - -<p>Looking about, however, in her deliberate feline -way, for some method of pleasant revenge, she had -suddenly hit upon this bathing adventure as a heaven-inspired -opportunity. The thought of it when it -first came to her as she languidly sunned herself, -like a great cat, on the hot parapet of the pond, had -made her positively laugh for joy. She would compel -her cousin to accompany her on these occasions!</p> - -<p>Lacrima was not only terrified of water, but was -abnormally reluctant and shy with regard to any risk -of being observed in strange or unusual garments.</p> - -<p>Gladys had stretched herself out on the Leonian -margin of the pond with a thrilling sense of delight -at the prospect thus offered. She would be able to -gratify, at one and the same time, her profound need -to excel in the presence of an inferior, and her insatiable -craving to outrage that inferior’s reserve.</p> - -<p>The sun-warmed slabs of Leonian stone, upon which -she had so often basked in voluptuous contentment -seemed dumbly to encourage and stimulate her in -this heathen design. How entirely they were the -accomplices of all that was dominant in her destiny—these -yellow blocks of stone that had so enriched -her house! They answered to her own blond beauty, -to her own sluggish remorselessness. She loved their -tawny colour, their sandy texture, their enduring -strength. She loved to see them around and about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> -her, built into walls, courts, terraces and roofs. They -gave support and weight to all her pretensions.</p> - -<p>Thus it had been with an almost mystical thrill of -exultation that she had felt the warmth of the Leonian -slabs caress her limbs, as this new and exciting -scheme passed through her mind.</p> - -<p>And now, luxuriously seated in her low chair by -her friend’s side she was beginning to taste the -reward of her inspiration.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she said, crossing her hands negligently -over her knees, “it is so dull bathing alone. I really -think you’ll have to do it with me, dear! You’ll -like it all right when once you begin. It is only the -effort of starting. The water isn’t so very cold, and -where the sun warms the parapet it is lovely.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t, Gladys,” pleaded the other, from her -bed, “I can’t—I can’t!”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense, child. Don’t be so silly! I tell you, -you’ll enjoy it. Besides, there’s nothing like bathing -to keep one healthy. Mother was only saying last -night to father how much she wished you would -begin it.”</p> - -<p>Lacrima’s fingers let her book slip through them. It -slid down unnoticed upon the floor and lay open there.</p> - -<p>She sat up and faced her cousin.</p> - -<p>“Gladys,” she said, with grave intensity, “if you -make your mother insist on my doing this, you are -more wicked than I ever dreamed you would be.”</p> - -<p>Gladys regarded her with indolent interest.</p> - -<p>“It’s only at first the water feels cold,” she said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> -“You get used to it, after the first dip. I always -race round the lawn afterwards, to get warm. What’s -the matter now, baby?”</p> - -<p>These final words were due to the fact that the -Pariah had suddenly put up her hands to her face -and was shaking with sobs. Gladys rose and bent -over her. “Silly child,” she said, “must I kiss its -tears away? Must I pet it and cosset it?”</p> - -<p>She pulled impatiently at the resisting fingers, and -loosening them, after a struggle, did actually go so -far as to touch the girl’s cheek with her lips. Then -sinking back into her chair she resumed her interrupted -discourse.</p> - -<p>The taste of salt tears had not, it seemed, softened -her into any weak compliance. Really strong and -healthy natures learn the art, by degrees, of proving -adamant, to the insidious cunning of these persuasions.</p> - -<p>“Girls of our class,” she announced sententiously, -“must set the lower orders in England an example -of hardiness. Father says it is dreadful how effeminate -the labouring people are becoming. They are -afraid of work, afraid of fresh air, afraid of cold -water, afraid of discipline. They only think of getting -more to eat and drink.”</p> - -<p>The Pariah turned her face to the wall and lay -motionless, contemplating the cracks and crevices in -the oak panelling.</p> - -<p>Under the same indifferent stars the other Pariah -of Nevilton was also staring hopelessly at the wall. -What secrets these impassive surfaces, near the pillows -of sleepers, could reveal, if they could only -speak!</p> - -<p>“Father says that what we all want is more -physical training,” Gladys went on. “This next -winter you and I must do some practising in the -Yeoborough Gymnasium. It is our superior physical<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> -training, father says, which enables us to hold the -mob in check. Just look at these workmen and -peasants, how clumsily they slouch about!”</p> - -<p>Lacrima turned round at this. “Your father and -his friends are shamefully hard on their workmen. -I wish they would strike again!”</p> - -<p>Gladys smiled complacently. The scene was really -beginning to surpass even what she had hoped.</p> - -<p>“Why are you such a baby, Lacrima?” she said. -“Stop a moment. I will show you the things you -shall wear.”</p> - -<p>She glided off into her own room, and presently -returned with a child’s bathing dress.</p> - -<p>“Look, dear! Isn’t it lucky? I’ve had these in -my wardrobe ever since we were at Eastbourne, -years and years ago. They will not be a bit too -small for you. Or if they are—it doesn’t matter. -No one will see us. And I’ll lend you my mackintosh -to go out in.”</p> - -<p>Lacrima’s head sank back upon her pillows and she -stared at her cousin with a look of helpless terror.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p> -<p>“You needn’t look so horrified, you silly little -thing. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Besides, -people oughtn’t to give way to their feelings. They -ought to be brave and show spirit. It’s lucky for -you you did come to us. There’s no knowing what -a cowardly little thing you’d have grown into, if -you hadn’t. Mother is quite right. It will do you -ever so much good to bathe with me. You can’t -be drowned, you know. The water isn’t out of your -depth anywhere. Father says every girl in England -ought to learn to swim, so as to be able to rescue -people. He says that this is the great new idea of -the Empire—that we should all join in making the -race braver and stronger. You are English now, you -know—not Italian any more. I am going to take -fencing lessons soon. Father says you never can tell -what may happen, and we ought all to be prepared.”</p> - -<p>Lacrima did not speak. A vision of a fierce aggressive -crowd of hard, hostile, healthy young persons, -drilling, riding, shooting, fencing, and dragging such -renegades as herself remorselessly along with them, -blocked every vista of her mind.</p> - -<p>“I hate the Empire!” she cried at last. Gladys -had subsided once more into her chair—the little -bathing-suit, symbol of our natural supremacy, -clasped fondly in her lap.</p> - -<p>“I know,” she said, “where you get your socialistic -nonsense from. Yes, I do! You needn’t shake your -head. You get it from Maurice Quincunx.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t get it from anybody,” protested the -Pariah; and then, in a weak murmur, “it grows up -naturally, in my heart.”</p> - -<p>“What is that you’re saying?” cried Gladys. -“Sometimes I think you are really not right in your -mind. You mutter so. You mutter, and talk to -yourself. It irritates me more than I can say. It -would irritate a saint.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> -<p>“I am sorry if I annoy you, cousin.”</p> - -<p>“Annoy me? It would take more than a little -coward like you to annoy me! But I am not going -to argue about it. Father says arguing is only fit -for feeble people. He says we Romers never argue. -We think, and then we <em>do</em>. I’m going to bed. So -there’s your book! I hope you’ll enjoy it Miss -Socialism!”</p> - -<p>She picked up the volume from the floor and flung -it into her cousin’s lap. The gesture of contempt -with which she did this would admirably have suited -some Roman Drusilla tossing aside the culture of -slaves.</p> - -<p>An hour later the door between the two rooms -was hesitatingly opened, and a white figure stole to -the head of Gladys’ couch. “You’re not asleep, dear, -are you? Oh Gladys, darling! Please, please, please, -don’t make me bathe with you! You don’t know -how I dread it.”</p> - -<p>But the daughter of the Romers vouchsafed no -reply to this appeal, beyond a drowsy “Nonsense—nonsense—let’s -only pray tomorrow will be fine.”</p> - -<p>The night-owls, that swept, on heavy, flapping -wings, over the village, from the tower of St. Catharine’s -Church to the pinnacles of the manor, brought -no miraculous intervention from the resting-place of -the Holy-Rood. What was St. Catharine doing that -she had thus deserted the sanctuary of her name? -Perhaps the Alexandrian saint found the magic of -the heathen hill too strong for her; or perhaps because -of its rank heresy, she had blotted her former -shrine altogether from her tender memory.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII<br /> -<span class="smaller">IDYLLIC PLEASURES</span></h2> - -<p>Mortimer Romer could not be called a -many-sided man. His dominant lust for -power filled his life so completely that he -had little room for excursions into the worlds of art -or literature. He was, however, by no means narrow -or stupid in these matters. He had at least the -shrewdness to recognize the depth of their influence -over other people. Indeed, as he was so constantly -occupied with this very question of influence, with -the problem of what precise motives and impulses -did actually stir and drive the average mass of -humanity, it was natural that he should, sooner or -later, have to assume some kind of definite attitude -towards these things. The attitude he finally hit -upon, as most harmonious with his temperament, was -that of active and genial patronage combined with a -modest denial of the possession of any personal -knowledge or taste. He recognized that an occasion -might easily arise, when some association with the -æsthetic world, even of this modest and external -kind, might prove extremely useful to him. He might -find it advisable to make use of these alien forces, -just as Napoleon found it necessary to make use of -religion. The fact that he himself was devoid of -ideal emotions, whether religious or æsthetic, mattered -nothing. Only fools confined their psychological<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> -interest within the narrow limits of their -subjective tastes. Humanity was influenced by these -things, and Romer was concerned with influencing -humanity. Not that these deviations into artistic -by-paths carried him very far. He would invite -“cultivated” people to stay with him in his noble -House—at least they would appreciate that!—and -then hand them over to the care of his charming -daughter, a method of hospitality which, it must be -confessed, seemed to meet with complete approval -on the part of those concerned. Thus the name of -the owner of Leo’s Hill came to be associated, in -many artistic and literary circles, with the names of -such admirable and friendly patrons of these pursuits, -as could be counted upon for practical and -efficient, if not for intellectual aid, in the contest -with an unsympathetic and materialistic world. It -was not perhaps the more struggling and less prosperous -artists who found him their friend. To most -of these his attitude, though kind and attentive, was -hardly cordial. He knew too little of the questions -at issue, to risk giving his support to the Pariahs -and Anarchists of Art. It was among the well-known -and the successful that Mr. Romer’s patronage was -most evident. Success was a quality he admired in -every field; and while, as has been hinted, his personal -taste remained quite untouched, he was clever -enough to pick up the more fashionable catch-words -of current criticism, and to use them, when -occasion served, with effective naturalness and apparent -conviction.</p> - -<p>Among other celebrities or semi-celebrities, across -whose track he came, while on his periodic visits to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> -London, was a certain Ralph Dangelis, an American -artist, whose masterly and audacious work was just -then coming into vogue. True to his imperial instinct -of surrounding himself with brilliant and prosperous -clients, if such they could be called, he promptly -invited the famous Westerner to come down and -stay with him in Nevilton.</p> - -<p>The American, who knew nothing of English -country life, and was an impassioned and desperate -pursuer of all new experiences, accepted this invitation, -and appeared, among the quiet Somersetshire -orchards, like a bolt from the blue; falling into the -very centre of the small quaintly involved drama, -whose acts and scenes we are now recording. Thus -plunged into a completely new circle the distinguished -adventurer very soon made himself most felicitously -at home. He was of a frank and friendly disposition; -at heart an obdurate and impenetrable egoist, but on -the surface affable and kind to a quite exceptional -degree. He had spent several years in both Paris -and Rome, and hence it was in his power to adapt -himself easily and naturally to European, if not to -English ways. One result of his protracted visits -to foreign cities was the faculty of casting off at -pleasure his native accent—the accent of a citizen -of Toledo, Ohio. He did not always do this. Sometimes -it was his humour, especially in intercourse with -ladies, to revert to most free and fearless provincialisms, -and a certain boyish gaiety in him made him -mischievously addicted to use such expressions when -they seemed least of all acceptable, but under normal -conditions it would have been difficult to gather from -the tone of his language that he was anything but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> -an extremely well-travelled gentleman of Anglo-Saxon -birth. He speedily made a fast friend of -Gladys, who found his airy persiflage and elaborate -courtesy eminently to her liking; and as the long -summer days succeeded one another and brought the -visitor into more and more familiar relation with -Nevilton ways and customs, it seemed as though his -sojourn in that peaceful retreat was likely to be indefinitely -prolonged. It may be well believed that -their guest’s attraction to Gladys did not escape -the notice of the girl’s parents. Mr. Romer took -the trouble to make sundry investigations as to the -status of Mr. Dangelis in his native Ohio; and it -was with unmixed satisfaction that both he and his -wife received the intelligence that he was the son -and the only son of one of Toledo’s most “prominent” -citizens, a gentleman actively and effectively -engaged in furthering the progress of civilization by -the manufacturing of automobiles. Dangelis was, -indeed, a prospective, if not an actual, millionaire, -and, from all that could be learned, it appeared that -the prominent citizen of Toledo handed over to his -son an annual allowance equal to the income of -many crowned heads.</p> - -<p>The Pariah of Nevilton House—the luckless child -of the Apennines—found little to admire in this -energetic wanderer. His oratorical manner, his -abrupt, aggressive courtesies, his exuberant high -spirits, the sweep and swing of his vigorous personality, -the extraordinary mixture in him of pedantry -and gaiety, jarred upon her sensitive over-strung -nerves. In his boyish desire to please her, hearing -that she came from Italy, the good-natured artist<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> -would frequently turn the conversation round to the -beauty and romance of that “garden of the world,” -as he was pleased to style her home; but the tone -of these discourses increased rather than diminished -Lacrima’s obstinate reserve. He had a habit of referring -to her country as if it were a place whose -inhabitants only existed, by a considerate dispensation -of Providence, to furnish a charming background -for certain invaluable relics of antiquity. -These precious fragments, according to this easy -view of things, appeared to survive, together with -their appropriate guardians, solely with the object -of enlarging and inspiring the voracious “mentality” -of wayfarers from London and New York. Grateful -as Lacrima was for the respite the artist brought her -from the despotism of her cousin, she could not -bring herself to regard him, so far as she herself was -concerned, with anything but extreme reserve and -caution.</p> - -<p>One peculiarity he displayed, filled her with shy -dismay. Dangelis had a trick of staring at the people -with whom he associated, as if with a kind of quizzical -analysis. He threw her into a turmoil of -wretched embarrassment by some of his glances. -She was troubled and frightened, without being able -to get at the secret of her agitation. Sometimes she -fancied that he was wondering what he could make -of her as a model. The idea that anything of this -kind should be expected of her filled her with nervous -dread. At other times the wild idea passed through -her brain that he was making covert overtures to -her, of an amorous character. She thought she intercepted -once or twice a look upon his face of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> -particular kind which always filled her with shrinking -apprehension. This illusion—if it were an illusion—was -far more alarming than any tendency he -might display to pounce on her for æsthetic purposes; -for the Pariah’s association with the inhabitants of -Nevilton House had not given her a pleasing impression -of human amorousness.</p> - -<p>Shortly after Dangelis’ arrival, Mr. Romer found -it necessary to visit London again for a few days; -and the artist was rather relieved than otherwise by -his departure. He felt freer, and more at liberty -to express his ideas, when left alone with the three -women. For himself, however varied their attitude -to him might be, he found them all, in their different -ways, full of stimulating interest. With Mrs. Romer -he soon became perfectly at home; and discovered a -mischievous and profane pleasure in the process of -exciting and encouraging all her least lady-like characteristics. -He would follow her into the spacious -Nevilton kitchens, where the good lady was much more -at home than in her stately drawing room; and watch -with unconventional interest her rambling domestic -colloquies with Mrs. Murphy the housekeeper, Jane -the cook, and Lily the house-maid.</p> - -<p>The men-servants, of whom Mr. Romer kept two, -always avoided, with scrupulous refinement, these -unusual gatherings. They discoursed, in the pantry, -upon their mistress’ dubious behavior, and came to -the conclusion that she was no more of a “real lady” -than her visitor from America was a “real gentleman.”</p> - -<p>Dangelis made some new and amazing discovery -in Susan Romer’s character every day. In all his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> -experiences from San Francisco to New York, and -from Paris to Vienna, he had never encountered -anything in the least resembling her.</p> - -<p>He could never make out how deep her apparent -simplicity went, nor how ingrained and innate was -her lethargic submission to circumstances. Nothing -in the woman shocked him; neither her vulgarity -nor her grossness. And as for her sly, sleepy, feline -malice, he loved to excite and provoke it, as he would -have loved to have excited a slumbering animal in a -cage. He delighted in the way she wrinkled up her -eyes. He delighted in the way she smacked her lips -over her food. He loved watching her settling herself -to sleep in her high-backed Sheraton chair in -the kitchen, or in her more modern lounge in the -great entrance hall. He never grew tired of asking -her questions about the various personages of Nevilton, -their relation to Mr. Romer, and Mr. Romer’s -relation to them. He used to watch her sometimes, -as in drowsy sensual enjoyment she would bask in -the hot sunshine on the terrace, or drift in her slow -stealthy manner about the garden-paths, as if she -were a great fascinating tame puma. He made endless -sketches of her, in his little note-books, some of -them of the most fantastic, and even Rabelaisean -character. He had certainly never anticipated just -this, when he accepted the shrewd financier’s invitation -to his Elizabethan home. And if Susan Romer -delighted him, Gladys Romer absolutely bewitched -him. He treated her as if she were no grown-up -young lady, but a romping and quite unscrupulous -child; and the wily Gladys, quickly perceiving how -greatly he was pleased by any naive display of youthful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> -malice, or greed, or sensuality, or vanity, took good -care to put no rein upon herself in the expression of -her primitive emotions.</p> - -<p>It was with Lacrima that Ralph Dangelis found himself -on ground that was less secure, but in the genial -aplomb of his all-embracing good-fellowships, it was -only by degrees that he became conscious even of this. -He found the place not only extraordinarily harmonious -to his general temper, but extremely inspiring to -his imaginative work. It only needed the securing of -a few mechanical contrivances, a studio, for instance, -with a north-light, to have made his sojourn at Nevilton -one of the most prolific summers, in regard to -his art, that he had experienced since his student days -in Rome. He began vaguely to wish in the depths -of his mind that it were possible for these good -Romers to bestow upon him in perpetuity some -pleasant airy chamber in their great house, so that he -might not have to lose, for many summers to come, -these agreeable and scandalous gossippings with the -mother and these still more agreeable flirtations with -the delicious daughter. This bold and fantastic idea -was less a fabric of airy speculation than might have -been supposed; for if the American was enchanted -with his entertainers, his entertainers, at any rate the -mother and the daughter, were extremely well pleased -with him. The free sweep of his capacious sympathy, -the absence in him of any punctilious gentility, the -large and benignant atmosphere he diffused round -him, and the mixture of cynical realism with considerate -chivalry, were things so different from anything -they had been accustomed to, that they both -of them would willingly have offered him a suite of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> -apartments in the house, if he could have accepted -such an offer.</p> - -<p>Dangelis was particularly lucky in arriving at -Nevilton at this especial moment. An abnormally -retarded spring had led to the most delicious overlapping -in the varied flora of the place. Though June -had begun, there were still many flowers lingering in -the shadier spots of the woods and ditches, which -properly belonged not only to May, but to very -early May. Certain, even, of April’s progeny had -not completely faded from the late-flowering lanes.</p> - -<p>The artist found himself surrounded by a riotous -revel of leafy exuberance. The year’s “primal burst” -had occurred, not in reluctant spasmodic fits and -starts, as is usual in our intermittent fine weather, -but in a grand universal outpouring of the earth’s -sap. His imagination answered spontaneously to -this appeal, and his note-books were speedily filled -with hurried passionate sketches, made at all hours -of the long bright days, and full of suggestive charm. -One particularly lovely afternoon the American found -himself wandering slowly up the hill from the little -Nevilton station, after a brief excursion to Yeoborough -in search of pigments and canvas. He was hoping -to take advantage of this auspicious stirring of his -imaginative senses, by entering upon some more -important and more continuous work. The Nevilton -ladies had assured him that it would be quite impossible -to find in the little town the kind of materials he -needed; and he was returning in high spirits to assure -them that he had completely falsified their prediction. -He suspected Gladys of having invented this difficulty -with a view to confining his labours to such easily<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> -shared sketching-trips as she might accompany him -upon, but though the fascination of the romping and -toying girl still retained, and had even increased, its -power over him; he was, in this case, impelled and -driven by a force stronger and more dominant than -any sensual attraction. He was in a better mood for -painting than he had ever been in his life, and nothing -could interfere with his resolution to exploit this mood -to its utmost limit. With the most precious of his -newly purchased materials under his arm and the more -bulky ones promised him that same evening, Dangelis, -as he drifted slowly up the sunny road chatting -amicably with such rural marketers as overtook him, -felt in a peculiarly harmonious temper.</p> - -<p>He had recently, in the western cities of the States, -won a certain fiercely contested notoriety in the art -of portrait-painting, an art which he had come more -and more to practise according to the very latest -of those daring modern theories, which are summed -up sometimes under the not very illuminative title -of Post-impressionism, and he had, during the last -few days, indulged in a natural and irresistible wish -to associate this new departure with his personal -experiences at Nevilton.</p> - -<p>Gossiping nonchalantly with the village-wives, as -he ascended the dusty road, by the vicarage wall, his -thoughts ran swiftly over the motley-coloured map of -his past life, and the deviating track across the world -which he had been led to follow. He congratulated -himself in his heart, as he indulged in easy persiflage -with his fellow-wayfarers, upon his consistent freedom -from everything that might choke or restrain the -freedom of his will.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p> - -<p>How fortunate, how incredibly fortunate, that he -should, in weather like this, and in so abounding a -mood of creative energy, be completely his own -master, except for the need of propitiating two naive -and amusing women! He entertained himself by the -thought of how little they really knew him,—these -friendly Romers—how little they sounded his real -purposes, his essential feelings! To them no doubt, -he was no more than he was to these excellent villagers,—a -tall, fair, slouching, bony figure, with a -face,—if they went as far as his face,—massively -heavy and irregular, with dreamy humorous eyes and -a mouth addicted to nervous twitching.</p> - -<p>A clump of dandelions, obtruding their golden -indifference to human drama, into the dust of the -road at his feet, mixed oddly, at that moment, in -these obscure workings of his brain, with a sort of -savage caress of self-complacent congratulation which -he suddenly bestowed on his interior self; as, beneath -his pleasant chatter with his rural companions, -he thought how imperturbable, how ferocious, his -secret egoism was, and how well he concealed it -under his indolent good-nature! He had passed now -the entrance to the vicarage garden, and in the -adjoining field he observed with a curious thrill of -psychic sympathy the tenacious grip with which a -viciously-knotted ash-tree held to the earth with -its sturdy roots. Out-walked at last by all the other -returned travellers, Dangelis glanced without pausing -down the long Italianated avenue, at the end of -which shone red, in the afternoon sun, the mullioned -windows of the great house. He preferred to prolong -his stroll, by taking the circuitous way, round by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> -village. He knew the expression of that famous -west front too well now, to linger in admiration over -its picturesque repose in the afternoon sunshine. -As a matter of fact a slight chill of curious antipathy -crossed his consciousness as he quickened his steps.</p> - -<p>Happily situated though he was, in his pleasant -lodging beneath that capacious roof, the famous -edifice itself had not altogether won his affection. The -thing suggested to his wayward and prairie-nurtured -soul, a stately product rather of convention than of -life. He felt oddly conscious of it as something symbolic -of what would be always intrinsically opposed -to him, of what would willingly, if it were able, suppress -him and render him helpless.</p> - -<p>Dangelis belonged to quite a different type of -trans-Atlantic visitor, from the kind that hover with -exuberant delight over everything that is “old” or -“English” or “European.” He was essentially rather -an artist than an antiquary, rather an energetic -workman than an epicurean sentimentalist. Once out -of sight of the Elizabethan pile, the curious chill -passed from his mind, and as he approached the first -cottages of the village he looked round for more -reassuring tokens. Such tokens were not lacking. -They crowded in upon him, indeed, from every side. -Stopping for a moment, ere the houses actually -blocked his view, and leaning over a gate which -faced westward, Dangelis looked out across the great -Somersetshire plain, to which Leo’s Hill and Nevilton -Mount serve the office of watchful sentinels. Tall, -closely-clipped elm-trees, bordering every field, gave -the country on this side of the horizon, a queer artificial -look, as if it had been one huge landscape-garden,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> -arranged according to the arbitrary pleasure -of some fantastic artist, whose perversion it was to -reduce every natural extravagance to the meticulous -rhythm of his own formal taste.</p> - -<p>This impression, the impression of something willed -and intentional in the very formation of Nature, gave -our eccentric onlooker a caressing and delicate pleasure, -a sense as of a thing peculiarly harmonious to his -own spirit. The formality of Nevilton House depressed -and chilled him, but the formality of age-trimmed -trees and hedges liberated his imagination, -as some perverse work of a Picasso or a Matisse might -have done. He wondered vaguely to himself what -was the precise cause of the psychic antipathy which -rendered him so cold to the grandeur of Elizabethan -architecture, while the other features of his present -dwelling remained so attractive, and he came to the -temporary solution, as he took his arms from the -top of the gate, that it was because that particular -kind of magnificence expressed the pride of a class, -rather than of an individual, whereas he himself was -all for individual self-assertion in everything—in -everything! The problem was still teasing him, when, -a few minutes later, he passed the graceful tower of -St. Catharine’s church.</p> - -<p>This strangely organic, this curiously anonymous -Gothic art—was not this also, the suppression of -the individual, in the presence of something larger -and deeper, of something that demanded the sacrifice -of mere transient personality, as the very condition -of its appearance? At all events it was less -humiliating, less of an insult, to the claims of the -individual will, when the thing was done in the interest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> -of religion, than when it was done in the interests -of a class. The impersonality of the former, resembled -the impersonality of rocks and flowers; that -of the latter, the impersonality of fashions in dress.</p> - -<p>“But away with them both!” muttered Dangelis -to himself, as he strode viciously down the central -street of Nevilton. The American was in very truth, -and he felt he was, for all his artistic receptivity, an -alien and a foreigner in the midst of these time-worn -traditions. In spite of their beauty he knew himself -profoundly opposed to them. They excited fibres of -opposition and rebellion in him, that went down to -the very depths of his nature. If, allowing full scope -to our speculative fancy—and who knows upon -what occult truths these wandering thoughts sometimes -stumble?—we image the opposing “streams of -tendency,” in Nevilton village, as focussed and summed -up, in the form of the Gothic church, guarded by the -consecrated Mount, and the form of the Elizabethan -house, owned by the owner of Leo’s Hill, it is clear -that this wanderer, from the shores of the Great -Lakes, was equally antagonistic to both of them. He -brought into the place a certain large and elemental -indifference. To the child of the winds and storms -of the Great Lakes, as, so one might think, to the -high fixed stars themselves, this local strife of opposed -mythologies must needs appear a matter of but trifling -importance.</p> - -<p>The American was not permitted, on this occasion, -to pursue his meditations uninterrupted to the end -of his walk. Half-way down the south drive he was -overtaken by Gladys, returning from the village -post-office. “Hullo! How have you got on?” she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> -cried. “I suppose you’ll believe me another time? -You know now, I expect, how impossible the Yeoborough -shops are!”</p> - -<p>“On the contrary,” said the artist smiling, “I have -found them extremely good. Perhaps I am less -exacting,” he added, “than some artists.”</p> - -<p>“I am exacting in everything,” said Gladys, “especially -in people. That is why I get on so well -with you. You are a new experience to me.”</p> - -<p>Dangelis made no reply to this and they paced in -silence under the tall exotic cedars until they reached -the house.</p> - -<p>“There’s mother!” cried the girl, pushing open the -door that led into the kitchen premises, and pulling -the American unceremoniously in after her. They -found Mrs. Romer before a large oak table, set in -the mullioned window of the housekeeper’s little -room. She was arranging flowers for the evening’s -dinner-table. The plump lady welcomed Dangelis -effusively and made him sit down upon a Queen Anne -settle of polished mahogany which stood in the corner -of the fire-place. Gladys remained standing, a tall -softly-moulded figure, appealingly girlish in her light -muslin frock. She swayed slightly, backwards and -forwards, pouting capriciously at her mother’s naive -discourse, and loosening her belt with both her hands.</p> - -<p>“Why should you ever go back to America?” Mrs. -Romer was saying. “Don’t go, dear Mr. Dangelis. -Stay with us here till the end of the summer. The -Red room in the south passage was getting quite -damp before you came. Please, don’t go! Gladys -and I are getting so fond of you, so used to your -ways and all that. Aren’t we Gladys? Why should<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> -you go? There are plenty of lovely bits of scenery -about here. And you can have a studio built! Yes! -Why not? Couldn’t he, Gladys? The lumber-room in -the south passage—opposite where Lily sleeps—would -make a splendid place for painting in hot -weather. I suppose a north light, though, would be -impossible. But some kind of glass arrangement -might be made. I must talk to Mortimer about it. -I suppose you rich Americans think nothing of -calling in builders and putting up studios. I suppose -you do it everywhere. America must be full of -north light. But perhaps something of the kind could -be done. I really don’t understand architecture, but -Mortimer does. Mortimer understands everything. -I daresay it wouldn’t be very expensive. It would -only mean buying the glass.”</p> - -<p>The admirable woman, whose large fair face and -double chin had grown quite creased and shiny -with excitement, turned at last to her daughter who -had been coquettishly and dreamily staring at the -smiling artist.</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you say something, Gladys? You don’t -want Mr. Dangelis to go, any more than I do, do -you?”</p> - -<p>The girl moved to the table and picking up a large -peony stuck it wantonly and capriciously into her -dress. “I have my confirmation lesson tonight,” -she said. “I must be at Mr. Clavering’s by six. -What’s the time now?” She looked at the clock on -the mantelpiece. “Why, it’s nearly half-past four! -I wonder where Lacrima is. Never mind! We must -have tea without her. I’m sure Mr. Dangelis is -dying for tea. Let’s have it out on the terrace.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p> - -<p>“At six?” repeated Mrs. Romer. “I thought the -class was always at seven. It was given out to be -seven. I heard the notice on Sunday.”</p> - -<p>Gladys looked smilingly at the American as she -answered her mother. “Don’t be silly, dear. You -know Mr. Clavering takes me separately from the -others. The others are all village people.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Romer rose from her seat with something -between a sigh and a chuckle. “I hadn’t the least -idea,” she said, “that he took you separately. You’ve -been going to these classes for three weeks and you’ve -never mentioned such a thing until this moment. -Well—never mind! I expect Mr. Dangelis will not -object to strolling down the drive with you. You’d -better both get ready for tea now. I’ll go and tell -somebody we want it.”</p> - -<p>She had no sooner departed than Gladys began flicking -the American, in playful childish sport, with a -spray of early roses. He entered willingly into the -game, and a pleasant tussle ensued between them -as he sought to snatch the flowers out of her hands. -She resisted but he pushed her backwards, and held -her imprisoned against the edge of the table, teasing -her as if she were a romping child of twelve.</p> - -<p>“So you are going to these classes alone, are you?” -he said. “I see that your English clergymen are -allowed extraordinary privileges. I expect you cause -him a good deal of agitation, poor dear man, if you -flirt with him as shamelessly as you do with me. -Well, go ahead! I’m not responsible for you. In -fact I’m all for spurring you on. It’ll amuse me to -see what happens. But no doubt all sorts of things -have happened already! I suppose you’ve made Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> -Clavering desperately in love with you. I expect -you persecute him unmercifully. I know you. I -know your ways.” He playfully pinched her arm. -“But go on. It’ll be an amusement to me to watch -the result of all this. I like being a sort of sympathetic -onlooker, in these things. I like the idea of -hiding behind the scenes, and watching the tricks of -a naughty little flirt like you, set upon troubling the -mind of a poor harmless minister.”</p> - -<p>The reply made by the daughter of the House to -this challenge was a simple but effective one. Like -a mischievous infant caught in some unpardonable -act, she flagrantly and shamelessly put out her -tongue at him. Long afterwards, with curious feelings, -Dangelis recalled this gesture. He associated -it to the end of his life with the indefinable smell of -cut flowers, with their stalks in water, and the -pungency of peony-petals.</p> - -<p>Tea, when it reached our friends upon the stately -east terrace, proved a gay and festive meal. The -absence of the reserved and nervous Italian, and also -of the master of Nevilton, rendered all three persons -more completely and freely at their ease, than they -had ever been since the American’s first appearance. -The grass was being cut at that corner of the park, -and the fresh delicious smell, full of the very sap of -the earth, poured in upon them across the sunny -flower beds. The chattering of young starlings, the -cawing of young rooks, blended pleasantly with the -swish of the scythes and the laughter of the hay-makers; -and from the distant village floated softly -to their ears all those vague and characteristic sounds -which accompany the close of a hot day, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> -release from labour of men and beasts. As they -devoured their bread and butter with that naive -greediness which is part of the natural atmosphere -of this privileged hour in an English home, the three -friends indicated by their playful temper and gay -discourse that they each had secret reasons for self-congratulation.</p> - -<p>Dangelis felt an exquisite sense of new possibilities -in his art, drawn from the seduction of these -surroundings and the frank animalism of his cheerful -companions. He sat between them, watching -their looks and ways, very much as Rubens or -Franz Hals might have watched the rounded bosoms -and spacious gestures of two admirable burgess-women -in some country house of Holland.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Romer, below her garrulous chatter, nourished -fantastic and rose-colored dreams, in which inestimable -piles of dollars, and limitless rows of golden -haired grand-children, played the predominant part. -Gladys, flushed and excited, gave herself up to the -imagined exercise of every sort of wanton and wilful -power, with the desire for which the flowing sap of -the year’s exuberance filled her responsive veins.</p> - -<p>Tea over, Dangelis suggested that he should accompany -the girl to Mr. Clavering’s door.</p> - -<p>“You needn’t be there for three quarters of an -hour,” he said, “let’s go across to the mill copse -first, and see if there are any blue-bells left.”</p> - -<p>Gladys willingly consented, and Susan Romer, -remaining pensive in her low cane chair, watched -their youthful figures retreating across the sunlit -park with a sigh of profound thankfulness addressed -vaguely and obscurely to Omnipotence. This was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> -indeed the sort of son-in-law she craved. How much -more desirable than that reserved and haughty young -Ilminster! Gladys would be, three times over, a -fool if she let him escape.</p> - -<p>A few minutes later the artist and his girl-friend -reached the mill spinney. He helped her over the -stream and the black thorn hedge without too much -damage to her frock and he was rewarded for his -efforts by the thrill of vibrating pleasure with which -she plunged her hands among the oozy stalks of those -ineffable blue flowers.</p> - -<p>“No wonder young Hyacinth was too beautiful -to live,” he remarked.</p> - -<p>“Shut up,” was the young woman’s reply, as she -breathlessly stretched herself along the length of a -fallen branch, and endeavoured to reach the damp -moist stalks and cool leaves with her forehead and lips.</p> - -<p>“How silly it is, having one’s hair done up,” she -cried presently, raising herself on her hands from her -prone position, and kicking the branch viciously with -her foot.</p> - -<p>“You’d have liked me with my hair down, Mr. -Dangelis,” she continued. “Lying like this,” and she -once more embraced the fallen bough, “it would -have got mixed up with all those blue-bells and then -you <em>would</em> have had something to paint!”</p> - -<p>“Bad girl!” cried the artist playfully, switching -her lightly with a willow wand from which he had -been stripping the bark. “I would have made you -do your hair up, tight round your head, years and -years ago.”</p> - -<p>He offered her his hand and lifted her up. Once in -possession of those ardent youthful fingers, he seemed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> -to consider himself justified in retaining them and, -as the girl made no sign of dissent, they advanced -hand in hand through the thick undergrowth.</p> - -<p>The place was indeed a little epitome of the season’s -prolific growth. Above and about them, elder-bushes -and hazels met in entangled profusion; while -at their feet the marshy soil was covered with a mass -of moss and cool-rooted leafy plants. Golden-green -burdocks grew there, and dark dog-mercury; while -mixed with aromatic water-mint and ground ivy, -crowds of sturdy red campions lifted up their rose-coloured -heads. The undergrowth was so thick, and -the roots of the willows and alders so betraying, that -over and over again he had to make a path for her, -and hold back with his hand some threatening withy-switch -or prickly thorn branch, that appeared likely -to invade her face or body.</p> - -<p>The indescribable charm of the hour, as the broken -sunlight, almost horizontal now, threw red patches, -like the blood of wounded satyrs, upon tree-trunks -and mossy stumps, and made the little marsh-pools -gleam as if filled with fairy wine, found its completest -expression in the long-drawn flute-music, at -the same time frivolously gay and exquisitely sad, of -the blackbird’s song. An angry cuckoo, crying its -familiar cry as it flew, flapped away from some -hidden perch, just above their heads.</p> - -<p>Not many more blackbird’s notes and not many -more cuckoo’s cries would that diminutive jungle -hear, before the great midsummer silence descended -upon it, to be broken only by the less magical -sounds of the later season. Nothing but the auspicious -accident of the extreme lateness of the spring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> -had given to the visitor from Ohio these revelations -of enchantment. It was one of those unequalled -moments when the earth seems to breathe out from -its most secret heart perfumes and scents that seem -to belong to a more felicitous planet than our planet, -murmurs and voices adapted to more responsive ears -than our ears.</p> - -<p>It was doubtless, so Dangelis thought, on such an -evening as this, that the first notion of the presence -in such places of beings of a finer and yet a grosser -texture than man’s, first entered the imagination of -humanity. In such a spot were the earth-gods born.</p> - -<p>Many feathered things, besides blackbirds and -cuckoos abounded in the mill spinney.</p> - -<p>They had scarcely reached the opposite end of the -little wood, when with a sudden cry of excitement -and a quick sinking on her knees, the girl turned to -him with a young thrush in her hand. It was big -enough to be capable of flying and, as she held it in -her soft white fingers, it struggled desperately and -uttered little cries. She held it tightly in one hand, -and with the other caressed its ruffled feathers, -looking sideways at her companion, as she did so, -with dreamy, half-shut, voluptuous eyes.</p> - -<p>“Little darling,” she whispered. And then, with -a breathless gasp in her voice,—“Kiss its head, Mr. -Dangelis. It can’t get away.” He stooped over her -as she held the bird up to him, and if in obeying her -he brushed with his lips fingers as well as feathers, -the accident was not one he could bring himself to -regret.</p> - -<p>“It can’t get away,” she repeated, in a low soft -murmur.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p> - -<p>The bird did, however, get away, a moment afterwards, -and went fluttering off through the brushwood, -with that delicious, awkward violence, which -young thrushes share with so many other youthful -things.</p> - -<p>In the deep ditch which they now had to cross, the -artist caught sight of a solitary half-faded primrose, -the very last, perhaps, of its delicate tribe. He -showed it to Gladys, gently smoothing away, as he -did so, the heavy leaves which seemed to be overshadowing -its last days of life.</p> - -<p>The girl pushed him aside impetuously, and plucking -the faded flower deliberately thrust it into her mouth.</p> - -<p>“I love eating them,” she cried, “I used to do it -when I was ever so little and I do it still when I am -alone. You’ve no idea how nice they taste!”</p> - -<p>At that moment they heard the sound of the church -clock striking six.</p> - -<p>“Quick!” cried Gladys. “Mr. Clavering will be -waiting. He’ll be cross if I’m too dreadfully late.”</p> - -<p>They emerged from the wood and followed the -grass-grown lane, round by the small mill-pond. -Crossing the park once more, they entered the village -by the Yeoborough road.</p> - -<p>“What a girl!” said Dangelis to himself, in a voice -of unmitigated admiration, as he held open for her, -at last, the little gate of the old vicarage garden, -and waved his good-bye.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p> -<p>“What a girl! Heaven help that unfortunate Mr. -Clavering! If he’s as susceptible as most of these -young Englishmen, she’ll make havoc of his poor -heart. Will he read the ‘Imitation’ with her, I -wonder?”</p> - -<p>He strolled slowly back, the way they had come, -the personality of the insidious Gladys pressing less -and less heavily upon him as his thought reverted -to his painting. He resolved that he would throw all -these recent impressions together in some large and -sumptuous picture, that should give to these modern -human figures something of the ample suggestion and -noble aplomb, the secret of which seemed to have -been lost to the world with the old Flemish and -Venetian masters.</p> - -<p>What in his soul he vaguely imaged as his task, -was an attempt to eliminate all mystic and symbolic -attitudes from his works, and to catch, in their place, -if the inspiration came to him, something of the -lavish prodigality, superbly material, and yet possessed -of ineffable vistas, of the large careless evocations -of nature herself.</p> - -<p>His imaginative purpose, as it defined itself more -and more clearly in his mind, during his solitary -return through the evening light, seemed to imply an -attempted reproduction of those aspects of the human -drama, in such a place as this, which carried upon -their surface the air of things that could not happen -otherwise, and which, in their large inevitableness, -over-brimmed and over-flowed all traditional distinctions. -He would have liked to have given, in -this way, to the figures of Gladys and her mother, -something of the superb non-moral “insouciance,” -springing, like the movements of animals and the -fragrance of plants, out of the bosom of an earth -innocent of both introspection and renunciation, which -one observes in the forms of Attic sculpture, or in -the creations of Venetian colourists. Below the high<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> -ornamental wall of Nevilton garden he paused a -moment before entering the little postern-gate, to -admire the indescribable greenness and luxuriousness -of the heavy grass devoted in this place, not to hay-makers -but to cattle. There was a sort of poetry, -he humorously told himself, even about the great -black heaps of cow-dung which alternated here with -the golden clumps of drowsy buttercups. They also,—why -not?—might be brought into the kind of -picture he visioned, just as Veronese brought his -mongrels and curs to the very feet of the Saviour!</p> - -<p>Dangelis lifted his eyes, to where, through a gap in -the leafy uplands, the more distant hills were visible. -He could make out clearly, in the rich purple light, -the long curving lines of the Corton downs, as they -melted, little by little, in a floating lake of aerial -blue-grey vapour, the exhalation of the great valley’s -day-long breathing.</p> - -<p>He could even mark, at the end of the Corton -range—and the sight of it gave him a thrilling -sense of the invincible continuity of life in these -regions—the famous tree-crested circle of Cadbury -Camp, the authentic site of the Arthurian Camelot.</p> - -<p>What a lodging this Nevilton was, to pass one’s -days in, to work in, and to love and dream! What -enchantments were all around him! What memories! -What dumb voices!</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE MYTHOLOGY OF SACRIFICE</span></h2> - -<p>June, in Nevilton, that summer, seemed debarred -by some strange interdiction from regaining its -normal dampness and rainy discomfort.</p> - -<p>It continued unnaturally hot and dry—so dry, that -though the hay-harvest was still in full session, the -farmers were growing seriously anxious and impatient -for the long-delayed showers. It had been, as we -have already noted, an unusual season. Not only -were there so many blue-bells lingering in the shadowy -places in the woods, but among the later flowers there -were curious over-lappings.</p> - -<p>The little milk-wort blossoms, for instance, on Leo’s -Hill, were overtaken, before they perished, by premature -out-croppings of yellow trefoil and purple thyme.</p> - -<p>The walnut-trees had still something left of their -spring freshness, while in the hedges along the roads, -covered, all of them, with a soft coating of thin -white dust, the wild-roses and the feathery grasses -suggested the heart of the year’s prime.</p> - -<p>It was about eight o’clock, in the evening of a day -towards the end of the second week in this unusual -month, that Mr. Hugh Clavering emerged from the -entrance of the Old Vicarage with a concentrated -and brooding expression. His heart was indeed rent -and torn within him by opposite and contrary emotions. -With one portion of his sensitive nature he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> -was craving desperately for the next day’s interview -with Gladys; with the other portion he was making -firm and drastic resolutions to avoid it and escape -from it. She was due to come to his house in the -afternoon—less than twenty-four hours’ time from -this actual moment! But the more rigorous half of -his being had formed the austere plan of sending her -a note in the morning begging her to appear, along -with the other candidates, at a later hour. He had -written the note and it still remained, propped up -against the little Arundel print of the Transfiguration, -on the mantelpiece of his room.</p> - -<p>He went up the street with bowed, absorbed head, -hardly noticing the salutations of the easy loiterers -gathered outside the door of the Goat and Boy,—the -one of Nevilton’s two taverns which just at -present attracted the most custom. Passing between -the tavern and the churchyard wall, he pushed open -the gate leading into the priory farm-yard, and -striding hurriedly through it began the ascent of -the grassy slope at the base of Nevilton Mount.</p> - -<p>The wind had sunk with the sinking of the sun, and -an immense quietness lay like a catafalque of sacred -interposition on the fields and roofs and orchards of -the valley. A delicious smell of new-mown grass -blent itself with the heavy perfume of the great white -blossoms of the elder bushes—held out, like so many -consecrated chalices to catch the last drops of soft-lingering -light, before it faded away.</p> - -<p>Hugh Clavering went over the impending situation -again and again; first from one point of view, then -from another. The devil whispered to him—if it -were the devil—that he had no right to sacrifice<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> -his spiritual influence over this disconcerting pupil, -out of a mere personal embarrassment. If he gave -her her lesson along with the rest, all that special -effort he had bestowed upon her thought, her reading, -her understanding, might so easily be thrown away! -She was different, obviously different, from the simple -village maids, and to put her now, at this late hour, -with the confirmation only a few weeks off, into the -common class, would be to undo the work of several -months. He could not alter his method with the -others for her sake, and she would be forced to listen -to teaching which to her would be elementary and -platitudinous. He would be throwing her back in her -spiritual development. He would be forcing her to return -to the mere alphabet of theology at the moment -when she had just begun to grow interested in its -subtle and beautiful literature. She would no doubt -be both bored and teased. Her nerves would be -ruffled, her interest diminished, her curiosity dulled. -She would be angry, too, at being treated exactly as -were these rustic maidens—and anger was not a -desirable attribute in a gentle catechumen.</p> - -<p>Besides, her case was different from theirs on quite -technical grounds. She was preparing for baptism as -well as confirmation, and he, as her priest, was -bound to make this, the most essential of all Christian -sacraments, the head and front of his instruction. -It was hardly to the point to say that the other girls -knew quite as little of the importance of this sacred -rite as she did. His explanations of it to them, his -emphasis upon the blessing it had already been to -them, would be necessarily too simple and childish -for her quicker, maturer understanding.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p> - -<p>As he reached the actual beginning of the woody -eminence and turned for a moment to inhale the -magical softness of the invading twilight, it occurred -to him that from a logically ecclesiastical standpoint -it was a monstrous thing that he should be serenely -and coldly debating the cutting off of his spiritual -assistance from this poor thirsty flower of the heathen -desert. She was unbaptized—and to be unbaptized, -according to true doctrine, meant, with all our -Christian opportunities, a definite peril, a grave and -assured peril, to her immortal soul. Who was he -that he should play with such a formidable risk—such -a risk to such a lamb of the Great Shepherd? -It was quite probable—he knew it was probable—that, -angry with him for deserting her so causelessly -and unreasonably, she would refuse to go further in -the sacred business. She would say, and say justly, -that since the affair seemed of so little importance to -him she would make it of little importance to herself. -Suppose he were to call in some colleague from -Yeoborough, and make over this too exciting -neophyte to some other pastor of souls—would she -agree to such a casual transference? He knew well -enough that she would not.</p> - -<p>How unfortunate it was that the peculiar constitution -of his English Church made these things so -difficult! The individual personality of the priest -mattered so much in Anglican circles! The nobler -self in him envied bitterly at that moment the stricter -and yet more malleable organization of the Mother -Church. How easy it would be were he a Roman -priest. A word to his superior in office, and all -would arrange itself! It was impossible to imagine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> -himself speaking such a word to the Right Reverend -the Bishop of Glastonbury. The mere idea of such -a thing, in our England of discreet propriety, made -him smile in the midst of his distress.</p> - -<p>The thought of the Roman Church brought into -his mind the plausible figure of Mr. Taxater. How -that profound and subtle humanist would chuckle -over his present dilemma! He would probably -regard it as a proper and ironical punishment upon -him for his heretical assumption of this traditional -office.</p> - -<p>Tradition! That was the thing. Tradition and -organization. After all, it was only to Hugh Clavering, -as a nameless impersonal priest of God, that -this lovely outcast lamb came begging to be enfolded. -He had no right to dally with the question at all. -There <em>was</em> no question. As the priest of Nevilton it -was his clear pastoral duty to give every possible -spiritual assistance to every person in his flock. What -if the pursuit of this duty did throw temptation—intolerable -temptation—in his way? His business was -not to try and escape from such a struggle; but to face -it, to wrestle with it, to overcome it! He was like a -sentinel at his post in a great war. Was he to leave -his post and retreat to the rear because the shells -were bursting so thickly round him?</p> - -<p>He sat down on the grass with his back to an -ancient thorn-tree and gazed upon the tower of his -beloved church. Would he not be false to that -Church—false to his vows of ordination—if he were -now to draw back from the firing-line of the battle -and give up the struggle by a cowardly retreat? -Even supposing the temptation were more than he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> -could endure—even supposing that he fell—would -not God prefer his suffering such a fall with his face -to the foe, sword in hand, rather than that he should -be saved, his consecrated weapon dropped from his -fingers, in squalid ignoble flight?</p> - -<p>So much for the arguments whispered in his ear -by the angel of darkness! But he had lately been -visited by another angel—surely not of darkness—and -he recalled the plausible reasonings of the great -champion of the papacy, as he sat in that pleasant -window sipping his wine. Why should he agitate -himself so furiously over this little matter? After -all, why not enjoy the pleasure of this exquisite being’s -society? He was in no danger of doing her any harm—he -knew Gladys at least well enough by now to -know that!—and what harm could she do him? -There was no harm in being attracted irresistibly to -something so surpassingly attractive! Suppose he -fell really in love with her? Well! There was no -religious rule—certainly none in the church he -belonged to—against falling in love with a lovable -and desirable girl. But it was not a matter of falling -in love. He knew that well enough. There was -very little of the romantic or the sentimental about -the feelings she aroused in him. It was just a simple, -sensuous, amorous attraction to a provocative and -alluring daughter of Eve. Just a simple sensuous -attraction—so simple, so natural, as to be almost -“innocent,” as Mr. Taxater would put it.</p> - -<p>So he argued with himself; but the Tower of the -Church opposite seemed to invade the mists of these -subtle reasonings with a stern emphasis of clear-cut -protest. He knew well enough that his peculiar<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> -nature was not of the kind that might be called -“sensuous” or “amorous,” but of quite a different -sort. The feelings that had lately been excited in -him were as concentrated and passionate as his -feelings for the altar he served. They were indeed -a sort of temporal inversion of this sacred ardour; -or, as the cynical Mr. Quincunx in his blunt manner -would have expressed it, this sacred fire itself was -only a form taken by the more earthly flame. But -a “flame” it was,—not any gentle toying with soft -sensation,—a flame, a madness, a vice, an obsession.</p> - -<p>In no ideal sense could he be said to be “in love” -with Gladys. He was intoxicated with her. His -senses craved for her as they might have craved for -some sort of maddening drug. In his heart of hearts -he knew well that the emotion he felt was closely -allied to a curious kind of antagonism. He thought -of her with little tenderness, with no gentle, responsible -consideration. Her warm insidious charm maddened -and perturbed him. It did not diffuse itself -through his senses like a tender fragrance. It provoked, -disturbed, and tantalized. She was no Rose -of Sharon, to be worshipped forever. She was a Rose -of Shiraz, to be seized, pressed against his face, and -flung aside! The appeal she made to him was an -appeal to what was perverse, vicious, dangerous -devastating, in his nature. To call his attraction to -her beauty “innocent”—in Mr. Taxater’s phrase—was -a mere hypercritical white-washing of the brutal -fact.</p> - -<p>His mind, in its whirling agitation, conjured up the -image of himself as married to her, as legally and -absolutely possessed of her. The image was like fuel to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> -his flame, but it brought no solution of the problem. -Marriage, though permitted by his church, was as -directly contrary to his own interpretation of his duty -as a priest, as any mortal sin might be. To him it -would have been a mortal sin—the betrayal of his -profoundest ideal. In the perversity—if you will—of -his ecclesiastical conscience, he felt towards such a -solution the feeling a man might have if the selling -of his soul were to be a thing transacted in cold -blood, rather than in the tempest of the moment. -To marry Gladys would be to summon the very -sacraments of his church to bless with a blasphemous -consecration his treachery to their appeal.</p> - -<p>Rent and torn by all these conflicting thoughts, the -poor clergyman scrambled once more to his feet, -pushed his way recklessly through the intervening -fence, and began ascending the steep side of the -pyramidal hill. As he struggled upward, through -burdocks, nettles, tall grasses, red-campion, and -newly planted firs, his soul felt within him as if it -were something fleeing from an invincible pursuer. -The rank aromatic smell of torn elder-boughs and -the pungent odour of trodden ground-ivy filled his nostrils. -His clothes were sprinkled with feathery seed-dust. -Closely-sticking burs clung to his legs and arms. -Outstretched branches switched his face with their -leaves. His feet stumbled over young fern-fronds, -bent earthwards in their elaborate unsheathing.</p> - -<p>He vaguely associated with his thoughts, as he -struggled on, certain queer purple markings which -he noticed on the stalks of the thickly-grown hemlocks, -and the bind-weed, which entwined itself round -many of the slenderer tree-stems, became a symbol<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> -of the power that assailed him. To escape—to be -free! This was the burden of his soul’s crying as he -plunged forward through all these dim leafy obstructions.</p> - -<p>Gradually, as he drew nearer the hill’s summit, -there formed in his mind the only real sanctuary of -refuge, the only genuine deliverance. He must obey -his innate conscience; and let the result be as God -willed. At all costs he must shake himself clear of -this hot, sweet, luscious bind-weed, that was choking -the growth of his soul. His own soul—that, after -all, was his first care, his predominant concern. To -keep <em>that</em>, pure and undefiled, and let all else go! -Confused by the subtle arguments of the serpent, he -would cling only the more passionately to the actual -figure of the God-Man, and obey his profound command -in its literal simplicity. Ecclesiastical casuistry -might say what it pleased about the danger he -plunged Gladys into, in thus neglecting her. The -matter had gone deeper than casuistry, deeper, far -deeper, than points of doctrine. It had become a -direct personal struggle between his own soul and -Satan; a struggle in which, as he well knew, the -only victory lay in flight. On other fields he might -be commanded by his celestial Captain to hold his -post to the last; but in the arena of this temptation, -to hold the field was to desert the field; to escape -from it, to win it.</p> - -<p>He paused breathlessly under a clump of larches, -and stretching out his arms, seized—like Samson -in the temple of Dagon—two of the slender-growing -trunks. “Let all this insidious growth of Nature,” -he thought, “all this teeming and prolific exuberance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> -of godless life, be thrust into oblivion, as long as the -great translunar Secret be kept inviolable!” Exhausted -by the struggle within him he sank down in -the green twilight of that leafy security, and crossed -his hands over his knees. Through a gap in the foliage -he could perceive the valley below; he could even -perceive the outline of the roof of Nevilton House. -But against the magic of those carved pinnacles he -had found a counter-charm. In the hushed stillness -about him, he seemed conscious of the power of all -these entangled growing things as a sinister heathen -influence pulling him earthward.</p> - -<p>Men differ curiously from one another in this -respect. To some among them the influences of -what we call Nature are in harmony with all that -is good in them, and have a soothing and mystical -effect. Others seem to disentangle themselves from -every natural surrounding, and to stand out, against -the background of their own spiritual horizons, clear-edged, -opaque, and resistant.</p> - -<p>Clavering was entirely of this latter type. Nature -to him was always full of hidden dangers and secret -perils. He found her power a magical, not a mystical, -one. He resented the spell she cast over him. It -seemed to lend itself, all too willingly, to the vicious -demons that delighted to waylay his unguarded hours. -His instinctive attitude to these enchanting natural -forces was that of a mediæval monk. Their bewitching -shapes, their lovely colours, their penetrating -odours, were all permeated for him by a subtle diffusion -of something evil there; something capable of -leading one’s spirit desperately, miserably far—if one -allowed it the smallest welcome. Against all these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> -siren-voices rumouring and whispering so treacherously -around us, against all this shifting and flitting -wizardry, one defence alone availed;—the clear-cut, -absolute authority, of Him who makes the clouds his -chariot and the earth his footstool.</p> - -<p>As Clavering sat crouching there under his tent of -larches, the spirit of the Christ he served seemed to -pass surging through him like a passionate flood. He -drew deep breaths of exquisite relief and comfort. -The problem was solved,—was indeed no problem -at all; for he had nothing to do but to obey the -absolute authority, the soul-piercing word. Who was -he to question results? The same God who commanded -him to flee from temptation was able—beyond -the mystery of his own divine method—to -save her who tempted him, whether baptized or -unbaptized!</p> - -<p>He leapt to his feet, and no more like one pursued, -but rather like one pursuing, pushed his way to the -summit of the Mount. The space at the top was -flat and circular; not unlike, in its smooth level -surface, the top of the mountain in that very Transfiguration -picture which was now overshadowing his -letter to his enchantress. In the centre of this open -space rose the thin Thyrsus-shaped tower. He -advanced to the eastern edge of the hill and looked -down over the wide-spread landscape.</p> - -<p>The flat elm-fringed meadows of the great mid-Somerset -plain stretched softly away, till they lost -themselves in a purple mist. Never had the formidable -outline of the Leonian promontory looked more -emphatic and sinister than it looked in this deepening -twilight. The sky above it was of a pale green tint,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> -flecked here and there by feathery streaks of carmine. -The whole sky-dome was still lit by the pallid reflection -of the dead sunset; and on the far northern -horizon, where the Mendip hills rise above the plain, -a livid whitish glimmer touched the rim of an enormous -range of sombre clouds.</p> - -<p>The priest stood, hushed, and motionless as a statue, -contemplating this suggestive panorama. But little -of its transparent beauty passed the surface of his -consciousness. He was absorbed, rapt, intent. But -the cause of his abstraction was not the diaphanous -air-spaces above him or the dark earth beneath him; -it was the pouring of the waves of divine love through -his inmost being; it was his fusion with that great -Spirit of the Beyond which renders its votaries independent -of space and time.</p> - -<p>After long exquisite moments of this high exultation, -his mind gradually resumed its normal functioning. -A cynical interpreter of this sublime experience -would doubtless have attributed the whole phenomenon -to a natural reaction of the priest, back to his -habitual moral temper, from the turbulent perturbations -of the recent days. Would such a one have -found it a mere coincidence that at the moment of -regaining his natural vision the clergyman’s attention -was arrested by the slow passage of a huge white -cloud towards the Leonian promontory, a cloud that -assumed, as it moved, gigantic and almost human -lineaments?</p> - -<p>Coincidence or not, Clavering’s attention was not -allowed to remain fixed upon this interesting spectacle. -It seemed as though his return to ordinary human -consciousness was destined to be attended by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> -reappearance of ordinary humanity. He perceived in -the great sloping field on the eastern side of the mount -the white figure of a woman, walking alone. For the -moment his heart stood still; but a second glance -reassured him. He knew that figure, even in the -dying light. It was little Vennie Seldom. Simultaneously -with this discovery he was suddenly aware -that he was no longer the only frequenter of the -woody solitudes of Nevilton Hill. On a sort of -terrace, about a hundred yards below him, there -suddenly moved into sight a boy and a girl, walking -closely interlinked and whispering softly. Acting -mechanically, and as if impelled by an impulse from -an external power, he sank down upon his knees and -spied upon them. They too slipped into a semi-recumbent -posture, apparently upon the branches of -a fallen tree, and proceeded, in blissful unconsciousness -of any spectator, to indulge in a long and passionate -embrace. From where he crouched Clavering -could actually discern these innocents’ kisses, and -catch the little pathetic murmurings of their amorous -happiness. His heart beat wildly and strangely. In -his fingers he clutched great handfuls of earth. His -thoughts played him satyrish and fantastic tricks. -Suddenly he leapt to his feet and stumbled away, like -an animal that has been wounded. He encountered -the Thyrsus-shaped tower—that queer fancy of -eighteenth century leisure—and beat with his hands -upon its hard smooth surface. After a second or -two, however, he recovered his self-control; and to -afford some excuse to his own mind for his mad -behaviour, he walked deliberately round the edifice, -looking for its entrance. This he presently found,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> -and stood observing it, with scowling interest, in the -growing darkness. He had recognized the lovers -down there. They were both youngsters of his -parish. He made a detached mental resolve to talk -tomorrow to the girl’s mother. These flirtations -during the hay-harvest often led to trouble.</p> - -<p>There was just enough light left for him to remark -some obscure lettering above the little locked door of -this fanciful erection. It annoyed him that he could -not read it. With trembling hand he fumbled in his -pocket—produced a match-box and lit a match. -There was no difficulty now in reading what it had -been the humour of some eighteenth century Seldom -to have carved on this site of the discovery of the -Holy Rood. “Carpe Diem” he spelt out, before the -flutterings of an agitated moth extinguished the light -he held. This then was the oracle he had climbed -the sacred Mount to hear!</p> - -<p>With quick steps, steps over which his mind seemed -no longer to have control, he returned to his point of -observation. The boy and girl had disappeared, but -Vennie Seldom was still visible in her white dress, -pacing up and down the meadow. What was she -doing there?—he wondered. Did she often slip away, -after the little formal dinner with her mother, and -wander at large through the evening shadows? An -unaccountable rage against her besieged his heart. -He felt he should soon begin to hate her if he watched -her much longer; so, with a more collected and calm -step and a sigh that rose from the depths of his soul -he moved away to where the path descended.</p> - -<p>As it happened, however, the path he had to follow -now, for it was too dark to return as he had come,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> -emerged, after many windings round the circle of the -hill, precisely into the very field, in which Vennie was -walking. He moved straight towards her. She gave -a little start when she saw him, but waited passively, -in that patient drooping pose so natural to her, till -he was by her side.</p> - -<p>“You too,” she said, touching his hand, “feel the -necessity of being alone a little while before the day -ends. I always do. Mother sometimes protests. -But it is no good. There are certain little pleasures -that we have a right to enjoy—haven’t we?”</p> - -<p>They moved together along the base of the hill -following its circuit in the northerly direction. -Clavering felt as though, after a backward plunge -into the Inferno, he had encountered a reproachful -angel of light. He half expected her to say to him, -in the crushing austerity of Beatrice, “Lift up your -chin and answer me face to face.” The gentle power -of her pure spirit over him was so persuasive that in -the after-ebb of this second turbulent reaction he -could not refrain from striking the confessional -note.</p> - -<p>“I wish I were as good as you, Miss Seldom,” he -said. “I fear the power of evil in me goes beyond -anything you could possibly conceive.”</p> - -<p>“There are few things I cannot conceive, Mr. -Clavering,” the girl answered, with that helpless droop -of her little head that had so winning a pathos. -“We people who live such secluded lives are not as -ignorant of the great storms as you may imagine.”</p> - -<p>Clavering’s voice shook as he responded to this.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p> -<p>“I wish I could talk quite freely to you. This -convention that forbids friends such as we are from -being frank with one another, seems to me sometimes -an invention of the devil.”</p> - -<p>The girl lifted her head. He could not see in the -darkness that had now fallen upon them, how her -mouth quivered and her cheeks grew scarlet.</p> - -<p>“I think I can guess at what is worrying you, my -friend,” she murmured gently.</p> - -<p>He trembled from head to foot with a curious shame. -“You think it is about Gladys Romer,” he burst -out. “Well it is! I find her one of the greatest -difficulties I have ever had in my life.”</p> - -<p>“I am afraid,” said Vennie timidly, “she intends -to be a difficulty to you. It is wrong to say so, but -I have always been suspicious of her motives in this -desire to enter our church.”</p> - -<p>“God knows what her motives are!” sighed the -priest, “I only know she makes it as hard for me as -she can.”</p> - -<p>As soon as he had uttered these words a queer -observing sense of having been treacherous to Gladys -rose in his heart. Once more he had to suppress an -emotion of hatred for the little saint by his side.</p> - -<p>“I know,” murmured Vennie, “I know. She tries -to play upon your good-nature. She tries to make -you over-fond of her. I suppose”—she paused for -a moment—“I suppose she is like that. It is not -her fault. It is her—her character. She has a mad -craving for admiration and is ready to play it off on -anybody.”</p> - -<p>“It makes it very difficult to help her,” said the -priest evasively.</p> - -<p>Vennie peered anxiously at his face. “It is not as -though she really was fond of <em>you</em>,” she boldly added.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> -“I doubt whether she is fond of anyone. She loves -troubling people’s minds and making them unhappy.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t mistake me, Miss Seldom,” cried Clavering. -“I am not in the least sentimental about her—it is -only—only”—Vennie smoothed his path for him.</p> - -<p>“It is only that she makes it impossible for you to -teach her,” she hazarded, following his lead. “I -know something of that difficulty myself. These -wayward pleasure-loving people make it very hard -for us all sometimes.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Clavering shook his stick defiantly into the -darkness, whether as a movement directed against -the powers of evil or against the powers of good, he -would himself have found it hard to say. Queer -thoughts of a humourous frivolity passed through his -mind. Something in the girl’s grave tone had an -irritating effect upon him. It is always a little annoying, -even to the best of men, to feel themselves being -guided and directed by women, unless they are in -love with them. Clavering was certainly not in love -with Vennie; and though in his emotional agitation -he had gone so far in confiding in her, he was by no -means unconscious of something incongruous and even -ridiculous in the situation. This queer new frivolity -in him, which now peered forth from some twisted -corner of his nature, like a rat out of a hole, found -this whole interview intolerably absurd. He suddenly -experienced the sensation of being led along at -Vennie’s side like a convicted school-boy. He found -himself rebelling against all women in his heart, -both good and bad, and recalling, humorously and -sadly, the old sweet scandalous attitude of contempt -for the whole sex, of his irresponsible Cambridge days.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> -Perhaps, dimly and unconsciously, he was reacting -now, after all this interval, to the subtle influence of -Mr. Taxater. He knew perfectly well that the very -idea of a man—not to speak of a priest—confiding -his amorous weaknesses to a woman, would have -excited that epicurean sage to voluble fury. Everything -that was mediæval and monkish in him rose up -too, in support of this interior outburst of Rabelaisean -spleen.</p> - -<p>It would be interesting to know if Vennie had any -inkling, as she walked in the darkness by his side, -of this new and unexpected veering of his mood. -Certainly she refrained from pressing him for any -further confessions. Perhaps with the genuine clairvoyance -of a saint she was conscious of her danger. -At any rate she began speaking to him of herself, -of her difficulties with her mother and her mother’s -friends, of her desire to be of more use to Lacrima -Traffio, and of the obstacles in the way of that.</p> - -<p>Conversing with friendly familiarity on these less -poignant topics they arrived at last at the gates of -the Priory farm and the entrance to the church. -Mr. Clavering was proceeding to escort her home, -when she suddenly stopped in the road, and said in a -quick hurried whisper, “I should dearly love to walk -once round the churchyard before I go back.”</p> - -<p>The cheerful light from the windows of the Goat -and Boy showed, as it shone upon his face, his -surprise as well as his disinclination. The truth is, -that by a subtle reversion of logic he had now reached -the idea that it was at once absurd and unkind to -send that letter to Gladys. He was trembling to -tear it in pieces, and burn the pieces in his kitchen-fire!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> -Vennie however, did not look at his face. She -looked at the solemn tower of St. Catharine’s -church.</p> - -<p>“Please get the key,” she said, “and let us walk -once round.”</p> - -<p>He was compelled to obey her, and knocking at -the door of the clerk’s cottage aroused that astonished -and scandalized official into throwing the object -required out of his bedroom window. Once inside the -churchyard however, the strange and mystical power -of the spot brought his mood into nearer conformity -with his companion’s.</p> - -<p>They stopped, as everyone who visits Nevilton -churchyard is induced to stop, before the extraordinary -tomb of Gideon and Naomi Andersen. The -thing had been constructed from the eccentric old -carver’s own design, and had proved one of the -keenest pleasures of his last hours.</p> - -<p>Like the whimsical poet Donne, he had derived a -sardonic and not altogether holy delight in contemplating -before his end the actual slab of earthly consistence -that was to make his bodily resurrection so emphatically -miraculous. Clavering and Vennie stood for several -minutes in mute contemplation before this strange -monument. It was composed of a huge, solid block of -Leonian stone, carved at the top into the likeness of an -enormous human skull, and ornamented, below the -skull, by a deeply cut cross surrounded by a circle. -This last addition gave to the sacred symbol within -it a certain heathen and ungodly look, making it -seem as though it were no cross at all, but a pagan -hieroglyph from some remote unconsecrated antiquity. -The girl laid her fragile hand on the monstrous image<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> -of death, which the gloom around them made all the -more threatening.</p> - -<p>“It is wonderful,” she said, “how the power of -Christ can change even the darkest objects into -beauty. I like to think of Him striking His hand -straight through the clumsy half-laws of Man and -Nature, and holding out to us the promise of things -far beyond all this morbid dissolution.”</p> - -<p>“You are right, my friend,” answered the priest.</p> - -<p>“I think the world is really a dark and dreadful -place,” she went on. “I cannot help saying so. I -know there are people who only see its beauty and -joy. I cannot feel like that. If it wasn’t for Him -I should be utterly miserable. I think I should go -mad. There is too much unhappiness—too much to -be borne! But this strong hand of His, struck clean -down to us from outside the whole wretched confusion,—I -cling to that; and it saves me. I know -there are lots of happy people, but I cannot forget -the others! I think of them in the night. I think -of them always. They are so many—so many!”</p> - -<p>“Dear child!” murmured the priest, his interlude -of casual frivolity melting away like mist under the -flame of her conviction.</p> - -<p>“Do you think,” she continued, “that if we were -able to hear the weeping of all those who suffer and -have suffered since the beginning of the world, we -could endure the idea of going on living? It would be -too much! The burden of those tears would darken -the sun and hide the moon. It is only His presence -in the midst of us,—His presence, coming in from -outside, that makes it possible for us to endure and -have patience.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes, He must come in from <em>outside</em>,” murmured -the priest, “or He cannot help us. He must be able -to break every law and custom and rule of nature -and man. He must strike at the whole miserable -entanglement from outside it—from outside it!”</p> - -<p>Clavering’s voice rose almost to a shout as he uttered -these last words. He felt as though he were refuting -in one tremendous cry of passionate certainty all those -“modernistic” theories with which he loved sometimes -to play. He was completely under Vennie’s -influence now.</p> - -<p>“And we must help Him,” said the girl, “by -entering into His Sacrifice. Only by sacrifice—by -the sacrifice of everything—can we enable Him to -work the miracle which He would accomplish!”</p> - -<p>Clavering could do nothing but echo her words.</p> - -<p>“The sacrifice of everything,” he whispered, and -abstractedly laid <em>his</em> hand upon the image of death -carved by the old artist. Moved apparently by an -unexpected impulse, Vennie seized, with her own, the -hand thus extended.</p> - -<p>“I have thought,” she cried, “of a way out of your -difficulty. Give her her lessons in the church! That -will not hurt her feelings, and it will save you. It -will prevent her from distracting your mind, and -it will concentrate her attention upon your teaching. -It will save you both!”</p> - -<p>Clavering held the little hand, thus innocently -given him, tenderly and solemnly in both of his.</p> - -<p>“You are right, my friend,” he said, and then, -gravely and emphatically as if repeating a vow,—“I -will take her in the church. That will settle -everything.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span></p> - -<p>Vennie seemed thrilled with spiritual joy at his -acquiescence in her happy inspiration. She walked -so rapidly as they recrossed the churchyard that he -could hardly keep pace with her. She seemed to -long to escape, to the solitude of her own home, of -her own room, in order to give full vent to her -feelings. He locked the gate of the porch behind -them, and put the key in his pocket. Very quickly -and in complete silence they made their way up the -road to the entrance of the Vicarage garden.</p> - -<p>Here they separated, with one more significant and -solemn hand-clasp. It was as if the spirit of St. -Catharine herself was in the girl, so ethereal did she -look, so transported by unearthly emotion, as the -gate swung behind her.</p> - -<p>As for the vicar of Nevilton, he strode back impetuously -to his own house, and there, from its place -beneath the print of the transfiguration, he took the -letter, and tore it into many pieces; but he tore it -with a different intention from that which, an hour -before, had ruled his brain; and the sleep which -awaited him, as soon as his head touched his pillow, -was the soundest and sweetest he had known since -first he came to the village.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE MYTHOLOGY OF POWER</span></h2> - -<p>It was late in the afternoon of the day following -the events just described. Mrs. Fringe was -passing in and out of Clavering’s sitting-room -making the removal of his tea an opportunity for -interminable discourse.</p> - -<p>“They say Eliza Wotnot’s had a bad week of it -with one thing and another. They say she be as -yellow as a lemon-pip in her body, as you might call -it, and grey as ash-heaps in her old face. I never -cared for the woman myself, and I don’t gather as -she was desperate liked in the village, but a Christian’s -a Christian when they be laid low in the -Lord’s pleasure, though they be as surly-tongued as -Satan.”</p> - -<p>“I know, I know,” said the clergyman impatiently.</p> - -<p>“They say Mr. Taxater sits up with her night after -night as if he was a trained nurse. Why he don’t -have a nurse I can’t think, ’cept it be some papist -practice. The poor gentleman will be getting woeful -thin, if this goes on. He’s not one for losing his sleep -and his regular meals.”</p> - -<p>“Sally Birch is doing all that for him, Mrs. Fringe,” -said Clavering. “I have seen to it myself.”</p> - -<p>“Sally Birch knows as much about cooking a -gentleman’s meals as my Lottie, and that’s not saying -a great deal.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Thank you, Mrs. Fringe, thank you,” said Clavering. -“You need not move the table.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, of course, ’tis Miss Gladys’ lesson-day. They -say she’s given young Mr. Ilminster the go-by, sir. -’Tis strange and wonderful how some people be made -by the holy Lord to have their whole blessed pleasure -in this world. Providence do love the ones as loves -themselves, and those that seeks what they want shall -find it! I expect, between ourselves, sir, the young -lady have got someone else in her eye. They tell me -some great thundering swell from London is staying -in the House.”</p> - -<p>“That’ll do, Mrs. Fringe, that’ll do. You can -leave those flowers a little longer.”</p> - -<p>“I ought to let you know, sir, that old Jimmy -Pringle has gone off wandering again. I saw Witch-Bessie -at his door when I went to the shop this -morning and she told me he was talking and talking, -as badly as ever he did. Far gone, poor old sinner, -Witch-Bessie said he was.”</p> - -<p>“He is a religious minded man, I believe, at bottom,” -said the clergyman.</p> - -<p>“He be stark mad, sir, if that’s what you mean! As -to the rest, they say his carryings on with that harlotry -down in Yeoborough was a disgrace to a Christian -country.”</p> - -<p>“I know,” said Clavering, “I know, but we all -have our temptations, Mrs. Fringe.”</p> - -<p>“Temptations, sir?” and the sandy complexioned -female snorted with contempt. “And is those as -takes no drop of liquor, and looks at no man edge-ways, -though their own lawful partner be a stiff -corpse of seven years’ burying, to be put in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> -same class with them as goes rampaging with -harlotries?”</p> - -<p>“He has repented, Mrs. Fringe, he has repented. -He told me so himself when I met him last week.”</p> - -<p>“Repented!” groaned the indignant woman; “he -repents well who repents when he can’t sin no more. -His talk, if you ask me, sir, is more scandalous than -religious. Witch-Bessie told me she heard him say -that he had seen the Lord Himself. I am not a -learned scholar like you, sir, but I know this, that -when the Lord does go about the earth he doesn’t -visit hoary old villains like Jimmy Pringle—except -to tell them they be damned.”</p> - -<p>“Did he really say that?” asked the clergyman, -feeling a growing interest in Mr. Pringle’s revelations.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir, he did, sir! Said he met God,—those -were his very words, and indecent enough words I -call them!—out along by Captain Whiffley’s drive-gate. -You should have heard Witch-Bessie tell me. -He frightened her, he did, the wicked old man! -God, he said, came to him, as I might come to you, -sir, quite ordinary and familiar-like. ‘Jimmy,’ said -God, all sudden, as if he were a person passing the -time of day, ‘I have come to see you, Jimmy.’</p> - -<p>“‘And who may you be, Mister?’ said the wicked -old man, just as though the Lord above were a casual -decent-dressed gentleman.</p> - -<p>“‘I am God, Jimmy,’ said the Vision. ‘And I be -come to tell ’ee how dearly I loves ’ee, spite of Satan -and all his works.’ Witch-Bessie told me,” Mrs. -Fringe continued, “how as the old man said things -to her as she never thought to hear from human lips, -so dreadful they were.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p> - -<p>“And what happened then?” asked Clavering -eagerly.</p> - -<p>“What happened then? Why God went away, he -said, in a great cloud of roaring fire, and he was -left alone, all dazed-like. Did you ever hear such a -scimble-scamble story in your life, sir? And all by -Captain Whiffley’s drive-gate!”</p> - -<p>“Well, Mrs. Fringe,” said the clergyman, “I think -we must postpone the rest of this interesting conversation -till supper-time. I have several things I want -to do.”</p> - -<p>“I know you have, sir, I know you have. It isn’t -easy to find out from all them books ways and means -of keeping young ladies like Miss Gladys in the path -of salvation. How does she get on, sir, if I might -be so bold? I fear she don’t learn her catechism as -quiet and patient as I used to learn mine, under old -Mr. Ravelin, God forgive him!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I think Miss Romer is quite as good a -pupil as you used to be, Mrs. Fringe,” said Clavering, -rising and gently ushering her out of the -door.</p> - -<p>“She’s as good as some of these new-fangled village -hussies, anyway,” retorted the irrepressible lady, -turning on the threshold. “They tell me that Lucy -Vare was off again last night with that rascally Tom -Mooring. She’ll be in trouble, that young girl, before -she wants to be.”</p> - -<p>“I know, I know,” sighed the clergyman sadly, -fumbling with the door handle.</p> - -<p>“You don’t know all you <em>ought</em> to know, sir, if -you’ll pardon my boldness,” returned the woman, -making a step backwards.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I know, because I saw them!” shouted Clavering, -closing the door with irritable violence.</p> - -<p>“Goodness me!” muttered Mrs. Fringe, returning -to her kitchen, “if the poor young man knew what -this parish was really like, he wouldn’t talk so freely -about ‘seeing’ people!”</p> - -<p>Left to himself, Clavering moved uneasily round his -room, taking down first one book and then another, -and looking anxiously at his shelves as if seeking -something from them more efficient than eloquent -words.</p> - -<p>“As soon as she comes,” he said to himself, “I -shall take her across to the church.”</p> - -<p>He had not long to wait. The door at the end of -the garden-path clicked. Light-tripping steps followed, -and Gladys Romer’s well-known figure made -itself visible through the open window. He hastened -out to meet her, hoping to forestall the hospitable -Mrs. Fringe. In this, however, he was unsuccessful. -His housekeeper was already in the porch, taking -from the girl her parasol and gloves. How these -little things, these chance-thrown little things, always -intervene between our good resolutions and their -accomplishment! He ought to have been ready in his -garden, on the watch for her. Surely he had not intentionally -remained in his room? No, it was the -fault of Mrs. Fringe; of Mrs. Fringe and her stories -about Jimmy Pringle and God. He wished that “a -roaring cloud of fire” would rise between him and -this voluptuous temptress. But probably, priest -though he was, he lacked the faith of that ancient -reprobate. He stood aside to let her enter. The -words “I think it would be better if we went over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> -to the church,” stuck, unuttered, to the roof of his -mouth. She held out her white ungloved hand, and -then, as soon as the door was closed, began very -deliberately removing her hat.</p> - -<p>He stood before her smiling, that rather inept -smile, which indicates the complete paralysis of every -faculty, except the faculty of admiration. He could -hardly now suggest a move to the church. He -could not trouble her to re-assume that charming -hat. Besides, what reason could he give? He did, -however, give a somewhat ambiguous reason for -following out Vennie’s heroic plan on another—a -different—occasion. In the tone we use when allaying -the pricks of conscience by tacitly treating that -sacred monitor as if its intelligence were of an inferior -order: “One of these days,” he said, “we must -have our lesson in the church. It would be so nice -and cool there, wouldn’t it?”</p> - -<p>There was a scent of burning weeds in the front-room -of the old Vicarage, when master and neophyte -sat down together, at the round oak table, before the -extended works of Pusey and Newman. Sombre -were the bindings of these repositories of orthodoxy, -but the pleasant afternoon sun streamed wantonly -over them and illumined their gloom.</p> - -<p>Gladys had seated herself so that the light fell -caressingly upon her yellow hair and deepened into -exquisite attractiveness the soft shadows of her throat -and neck. Her arms were sleeveless; and as she leaned -them against the table, their whiteness and roundness -were enhanced by the warm glow.</p> - -<p>The priest spoke in a low monotonous voice, -explaining doctrines, elucidating mysteries, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> -emphasizing moral lessons. He spoke of baptism. He -described the manner in which the Church had appropriated -to her own purpose so many ancient pagan -customs. He showed how the immemorial heathen -usages of “immersion” and “ablution” had become, -in her hands, wonderful and suggestive symbols of -the purifying power of the nobler elements. He used -words that he had come, by frequent repetition, to -know by heart. In order that he might point out -to her passages in his authors which lent themselves -to the subject, he brought his chair round to her -side.</p> - -<p>The sound of her gentle breathing, and the terrible -attraction of her whole figure, as she leant -forward, in sweet girlish attention to what he was -saying, maddened the poor priest.</p> - -<p>In her secret heart Gladys hardly understood a -single word. The phrase “immersion,” whenever it -occurred, gave her an irresistible desire to laugh. She -could not help thinking of her favourite round pond. -The pond set her thinking of Lacrima and how -amusing it was to frighten her. But this lesson with -the young clergyman was even more amusing. She -felt instinctively that it was upon herself his attention -rested, whatever mysterious words might pass -his lips.</p> - -<p>Once, as they were leaning together over the -“Development of Christian Doctrine,” and he was -enlarging upon the gradual evolution of one sacred -implication after another, she let her arm slide lightly -over the back of his hand; and a savage thrill of -triumph rose in her heart, as she felt an answering -magnetic shiver run through his whole frame.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p> - -<p>“The worship of the Body of our Saviour,” he -said—using his own words as a shield against her—“allows -no subterfuges, no reserves. It gathers to -itself, as it sweeps down the ages, every emotion, -every ardour, every passion of man. It appropriates -all that is noble in these things to its own high purpose, -and it makes even of the evil in them a means -to yet more subtle good.”</p> - -<p>As he spoke, with an imperceptible gesture of -liberation he rose from his seat by her side and set -himself to pace the room. The struggle he was -making caused his fingers to clench and re-clench -themselves in the palms of his hands, as though he -were squeezing the perfume from handfuls of scented -leaves.</p> - -<p>The high-spirited girl knew by instinct the suffering -she was causing, but she did not yield to any -ridiculous pity. She only felt the necessity of holding -him yet more firmly. So she too rose from her chair, -and, slipping softly to the window, seated herself -sideways upon its ledge. Balanced charmingly here—like -some wood-nymph stolen from the forest to -tease the solitude of some luckless hermit—she -stretched one arm out of the window, and pulling -towards her a delicate branch of yellow roses, pressed -it against her breast.</p> - -<p>The pose of her figure, as she balanced herself -thus, was one of provoking attractiveness, and with -a furtive look of feline patience in her half-shut eyes -she waited while it threw its spell over him.</p> - -<p>The scent of burning weeds floated into the room. -Clavering’s thoughts whirled to and fro in his head -like whipped chaff. “I must go on speaking,” he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> -thought; “and I must not look at her. If I look at -her I am lost.” He paced the room like a caged -animal. His soul cried out within him to be liberated -from the body of this death. He thought of -the strange tombstone of Gideon Andersen, and -wished he too were buried under it, and free forever!</p> - -<p>“Yet is it not my duty to look at her?” the devil -in his heart whispered. “How can I teach her, how -can I influence her for good, if I do not see the effect -of my words? Is it not an insult to the Master -Himself, and His Divine power, to be thus cowardly -and afraid?”</p> - -<p>His steps faltered and he leant against the table.</p> - -<p>“Christ,” he found his lips repeating, “is the explanation -of all mysteries. He is the secret root -of all natural impulses in us. All emerge from Him -and all return to Him. He is to us what their ancient -god Pan was to the Greeks. He is in a true sense -our <em>All</em>—for in him is all we are, all we have, and -all we hope. All our passions are His. Touched by -Him, their true originator, they lose their dross, are -purged of their evil, and give forth sweet-smelling, -sweet-breathing—yellow roses!”</p> - -<p>He had not intended to say “yellow roses.” The -sentence had rounded itself off so, apart from his -conscious will.</p> - -<p>The girl gravely indicated that she heard him; and -then smiled dreamily, acquiescingly—the sort of -smile that yields to a spiritual idea, as if it were a -physical caress.</p> - -<p>The scent of burning weeds continued to float in -through the window. “Oh, it has gone!” she cried -suddenly, as, released from her fingers, the branch<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> -swung back to its place against the sandstone -wall.</p> - -<p>“I must have it again,” she added, bending her -supple body backwards. She made one or two ineffectual -efforts and then gave up, panting. “I can’t -reach it,” she said. “But go on, Mr. Clavering. I -can listen to you like this. It is so nice out here.”</p> - -<p>Strange unfathomable thoughts surged up in the -depths of Clavering’s soul. He found himself wishing -that he had authority over her, that he might tame -her wilful spirit, and lay her under the yoke of some -austere penance. Why was she free to provoke him -thus, with her merciless fragility? The madness she -was arousing grew steadily upon him. He stumbled -awkwardly round the edge of the table and approached -her. The scent of burning weeds became -yet more emphatic. To make his nearness to her -less obvious, and out of a queer mechanical instinct -to allay his own conscience, he continued his spiritual -admonitions, even when he was quite close—even -when he could have touched her with his hand. And -it would be so easy to touch her! The playful -perilousness of her position in the window made such -a movement natural, justifiable, almost conventional.</p> - -<p>“The true doctrine of the Incarnation,” his lips repeated, -“is not that something contrary to nature -has happened; it is that the innermost secret of -Nature has been revealed. And this secret,”—here -his fingers closed feverishly on the casement-latch—“is -identical with the force that swings the furthest -star, and drives the sap through the veins of all living -things.”</p> - -<p>It would have been of considerable interest to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> -a student of religious psychology—like Mr. Taxater -for example—to observe how the phrases that -mechanically passed Clavering’s lips at this juncture -were all phrases drawn from the works of rationalistic -modernists. He had recently been reading the -charming and subtle essays of Father Mervyn; and -the soft and melodious harmonies of that clever -theologian’s thought had accumulated in some hidden -corner of his brain. The authentic religious emotion -in him being superseded by a more powerful impulse, -his mind mechanically reverted to the large, dim -regions of mystical speculation. A certain instinct -in him—the instinct of his clamorous senses—made -him careful to blur, confuse, and keep far back, that -lovely and terrible “Power from Outside,” the hem -of Whose garments he had clung to, the night -before. “Christ,” he went on, “is, as it were, the -centre and pivot of the whole universe, and every -revelation granted to us of His nature is a revelation -from the system of things itself. I want you to -understand that our true attitude towards this great -mystery, ought to be the attitude of scientific explorers, -who in searching for hidden causes have -come upon the one, the unique Cause.”</p> - -<p>The girl’s only indication that she embraced the -significance of these solemn words was to make a -sudden gliding serpentine movement which brought -her into a position more easy to be retained, and -yet one that made it still more unnatural that he -should refuse her some kind of playful and affectionate -support.</p> - -<p>The poor priest’s heart beat tumultuously. He -began to lose all consciousness of everything except<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> -his propinquity to his provoker. He was aware -with appalling distinctness of the precise texture -of the light frock that she wore. It was of a -soft fawn colour, crossed by wavy lines of a darker -tint. He watched the way these wavy lines followed -the curves of her figure. They began at -her side, and ended where her skirt hung loose -over her little swinging ankles. He wished these -lines had sloped upwards, instead of downwards; then -it would have been so much easier for him to follow -the argument of the “Development of Christian -Doctrine.”</p> - -<p>Still that scent of burning weeds! Why must his -neighbours set fire to their rubbish, on this particular -afternoon?</p> - -<p>With a fierce mental effort he tried to suppress -the thought that those voluptuous lips only waited -for him to overcome his ridiculous scruples. Why -must she wait like this so pitilessly passive, laying -all the burden of the struggle upon him? If she -would only make a little—a very little—movement, -his conscience would be able to recover its -equilibrium, whatever happened. He tried to unmagnetize -her attraction, by visualizing the fact that -under this desirable form—so near his touch—lurked -nothing but that bleak, bare, last outline of -mortality, to which all flesh must come. He tried -to see her forehead, her closed eyes, her parted -lips, as they would look if resting in a coffin. Like -his monkish predecessors in the world-old struggle -against Satan, he sought to save himself by clutching -fast to the grinning skull.</p> - -<p>All this while his lips went on repeating their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> -liturgical formula. “We must learn to look upon the -Redemption, as a natural, not a supernatural fact. -We must learn to see in it the motive-force of the -whole stream of evolution. We must remember that -things <em>are</em> what they have it in them to <em>become</em>. -It is the purpose, the end, which is the true truth—not -the process or the method. Christ is the end -of all things. He is therefore the beginning of all -things. All things find their meaning, their place, -their explanation, only in relation to Him. He is -the reality of the illusion which we call Nature, -and of the illusion which we call Life. In Him the -universe becomes real and living—which else were -a mere engine of destruction.” How much longer -he would have continued in this strain—conquered -yet still resisting—it were impossible to say. All -these noble words, into the rhythm of which so -much passionate modern thought had been poured, -fell from his lips like sand out of a sieve.</p> - -<p>The girl herself interrupted him. With a quick -movement she suddenly jerked herself from her recumbent -position; jumped, without his help, lightly -down upon the floor, and resumed her former place -at the table. The explanation of this virtuous retreat -soon made itself known in the person of a -visitor advancing up the garden. Clavering, who -had stumbled foolishly aside as she changed her -place, now opened the door and went to meet the -new-comer.</p> - -<p>It was Romer’s manager, Mr. Thomas Lickwit, -discreet, obsequious, fawning, as ever,—but with -a covert malignity in his hurried words. “Sorry to -disturb you, sir. I see it is Miss Gladys’ lesson. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> -hope the young lady is getting on nicely, sir. I -won’t detain you for more than a moment. I have -just a little matter that couldn’t wait. Business is -business, you know.”</p> - -<p>Clavering felt as though he had heard this last -observation repeated “ad nauseam” by all the disgusting -sycophants in all the sensational novels he -had ever read. It occurred to him how closely Mr. -Lickwit really did resemble all these monotonously -unpleasant people.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” went on the amiable man, “business is -business—even with reverend gentlemen like yourself -who have better things to attend to.” Clavering -forced himself to smile in genial appreciation of this -airy wit, and beckoned the manager into his study. -He then returned to the front room. “I am afraid -our lesson must end for tonight, Miss Romer,” -he said. “You know enough of this lieutenant -of your father’s to guess that he will not be easy -to get rid of. The worst of a parson’s life are these -interruptions.”</p> - -<p>There was no smile upon his face as he said this, -but the girl laughed merrily. She adjusted her hat -with a deliciously coquettish glance at him through -the permissible medium of the gilt-framed mirror. -Then she turned and held out her hand. “Till next -week, then, Mr. Clavering. And I will read all those -books you sent up for me—even the great big black -one!”</p> - -<p>He gravely opened the door for her, and with a -sigh from a heart “sorely charged,” returned to face -Mr. Lickwit.</p> - -<p>He found that gentleman comfortably ensconced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> -in the only arm-chair. “It is like this, sir,” said -the man, when Clavering had taken a seat opposite -him. “Mr. Romer thinks it would be a good thing -if this Social Meeting were put a stop to. There -has been talk, sir. I will not conceal it from you. -There has been talk. The people say that you -have allied yourself with that troublesome agitator. -You know the man I refer to, sir, that wretched -Wone.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Romer doesn’t approve of what he hears of -these meetings. He doesn’t see as how they serve any -good purpose. He thinks they promote discord in -the place, and set one class against another. He does -not like the way, neither, that Mr. Quincunx has -been going on down there; nor to say the truth, sir, -do <em>I</em> like that gentleman’s doings very well. He -speaks too free, does Mr. Quincunx, much too free, -considering how he is situated as you might say.”</p> - -<p>Clavering leapt to his feet, trembling with anger. -“I cannot understand this,” he said, “Someone has -been misleading Mr. Romer. The Social Meeting -is an old institution of this village; and though it is -not exactly a church affair, I believe it is almost -entirely frequented by church-goers. I have always -felt that it served an invaluable purpose in this place. -It is indeed the only occasion when priest and people -can meet on equal terms and discuss these great -questions man to man. No—no, Lickwit, I cannot -for a moment consent to the closing of the Social -Meeting. It would undo the work of years. It -would be utterly unwise. In fact it would be wrong. -I cannot think how you can come to me with such a -proposal.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p> - -<p>Mr. Lickwit made no movement beyond causing -his hat to twirl round on the top of the stick he held -between his knees.</p> - -<p>“You will think better of it, sir. You will think -better of it,” he said. “The election is coming on, -and Mr. Romer expects all supporters of Church and -State to help him in his campaign. You have heard -he is standing, sir, I suppose?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Lickwit uttered the word “standing” in a -tone which suggested to Clavering’s mind a grotesque -image of the British Constitution resting like an enormous -cornucopia on the head of the owner of Leo’s -Hill. He nodded and resumed his seat. The manager -continued. “That old Methodist chapel where those -meetings are held, belongs, as you know, to Mr. -Romer. He is thinking of having it pulled down—not -only because of Wone’s and Quincunx’s goings on -there, but because he wants the ground. He’s thinking -of building an estate-office on that corner. We -are pressed for room, up at the Hill, sir.”</p> - -<p>Once more Clavering rose to his feet. “This is too -much!” he cried. “I wonder you have the impertinence -to come here and tell me such things. I -am not to be bullied, Lickwit. Understand that! -I am not to be bullied.”</p> - -<p>“Then I may tell the master,” said the man sneeringly, -rising in his turn and making for the door, -“that Mr. Parson won’t have nothing to do with -our little plan?”</p> - -<p>“You may tell him what you please, Lickwit. I -shall go over myself at once to the House and see -Mr. Romer.” He glanced at his watch. “It is not -seven yet, and I know he does not dine till eight.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p> - -<p>“By all means, sir, by all means! He’ll be extremely -glad to see you. You couldn’t do better, sir. -You’ll excuse me if I don’t walk up with you. I have -to run across and speak to Mr. Goring.”</p> - -<p>He bowed himself out and hurried off. Clavering -seized his hat and followed him, turning, however, -when once in the street, in the direction of the south -drive. It took him scarcely a couple of minutes to -reach the village square where the drive emerged. -In the centre of the square stood a solid erection of -Leonian stone adapted to the double purpose of a -horse-trough and a drinking fountain. Here the -girls came to draw water, and here the lads came to -chat and flirt with the girls. Mr. Clavering could -not help pausing in his determined march to watch -a group of young people engaged in animated and -laughing frivolity at this spot. It was a man and -two girls. He recognized the man at once by his -slight figure and lively gestures. It was Luke Andersen. -“That fellow has a bad influence in this place,” -he said to himself. “He takes advantage of his -superior education to unsettle these children’s minds. -I must stop this.” He moved slowly towards the -fountain. Luke Andersen looked indeed as reckless -and engaging as a young faun out of a heathen -story. He was making a cup of his two hands and -whimsically holding up the water to the lips of the -younger of his companions, while the other one giggled -and fluttered round them. Had the priest been in -a poetic humour at that moment, he might have -been reminded of those queer mediæval legends of -the wanderings of the old dispossessed divinities. -The young stone-carver, with his classic profile and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> -fair curly hair, might have passed for a disguised -Dionysus seducing to his perilous service the women -of some rustic Thessalian hamlet. No pleasing image -of this kind crossed Hugh Clavering’s vision. All he -saw, as he approached the fountain, was another -youthful incarnation of the dangerous Power he had -been wrestling with all the afternoon. He advanced -towards the engaging Luke, much as Christian might -have advanced towards Apollyon. “Good evening, -Andersen,” he said, with a certain professional severity. -“Using the fountain, I see? We must be careful, -though, not to waste the water this hot summer.”</p> - -<p>The girl who was drinking rose up with a little -start, and stood blushing and embarrassed. Luke -appeared entirely at his ease. He leant negligently -against the edge of the stone trough, and pushed his -hat to the back of his head. In this particular pose -he resembled to an extraordinary degree the famous -Capitolian statue.</p> - -<p>“It is hardly wasting the water, Mr. Clavering,” -he said with a smile, “offering it to a beautiful -mouth. Why don’t you curtsey to Mr. Clavering, -Annie? I thought all you girls curtsied when clergymen -spoke to you.”</p> - -<p>The priest frowned. The audacious aplomb of the -young man unnerved and disconcerted him.</p> - -<p>“Water in a stone fountain like this,” went on -the shameless youth, “has a peculiar charm these -hot evenings. It makes you almost fancy you are -in Seville. Seville is a place in Spain, Annie. Mr. -Clavering will tell you all about it.”</p> - -<p>“I think Annie had better run in to her mother -now,” said the priest severely.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, that’s all right,” replied the youth with unruffled -urbanity. “Her mother has gone shopping in -Yeoborough and I have to see that Annie behaves -properly till she comes back.”</p> - -<p>Clavering looked reproachfully at the girl. Something -about him—his very inability perhaps to cope -with this seductive Dionysus—struck her simple -intelligence as pathetic. She made a movement as -if to join her companion, who remained roguishly -giggling a few paces off. But Luke boldly restrained -her. Putting his hand on her shoulder he said -laughingly to the priest, “She will be a heart-breaker -one of these days, Mr. Clavering, will our Annie -here! You wouldn’t think she was eighteen, would -you, sir?”</p> - -<p>Under other circumstances the young clergyman -would have unhesitatingly commanded the girl to go -home. But his recent experiences had loosened the -fibre of his moral courage. Besides, what was there -to prevent this incorrigible young man from walking -off after her? One could hardly—at least in Protestant -England—make one’s flock moral by sheer -force.</p> - -<p>“Well—good-night to you all,” he said, and -moved away, thinking to himself that at any rate -there was safety in publicity. “But what a dangerous -person that Andersen is! One never knows how -to deal with these half-and-half people. If he were -a village-boy it would be different. And it would be -different if he were a gentleman. But he is neither -one thing or the other. Seville! Who would have -thought to have heard Seville referred to, in the -middle of Nevilton Square?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p> - -<p>He reached the carved entrance of the House with -its deeply-cut armorial bearings—the Seldom falcon -with the arrow in its beak. “No more will <em>that</em> bird -fly,” he thought, as he waited for the door to open.</p> - -<p>He was ushered into the spacious entrance hall, -the usual place of reception for Mr. Romer’s less -favoured guests. The quarry-owner was alone. He -shook hands affably with his visitor and motioned -him to a seat.</p> - -<p>“I have come about that question of the Social -Meeting—” he began.</p> - -<p>Mr. Romer cut him short. “It is no longer a -question,” he said. “It is a ‘fait accompli.’ I have -given orders to have the place pulled down next -week. I want the space for building purposes.”</p> - -<p>Clavering turned white with anger. “We shall have -to find another room then,” he said. “I cannot -have those meetings dropping out from our village -life. They keep the thoughtful people together as -nothing else can.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Romer smiled grimly. “You will find it difficult -to discover another place,” he remarked.</p> - -<p>“Then I shall have them in my own house,” said -the vicar of Nevilton.</p> - -<p>Mr. Romer crossed his hands and threw back his -head; looking, with the air of one who watches the -development of precisely foreseen events, straight -into the sad eyes of the little Royal Servant on the -wall.</p> - -<p>“Pardon such a question, my friend,” said he, “but -may I ask you what your personal income is, at this -moment?”</p> - -<p>“You know that well enough,” returned the other.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> -“I have nothing beyond the hundred and fifty -pounds I receive as vicar of this place.”</p> - -<p>“And what,” pursued the Quarry-owner, “may -your expenditure amount to?”</p> - -<p>“That, also, you know well,” replied Clavering. -“I give away about eighty pounds, every year, to -the poor of this village.”</p> - -<p>“And where does this eighty pounds come from?” -went on the Squire. The priest was silent.</p> - -<p>“I will tell you where it comes from,” pronounced -the other. “It comes from me. It is my contribution, -out of the tithes which I receive as lay-rector. -And it is the larger part of them.”</p> - -<p>The priest was still silent.</p> - -<p>“When I first came here,” his interlocutor continued, -“I gave up these tithes as an offering to our -village necessities; and I have not yet withdrawn -them. If this Social Meeting, Mr. Clavering, is not -brought to an end, I shall withdraw them. And no -one will be able to blame me.”</p> - -<p>Hugh jumped up on his feet with a gesture of -fury. “I call this,” he shouted, “nothing short of -sacrilege! Yes, sacrilege and tyranny! I shall proclaim -it abroad. I shall write to the papers. I shall -appeal to the bishop—to the country!”</p> - -<p>“As you please,” said Mr. Romer quietly, “as you -please. I should only like to point out that any -action of this kind will tie up my purse-strings forever. -You will not be popular with your flock, my -friend. I know something of our dear Nevilton -people; and I shall have only to make it plain to -them that it is their vicar who has reduced this -charity; and you will not find yourself greatly loved!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p> - -<p>Clavering fell back into his chair with a groan. -He knew too well the truth of the man’s words. He -knew also the straits into which this lack of money -would plunge half his benevolent activities in the -parish. He hung his head gloomily and stared at the -floor. What would he not have given, at that moment, -to have been able to meet this despot, man to -man, unencumbered by his duty to his people!</p> - -<p>“Let me assure you, my dear sir,” said Mr. Romer -quietly, “that you are not by any means fighting -the cause of your church, in supporting this wretched -Meeting. If I were bidding you interrupt your -services or your sacraments, it would be another -matter. This Social Meeting has strong anti-clerical -prejudices. You know that, as well as I. It is -conducted entirely on nonconformist lines. I happen -to be aware,” he added, “since you talk of -appealing to the bishop, that the good man has already, -on more than one occasion, protested vigorously -against the association of his clergy with this -kind of organization. I do not know whether you -ever glance at that excellent paper the Guardian; -but if so you will find, in this last week’s issue, a -very interesting case, quite parallel to ours, in which -the bishop’s sympathies were by no means on the -side you are advocating.”</p> - -<p>The young priest rose and bowed. “There is, at -any rate, no necessity for me to trouble you any -further,” he said. “So I will bid you good-night.”</p> - -<p>He left the hall hastily, picked up his hat, and let -himself out, before his host had time to reply. All -the way down the drive his thoughts reverted to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> -seductive wiles of this despot’s daughter. “The -saints are deserting me,” he thought, “by reason of -my sin.”</p> - -<p>He was not, even then, destined to escape his -temptress. Gladys, who doubtless had been expecting -this sudden retreat, emerged from the shadow of -the trees and intercepted him. “I will walk to the -gate with you,” she said. The power of feminine -attraction is never more insidious than at the moment -of bitter remorse. The mind reverts so easily, -so willingly, then, back to the dangerous way. The -mere fact of its having lost its pride of resistance, its -vanity of virtue, makes it yield to a new assault with -terrible facility. She drew him into the dusky twilight -of the scented exotic cedars which bordered the -way, on the excuse of inhaling their fragrance more -closely.</p> - -<p>She made him pull down a great perfumed cypress-bough, -of some unusual species, so that they might -press their faces against it. They stood so closely -together that she could feel through her thin evening-gown -the furious trembling that seized him. She knew -that he had completely lost his self-control, and was -quite at her mercy. But Gladys had not the least -intention of yielding herself to the emotion she had -excited. What she intended was that he should -desire her to desperation, not that, by the least -touch, his desire should be gratified. In another -half-second, as she well knew, the poor priest would -have seized her in his arms. In place of permitting -this, what she did was to imprint a fleeting kiss with -her warm lips upon the back of his hand, and then -to leap out of danger with a ringing laugh. “Good-bye!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> -she called back at him, as she ran off. “I’ll -come in good time next week.”</p> - -<p>It may be imagined in what a turbulence of miserable -feelings Hugh Clavering repassed the village -square. He glanced quickly at the fountain. Yes! -Luke Andersen was still loitering in the same place, -and the little bursts of suppressed screams and -laughter, and the little fluttering struggles, of the -group around him, indicated that he was still, in his -manner, corrupting the maidens of Nevilton. The -priest longed to put his hands to his ears and run -down the street, even as Christian ran from the -city of Destruction. What was this power—this invincible, -all-pervasive power—against which he had -committed himself to contend? He felt as though -he were trying, with his poor human strength, to -hold back the sea-tide, so that it should not cover -the sands.</p> - -<p>Could it be that, after all, the whole theory of the -church was wrong, and that the great Life-Force was -against her, and punishing her, for seeking, with -her vain superstitions, to alter the stars in their -courses?</p> - -<p>Could it be that this fierce pleasure-lust, which he -felt so fatally in Gladys, and saw in Luke, and was -seduced by in his own veins, was after all the true -secret of Nature, and, to contend against it, madness -and impossible folly? Was he, and not they, the -really morbid and infatuated one—morbid with the -arbitrary pride of a desperate tradition of perverted -heroic souls? He moved along the pavement under -the church wall and looked up at its grand immovable -tower. “Are you, too,” he thought, “but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> -the symbol of an insane caprice in the mad human -race, seeking, in fond recklessness, to alter the basic -laws of the great World?”</p> - -<p>The casuistical philosophy of Mr. Taxater returned -to his mind. What would the papal apologist say -to him now, thus torn and tugged at by all the -forces of hell? He felt a curious doubt in his heart -as to the side on which, in this mad struggle, the -astute theologian really stood. Perhaps, for all his -learning, the man was no more Christian in his true -soul, than had been many of those historic popes -whose office he defended. In his desperate mood -Clavering longed to get as near as possible to the -altar of this God of his, who thus bade him confront -the whole power of nature and all the wisdom of the -world. He looked up and down the street. Two men -were talking outside The Goat and Boy, but their -backs were turned. With a quick sudden movement -he put his hands on the top of the wall and scrambled -hastily over, scraping his shins as he did so on a -sharp stone at the top. He moved rapidly to the -place where rose the strange tombstone designed by -the atheist carver. It was here that Vennie and he -had entered into their heroic covenant only twenty-four -hours before. He looked at the enormous skull -so powerfully carved and at the encircled cross beneath -it. He laid his hand upon the skull, precisely -as he had done the night before; only this time there -were no little cold fingers to instil pure devotion into -him. Instead of the touch of such fingers he felt the -burning contact of Gladys’ soft lips.</p> - -<p>No! it was an impossible task that his God had laid -upon him. Why not give up the struggle? Why not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> -throw over this mad idol of purity he had raised for his -worship, and yield himself to the great stream? The -blood rushed to his head with the alluring images that -this thought evoked. Perhaps, after all, Gladys would -marry him, and then—why, then, he could revert -to the humourous wisdom of Mr. Taxater, and cultivate -the sweet mystical speculations of modernism; -reconciling, pleasantly and easily, the natural pleasures -of the senses, with the natural exigencies of the soul!</p> - -<p>He left Gideon’s grave and walked back to the -church-porch. It was now nearly dark and without -fear of being observed by any one through the iron -bars of the outer gate, he entered the porch and stood -before the closed door. He wished he had brought -the key with him. How he longed, at that moment, -to fling himself down before the altar and cry aloud -to his God!</p> - -<p>By his side stood the wheeled parish bier, ornamented -by a gilt inscription, informing the casual -intruder that it had been presented to the place in -honour of the accession of King George the Fifth. -There was not light enough to read these touching -words, but the gilt plate containing them gave forth -a faint scintillating glimmer.</p> - -<p>Worn out by the day-long struggle in his heart, -Clavering sat down upon this grim “memento mori”; -and then, after a minute or two, finding that position -uncomfortable, deliberately stretched himself out at -full length upon the thing’s bare surface. Lying here, -with the bats flitting in and out above his head, the -struggle in his mind continued. Supposing he did -yield,—not altogether, of course; his whole nature -was against that, and his public position stood in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> -way,—but just a little, just a hair’s breadth, could -he not enjoy a light playful flirtation with Gladys, -such as she was so obviously prepared for, even if it -were impossible to marry her? The worst of it was -that his imagination so enlarged upon the pleasures -of this “playful flirtation,” that it very quickly became -an obsessing desire. He propped himself up -upon his strange couch and looked forth into the -night. The stars were just beginning to appear, and -he could see one or two constellations whose names -he knew. How indifferent they were, those far-off -lights! What did it matter to them whether he yielded -or did not yield? He had the curious sensation that -the whole conflict in which he was entangled belonged -to a terrestrial sphere infinitely below those heavenly -luminaries. Not only the Power against which he -contended, but the Power on whose side he fought, -seemed out-distanced and derided by those calm -watchers.</p> - -<p>He sank back again and gazed up at the carved -stone roof above him. A dull inert weariness stole -over his brain; a sick disgust of the whole mad -business of a man’s life upon earth. Why was he born -into the world with passions that he must not satisfy -and ideals that he could not hold? Better not to have -been born at all; or, being born, better to lie quiet -and untroubled, with all these placid churchyard -people, under the heavy clay! The mental weariness -that assailed him gradually changed into sheer physical -drowsiness. His head sought instinctively a more -easy position and soon found what it sought. His -eyes closed; and there, upon the parish bier, worn -out with his struggle against Apollyon, the vicar of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> -Nevilton slept. When he returned to consciousness -he found himself cramped, cold and miserable. Hurriedly -he scrambled to his feet, stretched his stiff -limbs and listened. The clock in the Tower above him -began to strike. It struck one—two—and then -stopped. He had slept for nearly five hours.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE ORCHARD</span></h2> - -<p>Every natural locality has its hour of special -self-assertion; its hour, when the peculiar qualities -and characteristics which belong to it -emphasize themselves, and attain a sort of temporary -apogee or culmination. It is then that such localities—be -they forests or moors, hill-sides or valleys—seem -to gather themselves together and bring themselves -into focus, waiting expectantly, it might almost seem, -for some answering dramatic crisis in human affairs -which should find in them an inevitable background.</p> - -<p>One of the chief features of our English climate is -that no two successive days, even in a spell of the -warmest weather, are exactly alike. What one might -call the culminant day of that summer, for the orchards -of Nevilton, arrived shortly after Mr. Clavering’s -unfortunate defeat. Every hour of this day -seemed to add something more and more expressive to -their hushed and expectant solitudes.</p> - -<p>Though the hay had been cut, or was being cut, in -the open fields, in these shadowy recesses the grass -was permitted to grow lush and long, at its own -unimpeded will.</p> - -<p>Between the ancient trunks of the moss-grown -apple-trees hung a soft blue vapour; and the flickering -sunlight that pierced the denser foliage, threw -shadows upon the heavy grass that were as deeply<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> -purple as the waves of the mid-atlantic. There -was indeed something so remote from the ordinary -movements of the day about this underworld of -dim, rich seclusion, that the image of a sleepy wave-lulled -land, long sunken out of reach of human invasion, -under the ebbing and flowing tide, seemed -borne in naturally upon the imagination.</p> - -<p>It was towards the close of the afternoon of this -particular segment of time that the drowsy languor of -these orchards reached its richest and most luxurious -moment. Grass, moss, lichen, mistletoe, gnarled -trunks, and knotted roots, all seemed to cry aloud, -at this privileged hour, for some human recognition of -their unique quality; some human event which should -give that quality its dramatic value, its planetary -proportion. Not since the Hesperidean Dragon -guarded its sacred charge, in the classic story, has -a more responsive background offered itself to what -Catullus calls the “furtive loves” of mortal men.</p> - -<p>About six o’clock, on this day of the apogee of the -orchards, Mr. Romer, seated on the north terrace -of his house, caught sight of his daughter and her -companion crossing the near corner of the park. He -got up at once, and walked across the garden to intercept -them. The sight of the Italian’s slender drooping -figure, as she lingered a little behind her cousin, -roused into vivid consciousness all manner of subterranean -emotions in the quarry-owner’s mind. He -felt as an oriental pasha might feel, when under the -stress of some political or monetary transaction, he -is compelled to hand over his favorite girl-slave to -an obsequious dependent. The worst of it was that -he could not be absolutely sure of Mr. Goring’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> -continued adherence. It was within the bounds of -possibility that once in possession of Lacrima, the -farmer might breathe against him gross Thersites-like -defiance, and carry off his captive to another -county. He experienced, at that moment, a sharp -pang of inverted remorse at the thought of having -to relinquish his prey.</p> - -<p>As he strode along by the edge of the herbaceous -borders, where the blue spikes of the delphiniums were -already in bud, his mind swung rapidly from point -to point in the confused arena of his various contests -and struggles.</p> - -<p>Mixed strangely enough with his direct Napoleonic -pursuit of wealth and power, there was latent in -Mr. Romer, as we have already hinted, a certain -dark and perverse sensuality, which was capable of -betraying and distorting, in very curious ways, the -massive force of his intelligence.</p> - -<p>At this particular moment, as he emerged into the -park, he found himself beginning to regret his conversation -with his brother-in-law. But, after all, he -thought, when Gladys married, it would be difficult -to find any reason for keeping Lacrima at his side. -His feelings towards the girl were a curious mixture -of attraction and hatred. And what could better -gratify this mixed emotion than a plan which would -keep her within his reach and at the same time -humiliate and degrade her? To do the master of -Nevilton justice, he was not, at that moment, as he -passed under a group of Spanish chestnuts and observed -the object of his conspiracy rendered gentler -and more fragile than ever by the loveliness of her -surroundings, altogether devoid of a certain remote<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> -feeling of compunction. He crushed it down, however, -by his usual thought of the brevity and futility of -all these things, and the folly of yielding to weak -commiseration, when, in so short a time, nothing, -one way or the other, would matter in the least! -He had long ago trained himself to make use of these -materialistic reasonings to suppress any irrelevant -prickings of conscience which might interfere with -the bias of his will. The whole world, looked at with -the bold cynical eye of one who was not afraid to -face the truth, was, after all, a mad, wild, unmeaning -struggle; and, in the confused arena of this struggle, -one could be sure of nothing but the pleasure one -derived from the sensation of one’s own power. He -tried, as he walked towards the girls, to imagine to -himself what his feelings would be, supposing he yielded -to these remote scruples, and let Lacrima go, giving -her money, for instance, to enable her to live independently -in her own country, or to marry whom she -pleased. She would no doubt marry that damned -fool Quincunx! Lack of money was, assuredly, all -that stood in the way. And how could he contemplate -an idea of that kind with any pleasure? He -wondered, in a grim humourous manner, what sort of -compensation these self-sacrificing ones really got? -What satisfaction would <em>he</em> get, for instance, in the -consciousness that he had thrown a girl who attracted -him, into the arms of an idiot who excited his hate?</p> - -<p>He looked long at Lacrima, as she stood with -Gladys, under a sycamore, waiting his approach. It -was curious, he said to himself,—very curious,—the -sort of feelings she excited in him. It was not that -he wished to possess her. He was scornfully cynical<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> -of that sort of gratification. He wished to do more -than possess her. He wished to humiliate her, to -degrade her, to put her to shame in her inmost spirit. -He wished her to know that he knew that she was -suffering this shame, and that he was the cause of it. -He wished her to feel herself absolutely in his power, -not bodily—that was nothing!—but morally, and -spiritually.</p> - -<p>The owner of Leo’s Hill had the faculty of detaching -himself from his own darkest thoughts, and -of observing them with a humourous and cynical eye. -It struck him as not a little grotesque, that he, the -manipulater of far-flung financial intrigues, the ambitious -politician, the formidable captain of industry, -should be thus scheming and plotting to satisfy the -caprice of a mere whim, upon the destiny of a -penniless dependent. It <em>was</em> grotesque—grotesque -and ridiculous. Let it be! The whole business of -living was grotesque and ridiculous. One snatched -fiercely at this thing or the other, as the world moved -round; and one was not bound always to present -oneself in a dignified mask before one’s own tribunal. -It was enough that this or that fantasy of the dominant -power-instinct demanded a certain course of -action. Let it be as grotesque as it might! He, and -none other, was the judge of his pleasure, of what he -pleased to do, or to refrain from doing. It was his -humour;—and that ended it! He lived to fulfil his -humour. There was nothing else to live for, in this -fantastic chaotic world! Meditating in this manner -he approached the girls.</p> - -<p>“It occurred to me,” he said, breathing a little -hard, and addressing his daughter, “that you might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> -be seeing Mr. Clavering again tonight. If so, perhaps -you would give him a message from me, or -rather,—how shall I put it?—a suggestion, a -gentle hint.”</p> - -<p>“What are you driving at, father?” asked Gladys, -pouting her lips and swinging her parasol.</p> - -<p>“It is a message best delivered by mouth,” Mr. -Romer went on, “and by your mouth.”</p> - -<p>Then as if to turn this last remark into a delicate -compliment, he playfully lifted up the girl’s chin -with his finger and made as if to kiss her. Gladys, -however, lightly evaded him, and tossing her head -mischievously, burst out laughing. “I know you, -father, I know you,” she cried. “You want me to -do some intriguing for you. You never kiss me like -that, unless you do!”</p> - -<p>Lacrima glanced apprehensively at the two of -them. Standing there, in the midst of that charming -English scene, they represented to her mind all that -was remorseless, pitiless and implacable in this island -of her enforced adoption. Swiftly, from those ruddy -pinnacles of the great house behind them, her mind -reverted to the little white huts in a certain Apennine -valley and the tinkling bells of the goats led back -from pasture. Oh how she hated all this heavy -foliage and these eternally murmuring doves!</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Mr. Romer, as Gladys waited mockingly, -“I do want you to do something. I want you -to hint to our dear clergyman that this ceremony -of your reception into his church is dependent upon -his good behaviour. Not <em>your</em> good behavior,” he -repeated smiling, “but <em>his</em>. The truth is, dear child, -if I may speak quite plainly, I know the persuasive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> -power of your pretty face over all these young men; -and I want you to make it plain to this worthy -priest that if you are to continue being nice to him, -he must be very nice to <em>me</em>. Do you catch my meaning, -my plump little bird?” As he spoke he encircled -her waist with his arm. Lacrima, watching them, -thought how singularly alike father and daughter -were, and was conscious of an instinctive desire to -run and warn this new victim of conspiracy.</p> - -<p>“Why, what has he been doing, father?” asked -the fair girl, shaking herself free, and opening her -parasol.</p> - -<p>“He has been supporting that fellow Wone. And -he has been talking nonsense about Quincunx,—yes, -about your friend Quincunx,” he added, nodding -ironically towards Lacrima.</p> - -<p>“And I am to punish him, am I?” laughed Gladys. -“That is lovely! I love punishing people, especially -people like Mr. Clavering who think they are so -wonderfully good!”</p> - -<p>Mr. Romer smiled. “Not exactly punish him, -dear, but lead him gently into the right path. Lead -him, in fact, to see that the party to belong to in -this village is the party of capacity—not the party -of chatter.”</p> - -<p>Gladys looked at her father seriously. “You don’t -mean that you are actually afraid of losing this election?” -she said. Mr. Romer stretched out his arm -and rested himself against the umbrageous sycamore, -pressing his large firm hand upon its trunk.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span></p> -<p>“Losing it, child? No, I shan’t lose it. But these -idiots do really annoy me. They are all such cowards -and such sentimental babies. It is people like these who -have to be ruled with a firm hand. They cringe and -whimper when you talk to them; and then the moment -your back is turned they grow voluble and impertinent. -My workmen are no better. They owe everything -to me. If it wasn’t for me, half those quarries -would be shut down tomorrow and they’d be out of -a job. But do you think they are grateful? Not -a bit of it!” His tone grew more angry. He felt -a need of venting the suppressed rage of many -months. “Yes, you needn’t put on that unconscious -look, Lacrima. I know well enough where <em>your</em> -sympathies lie. The fact is, in these rotten days, -it is the incapable and miserable who give the tone -to everyone! No one thinks for himself. No one -goes to the bottom of things. It is all talk—talk—talk; -talk about equality, about liberty, about kindness -to the weak. I hate the weak; and I refuse to -let them interfere with me! Look at the faces of these -people. Well,—you know, Gladys, what they are -like. They are all feeble, bloodless, sneaking, fawning -idiots! I hate the faces of these Nevilton fools. -They are always making me think of slugs and worms. -This Wone is typical. His disgusting complexion -and flabby mouth is characteristic of them all. No -one of them has the spirit to hit one properly back, -face to face. And their odious, sentimental religion!—This -Clavering of yours ought to know better. He -is not quite devoid of intelligence. He showed some -spirit when I talked with him. But he is besotted, -too, with this silly nonsense about humouring the -people, and considering the people, and treating the -people in a Christian spirit! As though you could -treat worms and slugs in any other spirit than the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> -spirit of trampling upon them. They are born to be -trampled upon—born for it—I tell you! You have -only to look at them!” He glared forth over the -soft rich fields; and continued, still more bitterly:</p> - -<p>“It’s no good your pretending not to hear me, -Lacrima! I can read your thoughts like an open -book. You are quoting to yourself, no doubt, at -this very moment, some of the pretty speeches of -your friend Quincunx. A nice fellow, he is, for a -girl’s teacher! A fellow with no idea of his own in -his head! A fellow afraid to raise his eyes above -one’s boot-laces! Why the other day, when I was -out shooting and met him in the lane, he turned -straight round, and walked back on his tracks—simply -from fear of passing me. I hate these sneaking -cowards! I hate their cunning, miserable, little -ways! I should like to trample them all out of -existence! That is the worst of being strong in this -world. One is worried to death by a lot of fools who -are not worth the effort spent on them.”</p> - -<p>Lacrima uttered no word, but looked sadly away, -over the fair landscape. In her heart, in spite of her -detestation of the man, she felt a strange fantastic -sympathy with a good deal of what he said. Women, -especially women of Latin races, have no great respect -for democratic sentiments when they do not issue in -definite deeds. Her private idea of a revolutionary -leader was something very far removed from the -voluble local candidate, and she had suffered too -much herself from the frail petulance of Maurice -Quincunx not to feel a secret longing that somewhere, -somehow, this aggressive tyrant should be faced by a -strength as firm, as capable, as fearless, as his own.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p> - -<p>Mr. Romer, with his swarthy imperial face and -powerful figure, seemed to her, as he leant against -the tree, so to impress himself upon that yielding -landscape, that there appeared reason enough for his -complaint that he could find no antagonist worthy -of his steel. In the true manner of a Pariah, who -turns, with swift contempt, upon her own class, the -girl was conscious of a rising tide of revolt in her -heart against the incompetent weakness of her friend. -What would she not give to be able, even once, to -see this man outfaced and outwitted! She was impressed -too, poor girl, as she shrank silently aside -from his sarcasm, by the horrible indifference of these -charming sunlit fields to the brutality of the man’s -challenge. They cared nothing—nothing! It was -impossible to make them care. Hundreds of years -ago they had slumbered, just as dreamily, just as -indifferently, as they did now. If even at this -moment she were to plunge a knife into the man’s -heart, so that he fell a mass of senseless clay at her -feet, that impervious wood-pigeon would go on murmuring -its monotonous ditty, just as peacefully, just -as serenely! There was something really terrifying -to her in this callous indifference of Nature. It was -like living perpetually in close contact with a person -who was deaf and dumb and blind; and who, while -the most tragic events were being transacted, went -on cheerfully and imperturbably humming some merry -tune. It would be almost better, thought the girl, -if that tree-trunk against which the quarry-owner -pressed his heavy hand were really in league with -him. Anything were better than this smiling indifference -which seemed to keep on repeating in a voice<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> -as monotonous as the pigeon’s—“Everything is -permitted. Nothing is forbidden. Nothing is forbidden. -Everything is permitted.” like the silly -reiterated whirring of some monstrous placid shuttle. -It was strange, the rebellious inconsistent thoughts, -which passed through her mind! She wondered why -Hugh Clavering was thus to be waylaid and persuaded. -Had he dared to rise in genuine opposition? -No, she did not believe it. He had probably talked -religion, just as Maurice talked anarchy and Wone -talked socialism. It was all talk! Romer was quite -right. They had no spirit in them, these English -people. She thought of the fierce atheistic rebels of -her own country. <em>They</em>, at any rate, understood that -evil had to be resisted by action, and not by vague -protestations of unctuous sentiment!</p> - -<p>When Mr. Romer left them and returned to his -seat on the terrace, the girls did not at once proceed -on their way, but waited, hesitating; and amused -themselves by pulling down the lower branches of a -lime and trying to anticipate the sweetness of its yet -unbudded fragrance.</p> - -<p>“Let’s stroll down the drive first,” said Gladys -presently, “till we are out of sight, and then we can -cross the mill mead and get into the orchard that -way.” They followed this design with elaborate -caution, and only when quite concealed from the -windows of the house, turned quickly northward and -left the park for the orchards. Between the wall, -of the north garden and the railway, lay some of the -oldest and least frequented of these shadowy places, -completely out of the ordinary paths of traffic, and -only accessible by field-ways. Into the smallest and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> -most secluded of all these the girls wandered, gliding -noiselessly between the thick hedges and heavy grass, -like two frail phantoms of the upper world visiting -some Elysian solitude.</p> - -<p>Gladys laid her hand on her companion’s arm. -“We had better wait here,” she said, “where we can -see the whole orchard. They ought to know, by now, -where to come.”</p> - -<p>They seated themselves on the bowed trunk of an -ancient apple-tree that by long decline had at last -reached a horizontal position. The flowering season -was practically over, though here and there a late -cider-tree, growing more in shadow than the rest, -still carried its delicate burden of clustered blossoms.</p> - -<p>“How many times is it that we have met them -here?” whispered the fair girl, snatching off her hat -and tossing it on the grass. “This is the fifth time, -isn’t it? What dear things they are! I think it’s -much more exciting, this sort of thing,—don’t you?—than -dull tennis parties with silly idiots like young -Ilminster.”</p> - -<p>The Italian nodded. “It is a good thing that -James and I get on so well,” she said. “It would -be awkward if we were as afraid of one another as -when we first met.”</p> - -<p>Gladys put her hand caressingly on her companion’s -knee and looked into her face with a slow seductive -smile.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span></p> -<p>“You are forgetting your Mr. Quincunx a little, -just a little, these days, aren’t you, darling? Don’t -be shy, now—or look cross. You know you are! -You can’t deny it. Your boy is almost as nice as -mine. He doesn’t like me, though. I can see that! -But I like <em>him</em>. I like him awfully! You’d better -take care, child. If ever I get tired of my Luke—”</p> - -<p>“James isn’t a boy,” protested Lacrima.</p> - -<p>“Silly!” cried Gladys. “Of course he is. Who -cares about age? They are all the same. I always -call them boys when they attract me. I like the -word. I like to say it. It makes me feel as if I -were one of those girls in London. You know what I -mean!”</p> - -<p>Lacrima looked at her gravely. “I always feel as -if James Andersen were much older than I,” she said.</p> - -<p>“But your Mr. Quincunx,” repeated the fair -creature, slipping her soft fingers into her friend’s -hand, “your Mr. Quincunx is not quite what he was -to you, before we began these adventures?”</p> - -<p>“I wish you wouldn’t say that, Gladys!” rejoined -the Italian, freeing her hands and clasping them -passionately together. “It is wicked of you to say -that! You know I only talk to James so that you -can do what you like. I shall always be Maurice’s -friend. I shall be his friend to the last!”</p> - -<p>Gladys laughed merrily. “That is what I wanted,” -she retorted. “I wanted to make you burst out. -When people burst out, they are always doubtful in -their hearts. Ah, little puritan! so we are already in -the position of having two sweethearts, are we?—and -not knowing which of the two we really like best? -That is a very pretty situation to be in. It is where -we all are! I hope you enjoy it!”</p> - -<p>Lacrima let her hands fall helplessly to her side, -against the grey bark of the apple-tree. “Why do -you hate Mr. Quincunx so?” she asked, looking -gravely into her friend’s face.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Why do I hate him?” said Gladys. “Oh, I really -don’t know! I didn’t know I did. If I do, it’s -because he’s such a weak wretched creature. He has -no more spirit than a sick dog. He talks such nonsense -too! I am glad he has to walk to Yeoborough -every day and do a little work. You ought to be -glad too! He could never marry if he didn’t make -some money.”</p> - -<p>“He doesn’t want to marry,” murmured Lacrima. -“He only wants to be left alone.”</p> - -<p>“A nice friend he seems to be,” cried the other, -“for a girl like you! I suppose he kisses you and that -sort of thing, doesn’t he? I shouldn’t like to be -kissed by a silly old man like that, with a great -stupid beard.”</p> - -<p>“You mustn’t say these things to me, Gladys, you -mustn’t! I won’t hear them. Mr. Quincunx isn’t -an old man! He is younger than James Andersen. -He is not forty yet.”</p> - -<p>“He looks fifty, if he looks a day,” said Gladys, -“and the colour of his beard is disgusting! It’s like -dirty water. Fancy having a horrid thing like that -pressed against your face! And I suppose he cries -and slobbers over you, doesn’t he? I have seen him -cry. I hate a man who cries. He cried the other -night,—father told me so—when he found he had -spent all his money.”</p> - -<p>Lacrima got up and walked a few paces away. -She loathed this placid golden-haired creature, at that -moment, so intensely, that it was all she could do to -refrain from leaping upon her and burying her teeth -in her soft neck. She leant against one of the trees -and pressed her head upon its grey lichen. Gladys<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> -slipped down into a more luxurious position. She -looked complacently around her. No spot could have -been better adapted for a romantic encounter.</p> - -<p>The gnarled and time-worn trunks of the old apple-trees, -each looking as if it had lingered there, full of -remote memories, from an age coeval with the age of -those very druids whose sacred mistletoe still clung -in patches to their boughs, formed a strange fantastic -array of twisted and distorted natural pillars, upon -which the foliage, meeting everywhere above their -heads, leaned in shadowy security, like the roof of a -heathen temple. The buttercups and cuckoo-flowers, -which, here and there, sprinkled the heavy grass, -were different from those in the open meadows. -The golden hue of the one, and the lavender tint of -the other, took on, in this diurnal gloom, a chilly and -tender pallour, both colours approximating to white. -The grey lichen hung down in loose festoons from the -higher portions of the knotted trunks, and crept, -thick and close, round the moss at their roots. There -could hardly be conceived a spot more suggestive of -absolute and eternal security than this Hesperidean -enclosure.</p> - -<p>The very fact of the remote but constant presence -of humanity there, as a vague dreamy background of -immemorial tending, increased this sense. One felt -that the easy invasions of grafting-time and gathering-time, -returning perennially in their seasons, only -intensified the long delicious solitudes of the intervals -between, when, in rich, hushed languor, the blossoms -bud and bloom and fall; and the fruit ripens and -sweetens; and the leaves flutter down. That exquisite -seductive charm, the charm of places full of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> -quietness, yet bordering on the edge of the days’ -labour, hung like a heavy atmosphere of contentment -over the shadowy aisles of this temple of peace. The -wood-pigeons keep up a perpetual murmur, all the -summer long, in these untrodden spots. No eyes see -them. It is as though they never saw one another. -But their drowsy liturgical repetitions answer and -answer again, as if from the unfathomable depths of -some dim green underworld, worshipping the gods of -silence with sounds that give silence itself a richer, a -fuller weight.</p> - -<p>“There they are!” cried Gladys suddenly, as the -figures of the Andersen brothers made themselves -visible on the further side of the orchard.</p> - -<p>The girls advanced to meet them through the thick -grass, swinging their summer-hats in their hands and -bending their heads, now and then, to avoid the -overhanging boughs. The meeting between these -four persons would have made a pleasant and appropriate -subject for one of those richly-coloured old-fashioned -prints which one sometimes observes in -early Victorian parlours. Gladys grew quite pale with -excitement, and her voice assumed a vibrant tenderness -when she accosted Luke, which made Lacrima -give a little start of surprise, as she shook hands with -the elder brother. Had her persecutor then, got, -after all, some living tissue in the place where the -heart beat?</p> - -<p>Luke’s manner had materially altered since he had -submitted so urbanely to the fair girl’s insulting airs -at the close of their first encounter. His way of -treating her now was casual, flippant, abrupt—almost -indifferent. Instead of following the pathetic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> -pressure of her arm and hand, which at once bade -him hasten the separation of the group, he deliberately -lingered, chatting amicably with Lacrima and asking -her questions about Italy. It seemed that the plausible -Luke knew quite as much about Genoa and -Florence and Venice as his more taciturn brother, and -all he knew he was well able to turn into effective -use. He was indeed a most engaging and irresistible -conversationalist; and Gladys grew paler and paler, -as she watched the animation of his face and listened -to his pleasant and modulated voice.</p> - -<p>It caused sheer suffering to her fiercely impetuous -nature, this long-drawn out delay. Every moment -that passed diminished the time they would have -together. Her nerves ached for the touch of his -arms about her, and a savage desire to press her -mouth to his, and satiate herself with kisses, throbbed -in her every vein. Why would he not stop this -irrelevant stream of talk? What did she care about -the narrow streets of Genoa,—or the encrusted -façade of San Marco? It had been their custom to -separate immediately on meeting, and for Luke to -carry her off to a charming hiding-place they had -discovered. With the fierce pantherish craving of a -love-scorched animal her soul cried out to be clasped -close to her friend in this secluded spot, having her -will of those maddening youthful lips with their proud -Grecian curve! Still he must go on talking!</p> - -<p>James and Lacrima, lending themselves, naturally -and easily, to the mood of the moment, were already -seated at the foot of a twisted and ancestral apple-tree. -Soon Luke, still absorbed in his conversation -with the Italian, shook off Gladys’ arm and settled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> -himself beside them, plucking a handful of grass, as -he did so, and inhaling its fragrance with sybarite -pleasure.</p> - -<p>“St. Mark’s is the only church in the world for -me,” Luke was saying. “I have pictures of it from -every conceivable angle. It is quite a mania with me -collecting such things. I have dozens of them; -haven’t I, James?”</p> - -<p>“Do you mean those post-cards father sent home -when he went over there to work?” answered the -elder brother, one of whose special peculiarities was -a curious pleasure in emphasizing, in the presence of -the “upper classes,” the humility of his origin.</p> - -<p>Luke laughed. “Well—yes—those—and others,” -he said. “<em>You</em> haven’t the least idea what I keep -in my drawer of secret treasures; you know you -haven’t! I’ve got some lovely letters there among -other things. Letters that I wouldn’t let anyone see -for the world!” He glanced smilingly at Gladys, who -was pacing up and down in front of them, like a -beautiful tigress.</p> - -<p>“Look here, my friends,” she said. “The time is -slipping away frightfully. We are not going to sit -here all the while, are we, talking nonsense, like -people at a garden party?”</p> - -<p>“It’s so lovely here,” said Luke with a slow smile. -“I really don’t think that your favourite corner is so -much nicer. I am in no hurry to move. Are you, -Miss Traffio?”</p> - -<p>Lacrima saw a look upon her cousin’s face that -boded ill for their future relations if she did not -make some kind of effort. She rose to her feet.</p> - -<p>“Come, Mr. Andersen,” she said, giving James a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> -wistful look. “Let us take a little stroll, and then -return again to these young people.”</p> - -<p>James rose obediently, and they walked off together. -They passed from the orchards belonging to -Mr. Romer’s tenant, and entered those immediately -at the foot of the vicarage garden. Here, through a -gap in the hedge they were attracted by the sight of -a queer bed of weeds growing at the edge of a potato-patch. -They were very curious weeds, rather resembling -sea-plants than land-plants; in colour of a -dull glaucous green, and in shape grotesquely elongated.</p> - -<p>“What are those things?” said Lacrima. “I think -I have never seen such evil-looking plants. Why do -they let them grow there?”</p> - -<p>James surveyed the objects. “They certainly have -a queer look,” he said, “but you know, in old days, -there was a grave-yard here, of a peculiar kind. It -is only in the last fifty years that they have dug it -up and included it in this garden.”</p> - -<p>Lacrima shuddered. “I would not eat those potatoes -for anything! You know I think I come to -dislike more and more the look of your English vegetable -gardens, with their horrid, heavy leaves, so -damp and oozy and disgusting!”</p> - -<p>“I agree with you there,” returned the wood-carver. -“I have always hated Nevilton, and every -aspect of it; but I think I hate these overgrown -gardens most of all.”</p> - -<p>“They look as if they were fed from churchyards, -don’t they?” went on the girl. “Look at those -heavy laurel bushes over there, and those dreadful -fir-trees! I should cut them all down if this place<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> -belonged to me. Oh, how I long for olives and vine-yards! -These orchards are all very well, but they -seem to me as if they were made to keep out the sun -and the wholesome air.”</p> - -<p>James Andersen smiled grimly. “Orchards and -potato gardens!” he muttered. “Yes, these are typical -of this country of clay. And these Vicarage shrubberies! -I think a shrubbery is the last limit of -depression and desolation. I am sure all the murders -committed in this country are planned in shrubberies, -and under the shade of damp laurel-bushes.”</p> - -<p>“In our country we grow corn between the fruit-trees,” -said Lacrima.</p> - -<p>“Yes, corn—” returned Andersen, “corn and wine -and oil! Those are the natural, the beautiful, -products of the earth. Things that are fed upon sun -and air—not upon the bones of the dead! All these -Nevilton places, however luxuriant, seem to me to -smell of death.”</p> - -<p>“But was this corner really a churchyard?” asked -the Italian. “I hope Mrs. Seldom won’t stroll down -this way and see us!”</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Seldom is well suited to the place she lives -in,” returned the other. “She lives upon the Past, -just as her garden does—just as her potatoes do! -These English vicarages are dreadful places. They -have all the melancholy of age without its historic -glamour. And how morbid they are! Any of your -cheerful Latin curés would die in them, simply of -damp and despair.”</p> - -<p>“But do tell me about this spot,” repeated Lacrima, -with a little shiver. “Why did you say it -was a peculiar churchyard?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It was the place where they buried unbaptized -children,” answered Andersen, and added, in a lower -tone, “how cold it is getting! It must be the shadow -we are in.”</p> - -<p>“But you haven’t yet,” murmured Lacrima, “you -haven’t yet told me, what those weeds are.”</p> - -<p>“Well—we call them ‘mares’-tails’ about here,” -answered the stone-carver, “I don’t know their -proper name.”</p> - -<p>“But why don’t they dig them up? Look! They -are growing all among the potatoes.”</p> - -<p>“They can’t dig them up,” returned the man. -“They can’t get at their roots. They are the worst -and most obstinate weed there is. They grow in all -the Nevilton gardens. They are the typical Nevilton -flora. They must have grown here in the days of -the druids.”</p> - -<p>“But how absurd!” cried Lacrima. “I feel as if -I could pull them up with my hands. The earth -looks so soft.”</p> - -<p>“The earth is soft enough,” replied Andersen, “but -the roots of these weeds adhere fast to the rock -underneath. The rock, you know, the sandstone -rock, lies only a short distance beneath our feet.”</p> - -<p>“The same stone as Nevilton house is built of?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly the same. Our stone, Mr. Romer’s -stone, the stone upon which we all live here—except -those who till the fields.”</p> - -<p>“I hate the thing!” cried Lacrima, in curious -agitation.</p> - -<p>“You do? Well—to tell you the honest truth, -so do I. I associate it with my father.”</p> - -<p>“I associate it with Gladys,” whispered Lacrima.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I can believe it. We both associate it with -houses of tyranny, of wretched persecution. Perhaps -I have never told you that my father was directly -the cause of my mother’s death?”</p> - -<p>“You have hinted it,” murmured the girl. “I -suspected it. But Luke loves the stone, doesn’t he? -He always speaks as if the mere handling of it, in his -work-shop, gave him exquisite pleasure.”</p> - -<p>“A great many things give Luke exquisite pleasure,” -returned the other grimly. “Luke lives for exquisite -pleasure.”</p> - -<p>A quick step on the grass behind them made them -swing suddenly round. It was Vennie Seldom, who, -unobserved, had been watching them from the -vicarage terrace. A few paces behind her came Mr. -Taxater, walking cautiously and deliberately, with -the air of a Lord Chesterfield returning from an -audience at St. James’. Mr. Taxater had already -met the Italian on one or two occasions. He had -sat next to her once, when dining at Nevilton House, -and he was considerably interested in her.</p> - -<p>“What a lovely evening, Miss Traffio,” said Vennie -shyly, but without embarrassment. Vennie was -always shy, but nothing ever interfered with her -self-possession.</p> - -<p>“I am glad you are showing Mr. Andersen these -orchards of ours. I always think they are the most -secluded place in the whole village.”</p> - -<p>“Ha!” said Mr. Taxater, when he had greeted -them with elaborate and friendly courtesy, “I thought -you two were bound to make friends sooner or later! -I call you my two companions in exile, among our -dear Anglo-Saxons. Miss Traffio I know is Latin,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> -and you, sir, must have some kind of foreign blood. -I am right, am I not, Mr. Andersen?”</p> - -<p>James looked at him humorously, though a little -grimly. He was always pleased to be addressed by -Mr. Taxater, as indeed was everybody who knew him. -The great scholar’s detached intellectualism gave him -an air of complete aloofness from all social distinctions.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps I may have,” he answered. “My -mother used to hint at something of the kind. She -was always very fond of foreign books. I rather -fancy that I once heard her say something about a -strain of Spanish blood.”</p> - -<p>“I thought so! I thought so!” cried Mr. Taxater, -pulling his hat over his eyes and protruding his -chin and under-lip, in the manner peculiar to him -when especially pleased.</p> - -<p>“I thought there was something Spanish in you. -How extraordinarily interesting! Spain,—there is no -country like it in the world! You must go to Spain, -Mr. Andersen. You would go there in a different spirit -from these wretched sight-seers who carry their own -vulgarity with them. You would go with that feeling -of reverence for the great things of civilization, which -is inseparable from the least drop of Latin blood.”</p> - -<p>“Would <em>you</em> like to see Spain, Miss Traffio?” enquired -Vennie. “Mr. Taxater, I notice, always leaves -out us women, when he makes his attractive proposals. -I think he thinks that we have no capacity -for understanding this civilization he talks of.”</p> - -<p>“I think you understand everything, better than -any man could,” murmured Lacrima, conscious of an -extraordinary depth of sympathy emanating from -this frail figure.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Miss Seldom has been trying to make me appreciate -the beauty of these orchards,” went on Mr. -Taxater, addressing James. “But I am afraid I am -not very easily converted. I have a prejudice against -orchards. For some reason or other, I associate -them with dragons and serpents.”</p> - -<p>“Miss Seldom has every reason to love the beautiful -aspects of our Nevilton scenery,” said the stone-carver. -“Her ancestors possessed all these fields and -orchards so long, that it would be strange if their -descendant did not have an instinctive passion for -them.” He uttered these words with that curious -undertone of bitterness which marked all his references -to aristocratic pretension.</p> - -<p>Little Vennie brushed the sarcasm gently aside, as -if it had been a fluttering moth.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I do love them in a sense,” she said, “but -you must remember that I, too, was educated in a -Latin country. So, you see, we four are all outsiders -and heretics! I fancy your brother, Mr. Andersen, is -an ingrained Neviltonian.”</p> - -<p>James smiled in a kindly, almost paternal manner, -at the little descendant of the Tudor courtiers. Her -sweetness and artless goodness made him feel ashamed -of his furtive truculence.</p> - -<p>“I wish you would come in and see my mother and -me, one of these evenings,” said Vennie, looking -rather wistfully at Lacrima and putting a more tender -solicitation into her tone than the mere words implied.</p> - -<p>Lacrima hesitated. “I am afraid I cannot promise,” -she said nervously. “My cousin generally wants me -in the evening.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps,” put in Mr. Taxater, with his most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> -Talleyrand-like air, “a similar occasion to the present -one may arise again, when with Mr. Andersen’s permission, -we may all adjourn to the vicarage garden.”</p> - -<p>Lacrima, rather uncomfortably, looked down at the -grass.</p> - -<p>“We four, being, as we have admitted, all outsiders -here,” went on the diplomatist, “ought to have no -secrets from one another. I think”—he looked at -Vennie—“we may just as well confess to our friends -that we quite realize the little—charming—‘friendship,’ -shall I say?—that has sprung up between this -gentleman’s brother and Miss Romer.”</p> - -<p>“I think,” said James Andersen hurriedly, in order -to relieve Lacrima’s embarrassment, “I think the -real bond between Luke and Miss Gladys is their -mutual pleasure in all this luxuriant scenery. Somehow -I feel as if you, Sir, and Miss Seldom, were quite -separate from it and outside it.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” cried Vennie eagerly, “and Lacrima is -outside it, because she is half-Italian, and you are -outside it because you are half-Spanish.”</p> - -<p>“It is clear, then,” said Mr. Taxater, “that we -four must form a sort of secret alliance, an alliance -based upon the fact that even Miss Seldom’s lovely -orchards do not altogether make us forget what -civilization means!”</p> - -<p>Neither of the two girls seemed quite to understand -what the theologian implied, but Andersen shot at -him a gleam of appreciative gratitude.</p> - -<p>“I was telling Miss Traffio,” he said, “that under -this grass, not very many feet down, a remarkable -layer of sandstone obtrudes itself.”</p> - -<p>“An orchard based on rock,” murmured Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> -Taxater, “that, I think, is an admirable symbol of -what this place represents. Clay at the top and -sandstone at the bottom! I wonder whether it is -better, in this world, to be clay or stone? We four -poor foreigners have, I suspect, a preference for a -material very different from both of these. Our -element would be marble. Eh, Andersen? Marble -that can resist all these corrupting natural forces and -throw them back, and hold them down. I always -think that marble is the appropriate medium of -civilization’s retort to instinct and savagery. The -Latin races have always built in marble. It was -certainly of marble that our Lord was thinking when -he used his celebrated metaphor about the founding -of the Church.”</p> - -<p>The stone-carver made no answer. He had noticed -a quick supplicating glance from Lacrima’s dark eyes.</p> - -<p>“Well,”—he said, “I think I must be looking for -my brother, and I expect our young lady is waiting -for Miss Traffio.”</p> - -<p>They bade their friends good-night and moved off.</p> - -<p>“I am always at your service,” were Mr. Taxater’s -last words, “if ever either of you care to appeal to -the free-masonry of the children of marble against -the children of clay.”</p> - -<p>As they retraced their steps Andersen remarked to -his companion how curious it was, that neither Vennie -nor Mr. Taxater seemed in the least aware of anything -extraordinary or unconventional in this surreptitious -friendship between the girls from the House -and their father’s workmen.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I wonder what Mrs. Seldom would think of -us,” rejoined Lacrima, “but she probably thinks<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> -Gladys is capable of anything and that I am as bad -as she is. But I do like that little Vennie! I believe -she is a real saint. She gives me such a queer feeling -of being different from everyone.”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Taxater no doubt is making a convert of -her,” said the stone-carver. “And I have a suspicion -that he hopes to convert Gladys too, probably through -your influence.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t like to think that of him,” replied the -girl. “He seems to me to admire Vennie for herself -and to be kind to us for ourselves. I think he is a -thoroughly good man.”</p> - -<p>“Possibly—possibly,” muttered James, “but I -don’t trust him. I never have trusted him.”</p> - -<p>They said no more, and threaded their way slowly -through the orchard to the place where they had -left the others. The wind had dropped and there was -a dull, obstinate expectancy in the atmosphere. -Every leaf and grass blade seemed to be intently -alert and listening.</p> - -<p>In her heart Lacrima was conscious of an unusual -sense of foreboding and apprehension. Surely there -could be nothing worse in store for her than what -she already suffered. She wondered what Maurice -Quincunx was doing at that moment. Was he thinking -of her, and were his thoughts the cause of this -strange oppression in the air? Poor Maurice! She -longed to be free to devote herself to him, to smooth -his path, to distract his mind. Would fate ever -make such a thing possible? How unfair Gladys was -in her suspicions!</p> - -<p>She liked James Andersen and was very grateful to -him, but he did not need her as Maurice needed her!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I see them!” she cried suddenly. “But how odd -they look! They’re not speaking a word. Have -they quarrelled, I wonder?”</p> - -<p>The two fair-haired amorists appeared indeed -extremely gloomy and melancholy, as they sat, with -a little space between them, on the fallen tree. They -rose with an air of relief at the others’ approach.</p> - -<p>“I thought you were never coming,” said Gladys. -“How long you have been! We have been waiting -for hours. Come along. We must go straight back -and dress or we shall be late for dinner. No time -for good-byes! Au revoir, you two! Come along, -girl, quick! We’d better run.”</p> - -<p>She seized her cousin’s hand and dragged her off -and they were quickly out of sight.</p> - -<p>The two brothers watched them disappear and -then turned and walked away together. “Don’t -let’s go home yet,” said Luke. “Let’s go to the -churchyard first. The sun will have set, but it won’t -be dark for a long time. And I love the churchyard -in the twilight.”</p> - -<p>James nodded. “It is our garden, isn’t it,—and -our orchard? It is the only spot in Nevilton where -no one can interfere with us.”</p> - -<p>“That, and the Seldom Arms,” added the younger -brother.</p> - -<p>They paced side by side in silence till they reached -the road. The orchards, left to themselves, relapsed -into their accustomed reserve. Whatever secrets -they concealed of the confused struggles of ephemeral -mortals, they concealed in inviolable discretion.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI<br /> -<span class="smaller">ART AND NATURE</span></h2> - -<p>The early days of June, all of them of the same -quality of golden weather, were hardly over, -before our wanderer from Ohio found himself -on terms of quite pleasant familiarity with the -celibate vicar of Nevilton, whose relations with his -friend Gladys so immensely interested him.</p> - -<p>The conscientious vicar had sought him out, on -the very day after his visit to the mill copse and -the artist had found the priest more to his fancy -than he had imagined possible.</p> - -<p>The American’s painting had begun in serious -earnest. A studio had been constructed for him in -one of the sheds near the conservatory, a place much -more full of light and air and pleasant garden smells, -than would have been the lumber-room referred to by -Mrs. Romer, adjoining the chaste slumbers of the -laborious Lily. Here for several long mornings he -had worked at high pressure and in a vein of imaginative -expansion.</p> - -<p>Something of the seething sap of these incomparable -days seemed to pass into his blood. He plunged into -a bold and original series of Dionysic “impressions,” -seeking to represent, in accordance with his new vision, -those legendary episodes in the life of the divine -Wanderer which seemed most capable of lending<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> -themselves to a half-realistic, half-fantastic transmutation, -of the people and places immediately -around him. He sought to introduce into these -pictures the very impetus and pressure of the exuberant -earth-force, as he felt it stirring and fermenting -in his own veins, and in those of the persons and -animals about him. He strove to clothe the shadowy -poetic outline of the classical story with fragments -and morsels of actual experience as one by one his -imaginative intellect absorbed them.</p> - -<p>Here, too, under the sycamores and elms of Nevilton, -the old world-madness followed the alternations -of sun and moon, with the same tragic swiftness and -the same ambiguous beauty, as when, with tossing -arms and bared throats, the virgins of Thessaly flung -themselves into the dew-starred thickets.</p> - -<p>Dangelis began by making cautious and tentative -use of such village children as he found it possible -to lay hands upon, as models in his work, but this -method did not prove very satisfactory.</p> - -<p>The children, when their alarm and inquisitiveness -wore off, grew tired and turbulent; and on more than -one occasion the artist had to submit to astonishing -visits from confused and angry parents who -called him a “foreigner” and a “Yankee,” and -qualified these appellations with epithets so astoundingly -gross, that Dangelis was driven to wonder -from what simple city-bred fancy the illusion of rural -innocence had first proceeded.</p> - -<p>At length, as the days went on, the bold idea -came into his head of persuading Gladys herself to -act as his model.</p> - -<p>His relations with her had firmly established themselves<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> -now on the secure ground of playful camaraderie, -and he knew enough of her to feel tolerably -certain that he had only to broach such a scheme, -to have it welcomed with enthusiastic ardour.</p> - -<p>He made the suggestion one evening as they walked -home together after her spiritual lesson. “I find -that last picture of mine extremely difficult to manage,” -he said.</p> - -<p>“Why! I think it’s the best of them all!” cried -Gladys. “You’ve got a lovely look of longing in the -eyes of your queer god; and the sail of Theseus’ ship, -as you see it against the blue sea, is wonderful. The -little bushes and things, too, you’ve put in; I like -them particularly. They remind me of that wood -down by the mill, where I caught the thrush. I -suppose you’ve forgotten all about that day,” she -added, giving him a quick sidelong glance.</p> - -<p>The artist seized his opportunity. “They would -remind you still more of our wood,” he said eagerly, -“if you let me put you in as Ariadne! Do, Gladys,”—he -had called her Gladys for some days—“you -will make a simply adorable Ariadne. As she is -now, she is wooden, grotesque, archaic—nothing -but drapery and white ankles!”</p> - -<p>The girl had flushed with pleasure as soon as she -caught the drift of his request. Now she glanced -mischievously and mockingly at him.</p> - -<p>“<em>My</em> ankles,” she murmured laughing, “are not -so very, very beautiful!”</p> - -<p>“Please be serious, Gladys,” he said, “I am really -quite in earnest. It will just make the difference -between a masterpiece and a fiasco.”</p> - -<p>“You are very conceited,” she retorted teasingly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> -“but I suppose I oughtn’t to say that, ought I, as -my precious ankles are to be a part of this masterpiece?”</p> - -<p>She ran in front of him down the drive, and, as -if to give him an exhibition of her goddess-like agility, -caught at an overhanging bough and swung herself -backwards and forwards.</p> - -<p>“What fun!” she cried, as he approached. “Of -course I’ll do it, Mr. Dangelis.” Then, with a sudden -change of tone and a very malign expression, as she -let the branch swing back and resumed her place at -his side, “Mr. Clavering must see me posing for you. -He must say whether he thinks I’m good enough -for Ariadne.”</p> - -<p>The artist looked a shade disconcerted by this -unexpected turn to the project, but he was too anxious -to make sure of his model to raise any premature -objections. “But you must please understand,” was -all he said, “that I am very much in earnest about -this picture. If anybody but myself <em>does</em> see you, -there must be no teasing and fooling.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I long for him to see me!” cried the girl. -“I can just imagine his face, I can just imagine it!”</p> - -<p>The artist frowned. “This is not a joke, Gladys. -Mind you, if I do let Clavering into our secret, it’ll -be only on condition that you promise not to flirt -with him. I shall want you to stay very still,—just -as I put you.”</p> - -<p>Dangelis had never indicated before quite so plainly -his blunt and unvarnished view of her relations with -her spiritual adviser, and he now looked rather nervously -at her to see how she received this intimation.</p> - -<p>“I <em>love</em> teasing Mr. Clavering!” she cried savagely,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> -“I should like to tease him so much, that he never, -never, would forget it!”</p> - -<p>This extreme expression of feeling was a surprise, -and by no means a pleasant one, to Ralph Dangelis.</p> - -<p>“Why do you want so much to upset our friend?” -he enquired.</p> - -<p>“I suppose,” she answered, still instinctively playing -up to his idea of her naiveté and childishness, -“it is because he thinks himself so good and so perfectly -safe from falling in love with anyone—and -that annoys me.”</p> - -<p>“Ha!” chuckled Dangelis, “so that’s it, is it?” -and he paced in thoughtful silence by her side until -they reached the house.</p> - -<p>The morning that followed this conversation was -as warm as the preceding ones, but a strong southern -wind had risen, with a remote touch of the sea in its -gusty violence. The trees in the park, as the artist -and his girl-friend watched them from the terrace, -while Mr. Romer, who had now returned from town -worked in his study, and Lacrima helped Mrs. Romer -to “do the flowers,” swayed and rustled ominously in -the eddying gusts.</p> - -<p>Clouds of dust kept blowing across the gates from -the surface of the drive and the delphiniums bent -low on their long stalks. The wind was of that peculiar -character which, though hot and full of balmy -scents, conveys a feeling of uneasiness and troubled -expectation. It suggested thunder and with and beyond -that, something threatening, calamitous and -fatal.</p> - -<p>Gladys was preoccupied and gloomy that morning. -She was growing a little, just a little, tired of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> -the American’s conversation. Even the excitement -of arranging about the purchase in Yeoborough of -suitable materials for her Ariadne costume did not -serve to lift the shadow from her brow.</p> - -<p>She was getting tired of her rôle as the naive, impetuous -and childish innocent; and though mentally -still quite resolved upon following her mother’s frequent -and unblushing hints, and doing her best to -“catch” this æsthetic master of a million dollars, the -burden of the task was proving considerably irksome.</p> - -<p>Ralph’s growing tendency to take her into his -confidence in the matter of the philosophy of his -art, she found peculiarly annoying.</p> - -<p>Philosophy of any kind was detestable to Gladys, -and this particular sort of philosophy especially depressed -her, by reducing the attraction of physical -beauty to a kind of dispassionate analysis, against -the chilling virtue of which all her amorous wiles -hopelessly collapsed. It was becoming increasingly -difficult, too, to secure her furtive interviews with -Luke—interviews in which her cynical sensuality, -suppressed in the society of the American, was allowed -full swing.</p> - -<p>Her thoughts, at this very moment, turned passionately -and vehemently towards the young stone-carver, -who had achieved, at last, the enviable triumph of -seriously ruffling and disturbing her egoistic self-reliance.</p> - -<p>Unused to suffering the least thwarting in what she -desired, it fretted and chafed her intolerably to be -forced to go on playing her coquettish part with this -good-natured but inaccessible admirer, while all the -time her soul yearned so desperately for the shameless<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> -kisses that made her forget everything in the -world but the ecstacy of passion.</p> - -<p>It was all very well to plan this posing as Ariadne -and to listen to Dangelis discoursing on the beauty -of pagan myths. The artist might talk endlessly -about dryads and fauns. The faun she longed -to be pursued by, this wind-swept morning, was now -engaged in hammering Leonian stone, in her father’s -dusty work-shops.</p> - -<p>She knew, she told herself, far better than the -cleverest citizen of Ohio, what a real Greek god was -like, both in his kindness and his unkindness; and her -nerves quivered with irritation, as the hot southern -wind blew upon her, to think that she would only -be able, and even then for a miserably few minutes, -to steal off to her true Dionysus, after submitting -for a whole long day to this æsthetic foolery.</p> - -<p>“It must have been a wind like this,” remarked -Dangelis, quite unobservant of his companion’s moroseness, -“which rocked the doomed palace of the blaspheming -Pentheus and drove him forth to his fate.” -He paused a moment, pondering, and then added, “I -shall paint a picture of this, Gladys. I shall bring -in Tiresias and the other old men, feeling the madness -coming upon them.”</p> - -<p>“I know all about that,” the girl felt compelled to -answer. “They danced, didn’t they? They couldn’t help -dancing, though they were so old and weak?”</p> - -<p>Dangelis hardly required this encouragement, to -launch into a long discourse upon the subject of -Dionysian madness, its true symbolic meaning, its -religious significance, its survival in modern times.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span></p> - -<p>He quite forgot, as he gave himself up to this -interesting topic, his recent resolution to exclude drastically -from his work all these more definitely intellectualized -symbols.</p> - -<p>His companion’s answers to this harangue became, -by degrees, so obviously forced and perfunctory, that -even the good-tempered westerner found himself a -little relieved when the appearance of Lacrima upon -the scene gave him a different audience.</p> - -<p>When Lacrima appeared, Gladys slipped away and -Dangelis was left to do what he could to overcome the -Italian’s habitual shyness.</p> - -<p>“One of these days,” he said, looking with a kindly -smile into the girl’s frightened eyes, “I’m going to -ask you, Miss Traffio, to take me to see your friend -Mr. Quincunx.”</p> - -<p>Lacrima started violently. This was the last name -she expected to hear mentioned on the Nevilton -terrace.</p> - -<p>“I—I—” she stammered, “I should be very -glad to take you. I didn’t know they had told you -about him.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, they only told me—you can guess the kind of -thing!—that he’s a queer fellow who lives by himself -in a cottage in Dead Man’s Lane, and does -nothing but dig in his garden and talk to old women -over the wall. He’s evidently one of these odd out-of-the-way -characters, that your English—Oh, I beg -your pardon!—your European villages produce. Mr. -Clavering told me he is the only man in the place -he never goes to see. Apparently he once insulted -the good vicar.”</p> - -<p>“He didn’t insult him!” cried Lacrima with flashing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> -eyes. “He only asked him not to walk on his potatoes. -Mr. Clavering is too touchy.”</p> - -<p>“Well—anyway, do take me, sometime, to see -this interesting person. Why shouldn’t we go this -afternoon? This wind seems to have driven all the -ideas out of my head, as well as made your cousin -extremely bad-tempered! So do take me to see your -friend, Miss Traffio! We might go now—this -moment—why not?”</p> - -<p>Lacrima shook her head, but she looked grateful -and not displeased. As a matter of fact she was -particularly anxious to introduce the American to -Mr. Quincunx. In that vague subtle way which is -a peculiarity, not only of the Pariah-type, but of -human nature in general, she was anxious that -Dangelis should be given at least a passing glimpse -of another view of the Romer family from that which -he seemed to have imbibed.</p> - -<p>It was not that she was definitely plotting against -her cousin or trying to undermine her position with -her artist-friend, but she felt a natural human desire -that this sympathetic and good-tempered man should -be put, to some extent at least, upon his guard.</p> - -<p>She was, at any rate, not at all unwilling to initiate -him into the mysteries of Mr. Quincunx’ mind, hoping, -perhaps, in an obscure sort of way, that such an -initiation would throw her own position, in this -strange household, into a light more evocative of -considerate interest.</p> - -<p>She had been so often made conscious of late that -in his absorption in Gladys he had swept her brusquely -aside as a dull and tiresome spoil-sport, that it was -not without a certain feminine eagerness that she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> -embraced the thought of his being compelled to -listen to what she well knew Mr. Quincunx would -have to say upon the matter.</p> - -<p>It was also an agreeable thought that in doing -justice to the originality and depth of the recluse’s -intelligence, the American would be driven to recognize -the essentially unintellectual tone of conversation -at Nevilton House.</p> - -<p>She instinctively felt sure that the same generous -and comprehensive sympathy that led him to condone -the vulgar lapses of these “new people,” would -lead him to embrace with more than toleration the -eccentricities and aberration of the forlorn relative -of the Lords of Glastonbury.</p> - -<p>With these thoughts passing rapidly through her -brain, Lacrima found herself, after a little further -hesitation, agreeing demurely to the American’s proposal -to visit the tenant of Dead Man’s Lane before -the end of the day. She left it uncertain at what -precise hour they should go—probably between tea -and dinner—because she was anxious, for her own -sake, dreading her cousin’s anger, to make the adventure -synchronize, if possible, with the latter’s assignation -with Luke, trusting that the good turn she thus did -her, by removing her artistic admirer at a critical juncture, -would propitiate the fair-haired tyrant’s wrath.</p> - -<p>This matter having been satisfactorily settled, the -Italian began to feel, as she observed the artist’s bold -and challenging glance embracing her from head to -foot, while he continued to this new and more attentive -listener his interrupted monologue, that species -of shy and nervous restraint which invariably embarrassed -her when left alone in his society.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p> - -<p>Inexperienced at detecting the difference between -æsthetic interest and emotional interest, and associating -the latter with nothing but what was brutal -and gross, Lacrima experienced a disconcerting sort -of shame when under the scrutiny of his eyes.</p> - -<p>Her timid comments upon his observations showed, -however, so much more subtle insight into his meaning -than Gladys had ever displayed, that it was with -a genuine sense of regret that he accepted at last -some trifling excuse she offered and let her wander -away. Feeling restless and in need of distraction he -returned to the house and sought the society of -Mrs. Romer.</p> - -<p>He discovered this good lady seated in the housekeeper’s -room, perusing an illustrated paper and -commenting upon its contents to the portly Mrs. -Murphy. The latter discreetly withdrew on the -appearance of the guest of the house, and Dangelis -entered into conversation with his hostess.</p> - -<p>“Maurice Quincunx!” she cried, as soon as her -visitor mentioned the recluse’s queer name, “you -don’t mean to say that Lacrima’s going to take you -to see <em>him</em>? Well—of all the nonsensical ideas I -ever heard! You’d better not tell Mortimer where -you’re going. He’s just now very angry with -Maurice. It won’t please him at all, her taking you -there. Maurice is related to me, you know, not to -Mr. Romer. Mr. Romer has never liked him, and -lately—but there! I needn’t go into all that. -We used to see quite a lot of him in the old days, -when we first came to Nevilton. I like to have someone -about, you know, and Maurice was somebody -to talk to, when Mr. Romer was away; but lately<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> -things have been quite different. It is all very sad and -very tiresome, you know, but what can a person do?”</p> - -<p>This was the nearest approach to a hint of divergence -between the master and mistress of Nevilton -that Dangelis had ever been witness to, and even -this may have been misleading, for the shrewd little -eyes, out of which the lady peered at him, over her -spectacles, were more expressive of mild malignity -than of moral indignation.</p> - -<p>“But what kind of person is this Mr. Quincunx?” -enquired the American. “I confess I can’t, so far, -get any clear vision of his personality. Won’t you -tell me something more definite about him, something -that will ‘give me a line on him,’ as we say -in the States?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Romer looked a trifle bewildered. It seemed -that the personality of Mr. Quincunx was not a topic -that excited her conversational powers.</p> - -<p>“I never really cared for him,” she finally remarked. -“He used to talk so unnaturally. He’d come over -here, you know, almost every day—when Gladys -was a little girl,—and talk and talk and talk. I -used to think sometimes he wasn’t quite right here,”—the -good lady tapped her forehead with her fore-finger,—“but -in some things he was very sensible. -I don’t mean that he spoke loud or shouted or was -noisy. Sometimes he didn’t say very much; but -even when he didn’t speak, his listening was like -talking. Gladys used to be quite fond of him when -she was a little girl. He used to play hide-and-seek -with her in the garden. I think he helped me to -keep her out of mischief more than any of her governesses -did. Once, you know, he beat Tom Raggles—the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> -miller’s son—because he followed her across -the park—beat him over the head, they say, with -an iron pick. The lying wretch of a lad swore that -she had encouraged him, and we were driven to hush -the matter up, but I believe Mr. Quincunx had to -see the inspector in Yeoborough.”</p> - -<p>Beyond this somewhat obscure incident, Dangelis -found it impossible to draw from Mrs. Romer any -intelligible answer to his questions. The figure of -the evasive tenant of the cottage in Dead Man’s -Lane remained as misty as ever.</p> - -<p>A little irritated by the ill success of his psychological -investigations, the artist, conscious that he -was wasting the morning, began, out of sheer capricious -wilfulness, to expound his æsthetic ideas to -this third interlocutor.</p> - -<p>His nerves were in a morbid and unbalanced state, -due partly to a lapse in his creative energy, and partly -to the fact that in the depths of his mind he was -engaged in a half-conscious struggle to suppress and -keep in its proper place the insidious physical attraction -which Gladys had already begun to exert upon -him.</p> - -<p>But the destiny of poor Dangelis, this inauspicious -morning, was, it seemed, to become a bore and -a pedant to everyone he encountered; for the lady -had hardly listened for two minutes to his discourse -when she also left him, with some suitable apology, -and went off to perform more practical household -duties. “What did this worthy Quincunx talk about, -that you used to find so tiresome?” the artist flung -after her, as she left the room.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Romer turned on the threshold. “He talked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> -of nothing but the bible,” she said. “The bible and -our blessed Lord. You can’t blame me, Mr. Dangelis, -for objecting to that sort of thing, can you? -I call it blasphemy, nothing short of blasphemy!”</p> - -<p>Dangelis wondered, as he strolled out again into -the air, intending to seek solace for his irritable -nerves in a solitary walk, whether, if it were blasphemy -in Nevilton House to refer to the Redeemer -of men, and a nuisance and a bore to refer to heathen -idolatries, what kind of topic it might be that the -place’s mental atmosphere demanded.</p> - -<p>He came to the conclusion, as he proceeded down -the west drive, that the Romer family was more -stimulating to watch, than edifying to converse with.</p> - -<p>After tea that evening, as Lacrima had hoped, -Gladys announced her intention of going down to -the mill to sketch. This—to Lacrima’s initiated -ears—meant an assignation with Luke, and she -glanced quickly at Dangelis, with a shy smile, to -indicate that their projected visit was possible. As -soon as her cousin had departed they set out. Their -expedition seemed likely to prove a complete success. -They found Mr. Quincunx in one of his gayest moods. -Had he been expecting the appearance of the American -he would probably have worked himself up into -a miserable state of nervous apprehension; but the -introduction thus suddenly thrust upon him, the -genial simplicity of the Westerner’s manners and his -honest openness of speech disarmed him completely. -In a mood of this kind the recluse became a charming -companion.</p> - -<p>Dangelis was immensely delighted with him. His -original remarks, and the quaint chuckling bursts of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> -sardonic laughter which accompanied his irresistible -sallies, struck the artist as something completely -different from what he had expected. He had -looked to see a listless preoccupied mystic, ready to -flood him with dreamy and wearisome monologues -upon “the simple life,” and in place of this he found -an entertaining and gracious gentleman, full of delicious -malice, and uttering quip after quip of sly, -half-innocent, half-subtle, Rabelaisean humour, in the -most natural manner in the world.</p> - -<p>Not quite able to bring his affability to the point -of inviting them into his kitchen, Mr. Quincunx carried -out, into a sheltered corner, three rickety chairs -and a small deal table. Here, protected from the -gusty wind, he offered them cups of exquisitely prepared -cocoa and little oatmeal biscuits. He asked -the American question after question about his -life in the remote continent, putting into his enquiries -such naive and childlike eagerness, that -Dangelis congratulated himself upon having at last -discovered an Englishman who was not superior to -the charming vice of curiosity. Had the artist possessed -less of that large and careless aplomb which -makes the utmost of every situation and never teases -itself with criticism, he might have regarded the -recluse’s effusiveness as too deprecatory and propitiatory -in its tone. This, however, never occurred -to him and he swallowed the solitary’s flattery with -joy and gratitude, especially as it followed so quickly -upon the conversational deficiencies of Nevilton -House.</p> - -<p>“I live in the mud here,” said Mr. Quincunx, “and -that makes it so excellent of you two people from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> -the upper world to slip down into the mud with -me.”</p> - -<p>“I think you live very happily and very sensibly, -Maurice!” cried Lacrima, looking with tender affection -upon her friend. “I wish we could all live as you -do.”</p> - -<p>The recluse waved his hand. “There must be -lions and antelopes in the world,” he said, “as well -as frogs and toads. I expect this friend of yours, -who has seen the great cities, is at this moment -wishing he were in a café in New York or Paris, -rather than sitting on a shaky chair drinking my bad -cocoa.”</p> - -<p>“That’s not very complimentary to me, is it, Mr. -Dangelis?” said Lacrima.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Quincunx is much to be envied,” remarked -the American. “He is living the sort of life that -every man of sense would wish to live. It’s outrageous, -the way we let ourselves become slave to -objects and circumstances and people.”</p> - -<p>Lacrima, anxious in the depths of her heart to -give the American the benefit of Mr. Quincunx’s -insight into character, turned the conversation in -the direction of the rumored political contest between -Romer and Wone. She was not quite pleased -with the result of this manœuvre, however, as it at -once diminished the solitary’s high spirits and led -to his adoption of the familiar querulous tone of -peevish carping.</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx spoke of his remoteness from the -life around him. He referred with bitter sarcasm -to the obsequious worship of power from which every -inhabitant of the village of Nevilton suffered.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I laugh,” he said, “when our good socialist Wone -gives vent to his eloquent protestations. Really, -in his heart, he is liable to just the same cringing -to power as all the rest. Let Romer make overtures -to him,—only he despises him too much to do that,—and -you’d soon see how quickly he’d swing round! -Give him a position of power, Dangelis—I expect -you know from your experience in your own country -how this works out,—and you would soon find him -just as tyrannical, just as obdurate.”</p> - -<p>“I think you’re quite wrong, Maurice,” cried -Lacrima impetuously. “Mr. Wone is not an educated -man as you are, but he’s entirely sincere. You’ve -only to listen to him to understand his sincerity.”</p> - -<p>A grievous shadow of irritation and pique crossed -the recluse’s face. Nothing annoyed him more than -this kind of direct opposition. He waved the objection -aside. Lacrima’s outburst of honest feeling had -already undone the subtle purpose with which she -had brought the American. Her evasive Balaam -was, it appeared, inclined, out of pure wilfulness, to -bless rather than curse their grand enemy.</p> - -<p>“It’s all injured vanity,” Mr. Quincunx went on, -throwing at his luckless girl-friend a look of quite -disproportioned anger. “It’s all his outraged power-instinct -that drives him to take up this pose. I know -what I’m talking about, for I often argue with him. -Whenever I dispute the smallest point of his theories, -he bursts out like a demon and despises me as a -downright fool. He’d have got me turned out of -the Social Meetings, because I contradicted him there, -if our worthy clergyman hadn’t intervened. You’ve -no idea how deep this power-instinct goes. You must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> -remember, Mr. Dangelis, you see a village like ours -entirely from the outside and you think it beautiful, -and the people charming and gentle. I tell you it’s a -nest of rattlesnakes! It’s a narrow, poisonous cage, -full of deadly vindictiveness and concentrated malice. -Of course we know what human nature is, wherever -you find it, but if you want to find it at its very worst, -come to Nevilton!”</p> - -<p>“But you yourself,” protested the artist, “are you -not one of these same people? I understand that -you—”</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx rose to his feet, his expressive nostrils -quivering with anger. “I don’t allow anyone to say -that of me!” he cried “I may have my faults, but I’m -as different from all these rats, as a guillemot is different -from a cormorant!”</p> - -<p>He sat down again and his voice took almost a -pleading tone. “You know I’m different. You must -know I’m different! How could I see all these things -as clearly as I do if it wasn’t so? I’ve undergone -what that German calls ‘the Great Renunciation.’ -I’ve escaped the will to live. I neither care to acquire -myself this accursed power—or to revolt, in jealous -envy, against those who possess it.”</p> - -<p>He relapsed into silence and contemplated his -garden and its enclosing hedge, with a look of profound -melancholy. Dangelis had been considerably -distracted during the latter part of this discourse by -his artistic interest in the delicate lines of Lacrima’s -figure and the wistful sadness of her expression. It -was borne in upon him that he had somewhat neglected -this shy cousin of his exuberant young friend. -He promised himself to see more of the Italian, as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> -occasion served. Perhaps—if only Gladys would -agree to it—he might make use of her, also, in his -Dionysian impressions.</p> - -<p>“Surely,” he remarked, speaking with the surface -of his intelligence, and pondering all the while upon -the secret of Lacrima’s charm, “whatever this man -may be, he’s not a hypocrite,—is he? From all I -hear he’s pathetically in earnest.”</p> - -<p>“Of course we know he’s in earnest,” answered -Maurice. “What I maintain is, that it is his personal -vindictiveness that creates his opinions. I believe -he would derive genuine pleasure from seeing Nevilton -House burnt to the ground, and every one of the -people in it reduced to ashes!”</p> - -<p>“That proves his sincerity,” answered the American, -keeping his gaze fixed so intently upon Lacrima -that the girl began to be embarrassed.</p> - -<p>“He takes the view-point, no doubt, that if the -present oligarchy in England were entirely destroyed, -a new and happier epoch would begin at once.”</p> - -<p>“I’m sure Mr. Wone is opposed to every kind of -violence,” threw in Lacrima.</p> - -<p>“Nonsense!” cried Mr. Quincunx abruptly. “He -may not like violence because he’s afraid of it reacting -on himself. But what he wants to do is to humiliate -everyone above him, to disturb them, to -prod them, to harass and distress them, and if -possible to bring them down to his own level. He’s -got his thumb on Lacrima’s friends over there,”—he -waved his hand in the direction of Nevilton -House,—“because they happen to be at the -top of the tree at this moment. But if you or I -were there, it would be just the same. It’s all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> -jealousy. That’s what it is,—jealousy and envy! -He wants to make every one who’s prosperous and -eats meat, and drinks champagne, know what it is -to live a dog’s life, as he has known it himself! I -understand his feelings very well. We poor toads, who -live in the mud, get extraordinary pleasure when any -of you grand gentlemen slip by accident into our -dirty pond. He sees such people enjoying themselves -and being happy and he wants to stick a few pins -into them!”</p> - -<p>“But why not, my good sir?” answered the American. -“Why shouldn’t Wone use all his energy to -crush Romer, just as Romer uses all his energy to -crush Wone?”</p> - -<p>Lacrima sighed. “I don’t think either of you make -this world seem a very nice place,” she observed.</p> - -<p>“A nice place?” cried Mr. Quincunx. “It’s a -place poisoned at the root—a place full of gall and -wormwood!”</p> - -<p>“In my humble opinion,” said the American, “it’s -a splendid world. I love to see these little struggles -and contests going on. I love to see the delicious -inconsistencies and self-deceptions that we’re all -guilty of. I play the game myself, and I love to -see others play it. It’s the only thing I do love, -except—” he added after a pause—“except my -pictures.”</p> - -<p>“I loathe the game,” retorted the recluse, “and I -find it impossible to live with people who do not -loathe it too.”</p> - -<p>“Well—all I can say, my friend,” observed Dangelis,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> -“is that this business of ‘renouncing,’ of which -you talk, doesn’t appeal to me. It strikes me as -a backing down and scurrying away, from the splendid -adventure of being alive at all. What are you -alive for,” he added, “if you are going to condemn -the natural combative instinct of men and women -as evil and horrible? They are the instincts by -which we live. They are the motives that propel the -whole universe.”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Wone would say,” interposed Lacrima, “and -I’m not sure that I don’t agree with him, that the -real secret of the universe is deeper than all these -unhappy struggles. I don’t like the unctuous way -he puts these things, but he may be right all the -same.”</p> - -<p>“There’s no secret of the universe, Miss Traffio,” -the American threw in. “There are many things -we don’t understand. But no one principle,—not -even the principle of love itself, can be allowed to -monopolize the whole field. Life, I always feel, is -better interpreted by Art than by anything else, and -Art is equally interested in every kind of energy.”</p> - -<p>Lacrima’s face clouded, and her hands fell wearily -upon her lap.</p> - -<p>“Some sorts of energy,” she observed, in a low -voice, “are brutal and dreadful. If Art expresses that -kind, I’m afraid I don’t care for Art.”</p> - -<p>The American gave her a quick, puzzled glance. -There was a sorrowful intensity about her tone which -he found difficult to understand.</p> - -<p>“What I meant was,” he said, “that logically we -can only do one of two things,—either join in the -game and fight fiercely and craftily for our own hand, -or take a convenient drop of poison and end the whole -affair.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span></p> - -<p>The melancholy eyes of Mr. Quincunx opened very -wide at this, and a fluttering smile twitched the corners -of his mouth.</p> - -<p>“We poor dogs,” he said, “who are not wanted in -this world, and don’t believe in any other, are just -the people who are most unwilling to finish ourselves -off in the way you suggest. We can’t help a sort of -sneaking hope, that somehow or another, through -no effort of our own, things will become better for -us. The same cowardice that makes us draw back -from life, makes us draw back from the thought of -death. Can’t you understand that,—you American -citizen?”</p> - -<p>Dangelis looked from one to another of his companions. -He could not help thinking in his heart of -the gay animated crowds, who, at that very moment, -in the streets of Toledo, Ohio, were pouring along -the side-walks and flooding the picture shows. These -quaint Europeans, for all their historic surroundings, -were certainly lacking in the joy of life.</p> - -<p>“I can’t conceive,” remarked Mr. Quincunx suddenly, -and with that amazing candour which distinguished -him, “how a person as artistic and sensitive -as you are, can stay with those people over there. -Anyone can see that you’re as different from them as -light from darkness.”</p> - -<p>“My dear sir,” replied the American, interrupting -a feeble little protest which Lacrima was beginning -to make at the indiscretion of her friend, “I may or -may not understand your wonder. The point is, -that my whole principle of life is to deal boldly and -freely with every kind of person. Can’t you see that -I like to look on at the spectacle of Mr. Romer’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> -energy and prosperity, just as I like to look on at -the revolt against these things in the mind of our -friend Wone. I tell you it tickles my fancy to touch -this human pantomime on every possible side. The -more unjust Romer is towards Wone, the more I -am amused. And the more unjust Wone is towards -Romer, the more I am amused. It is out of the -clash of these opposite injustices that nature,—how -shall I put it?—that nature expands and grows.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx gazed at the utterer of these antinomian -sentiments, with humorous interest. Dangelis -gathered, from the twitching of his heavy moustache, -that he was chuckling like a goblin. The -queer fellow had a way of emerging out of his melancholy, -at certain moments, like a badger out of his -hole; and at such times he would bring the most ideal -or speculative conversation down with a jerk to the -very bed-rock of reality.</p> - -<p>“What’s amusing you so?” enquired the citizen -of Ohio.</p> - -<p>“I was only thinking,” chuckled Mr. Quincunx, -stroking his beard, and glancing sardonically at -Lacrima, “that the real reason of your enjoying -yourself at Nevilton House, is quite a different one -from any you have mentioned.”</p> - -<p>Dangelis was for the moment quite confused. “Confound -the fellow!” he muttered to himself, “I’m -curst if I’m sorry he’s under the thumb of our friend -Romer!”</p> - -<p>His equanimity was soon restored, however, and he -covered his confusion by assuming a light and flippant -air.</p> - -<p>“Ha! ha!” he exclaimed, “so you’re thinking I’ve<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> -been caught by this young lady’s cousin? Well! -I don’t mind confessing that we get on beautifully -together. But as for anything else, I think Miss -Traffio will bear witness that I am quite as devoted -to the mother as the daughter. But Gladys Romer -must be admitted a very attractive girl,—mustn’t she -Miss Traffio? I suppose our friend here is not so -stern an ascetic as to refuse an artist like me the -pleasure of admiring such adorable suppleness as -your cousin possesses; such a—such a—” he waved -his hand vaguely in the air, “such a free and flexible -sort of grace?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx picked up a rough ash stick which -lay on the ground and prodded the earth. His face -showed signs of growing once more convulsed with -indecent merriment.</p> - -<p>“Why do you use all those long words?” he said. -“We country dogs go more straight to the point in -these matters. Flexible grace! Can’t you confess -that you’re bitten by the old Satan, which we all -have in us? Adorable suppleness! Why can’t you -say a buxom wench, a roguish wench, a playful -wanton wench? We country fellows don’t understand -your subtle artistic expressions. But we know -what it is when an honest foreigner like yourself -goes walking and talking with a person like Madame -Gladys!”</p> - -<p>Glancing apprehensively at the American’s face -Lacrima saw that her friend’s rudeness had made -him, this time, seriously angry.</p> - -<p>She rose from her chair. “We must be getting -back,” she said, “or we shall be late. I hope you and -Mr. Dangelis will know more of one another, before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> -he has to leave Nevilton. I’m sure you’ll find that -you’ve quite a lot in common, when you really -begin to understand each other.”</p> - -<p>The gravity and earnestness with which she uttered -these words made both her companions feel a little -ashamed.</p> - -<p>“After all,” thought the artist, “he is a typical -Englishman.”</p> - -<p>“After all,” thought Mr. Quincunx, “I’ve always -been told that Americans treat women as if they were -made of tissue-paper.”</p> - -<p>Their parting from the recluse at his garden gate -was friendly and natural. Mr. Quincunx reverted -to his politest manner, and the artist’s good temper -seemed quite restored.</p> - -<p>In retrospect, after the passing of a couple of days, -spent by Dangelis in preparing the accessories of his -Ariadne picture, and by Gladys in unpacking certain -mysterious parcels telegraphed for to London, the -American found himself recalling his visit to Dead -Man’s Cottage with none but amiable feelings. The -third morning which followed this visit, dawned -upon Nevilton with peculiar propitiousness. The -air was windless and full of delicious fragrance. The -bright clear sunshine seemed to penetrate every portion -of the spacious Elizabethan mansion and to -turn its corridors and halls, filled with freshly plucked -flowers, into a sort of colossal garden house.</p> - -<p>Dangelis rose that morning with a more than -normal desire to plunge into his work. He was considerably -annoyed, however, to find that Gladys had -actually arranged to have Mr. Clavering invited to -lunch and had gone so far as to add a pencilled scrawl<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> -of her own—she herself laughingly confessed as -much—to her mother’s formal note, begging him to -appear in the middle of the forenoon, as she had a -“surprise” in store for him.</p> - -<p>The American’s anxiety to begin work as soon as -possible with his attractive model, made him suffer -miseries of impatience, while Gladys amused herself -with her Ariadne draperies, making Lacrima dress -and undress her twenty times, behind the screens of -the studio.</p> - -<p>She appeared at last, however, and the artist, -looking up at her from his canvas, was for the -moment staggered by her beauty. The instinctive -taste of her cousin’s Latin fingers was shown in the -exquisite skill with which the classical folds of the -dress she wore accentuated the natural charm of her -young form.</p> - -<p>The stuff of which her chief garment was made -was of a deep gentian blue and the contrast between -this color and the dazzling whiteness of her neck and -arms was enough to ravish not only the æsthetic -soul in the man but his more human senses also. -Her bare feet were encased in white sandals, bound -by slender leathern straps, which were twisted round -her legs almost as high as the knee. A thin metal -band, of burnished bronze, was clasped about her -head and over and under this, her magnificent sun-coloured -hair flowed, in easy and natural waves, to -where it was caught up, in a Grecian knot, above the -nape of her neck. Save for this band round her head -she wore no clasps or jewelry of any kind, and the -softness of her flesh was made more emphatic by -the somewhat rough and coarse texture of her loosely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> -folded drapery. Dangelis was so lost in admiration -of this delicious apparition, that he hardly noticed -Lacrima’s timid farewell, as the Italian slipped away -into the garden and left them together. It was indeed -not till Gladys had descended from the little -wooden platform and coyly approached the side of his -easel, that the artist recovered himself.</p> - -<p>“Upon my soul, but you look perfectly wonderful!” -he cried enthusiastically. “Quick! Let’s to business. -I want to get well started, before we have any interruption.”</p> - -<p>He led her back to the platform, and made her -lean in a semi-recumbent position upon a cushioned -bench which he had prepared for the purpose. He -took a long time to satisfy himself as to her precise -pose, but at last, with a lucky flash of inspiration, -and not without assistance from Gladys herself, whose -want of æsthetic feeling was compensated for in -this case by the profoundest of all feminine instincts, -he found for her the inevitable, the supremely effective, -position. It was with a thrill of exquisite sweetness, -pervading both soul and senses, that he began -painting her. He felt as though this were one of the -few flawless and unalloyed moments of his life. -Everything in him and about him seemed to vibrate -and quiver in response to the breath of beauty and -youth. Penetrated by the delicate glow of a passion -which was free, at present, from the sting of sensual -craving, he felt as though all the accumulative impressions, -of a long procession of harmonious days, -were summed up and focussed in this fortunate hour. -The loveliness of the young girl, as he transferred it, -curve by curve, shadow by shadow, to his canvas,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> -seemed expressive of a reserved secret of enchantment, -until this moment withheld and concealed from -him. The ravishing contours of her lithe figure seemed -to open up, to his magnetized imagination, vistas -and corridors of emotion, such as he had never even -dreamed of experiencing. She was more than a -supremely lovely girl. She was the very epitome and -incarnation of all those sunward striving forces and -impulses, which, rising from the creative heart of the -universe, struggle upwards through the resisting -darkness. She was a Sun-child, a creature of air and -earth and fire, a daughter of Circe and Dionysus; and -as he drained the so frankly offered philtre of her -intoxicating beauty, and flung his whole soul’s response -to it in glowing color upon the canvas, he -felt that he would never again thus catch the fates -asleep, or thus plunge his hands into the nectar of -the supreme gods.</p> - -<p>The world presented itself to him at that moment, -while he swept his brush with fierce passionate energy -across the canvas, as bathed in translucent and unclouded -ether. Everything it contained, of weakness -and decadence, of gloom and misgiving, seemed to be -transfigured, illuminated, swallowed up. He felt as -though, in thus touching the very secret of divine -joy, held in the lap of the abysmal mothers, nothing -but energy and beauty and creative force would -ever concern or occupy him again. All else,—all -scruples, all questions, all problems, all renunciations—seemed -but irrelevant and negligible vapour, compared -with this glorious and sunlit stream of life. -He worked on feverishly at his task. By degrees, -and in so incredibly a short time that Gladys herself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> -was astonished when he told her she could rest and -stretch herself a little, the figure of the Ariadne he -had seen in his imagination limned itself against the -expectant background. He was preparing to resume -his labour, and Gladys, after a boyish scramble into -the neighbouring conservatory, and an eager return -to the artist’s side with a handful of early strawberries, -was just re-mounting the platform, when the door -of the studio opened and Hugh Clavering entered.</p> - -<p>He had been almost inclined,—in so morbid a -condition were his nerves—to knock at the door before -coming in, but a lucky after-thought had reminded -him that such an action would have been -scandalously inappropriate.</p> - -<p>Assuming an air of boyish familiarity, which harmonized -better perhaps with her leather-bound ankles -than with her girlish figure, Gladys jumped down at -once from the little stage and ran gaily to welcome him. -She held out her hand, and then, raising both her arms -to her head and smoothing back her bright hair beneath -its circlet of bronze, she inquired of him, in a soft low -murmur, whether he thought she looked “nice.”</p> - -<p>Clavering was struck dumb. He had all those -shivering sensations of trembling agitation which are -described with such realistic emphasis in the fragmentary -poem of Sappho. The playful girl, her fair -cheeks flushed with excitement and a treacherous -light in her blue eyes, swung herself upon the rough -oak table that stood in the middle of the room, and -sat there, smiling coyly at him, dangling her sandalled -feet. She still held in her hand the strawberries she -had picked; and as, with childish gusto, she put one -after another of these between her lips, she looked at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> -him with an indescribable air of mischievous, challenging -defiance.</p> - -<p>“So this is the pagan thing,” thought the poor -priest, “that it is my duty to initiate into the religion -of sacrifice!”</p> - -<p>He could not prevent the passing through his brain -of a grotesque and fantastic vision in which he saw -himself, like a second hermit of the Thebaid, leading -this equivocal modern Thaïs to the waters of Jordan. -Certainly the association of such a mocking white-armed -darling of errant gods with the ceremony of -confirmation was an image somewhat difficult to embrace! -The impatient artist, apologizing profusely to -the embarrassed visitor, soon dragged off his model -to her couch on the platform, and it fell to the lot of -the infatuated priest to subside in paralyzed helplessness, -on a modest seat at the back of the room. -What thoughts, what wild unpermitted thoughts, -chased one another in strange procession through his -soul, as he stared at the beautiful heathen figure thus -presented to his gaze!</p> - -<p>The movements of the artist, the heavy stream of -sunlight falling aslant the room, the sweet exotic -smells borne in from the window opening on the conservatory, -seemed all to float and waver about him, -as though they were things felt by a deep-sea diver -beneath a weight of humming waters. He gave himself -up completely to what that moment brought.</p> - -<p>Faith, piety, sacrifice, devotion, became for him -mere words and phrases—broken, fragmentary, unmeaning—sounds -heard in the shadow-land of sleep, -vague and indistinct like the murmur of drowned -bells under a brimming tide.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span></p> - -<p>It may well be believed that the langourously -reclining model was not in the least oblivious to the -effect she produced. This was, indeed, one of Gladys’ -supreme moments, and she let no single drop of its -honeyed distillation pass undrained. She permitted -her heavy-lidded blue eyes, suffused with a soft -dreamy mist, to rest tenderly on her impassioned -lover; and as if in response to the desperate longing -in his look, a light-fluttering, half-wistful smile crossed -her parted lips, like a ripple upon a shadowy stream.</p> - -<p>The girl’s vivid consciousness of the ecstasy of -power was indeed, in spite of her apparent lethargic -passivity, never more insanely aroused. Lurking -beneath the dreamy sweetness of the look with -which she responded to Clavering’s magnetized gaze, -were furtive depths of Circean remorselessness. Under -her gentian-blue robe her youthful breast trembled -with exultant pleasure, and she felt as though, with -every delicious breath she drew, she were drinking to -the dregs the very wine of the immortals.</p> - -<p>“I must give Mr. Clavering some strawberries!” she -suddenly cried, jumping to her feet, and breaking -both the emotional and the æsthetic spell as if they -were gossamer-threads. “He looks bored and tired.”</p> - -<p>In vain the disconcerted artist uttered an imploring -groan of dismay, as thus, at the critical moment, his -model betrayed him. In vain the bewildered priest -professed his complete innocence of any wish for -strawberries.</p> - -<p>The wayward girl clambered once more through -the conservatory window, at the risk of spoiling -her Olympian attire, and returning with a handful -of fruit, tripped coquettishly up to both of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> -them in turn and insisted on their dividing the -spoil.</p> - -<p>Had either of the two men been in a mood for -classical reminiscences, the famous image of Circe -feeding her transformed lovers might have been irresistibly -evoked. They were all three thus occupied,—the -girl in the highest spirits, and both men feeling -a little sulky and embarrassed, when, to the general -consternation, the door began slowly to open, and -a withered female figure, clad in a ragged shawl and -a still more dilapidated skirt made its entry into the -room.</p> - -<p>“Why, it’s Witch-Bessie!” cried Gladys, involuntarily -clutching at Clavering’s arm. “Wicked old -thing! She gave me quite a start. Well, Bessie, -what do you want here? Don’t you know the way -to the back door? You mustn’t come round to the -front like this. What do you want?”</p> - -<p>Each of the model’s companions made a characteristic -movement. Dangelis began feeling in his -pocket for some suitable coin, and Clavering raised -his hand with an half-reproachful, half-conciliatory, -and altogether pastoral gesture, as if at the same -time threatening and welcoming a lost sheep of his -flock.</p> - -<p>But Witch-Bessie had only eyes for Gladys. She -stared in petrified amazement at the gentian-blue -robe and the boyish sandals.</p> - -<p>“Send her away!” whispered the girl to Mr. -Clavering. “Tell her to go to the back door. They’ll -give her food and things there.”</p> - -<p>The cadaverous stare of the old woman relaxed -at last. Fixing her colourless eyes on the two men,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> -and pointing at Gladys with her skinny hand, she -cried, in a shrill, querulous voice, that rang unpleasantly -through the studio, “What be she then, touzled -up in like of this? What be she then, with her -Jezebel face and her shameless looks? Round to -back door, is it, ’ee ’d have me sent? I do know -who you be, well enough, Master Clavering, and I -do guess this gentleman be him as they say does -bide here; but what be she, tricketed up in them outlandish -clothes, like a Gypoo from Roger-town -Fair? Be she Miss Gladys Romer, or baint she?”</p> - -<p>“Come, Bessie,” said Clavering in propitiatory -tone. “Do as the young lady says and go round to -the back. I’ll go with you if you like. I expect -they’ll have plenty of scraps for you in that big -kitchen.”</p> - -<p>He laid his hand on the old woman’s shoulder and -tried to usher her out. But she turned on him -angrily. “Scraps!” she cried. “Scraps thee own self! -What does the like of a pair of gentlemen such as -ye be, flitter-mousing and flandering round, with a -hussy like she?”</p> - -<p>She turned furiously upon Gladys, waving aside -with a snort of contempt the silver coin which -Dangelis, with a vague notion that “typical English -beggars” should be cajoled with gifts, sought to press -into her hand.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span></p> -<p>“’Twas to speak a bit of my mind to ’ee, not to -beg at your blarsted back door that I did come this -fine morning! Us that do travel by night and by -day hears precious strange things sometimes. What -for, my fine lady, did ye go and swear to policeman -Frank, down in Nevilton, that ’twas I took your God-darned -pigeons? Your dad may be a swinking magistrate, -what can send poor folks to gaol for snaring -rabbities, or putting a partridge in the pot to make -the cabbage tasty, but what right does that give a -hussy like thee to send policeman Frank swearing -he’ll lock up old Bessie? It don’t suit wi’ I, this -kind of flummery; so I do tell ’ee plain and straight. -It don’t suit wi’ I!”</p> - -<p>“Come, clear out of this, my good woman!” cried -the indignant clergyman, seizing the trembling old -creature by the arm.</p> - -<p>“Don’t hurt her! Don’t hurt her!” exclaimed -Gladys. “She’ll put the evil eye on me. She did -it to Nance Purvis and she’s been mad ever since.”</p> - -<p>“It’s a lie!” whimpered the old woman, struggling -feebly as Clavering pulled her towards the door.</p> - -<p>“It’s your own dad and Nance’s dad with their -ugly ways what have driven that poor lass moon-crazy. -Mark Purvis do whip her with withy sticks—all -the country knows it. Darn ’ee, for a black devil’s -spawn, and no blessed minister, pulling and harrying -an old woman!”</p> - -<p>This last ejaculation was addressed to the furious -Mr. Clavering, who was now thrusting her by bodily -force through the open door. With one final effort -Witch-Bessie broke loose from him and turned on -the threshold. “Ye <em>shall</em> have the evil eye, since -ye’ve called for it,” she shrieked, making a wild -gesture in the air, in the direction of the shrinking -Ariadne. “And what if I let these two gentlemen -know with whom it was ye were out walking the other -night? I did see ’ee, and I do know what I did see! -I’m a pigeon-stealer am I, ye flaunting flandering<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> -Gypoo? Let me tell these dear gentlemen how as—” Her -voice died suddenly away in an incoherent -splutter, as the vicar of Nevilton, with his hand -upon her mouth, swung her out of the door.</p> - -<p>Gladys sank down upon a chair pale and trembling.</p> - -<p>As soon, however, as the old woman’s departure -seemed final, she began to recover her equanimity. -She gave vent to a rather forced and uneasy laugh. -“Silly old thing!” she exclaimed. “This comes of -mother’s getting rid of the dogs. She never used to -come here when we had the dogs. They scented her -out in a minute. I wish we had them now to let loose -at her! They’d make her skip.”</p> - -<p>“I do hope, my dear child,” said Dangelis -anxiously, “that she has not really frightened you? -What a terrible old creature! I’ve always longed to -see a typical English witch, but bless my heart if I -want to see another!”</p> - -<p>“She’s gone now,” announced Mr. Clavering, returning -hot and breathless. “I saw her half-way down -the drive. She’ll be out of sight directly. I expect -you don’t want to see any more of her, else, if you -come out here a step or two, you can see her slinking -away.”</p> - -<p>Gladys thanked him warmly for his energetic defence -of her, but denied having the least wish to -witness her enemy’s retreat.</p> - -<p>“It must be getting near lunch time,” she said. -“If you don’t mind waiting a moment, I’ll change -my dress.” And she tripped off behind the screens.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII<br /> -<span class="smaller">AUBER LAKE</span></h2> - -<p>The presence of Ralph Dangelis in Nevilton -House had altered, in more than one respect, -the relations between Gladys and her cousin.</p> - -<p>The girls saw much less of each other, and Lacrima -was left comparatively at liberty to follow her own -devices.</p> - -<p>On several occasions, however, when they were all -three together, it chanced that the American had -made himself extremely agreeable to the younger -girl, even going so far as to take her part, quite energetically, -in certain lively discussions. These occasions -were not forgotten by Gladys, and she hated -the Italian with a hatred more deep-rooted than -ever.</p> - -<p>As soon as her first interest in the American’s -society began to pall a little, she cast about in her -mind for some further way of causing discomfort and -agitation to the object of her hatred.</p> - -<p>Only those who have taken the trouble to watch -carefully what might be called the “magnetic antagonism,” -between feminine animals condemned to live -in close relations with one another, will understand the -full intensity of what this young person felt. It was -not necessarily a sign of any abnormal morbidity in -our fair-haired friend.</p> - -<p>For a man in whom one is interested, even though<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> -such interest be mild and casual, to show a definite -tendency to take sides against one, on behalf of one’s -friend, is a sufficient justification,—at least so nature -seems to indicate—for the awakening in one’s heart -of an intense desire for revenge. Such desire is often -aroused in the most well-constituted temperaments -among us, and in this case it might be said that the -sound physical nerves of the daughter of the Romers -craved the satisfaction of such an impulse with the -same stolid persistence as her flesh and blood craved -for air and sun. But how to achieve it? What new -and elaborate humiliation to devise for this irritating -partner of her days?</p> - -<p>The bathing episode was beginning to lose its -piquancy. Custom, with its kindly obliviousness, had -already considerably modified Lacrima’s fears, and -there had ceased to be for Gladys any further pleasure -in displaying her aquarian agility before a companion -so occupied with the beauty of lawn and -garden at that magical hour.</p> - -<p>Fate, however, partial, as it often is, to such -patient tenacity of emotion, let fall at last, at her -very feet, the opportunity she craved.</p> - -<p>She had just begun to experience that miserable -sensation, so sickeningly oppressive to a happy disposition, -of hating where she could not hurt, when, -one evening, news was brought to the house by -Mark Purvis the game-keeper that a wandering flock -of wild-geese had taken up its temporary abode amid -the reeds of Auber Lake. Mr. Romer himself -soon brought confirmation of this fact.</p> - -<p>The birds appeared to leave the place during the -day and fly far westward, possibly as far as the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> -marshes of Sedgemoor, but they always returned at -night-fall to this new tarrying ground.</p> - -<p>The very evening of this exciting discovery, Gladys’ -active mind formulated a thrilling and absorbing -project, which she positively trembled with longing -to communicate to Lacrima. She found the long -dinner that night, and the subsequent chatter with -Dangelis on the terrace, almost too tedious to be -endured; and it was at an unusually early hour -that she surprised her cousin by joining her in her -room.</p> - -<p>The Pariah was seated at her mirror, wearily reducing -to order her entangled curls, when Gladys -entered. She looked very fragile in her white bodice -and the little uplifted arms, that the mirror reflected, -showed unnaturally long and thin. When one hates -a person with the sort of massive hatred such as, -at that time, beat sullenly under Gladys’ rounded -bosom, every little physical characteristic in the object -of our emotion is an added incentive to our revengeful -purpose.</p> - -<p>This Saturnian planetary law is unfortunately not -confined to antipathies between persons of the same -sex. Sometimes the most unhappy results have been -known to spring from the manner in which one or -another, even of two lovers, has lifted chin or head, -or moved characteristically across a room.</p> - -<p>Thus it were almost impossible to exaggerate -the loathing with which this high-spirited girl contemplated -the pale oval face and slender swaying -arms of her friend, as full of her new project she -flung herself into her favourite arm chair and met -Lacrima’s frightened eyes in the gilded Georgian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> -mirror. She began her attack with elaborate feline -obliquity.</p> - -<p>“They say Mark Purvis’ crazy daughter has been -giving trouble again. He was up this morning, talking -to father about it.”</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you send her away?” said the Italian, -without turning round.</p> - -<p>“Send her away? She has to do all the house-work -down there! Mark has no one else, you know, and -the poor man does not want the expense of hiring -a woman.”</p> - -<p>“Isn’t it rather a lonely place for a child like that?”</p> - -<p>“Lonely? I should think it is lonely! But what -would you have? Somebody must keep that cottage -clean; and it’s just as well a wretched mad girl, of -no use to anyone, should do it, as that a sound person -should lose her wits in such a god-forsaken spot!”</p> - -<p>“What does she do at—at these times? Is she -violent?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, she gets out in the night and roams about the -woods. She was once found up to her knees in the -water. No, she isn’t exactly violent. But she is a -great nuisance.”</p> - -<p>“It must be terrible for her father!”</p> - -<p>“Well—in a way it does bother him. But he is -not the man to stand much nonsense.”</p> - -<p>“I hope he is kind to her.”</p> - -<p>Gladys laughed. “What a soft-hearted darling -you are! I expect he finds sometimes that you -can’t manage mad people, any more than you can -manage children, without using the stick. But I -fancy, on the whole, he doesn’t treat her badly. He’s -a fairly good-natured man.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span></p> - -<p>The Pariah sighed. “I think Mr. Romer ought to -send her away at once to some kind of home, and -pay someone to take her place.”</p> - -<p>“I daresay you do! If you had your way, father -wouldn’t have a penny left in the bank.”</p> - -<p>The Pariah rose from her seat, crossed over to the -window, and looked out into the sultry night. What -a world this was! All the gentle and troubled -beings in it seemed over-ridden by gigantic merciless -wheels!</p> - -<p>A little awed, in spite of herself, by the solemnity -of her companion, Gladys sought to bring her back -out of this translunar mood by capricious playfulness. -She stretched herself out at full length in her low chair, -and calling the girl to her side, began caressing her, -pulling her down at last upon her lap.</p> - -<p>“Guess what has happened!” she murmured -softly, as the quick beating of the Pariah’s heart -communicated itself to her, and made her own still -harder.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I know it’s something I shan’t like, something -that I shall dread!” cried the younger girl, making -a feeble effort to escape.</p> - -<p>“Shall I tell you what it is?” Gladys went on, -easily overcoming this slight movement. “You know, -don’t you, that there’s a flock of wild-geese settled on -the island in the middle of Auber Lake? Well! I -have got a lovely plan. I’ve never yet seen those -birds, because they don’t come back till the evening. -What you and I are going to do, darling, is to slip -away out of the house, next time Mr. Dangelis goes -to see that friend of yours, and make straight to -Auber Lake! I’ve never been into those woods by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> -night, and it’ll be extraordinarily thrilling to see -what Auber Lake looks like with the moon gleaming -on it. And then we may be able to make the wild-geese -rise, by throwing sticks or something, into the -water. Oh, it’ll be simply lovely! Don’t you think -so, darling? Aren’t you quite thrilled by the idea?”</p> - -<p>The Pariah liberated herself by a sudden effort -and stood erect on the floor.</p> - -<p>“I think you are the wickedest girl that God ever -made!” she said solemnly. And then, as the full -implication of the proposed adventure grew upon her, -she clasped her hands convulsively. “You cannot -mean it!” she cried. “You cannot mean it! You -are teasing me, Gladys. You are only saying it to -tease me.”</p> - -<p>“Why, you’re not such a coward as all that!” -her cousin replied. “Think what it must be for -Nance Purvis, who always lives down there! I -shouldn’t like to be more cowardly than a poor crazy -labouring girl. We really <em>ought</em> to visit the place, -once in a way, to see if these stories are true about -her escaping out of the house. One can never tell -from what Mark says. He may have been drinking -and imagining it all.”</p> - -<p>Lacrima turned away and began rapidly undressing. -Without a word she arranged the books on her table, -moving about like a person in a trance, and without -a word she slipped into bed and turned her face to -the wall.</p> - -<p>Gladys smiled, stretched herself luxuriously, and continued -speaking.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span></p> -<p>“Auber Lake by moonlight would well be worth -a night walk. You know it’s supposed to be the -most romantic spot in Somersetshire? They say it’s -incredibly old. Some people think it was used in -prehistoric times by the druids as a place of worship. -The villagers never dare to go near it after dark. -They say that very curious noises are heard there. -But of course that may only be the mad—”</p> - -<p>She was not allowed to go on. The silent figure -in the bed suddenly sat straight up, with wide-staring -eyes fixed upon her, and said slowly and solemnly, -“If I come with you to this place, will you faithfully -promise me that your father will send that girl into -a home?”</p> - -<p>Gladys was so surprised by this unexpected utterance -that she made an inarticulate gasping noise in -her throat.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she answered, mesmerized by the Pariah’s -fixed glance. “Yes—most certainly. If you come -with me to see those wild-geese, I’ll make any -promise you like about that girl!”</p> - -<p>Lacrima continued for a moment fixing her with wide-dilated -pupils.</p> - -<p>Then, with a shiver that passed from head to foot, -she slowly sank back on her pillows and closed her -eyes.</p> - -<p>Gladys rose a little uneasily from her chair. “But -of course,” she said, “you understand she may not -<em>want</em> to go away. She is quite crazy, you know. And -she may prefer wandering about freely among dark -woods to being locked up in a nice white-washed -asylum, under the care of fat motherly nurses!”</p> - -<p>With this parting shot she went off into her own -room feeling in a curious vague manner that somehow -or another the edge of her delectation had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> -taken off. In this unexpected resolution of the -Italian, the Mythology of Sacrifice had suddenly -struck a staggering blow at the Mythology of Power. -Like the point of a bright silver sword, this unforseen -vein of heroism in the Pariah cleared the sultry air -of that hot night with a magical freshness and -coolness. A planetary onlooker might have been -conscious at that moment of strange spiritual vibrations -passing to and fro over the sleeping roofs of -Nevilton. But perhaps such a one would also have -been conscious of the abysmal indifference to either -stream of opposing influence, of the high, cold galaxy -of the Milky Way, stretched contemptuously above -them all!</p> - -<p>All we are able to be certain of is, that as the fair-haired -daughter of the house prepared for bed she -muttered sullenly to herself. “I’ll make her go anyway. -It will be lovely to feel her shiver, when we -pass under those thick laurels! That mad girl won’t -leave the place, unless they drag her by force.”</p> - -<p>Left alone, Lacrima remained, for nearly two hours, -motionless and with closed eyes. She was not asleep, -however. Strange and desperate thoughts pursued -one another through her brain. She wondered if she, -too, like the girl of Auber Lake, were destined to -find relief from this merciless world in the unhinging -of her reason. She reverted again and again in her -mind to her cousin’s final malicious suggestion. -That would be indeed, she thought, a bitter example -of life’s irony, if after going through all this to save -the poor wretch, such sacrifice only meant worse -misery for her. But no! God could not be as unkind -as that.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span></p> - -<p>She stretched out her arm for a book with which -to still the troublesome palpitation of her heart.</p> - -<p>The book she seized by chance turned out to be -Andersen’s Fairy Stories, and she read herself to -sleep with the tale of the little princess who wove -coats of nettles for her enchanted brothers, and all -night long she dreamed of mad unhappy girls struggling -amid entwining branches, of bottomless lakes full -of terrible drowned faces, and of flocks of wild-geese -that were all of them kings’ sons!</p> - -<p>The Saturday following this eventful colloquy between -the cousins was a day of concentrated gloom. -There was thunder in the vicinity and, although no -rain had actually fallen in Nevilton, there was a -brooding presence of it in the heavy atmosphere.</p> - -<p>The night seemed to descend that evening more -quickly than usual. By eight o’clock a strange -unnatural twilight spread itself over the landscape. -The trees in the park submitted forlornly to a burden -of sultry indistinction and seemed, in their pregnant -stillness, to be trying in vain to make mysterious -signals to one another.</p> - -<p>Dinner in the gracious Elizabethan dining-room -was an oppressive and discomfortable meal to all -concerned. Mrs. Romer was full of tremors and -apprehensions over the idea of a possible thunder-storm.</p> - -<p>The quarry-owner was silent and preoccupied, his -mind reviewing all the complicated issues of a new -financial scheme. Dangelis kept looking at his -watch. He had promised to be at Dead Man’s Lane -by nine o’clock, and the meal seemed to drag itself -out longer than he had anticipated.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span></p> - -<p>He was a little apprehensive, too, as to what -reception he would receive when he did arrive at -Mr. Quincunx’s threshold.</p> - -<p>Their last encounter had been so extremely controversial, -that he feared lest the sensitive recluse -might be harbouring one of his obstinate psychic -reactions at his expense.</p> - -<p>He was very unwilling to risk the loss of Mr. -Quincunx’s society. There was no one in Nevilton -to whom he could discourse quite as freely and -philosophically as he could to the conscripted office-clerk, -and his American interest in a “representative -type” found inexhaustible satisfaction in listening to -the cynical murmurings of this eccentric being.</p> - -<p>Lacrima was calm and self-contained, but she ate -hardly anything; and the hand with which she -raised her glass to her lips trembled in spite of all -her efforts.</p> - -<p>Gladys herself was exuberant with suppressed -excitement. Every now and then she glanced furtively -at the window, and at other times, when there -was no reason for such an outburst, she gave vent to -a low feline laugh. She was of the type of animal that -the approach of thunder, and the presence of electricity -in the air, fills with magnetic nervous exaltation.</p> - -<p>The meal was over at last, and the various persons -of the group hastened to separate, each of them -weighed upon, as if by an atmospheric hand, with -the burden of their own purposes and apprehensions.</p> - -<p>The two girls retired to their rooms. Mrs. Romer -retreated to her favourite corner in the entrance hall, -and then, uneasy even here, took refuge in the assuaging -society of her friend the housekeeper.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span></p> - -<p>Romer himself marched away gloomily to his -study; and Dangelis, snatching up his coat and hat, -made off across the south garden.</p> - -<p>It did not take the American long to reach the -low hedge which separated Mr. Quincunx’s garden -from the lane. The recluse was awaiting him, and -joined him at once at the gate, giving him no invitation -to enter, and taking for granted that their conversation -was to be a pedestrian one.</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx experienced a curious reluctance to -allow any of his friends to cross his threshold. The -only one completely privileged in this matter was -young Luke Andersen, whose gay urbanity was so -insidious that it would have overcome the resistance -of a Trappist monk.</p> - -<p>“Well, where are you proposing to take me tonight?” -enquired Dangelis, when they had advanced -in silence some distance up the hill.</p> - -<p>“To a place that will interest you, if your damned -artistic tastes haven’t quite spoiled your pleasure in -little things!”</p> - -<p>“Not to the Seven Ashes again?” protested the -American. “I know this lane leads up there.”</p> - -<p>“You wait a little. We shall turn off presently,” -muttered his companion. “The truth is I am taking -you on a sort of scouting expedition tonight.”</p> - -<p>“What on earth do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“Well—if you must know, you shall know! I saw -Miss Traffio yesterday and she asked me to keep an -eye on Auber Lake tonight.”</p> - -<p>“What? That place they were talking of? Where -the wild-geese are?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx nodded. “It may, for all I know,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> -be a wild-goose chase. But I find your friend Gladys -is up to her little tricks again—frightening people -and upsetting their minds. And I promised Lacrima -that you and I would stroll round that way—just -to see that the girls don’t come to any harm. Only -we mustn’t let them know we’re there. Lacrima -would never forgive me if Gladys saw us.”</p> - -<p>“Do you mean to say that those two children are -going to wander about these confounded damp woods -of yours alone?” cried the American.</p> - -<p>“Look here, Mr. Dangelis, please understand this -quite clearly. If you ever say a word to your -precious Miss Gladys about this little scouting expedition, -that’s an end of our talks, forever and a day!”</p> - -<p>The citizen of Ohio bowed with a mock heroic -gesture, removing his hat as he did so.</p> - -<p>“I submit to your conditions, Don Quixote. I am -entirely at your service. Is it the idea that we -should track our friends on hands and knees? I am -quite ready even for that, but I know what these -woods of yours are like.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx vouchsafed no reply to this ill-timed -jocosity. He was anxiously surveying the tall -hedge upon their right hand. “Here’s the way,” he -suddenly exclaimed. “Here’s the path. We can hit -a short-cut here that brings us straight through -Camel’s Cover, up to Wild Pine. Then we can slip -down into Badger’s Bottom and so into the Auber -Woods.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span></p> -<p>“But I thought the Auber Woods were much -nearer than that. You told me the other day that -you could get into the heart of them, in a quarter -of an hour from your own garden!”</p> - -<p>“And so I can, my friend,” replied Mr. Quincunx, -scrambling up the bank into the field, and turning -to offer his hand to his companion. “But it happens -that this is the way those girls are coming. At any -rate that is what she said. They were going to avoid -my lane but they were going to enter the woods -from the Seven Ashes side, just because it is so -much nearer.”</p> - -<p>“I submit, I submit,” muttered the artist blandly. -“I only hope this scouting business needn’t commence -till we have got well through Camel’s Cover and -Badger’s Bottom! I must confess I am not altogether -in love with the sound of those places, though -no doubt they are harmless enough. But you people -do certainly select the most extraordinary names for -your localities. Our own little lapses in these things -are classical compared with your Badgers and Camels -and Ashes and Dead Men!”</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx did not condescend to reply to this. -He continued to plough his way across the field, -every now and then glancing nervously at the sky, -which grew more and more threatening. Walking -behind him and a little on one side, the American -was singularly impressed by the appearance he -presented, especially when the faint light of the -pallid and cloud-flecked moon fell on his uplifted -profile. With his corrugated brow and his pointed -beard, Mr. Quincunx was a noticeable figure at any -time, but under the present atmospheric conditions -his lean form and striking head made a picture of -forlorn desolation worthy of the sombre genius of a -Bewick.</p> - -<p>Dangelis conceived the idea of a picture, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> -he himself might be capable of evoking, with this -melancholy, solitary figure as its protagonist.</p> - -<p>He wondered vaguely what background he would -select as worthy of the resolute hopelessness in Mr. -Quincunx’s forlorn mien.</p> - -<p>It was only after they had traversed the sloping -recesses of Camel’s Cover, and had arrived at the -crest of the Wild Pine ridge, that he was able to -answer this question. Then he knew at once. The -true pictorial background for his eccentric companion -could be nothing less than that line of wind-shaken, -rain-washed Scotch firs, which, visible from all portions -of Nevilton, had gathered to themselves the -very essence of its historic tragedy.</p> - -<p>These trees, like Mr. Quincunx, seemed to derive -a grim satisfaction from their submission to destiny. -Like him, they submitted with a definite volition of -resolution. They took, as he took, the line of least -resistance with a sort of stark voluptuousness. They -did not simply bow to the winds and rains that oppressed -them. They positively welcomed them. And -yet all the while, just as he did, they emitted a low -melancholy murmur of protest, a murmur as completely -different from the howling eloquence of the -ashes and elms, as it was different from the low -querulous sob of the larches and elders. The rusty-red -stain, too, in the rough bark of their trunks, was also -singularly congruous with a certain reddish tinge, -which often darkened the countenance of the recluse, -especially when his fits of goblin-humour shook him -into convulsive merriment.</p> - -<p>As they paused for a moment on this melancholy -ridge, looking back at the flickering lights of the village,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> -and down into the darkness in front of them, -the painter made a mental vow that before he left -Nevilton he would sublimate his vision of Mr. Quincunx -into a genuine masterpiece. Plunging once -more into the shadows, they followed a dark lane -which finally emerged into a wide-sloping valley. In -the depths of this was the secluded hollow, full of -long grass and tufted reeds, which was the place -known as Badger’s Bottom.</p> - -<p>The entrance to Auber Wood was now at hand; -and as they reached its sinister outskirts, they both -instinctively paused to take stock of their surroundings. -The night was more sultry than ever. The -leaves and grasses swayed with an almost imperceptible -movement, as if stirred, not by the wind, but by -the actual heavy breathing of the Earth herself, -troubled and agitated in her planetary sleep.</p> - -<p>Sombre banks of clouds moved intermittently over -the face of a blurred moon, and, out of the soil at -their feet, rose up damp exotic odours, giving the -whole valley the atmosphere of an enormous hot-house.</p> - -<p>It was one of those hushed, steamy nights, pregnant -and listening, which the peculiar conditions of -our English climate do not often produce, and which -are for that very reason often quite startling in their -emotional appeal. The path which the two men took, -after once they had entered the wood, was one that -led them through a gloomy tunnel of gigantic, overhanging -laurel-bushes.</p> - -<p>All the chief entrances to Auber Wood were -edged with these exotics. Some capricious eighteenth-century -Seldom,—perhaps the one who raised the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> -Tower of Pleasure on the site of the resting-place of -the Holy Rood—had planted them there, and for more -than a hundred years they had grown and multiplied.</p> - -<p>Auber Lake itself was the centre of a circumference -of thick jungle-like brushwood which itself was overshadowed -by high sloping hills. These hills, also -heavily wooded, formed a sort of gigantic cup or -basin, and the level expanse of undergrowth they -enclosed was itself the margin of a yet deeper concavity, -in the middle of which was the lake-bed.</p> - -<p>Mingling curiously with the more indigenous trees -in this place were several unusual and alien importations. -Some of these, like the huge laurels they were -now passing under, belonged more properly to gardens -than to woods. Others were of a still stranger -and more foreign nature, and produced a very bizarre -effect where they grew, as though one had suddenly -come upon the circle of some heathen grove, in the -midst of an English forest. Auber Lake was certainly -a spot of an unusual character. Once it had -been drained, and a large monolith, of the same stone -as that produced by Leo’s Hill, had been discovered -embedded in the mud. Traces were said to have -been discerned upon this of ancient human carving, -but local antiquarianism had contradicted this -rumour. At least it may be said that nowhere else -on the Romer estate, except perhaps in Nevilton -churchyard, was the tawny-colored clay which bore -so close a symbolic, if not a geological, relation to -the famous yellow sandstone, more heavily and -malignantly clinging, in its oozy consistence.</p> - -<p>Dangelis and Mr. Quincunx advanced slowly, and -in profound silence, along their overshadowed path.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span></p> - -<p>An occasional wood-pigeon, disturbed in its roosting, -flapped awkwardly through the branches; and -far away, in another part of the wood, sounded at -intervals the melancholy cry of a screech-owl.</p> - -<p>Great leather-winged bats flitted over their heads -with queer unearthly little cries; and every now and -then some agitated moth, from the under-bushes, -fluttered heavily across their faces. Sometimes in -the darkness their feet stumbled upon a dead -branch, but more often they slipped uneasily in -the deep ruts left in the mud by the woodmen’s -carts.</p> - -<p>All the various intermittent noises they heard only -threw the palpable stillness of the place into heavier -relief.</p> - -<p>The artist from the wind-swept plains of Ohio felt -as though he had never plunged so deeply into the -indrawn recesses of the earth-powers as he was doing -now. It seemed to him as though they were approaching -the guarded precincts of some dark and crouching -idol. It was as if, by some ill-omened mistake, -they had stumbled unawares upon a spot that through -interminable ages had been forbidden to human -tread.</p> - -<p>And yet the place seemed to expect them, to await -them; to have in reserve for them some laboured -pregnancy of woeful significance.</p> - -<p>Once more, as he walked behind Mr. Quincunx, -Dangelis was startled by the extraordinary congruity -of that forlorn figure with the occasion and the -scene. The form of the recluse seemed to exhale a -reciprocity of fearful brooding. Auber Wood seemed -aware of him, and ready to welcome him, in consentaneous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> -sympathy. He might have been the long-expected -priest of some immemorial rites transacted -there, the priest of some old heathen worship, perhaps -the worship of generations of dead people, buried -under those damp leaves.</p> - -<p>It seemed a long while to Ralph Dangelis, in spite -of the breathless quickening of his imagination, before -the laurel-tunnel thinned away, and the two men -were able to walk side by side between the trunks of -the larger trees. Here again they encountered -Scotch firs.</p> - -<p>What strange dream, of what fantastic possessor -of this solitude, had shaped itself into the planting -of these moorland giants, among the native-born -oaks and beeches of this weird place?</p> - -<p>The open spaces at the foot of the tree-trunks -were filled with an obscure mass of oozy stalks and -heavily drooping leaves. The obscurity of the spot -made it difficult to discern the differences between -these rank growths; but the ghostly flowers of enormous -hemlocks stood forth from among the rest. -Fungoid excrescences, of some sort or another, were -certainly prolific here. Their charnel-house odour -set Dangelis thinking of a morgue he had once -visited.</p> - -<p>At last—and with quite startling suddenness—the -path they followed emerged into a wide open -expanse; and there,—under the diffused light of the -cloud-darkened moon—they saw stretched at their -feet the dim surface of Auber Lake.</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx stood for a moment motionless and -silent, leaning upon his stick. Then he turned to -his companion; and the American noticed how vague<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> -and shadowy his face looked, as if it were a face -seen through some more opaque medium than that -of air.</p> - -<p>They sat down together upon a fallen log; and out -of an instinctive desire to break the tension of the -spell that lay on him Dangelis lit a cigarette.</p> - -<p>He had smoked in silence for some moments, -when Mr. Quincunx, who had been listening attentively, -raised his hand. “Hark!” he said, “do you -hear anything?”</p> - -<p>Across the stillness of the water came a low blood-curdling -wail. It was hardly a human sound, and -yet it was not like the voice of any bird or beast. -It seemed to unsettle the drowsy natives of the -spot; for a harsh twittering of sedge-birds answered -it, and a great water-rat splashed down into the -lake.</p> - -<p>“God! they were right then,” whispered the -American. “They spoke of some mad girl living -down here, but I did not believe them. It seemed -incredible that such a thing should be allowed. -Quick, my friend!—we ought to warn those girls -at once and get them away. This is not the sort of -thing for them to hear.”</p> - -<p>They both rose and listened intently, but the sound -was not repeated; only a hot gust of wind coming, as -it were, out of the lake itself, went quivering through -the reeds.</p> - -<p>“I don’t imagine,” said Mr. Quincunx calmly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> -“that <em>your</em> young lady will be much alarmed. I -fancy she has less fear of this kind of thing than that -water-rat we heard just now. It’ll terrify Lacrima, -though. But I understand that your charming sweetheart -gets a good deal of amusement from causing -people to feel terror!”</p> - -<p>Dangelis was so accustomed to the plain-spoken -utterances of the hermit of Dead Man’s Lane that -he received this indictment of his enchantress with -complete equanimity.</p> - -<p>“All the same,” he remarked, “I think we’d better -go and meet them, if you know the direction they’re -coming. It’s not a very pleasant proposition, any -way, to face escaped lunatics in a place like this.”</p> - -<p>“I tell you,” muttered Mr. Quincunx crossly, “your -darling Gladys is coming here for no other reason -than to hear that girl’s cries. The more they terrify -Lacrima, the better she’ll be pleased.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know about Lacrima,” answered Dangelis. -“I know that devil of a noise will scare <em>me</em> if I hear -it again.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx did not reply. With his hand on -his companion’s arm he was once more listening -intently. At the back of his mind was gradually -forming a grim remote wish that some overt act and -palpable revelation of Gladys Romer’s interesting -character might effect a change of heart in the -citizen of Ohio.</p> - -<p>Such a wish had been obscurely present in his -brain ever since they started on this expedition; and -now that the situation was developing, it took a -more vivid shape.</p> - -<p>“I believe,” he remarked at last, “I hear them -coming down the path. Listen! It’s on the other -side of the pond,—over there.” He pointed across -the water to the left-hand corner of the lake. It -was from the right-hand corner, where the keeper’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> -cottage stood, that the poor mad girl’s voice had -proceeded.</p> - -<p>“Yes; I am sure!” he whispered after a moment’s -pause. “Come! quick! get in here; then they won’t -see us even if they walk round this way.”</p> - -<p>He pulled Dangelis beneath the overhanging boughs -of a large weeping willow. The droop of this tree’s -delicate foliage made, in the semi-darkness in -which they were, a complete and impenetrable -hiding-place; and yet from between the trailing -branches, when they held them apart with their -hands, they had a free and unimpeded view of the -whole surface of the lake.</p> - -<p>The sound of distant voices struck clearly now upon -their ears; and a moment after, nudging his companion, -Mr. Quincunx pointed to two cloaked figures -advancing across the open space towards the water’s -edge.</p> - -<p>“Hush!” whispered the recluse. “They are bound -to come this way now.”</p> - -<p>The two girls were, however, for the moment, apparently -occupied with another intention. The taller -of the two stopped and picked up something from -the ground, and then approaching close to the lake’s -edge raised her arm and flung it far into the water.</p> - -<p>The object she threw must have been a stick or a -stone of considerable size, for the splash it produced -was startling.</p> - -<p>The result was also startling. From a little island -in the middle of the lake, rose suddenly, with a tremendous -flapping, several large and broad-winged -birds. They flew in heavy circles, at first, over the -island; and then, descending to the water’s level,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> -went splashing and flapping across its surface, uttering -strange cries.</p> - -<p>The noise made by these birds had hardly subsided, -as they settled down in a thick bed of reeds, when, -once more, that terrible inhuman wail rang out upon -the night. Both men peered forth anxiously from -their hiding-place, to see the effect of this sound upon -their two friends.</p> - -<p>They could see that they both stood stone-still -for a moment as if petrified by terror.</p> - -<p>Then they noticed that the taller of the two drew -her companion still nearer to the water’s edge.</p> - -<p>“If that yell begins again,” whispered the American, -“I shall go out and speak to them.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx made no answer. He prayed in his -heart that something would occur to initiate this -innocent Westerner a little more closely into the -workings of his inamorata’s mind. It seemed indeed -quite within the bounds of possibility that the recluse -might be gratified in this wish, for the girls began -rapidly advancing towards them, skirting the edge of -the lake.</p> - -<p>The two men watched their approach in silence, -the artist savouring with a deep imaginative excitement -the mystical glamour of the scene.</p> - -<p>He felt it would be indelibly and forever imprinted -on his mind, this hot heavily scented night, this -pallid-glimmering lake, those uneasy stirrings of the -wild-geese in their obscure reed-bed, and the frightful -hush of the listening woods, as they seemed to -await a repetition of that unearthly cry.</p> - -<p>The girls had actually paused at the verge of the -lake, just in front of their hiding-place; so near, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> -fact, that by stretching out his arm, from behind -his willowy screen, Dangelis could have touched -Gladys on the shoulder, when the fearfully expected -voice broke forth again upon the night.</p> - -<p>The men could see the visible tremor of panic-fear -quiver through Lacrima’s slight frame.</p> - -<p>“Oh, let us go!—let us go!” she pleaded, pulling -with feverish fingers at her companion’s cloak.</p> - -<p>But Gladys folded her arms and flung back her -head.</p> - -<p>“Little coward!” she murmured in a low unshaken -voice. “I am not afraid of a mad girl’s yelling. -Look! there’s one of those birds going back to the -island!”</p> - -<p>Once more the inhuman wail trembled across the -water.</p> - -<p>“Gladys! Gladys dear!” cried the panic-stricken -girl, “I cannot endure it! I shall go mad myself if -we do not go! I’ll do anything you ask me! I’ll -go anywhere with you! Only—please—let us go -away now!”</p> - -<p>The sound was repeated again, and this time it -proceeded from a quarter much nearer them. All -four listeners held their breath. Presently the Italian -made a terrified gesture and pointed frantically to -the right bank of the lake.</p> - -<p>“I see her!” she cried, “I see her! She is coming -towards us!”</p> - -<p>The frightened girl made a movement as if she -would break away from her companion and flee into -the darkness of the trees.</p> - -<p>Gladys clasped her firmly in her arms.</p> - -<p>“No—no!” she said, “no running off! Remember<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> -our agreement! There’s nothing really to be afraid -of. I’m not afraid.”</p> - -<p>A slight quiver in her voice a little belied the calmness -of this statement. She was indeed torn at that -moment between a very natural desire to escape -herself and an insatiable craving to prolong her -companion’s agitation.</p> - -<p>In her convulsive terror the Italian, unable to free -herself from the elder girl’s enfolding arms, buried -her head in the other’s cloak.</p> - -<p>Thus linked, the two might have posed for a picture -of heroic sisterly solicitude, in the presence of -extreme danger.</p> - -<p>Once more that ghastly cry resounded through the -silence; and several nocturnal birds, from distant portions -of the wood, replied to it with their melancholy -hootings.</p> - -<p>The white-garbed figure of the mad girl, her arms -tossed tragically above her head, came swaying -towards them. She moved unevenly, and staggered -in her advance, as if her volition had not complete -power over her movements. Gladys was evidently -considerably alarmed herself now. She clutched at -a chance of combining escape with triumph.</p> - -<p>“Say you let me off that promise!” she whispered -hoarsely, “and we’ll run together! We’re quite -close to the way out.”</p> - -<p>Who can read the obscure recesses of the human -mind, or gauge the supernatural strength that lurks -amid the frailest nerves?</p> - -<p>This reference to her sublime contract was the one -thing needed to rouse the abandoned soul of the -Pariah. For one brief second more the powers of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> -darkness struggled over her bowed head with the -powers of light.</p> - -<p>Then with a desperate movement the Italian rose -erect, flung aside her cousin’s arms, turned boldly -towards the approaching maniac, and ran straight to -meet her. Her unexpected appearance produced -an immediate effect upon the unhappy girl. Her -wildly-tossing arms fell to her side. Her wailing -died away in pathetic sobs, and these also quickly -ceased.</p> - -<p>Lacrima seemed to act like one possessed of some -invincible magic. One might have dreamed that now -for the first time for uncounted ages this unholy -shrine of heathen tradition was invaded by an emissary -of the true Faith.</p> - -<p>Gladys, who had reeled bewildered against the wood-work -of an ancient weir, that formed the outlet to -the lake, leaned in complete prostration of astonishment -upon this support, and gazed helplessly and -dumbly at the two figures. She was too petrified -with amazement to notice the appearance of Ralph -and Maurice, who, also absorbed in watching this -strange encounter, had half-emerged from their -concealment.</p> - -<p>The three onlookers saw the Italian lay her hands -upon the girl’s forehead, smooth back her hair, kiss -her gently on the brow, and fling her own cloak over -her bare shoulders. They heard her murmuring -again and again some soft repetition of soothing -words. Dangelis caught the liquid syllables of the -Tuscan tongue. Evidently in her excitement the -child of Genoa the Superb had reverted to the language -of her fathers.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span></p> - -<p>The next thing they saw was the slow retreat of the -two together, towards the keeper’s cottage; the arm -of the Italian clinging tenderly round the maniac’s -waist.</p> - -<p>At this point Dangelis stepped forward and made -himself known to Gladys.</p> - -<p>The expression on the face of Mr. Romer’s -daughter, when she recognized the American, was a -palimpsest of conflicting emotions. Her surprise was -still more intense when Mr. Quincunx stepped out -from the shadow of the drooping tree and raised his -hat to her. Her eyes for the moment looked positively -scared; and her mouth opened, like the mouth -of a bewildered infant. The tone with which the -citizen of Ohio addressed the confused young lady -made the heart of Mr. Quincunx leap for joy.</p> - -<p>“I am astonished at you,” he said. “I should not -have believed such a thing possible! Your only excuse -is that this infernal jest of yours has turned out so -well for the people concerned, and so shamefully for -yourself. How could you treat that brave foreign -child so brutally? Why—I saw her trembling and -trembling, and trying to get away; and you were -holding—actually holding her—while that poor -mad thing came nearer! It’s a good thing for you -that the Catholic spirit in her burst out at last. Do -you know what spell she used to bring that girl to -her senses? A spell that you will never understand, -my friend, for all this baptism and confirmation -business! Why—she quoted passages out of the -Litany of Our Lady! I heard her clearly, and I recognized -the words. I am a damned atheist myself, -but if ever I felt religion to be justified it was when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> -your cousin stopped that girl’s crying. It was like -real magic. You ought to be thoroughly proud of -her! I shall tell her when I see her what I feel about -her.”</p> - -<p>Gladys rose from her seat on the weir and faced -them haughtily. Her surprise once over, and the -rebuke having fallen, she became mistress of herself -again.</p> - -<p>“I suppose,” she said, completely ignoring Mr. Quincunx, -“we’d better follow those two, and see if Lacrima -gets her safely into the house. I fancy she’ll -have no difficulty about it. Of course if she had not -done this I should have had to do it myself. But -not knowing Italian”—she added this with a sneer—“I -am not so suitable a mad-house nurse.”</p> - -<p>“It was her good heart, Gladys,” responded the -American; “not her Italian, nor her Litany, that -soothed that girl’s mind. I wish your heart, my -friend, were half as good.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” returned the fair girl quite cheerfully, -“we’ll leave my heart for the present, and see how -Lacrima has got on.”</p> - -<p>She took the arm which Dangelis had not offered, -but which his chivalry forbade him to refuse, and -together they proceeded to follow the heroic Genoese.</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx shuffled unregarded behind them.</p> - -<p>They had hardly reached the keeper’s cottage, a -desolate and ancient erection, of the usual stone -material, darkened with damp and overshadowed by -a moss-grown oak, when Lacrima herself came towards -them.</p> - -<p>She started with surprise at seeing, in the shadowy -obscurity, the figures of the two men.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span></p> - -<p>Her surprise changed to pleasure when she recognized -their identity.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” she said. “You come too late. Gladys -and I have had quite an adventure, haven’t we, -cousin?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx glanced at the American to see if he -embraced the full generosity of the turn she gave to -the situation.</p> - -<p>Gladys took advantage of it in a moment. “You -see I was right after all,” she remarked. “I knew -you would lose your alarm directly you saw that -girl! When it came to the point you were braver -than I. You dear thing!” She kissed the Italian -ostentatiously, and then retook possession of her -admirer’s arm.</p> - -<p>“I got her up to her room without waking her -father,” said Lacrima. “She had left the door wide -open. Gladys is going to ask Mr. Romer to have her -sent away to some sort of home. I believe they’ll -be able to cure her. She talked quite sensibly to -me. I am sure she only wants to be treated gently. -I’m afraid her father’s unkind to her. You are going -to arrange for her being sent away, aren’t you, -Gladys?”</p> - -<p>The elder girl turned. “Of course, my dear, of -course. I don’t go back on my word.”</p> - -<p>The four friends proceeded to take the nearest -path through the wood. One by one the frightened -wild-geese returned to their roosting-place on the -island. The water-rats resumed uninterrupted their -night-prowls along the reedy edge of the lake, and -the wood-pigeons settled down in peace upon their -high branches.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span></p> - -<p>Long before Dead Man’s Lane was reached the -two couples had drifted conveniently apart in their -lingering return.</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx had seldom been more tender -towards his little friend than he was that night; and -Lacrima, still strangely happy in the after-ebb of her -supernatural exultation, nestled closely to his side as -they drifted leisurely across the fields.</p> - -<p>In what precise manner the deeply-betrayed Gladys -regained the confidence of her lover need not be -related. The artist from Ohio would have been adamantine -indeed, could he have resisted the appeal -which the amorous telepathy of this magnetic young -person gave her the power of expressing.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, in her low-pitched room, with the -shadow of the oak-tree coming and going across her -face, as the moonlight shone out or faded, Nance -Purvis lay placidly asleep, dreaming no more of -strange phantoms or of stinging whips, but of gentle -spirits from some translunar region, who caressed her -forehead with hands softer than moth’s wings and -spoke to her in a tongue that was like the moonlight -itself made audible.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">LACRIMA</span></h2> - -<p>Mr. John Goring was feeding his rabbits. -In the gross texture of his clayish nature -there were one or two curious layers of a -pleasanter material. One of these, for instance, was -now shown in the friendly equanimity with which he -permitted a round-headed awkward youth, more than -half idiotic, to assist him at this innocent task.</p> - -<p>Between Mr. Goring and Bert Leerd there existed -one of those inexplicable friendships, which so often, -to the bewilderment of moral philosophers, bring a -twilight of humanity into the most sinister mental -caves. The farmer had saved this youth from a conspiracy -of Poor-Law officials who were on the point -of consigning him to an asylum. He had assumed -responsibility for his good-behaviour and had given -him a lodging—his parents being both dead—in the -Priory itself.</p> - -<p>Not a few young servant-girls, selected by Mr. -Goring rather for their appearance than their disposition, -had been dismissed from his service, after -violent and wrathful scenes, for being caught teasing -this unfortunate; and even the cook, a female of the -most taciturn and sombre temper, was compelled to -treat him with comparative consideration. The gossips -of Nevilton swore, as one may believe, that the -farmer, in being kind to this boy, was only obeying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> -the mandate of nature; but no one who had ever -beheld Bert’s mother, gave the least credence to such -a story.</p> - -<p>Another of Mr. Goring’s softer aspects was his -mania for tame rabbits. These he kept in commodious -and spacious hutches at the back of his house, -and every year wonderful and interesting additions -were added to their number.</p> - -<p>On this particular morning both the farmer and -his idiot were absorbed and rapt in contemplation before -the gambols of two large new pets—great silky -lop-eared things—who had arrived the night before. -Mr. Goring was feeding them with fresh lettuces, -carefully handed to him by his assistant, who divested -these plants of their rough outer leaves and dried -them on the palms of his hands.</p> - -<p>“The little ’un do lap ’em up fastest, master,” -remarked the boy. “I mind how those others, with -them girt ears, did love a fresh lettuce.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Goring watched with mute satisfaction the -quivering nostrils and nibbling mouth of the dainty -voracious creature.</p> - -<p>“Mustn’t let them have more than three at a -time, Bert,” he remarked. “But they do love them, -as you say.”</p> - -<p>“What be going to call this little ’un, master?” -asked the boy.</p> - -<p>Mr. Goring straightened his back and drew a deep -breath.</p> - -<p>“What do you think, Bert, my boy?” he cried, in -a husky excited tone, prodding his assistant jocosely -with the handle of his riding-whip; “What do you -think? What would you call her?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Ah! I knew she were a she, master!” chuckled -the idiot. “I knew that, afore she were out of the -packer-case! Call ’er?” and the boy leered an indescribable -leer. “By gum! I can tell ’ee that fast -enough. Call ’er Missy Lacrima, pretty little Missy -Lacrima, wot lives up at the House, and wot is going -to be missus ’ere afore long.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Goring surveyed his protégé for a moment -with sublime contentment, and then humorously -flicked at his ears with his whip.</p> - -<p>“Right! my imp of Satan. Right! my spawn of -Belial. That is just what I <em>was</em> thinking.”</p> - -<p>“She be silky and soft to handle,” went on the -idiot, “and her, up at the House, be no contrary, -or I’m darned mistaken.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Goring expressed his satisfaction at his friend’s -intelligence by giving him a push that nearly threw -him backwards.</p> - -<p>“And I’ll tell you this, my boy,” he remarked confidentially, -surveying the long line of well-filled hutches, -“we’ve never yet bought such a rabbit, as this foreign -one will turn out, or you and I be damned fools.”</p> - -<p>“The young lady’ll get mighty fond of these ’ere -long-ears, looks so to me,” observed the youth. “Hope -she won’t be a feeding ’em with wet cabbage, same -as maids most often do.”</p> - -<p>The farmer grew even more confidential, drawing -close to his assistant and addressing him in the tone -customary with him on market-days, when feeling -the ribs of fatted cattle.</p> - -<p>“That same young lady is coming up here this -morning, Bert,” he remarked significantly. “The -squire’s giving her a note to bring along.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span></p> - -<p>“And you be going to bring matters to a head, -master,” rejoined the boy. “That’s wise and thoughtful -of ’ee, choosing time, like, and season, as the Book -says. Maids be wonderful sly when the sun’s down, -while of mornings they be meek as guinea-fowls.”</p> - -<p>The appearance of the Priory servant—no very -demure figure—put a sudden stop to these touching -confidences.</p> - -<p>“Miss Lacrima, with a note, in the front Parlour!” -the damsel shouted.</p> - -<p>“You needn’t call so loud, girl,” grumbled the -farmer. “And how often must I tell you to say -‘Miss Traffio,’ not ‘Miss Lacrima’?”</p> - -<p>The girl tossed her head and pouted her lips.</p> - -<p>“A person isn’t used to waiting on foreigners,” she -muttered.</p> - -<p>Mr. Goring’s only reply to this remark was to -pinch her arm unmercifully. He then pushed her -aside, and entering the kitchen, walked rapidly -through to the front of the house. The front parlour -in the Priory was nothing more or less than the old -entrance-gate of the Cistercian Monastery, preserved -through four centuries, with hardly a change.</p> - -<p>The roof was high and vaulted. In the centre of -the vault a great many-petalled rose, carved in -Leonian stone, seemed to gather all the curves and -lines of the masonry together, and hold them in -religious concentration.</p> - -<p>The fire-place—a thing of more recent, but still -sufficiently ancient date—displayed the delicate and -gracious fantasy of some local Jacobean artist, who -had lavished upon its ornate mouldings a more personal -feeling than one is usually aware of in these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> -things. In place of a fire the wide grate was, at this -moment, full of new-grown bracken fronds, evidently -recently picked, for they were still fresh and green.</p> - -<p>In front of the fire-place stood Lacrima with the -letter in her hand. Had Mr. Goring been a little less -persuaded of the “meekness” of this young person, -he would have recognized something not altogether -friendly to himself and his plans in the strained white -face she raised to him and the stiff gloved hand she -extended.</p> - -<p>He begged her to be seated. She waved aside the -chair he offered, and handed him the letter. He tore -this open and glanced carelessly at its contents.</p> - -<p>The letter was indeed brief enough, containing -nothing but the following gnomic words: “Refusal -or no refusal,” signed with an imperial flourish.</p> - -<p>He flung it down on the table, and came to business -at once.</p> - -<p>“You mustn’t let that little mistake of Auber -Great Meadow mean anything, missie,” he said. -“You were too hasty with a fellow that time—too -hasty and coy-like. Those be queer maids’ tricks, -that crying and running! But, bless my heart! -I don’t bear you any grudge for it. You needn’t -think it.”</p> - -<p>He advanced a step—while she retreated, very -pale and very calm, her little fingers clasped nervously -together. She managed to keep the table between -them, so that, barring a grotesque and obvious pursuit -of her, she was well out of his reach.</p> - -<p>“I have a plain and simple offer to make to you, -my dear,” he continued, “and it is one that can do -you no hurt or shame. I am not one of those who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> -waste words in courting a girl, least of all a young -lady of education like yourself. The fact is, I am -a lonely man—without wife or child—and as far -as I know no relations on earth, except brother -Mortimer. And I have a pretty tidy sum laid up in -Yeoborough Bank, and the farm is a good farm. I -do not say that the house is all that could be wished; -but ’tis a pretty house, too, and one that could stand -improvement. In plain words, dearie, what I want -you to say now is ‘yes,’ and no nonsense,—for what -I am doing,” his voice became quite husky at this -point, as if her propinquity really did cause him some -emotion, “is asking you, point-blank, and no beating -about the bush, whether you will marry me!”</p> - -<p>Lacrima’s face during this long harangue would -have formed a strange picture for any old Cistercian -monk shadowing that ancient room. At first she -had kept unmoved her strained and tensely-strung -impassivity. But by degrees, as the astounding -character of the man’s communication began to dawn -upon her, her look changed into one of sheer blind -terror. When the final fatal word crossed the -farmer’s lips, she put her hand to her throat as though -to suppress an actual cry. She had never looked -for this;—not in her wildest dreams of what destiny, -in this curst place, could inflict upon her. This -surpassed the worst of possible imagination! It was -a deep below the deep. She found herself at first -completely unable to utter a word. She could only -make a vague helpless gesture with her hand as -though dumbly waving the whole world away.</p> - -<p>Then at last with a terrible effort she broke the -silence.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span></p> - -<p>“What you say is utterly—utterly impossible! -It is—it is too—”</p> - -<p>She could not go on. But she had said enough to -carry, even to a brain composed of pure clay, the -conviction that the acquiescence he demanded was -not a thing to be easily won. He thought of his -brother-in-law’s enigmatic note. Possibly the owner -of Leo’s Hill had ways of persuading recalcitrant -foreign girls that were quite hidden from him. The -psychological irony of the thing lay in the fact that -in proportion as her terror increased, his desire for -her increased proportionally. Had she been willing,—had -she been even passive and indifferent,—the curious -temperament of Mr. Goring would have been -scarcely stirred. He might have gone on pursuing -her, out of spite or out of obstinacy; but the pursuit -would have been no more than an interlude, a distraction, -among his other affairs.</p> - -<p>But that look of absolute terror on her face—the -look of a hunted animal under the hot breath of the -hounds—appealed to something profoundly deep in -his nature. Oddly enough—such are the eccentricities -of the human mind—the very craving to -possess her which her terror excited, was accompanied -by a rush of extraordinary pity for himself as the -object of her distaste.</p> - -<p>He let her pass—making no movement to interrupt -her escape. He let her hurry out of the garden -and into the road—without a word; but as soon as -she was gone, he sat down on the wooden seat under -the front of the house and resting his head upon his -chin began blubbering like a great baby. Big salt -tears fell from his small pig’s eyes, rolled down his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> -tanned cheeks, and falling upon the dust caked it -into little curious globules.</p> - -<p>Two wandering ants of a yellowish species, dragging -prisoner after them one of a black kind, encountered -these minute globes of sand and sorrow, and explored -them with interrogatory feelers.</p> - -<p>Mingled with this feeling of pity for himself under -the girl’s disdain was a remarkable wave of immense -tenderness and consideration for her. Short of letting -her escape him, how delicately he would cherish, how -tenderly he would pet and fondle her, how assiduously -he would care for her! The consciousness of this -emotion of soft tenderness towards the girl increased -his pity for himself under the weight of the girl’s -contempt. How ungrateful she was! And yet that -very look of terror, that stifled cry of the hunted -hare, which made him so resolved to win her, produced -in him an exquisite feeling of melting regard -for her youth, her softness, her fragility. When she -did belong to him, oh how tenderly he would treat -her! How he would humour her and give her everything -she could want!</p> - -<p>The shadowy Cistercian monks would no doubt, -from their clairvoyant catholic knowledge of the -subtleties of the human soul, have quite understood -the cause of those absurd tears caking the dust under -that wooden seat. But the yellowish ants continued -to be very perplexed and confused by their presence. -Thunder-drops tasting of salt were no doubt as -strange to them as hail-stones tasting of wine would -have been to Mr. Goring. But the ants were not the -only creatures amazed at this new development in -the psychology of the man of clay. From one corner<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> -of the house peeped the servant-girl, full of tremulous -curiosity, and from another the idiot Bert shuffled -and spied, full of most anxious and perturbed concern.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the innocent cause of this little drama -was making her way with drooping head and dragging -steps down the south drive. When she reached -the house she was immediately informed by one of -the servants that Mr. Romer wished to see her in the -study.</p> - -<p>She was so dazed and broken, so forlorn and indifferent, -that she made her way straight to this room -without pause or question.</p> - -<p>She found Mr. Romer in a most lively and affable -mood. He made her sit down opposite him, and -handed her chocolates out of a decorative Parisian -box which lay on the table.</p> - -<p>“Well, young lady,” he said, “I know, without -your telling me, that an important event has occurred! -Indeed, to confess the truth, I have, for a -long time, foreseen its occurrence. And what did you -answer to my worthy brother’s flattering proposal? It -isn’t every girl, in your peculiar position, who is as -lucky as this. Come—don’t be shy! There is no -need for shyness with me. What did you say to -him?”</p> - -<p>Lacrima looked straight in front of her out of the -window. She saw the waving branches of a great -dark yew-tree and above it the white clouds. She -felt like one whose guardian-angel has deserted her, -leaving her the prey of blind elemental forces. -She thought vaguely in her mind that she would -make a desperate appeal to Vennie Seldom. Something -in Vennie gave her a consciousness of strength.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> -To this strength, at the worst, she would cling for -help. She was thus in a measure fortified in advance -against any outburst in which her employer might -indulge. But Mr. Romer indulged in no outburst.</p> - -<p>“I suppose,” he said calmly, “that I may take for -granted that you have refused my good brother’s -offer?”</p> - -<p>Lacrima nodded, without speaking.</p> - -<p>“That is quite what I expected. You would not -be yourself if you had not done so. And since you -have done so it is of course quite impossible for me -to put any pressure upon you.”</p> - -<p>He paused and carefully selecting the special kind -of chocolate that appealed to him put it deliberately -in his mouth.</p> - -<p>Lacrima was so amazed at the mild tone he used -and at the drift of his words, that she turned full -upon him her large liquid eyes with an expression -in them of something almost like gratitude. The corners -of her mouth twitched. The reaction was too -great. She felt she could not keep back her tears.</p> - -<p>Mr. Romer quietly continued.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span></p> -<p>“In all these things, my dear young lady, the world -presents itself as a series of bargains and compromises. -My brother has made you his offer—a -flattering and suitable one. In the girlish excitement -of the first shock you have totally refused to -listen to him. But the world moves round. Such -natural moods do not last forever. They often do -not last beyond the next day! In order to help you—to -make it easier for you—to bring such a mood -to an end, I also, in my turn, have a little proposal -to make.”</p> - -<p>Lacrima’s expression changed with terrible rapidity; -she stared at him panic-stricken.</p> - -<p>“My proposal is this,” said Mr. Romer, quietly -handing her the box of chocolates, and smiling as she -waved it away. “As I said just now, the world is a -place of bargains and compromises. Nothing ever -occurs between human beings which is not the result -of some unuttered transaction of occult diplomacy. -Led by your instincts you reject my brother’s offer. -Led by my instincts I offer you the following persuasion -to overcome your refusal.”</p> - -<p>He placed another chocolate in his mouth.</p> - -<p>“I know well,” he went on, “your regard and fondness—I -might use even stronger words—for our -friend Maurice Quincunx. Now what I propose is -this. I will settle upon Maurice,—you shall see -the draft itself and my signature upon it,—an income -sufficient to enable him to live comfortably and happily, -wherever he pleases, without doing a stroke of -work, and without the least anxiety. I will arrange -it so that he cannot touch the capital of the sum -I make over to him, and has nothing to do but to -sign receipts for each quarter’s dividend, as the bank -makes them over to him.</p> - -<p>“The sum I will give him will be so considerable, -that the income from it will amount to not less than -three hundred pounds a year. With this at his disposal -he will be able to live wherever he likes, either -here or elsewhere. And what is more,”—here Mr. -Romer looked intently and significantly at the trembling -girl—“what is more, he will be in a position -to <em>marry</em> whenever he may desire to do so. I believe”—he -could not refrain from a tone of sardonic irony<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> -as he added this—“that you have found him not -particularly well able to look after himself. I shall -sign this document, rendering your friend free from -financial anxiety for the rest of his life, on the day -when you are married to Mr. Goring.”</p> - -<p>When he had finished speaking Lacrima continued -to stare at him with a wide horror-struck gaze.</p> - -<p>Mechanically she noticed the peculiar way in -which his eyebrows met one another across a scar -on his forehead. This scar and the little grey bristles -that crossed it remained in her mind long afterwards, -indelibly associated with the thoughts that then -passed through her brain. Chief among these thoughts -was a deep-lurking, heart-clutching dread of her own -conscience, and a terrible shapeless fear that this subterranean -conscience might debar her from the <em>right</em> -to make her appeal to Vennie. From Mr. Romer’s persecution -she could appeal; but how could she appeal -against his benevolence to her friend, even though the -path of that benevolence lay over her own body?</p> - -<p>She rose from her seat, too troubled and confused -even to hate the man who thus played the part of -an ironic Providence.</p> - -<p>“Let me go,” she said, waving aside once more the -bright-coloured box of chocolates which he had the -diabolical effrontery to offer her again. “Let me go. -I want to be alone. I want to think.”</p> - -<p>He opened the door for her, and she passed out. -Once out of his presence she rushed madly upstairs -to her own room, flung herself on the bed, and remained, -for what seemed to her like centuries of -horror, without movement and without tears, staring -up at the ceiling.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span></p> - -<p>The luncheon bell sounded, but she did not heed -it. From the open window floated in the smell of -the white cluster-roses, scented like old wine, which -encircled the terrace pillars. Blending with this -fragrance came the interminable voice of the wood-pigeons, -and every now and then a sharp wild cry, -from the peacocks on the east lawn. Two—three -hours passed thus, and still she did not move. A -certain queer-shaped crack above the door occupied -her superficial attention, very much in the same way -as the scar on Mr. Romer’s forehead. Any very -precise formulation of her thoughts during this long -period would be difficult to state.</p> - -<p>Her mind had fallen into that confused and feverish -bewilderment that comes to us in hours between -sleeping and waking. The clearest image that shaped -itself to her consciousness during these hours was the -image of herself as dead, and, by means of her death, -of Maurice Quincunx being freed from his hated -office-work, and enabled to live according to his -pleasure. She saw him walking to and fro among -rows of evening primroses—his favourite flowers—and -in place of a cabbage-leaf—so fantastic were her -dreams—she saw his heavy head ornamented with -a broad, new Panama-hat, purchased with the price -of her death.</p> - -<p>Her mind gave no definite shape or form to this -image of herself dying. The thought of it followed -so naturally from the idea of a union with the -Priory-tenant, that there seemed no need to separate -the two things. To marry Mr. John Goring was just -a simple sentence of death. The only thing to make -sure of, was that before she actually died, this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> -precious document, liberating her friend forever, -should be signed and sealed. Oddly enough she never -for a moment doubted Mr. Romer’s intention of carrying -out his part of the contract if she carried out hers. -As he had said, the world was designed and arranged -for bargains between men and women; and if her -great bargain meant the putting of life itself into -the scale—well! she was ready.</p> - -<p>Strangely enough, the final issue of her feverish -self-communings was a sense of deep and indescribable -peace. It was more of a relief to her than anyone -not acquainted with the peculiar texture of a Pariah’s -mind could realize, to be spared that desperate appeal -to Vennie Seldom. In a dumb inarticulate way she -felt that, without making such an appeal, the spirit -of the Nevilton nun was supporting and strengthening -her. Did Vennie know of her dilemma, she would -be compelled to resort to some drastic step to stop -the sacrifice, just as one would be compelled to hold -out a hand of rescue to some determined suicide. But -she felt in the depths of her heart that if Vennie -were in her position she would make the same -choice.</p> - -<p>The long afternoon was still only half over, when—comforted -and at peace with herself, as a devoted -patriot might be at peace, when the throw of the -dice has appointed him as his country’s liberator—she -rose from her recumbent position, and sitting on -the edge of her bed turned over the pages of her -tiny edition of St. Thomas à Kempis.</p> - -<p>It had been long since she had opened this volume. -Indeed, isolated from contact with any Catholic -influence except that of the philosophical Mr. Taxater,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> -Lacrima had been recently drifting rather far away -from the church of her fathers. This complete upheaval -of her whole life threw her back upon her old -faith.</p> - -<p>Like so many other women of suppressed romantic -emotions, when the moment came for some heroic -sacrifice for the sake of her friend, she at once threw -into the troubled waters the consecrated oil that had -anointed the half-forgotten piety of her childhood.</p> - -<p>One curious and interesting psychological fact in -connection with this new trend of feeling in her, was -the fact that the actual realistic horror of being, in -a literal and material sense, at the mercy of Mr. John -Goring never presented itself to her mind at all. -Its very dreadfulness, being a thing that amounted to -sheer death, blurred and softened its tangible and -palpable image.</p> - -<p>Yet it must not be supposed that she meditated -definitely upon any special line of action. She formulated -no plan of self-destruction. For some strange -reason, it was much less the bodily terror of the -idea that rose up awful and threatening before her, -than its spiritual and moral counterpart.</p> - -<p>Had Lacrima been compelled, like poor Sonia in the -Russian novel, to become a harlot for the sake of -those she loved, it would have been the mental -rather than the physical outrage that would have -weighed upon her.</p> - -<p>She was of that curious human type which separates -the body from the soul, in all these things. -She had always approached life rather through her -mind than through her senses, and it was in the imagination -that she found both her catastrophes and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> -recoveries. In this particular case, the obsessing image -of death had for the moment quite obliterated the -more purely realistic aspect of what she was contemplating. -Her feeling may perhaps be best described -by saying that whenever she imaged the farmer’s -possession of her, it was always as if what he possessed -was no more than a dead inert corpse, about -whose fate none, least of all herself, could have any -further care.</p> - -<p>She had just counted the strokes of the church -clock striking four, when she heard Gladys’ steps in -the adjoining room. She hurriedly concealed the -little purple-covered volume, and lay back once more -upon her pillows. She fervently prayed in her heart -that Gladys might be ignorant of what had occurred, -but her knowledge of the relations between father and -daughter made this a very forlorn hope.</p> - -<p>Such as it was, it was entirely dispelled as soon as -the fair-haired creature glided in and sat down at -the foot of her bed.</p> - -<p>Gladys looked at her cousin with intent and luxurious -interest; her expression being very much what -one might suppose the countenance of a young pagan -priestess to have worn, as she gazed, dreamily and -sweetly, in a pause of the sacrificial procession, at -some doomed heifer “lowing at the skies, and all her -silken flanks with garlands dressed.”</p> - -<p>“So I hear that you are going to be married,” she -began at once, speaking in a slow, liquid voice, and -toying indolently with her friend’s shoe-strings.</p> - -<p>“Please—please don’t talk about it,” murmured -the Italian. “Nothing is settled yet. I would so -much rather not think of it now.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span></p> - -<p>“But, how silly!” cried the other, with a melodious -little laugh. “Of course we must talk about it. It is -so extremely exciting! I shall be seeing uncle John -today and I must congratulate him. I am sure he -doesn’t half know how lucky he is.”</p> - -<p>Lacrima jumped up from where she lay and stepping -to the window looked out over the sunlit park.</p> - -<p>Gladys rose too, and standing behind her cousin, -put her arms round her waist.</p> - -<p>“No, I am sure he doesn’t realize how sweet you -are,” she whispered. “You darling little thing,—you -little, shy, frightened thing—you must tell me -all about it! I’ll try not to tease you—I really -will! What a clever, naughty little girl, it has been, -peeping and glancing at a poor elderly farmer and -inflaming his simple heart! But all your friends are -rather well advanced in age, aren’t they, dear? I -expect uncle John is really no older than Mr. Quincunx -or James Andersen. What tricks do you use, darling, -to attract all these people?</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span></p> -<p>“I’ll tell you what it is! It’s the way you clasp -your fingers, and keep groping with your hands in -the air in front of you, as if you were blind. I’ve -noticed that trick of yours for a long time. I expect -it attracts them awfully! I expect they all long to -take those little wrists and hold them tight! And -the drooping, dragging way you walk, too; that no -doubt they find quite enthralling. It has often irritated -<em>me</em>, but I can quite see now why you do it. -It must make them long to support you in their -strong arms! What a crafty little puss she is! And -I have sometimes taken her for no better than a -little simpleton! I see I shall not for long be the -only person allowed to kiss our charming Lacrima! -So I must make the best of my opportunities, -mustn’t I?”</p> - -<p>Suiting her action to her words she turned the girl -towards her with a vigorous movement, and overcoming -her reluctance, embraced her softly, whispering, -as she kissed her averted mouth,—</p> - -<p>“Uncle John won’t do this half so prettily as I do, -will he? But oh, how you must have played your -tricks upon him—cunning, cunning little thing!”</p> - -<p>Lacrima had by this time reached the end of her -endurance. With a sudden flash of genuine Italian -anger she flung her cousin back, with such unexpected -violence, that the elder girl would actually have -fallen to the floor, if she had not encountered in her -collapse the arm of the wicker chair which stood -behind her.</p> - -<p>She rose silent and malignant.</p> - -<p>“So that’s what we gentle, wily ones do, is it, -when we lose our little tempers! All right, my -friend, all right! I shall remember.”</p> - -<p>She walked haughtily to the door that divided their -rooms.</p> - -<p>“The sooner I am married,” she cried, as a final -hit, “the sooner <em>you</em> will be—and I shall be married -soon—soon—soon; perhaps before this summer is -out!”</p> - -<p>Lacrima stood for some moments rigid and unmoving. -Then there came over her an irresistible -longing to escape from this house, and flee far off, -anywhere, anyhow, so long as she could be alone with -her misery, alone with her tragic resolution.</p> - -<p>The invasion of Gladys had made this resolution<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> -a very different thing from what it had seemed an -hour ago. But she must recover herself! She must -see things again in the clearer, larger light of sublime -sacrifice. She must purge the baseness of her cousin’s -sensual magnetism out of her brain and her heart!</p> - -<p>She hurriedly fastened on her hat, took her faded -parasol, slipped the tiny St. Thomas into her dress, -and ran down the great oak staircase. She hurried -past the entrance without turning aside to greet the -impassive Mrs. Romer, seated as usual in her accustomed -place, and skirting the east lawns emerged -from the little postern-gate into the park. Crossing -a half-cut hay-field and responding gravely and gently -to the friendly greetings of the hay-makers, she -entered the Yeoborough road just below the steep -ascent, between high overshadowing hedges, of Dead -Man’s Lane.</p> - -<p>Whether from her first exit from the house, she -had intended to follow this path, she could hardly -herself have told. It was the instinct of a woman at -bay, seeking out, not the strong that could help her, -but the weak that she herself could help. It was -also perhaps the true Pariah impulse, which drives -these victims of the powerful and the well-constituted, -to find rehabilitation in the society of one another.</p> - -<p>As she ascended the shadowy lane with its crumbling -banks of sandy soil and its overhanging trees, -she felt once again how persistently this heavy -luxuriant landscape dragged her earthwards and -clogged the wings of her spirit. The tall grasses -growing thick by the way-side enlaced themselves -with the elder-bushes and dog-wood, which in their -turn blended indissolubly with the lower branches<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> -of the elms. The lane itself was but a deep shadowy -path dividing a flowing sea of foliage, which seemed -to pour, in a tidal wave of suffocating fertility, over -the whole valley.</p> - -<p>The Italian struggled in vain against the depressing -influence of all these rank and umbrageous growths, -spreading out leafy arms to catch her and groping -towards her with moist adhesive tendrils. The lane -was full of a warm steamy vapour, like that of a -hot-house, to the heavy odour of which, every sort -of verdurous growing thing offered its contribution.</p> - -<p>There was a vague smell of funguses in the air, -though none were visible; and the idea of them may -only have been due to the presence of decaying wood -or the moist drooping stalks of the dead flowers of -the earlier season. Now and again the girl caught, -wafted upon a sudden stir of wind, the indescribably -sweet scent of honey-suckle—a sweetness almost -overpowering in its penetrating voluptuous approach. -Once, high up above her head, she saw a spray of this -fragrant parasite; not golden yellow, as it is where -the sun shines full upon it, but pallid and ivory-white. -In a curious way it seemed as if this Nevilton scenery -offered her no escape from the insidious sensuality -she fled.</p> - -<p>The indolent luxuriousness of Gladys seemed to -breathe from every mossy spore and to over-hang -every unclosing frond. And if Gladys was in the -leaves and grass, the remoter terror of Mr. Goring -was in the earth and clay. Between the two they -monopolized this whole corner of the planet, and -made everything between zenith and nadir their -privileged pasture.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span></p> - -<p>As she drew nearer to where Mr. Quincunx lived, -her burdened mind sought relief in focussing itself -upon him. She would be sure to find him in his -garden. That she knew, because the day was Saturday. -Should she tell him what had happened to her?</p> - -<p>Ah! that was indeed the crucial question! Was it -necessary that she should sacrifice herself for him -without his even knowing what she did?</p> - -<p>But he would have to know, sooner or later, of -this marriage. Everyone would be talking of it. It -would be bound to come to his ears.</p> - -<p>And what would he think of her if she said nothing? -What would he think of her, in any case, having -accepted such a degradation?</p> - -<p>Not to tell him at all, would throw a completely -false light upon the whole transaction. It would make -her appear treacherous, fickle, worldly-minded, shameless—wickedly -false to her unwritten covenant with -himself.</p> - -<p>To tell him, without giving him the true motive of -her sacrifice, would be, she felt sure, to bring down -his bitterest reproaches on her head.</p> - -<p>For a passing second she felt a wave of indignation -against him surge up in her heart. This, however, -she passionately suppressed, with the instinctive desire -of a woman who is sacrificing herself to feel the -object of such sacrifice worthy of what is offered.</p> - -<p>It was not long before she reached the gate of Mr. -Quincunx’s garden. Yes,—there he was—with his -wheel-barrow and his hoe—bending over his potatoes. -She opened the gate and walked quite close -up to him before he observed her. He greeted her in -his usual manner, with a smile of half-cynical,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> -half-affectionate welcome, and taking her by the hand -as he might have taken a child, he led her to the -one shady spot in his garden, where, under a weeping -ash, he had constructed a rough bench.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t expect you,” he said, when they were -seated. “I never do expect you. People like me who -have only Saturday afternoons to enjoy themselves -in don’t expect visitors. They count the hours -which are left to them before the night comes.”</p> - -<p>“But you have Sunday, my friend,” she said, laying -her hand upon his.</p> - -<p>“Sunday!” Mr. Quincunx muttered. “Do you call -Sunday a day? I regard Sunday as a sort of prison-exercise, -when all the convicts go walking up and -down and showing off their best clothes. I can neither -work nor read nor think on Sunday. I have to put on -my best clothes like the rest, and stand at my gate, -staring at the weather and wondering what the -hay-crop will be. The only interesting moments I -have on Sunday are when that silly-faced Wone, or -one of the Andersens, drifts this way, and we lean -over my wall and abuse the gentry.”</p> - -<p>“Poor dear!” said the girl pityingly. “I expect -the real truth is that you are so tired with your work -all the week, that you are glad enough to rest and -do nothing.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx’s nostrils dilated, and his drooping -moustache quivered. A smile of delicious and sardonic -humour wavered over the lower portion of his -face, while his grey eyes lost their sadness and -gleamed with a goblin-like merriment.</p> - -<p>“I am getting quite popular at the office,” he said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> -“I have learnt the secret of it now.”</p> - -<p>“And what is the secret?” asked Lacrima, suppressing -a queer little gasp in her throat.</p> - -<p>“Sucking up,” Mr. Quincunx answered, his face -flickering with subterranean amusement, “sucking up -to everyone in the place, from the manager to the -office boy.”</p> - -<p>Lacrima returned to him a very wan little smile.</p> - -<p>“I suppose you mean ingratiating yourself,” she -said; “you English have such funny expressions.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, ingratiating myself, pandering to them, flattering -them, agreeing with them, anticipating their -wishes, doing their work for them, telling lies for -them, abusing God to make them laugh, introducing -them to Guy de Maupassant, and even making a -few light references, now and again, to what Shakespeare -calls ‘country-matters.’”</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe a word you say,” protested Lacrima -in rather a quavering voice. “I believe you hate them -all and that they are all unkind to you. But I can quite -imagine you have to do more work than your own.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx’s countenance lost its merriment -instantaneously.</p> - -<p>“I believe you are as annoyed as Mr. Romer,” he -said, “that I should get on in the office. But I am -past being affected by that. I know what human -nature is! We are all really pleased when other -people get on badly, and are sorry when they do -well.”</p> - -<p>Lacrima felt as though the trees in the field opposite -had suddenly reversed themselves and were -waving their roots in the air.</p> - -<p>She gave a little shiver and pressed her hand to -her side.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span></p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx continued.</p> - -<p>“Of course you don’t like it when I tell you the -truth. Nobody likes to hear the truth. Human -beings lap up lies as pigs lap up milk. And women -are worst of all in that! No woman really can love -a person—not, at any rate, for long—who tells -her the truth! That is why women love clergymen, -because clergymen are brought up to lie. I saw you -laughing and amusing yourself the other evening with -Mr. Clavering—you and your friend Gladys. I -went the other way, so as not to interrupt such a -merry conversation.”</p> - -<p>Lacrima turned upon him at this.</p> - -<p>“I cannot understand how you can say such things -of me!” she cried. “It is too much. I won’t—I -won’t listen to it!”</p> - -<p>Her over-strained nerves broke down at last, and -covering her face with her hands, she burst into a fit -of convulsive sobs.</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx rose and stood gazing at her, -gloomily plucking at his beard.</p> - -<p>“And such are women!” he thought to himself. -“One can never tell them the least truth but they -burst into tears.”</p> - -<p>He waited thus in silence for one or two moments, -and then an expression of exquisite tenderness and -sympathy came into his face. His patient grey eyes -looked at her bowed head with the look of a sorrowful -god. Gently he sat down beside her and laid his -hand on her shoulder.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span></p> -<p>“Lacrima—dear—I am sorry—I oughtn’t to -have said that. I didn’t mean it. On my solemn -oath I didn’t mean it! Lacrima, please don’t cry. I -can’t bear it when you cry. It was all absolute nonsense -what I said just now. It is the devil that -gets into me and makes me say those things! -Lacrima—darling Lacrima—we won’t tease one -another any more.”</p> - -<p>Her sobs diminished under the obvious sincerity -of his words. She lifted up a tear-stained face and -threw her arms passionately round his neck.</p> - -<p>“I’ve no one but you,” she cried, “no one, no one!”</p> - -<p>For several minutes they embraced each other in -silence—the girl’s breast quivering with the after-sighs -of her emotion and their tears mingling together -and falling on Mr. Quincunx’s beard. Had Gladys -Romer beheld them at that moment she would certainly -have been strengthened in her healthy-minded -mocking contempt for sentimental “slobbering.”</p> - -<p>When they had resumed a more normal mood their -conversation continued gently and quietly.</p> - -<p>“Of course you are right,” said Mr. Quincunx. “I -am not really happy at the office. Who <em>could</em> be -happy in a place of that kind? But it is my life—and -one has to do what one can with one’s life! I -have to pretend to myself that they like me there, and -that I am making myself useful—otherwise I simply -could not go on. I have to pretend. That’s what -it is! It is my pet illusion, my little fairy-story. It -was that that made me get angry with you—that and -the devil. One doesn’t like to have one’s fairy-stories -broken into by the brutal truth.”</p> - -<p>“Poor dear!” said Lacrima softly, stroking his -hand with a gesture of maternal tenderness.</p> - -<p>“If there was any hope of this wretched business -coming to an end,” Maurice went on, “it would be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span> -different. Then I would curse all these people to -hell and have done with it. But what can I do? -I am already past middle age. I shouldn’t be able -to get anything else if I gave it up. And I don’t -want to leave Nevilton while you are here.”</p> - -<p>The girl looked intently at him. Then she folded -her hands on her lap and began gravely.</p> - -<p>“I have something to tell you, Maurice dear. -Something very important. What would you say if -I told you that it was in my power to set you free -from all this and make you happy and comfortable -for the rest of your life?”</p> - -<p>An invisible watcher from some more clairvoyant -planet than ours would have been interested at that -moment in reading the double weakness of two poor -Pariah hearts. Lacrima, brought back from the half-insane -attitudes of her heroic resolution by the intermission -of natural human emotion, found herself on -the brink of half-hoping that her friend would completely -and indignantly refuse this shameful sacrifice.</p> - -<p>“Surely,” her heart whispered, “some other path of -escape must offer itself for them both. Perhaps, -after all, Vennie Seldom might discover some way.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx, on the other hand, was most thoroughly -alarmed by her opening words. He feared -that she was going to propose some desperate scheme -by which, fleeing from Nevilton together, she was to -help him earn money enough for their mutual support.</p> - -<p>“What should I say?” he answered aloud, to the -girl’s question. “It would depend upon the manner -in which you worked this wonderful miracle. But I -warn you I am not hopeful. Things might be worse. -After all I have a house to return to. I have food.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> -I have my books. I have you to come and pay me -visits. I have my garden. In this world, when a -person has a roof over his head, and someone to talk -to every other day, he had better remain still and -not attract the attention of the gods.”</p> - -<p>Silence followed his words. Instead of speaking, -Lacrima took off her hat, and smoothed her hair -away from her forehead, keeping her eyes fixed upon -the ground. An immense temptation seized her to -let the moment pass without revealing her secret. -She could easily substitute any imaginary suggestion -in place of the terrible reality. Her friend’s morbid -nerves would help her deception. The matter would -be glossed over and be as if it had never been: be, in -fact, no more than it was, a hideous nightmare of -her own insane and diseased conscience.</p> - -<p>But could the thing be so suppressed? Would it -be like Nevilton to let even the possible image of -such a drama pass unsnatched at by voluble tongues, -unenlarged upon by malicious gossip?</p> - -<p>He would be bound to hear of Mr. Goring’s offer. -That, at least, could not be concealed. And what -assurance had she that Mr. Romer would not himself -communicate to him the full nature of the hideous -bargain? The quarry-owner might think it diplomatic -to trade upon Maurice’s weakness.</p> - -<p>No—there was no help for it. She must tell him;—only -praying now, in the profound depths of her -poor heart, that he would not consider such an infamy -even for a second. So she told him the whole story, -in a low monotonous voice, keeping her head lowered -and watching the progress of a minute snail laboriously -ascending a stalk of grass.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span></p> - -<p>Maurice Quincunx had never twiddled the point of -his Elizabethan beard with more detached absorption -than while listening to this astounding narration. -When she had quite finished, he regarded her from -head to foot with a very curious expression.</p> - -<p>The girl breathed hard. What was he thinking? -He did not at once, in a burst of righteous indignation, -fling the monstrous suggestion to the winds. -What was he thinking? As a matter of fact the -thoughts of Mr. Quincunx had taken an extraordinary -turn.</p> - -<p>Being in his personal relation to feminine charm, -of a somewhat cold temper, he had never, for all his -imaginative sentiment towards his little friend, been -at all swayed by any violent sensuous attraction. -But the idea of such attraction having seized so -strongly upon another person reacted upon him, and -he looked at her, perhaps for the first time since -they had met, with eyes of something more than -purely sentimental regard.</p> - -<p>This new element in his attitude towards her did -not, however, issue in any excess of physical jealousy. -What it did lead to, unluckily for Lacrima, was a -certain queer diminution of his ideal respect for her -personality. In place of focussing his attention upon -the sublime sacrifice she contemplated for his sake, the -events she narrated concentrated his mind upon the -mere brutal and accidental fact that Mr. Goring -had so desperately desired her. The mere fact of -her having been so desired by such a man, changed -her in his eyes. His cynical distrust of all women -led him to conceive the monstrous and grotesque idea -that she must in her heart be gratified by having<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> -aroused this passion in the farmer. It did not carry -him quite so far as to make him believe that she had -consciously excited such emotion; but it led him to -the very brink of that outrageous fantasy. Had -Lacrima come to him with a shame-faced confession -that she had let herself be seduced by the Priory-tenant -he could hardly have gazed at her with more -changed and troubled eyes. He felt the same curious -mixture of sorrowful pity and remote unlawful attraction -to the object of his pity, that he would have -felt in a casual conversation with some luckless child -of the streets. By being the occasion of Mr. Goring’s -passion, she became for him no less than such an -unfortunate; the purer sentiment he had hitherto -cherished changing into quite a different mood.</p> - -<p>He lifted her up by the wrists and pressed her -closely to him, kissing her again and again. The -girl’s heart went on anxiously beating. She could -hardly restrain her impatience for him to speak. -Why did he not speak?</p> - -<p>Disentangling herself from his embrace with a quick -feminine instinct that something was wrong, she -pulled him down upon the bench by her side and -taking his hand in hers looked with pitiful bewilderment -into his face.</p> - -<p>“So when this thing happens,” she said, “all your -troubles will be over. You will be free forever from -that horrid office.”</p> - -<p>“And you,” said Mr. Quincunx—his mood changing -again, and his goblin-like smile twitching his -nostrils,—“You will be the mistress of the Priory. -Well! I suppose you will not desert me altogether -when that happens!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span></p> - -<p>So that was the tone he adopted! He could afford -to turn the thing into a jest—into God knows what! -She let his hand drop and stared into empty space, -seeing nothing, hearing nothing, understanding nothing.</p> - -<p>This time Maurice realized that he had disappointed -her; that his cynicism had carried him too far. Unfortunately -the same instinct that told him he had -made a fool of himself pushed him on to seek an -issue from the situation by wading still further into it.</p> - -<p>“Come—come,” he said. “You and I must face -this matter like people who are really free spirits, -and not slaves to any ridiculous superstition. It is -noble, it is sweet of you to think of marrying that -brute so as to set me free. Of course if I <em>was</em> free, -and you were up at the Priory, we should see a great -deal more of each other than we do now. I could -take one of those vacant cottages close to the church.</p> - -<p>“Don’t think—Lacrima dear,” he went on, possessing -himself of one of her cold hands and trying to -recall her attention, “don’t think that I don’t realize -what it is to you to have to submit to such a frightful -thing. Of course we know how outrageous it is -that such a marriage should be forced on you. But, -after all, you and I are above these absurd popular -superstitions about all these things. Every girl -sooner or later hates the man she marries. It is -human nature to hate the people we have to live -with; and when it comes down to actual reality, all -human beings are much the same. If you were -forced to marry me, you would probably hate me -just as much as you’ll hate this poor devil. After -all, what is this business of being married to people -and bearing them children? It doesn’t touch your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span> -mind. It doesn’t affect your soul. As old Marcus -Aurelius says, our bodies are nothing! They are -wretched corpses, anyway, dragged hither and thither -by our imprisoned souls. It is these damned clergymen, -with their lies about ‘sin’ and so forth, that -upset women’s minds. For you to be married to -a man you hate, would only be like my having -to go to this Yeoborough office with people I -hate. You will always have, as that honest fellow -Epictetus says, your own soul to retire into, whatever -happens. Heavens! it strikes me as a bit of -humorous revenge,”—here his nostrils twitched again -and the hobgoblin look reappeared—“this thought -of you and me living peacefully at our ease, so near -one another, and at these confounded rascals’ -expense!”</p> - -<p>Lacrima staggered to her feet. “Let me go,” she -said. “I want to go back—away—anywhere.”</p> - -<p>Her look, her gesture, her broken words gave Mr. -Quincunx a poignant shock. In one sudden illuminating -flash he saw himself as he was, and his recent -remarks in their true light. We all have sometimes -these psychic search-light flashes of introspection; -but the more healthy-minded and well-balanced -among us know how to keep them in their place and -how to expel them promptly and effectively.</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx was not healthy-minded. He had -the morbid sensitive mind of a neurotic Pariah. -Hence, in place of suppressing this spiritual illumination, -he allowed it to irradiate the gloomiest caverns -of his being. He rose with a look of abject and -miserable concern.</p> - -<p>“Stop,” he cried huskily.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span></p> - -<p>She looked at him wondering, the blood returning -a little to her cheeks.</p> - -<p>“It is the Devil!” he exclaimed. “I must have -the Devil in me, to say such things and to treat you -like this. You are the bravest, sweetest girl in the -world, and I am a brutal idiot—worse than Mr. -Romer!”</p> - -<p>He struck himself several blows upon the forehead, -knocking off his hat. Lacrima could not help noticing -that in place of the usual protection, some small -rhubarb-leaves ornamented the interior of this -appendage.</p> - -<p>She smiled at him, through a rain of happy tears,—the -first smile that day had seen upon her face.</p> - -<p>“We are both of us absurd people, I suppose,” -she said, laying her hands upon his shoulders. “We -ought to have some friend with a clear solid head to -keep us straight.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx kissed her on the forehead and -stooped down for his hat.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said. “We are a queer pair. I suppose -we are really both a little mad. I wish there was -someone we could go to.”</p> - -<p>“Couldn’t you—perhaps—” said Lacrima, “say -something to Mrs. Seldom? And yet I would much -rather she didn’t know. I would much rather no -one knew!”</p> - -<p>“I might,” murmured Maurice thoughtfully; “I -might tell her. But the unlucky thing is, she is so -narrow-minded that she can’t separate you in her -thoughts from those frightful people.”</p> - -<p>“Shall I try Vennie?” whispered the girl, “or shall -we—” here she looked him boldly in the face with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span> -eager, brightening eyes—“shall we run away to -London, and be married, and risk the future?”</p> - -<p>Poor little Italian! She had never made a greater -tactical blunder than when she uttered these words. -Maurice Quincunx’s mystic illumination had made -it possible for him to exorcise his evil spirit. It -could not put into his nature an energy he had not -been born with. His countenance clouded.</p> - -<p>“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he remarked. -“You don’t know what a sour-tempered -devil I am, and how I am sure to make any girl -who lives with me miserable. You would hate me -in a month more than you hate Mr. Romer, and in -a year I should have either worried you into your -grave or you would have run away from me. No—no—no! -I should be a criminal fool to let you -subject yourself to such a risk as that.”</p> - -<p>“But,” pleaded the girl, with flushed cheeks, “we -should be sure to find something! I could teach -Italian,—and you could—oh, I am sure there are -endless things you could do! Please, please, Maurice -dear, let us go. Anything is better than this misery. -I have got quite enough money for the journey. -Look!”</p> - -<p>She pulled out from beneath her dress a little -chain purse, that hung, by a small silver chain, round -her slender neck. She opened it and shook three -sovereigns into the palm of her hand. “Enough for -the journey,” she said, “and enough to keep us for -a week if we are economical. We should be sure to -find something by that time.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx shook his head. It was an ironical -piece of psychic malice that the very illumination<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span> -which had made him remorseful and sympathetic -should have also reduced to the old level of tender -sentiment the momentary passion he had felt. It -was the absence in him of this sensual impulse which -made the scheme she proposed seem so impossible. -Had he been of a more animal nature, or had she -possessed the power of arousing his senses to a more -violent craving, instead of brooding, as he did, upon -the mere material difficulties of such a plan, he would -have plunged desperately into it and carried her off -without further argument. The very purity of his -temperament was her worst enemy.</p> - -<p>Poor Lacrima! Her hands dropped once more -helplessly to her side, and the old hopeless depression -began to invade her heart. It seemed impossible to -make her friend realize that if she refused the farmer -and things went on as before, her position in Mr. -Romer’s establishment would become more impossible -than ever. What—for instance—would become of -her when this long-discussed marriage of Gladys with -young Ilminster took place? Could she conceive -herself going on living under that roof, with Mr. -Romer continually harassing her, and his brother-in-law -haunting every field she wandered into?</p> - -<p>“It was noble of you,” began her bearded friend -again, resuming his work at the weeds, while she, as -on a former occasion, leant against his wheel-barrow,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span> -“to think of enduring this wretched marriage -for my sake. But I cannot let you do it. I should -not be happy in letting you do it. I have some -conscience—though you may not think so—and -it would worry me to feel you were putting up with -that fool’s companionship just to make me comfortable. -It would spoil my enjoyment of my freedom, -to know that you were not equally free. Of -course it would be paradise to me to have the money -you speak of. I should be able to live exactly as I -like, and these damned villagers would treat me with -proper respect then. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t -take my pleasure at the expense of such a strain on -you. It would spoil everything!</p> - -<p>“I don’t deny, however,” he went on, evidently -deriving more and more virtuous satisfaction from -his somewhat indecisive rejection of her sacrifice, -“that it is a temptation to me. I hate that office so -profoundly! You were quite right there, Lacrima. -All I said about getting on with those people was -damned bluff. I loathe them and they loathe me. -It is simply like a kind of death, my life in that -place. Yes, what you suggest is a temptation to me. -I can’t help feeling rather like that poor brother of -the girl in ‘Measure for Measure’ when she comes to -say that she could save his life by the loss of her -virtue, and he talks about his feelings on the subject -of death. She put him down fiercely enough, poor -dog! She evidently thought her virtue was much -more important than his life. I am glad you are -just the opposite of that puritanical young woman. -I shouldn’t like you very much if you took her line!</p> - -<p>“But just because you don’t do that, my dear,” -Mr. Quincunx went on, tugging at the obstinate -roots of a great dock, “I couldn’t think of letting -you sacrifice yourself. If you <em>were</em> like that woman -in the play, and made all that damned silly fuss about -your confounded virtue, I should be inclined to wish -that Mr. Goring had got his hands upon you. Women<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span> -who think as much of themselves as that, <em>ought</em> to be -given over to honest fellows like Mr. Goring. It’s the -sort of punishment they deserve for their superstitious -selfishness. For it’s all selfishness, of course. We -know that well enough!”</p> - -<p>He flung the defeated weed so vindictively upon his -barrow that some of the earth from its roots was -sprinkled into Lacrima’s lap. He came to help her -brush it away, and took the opportunity to kiss her -again,—this time a shade more amorously.</p> - -<p>“All this business of ‘love,’” he went on, returning -to his potatoes, “is nothing but the old eternal -wickedness of man’s nature. The only kind of love -which is worth anything is the love that gets rid of -sex altogether, and becomes calm and quiet and -distant—like the love of a planetary spirit. Apart -from this love, which is not like human love at all, -everything in us is selfish. Even a mother’s care for -its child is selfish.”</p> - -<p>“I shall never have a child,” said Lacrima in a -low voice.</p> - -<p>“I wonder what your friend James Andersen would -say to all this,” continued Mr. Quincunx. “Why, by -the way, don’t you get <em>him</em> to marry you? He would -do it, no doubt, like a shot, if you gave him a little -encouragement; and then make you work all day in -his kitchen, as his father made his mother, so they -say.”</p> - -<p>Lacrima made a hopeless gesture, and looked at -the watch upon her wrist. She began to feel dizzy -and sick for want of food. She had had nothing -since breakfast, and the shadows were beginning to -grow long.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I know what Luke Andersen would say if we asked -him,” added Mr. Quincunx. “He would advise you -to marry this damned farmer, wheedle his money -out of him, and then sheer off with some fine youth -and never see Nevilton again! Luke Andersen’s the -fellow for giving a person advice in these little -matters. He has a head upon his shoulders, that -boy! I tell you what it is, my dear, your precious -Miss Gladys had better be careful! She’ll be getting -herself into trouble with that honest youth if she -doesn’t look out. I know him. He cares for no mortal -soul in the world, or above the world. He’s a -master in the art of life! We are all infants compared -with him. If you do need anyone to help you, or -to help me either, I tell you Luke Andersen’s the -one to go to. He has more influence in this village -than any living person except Romer himself, and I -should be sorry for Romer if his selfishness clashed -with the selfishness of that young Machiavel!”</p> - -<p>“Do you mind,” said Lacrima suddenly, “if I go -into your kitchen and make myself a cup of tea? -I feel rather exhausted. I expect it is the heat.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx looked intently at her, leaning upon -his hoe. He had only once before—on an exceptionally -cold winter’s day—allowed the girl to enter -the cottage.</p> - -<p>He had a vague feeling that if he did so he would -in some way commit himself, and be betrayed into -a false position. He almost felt as though, if she -were once comfortably established there, he would -never be able to get her out again! He was nervous, -too, about her seeing all his little household peculiarities. -If she saw, for instance, how cheaply, how<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span> -very cheaply, he managed to live, eating no meat -and economizing in sugar and butter, she might be -encouraged still further in her attempts to persuade -him to run away.</p> - -<p>He was also strangely reluctant that she should -get upon the track of his queer little lonely epicurean -pleasures, such as his carefully guarded bottle of -Scotch whiskey; his favourite shelf of mystical and -Rabelaisian books; his jar of tobacco, with a piece -of bread under its lid, to keep the contents moist -and cool; his elaborate arrangements for holding -draughts out; his polished pewter; his dainty writing-desk -with its piled-up, vellum-bound journals, all -labelled and laid in order; his queer-coloured oriental -slippers; his array of scrupulously scrubbed pots and -pans. Mr. Quincunx was extremely unwilling that -his lady-love should poke her pretty fingers into all -these mysteries.</p> - -<p>What he liked, was to live in two distinct worlds: -his world of sentiment with Lacrima as its solitary -centre, and his world of sacramental epicurism with -his kitchen-fire as its solitary centre. He was extremely -unwilling that the several circumferences of -these centres should intersect one another. Both -were equally necessary to him. When days passed -without a visit from his friend he became miserably -depressed. But he saw no reason for any inartistic -attempt to unite these two spheres of interest. A -psychologist who defined Mr. Quincunx’s temper as -the temper of a hermit would have been far astray. -He was profoundly dependent on human sympathy. -But he liked human sympathy that kept its place. -He did not like human <em>society</em>. Perhaps of all well-known<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span> -psychological types, the type of the philosopher -Rousseau was the one to which he most -nearly approximated. And yet, had he possessed -children, Mr. Quincunx would certainly never have -been persuaded to leave them at the foundling -hospital. He would have lived apart from them, -but he would never have parted with them. He was -really a domestic sentimentalist, who loved the exquisite -sensation of being alone with his own -thoughts.</p> - -<p>With all this in mind, one need feel no particular -surprise that the response he gave to Lacrima’s -sudden request was a somewhat reluctant one. However, -he did respond; and opening the cottage-doors -for her, ushered her into the kitchen and put the -kettle on the fire.</p> - -<p>It puzzled him a little that she should feel no embarrassment -at being alone with him in this secluded -place! In the depths of his heart—like many -philosophers—Mr. Quincunx, in spite of his anarchistic -theories, possessed no slight vein of conventional -timidity. He did not realize this in the least. -Women, according to his cynical code, were the sole -props of conventionality. Without women, there -would be no such thing in the world. But now, -brought face to face with the reckless detachment of -a woman fighting for her living soul, he felt confused, -uncomfortable, and disconcerted.</p> - -<p>Lacrima waited in patient passivity, too exhausted -to make any further mental or moral effort, while -her friend made the tea and cut the bread-and-butter.</p> - -<p>As soon as she had partaken of these things, her -exhaustion gave place to a delicious sense—the first<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span> -she had known for many weeks—of peaceful and -happy security. She put far away, into the remote -background of her mind, all melancholy and tragic -thoughts, and gave herself up to the peacefulness of -the moment. The hands of Mr. Quincunx’s clock -pointed to half-past six. She had therefore a clear -thirty minutes left, before she need set out on her -return walk, in order to have time to dress for dinner.</p> - -<p>“I wonder if your Miss Gladys,” remarked Lacrima’s -host, lighting a cigarette as he sipped his -tea, “will marry the Honourable Mr. Ilminster after -all, or whistle him down the wind, and make up to -our American friend? I notice that Dangelis is -already considerably absorbed in her.”</p> - -<p>“Please, dear, don’t let us talk any more about -these people,” begged Lacrima softly. “Let me be -happy for a little while.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx stroked his beard. “You are a -queer little girl,” he said. “But what I should do -if the gods took you away from me I have not the -least idea. I should not care then whether I worked -in an office or in a factory. I should not care what -I did.”</p> - -<p>The girl jumped up impulsively from her seat and -went over to him. Mr. Quincunx took her upon his -knees as he might have taken a child and fondled her -gravely and gently. The smoke of his cigarette -ascended in a thin blue column above their two -heads.</p> - -<p>At that moment there was a mocking laugh at the -window. Lacrima slid out of his arms and they both -rose to their feet and turned indignantly.</p> - -<p>The laughing face of Gladys Romer peered in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span> -upon them, her eyes shining with delighted malevolence. -“I saw you,” she cried. “But you needn’t -look so cross! I like to see these things. I have been -watching you for quite a long time! It has been such -fun! I only hoped I could keep quiet for longer still, -till one of you began to cry, or something. But you -looked so funny that I couldn’t help laughing. And -that spoilt it all. Mr. Dangelis is at the gate. -Shall I call him up? He came with me across the -park. He tried to stop me from pouncing on you, -but I wouldn’t listen to him. He said it was a ‘low-down -stunt.’ You know the way he talks, Lacrima!”</p> - -<p>The two friends stood staring at the intruder in -petrified horror. Then without a word they quickly -issued from the cottage and crossed the garden. -Neither of them spoke to Gladys; and Mr. Quincunx -immediately returned to his house as soon as he saw -the American advance to greet Lacrima with his -usual friendly nonchalance.</p> - -<p>The three went off down the lane together; and the -poor philosopher, staring disconsolately at the empty -tea-cups of his profaned sanctuary, cursed himself, -his friend, his fate, and the Powers that had appointed -that fate from the beginning of the world.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV<br /> -<span class="smaller">UNDER-CURRENTS</span></h2> - -<p>June was drawing to an end, and the days, -though still free from rain, grew less and less -bright. A thin veil of greyish vapour, which -never became thick enough or sank low enough to -resolve itself into definite clouds, offered a perpetual -hindrance to the shining of the sun. The sun was -present. Its influence was felt in the warmth of the -air; but when it became visible, it was only in the -form of a large misty disc, at which the weakest -eyes might gaze without distress or discomfort.</p> - -<p>On a certain evening when this vaporous obscurity -made it impossible to ascertain the exact moment of -the sun’s descent and when it might be said that -afternoon became twilight before men or cattle realized -that the day was over, Mr. Wone was assisting -his son Philip in planting geraniums in his back -garden.</p> - -<p>The Wone house was neither a cottage nor a villa. -It was one of those nondescript and modest residences, -which, erected in the mid-epoch of Victoria’s reign, -when money was circulating freely among the middle-classes, -win a kind of gentle secondary mellowness -in the twentieth century by reason of something -solid and liberal in their original construction. It -stood at the corner of the upper end of Nevilton, -where, beyond the fountain-square, the road from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span> -Yeoborough takes a certain angular turn to the north. -The garden at the back of it, as with many of the -cottages of the place, was larger than might have -been expected, and over the low hedge which separated -it from the meadows behind, the long ridge of -wooded upland, with its emphatic lines of tall Scotch -firs that made the southern boundary of the valley, -was pleasantly and reassuringly visible.</p> - -<p>Philip Wone worked in Yeoborough. He was a -kind of junior partner in a small local firm of tombstone -makers—the very firm, in fact, which under -the direction of the famous Gideon, had constructed -the most remarkable monument in Nevilton churchyard. -It was doubtful whether he would ever attain -the position of full partner in this concern, for his -manner of life was eccentric, and neither his ways nor -his appearance were those of a youth who succeeds -in business. He was a tall pallid creature. His dark -coarse hair fell in a heavy wave over his white forehead, -and his hands were thin and delicate as the -hands of an invalid.</p> - -<p>He was an omnivorous reader and made incessant -use of every subscription library that Yeoborough -offered. His reading was of two kinds. He read -romantic novels of every sort—good, bad, and indifferent—and -he read the history of revolutions. -There can hardly have been, in any portion of the -earth’s surface, a revolution with whose characters -and incidents Philip was unacquainted. His chief -passion was for the great French Revolution, the -personalities of which were more real to him than -the majority of his own friends.</p> - -<p>Philip was by temperament and conviction an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span> -ardent anarchist; not an anarchist of Mr. Quincunx’s -mild and speculative type, but of a much more -formidable brand. He had also long ago consigned -the idea of any Providential interference with the -sequence of events upon earth, into the limbo of -outworn superstitions.</p> - -<p>It was Philip’s notion, this, of planting geraniums -in the back-garden. Dressed nearly always in black, -and wearing a crimson tie, it was his one luxurious -sensuality to place in his button-hole, as long as -they were possibly available, some specimen or other -of the geranium tribe, with a preference for the most -flaming varieties.</p> - -<p>The Christian Candidate regarded his son with a -mixture of contempt and apprehension. He despised -his lack of business ability, and he viewed his intellectual -opinions as the wilful caprices of a sulky and -disagreeable temper.</p> - -<p>It was as a sort of pitying concession to the whim -of a lunatic that Mr. Wone was now assisting Philip -in planting these absurd geraniums. His own idea -was that flower-gardens ought to be abolished altogether. -He associated them with gentility and toryism -and private property in land. Under the régime -he would have liked to have established, all decent -householders would have had liberal small holdings, -where they would grow nothing but vegetables. Mr. -Wone liked vegetables and ate of them very freely in -their season. Flowers he regarded as the invention -of the upper classes, so that their privately owned -world might be decorated with exclusive festoons.</p> - -<p>“I shall go round presently,” he said to his son,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span> -“and visit all these people. I see no reason why -Taxater and Clavering, as well as the two Andersens, -should not make themselves of considerable use -to me. I am tired of talking to these Leo’s Hill -labourers. One day they <em>will</em> strike, and the next -they <em>won’t</em>. All they think of is their own quarrel -with Lickwit. They have no thought of the general -interest of the country.”</p> - -<p>“No thought of your interests, you mean,” put in -the son.</p> - -<p>“With these others it is different,” went on Mr. -Wone, oblivious of the interruption. “It would be -a real help to me if the more educated people of the -place came out definitely on my side. They ought -to do it. They know what this Romer is. They are -thinking men. They must see that what the country -wants is a real representative of the people.”</p> - -<p>“What the country wants is a little more honesty -and a little less hypocrisy,” remarked the son.</p> - -<p>“It is abominable, this suppression of our Social -Meeting. You have heard about that, I suppose?” -pursued the candidate.</p> - -<p>“Putting an end to your appeals to Providence, -eh?” said Philip, pressing the earth down round the -roots of a brilliant flower.</p> - -<p>“I forbid you to talk like that,” cried his father. -“I might at least expect that <em>you</em> would do something -for me. You have done nothing, since my -campaign opened, but make these silly remarks.”</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you pray about it?” jeered the irrepressible -young man. “Mr Romer has not suppressed -prayer, has he, as well as Political Prayer-Meetings?”</p> - -<p>“They were not political!” protested the aggrieved -parent. “They were profoundly religious. What<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span> -you young people do not seem to realize nowadays -is that the soul of this country is still God-fearing -and religious-minded. I should myself have no hope -at all for the success of this election, if I were not -sure that God was intending to make His hand felt.”</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you canvass God, then?” muttered -the profane boy.</p> - -<p>“I cannot allow you to talk to me in this way, -Philip!” cried Mr. Wone, flinging down his trowel. -“You know perfectly well that you believe as firmly -as I do, in your heart. It is only that you think it -impressive and original to make these silly jokes.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, father,” replied Philip. “You certainly -remove my doubts with an invincible argument! -But I assure you I am quite serious. Nobody -with any brain believes in God in these days. God -died about the same time as Mr. Gladstone.”</p> - -<p>The Christian Candidate lost his temper. “I must -beg you,” he said, “to keep your infidel nonsense to -yourself. Your mother and I are sick of it! You -had better stay in Yeoborough, and not come home -at all, if you can’t behave like an ordinary person -and keep a civil tongue.”</p> - -<p>Philip made no answer to this ultimatum, but -smiled sardonically and went on planting geraniums.</p> - -<p>But his father was loath to let the matter drop.</p> - -<p>“What would the state of the country be like, I -wonder,” he continued, “if people lost their faith in -the love of a merciful Father? It is only because we -feel, in spite of all appearances, the love of God must -triumph in the end, that we can go on with our great -movement. The love of God, young man, whatever -you foolish infidels may say, is at the bottom of all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span> -attempts to raise the people to better things. Do you -think I would labour as I do in this excellent cause -if I did not feel that I had the loving power of a -great Heavenly Father behind me? Why do I trouble -myself with politics? Because His love constrains -me. Why have I brought you up so carefully—though -to little profit it seems!—and have been so -considerate to your mother—who, as you know, -isn’t always very cheerful? Because His love constrains -me. Without the knowledge that His love -is at the bottom of everything that happens, do you -think I could endure to live at all?”</p> - -<p>Philip Wone lifted up his head from the flower-border.</p> - -<p>“Let me just tell you this, father, it is not the -love of God, or of anyone else, that’s at the bottom -of our grotesque world. There is nothing at the -bottom! The world goes back—without limit or -boundary—upwards and downwards, and everywhere. -It has no bottom, and no top either! It is -all quite mad and we are all quite mad. Love? Who -knows anything of love, except lovers and madmen? -If these Romers and Lickwits are to be crushed, -they must be crushed by force. By force, I tell -you! This love of an imaginary Heavenly Father has -never done anything for the revolution and never -will!”</p> - -<p>Mr. Wone, catching at a verbal triumph, regained -his placable equanimity.</p> - -<p>“Because, dear boy,” he remarked, “it is not -revolution that we want, but reconstruction. Force -may destroy. It is only love that can rebuild.”</p> - -<p>No words can describe the self-satisfied unction<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span> -with which the Christian Candidate pronounced this -oracular saying.</p> - -<p>“Well, boy,” he added, “I must be off. I want to -see Taxater and Clavering and both the Andersens -tonight. I might see Quincunx too. Not that I -think <em>he</em> can do very much.”</p> - -<p>“There’s only one way you’ll get James Andersen -to help you,” remarked Philip, “and I doubt whether -you’ll bring yourself to use that.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose you mean,” returned his father, “that -Traffio girl, up at the House. I have heard that they -have been seen together. But I thought she was going -to marry John Goring.”</p> - -<p>“No, I don’t mean her,” said the son. “She’s all -right. She’s a fine girl, and I am sorry for her, -whether she marries Goring or not. The person I -mean is little Ninsy Lintot, up at Wild Pine. She’s -the only one in this place who can get a civil word -out of Jim Andersen.”</p> - -<p>“Ninsy?” echoed his father, “but I thought Ninsy -was dead and buried. There was some one died up -at Wild Pine last spring, and I made sure ’twas her.”</p> - -<p>“That was her sister Glory,” affirmed Philip. “But -Ninsy is delicate, too. A bad heart, they say—too -bad for any thoughts of marrying. But she and Jim -Andersen have been what you might call sweethearts -ever since she was in short frocks.”</p> - -<p>“I have never heard of this,” said Mr. Wone.</p> - -<p>“Nor have many other people here,” returned -Philip, “but ’tis true, none the less. And anyone -who wants to get at friend James must go to him -through Ninsy Lintot.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span></p> -<p>“I am extremely surprised at what you tell me,” -said Mr. Wone. “Do you really mean that if I got -this sick child to promise me Andersen’s help, he -really would give it?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly I do,” replied Philip. “And what is -more, he would bring his brother with him.”</p> - -<p>“But his brother is thick with Miss Romer. All -the village is talking about them.”</p> - -<p>“Never mind the village—father! You think too -much of the village and its talk. I tell you—Miss -Romer or no Miss Romer—if you get James to help -you, you get Luke. I know something of the ways of -those two.”</p> - -<p>A look of foxy cunning crossed the countenance of -the Christian Candidate.</p> - -<p>“Do <em>you</em> happen to have any influence with this -poor Ninsy?” he asked abruptly, peering into his -son’s face.</p> - -<p>Philip’s pale cheeks betrayed no embarrassment.</p> - -<p>“I know her,” he said. “I like her. I lend her -books. She will die before Christmas.”</p> - -<p>“I wish you would go up and see her for me then,” -said Mr. Wone eagerly. “It would be an excellent -thing if we <em>could</em> secure the Andersens. They must -have a lot of influence with the men they work with.”</p> - -<p>Philip glanced across the rich sloping meadows -which led up to the base of the wooded ridge. From -where they stood he could see the gloomy clump of -firs and beeches which surrounded the little group of -cottages known as Wild Pine.</p> - -<p>“Very well,” he said. “I don’t mind. But no more -of this nonsense about my not coming home! I -prefer for the present”—and he gave vent to rather -an ominous laugh—“to live with my dear parents.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span> -But, mind—I can’t promise anything. These Andersens -are queer fellows. One never knows how -things will strike them. However, we shall see. If -anyone could persuade our friend James, it would be -Ninsy.”</p> - -<p>The affair being thus settled, the geraniums were -abandoned; and while the father proceeded down -the village towards the Gables, the son mounted -the slope of the hill in the direction of Wild Pine.</p> - -<p>The path Philip followed soon became a narrow -lane running between two high sandy banks, overtopped -by enormous beeches. At all hours, and on -every kind of day, this miniature gorge between the -wooded fields was a dark and forlorn spot. On an -evening of a day like the present one, it was nothing -less than sinister. The sky being doubly dark above, -dark with the coming on of night, and dark with -the persistent cloud-veil, the accumulated shadows -of this sombre road intensified the gloom to a pitch -of darkness capable of exciting, in agitated nerves, -an emotion bordering upon terror. Though the sun -had barely sunk over Leo’s Hill, between these ivy-hung -banks it was as obscure as if night had already -fallen.</p> - -<p>But the obscurity of Root-Thatch Lane was nothing -to the sombreness that awaited him when, arrived -at the hill-top, he entered Nevil’s Gully. This was -a hollow basin of close-growing beech-trees, surrounded -on both sides by impenetrable thickets of bramble -and elder, and crossed by the path that led to Wild -Pine cottages. Every geographical district has its -typical and representative centre,—some characteristic -spot which sums up, as it were, and focuses, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span> -limited bounds, qualities and attributes that are diffused -in diverse proportions through the larger area. -Such a centre of the Nevilton district was the place -through which Philip Wone now hurried.</p> - -<p>Nevil’s Gully, however dry the weather, was never -free from an overpowering sense of dampness. The -soil under foot was now no longer sand but clay, and -clay of a particularly adhesive kind. The beech -roots, according to their habit, had created an empty -space about them—a sort of blackened floor, spotted -with green moss and pallid fungi. Out of this, their -cold, smooth trunks emerged, like silent pillars in the -crypt of a mausoleum.</p> - -<p>The most characteristic thing, as we have noted, -in the scenery of Nevilton, is its prevalent weight -of heavy oppressive moisture. For some climatic or -geographical reason the foliage of the place seems -chillier, damper, and more filled with oozy sap, than -in other localities of the West of England. Though -there may have been no rain for weeks—as there -had been none this particular June—the woods in -this district always give one the impression of retaining -an inordinate reserve of atmospheric moisture. -It is this moisture, this ubiquitous dampness, that -to a certain type of sun-loving nature makes the -region so antipathetic, so disintegrating. Such persons -have constantly the feeling of being dragged -earthward by some steady centripedal pull, against -which they struggle in vain. Earthward they are -pulled, and the earth, that seems waiting to receive -them, breathes heavy damp breaths of in-drawing -voracity, like the mouth of some monster of the -slime.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span></p> - -<p>And if this is true of the general conditions of -Nevilton geography, it is especially and accumulatively -true of Nevil’s Gully, which, for some reason -or other, is a very epitome of such sinister gravitation. -If one’s latent mortality feels the drag of its clayish -affinity in all quarters of this district, in Nevil’s -Gully it becomes conscious of such oppression as a -definite demonic presence. For above the Gully -and above the cottages to which the Gully leads, the -umbrageous mass of entangled leafiness hangs, fold -upon fold, as if it had not known the woodman’s -axe since the foot of man first penetrated these -recesses. The beeches, to which reference has been -made, are overtopped on the higher ground by ashes -and sycamores, and these, in their turn, are surmounted, -on the highest level of all, by colossal -Scotch firs, whose forlorn grandeur gives the cottages -their name.</p> - -<p>Philip hurried, in the growing darkness, across the -sepulchral gully, and pushed open the gate of the -secluded cattle-yard which was the original cause of -this human hamlet. The houses of men in rural -districts follow the habitations of beasts. Where -cattle and the stacks that supply their food can -conveniently be located, there must the dwelling be -of those whose business it is to tend them. The -convenience of Wild Pine as a site for a spacious and -protected farm-yard was sufficient reason for the -erection of a human shelter for the hands by whose -labour such places are maintained.</p> - -<p>He crossed the yard with quick steps. A light -burned in one of the sheds, throwing a fitful flicker -upon the heaps of straw and the pools of dung-coloured<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span> -water. Some animal, there—a horse or a -cow or a pig—was probably giving birth to young.</p> - -<p>From the farm-yard he emerged into the cottage-garden, -and stumbling across this, he knocked at -the first door he reached. There was not the least -sound in answer. Dead unbroken stillness reigned, -except for an intermittent shuffling and stamping -from the watcher or the watched in the farm-yard -behind.</p> - -<p>He knocked again, and even the sounds in the yard -ceased. Only, high up among the trees above him, -some large nocturnal bird fluttered heavily from -bough to bough.</p> - -<p>For the third time he knocked and then the door -of the next house opened suddenly, emitting a long -stream of light into which several startled moths -instantly flew. Following the light came a woman’s -figure.</p> - -<p>“If thee wants Lintot,” said the voice of this -figure, “thee can’t see ’im till along of most an hour. -He be tending a terrible sick beast.”</p> - -<p>“I want to see Ninsy,” shouted Philip, knocking -again on the closed door.</p> - -<p>“Then thee must walk in and have done with it,” -returned the woman. “The maid be laid up with -heart-spasms again and can open no doors this night, -not if the Lord his own self were hammering.”</p> - -<p>Philip boldly followed her advice and entered the -cottage, closing the door behind him. A faint voice -from a room at the back asked him what he wanted -and who he was.</p> - -<p>“It is Philip,” he answered, “may I come in and -see you, Ninsy? It is Philip—Philip Wone.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span></p> - -<p>He gathered from the girl’s low-voiced murmur that -he was welcome, and crossing the kitchen he opened -the door of the further room.</p> - -<p>He found Ninsy dressed and smiling, but lying in -complete prostration upon a low horse-hair sofa. He -closed the door, and moving a chair to her side, sat -down in silence, gazing upon her wistfully with his -great melancholy eyes.</p> - -<p>“Don’t look so peaked and pining, Philip-boy,” -she said, laying her white hand upon his and smiling -into his face. “’Tis only the old trouble. ’Tis -nothing more than what I expect. I shall be about -again tomorrow or the day after. But I be real glad -to see ’ee here! Father’s biding down in the yard, -and ’tis a lonesome place to be laid-up in, this poor -old house.”</p> - -<p>Ninsy looked exquisitely fragile and slender, lying -back in this tender helplessness, her chestnut-coloured -hair all loose over her pillow. Philip was filled with -a flood of romantic emotion. The girl had always -attracted him but never so much as now. It was -one of his ingrained peculiarities to find hurt and -unhappy people more engaging than healthy and -contented ones. He almost wished Ninsy would -stop smiling and chattering so pleasantly. It only -needed that she should shed tears, to turn the young -man’s commiseration into passion.</p> - -<p>But Ninsy did not shed tears. She continued -chatting to him in the most cheerful vein. It was -only by the faintest shadow that crossed her face -at intervals, that one could have known that anything -serious was the matter with her. She spoke -of the books he had lent her. She spoke of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span> -probable break-up of the weather. She talked of -Lacrima Traffio.</p> - -<p>“I think,” she said, speaking with extreme earnestness, -“the young foreign lady is lovely to look at. -I hope she’ll be happy in this marriage. They do say, -poor dear, she is being driven to it. But with the -gentry you never know. They aren’t like us. Father -says they have all their marriages thought out for -them, same as royalty. I wonder who Miss Gladys -will marry after all! Father has met her several -times lately, walking with that American gentleman.”</p> - -<p>“Has Jim Andersen been up to see you, Ninsy,” -put in Mr. Wone’s emissary, “since this last attack -of yours?”</p> - -<p>The fact that this question left his lips simultaneously -with a rising current of emotion in his heart -towards her is a proof of the fantastic complication -of feeling in the young anarchist.</p> - -<p>He fretted and chafed under the stream of her -gentle impersonal talk. He longed to rouse in her -some definite agitation, even though it meant the -introduction of his rival’s image. The fact that such -agitation was likely to be a shock to her did not -weigh with him. Objective consideration for people’s -bodily health was not one of Philip’s weaknesses. -His experiment met with complete success. At the -mention of James Andersen’s name a scarlet flush -came into the girl’s cheeks.</p> - -<p>“No—yes—no!” she answered stammering.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span> -“That is—I mean—not since I have been ill. But -before—several times—lately. Why do you look -at me like that, Philip? You’re not angry with me, -are you?”</p> - -<p>Philip’s mind was a confused arena of contradictory -emotions. Among the rest, two stood out and -asserted themselves—this unpardonable and remorseless -desire to trouble her, to embarrass her, to -make her blush yet more deeply—and a strange -wild longing to be himself as ill as she was, and of -the same disease, so that they might die together!</p> - -<p>“My father wanted me to ask you,” he blurted -out, “whether you would use your influence over -Jim to get him to help in this election business. I -told my father Jim would do anything you asked -him.”</p> - -<p>The girl’s poor cheeks burned more deeply than -ever at this.</p> - -<p>“I wish you hadn’t told him that, Philip,” she -said. “I wish you hadn’t! You know very well I -have no more influence over James than anyone else -has. It was unkind of you to tell him that! Now -I am afraid he’ll be disappointed. For I shall never -dare to worry Jim about a thing like that. <em>You</em> don’t -take any interest in this election, Philip, do you?”</p> - -<p>From the tone of this last remark the young anarchist -gathered the intimation that Andersen had been -talking about the affair to his little friend and had -been expressing opinions derogatory to Mr. Wone’s -campaign. She would hardly have spoken of so lively -a local event in such a tone of weary disparagement, -if some masculine philosopher had not been “putting -ideas into her head.”</p> - -<p>“You ought to make him join in,” continued -Philip. “He has such influence down at the works. -It would be a great help to father. We labouring -people ought to stand by one another, you know.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span></p> - -<p>“But I thought—I thought—,” stammered poor -Ninsy, pushing back her hair from her forehead, -“that you had quite different opinions from Mr. -Wone.”</p> - -<p>“Damn my opinions!” cried the excited youth. -“What do my opinions matter? We are talking of -Jim Andersen. Why doesn’t he join in with the -other men and help father in getting up the -strike?”</p> - -<p>“He—he doesn’t believe in strikes,” murmured -the girl feebly.</p> - -<p>“Why doesn’t he!” cried the youth. “Does he -think himself different, then, from the rest of us, -because old Gideon married the daughter of a vicar? -He ought to be told that he is a traitor to his class. -Yes—a traitor—a turn-coat—a black-leg! That’s -what he is—if he won’t come in. A black-leg!”</p> - -<p>They were interrupted by a sharp knock at the -outer door. The girl raised herself on her elbow and -became distressingly agitated.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I believe that <em>is</em> Jim,” she cried. “What shall -I do? He won’t like to find you here alone with me -like this. What a dreadful accident!”</p> - -<p>Philip without a moment’s delay went to the door -and opened it. Yes, the visitor was James Andersen. -The two men looked at one another in silence. James -was the first to speak.</p> - -<p>“So <em>you</em> are looking after our invalid?” he said. -“I only heard this afternoon that she was bad -again.”</p> - -<p>He did not wait for the other’s response, but -pushing past him went straight into Ninsy’s room.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Poor child!” he said, “Poor dear little girl! -Why didn’t you send a message to me? I saw your -father in the yard and he told me to come on in. -How are you? Why aren’t you in bed? I’m sure -you ought to be in bed, and not talking to such an -exciting person as our friend Philip.”</p> - -<p>“She won’t be talking to me much longer,” threw -in that youth, following his rival to the side of the -girl’s sofa. “I only came to ask her to do something -for us in this election. She will tell you what I mean. -Ask her to tell you. Don’t forget! Good-bye -Ninsy,” and he held out his hand with a searching -look into the girl’s face, a look at once wistfully entreating -and fiercely reproachful.</p> - -<p>She took his hand. “Good night, Philip,” she said. -“Think kindly of me, and think—” this was said -in a voice so low that only the young man could -hear—“think kindly of Jim. Good night!”</p> - -<p>He nodded to Andersen and went off, a sombre -dangerous expression clouding the glance he threw -upon the clock in the corner.</p> - -<p>“You pay late visits, James Andersen,” he called -back, as he let himself out of the cottage-door.</p> - -<p>Left alone with Ninsy, the stone-carver possessed -himself of the seat vacated by the angry youth. -The girl remained quiet and motionless, her hands -crossed on her lap and her eyes closed.</p> - -<p>“Poor child!” he murmured, in a voice of tender -and affectionate pity. “I cannot bear to see you like -this. It almost gives me a sense of shame—my being -so strong and well—and you so delicate. But you -will be better soon, won’t you? And we will go for -some of our old walks together.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span></p> - -<p>Ninsy’s mouth twitched a little, and big tears -forced their way through her tightly shut eyelids.</p> - -<p>“When your father comes in,” he went on, “you -must let me help him carry you upstairs. And I -am sure you had better have the doctor tomorrow -if you are not better. Won’t you let me go to Yeoborough -for him tonight?”</p> - -<p>Ninsy suddenly struck the side of her sofa with -her clenched hand. “I don’t want the doctor!” -she burst out, “and I don’t want to get better. I -want to end it all—that’s what I want! I want to -end it all.”</p> - -<p>Andersen made a movement as if to caress her, but -she turned her head away.</p> - -<p>“I am sick and tired of it all,” she moaned. “I -wish I were dead. Oh, I wish I were dead!”</p> - -<p>The stone-carver knelt down by her side. “Ninsy,” -he murmured, “Ninsy, my child, my friend, what is -it? Tell me what it is.”</p> - -<p>But the girl only went on, in a low soft wail, “I -knew it would come to this. I knew it. I knew it. -Oh, why was I ever born! Why wasn’t it me, and not -Glory, who died! I <em>shall</em> die. I <em>want</em> to die!”</p> - -<p>Andersen rose to his feet. “Ninsy!” he said in a -stern altered voice. “Stop this at once—or I shall -go straight away and call your father!”</p> - -<p>He assumed an air and tone as if quieting a petulant -infant. It had its effect upon her. She swallowed -down her rising fit of sobs and looked up at -him with great frightened tearful eyes.</p> - -<p>“Now, child,” he said, once more seating himself, -and this time successfully taking possession of a submissive -little hand, “tell me what all this is about.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span> -Tell me everything.” He bent down and imprinted -a kiss upon her cold wet cheek.</p> - -<p>“It is—” she stammered, “it is that I think you -are fond of that Italian girl.” She hid her face in a -fold of her rich auburn hair and went on. “They do -tell me you walk with her when your brother goes -with Miss Gladys. Don’t be angry with me, Jim. -I know I have no right to say these things. I know -I have no claim, no power over you. But we did -keep company once, Jim, didn’t us? And it do stab -my heart,—to hear them tell of you and she!”</p> - -<p>James Andersen looked frowningly at the window.</p> - -<p>The curtains were not drawn; and a dark ash-branch -stretched itself across the casement like an extended -threatening arm. Its form was made visible by a gap -in the surrounding trees, through which a little cluster -of stars faintly twinkled. The cloud veil had melted.</p> - -<p>“What a world this is!” the stone-carver thought -to himself. His tone when he spoke was irritable and -aggrieved.</p> - -<p>“How silly you are, Ninsy—with your fancies! -A man can’t be civil to a poor lonesome foreign -wench, without your girding at him as if he had done -something wrong! Of course I speak to Miss Traffio -and walk with her too. What else do you expect -when the poor thing is left lonesome on my hands, -with Luke and Miss Gladys amusing themselves? -But you needn’t worry,” he added, with a certain -unrestrained bitterness. “It’s only when Luke and -his young lady are together that she and I ever -meet, and I don’t think they’ll often be together -now.”</p> - -<p>Ninsy looked at him with questioning eyes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span></p> - -<p>“He and she have quarrelled,” he said curtly.</p> - -<p>“Over the American?” asked the girl.</p> - -<p>“Over the American.”</p> - -<p>“And you won’t be walking with that foreigner -any more?”</p> - -<p>“I shan’t be walking with her any more.”</p> - -<p>Ninsy sank back on her pillow with a sigh of ineffable -relief. Had she been a Catholic she would -have crossed herself devoutly. As it was she turned -her head smilingly towards him and extended her -arms. “Kiss me,” she pleaded. He bent down, and -she embraced him with passionate warmth.</p> - -<p>“Then we belong to each other again, just the same -as before,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Just the same as before.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I wish that cruel doctor hadn’t told me I -mustn’t marry. He told father it would kill me, and -the other one who came said the same thing. But -wouldn’t it be lovely if you and I, Jim—”</p> - -<p>She stopped suddenly, catching a glimpse of his -face. Her happiness was gone in a moment.</p> - -<p>“You don’t love me. Oh, you don’t love me! I -know it. I have known it for many weeks! That girl -has poisoned you against me—the wicked, wicked -thing! It’s no use denying it. I know it. I feel it,—oh, -how can I bear it! How can I bear it!”</p> - -<p>She shut her eyes once more and lay miserable and -silent. The wood-carver looked gloomily out of the -window. The cluster of stars now assumed a shape -well-known to him. It was Orion’s Belt. His -thoughts swept sadly over the field of destiny.</p> - -<p>“What a world it is!” he said to himself. “There -is that boy Philip gone with a tragic heart because<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span> -his girl loves me. And I—I have to wait and wait -in helplessness, and see the other—the one I care for—driven -into madness. And she cares not a straw for -me, who could help her, and only cares for that poor -fool who cannot lift a finger. And meanwhile, -Orion’s Belt looks contemptuously down upon us -all! Ninsy is pretty well right. The lucky people -are the people who are safe out of it—the people -that Orion’s Belt cannot vex any more!”</p> - -<p>He rose to his feet. “Well, child,” he said, “I -think I’ll be going. It’s no use our plaguing one -another any further tonight. Things will right themselves, -little one. Things will right themselves! It’s -a crazy world—but the story isn’t finished yet.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you worry about it,” he added gently, -bending over her and pushing the hair back from her -forehead. “Your old James hasn’t deserted you yet. -He loves you better than you think—better than -he knows himself perhaps!”</p> - -<p>The girl seized the hand that caressed her and -pressed it against her lips. Her breast rose and fell -in quick troubled breathing.</p> - -<p>“Come again soon,” she said, and then, with a wan -smile, “if you care to.”</p> - -<p>Their eyes met in a long perplexed clinging farewell. -He was the first to break the tension.</p> - -<p>“Good-night, child,” he said, and turning away, -left the room without looking back.</p> - -<p>While these events were occurring at Wild Pine, -in the diplomatist’s study at the Gables Mr. Wone -was expounding to Mr. Taxater the objects and purposes -of his political campaign.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Wotnot, leaner and more taciturn than ever,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span> -had just produced for the refreshment of the visitor -a bottle of moderately good burgundy. Mr. Taxater -had demanded “a little wine,” in the large general -manner which his housekeeper always interpreted as -a request for something short of the very best. It -was clear that for the treasures of innermost wine-cellars -Mr. Wone was not among the privileged.</p> - -<p>The defender of the papacy had placed his visitor -so that the light of the lamp fell upon his perspiring -brow, upon his watery blue eyes, and upon his drooping, -sandy-coloured moustache. Mr. Taxater himself -was protected by a carefully arranged screen, out of -the shadow of which the Mephistophelian sanctity of -his patient profile loomed forth, vague and indistinct.</p> - -<p>Mr. Wone’s mission was in his own mind tending -rapidly to a satisfactory conclusion. The theologian -had heard him with so much attention, had asked -such searching and practical questions, had shown -such sympathetic interest in all the convolutions and -entanglements of the political situation, that Mr. -Wone began to reproach himself for not having made -use of such a capable ally earlier in the day.</p> - -<p>“It is,” he was saying, “on the general grounds of -common Christian duty that I ask your help. We -who recognize the importance of religion would be -false to our belief if we did not join together to defeat -so ungodly and worldly a candidate as this -Romer turns out to be.”</p> - -<p>It must be confessed that in his heart of hearts -Mr. Wone regarded Roman Catholics as far more -dangerous to the community than anarchists or -infidels, but he prided himself upon a discretion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span> -worthy of apostolic inspiration in thus seeking to -divide and set asunder the enemies of evangelical -truth. He found the papist so intelligent a listener,—that -hardly one secret of his political designs remained -unshared between them.</p> - -<p>“The socialism,” he finally remarked, “which you -and I are interested in, is Christian Socialism. You -may be sure that in nothing I do or say there will be -found the least tincture of this deplorable modern -materialism. My own feeling is that the closer our -efforts for the uplifting of the people are founded -upon biblical doctrines the more triumphant their -success will be. It is the ethical aspect of this great -struggle for popular rights which I hold most near -my heart. I wish to take my place in Parliament -as representing not merely the intelligence of this -constituency but its moral and spiritual needs—its -soul, in fact, Mr. Taxater. There is no animosity -in my campaign. I am scrupulous about that. I am -ready, always ready, to do our opponents justice. -But when they appeal to the material needs of the -country, I appeal to its higher requirements—to its -soul, in other words. It is for this reason that I am -so glad to welcome really intelligent and highly educated -men, like yourself. We who take this loftier -view must of course make use of many less admirable -methods. I do so myself. But it is for us to keep -the higher, the more ethical considerations, always in -sight.</p> - -<p>“As I was saying to my son, this very evening, the -grand thing for us all to remember is that it is only -on the assumption of Divine Love being at the bottom -of every confusion that we can go to work at all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span> -The Tory party refuse to make this assumption. -They refuse to recognize the ethical substratum of -the world. They treat politics as if they were a -matter of merely imperial or patriotic importance. -In my view politics and religion should go hand in -hand. In the true democracy which I aim at establishing, -all these secular theories—evidently due to -the direct action of the Devil—such as Free Love -and the destruction of the family—will not be -tolerated for a moment.</p> - -<p>“Let no one think,”—and Mr. Wone swallowed a -mouthful of wine with a gurgling sound,—“that -because we attack capitalism and large estates, -we have any wish to interfere with the sacredness of -the home. There are, I regret to say, among some -of our artizans, wild and dangerous theories of this -kind, but I have always firmly discountenanced them -and I always will. That is why, if I may say so, -I am so well adapted to represent this district. I -have the support of the large number of Liberal-minded -tradesmen who would deeply regret the introduction -of such immoral theories into our movement. -They hold, as I hold, that this unhappy tendency to -atheistic speculation among our working-classes is -one of the gravest dangers to the country. They hold, -as I hold, that the cynical free thought of the Tory -party is best encountered, not by the equally deplorable -cynicism of certain labor-leaders, but by the -high Christian standards of men like—like ourselves, -Mr. Taxater.”</p> - -<p>He paused for a moment and drew his hand, which -certainly resembled the hand of an ethical-minded -dispenser of sugar rather than that of an immoral<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span> -manual labourer, across his damp forehead. Then -he began again.</p> - -<p>“Another reason which seems to point to me, in -quite a providential manner, as the candidate for -this district, is the fact that I was born in Nevilton -and that my father was born here before me.</p> - -<p>“‘Wone’ is one of the oldest names in the church -Register. There were Wones in Nevilton in the days -of the Norman Conquest. I love the place—Mr. -Taxater—and I believe I may say that the place -loves me. I am in harmony with it, you know. -I understand its people. I understand their little -weaknesses. Some of these, though you may not -believe it, I even may say I share.</p> - -<p>“I love this beautiful scenery, these luscious fields, -these admirable woods. I love to think of them as -belonging to us—to the people who live among them—I -love the voice of the doves in our dear trees, -Mr. Taxater. I love the cattle in the meadows. I -love the vegetables in the gardens. And I love to -think”—here Mr. Wone finished his glass, and -drew the back of his hand across his mouth—“I -love to think of these good gifts of the Heavenly -Father as being the expression of His divine bounty. -Yes, if anywhere in our revered country atheism and -immorality are condemned by nature herself, it is in -Nevilton. The fields of Nevilton are like the fields -of Canaan, they are full of the goodness of the Lord!”</p> - -<p>“Your emotions,” said the Papal Apologist at last, -as his companion paused breathless, “do you credit, -my dear Sir. I certainly hold with you that it is -important to counteract the influence of Free-Thinkers.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span></p> - -<p>“But the love of God, Mr. Taxater!” cried the -other, leaning forward and crossing his hands over -his knees. “We must not only refute, we must construct.” -Mr. Wone had never felt in higher feather. -Here was a man capable of really doing him justice. -He wished his recalcitrant son were present!</p> - -<p>“Construct—that is what I always say,” he repeated. -“We must be creative and constructive in -our movement, and fix it firmly upon the Only Foundation.”</p> - -<p>He surveyed through the window the expansive -heavens; and his glance encountered the same prominent -constellation, which, at that very moment, -but with different emotions, the agitated stone-carver -was contemplating from the cottage at Wild -Pine.</p> - -<p>“You are undoubtedly correct, Mr. Wone,” said -his host gravely, using a tone he might have used -if his interlocutor had been recommending him to buy -cheese. “You are undoubtedly correct in finding -the basis of the system of things in love. It is no -more than what the Saints have always taught. I -am also profoundly at one with you in your objection -to Free Love. Love and Free Love are contradictory -categories. They might even be called antinomies. -There is no synthesis which reconciles them.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Wone had not the remotest idea what any of -these words meant, but he felt flattered to the -depths of his being. It was clear that he had been -led to utter some profound philosophical maxim. -He once more wished from his heart that his son -could hear this conversation!</p> - -<p>“Well, Mr. Taxater,” he said, “I must now leave<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span> -you. I have other distinguished gentlemen to call upon -before I retire. But I thank you for your promised -support.</p> - -<p>“It would be better, perhaps”—here he lowered -his voice and looked jocose and crafty—“not to -refer to our little conversation. It might be misunderstood. -There is a certain prejudice, you know—unjustifiable, -of course, but unfortunately, very -prevalent, which makes it wiser—but I need say no -more. Good-bye, Mr. Taxater—good night, sir, -good night!”</p> - -<p>And he bowed himself off and proceeded up the -street to find the next victim of his evangelical discretion.</p> - -<p>As soon as he had gone, Mr. Taxater summoned his -housekeeper.</p> - -<p>“The next time that person comes,” he said, “will -you explain to him, very politely, that I have been -called to London? If this seems improbable, or if -he has caught a glimpse of me through the window, -will you please explain to him that I am engaged -upon a very absorbing literary work.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Wotnot nodded. “I kept my eyes open yesterday,” -the old woman remarked, in the manner of -some veteran conspirator in the service of a Privy -Counsellor.</p> - -<p>“As you happened to be looking for laurel-leaves, -I suppose?” said Mr. Taxater, drawing the red -curtains across the window, with his expressive -episcopal hand. “For laurel-leaves, Mrs. Wotnot, to -flavour that excellent custard?”</p> - -<p>The old woman nodded. “And you saw?” pursued -her master.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I saw Mr. Luke Andersen and Miss Gladys -Romer.”</p> - -<p>“Were they as happy as usual—these young -people,” asked the theologian mildly, “or were they—otherwise?”</p> - -<p>“They were very much what you are pleased to -call otherwise,” answered the old lady.</p> - -<p>“Quarrelling in fact?” suggested the diplomat, -seating himself deliberately in his arm-chair.</p> - -<p>“Miss Gladys was crying and Mr. Luke was -laughing.”</p> - -<p>The Papal Apologist waved his hand. “Thank -you, Mrs. Wotnot, thank you. These things will -happen, won’t they—even in Nevilton? Mr. Luke -laughing, and Miss Gladys crying? Your laurel-leaves -were very well chosen, my friend. Let me -have the rest of that custard tonight! I hope you -have not brought back your rheumatism, Mrs. Wotnot, -by going so far?”</p> - -<p>The housekeeper shook her head and retired to -prepare supper.</p> - -<p>Mr. Taxater took up the book by his side and -opened it thoughtfully. It was the final volume of -the collected works of Joseph de Maistre.</p> - -<p>Mr. Wone had not advanced far in the direction of -the church, when he overtook Vennie Seldom walking -slowly, with down-cast head, in the same direction.</p> - -<p>Vennie had just passed an uncomfortable hour -with her mother, who had been growing, during the -recent days, more and more fretful and suspicious. -It was partly to allay these suspicions and partly -to escape from the maternal atmosphere that she had -decided to be present that evening at the weekly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span> -choir-practice, a function that she had found herself -lately beginning to neglect. Mr. Wone had forgotten -the choir-practice. It would interfere, he was afraid, -with his desired interview with Mr. Clavering. Vennie -assured him that the clergyman’s presence was -not essential at these times.</p> - -<p>“He is not musical, you know. He only walks up -and down the aisle and confuses things. Everybody -will be glad if you take him away.”</p> - -<p>She was a little surprised at herself, even as she -spoke. To depreciate her best friend in this flippant -way, and to such a person, showed that her nerves -were abnormally strained.</p> - -<p>Mr. Wone did not miss the unusual tone. He had -never been on anything but very distant terms with -Miss Seldom, and his vanity was hugely delighted by -this new manner.</p> - -<p>“I am coming into my own,” he thought to himself. -“My abilities are being recognized at last, by -all these exclusive people.”</p> - -<p>“I hope,” he said, tentatively, “that you and your -dear mother are on our side in this great national -struggle. I have just been to see Mr. Taxater, and -he has promised me his energetic support.”</p> - -<p>“Has he?” said Vennie in rather a startled voice. -“That surprises me—a little. I know he does not -admire Mr. Romer; but I thought——”</p> - -<p>“O he is with us—heart and soul with us!” repeated -the triumphant Nonconformist. “I am glad -I went to him. Many of us would have been too -narrow-minded to enter his house, seeing he is a -papist. But I am free from such bigotry.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span></p> -<p>“And you hope to convert Mr. Clavering, too?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly; that is what I intend. But I believe -our excellent vicar needs no conversion. I have -often heard him speak—at the Social Meeting, you -know—and I assure you he is a true friend of the -working-classes. I only wish more of his kind were -like him.”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Clavering is too changeable,” remarked Vennie, -hardly knowing what she said. “His moods alter -from day to day.”</p> - -<p>“But you yourself, dear Miss Seldom,” the candidate -went on. “You yourself are, I think, entirely -with us?”</p> - -<p>“I really don’t know,” she answered. “My interests -do not lie in these directions. I sometimes -doubt whether it greatly matters, one way or the -other.”</p> - -<p>“Whether it matters?” cried Mr. Wone, inhaling -the night-air with a sigh of protestation. “Surely, -you do not take that indifferent and thoughtless attitude? -A young lady of your education—of your -religious feeling! Surely, you must feel that it -matters profoundly! As we walk here together, -through this embalmed air, full of so many agreeable -scents, surely you must feel that a good and great -God is making his power known at last, known and -respected, through the poor means of our consecrated -efforts? Forgive my speaking so freely to one -of your position; but it seems to me that you must—you -at least—be on our side, simply because what -we are aiming at is in such complete harmony with -this wonderful Love of God, diffused through all -things.”</p> - -<p>It is impossible to describe the shrinking aversion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span> -which these words produced upon the agitated nerves -of Vennie. Something about the Christian candidate -seemed to affect her with an actual sense of -physical nausea. She could have screamed, to feel -the man so near her—the dragging sound of his feet -on the road, the way he breathed and cleared his -throat, the manner in which his hat was tilted, all -combined to irritate her unendurably. She found -herself fantastically thinking how much sooner she -would have married even the egregious John Goring—as -Lacrima was going to do—than such a one as this. -What a pass Nevilton had brought itself to—when -the choice lay between a Mr. Romer and a Mr. Wone!</p> - -<p>An overpowering wave of disgust with the whole -human race swept over her—what wretched creatures -they all were—every one of them! She mentally -resolved that nothing—nothing on earth—should -stop her entering a convent. The man talked of -agreeable odours on the air. The air was poisoned, -tainted, infected! It choked her to breathe it.</p> - -<p>“I am so glad—so deeply glad,” Mr. Wone continued,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span> -“to have enjoyed the privilege of this little -quiet conversation. I shall never forget it. I feel as -though it had brought us wonderfully, beautifully, -near each other. It is on such occasions as this, that -one feels how closely, how entirely, in harmony, all -earnest-minded people are! Here are you, my dear -young lady, the descendant of such a noble and -ancient house, expressing in mute and tender silence, -your sympathy with one who represents the aspirations -of the poorest of the people! This is a symbolic -moment. I cannot help saying so. A symbolic -and consecrated moment!”</p> - -<p>“We had better walk a little faster,” remarked -Miss Seldom.</p> - -<p>“We will. We will walk faster,” agreed Mr. Wone. -“But you must let me put on record what this conversation -has meant to me! It has made me more -certain, more absolutely certain than ever, that without -a deep ethical basis our great movement is doomed -to hopeless failure.”</p> - -<p>The tone in which he used the word “ethical” was -so irritating to Vennie, that she felt an insane longing -to utter some frightful blasphemy, or even indecency, -in his ears, and to rush away with a peal -of hysterical laughter.</p> - -<p>They were now at the entrance to a narrow little -alley or lane which, passing a solitary cottage and an -unfrequented spring, led by a short approach directly -into the village-square. Half way down this lane a -curious block of Leonian stone stood in the middle of -the path. What the original purpose of this stone -had been it were not easy to tell. The upper portion -of it had apparently supported a chain, but -this had long ago disappeared. At the moment when -Mr. Wone and Miss Seldom reached the lane’s entrance, -a soft little scream came from the spot where -the stone stood; and dimly, in the shadowy darkness, -two forms became visible, engaged in some obscure -struggle. The scream was repeated, followed by a -series of little gasps and whisperings.</p> - -<p>Mr. Wone glanced apprehensively in the direction -of these sounds and increased his pace. He was confounded -with amazement when he found that Vennie -had stopped as if to investigate further. The truth -is, he had reduced the girl to such a pitch of unnatural<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span> -revolt that, for one moment in her life, she felt -glad that there were flagrant and lawless pleasures in -the world.</p> - -<p>Led by an unaccountable impulse she made several -steps up the lane. The figures separated as she approached, -one of them boldly advancing to meet her, -while the other retreated into the shadows. The -one who advanced, finding himself alone, turned and -called to his companion, “Annie! Where are you? -Come on, you silly girl! It’s all right.”</p> - -<p>Vennie recognized the voice of Luke Andersen. -She greeted him with hysterical gratitude. “I -thought it was you, Mr. Andersen; but you did -frighten me! I took you for a ghost. Who is that -with you?”</p> - -<p>The young stone-carver raised his hat politely. -“Only our little friend Annie,” he said. “I am escorting -her home from Yeoborough. We have been -on an errand for her mother. She’s such a baby, -you know, Miss Seldom, our little Annie. I love -teasing her.”</p> - -<p>“I am afraid you love teasing a great many people, -Mr. Andersen,” said Vennie, recovering her equanimity -and beginning to feel ashamed. “Here is Mr. -Wone. No doubt, he will be anxious to talk politics -to you. Mr. Wone!” She raised her voice as the -astonished Methodist came towards them. “It is -only Mr. Andersen. You had better talk to <em>him</em> of -your plans. I am afraid I shall be late if I don’t -go on.” She slipped aside as she spoke, leaving the -two men together, and hurried off towards the -church.</p> - -<p>Luke Andersen shook hands with the Christian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span> -Candidate. “How goes the campaign, the great -campaign?” he said. “I wonder you haven’t talked -to James about it. James is a hopeless idealist. -James is an admirable listener. You really ought to -talk to James. I wish you <em>would</em> talk to him; and -put a little of your shrewd common-sense into him! -He takes the populace seriously—a thing you and I -would never be such fools as to do, eh, Mr. Wone?”</p> - -<p>“I am afraid we disturbed you,” remarked the -Nonconformist, “Miss Seldom and I—I think you -had someone with you. Miss Seldom was quite interested. -We heard sounds, and she stopped.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, only Annie”—returned the young man lightly, -“only little Annie. We are old friends you know. -Don’t worry about Annie!”</p> - -<p>“It is a beautiful night, is it not?” remarked the -Methodist, peering down the lane. Luke Andersen -laughed.</p> - -<p>“Are you by any chance, Mr. Wone, interested in -astronomy? If so, perhaps you can tell me the name -of that star, over there, between Perseus and Andromeda? -No, no; that one—that greenish-coloured -one! Do you know what that is?”</p> - -<p>“I haven’t the least idea,” confessed the representative -of the People. “But I am a great admirer of -Nature. My admiration for Nature is one of the -chief motives of my life.”</p> - -<p>“I believe you,” said Luke. “It is one of my -own, too. I admire everything in it, without any -exception.”</p> - -<p>“I hope,” said Mr. Wone, reverting to the purpose -that, with Nature, shared just now his dominant -interest, “I hope you are also with us in our struggle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span> -against oppression? Mr. Taxater and Miss Seldom -are certainly on our side. I sometimes feel as though -Nature herself, were on our side, especially on a -lovely night like this, full of such balmy odours.”</p> - -<p>“I am delighted to see the struggle going on,” returned -the young man, emphatically. “And I am -thoroughly glad to see a person like yourself at the -head of it.”</p> - -<p>“Then you, too, will take a part,” cried the candidate, -joyfully. “This, indeed, has been a successful -evening! I feel sure now that in Nevilton, at any -rate, the tide will flow strongly in my favour. Next -week, I have to begin a tour of the whole district. -I may not be able to return for quite a long time. -How happy I shall be to know that I leave the cause -in such good hands! The strike is the important -thing, Andersen. You and your brother must work -hard to bring about the strike. It is coming. I -know it is coming. But I want it soon. I want it -immediately.”</p> - -<p>The stone-carver nodded and hummed a tune. -He seemed to intimate with the whole air of his -elegant quiescence that the moment had arrived for -Mr. Wone’s departure.</p> - -<p>The Nonconformist felt the telepathic pressure of -this polite dismissal. He waved his arm. “Good -night, then; good night! I am afraid I must postpone -my talk with Mr. Clavering till another occasion. -Remember the strike, Andersen! That is what I -leave in your hands. Remember the strike!”</p> - -<p>The noise of Mr. Wone’s retreating steps was -still audible when Luke returned to the stone in the -middle of Splash Lane. The sky was clear now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span> -and a faint whitish glimmer, shining on the worn -surface of the stone, revealed the two deep holes in -it, where the fastenings of the chain had hung. -The young man tapped the stone with his stick and -gave a low whistle. An amorphous heap of clothes, -huddled in the hedge, stirred, and emitted a reproachful -sound.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you’re there, are you?” he said. “What silly -nonsense is this? Get up! Let’s see your face!” -He stooped and pulled at the object. After a moment’s -struggle the flexible form of a young girl -emerged into the light. She held down her head and -appeared sulky and angry.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter, Annie?” whispered the youth -encircling her with his arms.</p> - -<p>The girl shook him away. “How could you tell -Miss Seldom who I was!” she murmured. “How -could you do it, Luke? If it had been anybody -else—but for her to know——”</p> - -<p>The stone-carver laughed. “Really, child, you are -too ridiculous! Why, on earth, shouldn’t she know, -more than anyone else?”</p> - -<p>The girl looked fiercely at him. “Because she is -good,” she said. “Because she is the only good -person in this blasted place!”</p> - -<p>The young man showed no astonishment at this -outburst. “Come on, darling,” he rejoined. “We -must be getting you home. I daresay, Miss Seldom -is all you think. It seemed to me, though, that she -was different from usual tonight. But I expect that -fool had upset her.”</p> - -<p>He let the young girl lean for a moment against -the shadowy stone while he fumbled for his cigarettes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span> -and matches. He observed her make a quick movement -with her hands.</p> - -<p>“What are you up to now?” he asked.</p> - -<p>She gave a fierce little laugh. “There!” she cried. -“I have done it!”</p> - -<p>“What have you done?” he enquired, emitting a -puff of smoke, and throwing the lighted match into -the hedge.</p> - -<p>She pressed her hands against the stone and looked -up at him mischievously and triumphantly. “Look!” -she said, holding out her fingers in the darkness. He -surveyed her closely. “What is it? Have you -scratched yourself?”</p> - -<p>“Light a match and see!” she cried. He lit a -match and examined the hand she held towards him.</p> - -<p>“You have thrown away that ring!”</p> - -<p>“Not <em>thrown</em> it away, Luke; not thrown it away! -I have pressed it down into this hole. You can’t -get it out now! Nobody never can!”</p> - -<p>He held the flickering match closely against the -stone’s surface. In the narrow darkness of the -aperture she indicated, something bright glittered.</p> - -<p>“But this is really annoying of you, Annie,” said -the stone-carver. “I told you that ring was only -lent to me. She’ll be asking for it back tomorrow.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you can tell her to come here and get it!”</p> - -<p>“But this is really serious,” protested Luke, trying -in vain to reach the object with his outstretched -fingers.</p> - -<p>“And I have twisted my hair round it!” the girl -went on, in exulting excitement, “I have twisted it -tight around. It will be hard to get it off!”</p> - -<p>Luke continued making ineffectual dives into the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span> -hole, while she watched him gleefully. He went to -the hedge and breaking off a dusty sprig of woundwort -prodded the ring with its stalk.</p> - -<p>“You can’t do it” she cried, “you can’t do it! -You’ll only push it further in!”</p> - -<p>“Damn you, Annie!” he muttered. “This is a -horrible kind of joke. I tell you, Gladys will want -this confounded thing back tomorrow. She’s already -asked me twice for it. She only gave it to -me for fun.”</p> - -<p>The girl leaned across the stone towards him, -propping herself on the palms of her hands, and -laughing mischievously. “No one in this village -can get that ring out of there!” she cried; “no one! -And when they does, they’ll find it all twisted up -with my hair!” She tossed back her black locks -defiantly.</p> - -<p>Luke Andersen’s thoughts ran upon scissors, pincers, -willow-wands, bramble-thorns, and children’s -arms.</p> - -<p>“Leave it then!” he said. “After all, I can swear -I lost it. Come on, you little demon!”</p> - -<p>They moved away; and St. Catharine’s church -was only striking the hour of nine, when they separated -at her mother’s door.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV<br /> -<span class="smaller">MORTIMER ROMER</span></h2> - -<p>The incredibly halcyon June which had filled -the lanes and meadows of Nevilton that -summer with such golden weather, gave place -at last to July; and with July came tokens of a -change.</p> - -<p>The more slow-growing hay-fields were still strewn -with their little lines of brown mown grass waiting -its hour of “carrying,” but the larger number of -the pastures wore now that freshly verdant and yet -curiously sad look, which fields in summer wear when -they have been shorn of their first harvest. The -corn in the arable-lands was beginning to stand high; -wheat and barley varying their alternate ripening -tints, from the rich gold of the one, to the diaphanous -glaucous green, so tender and pallid, of the -other. In the hedges, rag-wort, knapweed and scabious -had completely replaced wild-rose and elder-blossom; -and in the ditches and by the margins of ponds, -loosestrife and willow-herb were beginning to bud. -Even the latest-sprouting among the trees carried -now the full heavy burden, dark and monotonous, of -the summer’s prime; and the sharp, dry intermittent -chirping of warblers, finches and buntings, had long -since replaced, in the garden-bushes, the more flute-like -cries of the earlier-nesting birds.</p> - -<p>The shadowy woods of the Nevilton valleys, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span> -their thick entangled undergrowth, were less pleasant -to walk in than they had been. Tall rank growths -choked the wan remnants of the season’s first prime; -and beneath sombre, indistinguishable foliage, the -dry, hard-trodden paths lost their furtive enchantment. -Dog-mercury, that delicate child of the under-shadows, -was no more now than a gross mass of -tarnished leaves. Enchanter’s night-shade took the -place of pink-campion; only to yield, in its turn, -to viper’s bugloss and flea-bane.</p> - -<p>As the shy gods of the year’s tender birth receded -before these ranker maturings, humanity became -more prominent. Print-frocked maidens assisted the -sheep in treading the slopes of Leo’s Hill into earthy -grassless patches. Bits of dirty paper and the litter -of careless picnickers strewed the most shadowy -recesses. Smart youths flicked town-bought canes in -places where, a few weeks before, the squirrel had -gambolled undisturbed, and the wood-pecker had -deepened the magical silence by his patent labour. -Where recently, amid shadowy moss “soft as sleep,” -the delicate petals of the fragile wood-sorrel had -breathed untroubled in their enchanted aisles of -leafy twilight, one found oneself reading, upon -torn card-board boxes, highly-coloured messages to -the Human Race from energetic Tradesmen. July -had replaced June. The gods of Humanity had replaced -the gods of Nature; and the interlude between -hay-harvest and wheat-harvest had brought the -dog-star Sirius into his diurnal ascendance.</p> - -<p>The project of Lacrima’s union with Mr. John -Goring remained, so to speak, “in the air.” The -village assumed it as a certainty; Mr. Quincunx regarded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[357]</a></span> -it as a probability; and Mr. Goring himself, -enjoying his yearly session of agreeable leisure, -meditated upon it day and night.</p> - -<p>Lacrima had fallen into a curious lassitude with -regard to the whole matter. In these July days, -especially now that the sky was overcast by clouds -and heavy rains seemed imminent, she appeared to -lose all care or interest in her own life. Her mood -followed the mood of the weather. If some desperate -deluge of disaster was brooding in the distance, she -felt tempted to cry out, “Let it fall!”</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx’s feelings on the subject remained a -mystery to her. He neither seemed definitely to -accept her sacrifice, nor to reject it. He did not -really—so she could not help telling herself—visualize -the horror of the thing, as it affected her, in any -substantial degree. He often made a joke of it; -and kept quoting cynical and worldly suggestions, -from the lips of Luke Andersen.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, both from Mr. Romer and -the farmer, she received quiet, persistent and inexorable -pressure; though to do the latter justice, -he made no further attempts to treat her roughly or -familiarly.</p> - -<p>She had gone so far once—in a mood of panic-stricken -aversion, following upon a conversation with -Gladys—as actually to walk to the vicarage gate, -with the definite idea of appealing to Vennie; but -it chanced that in place of Vennie she had observed -Mrs. Seldom moving among her flower-beds, and the -grave austerity of the aristocratic old lady had taken -all resolution from her and made her retrace her -steps.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[358]</a></span></p> - -<p>It must also be confessed that her dislike and fear -of Gladys had grown to dimensions bordering upon -monomania. The elder girl at once hypnotized and -paralyzed her. Her sensuality, her feline caprices, -her elaborately cherished hatred, reduced the Italian -to such helpless misery, that any change—even the -horror of this marriage—assumed the likeness of a -desirable relief.</p> - -<p>It is also true that by gradual degrees,—for women, -however little prone to abstract thought, are quick -to turn the theories of those they love into living -practice,—she had come to regard the mere physical -terror of this momentous plunge as a less insurmountable -barrier than she had felt at first. Without -precisely intending it, Mr. Quincunx had really, -in a measure—particularly since he himself had come -to frequent the society of Luke Andersen—achieved -what might have conventionally been called the -“corruption” of Lacrima’s mind. She found herself -on several occasions imagining what she would really -feel, if, escaped for an afternoon from her Priory -duties, she were slipping off to meet her friend in -Camel’s Cover or Badger’s Bottom.</p> - -<p>When the suggestion had been first made to her -of this monstrous marriage, it had seemed nothing -short of a sentence of death, and beyond the actual -consummation of it, she had never dreamed of -looking. But all this had now imperceptibly changed. -Many an evening as she sat with her work by Mrs. -Romer’s side, watching Gladys and her father play -cards, the thought came over her that she might -just as well enjoy the comparative independence of -having her own house and her own associations—even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[359]</a></span> -though the price of them <em>were</em> the society of -such a lump of clay—as live this wretched half-life -without hope or aim.</p> - -<p>Other moods arrived when the thought of having -children of her own came to her with something more -than a mere sense of escape; came to her with the -enlargement of an opening horizon. She recalled the -many meandering discourses which Mr. Quincunx -had addressed to her upon this subject. They had -not affected her woman’s instincts; but they had -lodged in her mind. A girl’s children, so her friend -had often maintained, do not belong to the father -at all. The father is nothing—a mere irrelevant -incident, a mere chance. The mother alone—the -mother always—has the rights and pleasures, as -she has the responsibilities and pains of the parental -relation. She even recalled one occasion of twilight -philosophizing in the potato-bed, when Mr. Quincunx -had gone so far as to maintain the unscientific thesis -that children, born where there is no love, inherit -character, appearance, tastes, everything—from the -mother.</p> - -<p>Lacrima had a dim suspicion that some of these -less pious theories were due to the perverse Luke, -who, as the cloudier July days overcast his evening -rambles, had acquired the habit of strolling at night-fall -into Mr. Quincunx’s kitchen. Once indeed she -was certain she discerned the trail of this plausible -heathen in her friend’s words. Mr. Quincunx, with -one of his peculiarly goblin-like leers, had intimated—in -jest indeed, but with a searching look into her face -that it would be no very difficult task to deceive,—in -shrewd Panurgian roguery, this clumsy clown.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[360]</a></span> -His words at the time had hurt and shocked her; -and her reaction from them had led to the spoiling -of a pleasant conversation; but they invaded afterwards, -more deeply than she would have cared to -confess, her hours of dreamy solitude.</p> - -<p>Her southern imagination, free from both the -grossness and the hypocrisy of the Nevilton mind, -was much readier to wander upon an antinomian -path—at least in its wayward fancies—than it -would have been, had circumstances not led her -away from her inherited faith.</p> - -<p>While the sensuality of Gladys left her absolutely -untouched, the anarchistic theories of her friend—especially -now they had been fortified and directed -by the insidious Luke—gave her intelligence many -queer and lawless topics of solitary brooding. Her -senses, her instincts, were as pure and unsophisticated -as ever; but her conscience was besieged and threatened. -It was indeed a queer rôle—this, which fate -laid upon Mr. Quincunx—the rôle of undermining -the reluctance of his own sweetheart to make a -loveless marriage—but it was one for which his -curious lack of physical passion singularly fitted -him.</p> - -<p>Had Vennie Seldom or Hugh Clavering been aware -of the condition of affairs they would have condemned -Mr. Quincunx in the most wholesale manner. -Clavering would probably have been tempted -to apply to him some of the most abusive language -in the dictionary. But it is extremely questionable -whether this judgment of theirs would have been -justified.</p> - -<p>A more enlightened planetary observer, initiated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[361]</a></span> -into the labyrinthine hearts of men, might well have -pointed out that Mr. Quincunx’s theories were largely -a matter of pure speculation, humorously remote -from any contact with reality. He might also have -reminded these indignant ones that Mr. Quincunx -quite genuinely laboured under the illusion—if -it were an illusion—that for his friend to be mistress -of the Priory and free of her dependence on the -Romers was a thing eminently desirable, and worth -the price she paid for it. Such an invisible clairvoyant -might even have surmised, what no one in -Nevilton who knew of Mr. Romer’s offer would for -one second have believed; namely, that he would -have given her the same advice had there been no -such offer, simply on the general ground of binding -her permanently to the place.</p> - -<p>The fact, however, remained, that by adopting this -ambiguous and evasive attitude Mr. Quincunx reduced -the more heroic and romantic aspect of the -girl’s sacrifice to the lowest possible level, and flung -her into a mood of reckless and spiritless indifference. -She was brought to the point of losing all interest -in her own fate and of simply relapsing upon the -tide of events.</p> - -<p>It was precisely to this condition that Mr. Romer -had desired to bring her. When she had first attracted -him, and had fallen into his hands, there had -been certain psychological contests between them, in -which the quarry-owner had by no means emerged -victorious. It was the rankling memory of these -contests—contests spiritual rather than material—which -had issued in his gloomy hatred of her and his -longing to corrupt her mind and humiliate her soul.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[362]</a></span> -This corruption, this humiliation had been long in -coming. It had seemed out of his own power and -out of the power of his feline daughter to bring -it about; but this felicitous plan of using the -girl’s own friend to assist her moral disintegration -appeared to have changed the issue very completely.</p> - -<p>Mr. Romer, watching her from day to day, became -more and more certain that her integral soul, the inmost -fortress of her self-respect, was yielding inch -by inch. She had flung the rudder down; and was -drifting upon the tide.</p> - -<p>It might have been a matter of surprise to some -ill-judging psychologists that a Napoleonic intriguer, -of the quarry-owner’s type, should ever have entered -upon a struggle apparently so unequal and unimportant -as that for the mere integrity of a solitary -girl’s spirit. Such a judgment would display little -knowledge of the darker possibilities of human character. -Resistance is resistance, from whatever quarter -it comes; and the fragile soul of a helpless Pariah -may be just as capable of provoking the aggressive -instincts of a born master of men as the most obdurate -of commercial rivals.</p> - -<p>There are certain psychic oppositions to our will, -which, when once they have been encountered, remain -indelibly in the memory as a challenge and a -defiance, until their provocation has been wiped out -in their defeat. It matters nothing that such oppositions -should spring from weak or trifling quarters. -We have been baffled, thwarted, fooled; and we cannot -recover the feeling of identity with ourselves, -until, like a satisfied tidal wave, our will has drowned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[363]</a></span> -completely the barricades that defied it. It matters -nothing if at the beginning, what we were thwarted -by was a mere trifle, a straw upon the wind, a -feather in the breeze. The point is that our will, in -flowing outwards, at its capricious pleasure, met -with opposition—met with resistance. We do not -really recover our self-esteem until every memory of -such an event has been obliterated by a complete -revenge.</p> - -<p>It is useless to object that a powerful ambitious -man of the Romer mould, contending Atlas-like under -a weight of enormous schemes, was not one to harbour -such long-lingering rancour against a mere Pariah. -There was more in the thing than appears on the -surface. The brains of mortal men are queer crucibles, -and the smouldering fires that heat them -are driven by capricious and wanton guests. Lacrima’s -old defeat of the owner of Leo’s Hill—a defeat -into which there is no need to descend now, for -its “terrain” was remote from our present stage—had -been a defeat upon what might be called a subliminal -or interior plane.</p> - -<p>It was almost as if he had encountered her and she -had encountered him, not only in the past of this -particular life, but a remoter past—in a past of -some pre-natal incarnation. There are—as is well-known, -many instances of this unfathomable conflict -between certain human types—types that seem -to <em>find</em> one another, that seem to be drawn to one -another, by some preordained necessity in the occult -influences of mortal fate. It matters nothing in regard -to such a conflict, that on one side should be -strength, power and position, and on the other weakness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[364]</a></span> -and helplessness. The soul is the soul, and has -its own laws.</p> - -<p>It is a case of what a true initiate into the secrets -of our terrestrial drama might entitle Planetary -Opposition. By some hidden law of planetary opposition, -this frail child of the Apennine ridges was -destined to provoke, to an apparently quite unequal -struggle, this formidable schemer from the money-markets -of London.</p> - -<p>In these strange pre-natal attractions and repulsions -between men and women, the mere conventional -differences of rank and social importance -are as nothing and less than nothing.</p> - -<p>Vast unfathomable tides of cosmic conflict drive us -all backwards and forwards; and if under the ascendance -of Sirius in the track of the Sun, the master -of Nevilton found himself devoting more energy to -the humiliation of his daughter’s companion than to -his election to the British Parliament, one can only -remember that both of them—the strong and the -weak—were merely puppets and pawns of elemental -forces, compared with which he, as well as she, was -as the chaff before the wind.</p> - -<p>It was one of the peculiarities of this Nevilton -valley to draw to itself, as we have already -hinted, and focus strangely in itself, these airy and -elemental oppositions. To rise above the clash of -the Two Mythologies on this spot, with all their -planetary “auxiliar gods,” one would have had -to ascend incredibly high into that star-sown -space above—perhaps so high, that the whole -solar system, rushing madly through the ether -towards the constellation of Hercules, would have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[365]</a></span> -shown itself as less than a cluster of wayward fireflies. -From a height as supreme as this, the difference -between Mortimer Romer and Lacrima Traffio would -have been less than the difference between two -summer-midges transacting their affairs on the edge -of a reed in Auber Lake.</p> - -<p>Important or unimportant, however, the struggle -went on; and, as July advanced, seemed to tend -more and more to Mr. Romer’s advantage. Precisely -what he desired to happen was indeed happening—Lacrima’s -soul was disintegrating; her powers -of resistance were diminishing; and a reckless carelessness -about her personal fate was taking the place -of her old sensitive apprehensions.</p> - -<p>Another important matter went well at this time -for Mr. Romer. His daughter became formally engaged -to the wealthy American. Dangelis had been -pressing her, for many weeks, to come to some -definite decision, between himself and Lord Tintinhull’s -heir, and she had at last made up her mind and -given him her promise.</p> - -<p>The Romers were enchanted at this new development. -Mrs. Romer had always disliked the thought -of having to enter into closer relations with the -aristocracy—relations for which she was so obviously -unsuited; and Ralph Dangelis fitted in exactly with -her idea of what her son-in-law should be.</p> - -<p>Mr. Romer, too, found in Dangelis just the sort of -son he had always longed for. He had quite recognized, -by this time, that the “artistic” tastes of the -American and his unusual talent interfered in no -way with the possession of a very shrewd intellectual -capacity. Dangelis had indeed all the qualities that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[366]</a></span> -Mr. Romer most admired. He was strong. He was -clever. He was an entertaining companion. He was -at once very formidable and very good-tempered. -And he was immensely rich.</p> - -<p>It would have annoyed him to see Gladys dominate -a man of this sort with her capricious ways. -But he had not the remotest fear that she would -dominate this citizen of Ohio. Dangelis would pet her -and spoil her and deluge her with money, but keep -a firm and untroubled hand over her; and that -exactly suited Mr. Romer’s wishes. The man’s -wealth would also be an immense help to himself in -his financial undertakings. Together they would be -able to engineer colossal and world-shaking schemes.</p> - -<p>It was a satisfaction, too, to think that, when he -died, his loved quarries on Leo’s Hill and his historic -Leonian House should fall into the hands, not of these -Ilchesters and Ilminsters and Evershots—families -whose pretensions he hated and derided—but of an -honest descendant of plain business men of his own -class.</p> - -<p>It was Mrs. Romer, and not her husband, who -uttered a lament that the House after their death -should no longer be the property of one of their own -name. She proposed that Gladys’ American should be -induced to change his name. But Mr. Romer would -hear nothing of this. His system was the old imperial -Roman system, of succession by adoption. -The man who could deal with the Legions, the man -who was strong enough to suppress strikes on Leo’s -Hill, and cope successfully with such rascals as this -voluble Wone, was the man to inherit Nevilton! -Be his patronymic what you please, such a man was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[367]</a></span> -Cæsar. Himself, a new-comer, risen from nothing, -and contemptuous of all tradition, it had constantly -been a matter of serious annoyance to him that the -wealth he had amassed should only go to swell the -pride of these fatuous landed gentry. It delighted -him to think that Gladys’ children—the future inheritors -of his labour—should be, on their father’s -side also, from new and untraditional stock. It -gave him immense satisfaction to think of disappointing -Lord Tintinhull, who no doubt had long ago -told his friends how sad it was that his son had got -entangled with that girl at Nevilton; but how nice -it was that Nevilton House should in the future -take its proper place in the county.</p> - -<p>There was one cloud on Mr. Romer’s horizon at -this moment, and that cloud was composed of vapours -spun from the brain of his parliamentary rival, the -eloquent Methodist.</p> - -<p>Mr. Wone had long been at work among the Leo’s -Hill quarry-men, encouraging them to strike. Until -the second week in July his efforts had been fruitless; -but with the change in the weather to which we have -referred, the strike came. It had already lasted -some seven or eight days, when a Saturday arrived -which had been selected, several months before, for -a great political gathering on the summit of Leo’s -Hill. This was a meeting of radicals and socialists -to further the cause of Mr. Wone’s campaign.</p> - -<p>Leo’s Hill had been, for many generations, the site -of such local gatherings. These gatherings were not -confined to political demonstrators. They were usually -attended by circus-men and other caterers to -proletarian amusement; and were often quite as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[368]</a></span> -lively, in their accompaniments of feasting and festivity, -as any country fair.</p> - -<p>The actual speaking took place at the extreme -northern end of the hill, where there was a singular -and convenient feature, lending itself to such assemblies, -in the formation of the ground. This was the -grassy outline, still emphasizing quite distinctly its -ancient form, of the military Roman amphitheatre -attached to the camp. Locally the place was known -as “the Frying-pan”, from its marked and grotesque -resemblance to that utensil; but no base culinary -appellation, issue of Anglo-Saxon unimaginativeness, -could conceal the formidable classic moulding of -its well-known shape—the shape of the imperial -colisseum.</p> - -<p>Between the Frying-pan and the southern side -of the hill, where the bulk of the quarries were, rose -a solitary stone building. One hardly expected the -presence of such a building in such a place, for it -was a considerable-sized inn; but the suitableness of -the grassy expanses of the ancient camp for all -manner of tourist-jaunts accounted for its erection; -and doubtless it served a good purpose in softening -with interludes of refreshment the labours of the -quarry-men.</p> - -<p>It was the presence of this admirable tavern so -near the voice of the orator, that led Mr. Romer, -himself, to stroll, on that Saturday, in the direction -of his rival’s demonstration. Though the more considerable -of his quarries were at the southern end of -the hill, certain new excavations, in the success of -which he took exceptional interest, had been latterly -made in its very centre, and within a stone’s throw<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[369]</a></span> -of the tavern-door. The great cranes, used in this -new invasion, stood out against the sky from the -highest part of the hill, and assumed, especially at -sunset, when their shape was rendered most emphatic, -the form of enormous compasses, planted -there by some gigantic architectural hand.</p> - -<p>It was in relation to these new works that Mr. -Romer, towards the close of the afternoon, found himself -advancing along the narrow path that led, between -clumps of bracken and furze-bushes, from the -most westward of his woods to the hill’s base. Mr. -Lickwit had informed him that there was talk, -among some of the more intransigent of the Yeoborough -socialists, about destroying these cranes. -Objections had been brought against them, in recent -newspaper articles, on purely æsthetic grounds. It -was said they disfigured the classic outline of the -hill, and interfered with a landmark which had been -a delight to every eye for unnumbered ages.</p> - -<p>It was hardly to be supposed that the more official -of the supporters of Mr. Wone would condone any -such outbreak. It was unlikely that Wone himself -would do so. The “Christian Candidate,” as his -Methodist friends called him, was in no way a man -of violence. But the fact that there had been this -pseudo-public criticism of the works from an unpolitical -point of view might lend colour to any sort -of scandal. There were plenty of bold spirits among -the by-streets of Yeoborough who would have loved -nothing better than to send Mr. Romer’s cranes -toppling over into a pit, and indeed it was the sort -of adventure which would draw all the more restless -portion of the meeting’s audience. The possibility<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[370]</a></span> -was the more threatening because the presence of -this kind of general fair attracted to the hill all -manner of heterogeneous persons quite unconnected -with the locality.</p> - -<p>But what really influenced Mr. Romer in making -his own approach to the spot, was the neighbourhood -of the Half Moon. Where there was drink, he argued, -people would get drunk; and where people got drunk, -anything might happen. He had instituted Mr. -Lickwit to remain on guard at the eastern works; -and he had written to the superintendent of police -suggesting the advisability of special precautions. -But he felt nervous and ill at ease as he listened, -from his Nevilton terrace, to the distant shouts and -clamour carried to him on the west wind; and true -to his Napoleonic instincts, he proceeded, without -informing anyone of his intention, straight to the -zone of danger.</p> - -<p>The afternoon was very hot, though there was no -sun. The wind blew in threatening gusts, and the -quarry-owner noticed that the distant Quantock -Moors were overhung with a dark bank of lowering -clouds. It was one of those sinister days that have -the power of taking all colour and all interest out of -the earth’s surface. The time of the year lent itself -gloomily to this sombre unmasking. The furze-bushes -looked like dead things. Many of them had -actually been burnt in some wanton conflagration; -and their prickly branches carried warped and -blighted seeds. The bracken, near the path, had been -dragged and trodden. Here and there its stalks protruded -like thin amputated arms. The elder-bushes, -caught in the wind, showed white and metallic, as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[371]</a></span> -if all their leaves had been dipped in some brackish -water. All the trees seemed to have something of -this dull, whitish glare, which did not prevent them -from remaining, in the recesses of their foliage, as -drearily dark as the dark dull soil beneath them. -The grass of the fields had a look congruous with the -rest of the scene; a look as if it had been one large -velvety pall, drawn over the whole valley.</p> - -<p>In the valley itself, along the edges of this grassy -hall, the tall clipped elm-trees stood like mourning -sentinels bowing towards their dead. Drifting butterflies, -principally of the species known as the -“Lesser Heath” and the “Meadow-Brown,” whirled -past his feet as he walked, in troubled and tarnished -helplessness. Here and there a weak dilapidated -currant-moth, the very epitome of surrender to circumstance, -tried in vain to arrest its enforced flight -among the swaying stalks of grey melancholy thistles, -the only living things who seemed to find the temper -of the day congenial with their own.</p> - -<p>When he reached the base of the hill, Mr. Romer -was amazed at the crowd of people which the festivity -had attracted to the place. He had heard -them passing down the roads all day from the seclusion -of his garden, and to judge by such vehicles -as he had secured a glimpse of from the entrance to -his drive, many of them must have come from miles -away. But he had never expected a crowd like this. -It seemed to cover the whole northern side of the -hill, swaying to and fro, like some great stream of -voracious maggots, in the body of a dead animal.</p> - -<p>Round the cranes, in the centre of the hill, the -crowd seemed especially thick. He made out the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[372]</a></span> -presence there of several large caravans, and he heard -the music of a merry-go-round from that direction. -This latter sound, in its metallic and ferocious gaiety, -seemed especially adapted to the character of the -scene. It seemed like the very voice of some savage -Dionysian helot-feast, celebrated in defiance of all -constituted authority. It was such music as Caliban -would have loved.</p> - -<p>Unwilling to arouse unnecessary anger by making -his presence known, while there was no cause, Mr. -Romer left the Half Moon on his right, and crossing -the brow of the hill diagonally, by a winding path -that encircled the grassy hollows of innumerable -ancient quarries, arrived at the foot of an immense -circular tumulus which dominated the whole scene. -This indeed was the highest point of Leo’s Hill, and -from its summit one looked far away towards the -Bristol Channel in one direction, and far away -towards the English Channel in another. It was, as -it were, the very navel and pivot of that historic -region. From this spot one obtained a sort of birds-eye -view of the whole surface of Leo’s Hill.</p> - -<p>Here Mr. Romer found himself quite alone, and -from here, with hands clasped behind him, he surveyed -the scene with a grave satiric smile. He could -see his new works with the immense cranes reaching -into the sky above them. He could see the swaying -crowd round the amphitheatre at the extreme corner -of the promontory; and he could see, embosomed in -trees to the left of Nevilton’s Mount, a portion of -his own Elizabethan dwelling.</p> - -<p>Mr. Romer felt strong and confident as he looked -down on all these things. He always seemed to renew<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[373]</a></span> -the forces of his being when he visited this grass-covered -repository of his wealth and influence. Leo’s -Hill suited his temper, and he felt as though he suited -the temper of Leo’s Hill. Between the man who -exploited the stone, and the great reservoir of the -stone he exploited, there seemed an illimitable affinity.</p> - -<p>He looked down with grim and humorous contempt -at the noisy crowd thus invading his sacred domain. -They might harangue their hearts out,—those besotted -sentimentalists,—he could well afford to let -them talk! They might howl and dance and feast -and drink, till they were as dazed as Comus’ rabble,—he -could afford to let them shout! Probably Mr. -Wone, the “Christian Candidate,” was even at that -moment, making his great final appeal for election -at the hands of the noble, the free, the enlightened -constituency of Mid-Wessex.</p> - -<p>Romer felt an immense wave of contempt surge -through his veins for this stream of fatuous humanity -as it swarmed before his eyes like an army of disturbed -ants. How little their anger or their affection -mattered to him—or mattered to the world at large! -He would have liked to have seized in his hands -some vast celestial torch and suffocated them all -in its smoke, as one would choke out a wasp’s nest. -Their miserable little pains and pleasures were not -worth the trouble Nature had taken in giving them -the gift of life. Dead or alive—happy or unhappy—they -were not deserving of any more consideration -than a cloud of gnats that one brushed away from -one’s face.</p> - -<p>The master of Leo’s Hill drew a deep breath and -listened to the screams of the merry-go-round.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[374]</a></span> -Something in the strident machine made him think -of hymn-singing and mob-religion. This Religion of -Sentiment and Self-Pity with which they cloak their -weakness and their petty rancour—what is it, he -thought, but an excuse of escaping from the necessity -of being strong and fearless and hard and formidable? -It is easier—so much easier—to draw back, and -go aside, and deal in paltry subterfuges and sneaking -jealousies, veneered over with hypocritical unction, -than to strike out and pursue one’s own way drastically -and boldly.</p> - -<p>He folded his arms and frowned. What is it, he -muttered to himself, this hidden Force, this Power, -this God, to which they raise their vague appeals -against the proud, clear, actual domination of natural -law and unscrupulous strength? Is there really some -other element in the world, some other fact, from -which they can draw support and encouragement? -There cannot be! He looked at the lowering sky -above him, and at the grey thistles and little patches -of thyme under his feet. All was solid, real, unyielding. -There was no gap, no open door, in the stark -surface of things, through which such a mystery might -enter.</p> - -<p>He found himself vaguely wondering whose grave -this had originally been, this great flat tumulus, upon -which he stood and hated the mob of men. There -was a burnt circle in the centre of it, with blackened -cinders. The place had been used for some recent -national rejoicing, and they had raised a bonfire -here. He supposed that there must have been a -much more tremendous bonfire in the days when—perhaps -before the Romans—this mound was raised<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[375]</a></span> -to celebrate some savage chieftain. He wondered -whether, in his life-time, this long-buried, long-forgotten -one had stood, even as he stood now, and -cried aloud to the Earth and the Sky in sick loathing -of his wretched fellow-animals.</p> - -<p>He humorously speculated whether this man also, -this ancient challenger of popular futility, had been -driven to strange excesses by the provocative resistance -of some feeble girl, making her mute appeals to -the suppressed conscience in him, and calling in the -help of tender compassionate gods? Had they softened -this buried chieftain’s heart, these gods of -slavish souls and weak wills, before he went down -into darkness? Or had he defied them to the last -and died lonely, implacable, contemptuous?</p> - -<p>The quarry-owner’s ears began to grow irritated -at last by these raucous metallic sounds and by the -laughter and the shouting. It was so precisely as if -this foolish crowd were celebrating, in drunken ecstasy, -a victory won over him, and over all that was clear-edged, -self-possessed, and effectual, in this confused -world. He struck off the heads of some of the grey -thistles with his cane, and wished they had been the -heads of the Christian Candidate and his oratorical -associates.</p> - -<p>Presently his attention was excited by a tremendous -hubbub at the northern extremity of the hill. The -crowd seemed to have gone mad. They cheered -again and again, and seemed vociferating some popular -air or some marching-song. He could almost -catch the words of this. The curious thing was that -he could not help in his heart dallying with the strange -wish that in place of being the man at the top, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[376]</a></span> -had been one of these men at the bottom. How differently -he would have conducted the affair. He knew, -from his dealings with the country families, how -deep this revolutionary rage with established tradition -could sink. He sympathized with it himself. -He would have loved to have flung the whole sleek -structure of society into disorder, and to have shaken -these feeble rulers out of their snug seats. But this -Wone had not the spirit of a wood-louse! Had he—Romer—been -at this moment the arch-revolutionary, -in place of the arch-tyrant, what a difference -in method and result! Did they think, these idiots, -that eloquent words and appeals to Justice and -Charity would change the orbits of the planets?</p> - -<p>He strode impatiently to the edge of the tumulus. -Yes, there was certainly something unusual going -forward. The crowd was swaying outwards, was -scattering and wavering. Men were running to and -fro, tossing their hats in the air and shouting. At -last there really was a definite event. The whole -mass of the crowd seemed to be seized simultaneously -with a single impulse. It began to move. It began -to move in the direction of his new quarries. The -thrill of battle seized the heart of the master of -Nevilton with an exultant glow. So they were really -going to attempt something—the incapable sheep! -This was the sort of situation he had long cried out -for. To have an excuse to meet them, face to face, -in a genuine insurrection, this was worthier of a -man’s energy than quarrelling with wretched Social -Meetings.</p> - -<p>He ran down the side of the tumulus and hastened -to meet the approaching mob. By leaving the path<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[377]</a></span> -and skirting the edge of several disused quarries he -should, he thought, easily be able to reach his new -works long before they did. The tall cranes served -as a guide. To his astonishment he found, on approaching -his objective, that the mob had swerved, -and were now streaming forward in a long wavering -line, between the Half Moon tavern and the lower -slopes, towards the southern end of the hill.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” he muttered under his breath, “this is more -serious! They are going to attack the offices.”</p> - -<p>By this time, the bulk of the crowd had got so far -that it would have been impossible for him to intercept -or anticipate them.</p> - -<p>Among the more cautious sight-seers who, mixed -with women and children, were trailing slowly in the -rear, he was quite certain he made out the figures of -Wone and his fellow-politicians. “Just like him,” he -thought. “He has stirred them up with his speeches -and now he is hiding behind them! I expect he will -be sneaking off home presently.” The figure he supposed -to be that of the Christian Candidate did, -as a matter of fact, shortly after this, detach himself -from the rest of his group and retire quietly and -discreetly towards the path leading to Nevilton.</p> - -<p>Romer retraced his steps as rapidly as he could. -He repassed the tumulus, crossed a somewhat precipitous -bank between two quarries, and emerged -upon the road that skirts the western brow of the -hill. This road he followed at an impetuous pace, -listening, as he advanced, for any sound of destruction -and violence. When he arrived at the open -level between the two largest of his quarries he found -himself at the edge of a surging and howling mob.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[378]</a></span> -He could see over their heads the low slate roofs of -his works, and he could see that someone, mounted -on a large slab of stone, was haranguing the people -near him, but more than this it was impossible to -make out and it was extremely difficult to get any -closer. The persons on the outskirts of the crowd -were evidently strangers, and with no interest in -the affair at all beyond excited curiosity, for he heard -them asking one another the most vague and confused -questions.</p> - -<p>Presently he observed the figure of a policeman -rise behind the man upon the stone and jerk him to -the ground. This was followed by a bewildering -uproar. Clenched hands were raised in the air, and -wild cries were audible. He fancied he caught the -sound of the syllable “fire.”</p> - -<p>Romer was seized with a mad lust of contest. He -struggled desperately to force his way through to -the front, but the entangled mass of agitated, perspiring -people proved an impassable barrier.</p> - -<p>He began hastily summing up in his mind what -kind of destruction they could achieve that would -cause him any serious annoyance. He remembered -with relief that all the more delicate pieces of carved -work were down at Nevilton Station. They could -do little damage to solid blocks of stone, which were -all they would find inside those wooden sheds. They -might injure the machinery and the more fragile -of the tools, but they could hardly do even that, -unless they were aided by some of his own men. He -wondered if his own men—the men on strike—were -among them, or if the rioters were only roughs -from Yeoborough. Let them burn the sheds down!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[379]</a></span> -He did not value the sheds. They could be replaced -tomorrow. Their utmost worth was hardly the price -of a dozen bottles of champagne. It gave him a -thrill of grim satisfaction to think of the ineffectualness -of this horde of gesticulating two-legged creatures, -making vain assaults upon slabs of impervious rock. -Man against Stone! It was a pleasant and symbolic -struggle. And it could only have one issue.</p> - -<p>Finding it impossible to move forward, and not -caring to be observed by anyone who knew him -hemmed in in this ridiculous manner among staring -females and jocose youths, Romer edged himself -backwards, and, hot and breathless, got clear of the -crowd.</p> - -<p>The physical exhaustion of this effort—for only -a man of considerable strength could have advanced -an inch through such a dense mass—had materially -diminished his thirst for a personal encounter. He -smiled to himself to think how humorous it would -be if he could, even now, overtake the escaping Mr. -Wone, and offer his rival restorative refreshment, in -the cool shades of his garden! For the prime originals -of this absurd riot to be drinking claret-cup upon a -grassy lawn, while the misled and deluded populace -were battering their heads against the stony heart -of Leo’s Hill, struck Mr. Romer as a curiously suitable -climax to the days’ entertainment. Hardly -thinking of what he did, he clambered up the side of -a steep bank, where a group of children were playing, -and looked across the valley. Surely that solitary -black figure retreating so furtively, so innocently, -along the path towards the wood, could be no one -but the Christian Candidate!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[380]</a></span></p> - -<p>Mr. Romer burst out laughing. The discreet fugitive -looked so absurdly characteristic in his shuffling -retirement, that he felt for the moment as if the -whole incident were a colossal musical-comedy farce. -A puff of smoke above the heads of the crowd, and -a smell of burning, made him serious again. “Damn -them!” he muttered. “They shall not get off without -anything being done.”</p> - -<p>From his present position he was able to discern -how he could get round to the sheds. On their -remoter side he saw that the crowd had considerably -thinned away. He made out the figures of some -policemen there, bending, it appeared, over something -upon the ground.</p> - -<p>It did not take him long to descend from his post, -to skirt the western side of the quarries, and to -reach the spot. He found that the object upon the -ground was no other than his manager Lickwit, -gasping and pallid, with a streak of blood running -down his face. From the policemen he learnt that -an entrance had been forced into the sheds, and the -more violent of the rioters—the ones who had laid -Mr. Lickwit low—were now regaling themselves in -that shelter upon the contents of a barrel of cider, -whose hiding-place someone had unearthed. The fire -was already trampled upon and extinguished. He -learnt further that a messenger had been sent to -summon more police to the spot, and that it was to -be hoped that the revellers within the shed would -continue their opportune tippling until their arrival. -This, however, was not what fate intended. Reeling -and shouting, the half-a-dozen joyous Calibans -emerged from their retreat and proceeded to address<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[381]</a></span> -the people, all vociferating at the same time, and each -interrupting the other. The more official and respectable -among the politicians had either retired -altogether from the scene or were cautiously watching -it, from the safe obscurity of the general crowd, and -the situation around the stone-works was completely -in the hands of the rioters.</p> - -<p>Mr. Romer, having done what he could for the -comfort of his manager, who was really more frightened -than hurt, turned fiercely upon the aggressors. -He commanded the two remaining policemen—the -third was helping Lickwit from the scene—to arrest -on the spot these turbulent ruffians, who were now -engaged in laying level with the ground a tool-shed -adjoining the one they had entered. They were -striking at the corner-beams of this erection with -picks and crow-bars. Others among the crowd, pushing -their less courageous neighbours forward, began -throwing stones at the policemen, uttering, as they -did so, yells and threats and abusive insults.</p> - -<p>The mass of the people behind, hearing these -yells, and yielding to a steady pressure from the -rear, where more and more inquisitive persons kept -arriving, began to sway ominously onward, crowding -more and more thickly around the open space, where -Mr. Romer stood, angrily regarding them.</p> - -<p>The policemen kept looking anxiously towards the -Half Moon where the road across the hill terminated. -They were evidently very nervous and extremely desirous -of the arrival of re-enforcements. No re-enforcements -coming, however, and the destruction -of property continuing, they were forced to act; and -drawing their staves, they made a determined rush<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[382]</a></span> -upon the men attacking the shed. Had these persons -not been already half-drunk, the emissaries of the -law would have come off badly. As it was, they -only succeeded in flinging the rioters back a few -paces. The whole crowd moved forward and a volley -of stones and sticks compelled the officials to retreat. -In their retreat they endeavoured to carry Mr. Romer -with them, assuring him, in hurried gasps, that his -life itself was in danger. “They’ll knock your head -off, sir—the scoundrels! Phil Wone has seen you.”</p> - -<p>The pale son of Mr. Wone had indeed pushed his -way to the front. He at once began an impassioned -oration.</p> - -<p>“There he is—the devil himself!” he shouted, -panting with excitement. “Do for him, friends! -Throw him into one of his own pits—the bloodsucker, -the assassin, the murderer of the people!”</p> - -<p>Wild memories of historic passages rushed through -the young anarchist’s brain. He waved his arms -savagely, goading on his companions. His face was -livid. Mr. Romer moved towards him, his head -thrown back and a contemptuous smile upon his -face.</p> - -<p>The drunken ring leaders, recognizing their hereditary -terror—the local magistrate—reeled backwards -in sudden panic. Others in the front line of the -crowd, knowing Mr. Romer by sight, stood stock still -and gaped foolishly or tried to shuffle off unobserved. -A few strangers who were there, perceiving the presence -of a formidable-looking gentleman, assumed at -once that he was Lord Tintinhull or the Earl of -Glastonbury and made frantic efforts to escape. The -crowd at the back, conscious that a reverse movement<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[383]</a></span> -had begun, became alarmed. Cries were raised -that the “military” had come. “They are going to -fire!” shouted one voice, and several women screamed.</p> - -<p>Philip Wone lifted up his voice again, pointing -with outstretched arm at his enemy, and calling upon -the crowd to advance.</p> - -<p>“The serpent!—the devil-fish!—the bread-stealer!—the -money-eater!” he yelled. “Cast him into his -own pit, bury him in his own quarries!”</p> - -<p>It was perhaps fortunate for Mr. Romer at that -moment that his adversary was this honest youth -in place of a more hypocritical leader. An English -crowd, even though sprinkled with a leaven of angry -strikers, only grows puzzled and bewildered when -it hears its enemy referred to as “devil-fish” and -“assassin.”</p> - -<p>The enemy at this moment took full advantage of -their bewilderment. He deliberately drew out his -cigarette-case and lighting a cigarette, made a gesture -as if driving back a flock of sheep. The crowd -showed further signs of panic. But the young anarchist -was not to be silenced.</p> - -<p>“Look round you, friends,” he shouted. “Here is -this man defying you on the very spot where you -work for him day and night, where your descendants -will work for his descendants day and night! What -are you afraid of? This man did not make this hill -bring forth stone, though it is stone, instead of bread, -that he would willingly give your children!”</p> - -<p>Mr. Romer gave a sign to the policemen and approached -a step nearer. The cider-drinkers had -already moved off. The crowd began to melt -away.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[384]</a></span></p> - -<p>“The very earth,” went on the young man, “cries -aloud to you to put an end to this tyranny! Do you -realize that this is the actual place where in one grand -revolt the men of Mid Wessex rose against the—”</p> - -<p>He was interrupted by a man behind him—a -poacher from an outlying hamlet. “Chuck it, Phil -Wone! Us knows all about this ’ere job.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Romer raised his hand. The policemen seized -the young man by the arms, one on either side. He -seemed hardly to notice them, and went on in a loud -resonant voice that rang across the valley.</p> - -<p>“It will end! It will end, this evil day! Already -the new age is beginning. These robbers of the people -had better make haste with their plundering, for the -hour is approaching! Where is your priest?”—he -struggled violently with his captors, turning towards -the rapidly retreating crowd, “where is your vicar,—your -curer of souls? He talks to you of submission, -and love, and obedience, and duty. What does -this man care for these things? It is under this -talk of “love” that you are betrayed! It is under -this talk of “duty,” that your children have the -bread taken from their mouths! But the hour will -come;—yes, you may smile,” he addressed himself -directly to Mr. Romer now, “but you will not smile -for long. <em>Your</em> fate is already written down! It is -as sure as this rain,—as sure as this storm!”</p> - -<p>He was silent, and making no further resistance, -let himself be carried off by the two officials.</p> - -<p>The rain he spoke of was indeed beginning. Heavy -drops, precursors of what seemed likely to be a -tropical deluge, fell upon the broken wood-work, upon -the half-burnt bracken, upon the slabs of Leonian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[385]</a></span> -stone, and upon the trampled grass. They also fell -upon Mr. Romer’s silver match-box as he selected -another cigarette of his favourite brand, and walked -slowly and smilingly away in the direction of Nevilton.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[386]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI<br /> -<span class="smaller">HULLAWAY</span></h2> - -<p>“I see,” said Luke Andersen to his brother, as they -sat at breakfast in the station-master’s kitchen, -about a fortnight after the riot on Leo’s Hill, -“I see that Romer has withdrawn his charge against -young Wone. It seems that the magistrates set him -free yesterday, on Romer’s own responsibility. So -the case will not come up at all. What do you make -of that?”</p> - -<p>“He is a wiser man than I imagined,” said James.</p> - -<p>“And that’s not all!” cried his brother blowing the -cigarette ashes from the open paper in front of him. -“It appears the strike is in a good way of being -settled by those damned delegates. We were idiots -to trust them. I knew it. I told the men so. But -they are all such hopeless fools. No doubt Romer -has found some way of getting round them! The -talk is now of arbitration, and a commissioner from -the government. You mark my words, Daddy Jim, -we shall be back working again by Monday.”</p> - -<p>“But we shall get the chief thing we wanted, after -all—if Lickwit is removed,” said James, rising from -the table and going to the window, “I know I shall -be quite satisfied myself, if I don’t see that rascal’s -face any more.”</p> - -<p>“The poor wretch has collapsed altogether, so they -said down at the inn last night,” Luke put in. “My<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[387]</a></span> -belief is that Romer has now staked everything on -getting into Parliament and is ready to do anything -to propitiate the neighbourhood. If that’s his line, -he’ll succeed. He’ll out-manœuvre our friend Wone -at every step. When a man of his type once tries -the conciliatory game be becomes irresistible. That -is what these stupid employers so rarely realize. No -doubt that’s his policy in stopping the process -against Philip. He’s a shrewd fellow this Romer—and -I shouldn’t wonder if, when the strike is settled, -he became the most popular landlord in the country. -Wone did for himself by sneaking off home that day, -when things looked threatening. They were talking -about that in Yeoborough. I shouldn’t be surprised -if it didn’t lose him the election.”</p> - -<p>“I hope not,” said James Andersen gazing out of -the window at the gathering clouds. “I should be -sorry to see that happen.”</p> - -<p>“I should be damned glad!” cried his brother, -pushing back his chair and luxuriously sipping his -final cup of tea. “My sympathies are all with Romer -in this business. He has acted magnanimously. -He has acted shrewdly. I would sooner, any day, -be under the control of a man like him, than see a -sentimental charlatan like Wone get into Parliament.”</p> - -<p>“You are unfair, my friend,” said the elder brother, -opening the lower sash of the window and letting in -such a draught of rainy wind that he was immediately -compelled to re-close it, “you are thoroughly unfair. -Wone is not in the least a charlatan. He believes -every word he says, and he says a great many things -that are profoundly true. I cannot see,” he went on, -turning round and confronting his equable relative<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[388]</a></span> -with a perturbed and troubled face, “why you have -got your knife into Wone in this extreme manner. -Of course he is conceited and long-winded, but the -man is genuinely sincere. I call him rather a pathetic -figure.”</p> - -<p>“He looked pathetic enough when he sneaked off -after that riot, leaving Philip in the hands of the -police.”</p> - -<p>“It annoys me the way you speak,” returned the -elder brother, in growing irritation. “What right -have you to call the one man’s discretion cowardice, -and the other’s wise diplomacy? I don’t see that it -was any more cowardice for Wone to protest against -a riot, than for Romer to back down before public -opinion as he seems now to have done. Besides, -who can blame a fellow for wanting to avoid a scene -like that? I know <em>you</em> wouldn’t have cared to encounter -those Yeoborough roughs.”</p> - -<p>“Old Romer encountered them,” retorted Luke. -“They say he smoked a cigarette in their faces, and -just waved them away, as if they were a cloud of -gnats. I love a man who can do that sort of thing!”</p> - -<p>“That’s right!” cried the elder brother growing -thoroughly angry. “That’s the true Yellow Press -attitude! Here we have one of your ‘still, strong -men,’ afraid of no mob on earth! I know them—these -strong men! It’s easy enough to be calm and -strong when you have a banking-account like Romer’s, -and all the police in the county on your side!”</p> - -<p>“Brother Lickwit will not forget that afternoon,” -remarked Luke, taking a rose from a vase on the -table and putting it into his button-hole.</p> - -<p>“Yes, Lickwit is the scape-goat,” rejoined the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[389]</a></span> -other. “Lickwit will have to leave the place, broken -in his nerves, and ruined in his reputation, while -his master gets universal praise for magnanimity -and generosity! That is the ancient trick of these -crafty oppressors.”</p> - -<p>“Why do you use such grand words, Daddy Jim?” -said Luke smiling and stretching out his legs. “It’s -all nonsense, this talk about oppressors and oppressed. -The world only contains two sorts of people—the -capable ones and the incapable ones. I am all on the -side of the capable ones!”</p> - -<p>“I suppose that is why you are treating little -Annie Bristow so abominably!” cried James, losing -all command of his temper.</p> - -<p>Luke made an indescribable grimace which converted -his countenance in a moment from that of -a gentle faun to that of an ugly Satyr.</p> - -<p>“Ho! ho!” he exclaimed, “so we are on that tack -are we? And please tell me, most virtuous moralist, -why I am any worse in my attitude to Annie, than -you in your attitude to Ninsy? It seems to me we -are in the same box over these little jobs.”</p> - -<p>“Damn you!” cried James Andersen, walking -fiercely up to his brother and trembling with rage.</p> - -<p>But Luke sipped his tea with perfect equanimity.</p> - -<p>“It’s no good damning me,” he said quietly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[390]</a></span> -“That will not alter the situation. The fact remains, -that both of us have found our little village-girls -rather a nuisance. I don’t blame you. I don’t -blame myself. These things are inevitable. They are -part of the system of the universe. Little girls have -to learn—as the world moves round—that they -can’t have everything they want. I don’t know -whether you intend to marry Ninsy? I haven’t the -slightest intention of marrying Annie.”</p> - -<p>“But you’ve been making love to her for the last -two months! You told me so yourself when we met -her at Hullaway!”</p> - -<p>“And you weren’t so very severe then, were you, -Daddy Jim? It’s only because I have annoyed you -this morning that you bring all this up. As a matter -of fact, Annie is far less mad about me than Ninsy -is about you. She’s already flirting with Bob Granger. -Anyone can see she’s perfectly happy. She’s been -happy ever since she made a fool of me over Gladys’ -ring. As long as a girl knows she’s put you in a -ridiculous position, she’ll very soon console herself. -No doubt she’ll make Granger marry her before the -summer’s over. Ninsy is quite a different person. -Annie and I take our little affair in precisely the same -spirit. I am no more to blame than she is. But -Ninsy’s case is different. Ninsy is seriously and -desperately in love with you. And her invalid state -makes the situation a much more embarrassing one. -I think my position is infinitely less complicated than -yours, brother Jim!”</p> - -<p>James Andersen’s face became convulsed with -fury. He stretched out his arm towards his brother, -and extended a threatening fore-finger.</p> - -<p>“Young man,” he cried, “I will <em>never</em> forgive you -for this!”</p> - -<p>Having uttered these words he rushed incontinently -out of the room, and, bare-headed as he was, proceeded -to stride across the fields, in a direction opposite -from that which led to Nevilton.</p> - -<p>The younger brother shrugged his shoulders,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[391]</a></span> -drained his tea-cup, and meditatively lit another -cigarette. The stone-works being closed, he had all -the day before him in which to consider this unfortunate -rupture. At the present moment, however, -all he did was to call their landlady—the station-master’s -buxom wife—and affably help her in the -removal and washing up of the breakfast things.</p> - -<p>Luke was an adept in all household matters. His -supple fingers and light feminine movements were -equal to almost any task, and while occupied in such -things his gay and humorous conversation made any -companion of his labour an enviable person. Mrs. -Round, their landlady, adored him. There was -nothing she would not have done at his request; and -Lizzie, Betty, and Polly, her three little daughters, -loved him more than they loved their own father. -Having concerned himself for more than an hour with -these agreeable people, Luke took his hat and stick, -and strolling lazily along the railroad-line railings, -surveyed with inquisitive interest the motley group -of persons who were waiting, on the further side, -for the approach of a train.</p> - -<p>A little apart from the rest, seated on a bench -beside a large empty basket, he observed the redoubtable -Mrs. Fringe. Between this lady and himself -there had existed for the last two years a sort -of conspiracy of gossip. Like many other middle-aged -women in Nevilton, Mrs. Fringe had made a -pet and confidant of this attractive young man, who -played, in spite of his mixed birth, a part almost -analogous to that of an affable and ingratiating -cadet of some noble family.</p> - -<p>He passed through the turn-stile, crossed the track,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[392]</a></span> -and advanced slowly up the platform. His plump -Gossip, observing him afar off, rose and moved to -meet him, her basket swinging in her hand and a -radiant smile upon her face. It was like an encounter -between some Pantagruelian courtier and some colossal -Gargamelle. They stood together, in the wind, -at the extreme edge of the platform. Luke, who -was dressed so well that it would have been impossible -to distinguish him from any golden youth -from Oxford or Cambridge, whispered shameless -scandal into the lady’s ears, from beneath the shadow -of his panama-hat. She on her side was equally -confidential.</p> - -<p>“There was a pretty scene down our way last -night,” she said. “Miss Seldom came in with some -books for my young Reverend and, Lord! they did -have an ado. I heard ’un shouting at one another -as though them were rampin’ mad. My master ’ee -were hollerin’ Holy Scripture like as he were dazed, -and the young lady she were answerin’ ’im with God -knows what. From all I could gather of it, that girl -had got some devil’s tale on Miss Gladys. ’Tweren’t -as though she did actually name her by name, as you -might say, but she pulled her hair and scratched her -like any crazy cat, sideways-like and cross-wise. It -seems she’d got hold of some story about that foreign -young woman and Miss Gladys having her knife into -’er, but I saw well enough what was at the bottom -of it and I won’t conceal it from ’ee, my dear. She -do want ’im for herself. That’s the long and short. -She do want ’im for herself!”</p> - -<p>“What were they disputing about?” asked Luke -eagerly. “Did you hear their words?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[393]</a></span></p> - -<p>“’Tis no good arstin’ me about their words,” -replied Mrs. Fringe. “Those long-windy dilly-dallies -do sound to me no more than the burbering of blowflies. -God save us from such words! I’m not a -reading woman and I don’t care who knows it. But -I know when a wench is moon-daft on a fellow. I -knows that, my dear, and I knows when she’s got a -tale on another girl!”</p> - -<p>“Did she talk about Catholicism to him?” enquired -Luke.</p> - -<p>“I won’t say as she didn’t bring something of that -sort in,” replied his friend. “But ’twas Miss Gladys -wot worried ’er. Any fool could see that. ’Tis my -experience that when a girl and a fellow get hot on -any of these dilly-dally argimints, there’s always -some other maid biding round the corner.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve just had a row with James,” remarked the -stone-carver. “He’s gone off in a fury over towards -Hullaway.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Fringe put down her basket and glanced up -and down the platform. Then she laid her hand on -the young man’s arm.</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t say what I do now say, to anyone, but -thee own self, dearie. And I wouldn’t say it to thee -if it hadn’t been worriting me for some merciful long -while. And what’s more I wouldn’t say it, if I didn’t -know what you and your Jim are to one another. -‘More than brothers,’ is what the whole village do -say of ye!”</p> - -<p>“Go on—go on—Mrs. Fringe!” cried Luke. -“That curst signal’s down, and I can hear the train.”</p> - -<p>“There be other trains than wot run on them -irons,” pronounced Mrs. Fringe sententiously, “and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[394]</a></span> -if you aren’t careful, one such God Almighty’s train -will run over that brother of yours, sooner or later.”</p> - -<p>Luke looked apprehensively up the long converging -steel track. The gloom of the day and the ominous -tone of his old gossip affected him very unpleasantly. -He began to wish that there was not a deep muddy -pond under the Hullaway elms.</p> - -<p>“What on earth do you mean?” he cried, adding -impatiently, “Oh damn that train!” as a cloud of -smoke made itself visible in the distance.</p> - -<p>“Only this, dearie,” said the woman picking up -her basket, “only this. If you listen to me you’d -sooner dig your own grave than have words with -brother. Brother be not one wot can stand these -fimble-fambles same as you and I. I know wot I -do say, cos I was privileged, under Almighty God, -to see the end of your dear mother.”</p> - -<p>“I know—I know—” cried the young man, “but -what do you mean?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Fringe thrust her arm through the handle of -her basket and turned to meet the incoming train.</p> - -<p>“’Twas when I lived with my dear husband down -at Willow-Grove,” she said. “’Twas a stone’s throw -there from where you and Jim were born. I always -feared he would go, same as she went, sooner or later. -He talks like her. He looks like her. He treats a -person in the way she treated a person, poor moon-struck -darling! ’Twas all along of your father. She -couldn’t bide him along-side of her in the last days. -And he knew it as well as you and I know it. But -do ’ee think it made any difference to him? Not a -bit, dearie! Not one little bit!”</p> - -<p>The train had now stopped, and with various<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[395]</a></span> -humorous observations, addressed to porters and -passengers indiscriminately, Mrs. Fringe took her -place in a carriage.</p> - -<p>Heedless of being overheard, Luke addressed her -through the window of the compartment. “But -what about James? What were you saying about -James?”</p> - -<p>“’Tis too long a tale to tell ’ee, dearie,” murmured -the woman breathlessly. “There be need now of all -my blessed wits to do business for the Reverend. -There, look at that!” She waved at him a crumpled -piece of paper. “Beyond all thinking I’ve got to -fetch him books from Slitly’s. Books, by the Lord! -As if he hadn’t too many of the darned things for his -poor brain already!”</p> - -<p>The engine emitted a portentous puff of smoke, and -the train began to move. Luke walked by the side -of his friend’s window, his hand on the sash.</p> - -<p>“You think it is inadvisable to thwart my brother, -then,” he said, “in any way at all. You think I -must humour him. You are afraid if I don’t—” -His walk was of necessity quickened into a run.</p> - -<p>“It’s a long story, dearie, a long story. But I had -the privilege under God Almighty of knowing your -blessed mother when she was called, and I tell you it -makes my heart ache to see James going along the -same road as—”</p> - -<p>Her voice was extinguished by the noise of wheels -and steam. Luke, exhausted, was compelled to relax -his hold. The rest of the carriages passed him with -accumulated speed and he watched the train disappear. -In his excitement he had advanced far beyond -the limits of the platform. He found himself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[396]</a></span> -standing in a clump of yellow rag-wort, just behind -his own stone-cutter’s shed.</p> - -<p>He gazed up the track, along which the tantalizing -lady had been so inexorably snatched away. The -rails had a dull whitish glitter but their look was -bleak and grim. They suggested, in their narrow -merciless perspective, cutting the pastures in twain, -the presence of some remorseless mechanical Will -carving its purpose, blindly and pitilessly, out of -the innocent waywardness of thoughtless living -things.</p> - -<p>An immense and indefinable foreboding passed, -like the insertion of a cold, dead finger, through the -heart of the young man. Fantastic and terrible -images pursued one another through his agitated -brain. He saw his brother lying submerged in -Hullaway Pond, while a group of frightened children -stood, in white pinafores, stared at him with -gaping mouths. He saw himself arriving upon this -scene. He even went so far as to repeat to himself -the sort of cry that such a sight might naturally -draw from his lips, his insatiable dramatic sense -making use, in this way, of his very panic, to project -its irrepressible puppet-show. His brother’s words, -“Young man, I will never forgive you for this,” -rose luridly before him. He saw them written along -the edge of a certain dark cloud which hung threateningly -over the Hullaway horizon. He felt precisely -what he would feel when he saw them—luminously -phosphorescent—in the indescribable mud and greenish -weeds that surrounded his brother’s dead face. -A sickening sense of loss and emptiness went shivering -through him. He felt as though nothing in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[397]</a></span> -world was of the least importance except the life of -James Andersen.</p> - -<p>With hurried steps he recrossed the line, repassed -the turn-stile, and began following the direction -taken by his brother just two hours before. Never -had the road to Hullaway seemed so long!</p> - -<p>Half-way there, where the road took a devious -turn, he left it, and entering the fields again, followed -a vaguely outlined foot-path. This also betraying -him, or seeming to betray him, by its departure -from the straight route, he began crossing the meadows -with feverish directness, climbing over hedges and -ditches with the desperate preoccupation of one -pursued by invisible pursuers. The expression upon -his face, as he hurried forward in this manner, was -the expression of a man who has everything he values -at stake. A casual acquaintance would never have -supposed that the equable countenance of Luke Andersen -had the power to look so haggard, so drawn, -so troubled. He struck the road again less than -half a mile from his destination. Why he was so -certain that Hullaway was the spot he sought, he -could hardly have explained. It was, however, one -of his own favourite walks on rainless evenings and -Sunday afternoons, and quite recently he had several -times persuaded his brother to accompany him. He -himself was wont to haunt the place and its surroundings, -because of the fact that, about a mile to -the west of it, there stood an isolated glove-factory -to which certain of the Nevilton girls were accustomed -to make their way across the field-paths.</p> - -<p>Hullaway village was a very small place, considerably -more remote from the world than Nevilton, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[398]</a></span> -attainable only by narrow lanes. The centre of it -was the great muddy stagnant pond which now so -dominated Luke’s alarmed imagination. Near the -pond was a group of elms, of immense antiquity,—many -of them mere stumps of trees,—but all of -them possessed of wide-spreading prominent roots, -and deeply indented hollow trunks worn as smooth -as ancient household furniture, by the constant -fumbling and scrambling of generations of Hullaway -children.</p> - -<p>The only other objects of interest in the place, were -a small, unobtrusive church, built, like everything -else in the neighborhood, of Leonian stone, and an -ancient farm-house surrounded by a high manorial -wall. Beneath one of the Hullaway Elms stood an -interesting relic of a ruder age, in the shape of some -well-worn stocks, now as pleasant a seat for rural -gossips as they were formerly an unpleasant pillory -for rural malefactors.</p> - -<p>As Luke Andersen approached this familiar spot he -observed with a certain vague irritation the well-known -figure of one of his most recent Nevilton -enchantresses. The girl was no other, in fact, than -that shy companion of Annie Bristow who had been -amusing herself with them in the Fountain Square -on the occasion of Mr. Clavering’s ill-timed intervention. -At this moment she was sauntering negligently -along, on a high-raised path of narrow paved -flag-stones, such paths being a peculiarity of Hullaway, -due to the prevalence of heavy autumn floods.</p> - -<p>The girl was evidently bound for the glove-factory, -for she swung a large bundle as she walked, resting -it idly every now and then, on any available wall or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[399]</a></span> -rail or close-cut hedge, along which she passed. She -was an attractive figure, tall, willowy, and lithe, and -she walked in that lingering, swaying voluptuous -manner which gives to the movements of maidens of -her type a sort of provocative challenge. Luke, advancing -along the road behind her, caught himself -admiring, in spite of his intense preoccupation, the -alluring swing of her walk and the captivating lines -of her graceful person.</p> - -<p>The moment was approaching that he had so fantastically -dreaded, the moment of his first glance at -Hullaway Great Pond. He was already relieved to -see no signs of anything unusual in the air of the -place,—but the imaged vision of his brother’s -drowned body still hovered before him, and that -fatal “I’ll never forgive you for this!” still rang in -his ears.</p> - -<p>His mind all this while was working with extraordinary -rapidity and he was fully conscious of the -grotesque irrelevance of this lapse into the ingrained -habit of wanton admiration. Quickly, in a flash of -lightning, he reviewed all his amorous adventures and -his frivolous philanderings. How empty, how bleak, -how impossible, all such pleasures seemed, without -the dark stooping figure of this companion of his -soul as their taciturn background! He looked at -Phyllis Santon with a sudden savage resolution, and -made a quaint sort of vow in the depths of his heart.</p> - -<p>“I’ll never speak to the wench again or look at her -again,” he said to himself, “if I find Daddy Jim safe -and sound, and if he forgives me!”</p> - -<p>He hurried past her, almost at a run, and arrived -at the centre of Hullaway. There was the Great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[400]</a></span> -Pond, with its low white-washed stone parapet. There -were the ancient elm-trees and the stocks. There -also were the white-pinafored infants playing in the -hollow aperture of the oldest among the trees. But -the slimy surface of the water was utterly undisturbed -save by two or three assiduous ducks who at intervals -plunged beneath it.</p> - -<p>He drew an immense sigh of relief and glanced -casually round. Phyllis had not failed to perceive -him. With a shy little friendly smile she advanced -towards him. His vow was already in some danger. -He waved her a hasty greeting but did not take her -hand.</p> - -<p>“You’d better put yourself into the stocks,” he -said, covering with a smile the brutality of his neglect, -“until I come back! I have to find James.”</p> - -<p>Leaving her standing in mute consternation, he -rushed off to the churchyard on the further side of -the little common. There was a certain spot here, -under the shelter of the Manor wall, where Luke -and his brother had spent several delicious afternoons, -moralizing upon the quaint epitaphs around them, -and smoking cigarettes. Luke felt as if he were -almost sure to find James stretched out at length -before a certain old tombstone whose queer appeal -to the casual intruder had always especially attracted -him. Both brothers had a philosophical mania for -these sepulchral places, and the Hullaway grave-yard -was even more congenial to their spirit than the -Nevilton one, perhaps because this latter was so -dominatingly possessed by their own dead.</p> - -<p>Luke entered the enclosure through a wide-open -wooden gate and glanced quickly round him. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[401]</a></span> -was the Manor wall, as mellow and sheltering as -ever, even on such a day of clouds. There was their -favourite tombstone, with its long inscription to the -defunct seignorial house. But of James Andersen -there was not the remotest sign.</p> - -<p>Where the devil had his angry brother gone? -Luke’s passionate anxiety began to give place to a -certain indignant reaction. Why were people so -ridiculous? These volcanic outbursts of ungoverned -emotion on trifling occasions were just the things -that spoiled the harmony and serenity of life. -Where, on earth, could James have slipped off to? -He remembered that they had more than once gone -together to the King’s Arms—the unpretentious -Hullaway tavern. It was just within the bounds -of possibility that the wanderer, finding their other -haunts chill and unappealing, had taken refuge -there.</p> - -<p>He recrossed the common, waved his hand to -Phyllis, who seemed to have taken his speech quite -seriously and was patiently seated on the stocks, and -made his way hurriedly to the little inn.</p> - -<p>Yes—there, ensconced in a corner of the high settle, -with a half-finished tankard of ale by his side, was -his errant brother.</p> - -<p>James rose at once to greet him, showing complete -friendliness, and very small surprise. He seemed to -have been drinking more than his wont, however, -for he immediately sank back again into his corner, -and regarded his brother with a queer absent-minded -look.</p> - -<p>Luke ordered a glass of cider and sat down close -to him on the settle.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[402]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I am sorry,” he whispered, laying his hand on -his brother’s knee. “I didn’t mean to annoy you. -What you said was quite true. I treated Annie very -badly. And Ninsy is altogether different. You’ll -forgive me, won’t you, Daddy Jim?”</p> - -<p>James Andersen pressed his hand. “It’s nothing,” -he said in rather a thick voice. “It’s like everything -else, it’s nothing. I was a fool. I am still a fool. -But it’s better to be a fool than to be dead, isn’t it? -Or am I talking nonsense?”</p> - -<p>“As long as you’re not angry with me any longer,” -answered Luke eagerly, “I don’t care how you talk!”</p> - -<p>“I went to the churchyard—to our old place—you -know,” went on his brother. “I stayed nearly -an hour there—or was it more? Perhaps it was -more. I stayed so long, anyway, that I nearly went -to sleep. I think I must have gone to sleep!” he -added, after a moment’s pause.</p> - -<p>“I expect you were tired,” remarked Luke rather -weakly, feeling for some reason or other, a strange -sense of disquietude.</p> - -<p>“Tired?” exclaimed the recumbent man, “why -should I be tired?” He raised himself up with a jerk, -and finishing his glass, set it down with meticulous -care upon the ground beside him.</p> - -<p>Luke noticed, with an uncomfortable sense of -something not quite usual in his manner, that every -movement he made and every word he spoke seemed -the result of a laborious and conscious effort—like -the effort of one in incomplete control of his sensory -nerves.</p> - -<p>“What shall we do now?” said Luke with an air -of ease and indifference. “Do you feel like strolling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[403]</a></span> -back to Nevilton, or shall we make a day of it and -go on to Roger-Town Ferry and have dinner there?”</p> - -<p>James gave vent to a curiously unpleasant laugh. -“You go, my dear,” he said, “and leave me where -I am.”</p> - -<p>Luke began to feel thoroughly uncomfortable. He -once more laid his hand caressingly on his brother’s -knee. “You have really forgiven me?” he pleaded. -“Really and truly?”</p> - -<p>James Andersen had again sunk back into a semi-comatose -state in his corner. “Forgive?” he muttered, -as though he found difficulty in understanding -the meaning of the word, “forgive? I tell you it’s -nothing.”</p> - -<p>He was silent, and then, in a still more drowsy -murmur, he uttered the word “Nothing” three or -four times. Soon after this he closed his eyes and -relapsed into a deep slumber.</p> - -<p>“Better leave ’un as ’un be,” remarked the landlord -to Luke. “I’ve had my eye on ’un for this last -’arf hour. ’A do seem mazed-like, looks so. Let ’un -bide where ’un be, master. These be wonderful -rumbly days for a man’s head. ’Taint what ’ee’s -’ad, you understand; to my thinking, ’tis these thunder-shocks -wot ’ave worrited ’im.”</p> - -<p>Luke nodded at the man, and standing up surveyed -his brother gravely. It certainly looked as if -James was settled in his corner for the rest of the -morning. Luke wondered if it would be best to let -him remain where he was, and sleep off his coma, or -to rouse him and try and persuade him to return -home. He decided to take the landlord’s advice.</p> - -<p>“Very well,” he said. “I’ll just leave him for a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[404]</a></span> -while to recover himself. You’ll keep an eye to -him, won’t you, Mr. Titley? I’ll just wander round a -bit, and come back. May-be if he doesn’t want to -go home to dinner, we’ll have a bite of something -here with you.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Titley promised not to let his guest out of his -sight. “I know what these thunder-shocks be,” he -said. “Don’t you worry, mister. You’ll find ’un -wonderful reasonable along of an hour or so. ’Tis -the weather wot ’ave him floored ’im. The liquor -’ee’s put down wouldn’t hurt a cat.”</p> - -<p>Luke threw an affectionate glance at his brother’s -reclining figure and went out. The reaction from his -exaggerated anxiety left him listless and unnerved. -He walked slowly across the green, towards the group -of elms.</p> - -<p>It was now past noon and the small children who -had been loitering under the trees had been carried -off to their mid-day meal. The place seemed entirely -deserted, except for the voracious ducks in the -mud of the Great Pond. He fancied at first that -Phyllis Santon had disappeared with the children, and -a queer feeling of disappointment descended upon -him. He would have liked at least to have had the -opportunity of <em>refusing</em> himself the pleasure of talking -to her! He approached the enormous elm under -which stood the stocks. Ah! She was still there -then, his little Nevilton acquaintance. He had not -seen her sooner, because she was seated on the lowest -roots of the tree, her knees against the stocks themselves.</p> - -<p>“Hullo, child!” he found himself saying, while his -inner consciousness told itself that he would just say<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[405]</a></span> -one word to her, so that her feelings should not be -hurt, and then stroll off to the churchyard. “Why, -you have fixed yourself in the very place where they -used to make people sit, when they put them in the -stocks!”</p> - -<p>“Have I?” said the girl looking up at him without -moving. “’Tis curious to think of them days! They -do say folks never tasted meat nor butter in them -old times. I guess it’s better to be living as we be.”</p> - -<p>Luke’s habitual tone of sentimental moralizing had -evidently set the fashion among the maids of Nevilton. -Girls are incredibly quick at acquiring the mental -atmosphere of a philosopher who attracts them. The -simple flattery of her adoption of his colour of thought -made it still more difficult for Luke to keep his vow -to the Spinners of Destiny.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he remarked pensively, seating himself on -the stocks above her. “It is extraordinary, isn’t it, -to think how many generations of people, like you -and me, have talked to one another here, in fine days -and cloudy days, in winter and summer—and the -same old pond and the same old elms listening to -all they say?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t say that, Luke dear,” protested the girl, -with a little apprehensive movement of her shoulders, -and a tightened clasp of her hands round her knees. -“I don’t like to think of that! ’Tis lonesome enough -in this place, mid-day, without thinking of them -ghost-stories.”</p> - -<p>“Why do you say ghost-stories?” inquired Luke.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[406]</a></span> -“There’s nothing ghostly about that dirty old pond -and there’s nothing ghostly about these hollow trees—not -now, any way.”</p> - -<p>“’Tis what you said about their listening, that -seems ghostly-like to me,” replied the girl. “I am -always like that, you know. Sometimes, down home, -I gets a grip of the terrors from staring at old Mr. -Pratty’s barn. ’Tis funny, isn’t it? I suppose I was -born along of Christmas. They say children born -then are wonderful ones for fancying things.”</p> - -<p>Luke prodded the ground with his cane and looked -at her in silence. Conscious of a certain admiration -in his look, for the awkwardness of her pose -only enhanced the magnetic charm of her person, -she proceeded to remove her hat and lean her head -with a wistful abandonment against the rough bark -of the tree.</p> - -<p>The clouds hung heavily over them, and it seemed -that at any moment the rain might descend in -torrents; but so far not a drop had fallen. Queer -and mysterious emotions passed through Luke’s -mind.</p> - -<p>He felt in some odd way that he was at a turning-point -in the tide of his existence. It almost seemed -to him as though, silent and unmoving, under the -roof of the little inn which he could see from where -he sat, his brother was lying in the crisis of some -dangerous fever. A movement, or gesture, or word, -from himself might precipitate this crisis, in one -direction or the other.</p> - -<p>The girl crouched at his feet became to him, as he -gazed at her, something more than a mere amorous -acquaintance. She became a type, a symbol—an -incarnation of the formidable writing of that Moving -Finger, to which all flesh must bow. Her half-coquettish, -half-serious apprehensions, about the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[407]</a></span> -ghostliness of the things that are always <em>listening</em>, -as the human drama works itself out in their dumb -presence, affected him in spite of himself. The village -of Hullaway seemed at that moment to have -disappeared into space, and he and his companion -to be isolated and suspended—remote from all terrestrial -activities, and yet aware of some confused -struggle between invisible antagonists.</p> - -<p>From the splashing ducks in the pond who, every -now and then, so ridiculously turned up their squat -tails to the cloudy heavens, his eye wandered to the -impenetrable expectancy of the stone path which -bordered the muddy edge of the water. With the -quick sense of one whose daily occupation was concerned -with this particular stone, he began calculating -how long that time-worn pavement had remained -there, and how many generations of human feet, -hurrying or loitering, had passed along it since it -was first laid down. What actual men, he wondered, -had brought it there, from its resting-place, -æons-old in the distant hill, and laid it where it -now lay, slab by slab?</p> - -<p>From where he sat he could just observe, between -a gap in the trees of the Manor-Farm garden, the -extreme edge of that Leonian promontory. It seemed -to him as though the hill were at that moment being -swept by a storm of rain. He shivered a little at -the idea of how such a sweeping storm, borne on a -northern wind, would invade those bare trenches -and unprotected escarpments. He felt glad that -his brother had selected Hullaway rather than that -particular spot for his angry retreat.</p> - -<p>With a sense of relief he turned his eyes once more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[408]</a></span> -to the girl reclining below him in such a charming -attitude.</p> - -<p>How absurd it was, he thought, to let these -vague superstitions overmaster him! Surely it was -really an indication of cowardice, in the presence of -a hypothetical Fate, to make such fantastic vows -as that which he had recently made. It was all -part of the atavistic survival in him of that unhappy -“conscience,” which had done so much to -darken the history of the tribes of men. It was -like “touching wood” in honour of infernal deities! -What was the use of being a philosopher—of being -so deeply conscious of the illusive and subjective -nature of all these scruples—if, at a crisis, one only -fell back into such absurd morbidity? The vow he -had registered in his mind an hour before, seemed to -him now a piece of grotesque irrelevance—a lapse, -a concession to weakness, a reversion to primitive -inhibition. If it had been cowardice to make such -a vow, it were a still greater cowardice to keep it.</p> - -<p>He rose from his seat on the stocks, and began idly -lifting up and down the heavy wooden bar which -surmounted this queer old pillory. He finally left -the thing open and gaping; its semi-circular cavities -ready for any offender. Moved by a sudden impulse, -the girl leant back still further against the -tree, and whimsically raising one of her little feet, -inserted it into the aperture. Amused at her companion’s -interest in this levity, and actuated by a -profound girlish instinct to ruffle the situation by -some startling caprice, she had no sooner got one -ankle into the cavity thus prepared for it, than -with a sudden effort she placed the other by its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[409]</a></span> -side, and coyly straightening her skirts with her -hands, looked up smiling into Luke’s face.</p> - -<p>Thus challenged, as it were, by this wilful little -would-be malefactor, Luke was mechanically compelled -to complete her imprisonment. With a sudden -vicious snap he let down the enclosing bar.</p> - -<p>She was now completely powerless; for the most -drastic laws of balance made it quite impossible that -she could release herself. It thus became inevitable -that he should slip down on the ground by her side, -and begin teasing her, indulging himself in sundry -innocent caresses which her helpless position made -it difficult to resist.</p> - -<p>It was not long, however, before Phyllis, fearful -of the appearance upon the scene of some of Hullaway’s -inhabitants, implored him to release her.</p> - -<p>Luke rose and with his hand upon the bar contemplated -smilingly his fair prisoner.</p> - -<p>“Please be quick!” the girl cried impatiently. -“I’m getting so stiff.”</p> - -<p>“Shall I, or shan’t I?” said Luke provokingly.</p> - -<p>The corner of the girl’s mouth fell and her under-lip -quivered. It only needed a moment’s further -delay to reduce her to tears.</p> - -<p>At that moment two interruptions occurred simultaneously. -From the door of the King’s Arms -emerged the landlord, and began making vehement -signals to Luke; while from the corner of the road -to Nevilton appeared the figures of two young ladies, -walking briskly towards them, absorbed in earnest -conversation. These simultaneous events were observed -in varying ratio by the captive and her captor. -Luke was vaguely conscious of the two ladies<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[410]</a></span> -and profoundly agitated by the appearance of the -landlord. Phyllis was vaguely conscious of the landlord -and was profoundly agitated by the appearance -of the ladies. The young stone-carver gave a quick -thoughtless jerk to the bar; and without waiting to -see the result, rushed off towards the inn. The -heavy block of wood, impelled by the impetus he -had given it, swung upwards, until it almost reached -the perpendicular. Then it descended with a crash. -The girl had just time to withdraw one of her ankles. -The other was imprisoned as hopeless as before.</p> - -<p>Phyllis was overwhelmed with shame and embarrassment. -She had in a moment recognized Gladys, -and she felt as those Apocalyptic unfortunates in -Holy Scripture are reported as feeling when they -call upon the hills to cover them.</p> - -<p>It had happened that Ralph Dangelis had been -compelled to pay a flying visit to London on business -connected with his proposed marriage. The two -cousins, preoccupied, each of them, with their separate -anxieties, had wandered thus far from home -to escape the teasing fussiness of Mrs. Romer, who -with her preparations for the double wedding gave -neither of them any peace.</p> - -<p>They approached quite near to the group of elms -before either of them observed the unfortunate -Phyllis.</p> - -<p>“Why!” cried Gladys suddenly to her companion. -“There’s somebody in the stocks!”</p> - -<p>She went forward hastily, followed at a slower -pace by the Italian. Poor Phyllis, her bundle by -her side, and her cheeks tear-stained, presented a -woeful enough appearance. Her first inclination was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[411]</a></span> -to hide her face in her hands; but making a brave -effort, she turned her head towards the new-comers -with a gasping little laugh.</p> - -<p>“I put my foot in here for a joke,” she stammered, -“and it got caught. Please let me out, Miss Romer.”</p> - -<p>Gladys came quite near and laid her gloved hand -upon the wooden bar.</p> - -<p>“It just lifts up, Miss,” pleaded Phyllis, with -tears in her voice. “It isn’t at all heavy.”</p> - -<p>Gladys stared at her with a growing sense of interest. -The girl’s embarrassment under her scrutiny -awoke her Romer malice.</p> - -<p>“I really don’t know that I want to let you out -in such a hurry,” she said. “If it’s a game you are -playing, it would be a pity to spoil it. Who put you -in? You must tell me that, before I set you free! -You couldn’t have done it yourself.”</p> - -<p>By this time Lacrima had arrived on the scene.</p> - -<p>The shame-faced Phyllis turned to her. “Please, -Miss Traffio, please, lift that thing up! It’s quite -easy to move.”</p> - -<p>The Italian at once laid her hands upon the block -of wood and struggled to raise it; but Gladys had -no difficulty in keeping the bar immoveable.</p> - -<p>“What are you doing?” cried the younger girl -indignantly. “Take your arm away!”</p> - -<p>“She must tell us first who put her where she is,” -reiterated Miss Romer. “I won’t have her let out -’till she tells us that!”</p> - -<p>Phyllis looked piteously from one to the other. -Then she grew desperate.</p> - -<p>“It was Luke Andersen,” she whispered.</p> - -<p>“What!” cried Gladys. “Luke? Then he’s been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[412]</a></span> -out walking with you? Has he? Has he? Has -he?”</p> - -<p>She repeated these words with such concentrated -fury that Phyllis began to cry. But the shock of this -information gave Lacrima her chance. Using all her -strength she lifted the heavy bar and released the -prisoner. Phyllis staggered to her feet and picked -up her bundle. Lacrima handed the girl her hat -and helped her to brush the dust from her clothes.</p> - -<p>“So <em>you</em> are Luke’s latest fancy are you?” -Gladys said scowling fiercely at the glove-maker.</p> - -<p>The pent-up feelings of the young woman broke -forth at once. Moving a step or two away from -them and glancing at a group of farm-men who were -crossing the green, she gave full scope to her revenge.</p> - -<p>“I’m only Annie Bristow’s friend,” she retorted. -“Annie Bristow is going to marry Luke. They are -right down mad on one another.”</p> - -<p>“It’s a lie!” cried Gladys, completely forgetting -herself and looking as if she could have struck the -mocking villager.</p> - -<p>“A lie, eh?” returned the other. “Tisn’t for me -to tell the tale to a young lady, the likes of you. -But we be all guessing down in Mr. North’s factory, -who ’twas that gave Luke the pretty lady-like ring -wot he lent to Annie!”</p> - -<p>Gladys became livid with anger. “What ring?” -she cried. “Why are you talking about a ring?”</p> - -<p>“Annie, she stuck it, for devilry, into that hole in -Splash-Lane stone. She pushed it in, tight as ’twere -a sham diamint. And there it do bide, the lady’s -pretty ring, all glittery and shiny, at bottom of that -there hole! We maids do go to see ’un glinsying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[413]</a></span> -and gleaming. It be the talk of the place, that ring -be! Scarce one of the childer but ’as ’ad its try to -hook ’un out. But ’tis no good. I guess Annie -must have rammed it down with her mother’s girt -skewer. ’Tis fast in that stone anyway, for all the -world to see. Folks, may-be, ’ll be coming from -Yeoborough, long as a few days be over, to see the -lady’s ring, wot Annie threw’d away, ’afore she said -‘yes’ to her young man!”</p> - -<p>These final words were positively shouted by the -enraged Phyllis, as she tripped away, swinging her -bundle triumphantly.</p> - -<p>It seemed for a moment as though Gladys meditated -a desperate pursuit, and the infliction of physical -violence upon her enemy. But Lacrima held -her fast by the hand. “For heaven’s sake, cousin,” -she whispered, “let her go. Look at those men -watching us!”</p> - -<p>Gladys turned; but it was not at the farm-men -she looked.</p> - -<p>Across the green towards them came the two -Andersens, Luke looking nervous and worried, and -his brother gesticulating strangely. The girls remained -motionless, neither advancing to meet them -nor making any attempt to evade them. Gladys -seemed to lose her defiant air, and waited their -approach, rather with the look of one expecting to -be chidden than of one prepared to chide. On all -recent occasions this had been her manner, when in -the presence of the young stone-carver.</p> - -<p>The sight of Lacrima seemed to exercise a magical -effect upon James Andersen. He ceased at once his -excited talk, and advancing towards her, greeted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[414]</a></span> -her in his normal tone—a tone of almost paternal -gentleness.</p> - -<p>“It is nearly a quarter to one,” said Gladys, -addressing both the men. “Lacrima and I’ll have -all we can do to get back in time for lunch. Let’s -walk back together!”</p> - -<p>Luke looked at his brother who gave him a friendly -smile. He also looked sharply at the Hullaway labourers, -who were shuffling off towards the barton of -the Manor-Farm.</p> - -<p>“I don’t mind,” he said; “though it is a dangerous -time of day! But we can go by the fields, and -you can leave us at Roandyke Barn.”</p> - -<p>They moved off along the edge of the pond together.</p> - -<p>“It was Lacrima, not I, Luke,” said Gladys presently, -“who let that girl out.”</p> - -<p>Luke flicked a clump of dock-weeds with his cane. -“It was her own fault,” he said carelessly. “I -thought I’d opened the thing. I was called away -suddenly.”</p> - -<p>Gladys bowed her head submissively. In the -company of the young stone-carver her whole nature -seemed to change. A shrewd observer might even -have marked a subtle difference in her physical -appearance. She appeared to wilt and droop, like -a tropical flower transplanted into a northern -zone.</p> - -<p>They remained all together until they reached the -fields. Then Gladys and Luke dropped behind.</p> - -<p>“I have something I want to tell you,” said the -fair girl, as soon as the others were out of hearing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[415]</a></span> -“Something very important.”</p> - -<p>“I have something to tell you too,” answered -Luke, “and I think I will tell it first. It is hardly -likely that your piece of news can be as serious as -mine.”</p> - -<p>They paused at a stile; and the girl made him take -her in his arms and kiss her, before she consented to -hear what he had to say.</p> - -<p>It would have been noticeable to any observer that -in the caresses they exchanged, Luke played the perfunctory, -and she the passionate part. She kissed -him thirstily, insatiably, with clinging lips that -seemed avid of his very soul. When at last they -moved on through grass that was still wet with the -rain of the night before, Luke drew his hand away -from hers, as if to emphasize the seriousness of his -words.</p> - -<p>“I am terribly anxious, dearest, about James,” -he said. “We had an absurd quarrel this morning, -and he rushed off to Hullaway in a rage. I found -him in the inn. He had been drinking, but it was -not that which upset him. He had not taken enough -to affect him in that way. I am very, very anxious -about him. I forget whether I’ve ever told you -about my mother? Her mind—poor darling—was -horribly upset before she died. She suffered from -more than one distressing mania. And my fear is -that James may go the same way.”</p> - -<p>Gladys hung her head. In a strange and subtle -way she felt as though the responsibility of this new -catastrophe rested upon her. Her desperate passion -for Luke had so unnerved her, that she had become -liable to be victimized by any sort of superstitious -apprehension.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[416]</a></span></p> - -<p>“How dreadful!” she whispered, “but he seemed to -me perfectly natural just now.”</p> - -<p>“That was Lacrima’s doing,” said Luke. “Lacrima -is at the bottom of it all. I wish, oh, I wish, -she was going to marry James, instead of that uncle -of yours.”</p> - -<p>“Father would never allow that,” said Gladys, -raising her head. “He is set upon making her take -uncle John. It has become a kind of passion with -him. Father is funny in these things.”</p> - -<p>“Still—it might be managed,” muttered Luke -thoughtfully, “if we carried it through with a high -hand. We might arrange it; the world is malleable, -after all. If you and I, my dear, put our heads -together, Mr. John Goring might whistle for his -bride.”</p> - -<p>“I <em>hate</em> Lacrima!” cried Gladys, with a sudden -access of her normal spirit.</p> - -<p>“I don’t care two pence about Lacrima,” returned -Luke. “It is of James I am thinking.”</p> - -<p>“But she would be happy with James, and I don’t -want her to be happy.”</p> - -<p>“What a little devil you are!” exclaimed the stone-carver, -slipping his arm round her waist.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know I am,” she answered shamelessly. -“I suppose I inherit it from father. He hates people -just like that. But I am not a devil with you, -Luke, am I? I wish I were!” she added, after a little -pause.</p> - -<p>“We must think over this business from every -point of view,” said Luke solemnly. “I cannot -help thinking that if you and I resolve to do it, we -can twist the fates round, somehow or another. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[417]</a></span> -am sure Lacrima could save James if she liked. If -you could only have seen the difference between -what he was when I was called back to him just now, -and what he became as soon as he set eyes upon -her, you would know what I mean. He is mad -about her, and if he doesn’t get her, he’ll go really -mad. He <em>was</em> a madman just now. He nearly -frightened that fool Titley into a fit.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t <em>want</em> Lacrima to marry James,” burst -out Gladys. Luke in a moment drew his arm away, -and quickened his pace.</p> - -<p>“As you please,” he said. “But I can promise -you this, my friend, that if anything does happen to -my brother, it’ll be the end of everything between -<em>us</em>.”</p> - -<p>“Why—what—how can you say such dreadful -things?” stammered the girl.</p> - -<p>Luke airily swung his stick. “It all rests with -you, child. Though <em>we</em> can’t marry, there’s no -reason why we shouldn’t go on seeing each other, -as we do now, forever and ever,—as long as you -help me in this affair. But if you’re going to sulk -and talk this nonsense about ‘hating’—it is probable -that it will be a case of good-bye!”</p> - -<p>The fair girl’s face was distorted by a spasmodic -convulsion of conflicting emotions. She bit her lip -and hung her head. Presently she looked up again -and flung her arms round his neck. “I’ll do anything -you ask me, Luke, anything, as long as you -don’t turn against me.”</p> - -<p>They walked along for some time in silence, hand -in hand, taking care not to lose sight of their two -companions who seemed as engrossed as themselves<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[418]</a></span> -in one another’s society. James Andersen was showing -sufficient discretion in avoiding the more frequented -foot-paths.</p> - -<p>“Luke,” began the girl at last, “did you really -give my ring to Annie Santon?”</p> - -<p>Luke’s brow clouded in a moment. “Damn -your ring!” he cried harshly. “I’ve got other things -to think about now than your confounded rings. -When people give me presents of that kind,” he added -“I take for granted I can do what I like with -them.”</p> - -<p>Gladys trembled and looked pitifully into his face.</p> - -<p>“But that girl said,” she murmured—“that factory -girl, I mean—that it had been lost in some way; -hidden, she said, in some hole in a stone. I can’t -believe that you would let me be made a laughing-stock -of, Luke dear?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t worry me about that,” replied the -stone-carver. “May-be it is so, may-be it isn’t so; -anyway it doesn’t matter a hang.”</p> - -<p>“She said too,” pleaded Gladys in a hesitating -voice, “that you and Annie were going to be married.”</p> - -<p>“Ho! ho!” laughed Luke, fumbling with some -tightly tied hurdles that barred their way; “so she -said that, did she? She <em>must</em> have had her knife -into you, our little Phyllis. Well, and what’s to -stop me if I did decide to marry Annie?”</p> - -<p>Gladys gasped and looked at him with a drawn -and haggard face. Her beauty was of the kind that -required the flush of buoyant spirits to illuminate it. -The more her heart ached, the less attractive she -became. She was anything but beautiful now; and,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[419]</a></span> -as he looked at her, Luke noticed for the first time, -how low her hair grew upon her forehead.</p> - -<p>“You wouldn’t think of doing that?” she whispered, -in a tone of supplication. He laughed lightly -and lifting up her chin made as though he were -going to kiss her, but drew back without doing so.</p> - -<p>“Are you going to be good,” he said, “and help -me to get Lacrima for James?”</p> - -<p>She threw her arms round him. “I’ll do anything -you like—anything,” she repeated, “if you’ll only -let me love you!”</p> - -<p>While this conversation was proceeding between -these two, a not less interesting clash of divergent -emotions was occurring between their friends. The -Italian may easily be pardoned if she never for one -second dreamed of the agitation in her companion’s -mind that had so frightened Luke. James’ manner -was in no way different from usual, and though he -expressed his feelings in a more unreserved fashion -than he had ever done before, Lacrima had been for -many weeks expecting some such outbreak.</p> - -<p>“Don’t be angry with me,” he was saying, as he -strode by her side. “I had meant never to have -told you of this. I had meant to let it die with me, -without your ever knowing, but somehow—today—I -could not help it.”</p> - -<p>He had confessed to her point blank, and in simple, -unbroken words, the secret of his heart, and Lacrima -had for some moments walked along with head -averted making no response.</p> - -<p>It would not be true to say that this revelation -surprised her. It would be completely untrue to say -it offended her. It did not even enter her mind that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[420]</a></span> -it might have been kinder to have been less friendly, -less responsive, than she had been, to this queer -taciturn admirer. But circumstances had really -given her very little choice in the matter. She had -been, as it were, flung perforce upon his society, and -she had accepted, as a providential qualification of -her loneliness, the fact that he was attracted towards -her rather than repelled by her.</p> - -<p>It is quite possible that had he remained untouched -by the evasive appeal of her timid grace; had he, -for instance, remained a provocative and impenetrable -mystery at her side, she might have been led -to share his feelings. But, unluckily for poor Andersen, -the very fact that his feelings had been disclosed -only too clearly, militated hopelessly against -such an event. He was no remote, shadowy, romantic -possibility to her—a closed casket of wonders, -difficult and dangerous to open. He was simply a -passionate and assiduous lover. The fact that he -<em>could</em> love her, lowered him a little in Lacrima’s -esteem. True to her Pariah instincts she felt that -such passion was a sign of weakness in him; and if she -did not actually despise him for it, it materially lessened -the interest she took in the workings of his mind. -Maurice Quincunx drew her to him for the very reason -that he was so sexless, so cold, so wayward, so full of -whimsical caprices. Maurice, a Pariah himself, excited -at the same time her maternal tenderness and her -imaginative affection. If she did not feel the passion -for him that she might have felt for Andersen, had -Andersen remained inaccessible; that was only because -there was something in Maurice’s peculiar egoism -which chilled such feelings at their root.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[421]</a></span></p> - -<p>Another almost equally effective cause of her lack -of response to the stone-carver’s emotion was the -cynical and world-deep weariness that had fallen upon -her, since this dreadful marriage with Goring had become -a settled event. Face to face with this, she -felt as though nothing mattered very much, and as -though any feeling she herself might excite in another -person must needs be like the passing of a shadow -across a mirror—something vague, unreal, insubstantial—something -removed to a remote distance, -like the voice of a person at the end of a long -tunnel, or as the dream of someone who is himself a -figure in a dream. If anyone, she felt, broke into -the enchanted circle that surrounded her, it was as if -they sought to make overtures to a person dead and -buried.</p> - -<p>It was almost with the coldness and detachment of -the dead that she now answered him, and her voice -went sighing across the wet fields with a desolation -that would have struck a more normal mind than -Andersen’s as the incarnation of tragedy. He was -himself, however, strung up to such a tragic note, -that the despair in her tone affected him less than it -would have affected another.</p> - -<p>“I have come to feel,” said she, “that I have no -heart, and I feel as though this country of yours -had no heart. It ought to be always cloudy and dark -in this place. Sunshine here is a kind of bitter -mockery.”</p> - -<p>“You do not know—you do not know what you -say,” cried the poor stone-carver, quickening his -pace in his excitement so that it became difficult for -her to keep up with him. “I have loved you, since I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">[422]</a></span> -first saw you—that day—down at our works—when -the hawthorn was out. <em>My</em> heart at any rate is -deep enough, deep enough to be hurt more than you -would believe, Lacrima. Oh, if things were only -different! If you could only bring yourself to care -for me a little—just a little! Lacrima, listen to me.”</p> - -<p>He stopped abruptly in the middle of a field and made -her turn and face him. He laid his hand solemnly -and imploringly upon her wrist. “Why need you -put yourself under this frightful yoke? I know -something of what you have had to go through. I -know something, though it may be only a little, of -what this horrible marriage means to you. Lacrima, -for your own sake—as well as mine—for the sake of -everyone who has ever cared for you—don’t let them -drag you into this atrocious trap.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[423]</a></span></p> -<p>“Trust me, give yourself boldly into my care. -Let’s go away together and try our fortune in some -new place! All places are not like Nevilton. I am a -strong man, I know my trade, I could earn money -easily to keep us both. Lacrima, don’t turn away, -don’t look so helpless! After all, things might be -worse, you might be already married to that man, -and be buried alive forever! It is not yet too late. -You are still free. I beg and implore you, by everything -you hold sacred, to stop and escape before it is -too late. It doesn’t matter that you don’t love me -now. As long as you don’t utterly hate me all can -be put right. I don’t ask you to return what I feel -for you. I won’t ask it if you agree to marry me. -I’ll make any contract with you you please, and -swear any vow. I won’t come near you when we are -together. We can live under one roof as brother -and sister. The wedding-ring will be nothing between -us. It will only protect you from the rest of -the world. I won’t interfere with your life at all, -when once I have freed you from this devil’s hole. -It will only be a marriage in form, in name; everything -else will be just as you please. I will obey -your least wish, your least fancy. If you want to -go back to your own country and to go alone, I will -save up money enough to make that possible. In -fact, I have now got money enough to pay your -journey and I would send out more to you. Lacrima, -let me help you to break away from all this. You -must, Lacrima, you must and you shall! If you -prefer it, we needn’t ever be married. I don’t want -to take advantage of you. I’ll give you every -penny I have and help you out of the country and -then send you more as I earn it. It is madness, -this devilish marriage they are driving you into. It -is madness and folly to submit to it. It is monstrous. -It is ridiculous. You are free to go, they have no -hold upon you. Lacrima, Lacrima! why are you so -cruel to yourself, to me, to everyone who cares for -you?”</p> - -<p>He drew breath at last, but continued to clutch -her wrist with a trembling hand, glancing anxiously, -as he waited, at the lessening distance that separated -them from the others.</p> - -<p>Lacrima looked at him with a pale troubled face, -but her large eyes were full of tears and when she -spoke her voice quivered.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[424]</a></span></p> -<p>“I was wrong, my friend, to say that none of you -here had any heart. Your heart is large and noble. -I shall never—never forget what you have now said -to me. But James—but James, dear,” and her voice -shook still more, “I cannot, I cannot do it. There -are more reasons than I can explain to you, why -this thing must happen. It <em>has</em> to happen, and we -must bow our heads and submit. After all, life is -not very long, or very happy, at the best. Probably,”—and -she smiled a sad little smile,—“I should disappoint -you frightfully if we did go together. I am -not such a nice person as you suppose. I have queer -moods—oh, such strange, strange moods!—and I know -for certain that I should not make you happy.</p> - -<p>“Shall I tell you a horrible secret, James?” Here -her voice sank into a curious whisper and she laughed -a low distressing laugh. “I have really got the soul, -the <em>soul</em> I say, not the nerves or sense, of a girl who -has lost everything,—I wish I could make you understand—who -has lost self-respect and everything,—I -have thought myself into this state. I don’t care -now—I really don’t—<em>what</em> happens to me. James, -dear—you wouldn’t want to marry a person like that, -a person who feels herself already dead and buried? -Yes, and worse than dead! A person who has lost -all pity, all feeling, even for herself. A person who -is past even caring for the difference between right -and wrong! You wouldn’t want to be kind to a -person like that, James, would you?”</p> - -<p>She stopped and gazed into his face, smiling a woeful -little smile. Andersen mechanically noticed that -their companions had observed their long pause, and -had delayed to advance, resting beneath the shelter -of a wind-tossed ash-tree. The stone-carver began -to realize the extraordinary and terrible loneliness -of every human soul. Here he was, face to face<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[425]</a></span> -with the one being of all beings whose least look or -word thrilled him with intolerable excitement, and -yet he could not as much as touch the outer margin -of her real consciousness.</p> - -<p>He had not the least idea, even at that fatal moment, -what her inner spirit was feeling; what thoughts, -what sensations, were passing through her soul. Nor -could he ever have. They might stand together thus, -isolated from all the world, through an eternity of -physical contact, and he would never attain such -knowledge. She would always remain aloof, mysterious, -evasive. He resolved that at all events as -far as he himself was concerned, there should be no -barrier between them. He would lay open to her -the deepest recesses of his heart.</p> - -<p>He began a hurried incoherent history of his passion, -of its growth, its subtleties, its intensity. He -tried to make her realize what she had become for -him, how she filled every hour of every day with her -image. He explained to her how clearly and fully -he understood the difficulty, the impossibility, of his -ever bringing her to care for him as he cared for -her.</p> - -<p>He even went so far as to allude to Mr. Quincunx, -and implored her to believe that he would be well -content if she would let him earn money enough to -support both her and Maurice, either in Nevilton or -elsewhere, if it would cut the tragic knot of her fate -to join her destiny to that of the forlorn recluse.</p> - -<p>It almost seemed as though this final stroke of -self-abnegation excited more eloquence in him than -all the rest. He begged and conjured her to cut -boldly loose from the Romer bonds, and marry her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426">[426]</a></span> -queer friend, if he, rather than any other, were the -choice she made. His language became so vehement, -his tone so impassioned and exalted, that the -girl began to look apprehensively at him. Even -this apprehension, however, was a thing strangely -removed from reality. His reckless words rose and -fell upon the air and mixed with the rising wind as -if they were words remembered from some previous -existence. The man’s whole figure, his gaunt frame, -his stooping shoulders, his long arms and lean fingers, -seemed to her like something only half-tangible, -something felt and seen through a dim medium of -obscuring mist.</p> - -<p>Lacrima felt vaguely as though all this were happening -to someone else, to someone she had read -about in a book, or had known in remote childhood. -The overhanging clouds, the damp grass, the distant -ash-tree with the forms of their friends beneath -it, all these things seemed to group themselves in -her mind, as if answering to some strange dramatic -story, which was not the story of her life at all, but -of some other harassed and troubled spirit.</p> - -<p>In the depths of her mind she shrank away -half-frightened and half-indifferent from this man’s -impassioned pleading and heroic proposals. The humorously -cynical image of the hermit of Dead Man’s -Lane crossed her mental vision as a sort of wavering -Pharos light in the dreamy twilight of her consciousness. -How well she knew with what goblin-like -quiver of his nostrils, with what sardonic gleam of -his eyes, he would have listened to his rival’s exalted -rhetoric.</p> - -<p>In some strange way she felt almost angry with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">[427]</a></span> -this bolder, less cautious lover, for being what her -poor nervous Maurice never could be. She caught -herself shuddering at the thought of the drastic -effort, the stern focussing of will-power which the -acceptance of any one of his daring suggestions would -imply. Perhaps, who can say, there had come to -be a sort of voluptuous pleasure in thus lying back -upon her destiny and letting herself be carried forward, -at the caprice of other wills than her own.</p> - -<p>Mingled with these other complex reactions, there -was borne in upon her, as she listened to him, a -queer sense of the absolute unimportance of the -whole matter. The long strain upon her nerves, of -her sojourn in Nevilton House, had left her physically -so weary that she lacked the life-energy to supply -the life-illusion. The ardour and passion of -Andersen’s suggestions seemed, for all their dramatic -pathos, to belong to a world she had left—a world -from which she had risen or sunk so completely, that -all return was impossible. Her nature was so hopelessly -the true Pariah-nature, that the idea of the -effort implied in any struggle to escape her doom, -seemed worse than the doom itself.</p> - -<p>This inhibition of any movement of effective resistance -in the Pariah-type is the thing that normal -temperaments find most difficult of all to understand. -It would seem almost incredible to a healthy -minded person that Lacrima should deliberately let -herself be driven into such a fate without some last -desperate struggle. Those who find it so, however, -under-estimate that curious passion of submission -from which these victims of circumstance suffer, a -passion of submission which is itself, in a profoundly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">[428]</a></span> -subtle way, a sort of narcotic or drug to the wretchedness -they pass through.</p> - -<p>“I cannot do it,” she repeated in a low tired voice, -“though I think it’s generous, beyond description, -what you want to do for me. But I cannot do it. -It’s difficult somehow to tell you why, James dear; -there are certain things that are hard to say, even -to people that we love as much as I love you. For -I do love you, in spite of everything. I hope you -realize that. And I know that you have a deep -noble heart.”</p> - -<p>She looked at him with wistful and appealing -tenderness, and let her little fingers slip into his -feverish hand.</p> - -<p>When she said the words, “I do love you,” a shivering -ecstasy shot through the stone-carver’s veins, -followed by a ghastly chilliness, like the hand of -death, as he grasped their complete meaning. The -most devastating tone, perhaps, of all, for an impassioned -lover to hear, is that particular tone of -calm tender affection. It has the power of closing -up vistas of hope more effectively than the expression -of the most vigorous repulsion. There was a -ring of weary finality in her voice that echoed through -his mind, like the tread of coffin-bearers through a -darkened passage. Things had reached their hopeless -point, and the two were standing mute and -silent, in the attitude of persons taking a final farewell -of one another, when a noisy group of village -maids, on their dilatory road to the glove-factory, -made their voices audible from the further side of -the nearest hedge.</p> - -<p>They both turned instantaneously to see how this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429">[429]</a></span> -danger of discovery affected their friends, and neither -of them was surprised to note that the younger -Andersen had left his companion and was strolling -casually in the direction of the voices. As soon as -he saw that they had observed this manœuvre he -began beckoning to James.</p> - -<p>“We’d better separate, my friend,” whispered -Lacrima hastily. “I’ll go back to Gladys. She and -I must take the lane way and you and Luke the -path by the barn. We’ll meet again before—before -anything happens.”</p> - -<p>They separated accordingly and as the two girls -passed through the gate that led into the Nevilton -road, they could distinctly hear, across the fields, -the ringing laughter of the high-spirited glove-makers -as they chaffed and rallied the two stone-carvers -through the thick bramble hedge which intervened -between them.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430">[430]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII<br /> -<span class="smaller">SAGITTARIUS</span></h2> - -<p>The summer of the year whose events, in so far -as they affected a certain little group of Nevilton -people we are attempting to describe, -seemed, to all concerned, to pass more and more -rapidly, as the days began again to shorten. July -gave place to August, and Mr. Goring’s men were -already at work upon the wheat-harvest. In the -hedges appeared all those peculiar signals of the -culmination of the season’s glory, which are, by one -of nature’s most emphatic ironies, the signals also of -its imminent decline.</p> - -<p>Old-man’s-beard, for instance, hung its feathery -clusters on every bush; and, in shadier places, white -and black briony twined their decorative leaves and -delicate flowers. The blossom of the blackberry -bushes was already giving place to unripe fruit, and -the berries of traveller’s-joy were beginning to turn -red. Hips and haws still remained in that vague -colourless state which renders them indistinguishable -to all eyes save those of the birds, but the juicy -clusters of the common night-shade—“green grapes -of Proserpine”—greeted the wanderer with their -poisonous Circe-like attraction, from their thrones of -dog-wood and maple, and whispered of the autumn’s -approach. In dry deserted places the scarlet splendour -of poppies was rapidly yielding ground to all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431">[431]</a></span> -those queer herbal plants, purplish or whitish in hue—the -wild hyssop, or marjoram, being the most noticeable -of them—which more than anything else denote -the coming on of the equinox. From dusty heaps of -rubbish the aromatic daisy-like camomile gave forth -its pungent fragrance, and in damper spots the tall -purple heads of hemp-agrimony flouted the dying -valerian.</p> - -<p>An appropriate date at the end of the month had -been fixed for the episcopal visit to Nevilton; and -the candidates for confirmation were already beginning, -according to their various natures and temperaments, -to experience that excited anticipation, which, -even in the dullest intelligence, such an event arouses.</p> - -<p>The interesting ceremony of Gladys Romer’s baptism -had been fixed for a week earlier than this, -a fanciful sentiment in the agitated mind of Mr. -Clavering having led to the selection of this particular -day on the strange ground of its exact coincidence -with the anniversary of a certain famous saint.</p> - -<p>The marriage of Gladys with Dangelis, and of -Lacrima with John Goring, was to take place early -in September, Mrs. Romer having stipulated for -reasons of domestic economy that the two events -should be simultaneous.</p> - -<p>Another project of some importance to at least -three persons in Nevilton, was now, as one might -say, in the air; though this was by no means a -matter of public knowledge. I refer to Vennie Seldom’s -fixed resolution to be received into the Catholic -Church and to become a nun.</p> - -<p>Ever since her encounter in the village street with -the loquacious Mr. Wone, Vennie had been oppressed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_432" id="Page_432">[432]</a></span> -by an invincible distaste for the things and people -that surrounded her. Her longing to give the world -the slip and devote herself completely to the religious -life had been incalculably deepened by her -disgust at what she considered the blasphemous introduction -of the Holy Name into the Christian Candidate’s -political canvassing. The arguments of Mr. -Taxater and the conventional anglicanism of her -mother, were, compared with this, only mild incentives -to the step she meditated. The whole fabric -of her piety and her taste had been shocked to their -foundations by the unctuous complacency of Mr. -Romer’s evangelical rival.</p> - -<p>Vennie felt, as she stood aside, in her retired routine, -and watched the political struggle sway to and -fro in the village, as though the champions of both -causes were odiously and repulsively in the wrong. -The sly conservatism of the quarry-owner becoming, -since the settlement of the strike, almost fulsome -in its flattery of the working classes, struck her as -the most unscrupulous bid for power that she had -ever encountered; and when, combined with his new -pose as the ideal employer and landlord, Mr. Romer -introduced the imperial note, and talked lavishly of -the economic benefits of the Empire, Vennie felt -as though all that was beautiful and sacred in her -feeling for the country of her birth, was blighted and -poisoned at the root.</p> - -<p>But Mr. Wone’s attitude of mind struck her as -even more revolting. The quarry-owner was at -least frankly and flagrantly cynical. He made no -attempt—unless Gladys’ confirmation was to be regarded -as such—to conciliate religious sentiment. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_433" id="Page_433">[433]</a></span> -never went to church, and in private conversation he -expressed his atheistic opinions with humorous and -careless shamelessness. But Mr. Wone’s intermingling -of Protestant unction with political chicanery -struck the passionate soul of the young girl as something -very nearly approaching the “unpardonable -sin.” Her incisive intelligence, fortified of late by -conversations with Mr. Taxater, revolted, too, against -the vague ethical verbiage and loose democratic -sentiment with which Mr. Wone garnished his lightest -talk. Since Philip’s release from prison and his reappearance -in the village, she had taken the opportunity -of having several interviews with the Christian -Candidate’s son, and these interviews, though they -saddened and perplexed her, increased her respect -for the young man in proportion as they diminished -it for his father. With true feminine instinct Vennie -found the anarchist more attractive than the socialist, -and the atheist less repugnant than the -missionary.</p> - -<p>One afternoon, towards the end of the first week -in August, Vennie persuaded Mr. Taxater to accompany -her on a long walk. They made their way -through the wood which separates the fields around -Nevilton Mount from the fields around Leo’s Hill. -Issuing from this wood, along the path followed by -every visitor to the hill who wishes to avoid its -steeper slopes, they strolled leisurely between the -patches of high bracken-fern and looked down upon -the little church of Athelston.</p> - -<p>Athelston was a long, rambling village, encircling -the northern end of the Leonian promontory and -offering shelter, in many small cottages all heavily<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_434" id="Page_434">[434]</a></span> -built of the same material, to those of the workmen -in the quarries who were not domiciled in Nevilton.</p> - -<p>“It would be rather nice,” said Vennie to the -theologian, “if it wouldn’t spoil our walk, to go -and look at that carving in the porch, down there. -They say it has been cleaned lately, and the figures -show up more clearly.”</p> - -<p>The papal champion gravely surveyed the outline -of the little cruciform church, as it shimmered, warm -and mellow, in the misty sunshine at their feet.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know,” he remarked. “I met our friend -Andersen there the other day. He told me he had -been doing the work quite alone. He said it was one -of the most interesting things he had ever done. -By the way, I am confident that that rumour we -heard, of his getting unsettled in his mind, is absolutely -untrue. I have never found him more sensible—you -know how silent he is as a rule? When I -met him he was quite eloquent on the subject of -mediæval carving.”</p> - -<p>Vennie looked down and smiled—a sad little smile. -“I’m afraid,” she said; “that his talking so freely -is not quite a good sign. But do let’s go. I have -never looked at those queer figures with anyone but -my mother; and you know the way she has of -making everything seem as if it were an ornament -on her own mantelpiece.”</p> - -<p>They began descending the hill, Mr. Taxater displaying -more agility than might have been expected -of him, as they scrambled down between furze-bushes, -rabbit-holes, and beds of yellow trefoil.</p> - -<p>“How dreadfully I shall miss you, dear child,” he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_435" id="Page_435">[435]</a></span> -said. “No one could accuse me of selfishness in furthering -your wish for the religious life. Half the pleasant -discoveries I’ve made in this charming country -have been due to you.”</p> - -<p>The young girl turned and regarded him affectionately. -“You have been more than a father to -me,” she murmured.</p> - -<p>“Ah, Vennie, Vennie!” he protested, “you mustn’t -talk like that. After all, the greatest discovery we -have made, is the discovery of your calling for -religion. I have much to be thankful for. It is -not often that I have been permitted such a privilege. -If we had not been thrown together, who knows but -that the influence of our good Clavering——”</p> - -<p>Vennie blushed scarlet at the mention of the priest’s -name, and to hide her confusion, buried her head -in a great clump of rag-wort, pressing its yellow -clusters vehemently against her cheeks, with agitated -trembling hands.</p> - -<p>When she lifted up her face, the fair hair under her -hat was sprinkled with dewy moisture. “The turn -of the year has come,” she said. “There’s mist on -everything today.” She smiled, with a quick embarrassed -glance at her companion.</p> - -<p>“The turn of the year has come,” repeated the -champion of the papacy.</p> - -<p>They descended the slope of yet another field, and -then paused again, leaning upon a gate.</p> - -<p>“Have you ever thought how strange it is,” remarked -the girl, as they turned to survey the scene -around them, “that those two hills should still, in -a way, represent the struggle between good and -evil? I always wish that my ancestors had built a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_436" id="Page_436">[436]</a></span> -chapel on Nevilton Mount instead of that silly little -tower.”</p> - -<p>The theologian fixed his eyes on the two eminences -which, from the point where they stood, -showed so emphatically against the smouldering -August sky.</p> - -<p>“Why do you call Leo’s Hill evil?” he asked.</p> - -<p>Vennie frowned. “I always have felt like that -about it,” she answered. “It’s an odd fancy I’ve got. -I can’t quite explain it. Perhaps it’s because I know -something of the hard life of the quarry-men. Perhaps -it’s because of Mr. Romer. I really can’t tell -you. But that’s the feeling I have!”</p> - -<p>“Our worthy Mr. Wone would thank you, if you -lent him your idea for use in his speeches,” remarked -the theologian with a chuckle.</p> - -<p>“That’s just it!” cried Vennie. “It teases me, -more than I can say, that the cause of the poor -should be in his hands. I can’t associate <em>him</em> with -anything good or sacred. His being the one to -oppose Mr. Romer makes me feel as though God had -left us completely, left us at the mercy of the false -prophets!”</p> - -<p>“Child, child!” expostulated Mr. Taxater—“<i>Custodit -Dominus animas sanctorum suorum; de manu -peccatoris liberabit eos</i>.”</p> - -<p>“But it is so strange,” continued Vennie. “It is -one of the things I cannot understand. Why should -God have to use other means than those His church -offers to defeat the designs of wicked people? I wish -miracles happened more often! Sometimes I dream -of them happening. I dreamt the other night that -an angel, with a great silver sword, stood on the top<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_437" id="Page_437">[437]</a></span> -of Nevilton Mount, and cried aloud to all the dead -in the churchyard. Why can’t God send real angels -to fight His battles, instead of using wolves in -sheep’s clothing like that wretched Mr. Wone?”</p> - -<p>The champion of the papacy smiled. “You are -too hard on our poor Candidate, Vennie. There’s -more of the sheep than the wolf about our worthy -Wone, after all. But you touch upon a large question, -my dear; a large question. That great circle, -whose centre is everywhere and its circumference -nowhere, as St. Thomas says, must needs include -many ways to the fulfilment of His ends, which are -mysterious to us. God is sometimes pleased to use -the machinations of the most evil men, even their -sensual passions, and their abominable vices, to -bring about the fulfilment of His will. And we, dear -child,” he added after a pause, “must follow God’s -methods. That is why the church has always condemned -as a dangerous heresy that Tolstoyan doctrine -of submission to evil. We must never submit -to evil! Our duty is to use against it every weapon -the world offers. Weapons that in themselves are -unholy, become holy—nay! even sacred—when -used in the cause of God and His church.”</p> - -<p>Vennie remained puzzled and silent. She felt a -vague, remote dissatisfaction with her friend’s argument; -but she found it difficult to answer. She -glanced sadly up at the cone-shaped mount above -them, and wished that in place of that heathen-looking -tower, she could see her angel with the -silver sword.</p> - -<p>“It is all very confusing,” she murmured at last,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_438" id="Page_438">[438]</a></span> -“and I shall be glad when I am out of it.”</p> - -<p>The theologian laid his hand—the hand that -ought to have belonged to a prince of the church—upon -his companion’s.</p> - -<p>“You will be out of it soon, child,” he said, “and -then you will help us by your prayers. We who are -the temporal monks of the great struggle are bound -to soil our hands in the dust of the arena. But -your prayers, and the prayers of many like you, -cleanse them continually from such unhappy stains.”</p> - -<p>Even at the moment he was uttering these profound -words, Mr. Taxater was wondering in his heart -how far his friend’s inclination to a convent depended -upon an impulse much more natural and feminine -than the desire to avoid the Mr. Romers and Mr. -Wones of this poor world. He made a second rather -brutal experiment.</p> - -<p>“We must renounce,” he said, “all these plausible -poetic attempts to be wiser than God’s Holy Church. -That is one of the faults into which our worthy -Clavering falls.”</p> - -<p>Once more the tell-tale scarlet rushed into the -cheeks of Nevilton’s little nun.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she answered, stooping to pluck a spray of -wild basil, “I know.”</p> - -<p>They opened the gate, and very soon found themselves -at the entrance to Athelston church. Late -summer flowers, planted in rows on each side of -the path, met them with a ravishing fragrance. -Stocks and sweet-williams grew freely among the -graves; and tall standard roses held up the wealth -of their second blossoming, like chalices full of -red and white wine. Heavy-winged brown butterflies -fluttered over the grass, like the earth-drawn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_439" id="Page_439">[439]</a></span> -spirits, Vennie thought, of such among the dead as -were loath to leave the scene of their earthly pleasures. -Mounted upon a step-ladder in the porch was -the figure of James Andersen, absorbed in removing -the moss and lichen from the carving in the central -arch.</p> - -<p>He came down at once when he perceived their -approach. “Look!” he said, with a wave of his hand, -“you can see what it is now.”</p> - -<p>Obedient to his words they both gazed curiously -at the quaint early Norman relief. It represented -a centaur, with a drawn bow and arrow, aiming at -a retreating lion, which was sneaking off in humorously -depicted terror.</p> - -<p>“That is King Stephen,” said the stone-carver, -pointing to the centaur. “And the beast he is -aiming at is Queen Maud. Stephen’s zodiacal sign -was Sagittarius, and the woman’s was Leo. Hence -the arrow he is aiming.”</p> - -<p>Vennie’s mind, reverting to her fanciful distinction -between the two eminences, and woman-like, associating -everything she saw with the persons of her -own drama, at once began to discern, between the -retreating animal and the fair-haired daughter of the -owner of Leo’s Hill, a queer and grotesque resemblance.</p> - -<p>She heaved a deep sigh. What would she not give -to see her poor priest-centaur aim such an arrow of -triumph at the heart of his insidious temptress!</p> - -<p>“I think you have made them stand out wonderfully -clear,” she said gently. “Hasn’t he, Mr. -Taxater?”</p> - -<p>The stone-carver threw down the instrument he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_440" id="Page_440">[440]</a></span> -was using, and folded his arms. His dark, foreign-looking -countenance wore a very curious expression.</p> - -<p>“I wanted to finish this job,” he remarked, in a -slow deep voice, “before I turn into stone myself.”</p> - -<p>“Come, come, my friend,” said Mr. Taxater, while -Vennie stared in speechless alarm at the carver’s -face. “You mustn’t talk like that! You people -get a wrong perspective in things. Remember, this -is no longer the Stone Age. The power of stone was -broken once for all, when certain women of Palestine -found that stone, which we’ve all heard of, lifted -out of its place! Since then it is to wood—the -wood out of which His cross was made—not to -stone, that we must look.”</p> - -<p>The carver raised his long arm and pointed in the -direction of Leo’s Hill. “Twenty years,” he said, -“have I been working on this stone. I used to despise -such work. Then I grew to care for it. Then -there came a change. I loved the work! It was the -only thing I loved. I loved to feel the stone under -my hands, and to watch it yielding to my tools. I -think the soul of it must have passed into my soul. -It seemed to know me; to respond to me. We became -like lovers, the stone and I!” He laughed an -uneasy, disconcerting laugh; and went on.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_441" id="Page_441">[441]</a></span></p> -<p>“But that is not all. Another change came. <em>She</em> -came into my life. I needn’t tell you, Miss Seldom, -who I mean. You know well enough. These things -cannot be hidden. Nothing can be hidden that -happens here! She came and was kind to me. -She is kind to me still. But they have got hold of -her. She can’t resist them. Why she can’t, I cannot -say; but it seems impossible. She talks to me like -a person in a dream. They’re going to marry her -to that brute Goring. You’ve heard that I suppose? -But of course it’s nothing to you! Why should it be?”</p> - -<p>He paused, and Vennie interrupted him sharply. -“It is a great deal to us, Mr. Andersen! Every -cruel thing that is done in a place affects everyone -who lives in the place. If Mr. Taxater and—and -Mr. Clavering—thought that Miss Traffio was -being driven into this marriage, I’m sure they would -not allow it! They would do something—everything—to -stop such an outrage. Wouldn’t you, Mr. -Taxater?”</p> - -<p>“But surely, Vennie,” said the theologian, “you -have heard something of this? You can’t be quite -so oblivious, as all that, to the village scandal?”</p> - -<p>He spoke with a certain annoyance as people are -apt to do, when some disagreeable abuse, which they -have sought to forget, is brought vividly before them.</p> - -<p>Vennie, too, became irritable. The question of -Lacrima’s marriage had more than once given her -conscience a sharp stab. “I think it is a shame to -us all,” she cried vehemently, “that this should be -allowed. It is only lately that I’ve heard rumours -of it, and I took them for mere gossip. It’s been on -my mind.” She looked almost sternly at the theologian. -“I meant to talk to you about it. But -other things came between. I haven’t seen Lacrima -for several weeks. Surely, if it is as Mr. Andersen -says, something ought to be done! It is a horrible, -perfectly horrible idea!” She covered her face with -her hands as if to shut out some unbearable vision.</p> - -<p>James Andersen watched them both intently, leaning -against the wood-work of the church-door.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_442" id="Page_442">[442]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I thought you all knew of this,” he said presently. -“Perhaps you did; but the devil prompted you to -say nothing. There are a great many things in this -world which are done while people—good people—look -on—and nothing said. Do you wonder now -that the end of this business will be a curious one; -I mean for me? For you know, of course, what -is going to happen? You know why I have been -chosen to work at this particular piece of carving? -And why, ever since I quarrelled with Luke and -drank in Hullaway Inn, I have heard voices in my -head? The reason of that is, that Leo’s Hill is angry -because I have deserted it. Every stone I touch is -angry, and keeps talking to me and upbraiding me. -The voices I hear are the voices of all the stones I -have ever worked with in my life. But they needn’t -fret themselves. The end will surprise even them. -<em>They</em> do not know,”—here his voice took a lower -tone, and he assumed that ghastly air of imparting -a piece of surprising, but quite natural, information, -which is one of the most sinister tokens of monomania,—“that -I shall very soon be, even as they are! -Isn’t it funny they don’t know that, Miss Seldom? -Isn’t it a curious thing, Mr. Taxater? I thought of -that, just now, as I chipped the dirt from King -Stephen. Even <em>he</em> didn’t know, the foolish centaur! -And yet he has been up there, seeing this sort of -thing done, for seven hundred years! I expect he -has seen so many girls dragged under this arch, with -sick terror in their hearts, that he has grown callous -to it. A callous king! A knavish-smiling king! It -makes me laugh to think how little he cares!”</p> - -<p>The unfortunate man did indeed proceed to laugh;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_443" id="Page_443">[443]</a></span> -but the sound of it was so ghastly, even to himself, -that he quickly became grave.</p> - -<p>“Luke will be here soon,” he said. “Luke has -always come for me, these last few days, when his -work is over. It’ll be over soon now, I think. He -may be here any moment; so I’d better finish the -job. Don’t you worry about Lacrima, ladies and -gentlemen! She’ll fly away with the rooks. This -centaur-king will never reach <em>her</em> with his arrows. -It’ll be me, not her, he’ll turn into stone!”</p> - -<p>He became silent and continued his labour upon the -carving. The wonder was that with his head full of -such mad fancies he could manage so delicate a -piece of work. Mr. Taxater and Vennie watched -him in amazement.</p> - -<p>“I think,” whispered the latter presently, “we’d -better wait in the churchyard till his brother comes. -I don’t like leaving him in this state.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Taxater nodded, and retreating to the further -end of the path, they sat down together upon a -flat tombstone.</p> - -<p>“I am sorry,” said Mr. Taxater, after a minute -or two’s silence, “that I spoke rather crossly to you -just now. The truth is, the man’s reference to that -Italian girl made me feel ashamed of myself. I have -not your excuse of being ignorant of what was going -on. I have, in fact, been meaning to talk to you -about it for some weeks; but I hesitated, wishing to -be quite sure of my ground first.</p> - -<p>“Even now, you must remember, we have no certain -authority to go upon. But I’m afraid—I’m -very much afraid—what Andersen says is true. -It is evidently his own certain knowledge of it that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_444" id="Page_444">[444]</a></span> -has upset his brain. And I’m inclined to take his -word for it. I fear the girl must have told him herself; -and it was the shock of hearing it from her -that had this effect.</p> - -<p>“There’s no doubt he’s seriously ill. But if I know -anything of these things, it’s rather a case of extreme -nervous agitation than actual insanity. In any -event, it’s a relief to remember that this kind of -mania is, of all forms of brain-trouble, the easiest -cured.”</p> - -<p>Vennie made an imperious little gesture. “We -<em>must</em> cure him!” she cried. “We must! We must! -And the only way to do it, as far as I can see, is to -stop this abominable marriage. Lacrima can’t be -doing it willingly. No girl would marry a man like -that, of her own accord.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Taxater shook his head. “I’m afraid there -are few people,” he remarked, “that some girl or -other wouldn’t marry if the motive were strong -enough! The question is, What is the motive in this -instance?”</p> - -<p>“What can Mr. Quincunx be thinking of?” said -Vennie. “He hasn’t been up to see mother lately. -In fact, I don’t think he has been in our house since -he began working in Yeoborough. That’s another -abominable shame! It seems to me more and more -clear that there’s an evil destiny hanging over this -place, driving people on to do wicked things!”</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid we shall get small assistance from -Mr. Quincunx,” said the theologian. “The relations -between him and Lacrima are altogether beyond my -power of unravelling. But I cannot imagine his -taking any sort of initiative in any kind of difficulty.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_445" id="Page_445">[445]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Then what are we to do?” pleaded Vennie, looking -anxiously into the diplomatist’s face.</p> - -<p>Mr. Taxater rested his chin upon the handle of his -cane and made no reply.</p> - -<p>At this moment the gate clicked behind them, and -Luke Andersen appeared. He glanced hastily towards -the porch; but his brother was absorbed in -his work and apparently had heard nothing. Stepping -softly along the edge of the path he approached -the two friends. He looked very anxious and -troubled.</p> - -<p>Raising his hat to Vennie, he made a gesture with -his hand in his brother’s direction. “Have you seen -him?” he enquired. “Has he talked to you?”</p> - -<p>The theologian nodded.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I think all this is dreadful!” whispered Vennie. -“I’m more distressed than I can tell you. I’m -afraid he’s very, very ill. And he keeps talking -about Miss Traffio. Surely something can be done, -Mr. Andersen, to stop that marriage before it’s too -late?”</p> - -<p>Luke turned upon her with an expression completely -different from any she had ever seen him wear before. -He seemed to have suddenly grown much older. -His mouth was drawn, and a little open; and his -cheeks were pale and indented by deep lines.</p> - -<p>“I would give my soul,” he said with intense emphasis,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_446" id="Page_446">[446]</a></span> -“to have this thing otherwise. I have already -been to Lacrima—to Miss Traffio, I mean—but -she will do nothing. She is mad, too, I think. -I hoped to get her to marry my brother, off-hand, -anyhow; and leave the place with him. But she -won’t hear of it. I can’t understand her! It almost -seems as if she <em>wanted</em> to marry that clown. But -she can’t really; it’s impossible. I’m afraid that -fool Quincunx is at the bottom of it.”</p> - -<p>“Something must be done! Something must be -done!” wailed Vennie.</p> - -<p>“<i>Sustinuit anima mea in verbo ejus!</i>” muttered Mr. -Taxater. “<i>Speravit anima mea in Domino.</i>”</p> - -<p>“I shouldn’t mind so much the state he’s in,” -continued Luke, “if I didn’t remember how my -mother went. She got just like this before she died. -It’s true my father was a brute to her. But this -different kind of blow seems to have just the same -effect upon James. Fool that I am, I must needs -start a miserable quarrel with him when he was most -worried. If anything happens, I tell you I shall feel -I’m responsible for the whole thing, and no one else!”</p> - -<p>All this while Mr. Taxater had remained silent, -his chin on the handle of his cane. At last he lifted -up his head.</p> - -<p>“I think,” he began softly, “I should rather like a -word alone with Mr. Luke, Vennie. Perhaps you -wouldn’t mind wandering down the lane a step or -two? Then I can follow you; and we’ll leave this -young man to get his brother home.”</p> - -<p>The girl rose obediently and pressed the youth’s -hand. “If anyone can help you,” she said with a -look of tender sympathy, “it is Mr. Taxater. He has -helped me in my trouble.”</p> - -<p>As soon as Vennie was out of hearing the theologian -looked straight into Luke’s face.</p> - -<p>“I have an idea,” he said, “that if any two people -can find a way out of this wretched business, it is -you and I together.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_447" id="Page_447">[447]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well, sir,” said Luke, seating himself by Mr. -Taxater’s side and glancing apprehensively towards -the church-porch; “I have tried what I can do with -Miss Romer, but she maintains that nothing she can -say will make any difference to Miss Traffio.”</p> - -<p>“I fancy there is one thing, however, that would -make a difference to Mr. Quincunx,” remarked the -theologian significantly. “I am taking for granted,” -he added, “that it is this particular marriage which -weighs so heavily on your brother. He would -not suffer if he saw her wedded to a man she -loved?”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” exclaimed Luke, “your idea is to appeal to -Quincunx. I’ve thought of that, too. But I’m -afraid it’s hopeless. He’s such an inconceivably -helpless person. Besides, he’s got no money.”</p> - -<p>“Suppose we secured him the money?” said Mr. -Taxater.</p> - -<p>Luke’s countenance momentarily brightened; but -the cloud soon settled on it again.</p> - -<p>“We couldn’t get enough,” he said with a sigh. -“Unless,” he added, with a glimmer of humour, “you -or some other noble person have more cash to dispose -of than I fancy is at all likely! To persuade Quincunx -into any bold activity we should have to guarantee -him a comfortable annuity for the rest of his -life, and an assurance of his absolute security from -Romer’s vengeance. It would have to be enough -for Lacrima, too, you understand!”</p> - -<p>The theologian shook the dew-drops from a large -crimson rose which hung within his reach.</p> - -<p>“What precise sum would you suggest,” he asked,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_448" id="Page_448">[448]</a></span> -“as likely to be a sufficient inducement?”</p> - -<p>The stone-carver meditated. “Those two could -live quite happily,” he remarked at last, “on two -hundred a year.”</p> - -<p>“It is a large amount to raise,” said Mr. Taxater. -“I fear it is quite beyond my power and the power of -the Seldoms, even if we combined our efforts. How -right Napoleon was, when he said that in any campaign, -the first, second, and third requisite was -money!</p> - -<p>“It only shows how foolish those critics of the -Catholic Church are, who blame her for laying stress -upon the temporal side of our great struggle against -evil. In this world, as things go, one always strikes -sooner or later against the barrier of money. The -money-question lies at the bottom of every subterranean -abuse and every hidden iniquity that we -unmask. It’s a wretched thing that it should be -so, but we have to accept it; until one of Vennie’s -angels”—he added in an undertone—“descends -to help us! Your poor brother began talking just -now about the power of stone. I referred him to -the Cross of our Lord—which is made of another -material!</p> - -<p>“But unfortunately in the stress of this actual -struggle, you and I, my dear Andersen, find ourselves, -as you see, compelled to call in the help, not of wood, -but of gold. Gold, and gold alone, can furnish us -with the means of undermining these evil powers!”</p> - -<p>The texture of Mr. Taxater’s mind was so nicely -inter-threaded with the opposite strands of metaphysical -and Machiavellian wisdom, that this discourse, -fantastic as it may sound to us, fell from -him as naturally as rain from a heavy cloud. Luke<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_449" id="Page_449">[449]</a></span> -Andersen’s face settled into an expression of hopeless -gloom.</p> - -<p>“The thing is beyond us, then,” he said. “I certainly -can’t provide an enormous sum like that. -James’ and my savings together only amount to a -few hundreds. And if no quixotic person can be -discovered to help us, we are bound hand and foot.</p> - -<p>“Oh I should like,” he cried, “to make this place -ring and ting with our triumph over that damned -Romer!”</p> - -<p>“<i>Quis est iste Rex gloriæ?</i>” muttered the Theologian. -“<i>Dominus fortis et potens; Dominus potens in prœlio.</i>”</p> - -<p>“I shall never dare,” went on the stone-carver, -“to get my brother away into a home. The least -thought of such a thing would drive him absolutely -out of his mind. He’ll have to be left to drift about -like this, talking madly to everyone he meets, till -something terrible happens to him. God! I could -howl with rage, to think how it all might be saved if -only that ass Quincunx had a little gall!”</p> - -<p>Mr. Taxater tapped the young man’s wrist with -his white fingers. “I think we can put gall into him -between us,” he said. “I think so, Andersen.”</p> - -<p>“You’ve got some idea, sir!” cried Luke, looking -at the theologian. “For Heaven’s sake, let’s have -it! I am completely at the end of my tether.”</p> - -<p>“This American who is engaged to Gladys is immensely -rich, isn’t he?” enquired Mr. Taxater.</p> - -<p>“Rich?” answered Luke. “That’s not the word -for it! The fellow could buy the whole of Leo’s -Hill and not know the difference.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Taxater was silent, fingering the gold cross -upon his watch-chain.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_450" id="Page_450">[450]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It remains with yourself then,” he remarked at -last.</p> - -<p>“What!” cried the astonished Luke.</p> - -<p>“I happen to be aware,” continued the diplomatist, -calmly, “that there is a certain fact which our friend -from Ohio would give half his fortune to know. He -certainly would very willingly sign the little document -for it, that would put Mr. Quincunx and Miss -Traffio into a position of complete security. It is -only a question of ‘the terrain of negotiation,’ as we -say in our ecclesiastical circles.”</p> - -<p>Luke Andersen’s eyes opened very widely, and the -amazement of his surprise made him look more like -an astounded faun than ever—a faun that has -come bolt upon some incredible triumph of civilization.</p> - -<p>“I will be quite plain with you, young man,” said -the theologian. “It has come to my knowledge -that you and Gladys Romer are more than friends; -have been more than friends, for a good while past.</p> - -<p>“Do not wave your hand in that way! I am not -speaking without evidence. I happen to know as -a positive fact that this girl is neither more nor less -than your mistress. I am also inclined to believe—though -of this, of course, I cannot be sure—that, as -a result of this intrigue, she is likely, before the -autumn is over, to find herself in a position of considerable -embarrassment. It is no doubt, with a -view to covering such embarrassment—you understand -what I mean, Mr. Andersen?—that she is -making preparations to have her marriage performed -earlier than was at first intended.”</p> - -<p>“God!” cried the astounded youth, losing all self-possession,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_451" id="Page_451">[451]</a></span> -“how, under the sun, did you get to -know this?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Taxater smiled. “We poor controversialists,” he -said, “have to learn, in self-defence, certain innocent -arts of observation. I don’t think that you and your -mistress,” he added, “have been so extraordinarily discreet, -that it needed a miracle to discover your secret.”</p> - -<p>Luke Andersen recovered his equanimity with a vigorous -effort. “Well?” he said, rising from his seat and -looking anxiously at his brother, “what then?”</p> - -<p>As he uttered these words the young stone-carver’s -mind wrestled in grim austerity with the ghastly -hint thrown out by his companion. He divined with -an icy shock of horror the astounding proposal that -this amazing champion of the Faith was about to -unfold. He mentally laid hold of this proposal as a -man might lay hold upon a red-hot bar of iron. -The interior fibres of his being hardened themselves -to grasp without shrinking its appalling treachery.</p> - -<p>Luke had it in him, below his urbane exterior, to -rend and tear away every natural, every human -scruple. He had it in him to be able to envisage, -with a shamelessness worthy of some lost soul of the -Florentine’s Inferno, the fire-scorched walls of such a -stark dilemma. The palpable suggestion which now -hung, as it were, suspended in the air between them, -was a suggestion he was ready to grasp by the throat.</p> - -<p>The sight of his brother’s gaunt figure, every line of -which he knew and loved so well, turned his conscience -to adamant. Sinking into the depths of his soul, as a -diver might sink into an ice-cold sea, he felt that there -was literally <em>nothing</em> he would not do, if his dear Daddy -James could be restored to sanity and happiness.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_452" id="Page_452">[452]</a></span></p> - -<p>Gladys? He would walk over the bodies of a hundred -Gladyses, if that way, and that alone, led to -his brother’s restoration!</p> - -<p>“What then?” he repeated, turning a bleak but -resolute face upon Mr. Taxater.</p> - -<p>The theologian continued: “Why, it remains for -you, or for someone deputed by you, to reveal to our -unsuspecting American exactly how his betrothed has -betrayed him. I have no doubt that in the disturbance -this will cause him we shall have no difficulty -in securing his aid in this other matter. It -would be a natural, an inevitable revenge for him to -take. Himself a victim of these Romers, what more -appropriate, what more suitable, than that he should -help us in liberating their other victims? If he is as -wealthy as you say, it would be a mere bagatelle for -him to set our good Quincunx upon his feet forever, and -Lacrima with him! It is the kind of thing it would -naturally occur to him to do. It would be a revenge; -but a noble revenge. He would leave Nevilton then, -feeling that he had left his mark; that he had made -himself felt. Americans like to make themselves felt.”</p> - -<p>Luke’s countenance, in spite of his interior acquiescence, -stiffened into a haggard mask of dismay.</p> - -<p>“But this is beyond anything one has ever heard of!” -he protested, trying in vain to assume an air of levity. “It -is beyond everything. Actually to convey, to the very -man one’s girl is going to marry, the news of her seduction! -Actually to ‘coin her for drachmas,’ as it says -somewhere! It’s a monstrous thing, an incredible -thing!”</p> - -<p>“Not a bit more monstrous than your original sin -in seducing the girl,” said Mr. Taxater.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_453" id="Page_453">[453]</a></span></p> - -<p>“That is the usual trick,” he went on sternly, “of -you English people! You snatch at your little pleasures, -without any scruple, and feel yourselves quite -honourable. And then, directly it becomes a question -of paying for them, by any form of public confession, -you become fastidiously scrupulous.”</p> - -<p>“But to give one’s girl away, to betray her in this -shameless manner oneself! It seems to me the ultimate -limit of scurvy meanness!”</p> - -<p>“It only seems to you so, because the illusion of -chivalry enters into it; in other words, because public -opinion would condemn you! This honourable -shielding of the woman we have sinned with, at -every kind of cost to others, has been the cause of -endless misery. Do you think you are preparing a -happy marriage for your Gladys in your ‘honourable’ -reticence? By saving her from this union with Mr. -Dangelis—whom, by the way, she surely cannot love, -if she loves you—you will be doing her the best service -possible. Even if she refuses to make you her husband -in his place—and I suppose her infatuation would -stop at that!—there are other ways, besides marriage, -of hiding her embarrassed condition. Let her travel -for a year till her trouble is well over!”</p> - -<p>Luke Andersen reflected in silence, his drooping figure -indicating a striking collapse of his normal urbanity.</p> - -<p>At last he spoke. “There may be something in -what you suggest,” he remarked slowly. “Obviously, -<em>I</em> can’t be the one,” he added, after a further pause, -“to strike this astounding bargain with the American.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t see why not,” said the theologian, with -a certain maliciousness in his tone, “I don’t see why<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_454" id="Page_454">[454]</a></span> -not. You have been the one to commit the sin; -you ought naturally to be the one to perform the -penance.”</p> - -<p>The luckless youth distorted his countenance into -such a wry grimace, that he caused it to resemble -the stone gargoyles which protruded their lewd -tongues from the church roof above them.</p> - -<p>“It’s a scurvy thing to do, all the same,” he -muttered.</p> - -<p>“It is only relatively—‘scurvy,’ as you call it,” -replied Mr. Taxater. “In an absolute sense, the -‘scurviness’ would be to let your Gladys deceive -an honest man and make herself unhappy for life, -simply to save you two from any sort of exposure. -But as a matter of fact, I am <em>not</em> inclined to place -this very delicate piece of negotiation in your hands. -It would be so fatally easy for you—under the circumstances—to -make some precipitate blunder that -would spoil it all.</p> - -<p>“Don’t think,” he went on, observing the face of his -interlocutor relapsing into sudden cheerfulness, “that I -let you off this penance because of its unchivalrous -character. You break the laws of chivalry quite as completely -by putting me into the possession of the facts.</p> - -<p>“I shall, of course,” he added, “require from you -some kind of written statement. The thing must be -put upon an unimpeachable ground.”</p> - -<p>Luke Andersen’s relief was not materially modified -by this demand. He began to fumble in his -pocket for his cigarette-case.</p> - -<p>“The great point to be certain of,” continued -Mr. Taxater, “is that Quincunx and Lacrima will -accept the situation, when it is thus presented to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_455" id="Page_455">[455]</a></span> -them. But I don’t think we need anticipate any -difficulty. In case of Dangelis’ saying anything to -Mr. Romer, though I do not for a moment imagine -he will, it would be well if you and your brother -were prepared to move, if need were, to some other -scene of action. There is plenty of demand for skilled -workmen like yourselves, and you have no ties here.”</p> - -<p>The young man made a deprecatory movement -with his hands.</p> - -<p>“We neither of us should like that, very much, -sir. James and I are fonder of Nevilton than you -might imagine.”</p> - -<p>“Well, well,” responded the theologian, “we can -discuss that another time. Such a thing may not be -necessary. I am glad to see, my friend,” he added, -“that whatever wrong you have done, you are willing -to atone for it. So I trust our little plan will work -out successfully. Perhaps you will look in, tomorrow -night? I shall be at leisure then, and we can make -our arrangements. Well, Heaven protect you, ‘<i>a sagitta -volante in die, a negotio perambulante in tenebris</i>.’”</p> - -<p>He crossed himself devoutly as he spoke, and giving -the young man a friendly wave of the hand, and -an encouraging smile, let himself out through the -gate and proceeded to follow the patient Vennie.</p> - -<p>He overtook his little friend somewhere not far -from the lodge of that admirable captain, whose -neatly-cut laurel hedge had witnessed, according to -the loquacious Mrs. Fringe, the strange encounter -between Jimmy Pringle and his Maker. Vennie -was straying slowly along by the hedge-side, trailing -her hand through the tall dead grasses. Hearing Mr. -Taxater’s footsteps, she turned eagerly to meet him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_456" id="Page_456">[456]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well,” she asked, “what does Luke say about his -brother? Is it as bad as we feared?”</p> - -<p>“He doesn’t think,” responded the theologian, -“any more than I do, that the thing has gone further -than common hallucination.”</p> - -<p>“And Lacrima—poor little Lacrima!—have you -decided what we must do to intervene in her case?”</p> - -<p>“I think it may be said,” responded the scholar -gravely, “that we have hit upon an effective way of -stopping that marriage. But perhaps it would be -pleasanter and easier for you to remain at present -in ignorance of our precise plan. I know,” he added, -smiling, “you do not care for hidden conspiracies.”</p> - -<p>Vennie frowned. “I don’t see why,” she said, -“there should be anything hidden about it! It seems -to me, the thing is so abominable, that one would -only have to make it public, to put an end to it -completely.</p> - -<p>“I hope”—she clasped her hands—“I do hope, -you are not fighting the evil one with the weapons -of the evil one? If you are, I am sure it will end -unhappily. I am sure and certain of it!”</p> - -<p>She spoke with a fervour that seemed almost -prophetic; and as she did so, she unconsciously -waved—with a pathetic little gesture of protest—the -bunch of dead grasses which she held in her hand.</p> - -<p>Mr. Taxater walked gravely by her side; his profile, -in its imperturbable immobility, resembling the -mask of some great mediæval ecclesiastic. The only -reply he made to her appeal was to quote the famous -Psalmodic invocation: “<i>Nisi Dominus ædificaverit domum, -in vanum laboraverunt qui ædificant eam.</i>”</p> - -<p>It would have been clear to anyone who had overheard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_457" id="Page_457">[457]</a></span> -his recent conversation with Luke, and now -watched his reception of Vennie’s instinctive protest, -that whatever the actions of this remarkable man -were, they rested upon a massive foundation of unshakable -philosophy.</p> - -<p>There was little further conversation between -them; and at the vicarage gate, they separated with -a certain air of estrangement. With undeviating -feminine clairvoyance, Vennie was persuaded in the -depths of her mind that whatever plan had been hit -upon by the combined wits of the theologian and -Luke, it was one whose nature, had she known it, -would have aroused her most vehement condemnation. -Nor in this persuasion will the reader of our curious -narrative regard her as far astray from the truth.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the two brothers were also returning -slowly along the road to Nevilton. Had Mr. Clavering, -whose opinion of the younger stone-carver was -probably lower than that of any of his other critics, -seen Luke during this time, he might have formed a -kindlier judgment of him. Nothing could have -exceeded the tact and solicitude with which he -guided the conversation into safe channels. Nothing -could have surpassed, in affectionate tenderness, the -quick, anxious glances he every now and then cast -upon his brother. There are certain human expressions -which flit suddenly across the faces of men and -women, which reveal, with the seal of absolute authenticity, -the depth of the emotion they betray. -Such a flitting expression, of a love almost maternal -in its passionate depth, crossed the face of Luke -Andersen at more than one stage of their homeward -walk.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_458" id="Page_458">[458]</a></span></p> - -<p>James seemed, on the whole, rather better than -earlier in the day. The most ominous thing he did -was to begin a long incoherent discourse about the -rooks which kept circling over their heads on their -way to the tall trees of Wild Pine. But this particular -event of the rooks’ return to their Nevilton roosting-place -was a phase of the local life of that spot -calculated to impress even perfectly sane minds -with romantic suggestion. It was always a sign of -the breaking up of the year’s pristine bloom when -they came, a token of the not distant approach of -the shorter equinoctial days. They flew hither, these -funereal wayfarers, from far distant feeding-grounds. -They did not nest in the Nevilton woods. Nevilton -was to them simply a habitation of sleep. Many of -them never even saw it, except in its morning and -evening twilight. The place drew them to it at night-fall, -and rejected them at sunrise. In the interval -they remained passive and unconscious—huddled -groups of black obscure shapes, tossed to and fro in -their high branches, their glossy heads full of dreams -beyond the reach of the profoundest sage. Before -settling down to rest, however, it was their custom, -even on the stormiest evenings, to sweep round, -above the roofs of the village, in wide airy circles of -restless flight, uttering their harsh familiar cries. -Sailing quietly on a peaceful air or roughly buffeted -by rainy gusts of wind—those westerly winds that -are so wild and intermittent in this corner of England—these -black tribes of the twilight give a character -to their places of favourite resort which resembles -nothing else in the world. The cawing of rooks is -like the crying of sea-gulls. It is a sound that more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_459" id="Page_459">[459]</a></span> -than anything flings the minds of men back to -“old unhappy far-off things.”</p> - -<p>The troubled soul of the luckless stone-carver went -tossing forth on this particular night of embalmed -stillness, driven in the track of those calmly circling -birds, on the gust of a thought-tempest more formidable -than any that the fall of the leaves could -bring. But the devoted passion of the younger -brother followed patiently every flight it took; and -by the time they had reached the vicarage-gate, and -turned down the station-hill towards their lodging, -the wild thoughts had fallen into rest, and like the -birds in the dusk of their sheltering branches, were -soothed into blessed forgetfulness.</p> - -<p>Luke had recourse, before they reached their dwelling, -to the magic of old memories; and the end of -that unforgettable day was spent by the two brothers -in summoning up childish recollections, and in evoking -the images and associations of their earliest compacts -of friendship.</p> - -<p>When he left his brother asleep and stood for a -while at the open window, Luke prayed a vague -heathen prayer to the planetary spaces above his -head. A falling star happened to sweep downward -at that moment behind the dark pyramid of Nevilton -Mount, and this natural phenomenon seemed to his -excited nerves a sort of elemental answer to his invocation; -as if it had been the very bolt of Sagittarius, -the Archer, aimed at all the demons that -darkened his brother’s soul!</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_460" id="Page_460">[460]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">VOICES BY THE WAY</span></h2> - -<p>The morning which followed James Andersen’s -completion of his work in Athelston church-porch, -was one of the loveliest of the season. -The sun rose into a perfectly cloudless sky. Every -vestige of mist had vanished, and the half-cut corn-fields -lay golden and unshadowed in the translucent -air. Over the surface of every upland path, the -little waves of palpable ether vibrated and quivered. -The white roads gleamed between their tangled hedges -as if they had been paved with mother-of-pearl. The -heat was neither oppressive nor sultry. It penetrated -without burdening, and seemed to flow forth upon -the earth, as much from the general expanse of the -blue depths as from the limited circle of the solar -luminary.</p> - -<p>James Andersen seemed more restored than his -brother had dared to hope. They went to their -work as usual; and from the manner in which the -elder stone-carver spoke to his mates and handled -his tools, none would have guessed at the mad fancies -which had so possessed him during the previous -days.</p> - -<p>Luke was filled with profound happiness and relief. -It is true that, like a tiny cloud upon the surface of -this clear horizon, the thought of his projected betrayal -of his mistress remained present with him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_461" id="Page_461">[461]</a></span> -But in the depths of his heart he knew that he would -have betrayed twenty mistresses, if by that means -the brother of his soul could be restored to sanity.</p> - -<p>He had already grown completely weary of Gladys. -The clinging and submissive passion with which the -proud girl had pursued him of late had begun to -irritate his nerves. More than once—especially -when her importunities interrupted his newer pleasures—he -had found himself on the point of hating -her. He was absolutely cynical—and always had -been—with regard to the ideal of faithfulness in -these matters. Even the startling vision of the -indignant Dangelis putting into her hands—as he -supposed the American might naturally do—the -actual written words with which he betrayed her, -only ruffled his equanimity in a remote and even -half-humorous manner. He recalled her contemptuous -treatment of him on the occasion of their first -amorous encounter and it was not without a certain -malicious thrill of triumph that he realized how -thoroughly he had been revenged.</p> - -<p>He had divined without difficulty on the occasion -of their return from Hullaway that Gladys was on -the point of revealing to him the fact that she was -likely to have a child; and since that day he had -taken care to give her little opportunity for such -revelations. Absorbed in anxiety for James, he -had been anxious to postpone this particular crisis -between them till a later occasion.</p> - -<p>The situation, nevertheless, whenever he had -thought of it, had given him, in spite of its complicated -issues, an undeniable throb of satisfaction. -It was such a complete, such a triumphant victory,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_462" id="Page_462">[462]</a></span> -over Mr. Romer. Luke in his heart had an unblushing -admiration for the quarry-owner, whose -masterly attitude towards life was not so very different -from his own. But this latent respect for his -employer rather increased than diminished his complacency -in thus striking him down. The remote -idea that, in the whirligig of time, an offspring of -his own should come to rule in Nevilton house—as -seemed by no means impossible, if matters were -discreetly managed—was an idea that gave him a -most delicate pleasure.</p> - -<p>As they strolled back to breakfast together, across -the intervening field, and admired the early dahlias -in the station-master’s garden, Luke took the risk -of testing his brother on the matter of Mr. Quincunx. -He was anxious to be quite certain of his ground -here, before he had his interview with the tenant -of the Gables.</p> - -<p>“I wish,” he remarked casually, “that Maurice -Quincunx would show a little spirit and carry Lacrima -off straight away.”</p> - -<p>James looked closely at him. “If he would,” he -said, “I’d give him every penny I possess and I’d -work day and night to help them! O Luke—Luke!” -he stretched out his arm towards Leo’s Hill and pronounced -what seemed like a vow before the Eumenides -themselves; “if I could make her happy, if I -could only make her happy, I would be buried tomorrow -in the deepest of those pits.”</p> - -<p>Luke registered his own little resolution in the -presence of this appeal to the gods. “Gladys? -What is Gladys to me compared with James? All -girls are the same. They all get over these things.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_463" id="Page_463">[463]</a></span></p> - -<p>Meanwhile James Andersen was repeating in a -low voice to himself the quaint name of his rival.</p> - -<p>“He is an ash-root, a tough ash-root,” he muttered. -“And that’s the reason he has been chosen. -There’s nothing in the world but the roots of trees -that can undermine the power of Stone! The trees -can do it. The trees will do it. What did that -Catholic say? He said it was Wood against Stone. -That’s the reason I can’t help her. I have worked -too long at Stone. I am too near Stone. That’s -the reason Quincunx has been chosen. She and I -are under the power of Stone, and we can’t resist it, -any more than the earth can! But ash-tree roots -can undermine anything. If only she would take -my money, if only she would.”</p> - -<p>This last aspiration was uttered in a voice loud -enough for Luke to hear; and it may be well believed -that it fortified him all the more strongly in his -dishonourable resolution.</p> - -<p>During breakfast James continued to show signs -of improvement. He talked of his mother, and -though his conversation was sprinkled with somewhat -fantastic imagery, on the whole it was rational -enough.</p> - -<p>While the meal was still in progress, the younger -brother observed through the window the figure of -a woman, moving oddly backwards and forwards -along their garden-hedge, as if anxious at the same -time to attract and avoid attention. He recognized -her in a moment as the notorious waif of the neighborhood, -the somewhat sinister Witch-Bessie. He -made an excuse to his brother and slipped out to -speak to her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_464" id="Page_464">[464]</a></span></p> - -<p>Witch-Bessie had grown, if possible, still more -dehumanized since when two months ago she had -cursed Gladys Romer. Her skin was pallid and -livid as parchment. The eyes which stared forth -from her wrinkled expressionless face were of a dull -glaucous blue, like the inside of certain sun-bleached -sea-shells. She was dressed in a rough sack-cloth -petticoat, out of which protruded her stockingless -feet, only half concealed by heavy labourer’s boots, -unlaced and in large holes. Over her thin shoulders -she wore a ragged woolen shawl which served the office -not only of a garment, but also of a wallet; for, in -the folds of it, were even now observable certain -half-eaten pieces of bread, and bits of ancient cheese, -which she had begged in her wanderings. In one of -her withered hands she held a large bunch of magenta-coloured, -nettle-like flowers, of the particular species -known to botanists as marsh-wound-wort. As soon -as Luke appeared she thrust these flowers into his -arms.</p> - -<p>“Gathered ’un for ’ee,” she whispered, in a thin -whistling voice, like the soughing of wind in a bed -of rushes. “They be capital weeds for them as be -moon-smitten. Gathered ’un, up by Seven Ashes, -where them girt main roads do cross. Take ’un, -mister; take ’un and thank an old woman wot loves -both of ’ee, as heretofore she did love your long-sufferin’ -mother. I were bidin’ down by Minister’s -back gate, expectin’ me bit of oddments, when they -did tell I, all sudden-like, as how he’d been taken, -same as <em>she</em> was.”</p> - -<p>“It’s most kind of you, Bessie,” said Luke graciously.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_465" id="Page_465">[465]</a></span> -“You and I have always been good friends.”</p> - -<p>The old woman nodded. “So we be, mister, and -let none say the contrary! I’ve a dangled ’ee, afore-now, -in these very arms. Dost mind how ’ee drove -that ramping girt dog out of Long-Load Barton when -the blarsted thing were for laying hold of I?”</p> - -<p>“But what must I do with these?” asked the -stone-carver, holding the bunch of pungent scented -flowers to his face.</p> - -<p>“That’s wot I was just a-going to tell ’ee,” whispered -the old woman solemnly. “I suppose <em>he’s</em> -in there now, eh? Let ’un be, poor man. Let ’un -be. May-be the Lord’s only waitin’ for these ’ere -weeds to mend ’is poor swimey wits. You do as I -do tell ’ee, mister, and ’twill be all smoothed out, -as clean as church floor. You take these blessed -weeds,—‘viviny-lobs’ my old mother did call ’em—and -hang ’em to dry till they be dead and brown. -Then doddy a sprinkle o’ good salt on ’em, and dip -’em in clear water. Be you followin’ me, mister -Luke?”</p> - -<p>The young man nodded.</p> - -<p>“Then wot you got to do, is for to strike ’em -against door-post, and as you strikes ’em, you says, -same as I says now.” And Witch-Bessie repeated -the following archaic enchantment.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">Marshy hollow woundy-wort,</div> -<div class="verse">Growing on the holy dirt,</div> -<div class="verse">In the Mount of Calvary</div> -<div class="verse">There was thou found.</div> -<div class="verse">In the name of sweet Jesus</div> -<div class="verse">I take thee from the ground.</div> -<div class="verse">O Lord, effect the same,</div> -<div class="verse">That I do now go about.</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_466" id="Page_466">[466]</a></span></p> - -<p>Luke listened devoutly to these mysterious words, -and repeated them twice, after the old woman. -Their two figures, thus concerted in magical tutelage, -might, for all the youth’s modern attire, have suggested -to a scholarly observer some fantastic heathen -scene out of Apuleius. The spacious August sunshine -lay splendid upon the fields about them, and -light-winged swallows skimmed the surface of the -glittering railway-line as though it had been a flowing -river.</p> - -<p>When she was made assured in her mind that her -pupil fully understood the healing incantation, Witch-Bessie -shuffled off without further words. Her -face, as she resumed her march in the direction of -Hullaway, relapsed into such corpse-like rigidity, -that, but for her mechanical movement, one might -have expected the shameless flocks of starlings who -hovered about her, to settle without apprehension -upon her head.</p> - -<p>The two brothers labored harmoniously side by -side in their work-shop all that forenoon. It was -Saturday, and their companions were anxious to -throw down their tools and clear out of the place on -the very stroke of the one o’clock bell.</p> - -<p>James and Luke were both engaged upon a new -stone font, the former meticulously chipping out its -angle-mouldings, and the latter rounding, with chisel -and file, the capacious lip of its deep basin. It was -a cathedral font, intended for use in a large northern -city.</p> - -<p>Luke could not resist commenting to his brother, -in his half-humorous half-sentimental way, upon the -queer fact that they two—their heads full of their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_467" id="Page_467">[467]</a></span> -own anxieties and troubles—should be thus working -upon a sacred font which for countless generations, -perhaps as long as Christianity lasted, would be associated -with so many strange and mingled feelings of -perturbation and hope.</p> - -<p>“It’s a comical idea,” he found himself saying, -though the allusion was sufficiently unwise, “this -idea of Gladys’ baptism.”</p> - -<p>He regretted his words the moment they were out -of his mouth; but James received them calmly.</p> - -<p>“I once heard,” he answered, “I think it was on -the sands at Weymouth, two old men discussing -quite reverently and gravely whether an infant, -baptized before it was born, would be brought under -the blessing of the Church. I thought, as I listened -to them, how vulgar and gross-minded our age had -become, that I should have to tremble with alarm -lest any flippant passer-by should hear their curious -speculation. It seemed to me a much more important -matter to discuss, than the merits of the black-faced -Pierrots who were fooling and howling just -beyond. This sort of seriousness, in regard to the -strange borderland of the Faith, has always seemed -to me a sign of pathetic piety, and the very reverse -of anything blasphemous.”</p> - -<p>Luke had made an involuntary movement when -his brother’s anecdote commenced. The calmness -and reasonableness with which James had spoken -was balm and honey to the anxious youth; but he -could not help speculating in his heart whether his -brother was covertly girding at him. Did he, he -wondered, realize how far things had gone between -him and the fair-haired girl?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_468" id="Page_468">[468]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It’s the sort of question, at any rate,” he remarked -rather feebly, “that would interest our friend Sir -Thomas Browne. Do you remember how we read -together that amazing passage in the Urn Burial?”</p> - -<p>“‘But the iniquity of oblivion,’” quoted James in -answer, “‘blindly scattereth her Poppy, and deals -with the memory of men without distinction to merit -of perpetuity. Who can but pity the founder of the -Pyramids? Herostratus lives that burnt the temple -of Diana; he is almost lost that built it. Time has -spared the epitaph of Hadrian’s Horse, confounded -that of himself. In vain we compute our felicities by -the advantage of our good names, since bad have -equal durations; and Thersites is like to live as long -as Agamemnon without the favour of the everlasting -register.… Darkness and light divide the course of -time, and oblivion shares with memory a great part -even of our living beings; we slightly remember our -felicities and the smartest strokes of affliction leave -but short smart upon us. To weep into Stones are -fables.’”</p> - -<p>He pronounced these last words with a slow and -emphatic intonation.</p> - -<p>“Fables?” he repeated, resting his hand upon the -rim of the font, and lowering his voice, so as not to -be heard by the men outside. “He calls them fables -because he has never worked as we do—day in and -day out—among nothing else. The reason he says -that to weep into Stones are fables is that his own -life, down at that pleasant Norwich, was such a -happy one. To weep into Stones! He means, of -course, that when you have endured more than you -can bear, you become a Stone. But that is no fable!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_469" id="Page_469">[469]</a></span> -Or if it was once, it isn’t so today. Mr. Taxater said -the Stone-Age was over. In my opinion, Luke, the -Stone-Age is only now beginning. The reason of -that is, that whereas, in former times, Stone was -moulded by men; now, men are moulded by Stone. -We have receded, instead of advancing; and the -iniquity of Time which turned animals into men, is -now turning men back into the elements!”</p> - -<p>Luke cursed bitterly in his heart the rhythmic incantations -of the old Norwich doctor. He had been -thinking of a very different passage from that which -his brother recalled. To change the conversation he -asked how James wished to spend their free afternoon.</p> - -<p>Andersen’s tone changed in a moment, and he -grew rational and direct. “I am going for a walk,” -he said, “and I think perhaps, if you don’t mind, -I’ll go alone. My brain feels clouded and oppressed. -A long walk ought to clear it. I think it will clear -it; don’t you?” This final question was added -rather wistfully.</p> - -<p>“I’m sure it will. Oh, it certainly will! I expect -the sun has hit you a bit; or perhaps, as Mr. Taxater -would say, your headache is a relative one, due to -my dragging in such things as Urn Burial. But I -don’t quite like your going alone, Daddy James.”</p> - -<p>The elder brother smiled affectionately at him, but -went on quietly with his work without replying.</p> - -<p>When they had finished their mid-day meal they -both loitered out into the field together, smoking and -chatting. The afternoon promised to be as clear and -beautiful as the morning, and Luke’s spirits rose high. -He hoped his brother, at the last moment, would not -have the heart to reject his company.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_470" id="Page_470">[470]</a></span></p> - -<p>The fineness of the weather, combined with the -Saturday half-holiday, was attracting abroad all -manner of Nevilton folk. Lads and maids, in merry -noisy groups, passed and repassed. The platform of -the little station was crowded with expectant passengers -waiting for the train to Yeoborough.</p> - -<p>As the brothers stood together, carelessly turning -over with their sticks the fetid heads of a patch of -meadow fungi, they observed two separate couples -issuing, one after another, from the little swing-gate -that opened on the level-crossing. They recognized -both couples almost simultaneously. The first pair -consisted of Annie Bristow and Phyllis Santon; the -second of Vennie Seldom and Mr. Clavering.</p> - -<p>The two girls proceeded, arm-in-arm, up the sloping -path that led in the direction of Hullaway. Vennie -and Mr. Clavering advanced straight towards the -brothers. Luke had time to wonder vaguely whether -this conjunction of Vennie and her Anglican pastor -had any connection with last night’s happenings.</p> - -<p>He was too closely associated with that Gargantuan -gossip, Mrs. Fringe, not to be aware that for many -weeks past Miss Seldom and the young clergyman had -studiously avoided one another. That they should -now be walking together, indicated, to his astute -mind, either a quarrel between the young lady and -Mr. Taxater, or an estrangement between the vicar -and Gladys. Luke was the sort of philosopher who -takes for granted that in all these situations it is love -for love, or hate for hate, which propels irresistibly -the human mechanism and decides the most trifling -incidents.</p> - -<p>James looked angry and embarrassed at the appearance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_471" id="Page_471">[471]</a></span> -of the pair; but they were too close upon -them for any escape to be possible.</p> - -<p>“How are you today, Andersen?” began Mr. -Clavering, with his usual well-meaning but indiscreet -impulsiveness. “Miss Seldom tells me she was -nervous about you last night. She was afraid you -were working too hard.”</p> - -<p>Vennie gave him a quick reproachful glance, and -made a deprecatory movement with her hands. “Are -all men,” she thought, “either without scruple or -without common-sense?”</p> - -<p>“I’m glad to see that I was quite mistaken,” she -hastened to add. “You don’t look at all tired today, -Mr. Andersen. And no wonder, with such a perfectly -lovely afternoon! And how are you, Mr. Luke? I -haven’t been down to see how that Liverpool font is -getting on, for ever so long. I believe you’ll end by -being quite as famous as your father.”</p> - -<p>Luke received this compliment in his most courtly -manner. He was always particularly anxious to -impress persons who belonged to the “real” upper -classes with his social sang-froid.</p> - -<p>He was at this precise moment, however, a little -agitated by the conduct of the two young people who -had just passed up the meadow. Instead of disappearing -into the lane beyond, they continued to loiter -at the gate, and finally, after an interlude of audible -laughter and lively discussion, they proceeded to -stretch themselves upon the grass. The sight of two -amiable young women, both so extremely well known -to him, and both in evident high spirits, thus enjoying -the sunshine, filled our faun-like friend’s mind with -the familiar craving for frivolity. He caught Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_472" id="Page_472">[472]</a></span> -Clavering’s glance fixed gravely upon him. He also, -it appeared, was not oblivious of the loitering villagers.</p> - -<p>“I think there are other members of your flock, -sir,” said James Andersen to the young vicar, “who -are at the present moment more in need of your help -than I am. What I need at this moment is air—air. -I should like to be able to wander over the -Quantocks this afternoon. Or better still, by the -edge of the sea! We all need more air than we get -here. It is too shut-in here—too shut-in and oppressive. -There’s too much stone about; and too much -clay. Yes, and the trees grow too close together. -Do you know, Miss Seldom, what I should like to do? -I should like to pull down all the houses—I mean -all the big houses—and cut down all the trees, and -then perhaps the wind would be free to blow. It’s -wind we want—all of us—wind and air to clear -our brains! Do you realize”—his voice once more -took that alarming tone of confidential secretiveness, -which had struck them so disagreeably the preceding -evening;—“do you realize that there are evil spirits -abroad in Nevilton, and that they come from the Hill -over there?” He pointed towards the Leonian escarpments -which could be plainly seen from where they -stood, slumbering in the splendid sunshine.</p> - -<p>“It looks more like a sphinx than a lion today, -doesn’t it, Miss Seldom? Oh, I should like to tear it -up, bodily, from where it lies, and fling it into the -sea! It blocks the horizon. It blocks the path of -the west-wind. I tell you it is the burden that -weighs upon us all! But I shall conquer it yet; -I shall be master of it yet!” He was silent a few<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_473" id="Page_473">[473]</a></span> -seconds, while a look of supreme disappointment -clouded the face of his brother; and the two new-comers -gazed at him in alarm.</p> - -<p>“I must start at once,” he exclaimed abruptly. -“I must get far, far off. It is air I need, air and the -west-wind! No,” he cried imperiously, when Luke -made a movement, as if to take leave of their companions. -“I must go alone. Alone! That is what I -must be today: alone—and on the hills!”</p> - -<p>He turned impatiently as he spoke; and without -another word strode off towards the level-crossing.</p> - -<p>“Surely you will not let him go like that, Mr. -Andersen?” cried Vennie, in great distress.</p> - -<p>“It would do no good,” replied Luke, watching his -brother pass through the gate and cross the track. -“I should only make him much worse if I tried to -follow him. Besides, he wouldn’t let me. I don’t -think he’ll come to any harm. I should have a -different instinct about it if there were real danger. -Perhaps, as he says, a good long walk may really clear -his brain.”</p> - -<p>“I do pray your instinct is to be relied on,” said -Vennie, anxiously watching the tall figure of the -stone-carver, as he ascended the vicarage hill.</p> - -<p>“Well, if you’re not going to do your duty, Andersen, -I’m going to do mine!” exclaimed the vicar of -Nevilton, setting off, without further parley, in -pursuit of the fugitive.</p> - -<p>“Stop! Mr. Clavering, I’ll come with you,” cried -Vennie. And she followed her impulsive friend -towards the gate.</p> - -<p>As they ascended the hill together, keeping Andersen -in sight, Clavering remarked to his companion, “I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_474" id="Page_474">[474]</a></span> -believe that dissolute young reprobate refused to -look after his brother simply because he wanted to -talk to those two girls.”</p> - -<p>“What two girls?” enquired Vennie.</p> - -<p>“Didn’t you see them?” muttered the clergyman -crossly. “The Bristow girl and little Phyllis Santon. -They were hanging about, waiting for him.”</p> - -<p>“I’m sure you are quite wrong,” replied Vennie. -“Luke may have his faults, but he is devoted—madly -devoted—to his brother.”</p> - -<p>“Not at all,” cried Clavering almost rudely. “I -know the man better than you do. He is entirely -selfish. He is a selfish, sensual pleasure-seeker! He -may be fond of his brother in his fashion, just because -he <em>is</em> his brother, and they have the same tastes; but -his one great aim is his own pleasure. He has been -the worst influence I have had to contend with, in -this whole village, for some time back!”</p> - -<p>His voice trembled with rage as he spoke. It was -impossible, even for the guileless Vennie, not to help -wondering in her mind whether the violence of her -friend’s reprobation was not impelled by an emotion -more personal than public. Her unlucky knowledge -of what the nature of such an emotion might be did -not induce her to yield meekly to his argument.</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe he saw the people you speak of -any more than I did,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Saw them?” cried the priest wrathfully, quickening -his pace, as Andersen disappeared round the -corner of the road, so that Vennie had to trot by his -side like a submissive child. “I saw the look he -fixed on them. I know that look of his! I tell you -he is the kind of man that does harm wherever he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_475" id="Page_475">[475]</a></span> -goes. He’s a lazy, sensual, young scoundrel. He -ought to be kicked out of the place.”</p> - -<p>Vennie sighed deeply. Life in the world of men -was indeed a complicated and entangled matter. She -had turned, in her agitation about the stone-carver, -and in her reaction from Mr. Taxater’s reserve, -straight to the person she loved best of all; and this -was her reward,—a mere crude outburst of masculine -jealousy!</p> - -<p>They rounded the corner by her own gate, where -the road to Athelston deviates at right angles. James -Andersen was no longer in sight.</p> - -<p>“Where the devil has the man got to?” cried the -astonished clergyman, raging at himself for his ill-temper, -and raging at Vennie for having been the -witness of it.</p> - -<p>The girl glanced up the Athelston road; and hastening -forward a few paces, scanned the stately slope of -the Nevilton west drive. The unfortunate man was -nowhere to be seen.</p> - -<p>From where they now stood, the whole length of -the village street was visible, almost as far as the -Goat and Boy. It was full of holiday-making -young people, but there was no sign of Andersen’s -tall and unmistakable figure.</p> - -<p>“Oh, this is dreadful!” cried Vennie. “What are -we to do? Where can he have gone?”</p> - -<p>Hugh Clavering looked angrily round. He was -experiencing that curious sense, which comes to the -best of men sometimes, of being the special and -selected object of providential mockery.</p> - -<p>“There are only two ways,” he said. “Either he’s -slipped down through the orchards, along your wall,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_476" id="Page_476">[476]</a></span> -or he’s made off to Nevilton Mount! If that’s what -he’s done, he must be now behind that hedge, over -there. We should see him otherwise.”</p> - -<p>Vennie gazed anxiously in the direction indicated. -“He can’t have gone into our garden?” she said. -“No, he’d never do that! He talked about air and -hills. I expect he’s where you say. Shall we go on?”</p> - -<p>They hurried down the road until they reached a -gate, on the further side of the hedge which ran to -the base of Nevilton Mount. Here they entered the -field. There was no sign of the fugitive; but owing to -certain inequalities in the ground, and the intervention -of some large elm-trees, it was still quite possible -that he was only a few hundred yards in front of -them. They followed the line of the hedge with all -the haste they could; trusting, at every turn it made, -that they would discover him. In this manner they -very soon arrived at the base of the hill.</p> - -<p>“I feel sure he’s somewhere in front of us!” muttered -Clavering. “How annoying it is! It was -outrageous of that young scoundrel to let him go like -this;—wandering about the country in that mad -state! If he comes to any harm, I shall see to it that -that young man is held responsible.”</p> - -<p>“Quick!” sighed Vennie breathlessly, “we’d better -climb straight to the top. We <em>must</em> find him there!”</p> - -<p>They scrambled over the bank and proceeded to -make their way as hurriedly as they could through -the entangled undergrowth. Hot and exhausted they -emerged at last upon the level summit. Here, the -grotesque little tower mocked at them with its impassive -grey surface. There was no sign of the man they -sought; but seated on the grass with their backs to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_477" id="Page_477">[477]</a></span> -the edifice were the figures of the complacent Mr. Wone -and one of his younger children, engaged in the -agreeable occupation of devouring a water-melon. -The mouth and chin of the Christian Candidate were -bespattered with the luscious juice of this delectable -fruit, and laid out carefully upon a magazine on his -knees, was a pleasing arrangement of rind-peelings -and well-sucked pips.</p> - -<p>Mr. Wone waved his hand in polite acknowledgment -of Clavering’s salute. He removed his hat to -Vennie, but apologized for not rising. “Taking a -little holiday, you observe!” he remarked with a -satisfied smile. “I see you also are inclined to -make the most of this lovely summer day.”</p> - -<p>“You haven’t by any chance seen the elder Andersen, -have you?” enquired Clavering.</p> - -<p>“Not a bit of it,” replied the recumbent man. “I -suppose I cannot offer you a piece of melon, Miss -Seldom?”</p> - -<p>The two baffled pursuers looked at one another in -hopeless disappointment.</p> - -<p>“We’ve lost him,” muttered the priest. “He must -have gone through your orchard after all.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Wone did not miss this remark. “You were -looking for our good James? No. We haven’t seen -anything of him. No doubt he is with his brother -somewhere. I believe they usually spend their -Saturdays out at Hullaway.”</p> - -<p>“When does the election come off, Mr. Wone?” -enquired Vennie, hastily, extremely unwilling that her -tactless companion should disclose the purpose of -their search.</p> - -<p>“In a week’s time from next Monday,” replied the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_478" id="Page_478">[478]</a></span> -Candidate. “This will be my last free day till then. -I have to make thirty speeches during the next seven -days. Our cause goes well. I believe, with God’s -great help, we are practically certain of victory. It -will be a great event, Miss Seldom, a great event.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Clavering made a hopeless sign to Vennie, -indicative of the uselessness of any further steps to -retake the runaway.</p> - -<p>“I think your side will win in the country generally,” -he remarked. “As to this district, I cannot -tell. Mr. Romer has strengthened himself considerably -by his action after the strike.”</p> - -<p>The candidate placed a carefully selected piece of -fruit in his mouth, and called to his little boy, who -was scratching his initials with a knife upon the base -of the tower.</p> - -<p>“He will be beaten all the same,” he said. “He -is bound to be beaten. The stars in their courses -must fight against a man like that. I feel it in the -air; in the earth; in these beautiful trees. I feel it -everywhere. He has challenged stronger powers than -you or me. He has challenged the majesty of God -Himself. I’ll give you the right”—he went on in a -voice that mechanically assumed a preacher’s tone—“to -call me a liar and a false prophet, if by this time, -in ten days, the oppressor of the poor does not find -himself crushed and beaten!”</p> - -<p>“I am afraid right and wrong are more strangely -mixed in this world than all that, Mr. Wone,” Vennie -found herself saying, with a little weary glance over -the wide sun-bathed valleys extended at their feet.</p> - -<p>“Pardon me, pardon me, young lady,” cried the -Candidate. “In this great cause there can be no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_479" id="Page_479">[479]</a></span> -doubt, no question, no ambiguity. The evolution of -the human race has reached a point when the will of -God must reveal itself in the triumph of love and -liberty. Nothing else matters. All turns upon this. -That is why I feel that my campaign is more than a -political struggle. It is a religious struggle, and on -our side are the great moral forces that uphold the -world!”</p> - -<p>Vennie’s exhausted nerves completely broke down -upon this.</p> - -<p>“Shall we go?” she said, touching her companion -on the sleeve.</p> - -<p>Clavering nodded, and bade the melon-eater “good -afternoon,” with a brusque gesture.</p> - -<p>As they went off, he turned on his heel. “The will -of God, Mr. Wone, is only to be found in the obedient -reception of His sacraments.”</p> - -<p>The Christian candidate opened his mouth with -amazement. “Those young people,” he thought to -himself, “are up to no good. They’ll end by becoming -papists, if they go on like this. It’s extraordinary -that the human mind should actually <em>prefer</em> slavery -to freedom!”</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the man whose mysterious evasion of -his pursuers had resulted in this disconcerting encounter -was already well-advanced on his way -towards the Wild Pine ridge. He had, as a matter of -fact, crossed the field between the West drive and -the Vicarage-garden, and skirting the orchards below -Nevilton House, had plunged into the park.</p> - -<p>A vague hope of meeting Lacrima—an instinctive -rather than a conscious feeling—had led him in this -direction. Once in the park, the high opposing ridge,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_480" id="Page_480">[480]</a></span> -crowned with its sentinel-line of tall Scotch-firs, -arrested his attention and drew him towards it. He -crossed the Yeoborough road and ascended the incline -of Dead Man’s Lane.</p> - -<p>As he passed the cottage of his rival, he observed -Mr. Quincunx energetically at work in his garden. -On this occasion the recluse was digging up, not weeds, -but young potatoes. He was in his shirt-sleeves and -looked hot and tired.</p> - -<p>Andersen leaned upon the little gate and observed -him with curious interest. “Why isn’t she here?” -he muttered to himself. Then, after a pause: “He -is an ash-root. Let him drag that house down! -Why doesn’t he drag it down, with all its heavy -stones? And the Priory too? And the Church;—yes; -and the Church too! He burrows like a root. -He looks like a root. I must tell him all these things. -I must tell him why he has been chosen, and I have -been rejected!” He opened the gate forthwith and -advanced towards the potato-digger.</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx might have struck the imagination -of a much less troubled spirit than that of the poor -stone-carver as having a resemblance to a root. His -form was at once knotted and lean, fibrous and -delicate. His face, by reason of his stooping position, -was suffused with a rich reddish tint, and his beard -was dusty and unkempt. He rose hastily, on observing -his visitor.</p> - -<p>“People like you and me, James, are best by ourselves -at these holiday-times,” was his inhospitable -greeting. “You can help me with my potatoes if you -like. Or you can tell me your news as I work. Or -do you want to ask me any question?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_481" id="Page_481">[481]</a></span></p> - -<p>He uttered these final words in such a tone as the -Delphic oracle might have used, when addressing -some harassed refugee.</p> - -<p>“Has <em>she</em> been up here today?” said the stone-carver.</p> - -<p>“I like the way you talk,” replied the other. -“Why should we mention their names? When I say -people, I mean girls. When I say persons, I mean -girls. When I say young ladies, I mean girls. And -when you say ‘she’ you mean our girl.”</p> - -<p>“Yours!” cried the demented man; “she is yours—not -ours. She is weighed down by this evil Stone,—weighed -down into the deep clay. What has she -to do with me, who have worked at the thing so long?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx leant upon his hoe and surveyed the -speaker. It occurred to him at once that something -was amiss. “Good Lord!” he thought to himself, -“the fellow has been drinking. I must get him out of -this garden as quickly as possible.”</p> - -<p>“She loves you,” Andersen went on, “because you -are like a root. You go deep into the earth and no -stone can resist you. You twine and twine and -twine, and pull them all down. They are all haunted -places, these houses and churches; all haunted and -evil! They make a man’s head ache to live in them. -They put voices into a man’s ears. They are as full -of voices as the sea is full of waves.”</p> - -<p>“You are right there, my friend,” replied Mr. -Quincunx. “It’s only what I’ve always said. Until -people give up building great houses and great -churches, no one will ever be happy. We ought to -live in bushes and thickets, or in tents. My cottage -is no better than a bush. I creep into it at night,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_482" id="Page_482">[482]</a></span> -and out again in the morning. If its thatch fell on -my head I should hardly feel it.”</p> - -<p>“You wouldn’t feel it, you wouldn’t!” cried the -stone-carver. “And the reason of that is, that you -can burrow like a root. I shouldn’t feel it either, but -for a different reason.”</p> - -<p>“I expect you’d better continue your walk,” remarked -Mr. Quincunx. “I never fuss myself about -people who come to see me. If they come, they -come. And when they go, they go.”</p> - -<p>The stone-carver sighed and looked round him. -The sun gleamed graciously upon the warm earth, -danced and sparkled upon the windows of the cottage, -and made the beads of sweat on Mr. Quincunx’s brow -shine like diamonds.</p> - -<p>“Do you think,” he said, while the potato-digger -turned to his occupation, “that happiness or unhappiness -predominates in this world?”</p> - -<p>“Unhappiness!” cried the bearded man, glaring at -his acquaintance with the scowl of a goblin. “Unhappiness! -Unhappiness! Unhappiness! That is why -the only wise way to live is to avoid everything. -That’s what I always do. I avoid people, I avoid -possessions, I avoid quarrels, I avoid lust, and I -avoid love! My life consists in the art of avoiding -things.”</p> - -<p>“She doesn’t want happiness,” pleaded the obsessed -stone-carver. “And <em>her</em> love is enough. She only -wants to escape.”</p> - -<p>“Why do you keep bringing Lacrima in?” cried -the recluse. “She is going to marry John Goring. -She is going to be mistress of the Priory.”</p> - -<p>A convulsive shock of fury flashed across the face of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_483" id="Page_483">[483]</a></span> -Andersen. He made a movement that caused his -interlocutor to step hurriedly backwards. But the -emotion passed as rapidly as it had come.</p> - -<p>“You would avoid everything,” he said cunningly. -“You would avoid everything you hate, if someone—myself -for instance—or Luke—made it easy for you -to save her from these houses and these churches! -Luke will arrange it. He is not like us. He is wise. -He knows the world. And you will only have to go -on just as before, to burrow and twine! But you’ll -have done it. You’ll have saved her from them. -And then it will not matter how deep they bury me -in the quarries of Leo’s Hill!”</p> - -<p>“Is he drunk? Or is he not drunk?” Mr. Quincunx -wondered. The news of Andersen’s derangement, -though it had already run like wild-fire through the -village, had not yet reached his ears. For the last -few days he had walked both to and from his office, -and had talked to no one.</p> - -<p>A remarkable peculiarity in this curious potato-digger -was, however, his absolute and unvarying -candour. Mr. Quincunx was prepared to discuss his -most private concerns with any mortal or immortal -visitor who stepped into his garden. He would have -entered into a calm philosophical debate upon his -love-affairs with a tramp, with a sailor, with the post-man, -with the chimney-sweep, with the devil; or, -as in this case, with his very rival in his sweetheart’s -affection! There was really something touching and -sublime about this tendency of his. It indicated the -presence, in Mr. Quincunx, of a certain mystical -reverence for simple humanity, which completely -contradicted his misanthropic cynicism.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_484" id="Page_484">[484]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Certainly,” he remarked, on this occasion, forgetting, -in his interest in the subject, the recent -strange outburst of his companion. “Certainly, if -Lacrima and I had sufficient money to live upon, I -would be inclined to risk marrying. You would -advise me to, then; wouldn’t you, Andersen? Anyone -would advise me to, then. It would be absurd not -to do it. Though, all the same, there are always -great risks in two people living together, particularly -nervous people,—such as we are. But what do you -think, Andersen? Suppose some fairy god-mother did -give us this money, would you advise us to risk it? -Of course, we know, girls like a large house and a lot -of servants! She wouldn’t get that with me, because -I hate those things, and wouldn’t have them, even if -I could afford it. What would you advise, Andersen, -if some mad chance did make such a thing possible? -Would it be worth the risk?”</p> - -<p>An additional motive, in the queerly constituted -mind of the recluse, for making this extraordinary -request, was the Pariah-like motive of wishing to -propitiate the stone-carver. Parallel with his humorous -love of shocking people, ran, through Mr. Quincunx’s -nature, the naive and innocent wish to win -them over to his side; and his method of realizing this -wish was to put himself completely at their mercy, -laying his meanest thoughts bare, and abandoning -his will to their will, so that for very shame they -could not find it in them to injure him, but were -softened, thrown off their guard, and disarmed. Mr. -Quincunx knew no restraint in these confessions by -the way, in these appeals to the voices and omens of -casual encounter. He grew voluble, and even shameless.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_485" id="Page_485">[485]</a></span> -In quiet reaction afterwards, in the loneliness -of his cottage, he was often led to regret with gloomy -remorse the manner in which he had betrayed himself. -It was then that he found himself hating, with the -long-brooding hatred of a true solitary, the persons -to whom he had exposed the recesses of his soul. At -the moment of communicativeness, however, he was -never able to draw rein or come to a pause. If he -grew conscious that he was making a fool of himself, -a curious demonic impulse in him only pressed him -on to humiliate himself further.</p> - -<p>He derived a queer inverted pleasure from thus -offering himself, stripped and naked, to the smiter. -It was only afterwards, in the long hours of his loneliness, -that the poison of his outraged pride festered -and fermented, and a deadly malice possessed him -towards the recipients of his confidences. There was -something admirable about the manner in which this -quaint man made, out of his very lack of resistant -power, a sort of sanctity of dependence. But this -triumph of weakness in him, this dissolution of the -very citadel of his being, in so beautiful and mystical -an abandonment to the sympathy of our common -humanity, was attended by lamentable issues in its -resultant hatred and malice. Had Mr. Quincunx -been able to give himself up to this touching candour -without these melancholy and misanthropic reactions, -his temper would have been very nearly the temper -of a saint; but the gall and wormwood of the hours -that followed, the corroding energy of the goblin of -malice that was born of such unnatural humiliations, -put a grievous gulf between him and the heavenly -condition.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_486" id="Page_486">[486]</a></span></p> - -<p>It must also be remembered, in qualification of the -outrageousness, one might almost say the indecency, -of his appeal to Andersen, that he had not in the -remotest degree realized the extent of the stone-carver’s -infatuation with the Italian. Neither physical -passion, nor ideal passion, were things that entered -into his view of the relations between the sexes. -Desire with him was of a strange and complicated -subtlety, generally diffused into a mild and brooding -sentiment. He was abnormally faithful, but at the -same time abnormally cold; and though, very often, -jealousy bit him like a viper, it was a jealousy of the -mind, not a jealousy of the senses.</p> - -<p>What in other people would have been gross and -astounding cynicism, was in Mr. Quincunx a perfectly -simple and even childlike recognition of elemental -facts. He could sweep aside every conventional -mask and plunge into the very earth-mould of reality, -but he was quite unconscious of any shame, or any -merit, in so doing. He simply envisaged facts, and -stated the facts he envisaged, without the conventional -unction of worldly discretion. This being so, -it was in no ironic extravagance that he appealed to -Andersen, but quite innocently, and without consciousness -of anything unusual.</p> - -<p>Of the two men, some might have supposed, -considering the circumstances, that it was Mr. Quincunx -who was mad, and his interlocutor who was -sane. On the other hand, it might be said that only -a madman would have received the recluse’s appeal -in the calm and serious manner in which Andersen -received it. The abysmal cunning of those who have -only one object in life, and are in sight of its attainment,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_487" id="Page_487">[487]</a></span> -actuated the unfortunate stone-carver in his -attitude to his rival at this moment.</p> - -<p>“If some fairy or some god,” he said, “did lift the -stone from her sepulchre and you from your sepulchre, -my advice to you and to her would be to go away, -to escape, to be free. You would be happy—you -would both be happy! And the reason of your -happiness would be that you would know the Devil -had been conquered. And you would know that, -because, by gathering all the stones in the world upon -my own head, and being buried beneath them, I -should have made a rampart higher than Leo’s Hill -to protect you from the Evil One!”</p> - -<p>Andersen’s words were eager and hurried, and when -he had finished speaking, he surveyed Mr. Quincunx -with wild and feverish eyes. It was now borne in -for the first time upon that worthy philosopher, that -he was engaged in conversation with one whose wits -were turned, and a great terror took possession of him. -If the cunning of madmen is deep and subtle, it is -sometimes surpassed by the cunning of those who are -afraid of madmen.</p> - -<p>“The most evil heap of stones I know in Nevilton,” -remarked Mr. Quincunx, moving towards his gate, -and making a slight dismissing gesture with his hand,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_488" id="Page_488">[488]</a></span> -“is the heap in the Methodist cemetery. You know -the one I mean, Andersen? The one up by Seven -Ashes, where the four roads meet. It is just inside -the entrance, on the left hand. They throw upon it -all the larger stones they find when they dig the -graves. I have often picked up bits of bones there, -and pieces of skulls. It is an interesting place, a -very curious place, and quite easy to find. There -haven’t been many burials there lately, because most -of the Methodists nowadays prefer the churchyard. -But there was one last spring. That was the burial -of Glory Lintot. I was there myself, and saw her -put in. It’s an extraordinary place. Anyone who -likes to look at what people can write on tombstones -would be delighted with it.”</p> - -<p>By this time, by means of a series of vague ushering -movements, such as he might have used to get rid of -an admirable but dangerous dog, Mr. Quincunx had -got his visitor as far as the gate. This he opened, -with as easy and natural an air as he could assume, -and stood ostentatiously aside, to let the unfortunate -man pass out.</p> - -<p>James Andersen moved slowly into the road. -“Remember!” he said. “You will avoid everything -you hate! There’s more in the west-wind than you -imagine, these strange days. That’s why the rooks -are calling. Listen to them!”</p> - -<p>He waved his hand and strode rapidly up the lane.</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx gazed after the retreating figure till -it disappeared, and then returned wearily to his work. -He picked up his hoe and leaned heavily upon it, -buried in thought. Thus he remained for the space -of several minutes.</p> - -<p>“He is right,” he muttered, raising his head at -last. “The rooks are beginning to gather. That -means another summer is over,—and a good thing, -too! I suppose I ought to have taken him back to -Nevilton. But he is right about the rooks.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_489" id="Page_489">[489]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX<br /> -<span class="smaller">PLANETARY INTERVENTION</span></h2> - -<p>The long summer afternoon was nearly over by -the time James Andersen reached the Seven -Ashes. The declining sun had sunk so low -that it was invisible from the spot where he stood, -but its last horizontal rays cast a warm ruddy light -over the tree-tops in the valley. The high and -exposed intersection of sandy lanes, which for time -immemorial had borne this title, was, at the epoch -which concerns us, no longer faithful to its name.</p> - -<p>The ash-trees which Andersen now surveyed, with -the feverish glance of mental obsession, were not -seven in number. They were indeed only three; and, -of these three, one was no more than a time-worn -stump, and the others but newly-planted saplings. -Such as they were, however, they served well enough -to continue the tradition of the place, and their -presence enhanced with a note of added melancholy -the gloomy character of the scene.</p> - -<p>Seven Ashes, with its cross-roads, formed indeed -the extreme northern angle of the high winding ridge -which terminated at Wild Pine. Approached from -the road leading to this latter spot,—a road darkened -on either hand by wind-swept Scotch-firs—it was -the sort of place where, in less civilized times, one -might have expected to encounter a threatening -highwayman, or at least to have stumbled upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_490" id="Page_490">[490]</a></span> -some sinister witch-figure stooping over an unholy -task or groping among the weeds. Even in modern -times and in bright sunshine the spot was not one -where a traveller was induced to linger upon his way -or to rest himself. When overcast, as it was at the -moment of Andersen’s approach, by the coming on of -twilight, it was a place from which a normal-minded -person would naturally be in haste to turn. There -was something ominous in its bleak exposure to the -four quarters of the sky, and something full of ghostly -suggestiveness in the gaping mouths of the narrow -lanes that led away from it.</p> - -<p>There was, however, another and a much more -definite justification for the quickening, at this point, -of any wayfarer’s steps who knew the locality. A -stranger to the place, glancing across an empty field, -would have observed with no particular interest the -presence of a moderately high stone wall protecting -a small square enclosure. Were such a one acquainted -with the survivals of old usage in English villages, he -might have supposed these walls to shut in the now -unused space of what was formerly the local “pound,” -or repository for stray animals. Such travellers as -were familiar with Nevilton knew, however, that -sequestered within this citadel of desolation were no -living horses nor cattle, but very different and much -quieter prisoners. The Methodist cemetery there, -dates back, it is said, to the days of religious persecution, -to the days of Whitfield and Wesley, if not even -further.</p> - -<p>Our fugitive from the society of those who regard -their minds as normally constituted, cast an excited -and recognizant eye upon this forlorn enclosure.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_491" id="Page_491">[491]</a></span> -Plucking a handful of leaves from one of the ash-trees -and thrusting them into his pocket, some queer -legend—half-remembered in his agitated state—impelling -him to this quaint action, he left the roadway, -crossed the field, and pushing open the rusty -iron gate of the little burying-ground, burst hurriedly -in among its weather-stained memorials of the -dead.</p> - -<p>Though not of any great height, the enclosing walls -of the place were sufficient to intensify by several -degrees the gathering shadows. Outside, in the open -field, one would have anticipated a clear hour of -twilight before the darkness fell; but here, among -the graves of these humble recalcitrants against -spiritual authority, it seemed as though the plunge -of the planet into its diurnal obscuring was likely to -be retarded for only a few brief moments.</p> - -<p>James Andersen sat down upon a nameless mound, -and fixed his gaze upon the heap of stones referred -to by Mr. Quincunx. The evening was warm and -still, and though the sky yet retained much of its -lightness of colour, the invading darkness—like a -beast on padded feet—was felt as a palpable presence -moving slowly among the tombs.</p> - -<p>The stone-carver began muttering in a low voice -scattered and incoherent repetitions of his conversation -with the potato-digger. But his voice suddenly -died away under a startling interruption. He became -aware that the heavy cemetery gate was being -pushed open from outside.</p> - -<p>Such is the curious law regulating the action of -human nerves, and making them dependent upon -the mood of the mind to which they are attached,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_492" id="Page_492">[492]</a></span> -that an event which to a normal consciousness is -fraught with ghostly terror, to a consciousness already -strained beyond the breaking point, appears as something -natural and ordinary. It is one of the privileges -of mania, that those thus afflicted should be -freed from the normal oppression of human terror. -A madman would take a ghost into his arms.</p> - -<p>On this occasion, however, the most normal nerves -would have suffered no shock from the figure that -presented itself in the entrance when the door was -fully opened. A young girl, pale and breathless, -rushed impulsively into the cemetery, and catching -sight of Andersen at once, hastened straight to him -across the grave-mounds.</p> - -<p>“I was coming back from the village,” she gasped, -preventing him with a trembling pressure of her hand -from rising from his seat, and casting herself down -beside him, “and I met Mr. Clavering. He told me -you had gone off somewhere and I guessed at once -it was to Dead Man’s Lane. I said nothing to him, -but as soon as he had left me, I ran nearly all the -way to the cottage. The gentleman there told me -to follow you. He said it was on his conscience that -he had advised you to come up here. He said he -was just making up his mind to come on after you, -but he thought it was better for me to come. So -here I am! James—dear James—you are not really -ill are you? They frightened me, those two, by what -they said. They seemed to be afraid that you would -hurt yourself if you went off alone. But you wouldn’t -James dear, would you? You would think of me a -little?”</p> - -<p>She knelt at his side and tenderly pushed back the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_493" id="Page_493">[493]</a></span> -hair from his brow. “Oh I love you so!” she murmured, -“I love you so! It would kill me if anything -dreadful happened to you.” She pressed his head -passionately against her breast, hardly conscious in -her emotion of the burning heat of his forehead as -it touched her skin.</p> - -<p>“You will think of me a little!” she pleaded, -“you will take care of yourself for my sake, Jim?”</p> - -<p>She held him thus, pressed tightly against her, for -several seconds, while her bosom rose and fell in -quick spasms of convulsive pity. She had torn off -her hat in her agitation, and flung it heedlessly down -at her feet, and a heavy tress of her thick auburn -hair—colourless now as the night itself—fell loosely -upon her bowed neck. The fading light from the -sky above them seemed to concentrate itself upon -the ivory pallor of her clasped fingers and the dead-white -glimmer of her impassioned face. She might -have risen out of one of the graves that surrounded -them, so ghostly in the gloom did her figure look.</p> - -<p>The stone-carver freed himself at length, and took -her hands in his own. The shock of the girl’s emotion -had quieted his own fever. From the touch of -her flesh he seemed to have derived a new and rational -calm.</p> - -<p>“Little Ninsy!” he whispered. “Little Ninsy! It -is not I, but you, who are ill. Have you been up, -and about, many days? I didn’t know it! I’ve had -troubles of my own.” He passed his hand across his -forehead. “I’ve had dreams, dreams and fancies! -I’m afraid I’ve made a fool of myself, and frightened -all sorts of people. I think I must have been -saying a lot of silly things today. My head feels<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_494" id="Page_494">[494]</a></span> -still queer. It’s hurt me so much lately, my head! -And I’ve heard voices, voices that wouldn’t stop.”</p> - -<p>“Oh James, my darling, my darling!” cried the girl, -in a great passion of relief. “I knew what they said -wasn’t true. I knew you would speak gently to me, -and be your old self. Love me, James! Love me as -you used to in the old days.”</p> - -<p>She rose to her feet and pulled him up upon his. -Then with a passionate abandonment she flung her -arms round him and pressed him to her, clinging to -him with all her force and trembling as she clung.</p> - -<p>James yielded to her emotion more spontaneously -than he had ever done in his life. Their lips met in -a long in-drawing kiss which seemed to merge their -separate identities, and blend them indissolubly -together. She clung to him as a bind-weed, with its -frail white flowers, might cling to a stalk of swaying -corn, and not unlike such an entwined stalk, he -swayed to and fro under the clinging of her limbs. -The passion which possessed her communicated -itself to him, and in a strange ecstasy of oblivion he -embraced her as desperately as her wild love could -wish.</p> - -<p>From sheer exhaustion their lips parted at last, -and they sank down, side by side, upon the dew-drenched -grass, making the grave-mount their pillow. -Obscurely, through the clouded chamber of -his brain, passed the image of her poppy-scarlet -mouth burning against the whiteness of her skin. -All that he could now actually see of her face, in the -darkness, was its glimmering pallor, but the feeling -of her kiss remained and merged itself in this impression. -He lay on his back with closed eyes, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_495" id="Page_495">[495]</a></span> -she bent over him as he lay, and began kissing him -again, as if her soul would never be satisfied. In the -intervals of her kisses, she pressed her fingers against -his forehead, and uttered incoherent and tender -whispers. It seemed to her as though, by the very -magnetism of her devotion, she <em>must</em> be able to restore -his shattered wits.</p> - -<p>Nor did her efforts seem in vain. After a while -the stone-carver lifted himself up and looked round -him. He smiled affectionately at Ninsy and patted -her, almost playfully, upon the knee.</p> - -<p>“You have done me good, child,” he said. “You -have done me more good than you know. I don’t -think I shall say any more silly things tonight.”</p> - -<p>He stood up on his feet, heaved a deep, natural -sigh, and stretched himself, as one roused from a long -sleep.</p> - -<p>“What have you managed to do to me, Ninsy?” -he asked. “I feel completely different. Those -voices in my head have stopped.” He turned tenderly -towards her. “I believe you’ve driven the evil -spirit out of me, child,” he said.</p> - -<p>She flung her arms round him with a gasping cry. -“You do like me a little, Jim? Oh my darling, I love -you so much! I love you! I love you!” She clung -to him with frenzied passion, her breast convulsed -with sobs, and the salt tears mingling with her -kisses.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, as he held her body in his arms, he felt -a shuddering tremor run through her, from head to -foot. Her head fell back, helpless and heavy, and -her whole frame hung limp and passive upon his -arm. It almost seemed as though, in exorcising, by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_496" id="Page_496">[496]</a></span> -the magnetic power of her love, the demon that -possessed him, she had broken her own heart.</p> - -<p>Andersen was overwhelmed with alarm and remorse. -He laid her gently upon the ground, and chafed the -palms of her hands whispering her name and uttering -savage appeals to Providence. His appeals, however, -remained unanswered, and she lay deadly still, her -coils of dusky hair spread loose over the wet -grass.</p> - -<p>He rose in mute dismay, and stared angrily round -the cemetery, as if demanding assistance from its -silent population. Then with a glance at her motionless -form, he ran quickly to the open gate and -shouted loudly for help. His voice echoed hollowly -through the walled enclosure, and a startled flutter -of wings rose from the distant fir-trees. Somewhere -down in the valley, a dog began to bark, but no -other answer to his repeated cry reached his ears. -He returned to the girl’s side.</p> - -<p>Frantically he rent open her dress at the throat -and tore with trembling fingers at the laces of her -bodice. He pressed his hand against her heart. A -faint, scarcely discernible tremor under her soft -breast reassured him. She was not dead, then! He -had not killed her with his madness.</p> - -<p>He bent down and made an effort to lift her in -his arms, but his limbs trembled beneath him and -his muscles collapsed helplessly. The reaction from -the tempest in his brain had left him weak as an -infant. In this wretched inability to do anything -to restore her he burst into a fit of piteous tears, and -struck his forehead with his clenched hand.</p> - -<p>Once more he tried desperately to lift her, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_497" id="Page_497">[497]</a></span> -once more, fragile as she was, the effort proved -hopelessly beyond his strength. Suddenly, out of -the darkness beyond the cemetery gate, he heard the -sound of voices.</p> - -<p>He shouted as loudly as he could and then listened -intently, with beating heart. An answering shout -responded, in Luke’s well-known voice. A moment -or two later, and Luke himself, followed by Mr. -Quincunx, hurried into the cemetery.</p> - -<p>Immediately after Ninsy’s departure the recluse -had been seized with uncontrollable remorse. Mixed -with his remorse was the disturbing consciousness that -since Ninsy knew he had advised Andersen to make -his way to Seven Ashes, the knowledge was ultimately -sure to reach the younger brother’s ears. Luke was -one of the few intimates Mr. Quincunx possessed in -Nevilton. The recluse held him in curious respect -as a formidable and effective man of the world. He -had an exaggerated notion of his power. He had -grown accustomed to his evening visits. He was -fond of him and a little afraid of him.</p> - -<p>It was therefore an extremely disagreeable thought -to his mind, to conceive of Luke as turning upon -him with contempt and indignation. Thus impelled, -the perturbed solitary had summoned up all his -courage and gone boldly down into the village to -find the younger Andersen. He had met him at the -gate of Mr. Taxater’s house.</p> - -<p>Left behind in the station field by James and his -pursuers, Luke had reverted for a while with the -conscious purpose of distracting his mind, to his old -preoccupation, and had spent the afternoon in a -manner eminently congenial, making love to two<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_498" id="Page_498">[498]</a></span> -damsels at the same time, and parrying with evasive -urbanity their combined recriminations.</p> - -<p>At the close of the afternoon, having chatted for -an hour with the station-master’s wife, and shared -their family tea, he had made his way according to -his promise, into Mr. Taxater’s book-lined study, -and there, closely closeted with the papal champion, -had smoothed out the final threads of the conspiracy -that was to betray Gladys and liberate Lacrima.</p> - -<p>Luke had been informed by Mr. Quincunx of every -detail of James’ movements and of Ninsy’s appearance -on the scene. The recluse, as the reader may believe, -did not spare himself in any point. He even exaggerated -his fear of the agitated stone-carver, and as they -hastened together towards Seven Ashes, he narrated, -down to the smallest particular, the strange conversation -they had had in his potato-garden.</p> - -<p>“Why do you suppose,” he enquired of Luke, as -they ascended the final slope of the hill, “he talked -so much of someone giving me money? Who, on -earth, is likely to give me money? People don’t as -a rule throw money about, like that, do they? And -if they did, I am the last person they would throw it -to. I am the sort of person that kind and good -people naturally hate. It’s because they know I -know the deep little vanities and cunning selfishness -in their blessed deeds.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_499" id="Page_499">[499]</a></span></p> -<p>“No one in this world really acts from pure motives. -We are all grasping after our own gain. We are all -pleased when other people come to grief, and sorry -when things go well with them. It’s human nature, -that’s what it is! Human nature is always vicious. -It was human nature in me that made me send your -brother up this hill, instead of taking him back to -the village. It was human nature in you that made -you curse me as you did, when I first told you.”</p> - -<p>Luke did his best to draw Mr. Quincunx back from -these general considerations to his conversation with -James.</p> - -<p>“What did you say,” he enquired, “when he asked -you about marrying Lacrima, supposing this imaginary -kind person were available? Did you tell him -you would do it?”</p> - -<p>“You mean, was he really jealous?” replied the -other, with one of his goblin-like laughs.</p> - -<p>“It was a strange question to ask,” pursued Luke. -“I can’t imagine how you answered it.”</p> - -<p>“Of course,” said Mr. Quincunx, “we know very -well what he was driving at. He wanted to sound -me. Whatever may be wrong with him he was -clever enough to want to sound me. We are all like -that! We are all going about the world trying to -find out each other’s weakest points, with the idea -that it may be useful to us to know them, so as to -be able to stick knives into them when we want to.”</p> - -<p>“It was certainly rather a strange question considering -that he is a bit attracted to Lacrima himself,” -remarked Luke. “I should think you were -very cautious how you answered.”</p> - -<p>“Cautious?” replied Mr. Quincunx. “I don’t believe -in caution. Caution is a thing for well-to-do -people who have something to lose. I answered him -exactly as I would answer anyone. I said I should -be a fool not to agree. And so I should. Don’t you -think so, Andersen? I should be a fool not to marry, -under such circumstances?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_500" id="Page_500">[500]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It depends what your feelings are towards Lacrima,” -answered the wily stone-carver.</p> - -<p>“Why do you say that, in that tone?” said the -recluse sharply. “You know very well what I feel -towards Lacrima. Everyone knows. She is the one -little streak of romance that the gods have allowed -to cross my path. She is my only girl-friend in -Nevilton.”</p> - -<p>At that moment the two men reached Seven Ashes -and the sound of their voices was carried to the cemetery, -with the result already narrated.</p> - -<p>It will be remarked as an interesting exception to -the voluble candour of Mr. Quincunx, that in his -conversation with Luke he avoided all mention of -Lacrima’s fatal contract with Mr. Romer. He had -indeed, on an earlier occasion, approached the outskirts -of this affair, in an indirect manner and with -much manœuvring. From what he had hinted then, -Luke had formed certain shrewd surmises, in the -direction of the truth, but of the precise facts he -remained totally ignorant.</p> - -<p>The shout for help which interrupted this discussion -gave the two men a shock of complete surprise. -They were still more surprised, when on entering -the cemetery they found James standing over the -apparently lifeless form of Ninsy Lintot, her clothes -torn and her hair loose and dishevelled. Their astonishment -reached its climax when they noticed the -sane and rational way in which the stone-carver -addressed them. He was in a state of pitiful agitation, -but he was no longer mad.</p> - -<p>By dint of their united efforts they carried the girl -across the field, and laid her down beneath the ash-trees.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_501" id="Page_501">[501]</a></span> -The fresher air of this more exposed spot -had an immediate effect upon her. She breathed -heavily, and her fingers, under the caress of James’ -hands, lost their rigidity. Across her shadowy white -face a quiver passed, and her head moved a little.</p> - -<p>“Ninsy! Ninsy, dear!” murmured Andersen as he -knelt by her side. By the light of the clear stars, -which now filled the sky with an almost tropical -splendour, the three men gazing anxiously at her -face saw her eyes slowly open and her lips part in -a tender recognitory smile.</p> - -<p>“Thank God!” cried James, “You are better now, -Ninsy, aren’t you? Here is Luke and Mr. Quincunx. -They came to find us. They’ll help me to get you -safe home.”</p> - -<p>The girl murmured some indistinct and broken -phrase. She smiled again, but a pathetic attempt -she made to lift her hand to her throat proved her -helpless weakness. Tenderly, as a mother might, -James anticipated her movement, and restored to as -natural order as he could her torn and ruffled -dress.</p> - -<p>At that moment to the immense relief of the three -watchers the sound of cart-wheels became audible. -The vehicle proved to be a large empty wagon driven -by one of Mr. Goring’s men on the way back from -an outlying hamlet. They all knew the driver, who -pulled up at once at their appeal.</p> - -<p>On an extemporized couch at the bottom of the -wagon, made of the men’s coats,—Mr. Quincunx -being the first to offer his,—they arranged the girl’s -passive form as comfortably as the rough vehicle -allowed. And then, keeping the horses at a walking-pace,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_502" id="Page_502">[502]</a></span> -they proceeded along the lane towards Wild -Pine.</p> - -<p>For some while, as he walked by the cart’s side, -his hand upon its well-worn edge, James experienced -extreme weariness and lassitude. His legs shook -under him and his heart palpitated. The demon -which had been driven out of him, had left him, it -seemed, like his biblical prototype, exhausted and -half-dead. By the time, however, that they reached -the corner, where Root-Thatch Lane descends to the -village, and Nevil’s Gully commences, the cool air -of the night and the slow monotonous movement -had restored a considerable portion of his strength.</p> - -<p>None of the men, as they went along, had felt in -a mood for conversation. Luke had spent his time, -naming to himself, with his accustomed interest in -such phenomena, the various familiar constellations -which shone down upon them between the dark -boughs of the Scotch-firs.</p> - -<p>The thoughts of Mr. Quincunx were confused and -strange. He had fallen into one of his self-condemnatory -moods, and like a solemn ghost moving by his -side, a grim projection of his inmost identity kept -rebuking and threatening him. As with most retired -persons, whose lives are passed in an uninterrupted -routine, the shock of any unusual or unforseen accident -fell upon him with a double weight.</p> - -<p>He had been much more impressed by the wild -agitation of James, and by the sight of Ninsy’s unconscious -and prostrate figure, than anyone who -knew only the cynical side of him would have supposed -possible. The cynicism of Mr. Quincunx was -indeed strictly confined to philosophical conversation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_503" id="Page_503">[503]</a></span> -In practical life he was wont to encounter any sudden -or tragic occurrence with the unsophisticated sensitiveness -of a child. As with many other sages, whose -philosophical proclivities are rather instinctive than -rational, Mr. Quincunx was liable to curious lapses -into the most simple and superstitious misgivings.</p> - -<p>The influence of their slow and mute advance, -under the majestic heavens, may have had something -to do with this reaction, but it is certain that -this other Mr. Quincunx—this shadowy companion -with no cabbage-leaf under his hat—pointed a most -accusing finger at him. Before they reached Nevil’s -Gully, the perturbed recluse had made up his mind -that, at all costs, he would intervene to prevent this -scandalous union of his friend with John Goring. -Contract or no contract, he must exert himself in -some definite and overt manner to stave off this -outrage.</p> - -<p>To his startled conscience the sinister figure of -Mr. Romer seemed to extend itself, Colossus-like, -from the outstretched neck of Cygnus, the heavenly -Swan, to the low-hung brilliance of the “lord-star” -Jupiter, and accompanying this Satanic shadow across -his vision, was a horrible and most realistic image of -the frail Italian, struggling in vain against the brutal -advances of Mr. Goring. He seemed to see Lacrima, -lying helpless, as Ninsy had been lying, but with no -protecting forms grouped reassuringly around her.</p> - -<p>The sense of the pitiful helplessness of these girlish -beings, thrust by an indifferent fate into the midst -of life’s brute forces, had pierced his conscience with -an indelible stab when first he had seen her prostrate -in the cemetery. For a vague transitory moment,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_504" id="Page_504">[504]</a></span> -he had wondered then, whether his sending her in -pursuit of a madman had resulted in a most lamentable -tragedy; and though Andersen’s manner had -quickly reassured him as it had simultaneously reassured -Luke, the original impression of the shock -remained.</p> - -<p>At that moment, as he helped to lift Ninsy out of -the wagon, and carry her through the farm-yard to -her father’s cottage, the cynical recluse felt an almost -quixotic yearning to put himself to any inconvenience -and sacrifice any comfort, if only one such soft -feminine creature as he supported now in his arms, -might be spared the contact of gross and violating -hands.</p> - -<p>James Andersen, as well as Mr. Quincunx, remained -silent during their return towards the village. In -vain Luke strove to lift off from them this oppression -of pensive and gentle melancholy. Neither his stray -bits of astronomical pedantry, nor his Rabelaisean -jests at the expense of a couple of rural amorists -they stumbled upon in the overshadowed descent, -proved arresting enough to break his companion’s -silence.</p> - -<p>At the bottom of Root-Thatch Lane Mr. Quincunx -separated from the brothers. His way led directly -through the upper portion of the village to the Yeoborough -road, while that of the Andersens passed -between the priory and the church.</p> - -<p>The clock in St. Catharine’s tower was striking -ten as the two brothers moved along under the -churchyard wall. With the departure of Mr. Quincunx -James seemed to recover his normal spirits. -This recovery was manifested in a way that rejoiced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_505" id="Page_505">[505]</a></span> -the heart of Luke, so congruous was it with all their -old habits and associations; but to a stranger overhearing -the words, it would have seemed the reverse -of promising.</p> - -<p>“Shall we take a glance at the grave?” the elder -brother suggested, leaning his elbows on the moss-grown -wall. Luke assented with alacrity, and the -ancient stones of the wall lending themselves easily -to such a proceeding, they both clambered over into -the place of tombs.</p> - -<p>Thus within the space of forty-eight hours the -brothers Andersen had been together in no less than -three sepulchral enclosures. One might have supposed -that the same destiny that made of their -father a kind of modern Old Mortality—less pious, it -is true, than his prototype, but not less addicted to -invasions of the unprotesting dead—had made it -inevitable that the most critical moments of his sons’ -lives should be passed in the presence of these mute -witnesses.</p> - -<p>They crossed over to where the head-stone of -their parents’ grave rose, gigantic and imposing in -the clear star light, as much larger than the other -monuments as the beaver, into which Pau-Puk-Keewis -changed himself, was larger than the other -beavers. They sat down on a neighbouring mound -and contemplated in silence their father’s work. The -dark dome of the sky above them, strewn with -innumerable points of glittering light, attracted Luke -once more to his old astronomical speculations.</p> - -<p>“I have an idea,” he said, “that there is more in -the influence of these constellations than even the -astrologers have guessed. Their method claims to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_506" id="Page_506">[506]</a></span> -a scientific one, mathematical in the exactness of its -inferences. My feeling about the matter is, that -there is something much more arbitrary, much more -living and wayward, in the manner in which they -work their will upon us. I said ‘constellations,’ -but I don’t believe, as a matter of fact, that it is -from them at all that the influences come. The -natural and obvious thing is that the <em>planets</em> should -affect us, and affect us very much in the same way -as we affect one another. The ancient races recognized -this difference. The fixed stars are named -after animals, or inanimate objects, or after powerful, -but not more than human, heroes. The planets -are all named from immortal gods, and it is as gods,—as -wilful and arbitrary gods—that they influence -our destinies.”</p> - -<p>James Andersen surveyed the large and brilliant -star which at that moment hung, like an enormous -glow-worm, against the southern slope of Nevilton -Mount.</p> - -<p>“Some extremely evil planet must have been very -active during these last weeks with Lacrima and with -me,” he remarked. “Don’t get alarmed, my dear,” -he added, noticing the look of apprehension which -his brother turned upon him. “I shan’t worry you -with any more silly talk. Those voices in my head -have quite ceased. But that does not help Lacrima.” -He laughed a sad little laugh.</p> - -<p>“I suppose,” he added, “no one can help her in -this devilish situation,—except that queer fellow -who’s just left us. I would let him step over my -dead body, if he would only carry her off and fool -them all!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_507" id="Page_507">[507]</a></span></p> - -<p>Luke’s mind plunged into a difficult problem. His -brother’s wits were certainly restored, and he seemed -calm and clear-headed. But was he clear-headed -enough to learn the details of the curious little conspiracy -which Mr. Taxater’s diplomatic brain had -evolved? How would this somewhat ambiguous -transaction strike so romantic a nature as his?</p> - -<p>Luke hesitated and pondered, the tall dark tower -of St. Catharine’s Church affording him but scant -inspiration, as it rose above them into the starlit -sky. Should he tell him or should he keep the matter -to himself, and enter into some new pretended scheme -with his brother, to occupy his mind and distract it, -for the time being?</p> - -<p>So long did he remain silent, pondering this question, -that James, observing his absorbed state and -concluding that his subtle intelligence was occupied -in devising some way out of their imbroglio, gave -up all thought of receiving an answer, and moving -to a less dew-drenched resting-place, leaned his head -against an upright monument and closed his eyes. -The feeling that his admired brother was taking -Lacrima’s plight so seriously in hand filled him with -a reassuring calm, and he had not long remained in -his new position before his exhausted senses found -relief in sleep.</p> - -<p>Left to himself, Luke weighed in his mind every -conceivable aspect of the question at stake. Less -grave and assured than the metaphysical Mr. Taxater -in this matter of striking at evil persons with evil -weapons, Luke was not a whit less unscrupulous.</p> - -<p>No Quincunx-like visitings of compunction had followed, -with him, their rescue of Ninsy. If the scene<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_508" id="Page_508">[508]</a></span> -at Seven Ashes had printed any impression at all -upon his volatile mind, it was merely a vague and -agreeable sense of how beautiful the girl’s dead-white -skin had looked, contrasted with the disturbed -masses of her dusky hair. Beyond this, except for a -pleasant memory of how lightly and softly she had -lain upon his arm, as he helped to carry her across -the Wild Pine barton, the occurrence had left him -unaffected.</p> - -<p>His conscience did not trouble him in the smallest -degree with regard to Gladys. According to Luke’s -philosophy of life, things in this world resolved -themselves into a reckless hand-to-hand struggle between -opposing personalities, every one of them seeking, -with all the faculties at his disposal, to get the -better of the others. It was absurd to stop and -consider such illusive impediments as sentiment or -honour, when the great, casual, indifferent universe -which surrounds us knows nothing of these things!</p> - -<p>Out of the depths of this chaotic universe he, Luke -Andersen, had been flung. It must be his first concern -to sweep aside, as irrelevant and meaningless, -any mere human fancies, ill-based and adventitious, -upon which his free foot might stumble. To strike -craftily and boldly in defence of the person he loved -best in the world seemed to him not only natural but -commendable. How should he be content to indulge -in vague sentimental shilly-shallying, when the whole -happiness of his beloved Daddy James was at stake?</p> - -<p>The difference between Luke’s attitude to their -mutual conspiracy, and that of Mr. Taxater, lay in -the fact that to the latter the whole event was -merely part of an elaborate, deeply-involved campaign,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_509" id="Page_509">[509]</a></span> -whose ramifications extended indefinitely on -every side; while to the former the affair was only one -of those innumerable chaotic struggles that a whimsical -world delighted to evoke.</p> - -<p>An inquisitive observer might have wondered what -purpose Mr. Taxater had in mixing himself up in -the affair at all. This question of his fellow-conspirator’s -motive crossed, as a matter of fact, Luke’s -own mind, as his gaze wandered negligently from the -Greater to the Lesser Bear, and from Orion to the -Pleiades. He came to the characteristic conclusion -that it was no quixotic impulse that had impelled -this excellent man, but a completely conscious and -definite desire—the desire to add yet one more wanderer -to his list of converts to the Faith.</p> - -<p>Lacrima was an Italian and a Catholic. United to -Mr. Quincunx, might she not easily win over that -dreamy infidel to the religion of her fathers? Luke -smiled to himself as he thought how little the papal -champion could have known the real character of -the solitary of Dead Man’s Lane. Sooner might the -sea at Weymouth flow inland, and wash with its -waves the foot of Leo’s Hill, than this ingrained -mystic bow his head under the yoke of dogmatic -truth!</p> - -<p>After long cogitation with himself, Luke came to -the conclusion that it would be wiser, on the whole, -to say nothing to his brother of his plan to work out -Lacrima’s release by means of her cousin’s betrayal. -Having arrived at this conclusion he rose and stretched -himself, and glanced at the sleeping James.</p> - -<p>The night was warm and windless, but Luke began -to feel anxious lest the cold touch of the stone, upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_510" id="Page_510">[510]</a></span> -which his brother rested, should strike a chill into -his blood. At the same time he was extremely loth -to disturb so placid and wholesome a slumber. He -laid his hand upon the portentous symbol of mortality -which crowned so aggressively his parents’ -monument, and looked round him. His vigil had -already been interrupted more than once by the -voices of late revellers leaving the Goat and Boy. -Such voices still recurred, at intermittent moments, -followed by stumbling drunken footsteps, but in the -intervals the silence only fell the deeper.</p> - -<p>Suddenly he observed, or fancied he observed, the -aspect of a figure extremely familiar to him, standing -patiently outside the inn door. He hurried across -the churchyard and looked over the wall. No, he -had not been mistaken. There, running her hands -idly through the leaves of the great wistaria which -clung to the side of the house, stood his little friend -Phyllis. She had evidently been sent by her mother,—as -younger maids than she were often sent—to -assist, upon their homeward journey, the unsteady -steps of Bill Santon the carter.</p> - -<p>Luke turned and glanced at his brother. He could -distinguish his motionless form, lying as still as ever, -beyond the dark shape of his father’s formidable -tombstone. There was no need to disturb him yet. -The morrow was Sunday, and they could therefore -be as late as they pleased.</p> - -<p>He called softly to the patient watcher. She -started violently at hearing his voice, and turning -round, peered into the darkness. By degrees she -made out his form, and waved her hand to him.</p> - -<p>He beckoned her to approach. She shook her head,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_511" id="Page_511">[511]</a></span> -and indicated by a gesture that she was expecting -the appearance of her father. Once more he called -her, making what seemed to her, in the obscurity, -a sign that he had something important to communicate. -Curiosity overcame piety in the heart of the -daughter of Bill Santon and she ran across the road.</p> - -<p>“Why, you silly thing!” whispered the crafty Luke, -“your father’s been gone this half hour! He went a -bit of the way home with Sam Lintot. Old Sam will -find a nice little surprise waiting for him when he -gets back. I reckon he’ll send your father home-along -sharp enough.”</p> - -<p>It was Luke’s habit, in conversation with the villagers, -to drop lightly into many of their provincial -phrases, though both he and his brother used, thanks -to their mother’s training, as good English as any of -the gentlefolk of Nevilton.</p> - -<p>The influence of association in the matter of -language might have afforded endless interesting -matter to the student of words, supposing such a -one had been able to overhear the conversations of -these brothers with their various acquaintances. Poor -Ninsy, for instance, fell naturally into the local dialect -when she talked to James in her own house; and assumed, -with equal facility, her loved one’s more -colourless manner of speech, when addressing him on -ground less familiar to her.</p> - -<p>As a matter of fact the universal spread of board-school -education in that corner of the country had -begun to sap the foundations of the old local peculiarities. -Where these survived, in the younger generation, -they survived side by side with the newer tricks -of speech. The Andersens’ girl-friends were, all of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_512" id="Page_512">[512]</a></span> -them, in reality, expert bilinguists. They spoke -the King’s English, and they spoke the Nevilton -English, with equal ease, if with unequal expressiveness.</p> - -<p>The shrewd fillip to her curiosity, which Luke’s -reference to Lintot’s home-coming had given, allured -Phyllis into accepting without protest his audacious -invention about her father. The probability of such -an occurrence seemed sealed with certainty, when -turning, at a sign from her friend, she saw, against -the lighted window the burly form of the landlord -engaged in closing his shutters. It was not the custom, -as Phyllis well knew, of this methodical dispenser of -Dionysian joys to “shutter up house,” as he called -it, until every guest had departed. How could she -guess—little deluded maid!—that, stretched upon -the floor in the front parlor, stared at by the landlord’s -three small sons, was the comatose body of -her worthy parent breathing like one of Mr. Goring’s -pigs?</p> - -<p>“Tain’t no good my waiting here then,” she whispered. -“What do ’ee mean by Sam Lintot’s being -surprised-like? Be Ninsy taken with her heart -again?”</p> - -<p>“Let me help you over here,” answered the stone-carver, -“that Priory wench was talking, just now, -just across yon wall. She’ll be hearing what we say -if we don’t move on a bit.”</p> - -<p>“Us don’t mind what a maid like her do hear, do -us, Luke dear?” whispered the girl in answer. “Give -me a kiss, sonny, and let me be getting home-along!”</p> - -<p>She stood on tiptoe and raised her hands over the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_513" id="Page_513">[513]</a></span> -top of the wall. Luke seized her wrists, and retained -them in a vicious clutch.</p> - -<p>“Put your foot into one of those holes,” he said, -“and we’ll soon have you across.”</p> - -<p>Unwilling to risk a struggle in such a spot, and not -really at all disinclined for an adventure, the girl -obeyed him, and after being hoisted up upon the -wall, was lifted quickly down on the other side, and -enclosed in Luke’s gratified arms. The amorous -stone-carver remembered long afterwards the peculiar -thrill of almost chaste pleasure which the first touch -of her cold cheeks gave him, as she yielded to his -embrace.</p> - -<p>“<em>Is</em> Nin Lintot bad again?” she enquired, drawing -herself away at last.</p> - -<p>Luke nodded. “You won’t see her about, this -week—or next week—or the week after,” he said. -“She’s pretty far gone, this time, I’m afraid.”</p> - -<p>Phyllis rendered to her acquaintance’s misfortune -the tribute of a conventional murmur.</p> - -<p>“Oh, let’s go and look at where they be burying -Jimmy Pringle!” she suddenly whispered, in an awe-struck, -excited tone.</p> - -<p>“What!” cried Luke, “you don’t mean to say he’s -dead,—the old man?”</p> - -<p>“Where’s ’t been to, then, these last days?” she -enquired. “He died yesterday morning and they -be going to bury him on Monday. ’Twill be a monstrous -large funeral. Can’t be but you’ve heard tell -of Jimmy’s being done for.” She added, in an amazed -and bewildered tone.</p> - -<p>“I’ve been very busy this last week,” said Luke.</p> - -<p>“You didn’t seem very busy this afternoon, when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_514" id="Page_514">[514]</a></span> -you were with Annie and me up at station-field,” -she exclaimed, with a mischievous little laugh. Then -in a changed voice, “Let’s go and see where they’re -going to put him. It’s somewhere over there, under -South Wall.”</p> - -<p>They moved cautiously hand in hand between the -dark grassy mounds, the heavy dew soaking their -shoes.</p> - -<p>Suddenly Phyllis stopped, her fingers tightening, -and a delicious thrill of excitement quivering through -her. “There it is. Look!” she whispered.</p> - -<p>They advanced a step or two, and found themselves -confronted by a gloomy oblong hole, and an -ugly heap of ejected earth.</p> - -<p>“Oh, how awful it do look, doesn’t it, Luke darling?” -she murmured, clinging closely to him.</p> - -<p>He put his arm round the girl’s waist, and together, -under the vast dome of the starlit sky, the two -warm-blooded youthful creatures contemplated the -resting-place of the generations.</p> - -<p>“It’s queer to think,” remarked Luke pensively, -“that just as we stand looking on this, so, when -we’re dead, other people will stand over our graves, -and we know nothing and care nothing!”</p> - -<p>“They dug this out this morning,” said Phyllis, -more concerned with the immediate drama than with -general meditations of mortality. “Old Ben Fursling’s -son did it, and my father helped him in his dinner-hour. -They said another hot day like this would -make the earth too hard.”</p> - -<p>Luke moved forward, stepping cautiously over the -dark upturned soil. He paused at the extreme edge -of the gaping recess.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_515" id="Page_515">[515]</a></span></p> - -<p>“What’ll you give me,” he remarked turning to -his companion, “if I climb down into it?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t talk like that, Luke,” protested the girl. -“’Tisn’t lucky to say them things. I wouldn’t give -you nothing. I’d run straight away and leave -you.”</p> - -<p>The young man knelt down at the edge of the -hole, and with the elegant cane he had carried in his -hand all that afternoon, fumbled profanely in its -dusky depths. Suddenly, to the girl’s absolute horror, -he scrambled round, and deliberately let himself -down into the pit. She breathed a sigh of unutterable -relief, when she observed his head and shoulders -still above the level of the ground.</p> - -<p>“It’s all right,” he whispered, “they’ve left it -half-finished. I suppose they’ll do the rest on -Monday.”</p> - -<p>“Please get out of it, Luke,” the girl pleaded. -“I don’t like to see you there. It make me think -you’re standing on Jimmy Pringle.”</p> - -<p>Luke obeyed her and emerged from the earth -almost as rapidly as he had descended.</p> - -<p>When he was once more by her side, Phyllis gave -a little half-deliberate shudder of exquisite terror. -“Fancy,” she whispered, clinging tightly to him, “if -you was to drag me to that hole, and put me down -there! I think I should die of fright.”</p> - -<p>This conscious playing with her own girlish fears -was a very interesting characteristic in Phyllis -Santon. Luke had recognized something of the sort -in her before, and now he wondered vaguely, as he -glanced from the obscurity of Nevilton Churchyard -to the brilliant galaxy of luminous splendour surrounding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_516" id="Page_516">[516]</a></span> -the constellation Pegasus, whether she really -wanted him to take her at her word.</p> - -<p>His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of -voices at the inn-door. They both held their breath, -listening intently.</p> - -<p>“There’s father!” murmured the girl. “He must -have come back from Lintot’s and be trying to get -into the public again! Come and help me over the -wall, Luke darling. Only don’t let anybody see us.”</p> - -<p>As they hurried across the enclosure, Phyllis whispered -in his ears a remark that seemed to him either -curiously irrelevant, or inspired in an occult manner -by psychic telepathy. She had lately refrained from -any reference to Lacrima. The Italian’s friendliness -to her under the Hullaway elms had made her reticent -upon this subject. On this occasion, however, -though quite ignorant of James’ presence in the -churchyard, she suddenly felt compelled to say to -Luke, in an intensely serious voice:</p> - -<p>“If some of you clever ones don’t stop that marriage -of Master Goring, there’ll be some more holes -dug in this place! There be some things what them -above never will allow.”</p> - -<p>He helped her over the wall, and watched her overtake -her staggering parent, who had already reeled -some distance down the road. Then he returned to -his brother and roused him from his sleep. James -was sulky and irritable at being so brusquely restored -to consciousness, but the temperature of his mind -appeared as normal and natural as ever.</p> - -<p>They quitted the place without further conversation, -and strode off in silence up the village street. -The perpendicular slabs of the crowded head stones,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_517" id="Page_517">[517]</a></span> -and the yet more numerous mounds that had neither -name nor memory, resumed their taciturn and lonely -watch.</p> - -<p>To no human eyes could be made visible the poor -thin shade that was once Jimmy Pringle, as it swept, -bat-like, backwards and forwards, across the dew-drenched -grass. But the shade itself, endowed with -more perception than had been permitted to it while -imprisoned in the “muddy vesture” of our flesh -and blood, became aware, in its troubled flight, of -a singular spiritual occurrence.</p> - -<p>Rising from the base of that skull-crowned monument, -two strange and mournful phantoms flitted -waveringly, like huge ghost-moths, along the protruding -edge of the church-roof. Two desolate and -querulous voices, like the voices of conflicting winds -through the reeds of some forlorn salt-marsh, quivered -across the listening fields.</p> - -<p>“It is strong and unconquered—the great heart -of my Hill,” one voice wailed out. “It draws them. -It drives them. The earth is with it; the planets are -for it, and all their enchantments cannot prevail -against it!”</p> - -<p>“The leaves may fall and the trees decay,” moaned -the second voice, “but where the sap has once -flowed, Love must triumph.”</p> - -<p>The fluttering shadow of Jimmy Pringle fled in -terror from these strange sounds, and took refuge -among the owls in the great sycamore of the Priory -meadow. A falling meteorite swept downwards from -the upper spaces of the sky and lost itself behind -the Wild Pine ridge.</p> - -<p>“Strength and cunning,” the first voice wailed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_518" id="Page_518">[518]</a></span> -forth again, “alone possess their heart’s desire. All -else is vain and empty.”</p> - -<p>“Love and Sacrifice,” retorted the other, “outlast -all victories. Beyond the circle of life they rule the -darkness, and death is dust beneath their feet.”</p> - -<p>Crouched on a branch of his protecting sycamore, -the thin wraith of Jimmy Pringle trembled and shook -like an aspen-leaf. A dumb surprise possessed the -poor transmuted thing to find itself even less assured -of palpable and familiar salvation, than when, after -drinking cider at the Boar’s Head in Athelston, he -had dreamed dreams at Captain Whiffley’s gate.</p> - -<p>“The Sun is lord and god of the earth,” wailed -the first voice once more. “The Sun alone is master -in the end. Lust and Power go forth with him, and -all flesh obeys his command.”</p> - -<p>“The Moon draws more than the tides,” answered -the second voice. “In the places of silence where -Love waits, only the Moon can pass; and only the -Moon can hear the voice of the watchers.”</p> - -<p>From the red planet, high up against the church-tower, -to the silver planet low down among the -shadowy trees, the starlit spaces listened mutely to -these antiphonal invocations. Only the distant expanse -of the Milky Way, too remote in its translunar -gulfs to heed these planetary conflicts, shimmered -haughtily down upon the Wood and Stone of Nevilton—impassive, -indifferent, unconcerned.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_519" id="Page_519">[519]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX<br /> -<span class="smaller">VOX POPULI</span></h2> - -<p>James Andersen’s mental state did not fall -away from the restored equilibrium into which -the unexpected intervention of Ninsy Lintot had -magnetized and medicined him. He went about his -work as usual, gloomier and more taciturn, perhaps, -than before, but otherwise with no deviation from -his normal condition.</p> - -<p>Luke noticed that he avoided all mention of Lacrima, -and, as far as the younger brother knew, made -no effort to see her. Luke himself received, two -days after the incident in the Methodist cemetery, a -somewhat enigmatic letter from Mr. Taxater. This -letter bore a London post-mark and informed the -stone-carver that after a careful consideration of -the whole matter, and an interview with Lacrima, the -writer had come to the conclusion that no good purpose -would be served by carrying their plan into execution. -Mr. Taxater had, accordingly, so the missive -declared, destroyed the incriminating document which -he had induced Luke to sign, and had relinquished -all thought of an interview with Mr. Dangelis.</p> - -<p>The letter concluded by congratulating Luke on his -brother’s recovery—of which, it appeared, the diplomatist -had been informed by the omniscient Mrs. -Wotnot—and assuring him that if ever, in any way, -he, the writer, could be of service to either of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_520" id="Page_520">[520]</a></span> -two brothers, they could count on his unfailing regard. -An obscure post-script, added in pencil in a -very minute and delicate hand, indicated that the -interview with Lacrima, referred to above, had confirmed -the theologian in a suspicion that hitherto -he had scrupulously concealed, namely, that their -concern with regard to the Italian’s position was less -called for than appearances had led them to suppose.</p> - -<p>After reading and weighing this last intimation, -before he tore up the letter into small fragments, -the cynical Luke came to the conclusion that the -devoted champion of the papacy had found out that -his co-religionist had fallen from grace; in other words, -that Lacrima Traffio was no longer a Catholic. It -could hardly be expected, the astute youth argued, -that Mr. Taxater should throw himself into a difficult -and troublesome intrigue in order that an apostate -from the inviolable Faith, once for all delivered -to the Saints, should escape what might reasonably -be regarded as a punishment for her apostacy.</p> - -<p>The theologian’s post-script appeared to hint that -the girl was not, after all, so very unwilling, in this -matter of her approaching marriage. Luke, in so far -as he gave such an aspect of the affair any particular -thought, discounted this plausible suggestion as a -mere conscience-quieting salve, introduced by the -writer to smooth over the true cause of his reaction.</p> - -<p>For his own part it had been always of James and -not of Lacrima he had thought, and since James had -now been restored to his normal state, the question -of the Italian’s moods and feelings affected him very -little. He was still prepared to discuss with his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_521" id="Page_521">[521]</a></span> -brother any new chance of intervention that might -offer itself at the last moment. He desired James’ -peace of mind before everything else, but in his -heart of hearts he had considerable doubt whether -the mood of self-effacing magnanimity which had -led his brother to contemplate Lacrima’s elopement -with Mr. Quincunx, would long survive the return -of his more normal temper. Were he in James’ -position, he told himself grimly, he should have much -preferred that the girl should marry a man she hated -rather than one she loved, as in such a case the field -would be left more open for any future “rapprochement.”</p> - -<p>Thus it came about that the luckless Pariah, by -the simple accident of her inability to hold fast to -her religion, lost at the critical moment in her life -the support of the one friendly power, that seemed -capable, in that confusion of opposed forces, of bringing -to her aid temporal as well as spiritual, pressure. -She was indeed a prisoner by the waters of Babylon, -but her forgetfulness of Sion had cut her off from the -assistance of the armies of the Lord.</p> - -<p>The days passed on rapidly now, over the heads of -the various persons involved in our narrative. For -James and Lacrima, and in a measure for Mr. Quincunx, -too,—since it must be confessed that the -shock of Ninsy’s collapse had not resulted in any -permanent tightening of the recluse’s moral fibre,—they -passed with that treacherous and oblivious -smoothness which dangerous waters are only too -apt to wear, when on the very verge of the cataract.</p> - -<p>In the stir and excitement of the great political -struggle which now swept furiously from one end of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_522" id="Page_522">[522]</a></span> -the country to the other, the personal fortunes of a -group of tragically involved individuals, in a small -Somersetshire village, seemed to lose, for all except -those most immediately concerned, every sort of -emphasis and interest.</p> - -<p>The polling day at last arrived, and a considerable -proportion of the inhabitants of Nevilton, both men -and women, found themselves, as the end of the -fatal hours approached, wedged and hustled, in a -state of distressing and exhausted suspense, in the -densely crowded High Street in front of the Yeoborough -Town Hall.</p> - -<p>Mr. Clavering himself was there, and in no very -amiable temper. Perverse destiny had caused him -to be helplessly surrounded by a noisy high-spirited -crew of Yeoborough factory-girls, to whom the event -in progress was chiefly interesting, in so far as it -afforded them an opportunity to indulge in uproarious -chaff and to throw insulting or amorous challenges -to various dandified youths of their acquaintance, -whom they caught sight of in the confusion. Mr. -Clavering’s ill-temper reached its climax when he -became aware that a good deal of the free and indiscreet -badinage of his companions was addressed to -none other than his troublesome parishioner, Luke -Andersen, whose curly head, surmounted by an -aggressively new straw hat, made itself visible not -far off.</p> - -<p>The mood of the vicar of Nevilton during the last -few weeks had been one of accumulative annoyance. -Everything had gone wrong with him, and it was -only by an immense effort of his will that he had -succeeded in getting through his ordinary pastoral<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_523" id="Page_523">[523]</a></span> -labour, without betraying the unsettled state of his -mind and soul.</p> - -<p>He could not, do what he might, get Gladys out -of his thoughts for one single hour of the day. She -had been especially soft and caressing, of late, in -her manner towards him. More submissive than of -old to his spiritual admonitions, she had dropped her -light and teasing ways, and had assumed, in her -recent lessons with him, an air of pliable wistfulness, -composed of long, timidly interrupted glances from -her languid blue eyes, and little low-voiced murmurs -of assent from her sweetly-parted lips.</p> - -<p>It was in vain that the poor priest struggled against -this obsession. The girl was as merciless as she was -subtle in the devices she employed to make sure of -her hold upon him. She would lead him on, by hesitating -and innocent questions, to expound some difficult -matter of faith; and then, just as he was launched -out upon a high, pure stream of mystical interpretation, -she would bring his thoughts back to herself -and her deadly beauty, by some irresistible feminine -trick, which reduced all his noble speculations to so -much empty air.</p> - -<p>Ever since that night when he had trembled so -helplessly under the touch of her soft fingers beneath -the cedars of the South Drive, she had sought opportunities -for evoking similar situations. She would -prolong the clasp of her hand when they bade one -another good night, knowing well how this apparently -natural and unconscious act would recur in throbs -of adder’s poison through the priest’s veins, long after -the sun had set behind St. Catharine’s tower.</p> - -<p>She loved sometimes to tantalize and trouble him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_524" id="Page_524">[524]</a></span> -by relating incidents which brought herself and her -American fiancé into close association in his mind. -She would wistfully confide to him, for example, -how sometimes she grew weary of love-making, -begging him to tell her whether, after all, she were -wise in risking the adventure of marriage.</p> - -<p>By these arts, and others that it were tedious to -enumerate, the girl gradually reduced the unfortunate -clergyman to a condition of abject slavery. The -worst of it was that, though his release from her -constant presence was rapidly approaching—with the -near date of the ceremonies for which he was preparing -her—instead of being able to rejoice in this, -he found himself dreading it with every nerve of his -harassed senses.</p> - -<p>Clavering had felt himself compelled, on more than -one occasion, to allude to the project of Lacrima’s -marriage, but his knowledge of the Italian’s character -was so slight that Gladys had little difficulty in making -him believe, or at least persuade himself he -believed, that no undue pressure was being put upon -her.</p> - -<p>It was of Lacrima that he suddenly found himself -thinking as, hustled and squeezed between two -obstreperous factory-girls, he watched the serene -and self-possessed Luke enjoying with detached -amusement the vivid confusion round him. The -fantastic idea came into his head, that in some sort -of way Luke was responsible for those sinister rumours -regarding the Italian’s position in Nevilton, -which had thrust themselves upon his ears as he -moved to and fro among the villagers.</p> - -<p>He had learnt of the elder Andersen’s recovery from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_525" id="Page_525">[525]</a></span> -Mrs. Fringe, but even that wise lady had not been -able to associate this event with the serious illness -of Ninsy Lintot, to whose bed-side the young clergyman -had been summoned more than once during the -last week.</p> - -<p>Clavering felt an impulse of unmitigated hatred -for the equable stone-carver as he watched him bandying -jests with this or the other person in the crowd, -and yet so obviously holding himself apart from it -all, and regarding the whole scene as if it only existed -for his amusement.</p> - -<p>A sudden rush of some extreme partisans of the -popular cause, making a furious attempt to over-power -the persistent taunts of a group of young -farmers who stood above them on a raised portion -of the pavement, drove a wedge of struggling humanity -into the midst of the crowd who surrounded -the irritable priest. Clavering was pushed, in spite -of his efforts to extricate himself, nearer and nearer -to his detested rival, and at last, in the most grotesque -and annoying manner possible, he found himself -driven point-blank into the stone-carver’s very -arms. Luke smiled, with what seemed to the heated -and flustered priest the last limit of deliberate impertinence.</p> - -<p>But there was no help for it. Clavering was -forced to accept his proffered hand, and return, with -a measure of courtesy, his nonchalant greeting. -Squeezed close together—for the crowd had concentrated -itself now into an immoveable mass—the fortunate -and the unfortunate lover of Gladys Romer -listened, side by side, to the deafening shouts, which, -first from one party and then from the other, heralded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_526" id="Page_526">[526]</a></span> -the appearance of the opposing candidates upon the -balcony above.</p> - -<p>“I really hardly know,” said Luke, in a loud whisper, -“which side you are on. I suppose on the Conservative? -These radicals are all Nonconformists, -and only waiting for a chance of pulling the Church -down.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” retorted the priest raising his voice -so as to contend against the hubbub about them. -“I happen to be a radical myself. My own hope is -that the Church <em>will</em> be pulled down. The Church -I believe in cannot be touched. Its foundations are -too deep.”</p> - -<p>“Three cheers for Romer and the Empire!” roared -a voice behind them.</p> - -<p>“Wone and the People! Wone and the working-man!” -vociferated another.</p> - -<p>“You’ll be holding your confirmation soon, I -understand,” murmured Luke in his companion’s ear, -as a swaying movement in the crowd squeezed them -even more closely together.</p> - -<p>Hugh Clavering realized for the first time in his -life what murderers feel the second before they strike -their blow. He could have willingly planted his -heel at that moment upon the stone-carver’s face. -Surely the man was intentionally provoking him. He -must know—he could not help knowing—the agitation -in his nerves.</p> - -<p>“Romer and Order! Romer and Sound Finance!” -roared one portion of the mob.</p> - -<p>“Wone and Liberty! Wone and Justice!” yelled -the opposing section.</p> - -<p>“I love a scene like this,” whispered Luke.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_527" id="Page_527">[527]</a></span> -“Doesn’t it make you beautifully aware of the contemptible -littleness of the human race?”</p> - -<p>“I am not only a radical,” retorted Clavering, -“but I happen also to be a human being, and one who -can’t take so airy a view of an occasion of this kind. -The enthusiasm of these people doesn’t at all amuse -me. I sympathize with it.”</p> - -<p>The stone-carver was not abashed by this rebuke. -“A matter of taste,” he said, “a matter of taste.” -Then, freeing his arm which had got uncomfortably -wedged against his side, and pushing back his hat, -“I love to associate these outbursts of popular feeling -with the movements of the planets. Tonight, -you know, one ought to be able to see—”</p> - -<p>Clavering could no longer contain himself. “Damn -your planets!” he cried, in a tone so loud, that an -old lady in their neighbourhood ejaculated, “Hush! -hush!” and looked round indignantly.</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon,” muttered the priest, a little -ashamed. “What I mean is, I am most seriously -concerned about this contest. I pray devoutly Wone -will win. It’ll be a genuine triumph for the working -classes if he does.”</p> - -<p>“Romer and the Empire!” interpolated the thunderous -voice behind them.</p> - -<p>“I don’t care much for the man himself,” he went -on, “but this thing goes beyond personalities.”</p> - -<p>“I’m all for Romer myself,” said Luke. “I have -the best of reasons for being grateful to him, though -he is my employer.”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean? What reasons?” cried -Clavering sharply, once more beginning to feel the -most unchristian hatred for this urbane youth.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_528" id="Page_528">[528]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, I’m sure I needn’t tell you that, sir,” responded -Luke; “I’m sure you know well enough how much I -admire our Nevilton beauty.”</p> - -<p>Gladys’ unhappy lover choked with rage. He had -never in his life loathed anything so much as he -loathed the way Luke’s yellow curls grew on his -forehead. His fingers clutched convulsively the palms -of his hands. He would like to have seized that -crop of hair and beaten the man’s head against the -pavement.</p> - -<p>“I think it’s abominable,” he cried, “this forcing -of Miss Traffio to marry Goring. For a very little, -I’d write to the bishop about it and refuse to marry -them.”</p> - -<p>The causes that led to this unexpected and irrelevant -outburst were of profound subtlety. Clavering -forgot, in his desire to make his rival responsible for -every tragedy in the place, that he had himself -resolved to discount, as mere village gossip, all the -dark rumours he had heard. The blind anger which -plunged him into this particular outcry, sprang, in -reality, from the bitterness of his own conscience-stricken -misgivings.</p> - -<p>“I don’t think you will,” remarked Luke, lowering -his voice to a whisper, though the uproar about them -rendered such a precaution quite unnecessary. “It -is not as a rule a good thing to interfere in these -matters. Miss Gladys has told me herself that the -whole thing is an invention of Romer’s enemies, -probably of this fellow Wone.”</p> - -<p>“She’s told me the same story,” burst out the -priest, “but how am I to believe her?”</p> - -<p>A person unacquainted with the labyrinthine convolutions<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_529" id="Page_529">[529]</a></span> -of the human mind would have been staggered -at hearing the infatuated slave thus betray -his suspicion of his enchantress, and to his own -rival; but the man’s long-troubled conscience, driven -by blind anger, rendered him almost beside himself.</p> - -<p>“To tell you the truth,” said Luke, “I think -neither you nor I have anything to do with this -affair. You might as well agitate yourself about -Miss Romer’s marriage with Dangelis! Girls must -manage these little problems for themselves. After -all, it doesn’t really matter much, one way or the -other. What they want, is to be married. The -person they choose is quite a secondary thing. We -have to learn to regard all these little incidents as -of but small importance, my good sir, as our world -sweeps round the sun!”</p> - -<p>“The sun—the sun!” cried Clavering, with difficulty -restraining himself. “What has the sun to -do with it? You are too fond of bringing in your -suns and your planets, Andersen. This trick of -yours of shelving the difficulties of life, by pretending -you’re somehow superior to them all, is a habit I -advise you to give up! It’s cheap. It’s vulgar. -It grows tiresome after a time.”</p> - -<p>Luke’s only reply to this was a sweet smile; and -the two were wedged so closely together that the -priest was compelled to notice the abnormal whiteness -and regularity of the young man’s teeth.</p> - -<p>“I confess to you,” continued Luke, with an air -of unruffled detachment, as if they had been discussing -the tint of a flower or the marks upon a -butterfly’s wing, “I have often wondered what the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_530" id="Page_530">[530]</a></span> -relations really are between Mr. Romer and Miss -Traffio; but that is the sort of question which, as -Sir Thomas Browne would say, lends itself to a -wide solution.”</p> - -<p>“Romer and Prosperity!” “Wone and Justice!” -yelled the opposing factions.</p> - -<p>“Our pretty Gladys’ dear parent,” continued the -incorrigible youth, completely disregarding the fact -that his companion, speechless with indignation, was -desperately endeavouring to extricate himself from -the press, “seems born under a particularly lucky star. -I notice that every attempt which people make to -thwart him comes to nothing. That’s what I admire -about him: he seems to move forward to his end -like an inexorable fate.”</p> - -<p>“Rubbish!” ejaculated the priest, turning his -angry face once more towards his provoking rival. -“Fiddlesticks and rubbish! The man is a man, like -the rest of us. I only pray Heaven he’s going to -lose this election!”</p> - -<p>“Under a lucky star,” reiterated the stone-carver. -“I wish I knew,” he added pensively, “what his star -is. Probably Jupiter!”</p> - -<p>“Wone and Liberty!” “Wone and the Rights of -the People!” roared the crowd.</p> - -<p>“Wone and God’s Vengeance!” answered, in an -indescribably bitter tone, a new and different voice. -Luke pressed his companion’s arm.</p> - -<p>“Did you hear that?” he whispered eagerly. -“That’s Philip. Who would have thought he’d have -been here? He’s an anarchist, you know.”</p> - -<p>Clavering, who was taller than his companion, -caught sight of the candidate’s son. Philip’s countenance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_531" id="Page_531">[531]</a></span> -was livid with excitement, and his arms were -raised as if actually invoking the Heavens.</p> - -<p>“Silly fool!” muttered Luke. “He talks of God as -glibly as any of his father’s idiotic friends. But -perhaps he was mocking! I thought I detected a -tang of irony in his tone.”</p> - -<p>“Most of you unbelievers cry upon God when the -real crisis comes,” remarked the priest. “But I like -Philip Wone. I respect him. He, at least, takes his -convictions seriously.”</p> - -<p>“I believe you fancy in your heart that some -miracle is going to be worked, to punish my worthy -employer,” observed Luke. “But I assure you, -you’re mistaken. In this world the only way our -Mr. Romers are brought low is by being out-matched -on their own ground. He has a lucky star; but other -people”—this was added in a low, significant tone— -“other people may possibly have stars still more -lucky.”</p> - -<p>At this moment the cheering and shouting became -deafening. Some new and important event had evidently -occurred. Both men turned and glanced up -at the stucco-fronted edifice that served Yeoborough -as a city-hall. The balcony had become so crowded -that it was difficult to distinguish individual figures; -but there was a general movement there, and people -were talking and gesticulating eagerly. Presently all -these excited persons fell simultaneously into silence, -and an attitude of intense expectation. The crowd -below caught the thrill of their expectancy, and with -upturned faces and eager eyes, waited the event. -There was a most formidable hush over the whole -sea of human heads; and even the detached Luke<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_532" id="Page_532">[532]</a></span> -felt his heart beating in tune to the general tension.</p> - -<p>In the midst of this impressive silence the burly -figure of the sheriff of the parliamentary district -made his way slowly to the front of the balcony. -With him came the two candidates, each accompanied -by a lady, and grouped themselves on either side -of him. The sheriff standing erect, with a sheet of -paper in his hand, saluted the assembled people, and -proceeded to announce, in simple stentorian words, -the result of the poll.</p> - -<p>Clavering had been stricken dumb with amazement -to observe that the lady by Mr. Romer’s side was -not Mrs. Romer, as he had thoughtlessly assumed it -would be, but Gladys herself, exquisitely dressed, and -looking, in her high spirits and excitement, more -lovely than he had ever seen her.</p> - -<p>Her fair hair, drawn back from her head beneath a -shady Gainsborough hat, shone like gold in the sunshine. -Her cheeks were flushed, and their delicate -rose-bloom threw into beautiful relief the pallor of -her brow and neck. Her tall girlish figure looked -soft and arresting amid the black-coated politicians -who surrounded her. Her eyes were brilliant.</p> - -<p>Contrasted with this splendid apparition at Mr. -Romer’s side, the faded primness of the good spouse -of the Christian Candidate seemed pathetic and grotesque. -Mrs. Wone, in her stiff black dress and -old-fashioned hat, looked as though she were attending -a funeral. Nor was the appearance of her husband -much more impressive or imposing.</p> - -<p>Mr. Romer, with his beautiful daughter’s hand -upon his arm, looked as noble a specimen of sage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_533" id="Page_533">[533]</a></span> -authority and massive triumph, as any of that assembled -crowd were likely to see in a life-time. A -spasmodic burst of cheering was interrupted by -vigorous hisses and cries of “Hush! hush! Let the -gentleman speak!”</p> - -<p>Lifting his hand with an appropriate air of grave -solemnity, the sheriff proceeded to read: “Result of -the Election in this Parliamentary Division—Mr. -George Wone, seven thousand one hundred and fifty -nine! Mr. Mortimer Romer, nine thousand eight -hundred and sixty-one! I therefore declare Mr. -Mortimer Romer duly elected.”</p> - -<p>A burst of incredible cheering followed this proclamation, -in the midst of which the groans and hisses -of the defeated section were completely drowned. -The cheering was so tremendous and the noisy reaction -after the hours of expectancy so immense, that -it was difficult to catch a word of what either the -successful or the unsuccessful candidate said, as -they made their accustomed valedictory speeches.</p> - -<p>Clavering and Luke were swept far apart from -one another in the mad confusion; and it was well -for them both, perhaps, that they were; for before -the speeches were over, or the persons on the balcony -had disappeared into the building, a very strange -and disconcerting event took place.</p> - -<p>The unfortunate young Philip, who had received -the announcement of his father’s defeat as a man -might receive a death-sentence, burst into a piercing -and resounding cry, which was clearly audible, not -only to those immediately about him, but to every -one of the ladies and gentlemen assembled on the -balcony. There is no need to repeat in this place<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_534" id="Page_534">[534]</a></span> -the words which the unhappy young man hurled at -Mr. Romer and his daughter. Suffice it to say that -they were astounding in their brutality and grossness.</p> - -<p>As soon as he had uttered them, Philip sank down -upon the ground, in the miserable convulsions of -some species of epileptic fit. The tragic anxiety of -poor Mrs. Wone, who had not only heard his words, -but seen his collapse, broke up the balcony party in -disorder.</p> - -<p>Such is human nature, that though not one of the -aristocratic personages there assembled, believed for -a moment that Philip was anything but a madman; -still, the mere weight of such ominous words, though -flung at random and by one out of his senses, had -an appreciable effect upon them. It was noticed -that one after another they drew away from the -two persons thus challenged; and this, combined -with the movement about the agitated Mrs. Wone, -soon left the father and daughter, the girl clinging to -her parent’s arm, completely isolated.</p> - -<p>Before he led Gladys away, however, Mr. Romer -turned a calm and apparently unruffled face upon the -scene below. Luke, who, it may be well believed, -had missed nothing of the subtler aspects of the -situation, was so moved by the man’s imperturbable -serenity that he caught himself on the point of -raising an admiring and congratulatory shout. He -stopped himself in time, however; and in place of -acclaiming the father, did all he could to catch the -eye of the daughter.</p> - -<p>In this he was unsuccessful; for the attention of -Gladys, during the brief moment in which she followed -Mr. Romer’s glance over the heads of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_535" id="Page_535">[535]</a></span> -people, was fixed upon the group of persons who -surrounded the prostrate Philip. Among these persons -Luke now recognized, and doubtless the girl had -recognized too, the figure of the vicar of Nevilton.</p> - -<p>Luke apostrophized his rival with an ejaculation -of mild contempt. “A good man, that poor priest,” -he muttered, “but a most unmitigated fool! As to -Romer, I commend him! But I think I’ve put a -spoke in the wheel of his good fortune, all the same, -in spite of the planet Jupiter!”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_536" id="Page_536">[536]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI<br /> -<span class="smaller">CAESAR’S QUARRY</span></h2> - -<p>Mr. Romer’s victory in the election was -attended by a complete lull in the political -world of Nevilton. Nothing but an unavoidable -and drastic crisis, among the ruling circles -of the country, could have precipitated this formidable -struggle in the middle of the holiday-time; -and as soon as the contest was over, the general relaxation -of the season made itself doubly felt.</p> - -<p>This lull in the political arena seemed to extend -itself into the sphere of private and individual -emotion, in so far as the persons of our drama were -concerned. The triumphant quarry-owner rested -from his labors under the pleasant warmth of the -drowsy August skies; and as, in the old Homeric -Olympus, a relapse into lethargy of the wielder -of thunder-bolts was attended by a cessation of -earthly strife, so in the Nevilton world, the elements -of discord and opposition fell, during this -siesta of the master of Leo’s Hill, into a state of -quiescent inertia.</p> - -<p>But though the gods might sleep, and the people -might relax and play, the watchful unwearied fates -spun on, steadily and in silence, their ineluctable -threads.</p> - -<p>The long process of “carrying the corn” was over -at last, and night by night the magic-burdened<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_537" id="Page_537">[537]</a></span> -moon grew larger and redder above the misty stubble-fields.</p> - -<p>The time drew near for the reception of the successful -candidate’s daughter into the historic church -of the country over which he was now one of the -accredited rulers. A few more drowsy sunshine-drugged -days remained to pass, and the baptism -of Gladys—followed, a week later, by the formal -imposition of episcopal hands—would be the signal -for the departure of August and the beginning of -the fall of the leaves.</p> - -<p>The end of the second week in September had been -selected for the double marriage, partly because it -synchronized with the annual parish feast-day, and -partly because it supplied Ralph Dangelis with an -excuse for carrying off his bride incontinently to New -York by one of his favourite boats.</p> - -<p>Under the quiet surface of this steadily flowing -flood of destiny, which seemed, just then, to be -casting a drowning narcotic spell upon all concerned, -certain deep and terrible misgivings troubled not a -few hearts.</p> - -<p>It may be frequently noticed by those whose interest -it is to watch the strange occult harmonies between -the smallest human dramas and their elemental -accomplices, that at these peculiar seasons when -Nature seems to pause and draw in her breath, men -and women find it hard to use or assert their normal -powers of resistance. The planetary influences seem -nearer earth than usual;—nearer, with the apparent -nearness of the full tide-drawing moon and the -heavy scorching sun;—and for those more sensitive -souls, whose nerves are easily played upon, there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_538" id="Page_538">[538]</a></span> -is produced a certain curious sense of lying back -upon fate, with arms helplessly outspread, and wills -benumbed and passive.</p> - -<p>But though some such condition as this had -narcotized all overt resistance to the destiny in store -for her in the heart of Lacrima, it cannot be said -that the Italian’s mind was free from an appalling -shadow. Whether by reason of a remote spark -of humanity in him, or out of subtle fear lest by any -false move he should lose his prey, or because of -some diplomatic and sagacious advice received from -his brother-in-law, Mr. John Goring had, so far, conducted -himself extremely wisely towards his prospective -wife, leaving her entirely untroubled by any -molestations, and never even seeing her except in the -presence of other people. How far this unwonted -restraint was agreeable to the nature of the farmer, -was a secret concealed from all, except perhaps from -his idiot protégé, the only human being in Nevilton -to whom the unattractive man ever confided his -thoughts.</p> - -<p>Lacrima had one small and incidental consolation -in feeling that she had been instrumental in sending -to a home for the feeble-minded, the unfortunate -child of the game-keeper of Auber Lake. In this -single particular, Gladys had behaved exceptionally -well, and the news that came of the girl’s steady -progress in the direction of sanity and happiness -afforded some fitful gleam of light in the obscurity -that surrounded the Pariah’s soul.</p> - -<p>The nature of this intermittent gleam, its deep -mysterious strength drawn from spiritual sources, -helped to throw a certain sad and pallid twilight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_539" id="Page_539">[539]</a></span> -over her ordained sacrifice. This also she felt was -undertaken, like her visit to Auber Lake, for the sake -of an imprisoned and fettered spirit. If by means of -such self-immolation her friend of Dead Man’s Lane -would be liberated from his servitude and set permanently -upon his feet, her submission would not -be in vain.</p> - -<p>She had come once more to feel as though the impending -event were, as far as she was concerned, a -sort of final death-sentence. The passing fantasy, -that in a momentary distortion of her mind had -swept over her of the new life it might mean to have -children of her own, even though born of this unnatural -union, had not approached again the troubled -margin of her spirit.</p> - -<p>Even the idea of escaping the Romers was only -vaguely present. She would escape more than the -Romers; she would escape the whole miserable coil of -this wretched existence, if the death she anticipated -fell upon her; for death, and nothing less than -death, seemed the inevitable circumference of the -iron circle that was narrowing in upon her.</p> - -<p>Had those two strange phantoms that we have -seen hovering over Nevilton churchyard, representing -in their opposite ways the spiritual powers of the -place, been able to survey—as who could deny they -might be able?—the fatal stream which was now -bearing the Pariah forward to the precipice, they -would have been, in their divers tempers, struck -with delight and consternation at the spectacle presented -to them. There was more in this spectacle, -it must be admitted, to bring joy into the heart of -a goblin than into that of an angel. Coincidence,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_540" id="Page_540">[540]</a></span> -casualty, destiny—all seemed working together to -effect the unfortunate girl’s destruction.</p> - -<p>The fact that, by the recovery of his brother, the -astute Luke Andersen, the only one of all the Nevilton -circle capable of striking an effective blow in -her defence, had been deprived of all but a very -shadowy interest in what befell, seemed an especially -sinister accident. Equally unfortunate was the luckless -chance that at this critical moment had led -the diplomatic Mr. Taxater to see fit to prolong his -stay in London. Mr. Quincunx was characteristically -helpless. James Andersen seemed, since the recovery -of his normal mind, to have subsided like a person -under some restraining vow. Lacrima was a little -surprised that he made no attempt to see her or to -communicate with her. She could only suppose she -had indelibly hurt him, by her rejection of his quixotic -offers, on their way back from Hullaway.</p> - -<p>Thus to any ordinary glance, cast upon the field -of events as they were now arranging themselves, it -would have looked as though the Italian’s escape from -the fate hanging over her were as improbable as it -would be for a miracle to intervene to save her.</p> - -<p>In spite of the wild threat flung out by Mr. Clavering -in his sudden anger as he waited with Luke in the -Yeoborough street, the vicar of Nevilton made no -attempt to interfere. Whether he really managed to -persuade his conscience that all was well, or whether -he came to the conclusion that without some initiative -from the Italian it would be useless to meddle, not -the most subtle psychologist could say. The fact -remained that the only step he took in the matter -was to assure himself that the girl’s nominal Catholicism<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_541" id="Page_541">[541]</a></span> -had so far lapsed into indifference, that she was -likely to raise no objection to a ceremony according -to Anglican ritual.</p> - -<p>The whole pitiful situation, indeed, offered only -one more terrible and branding indictment, against -the supine passivity of average human nature in the -presence of unspeakable wrongs. The power and -authority of the domestic system, according to which -the real battle-field of wills takes place out of sight of -the public eye, renders it possible for this inertia of -the ordinary human crowd to cloak itself under a -moral dread of scandal, and under the fear of any -drastic breach of the uniformity of social usage.</p> - -<p>A visitor from Mars or Saturn might have supposed, -that in circumstances of this kind, every -decent-thinking person in the village would have -rushed headlong to the episcopal throne, and called -loudly for spiritual mandates to stop the outrage. -Where was the delegated Power of God—so the forlorn -shadows of the long-evicted Cistercians might -be imagined crying—whose absolute authority could -be appealed to in face of every worldly force? What -was the tender-souled St. Catharine doing, in her -Paradisiac rest, that she could remain so passively indifferent -to such monstrous and sacrilegious use of -her sacred building? Was it that such transactions -as this, should be carried through, under its very -shelter, that the gentle spirits who guarded the Holy -Rood had made of Nevilton Mount their sacred -resting-place? Must the whole fair tradition of the -spot remain dull, dormant, dumb, while the devotees -of tyranny worked their arbitrary will—“and nothing -said”?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_542" id="Page_542">[542]</a></span></p> - -<p>Such imaginary appeals, so fantastic in the utterance, -were indeed, as that large August-moon rose -night by night upon the stubble-fields, far too remote -from Nevilton’s common routine to enter the -heads of any of that simple flock. The morning -mists that diffused themselves, like filmy dream-figures, -over the watchful promontory of Leo’s Hill, -were as capable as any of these villagers of crying aloud -that wrong was being done.</p> - -<p>The loneliness in the midst of which Lacrima -moved on her way—groping, as her enemy had -taunted her with doing, so helplessly with her wistful -hands—was a loneliness so absolute that it sometimes -seemed to her as if she were already literally -dead and buried. Now and then, with a pallid -phosphorescent glimmer like the gleam of a corpse-light, -the mortal dissolution of all the ties that -bound her to earthly interests, itself threw a fitful -illumination over her consciousness.</p> - -<p>But Mr. Romer had over-reached himself in his -main purpose. The moral disintegration which he -looked for, and which the cynical apathy of Mr. -Quincunx encouraged, had, by extending itself to -every nerve of her spirit, rounded itself off, as it -were, full circle, and left her in a mental state rather -beyond both good and evil, than delivered up to the -latter as opposed to the former. The infernal power -might be said to have triumphed; but it could -scarcely be said to have triumphed over a living -soul. It had rather driven her soul far off, far away -from all these contests, into some mysterious -translunar region, where all these distinctions lapsed -and merged.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_543" id="Page_543">[543]</a></span></p> - -<p>Leo’s Hill itself had never crouched in more taciturn -intentness than it did under that sweltering -August sunshine, which seemed to desire, in the -gradual scorching of the green slopes, to reduce even -the outward skin of the monster to an approximate -conformity with its tawny entrails.</p> - -<p>Mr. Taxater’s departure from the scene at this -juncture was not only, little as she knew it, a loss of -support to Lacrima, it was also a very serious blow to -Vennie Seldom.</p> - -<p>The priest in Yeoborough, who at her repeated -request had already begun to give her surreptitious -lessons in the Faith, was not in any sense fitted to -be a young neophyte’s spiritual adviser. He was -fat. He was gross. He was lethargic. He was indifferent. -He also absolutely refused to receive her -into the Church without her mother’s sanction. This -refusal was especially troublesome to Vennie. She -knew enough of her mother to know that while it -was her nature to resist blindly and obstinately any -deviation from her will, when once a revolt was an -established fact she would resign herself to it with a -surprising equanimity. To ask Valentia for permission -to be received into the Church would mean -a most violent and distressing scene. To announce -to her that she had been so received, would mean -nothing but melancholy and weary acquiescence.</p> - -<p>She felt deeply hurt at Mr. Taxater’s desertion of -her at this moment of all moments. It was incredible -that it was really necessary for him to be so -long in town. As a rule he never left the Gables -during the month of August. His conduct puzzled -and troubled her. Did he care nothing whether she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_544" id="Page_544">[544]</a></span> -became a Catholic or not? Were his lessons mere -casual by-play, to fill up his spare hours in an interesting -and pleasant diversion? Was he really the -faithful friend he called himself? Not only had he -absented himself, but he had done so without sending -her a single word.</p> - -<p>As a matter of fact it was extremely rare for Mr. -Taxater to write a letter, even to his nearest friends, -except under the stress of theological controversy. -But Vennie knew nothing of this. She simply felt -hurt and injured; as though the one human being, -upon whom she had reposed her trust, had deserted -and betrayed her. He had spoken so tenderly, so -affectionately to her, too, during their last walk together, -before the unfortunate encounter with James -Andersen in the Athelston porch!</p> - -<p>It is true that his attitude over that matter of -Andersen’s insanity, and also in the affair of Lacrima’s -marriage, had a little shocked and disconcerted her. -He had bluntly refused to take her into his confidence, -and she felt instinctively that the conversation with -Luke, from which she had been so curtly dismissed, -was of a kind that would have hurt and surprised her.</p> - -<p>It seemed unworthy of him to absent himself from -Nevilton, just at the moment when, as she felt certain -in her heart, some grievous outrage was being committed. -She had learned quickly enough of Andersen’s -recovery; but nothing she could learn either lessened -her terrible apprehension about Lacrima, or gave her -the least hint of a path she could follow to do anything -on the Italian’s behalf.</p> - -<p>She made a struggle once to see the girl and to -talk to her. But she came away from the hurried<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_545" id="Page_545">[545]</a></span> -interview as perplexed and troubled in her mind as -ever. Lacrima had maintained an obstinate and impenetrable -reserve. Vennie made up her mind that she -would postpone for the present her own religious -revolt, and devote herself to keeping a close and careful -watch upon events in Nevilton.</p> - -<p>Mr. Clavering’s present attitude rendered her profoundly -unhappy. The pathetic overtures she had -made to him recently, with a desperate hope of renewing -their friendship on a basis that would be -unaffected even by her change of creed, had seemed -entirely unremarked by the absorbed clergyman. -She could not help brooding sometimes, with a feeling -of wretched humiliation, over the brusqueness and -rudeness which characterized his manner towards her.</p> - -<p>She recalled, more often than the priest would -have cared to have known, that pursuit of theirs, of -the demented Andersen, and how in his annoyance -and confusion he had behaved to her in a fashion -not only rough but positively unkind.</p> - -<p>It was clear that he was growing more and more -slavishly infatuated with Gladys; and Vennie could -only pray that the days might pass quickly and the -grotesque blasphemy of the confirmation service be -carried through and done with, so that the evil spell -of her presence should be lifted and broken.</p> - -<p>Prayer indeed—poor little forlorn saint!—was all -that was left to her, outside her mother’s exacting -affection, and she made a constant and desperate use -of it. Only the little painted wooden image, in her -white-washed room, a pathetic reproduction of the -famous Nuremburg Madonna, could have betrayed -how long were the hours in which she gave herself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_546" id="Page_546">[546]</a></span> -up to these passionate appeals. She prayed for -Clavering in that shy heart-breaking manner—never -whispering his name, even to the ears of Our Lady, -but always calling him “He” and “Him”—in which -girls are inclined to pray for the man to whom they -have sacrificed their peace. She prayed desperately -for Lacrima, that at the last moment, contrary to all -hope, some intervention might arrive.</p> - -<p>Thus it came about, that beneath the roofs of -Nevilton—for neither James Andersen nor Mr. -Quincunx were “praying men”—only one voice -was lifted up, the voice of the last of the old race -of the place’s rulers, to protest against the flowing -forward to its fatal end, of this evil tide.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, things moved steadily and irresistibly -on; and it seemed as though it were as improbable -that those shimmering mists which every evening -crept up the sides of Leo’s Hill should endure the -heat of the August noons, as that the prayers of this -frail child should change the course of ordained -destiny.</p> - -<p>If none but her little painted Madonna knew how -passionate were Vennie’s spiritual struggles; not even -that other Vennie, of the long-buried royal court, -whose mournful nun’s eyes looked out upon the great -entrance-hall, knew what turbulent thoughts and -anxieties possessed the soul of Gladys Romer.</p> - -<p>Was Mr. Taxater right in the formidable hint he -had given the young stone-carver, as to the result -of his amour with his employer’s daughter? Was -Gladys not only the actual mistress of Luke, but the -prospective mother of a child of their strange love?</p> - -<p>Whatever were the fair-haired girl’s thoughts and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_547" id="Page_547">[547]</a></span> -apprehensions, she kept them rigidly to herself; and -not even Lacrima, in her wildest imagination, ever -dreamed that things had gone as far as that. If it -had chanced to be, as Mr. Taxater supposed, and -as Luke seemed willing to admit, Gladys was apparently -relying upon some vague accident in the -course of events, or upon some hidden scheme of her -own, to escape the exposure which the truth of such -a supposition seemed to render inevitable.</p> - -<p>The fact remained that she let matters drift on, -and continued to prepare—in her own fashion—not -only for her reception into the Church of England, -but for her marriage to the wealthy American.</p> - -<p>Dangelis was continually engaged now in running -backwards and forwards to town on business connected -with his marriage; and with a view to making these -trips more pleasantly and conveniently he had acquired -a smart touring-car of his own, which he soon -found himself able to drive without assistance. The -pleasure of these excursions, leading him, in delicious -solitude, through so many unvisited country places -and along such historic roads, had for the moment -distracted his attention from his art.</p> - -<p>He rarely took Gladys with him; partly because he -regarded himself as still but a learner in the science -of driving, but more because he felt, at this critical -moment of his life, an extraordinary desire to be alone -with his own thoughts. Most of these thoughts, it is -true, were such as it would not have hurt the feelings -of his fiancée to have surprised in their passage -through his mind; but not quite all of them. Ever -since the incident of Auber Lake, an incident which -threw the character of his betrothed into no very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_548" id="Page_548">[548]</a></span> -charming light, Dangelis had had his moments of -uneasiness and misgiving. He could not altogether -conceal from himself that his attraction to Gladys -was rather of a physical than of a spiritual, or even -of a psychic nature.</p> - -<p>Once or twice, while the noble expanses of Salisbury -Plain or the New Forest thrilled him with a -pure dilation of soul, as he swept along in the clear -air, he was on the verge of turning his car straight -to the harbour of Southampton and taking the first -boat that offered itself, bound East, West, North or -South—it mattered nothing the direction!—so that -an impassable gulf of free sea-water should separate -him forever from the hot fields and woods of Nevilton.</p> - -<p>Once, when reaching a cross-road point, where the -name of the famous harbour stared at him from a -sign-post, he had even gone so far as to deviate to -the extent of several miles from his normal road. -But that intolerable craving for the girl’s soft-clinging -arms and supple body, with which she had at last -succeeded in poisoning the freedom of his mind, drew -him back with the force of a magnet.</p> - -<p>The day at length approached, when, on the -festival of his favorite saint, Mr. Clavering was to -perform the ceremony, to which he had looked forward -so long and with such varied feelings. It was -Saturday, and on the following morning, in a service -especially arranged to take place privately, between -early celebration and ordinary matins, Gladys was -to be baptized.</p> - -<p>Dangelis had suddenly declared his intention of -making his escape from a proceeding which to his -American mind seemed entirely uncalled for, and to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_549" id="Page_549">[549]</a></span> -his pagan humour seemed not a little grotesque. He -had decided to start, immediately after breakfast, -and motor to London, this time by way of Trowbridge -and Westbury.</p> - -<p>The confirmation ceremony, for reasons connected -with the convenience of the Lord Bishop, had been -finally fixed for the ensuing Wednesday, so that only -two days were destined to elapse between the girl’s -reception into the Church, and her admission to its -most sacred rites. Dangelis was sufficiently a heathen -to desire to be absent from this event also, though -he had promised Mr. Clavering to support his betrothed -on the occasion of her first Communion on -the following Sunday, which would be their last -Sunday together as unwedded lovers.</p> - -<p>On this occasion, Gladys persuaded him to let her -ride by his side a few miles along the Yeoborough -road. They had just reached the bridge across the -railway-line, about a mile and a half from the village, -when they caught sight of Mr. John Goring, returning -from an early visit to the local market.</p> - -<p>Gladys made the artist stop the car, and she got -out to speak to her uncle. After a minute or two’s -conversation, she informed Dangelis that she would -return with Mr. Goring by the field-path, which left -the road at that point and followed the track of the -railway. The American, obedient to her wish, set -his car in motion, and waving her a gay good-bye, disappeared -swiftly round an adjacent corner.</p> - -<p>Gladys and her uncle proceeded to walk slowly -homeward, across the meadows; neither of them, -however, paying much attention to the charm of the -way. In vain from the marshy hollows between their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_550" id="Page_550">[550]</a></span> -path and the metal track, certain brilliant clumps of -ragged robin and red rattle signalled to them to -pause and admire. Gladys and Mr. Goring strolled -forward, past these allurements, with a superb absorption -in their own interests.</p> - -<p>“I can’t think, uncle,” Gladys was saying, “how -it is that you can go on in the way you’re doing; -you, a properly engaged person, and not seeing anything -of your young lady?”</p> - -<p>The farmer laughed. “Ah! my dear, but what -matter? I shall see her soon enough; all I want to, -may-be.”</p> - -<p>“But most engaged people like to see a little of -one another before they’re married, don’t they, -uncle? I know Ralph would be quite mad if he -couldn’t see <em>me</em>.”</p> - -<p>“But, my pretty, this is quite a different case. -When Bert and I”—he spoke of the idiot as if -they had been comrades, instead of master and -servant—“have bought a new load of lop-ears, we -never tease ’em or fret ’em before we get ’em home.”</p> - -<p>“But Lacrima isn’t a rabbit!” cried Gladys impatiently; -“she’s a girl like me, and wants what all -girls want, to be petted and spoilt a little before -she’s plunged into marriage.”</p> - -<p>“She didn’t strike me as wanting anything of that -kind, when I made up to her in our parlour,” replied -Mr. Goring.</p> - -<p>“Oh you dear old stupid!” cried his niece, “can’t -you understand that’s what we’re all like? We all -put on airs, and have fancies, and look cross; but -we want to be petted all the same. We want it all -the more!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_551" id="Page_551">[551]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I reckon I’d better leave well alone all the same, -just at present,” observed the farmer. “If I was to -go stroking her and making up to her, while she’s -on the road, may-be when we got her into the hutch -she’d bite like a weasel.”</p> - -<p>“She’d never really bite!” retorted his companion. -“You don’t know her as well as I do. I tell you, -uncle, she’s got no more spirit than a tame pigeon.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not so sure of that,” said the farmer.</p> - -<p>Gladys flicked the grass impatiently with the end -of her parasol.</p> - -<p>“You may take my word for it, uncle,” she continued. -“The whole thing’s put on. It’s all affectation -and nonsense. Do you think she’d have agreed -to marry you if she wasn’t ready for a little fun? -Of course she’s ready! She’s only waiting for you to -begin. It makes it more exciting for her, when she -cries out and looks injured. That’s the only reason -why she does it. Lots of girls are like that, you -know!”</p> - -<p>“Are they, my pretty, are they? ’Tis difficult to -tell that kind, may-be, from the other kind. But -I’m not a man for too much of these fancy ways.”</p> - -<p>“You’re not drawing back, uncle, are you?” cried -Gladys, in considerable alarm.</p> - -<p>“God darn me, no!” replied the farmer. “I’m -going to carry this business through. Don’t you fuss -yourself. Only I like doing these things in my own -way—dost understand me, my dear?—in my own -way; and then, if so be they go wrong, I can’t put -the blame on no one else.”</p> - -<p>“I wonder you aren’t more keen, uncle,” began -Gladys insinuatingly, following another track, “to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_552" id="Page_552">[552]</a></span> -see more of a pretty girl you’re just going to marry. -I don’t believe you half know how pretty she is! -I wish you could see her doing her hair in the -morning.”</p> - -<p>“I shall see her, soon enough, my lass; don’t -worry,” replied the farmer.</p> - -<p>“I should so love to see you give her one kiss,” -murmured Gladys. “Of course, she’d struggle and -make a fuss, but she’d really be enjoying it all the -time.”</p> - -<p>“May-be she would, my pretty, and may-be she -wouldn’t. I’m not one that likes hearing either -rabbits or maidens start the squealing game. It fair -gives me the shivers. Bert, he can stand it, but I -never could. It’s nature, I suppose. A man can’t -change his nature no more than a cow nor a horse.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t understand you, uncle,” observed Gladys. -“If I were in your place, I’m sure I shouldn’t be -satisfied without at least kissing the girl I was going -to marry. I’d find some way of getting round her, -however sulky she was. Oh, I’m sure you don’t half -know how nice Lacrima is to kiss!”</p> - -<p>“I suppose she isn’t so mighty different, come to -that,” replied the farmer, “than any other maid. I -don’t mind if I give <em>you</em> a kiss, my beauty!” he -added, encircling his niece with an affectionate embrace -and kissing her flushed cheek. “There—there! -Best let well alone, sweetheart, and leave your old -uncle to manage his own little affairs according to -his own fashion!”</p> - -<p>But Gladys was not so easily put off. She had -recourse to her fertile imagination.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_553" id="Page_553">[553]</a></span></p> -<p>“You should have heard what she said to me the -other night, uncle. You know the way girls talk? -or you ought to, anyhow! She said she hoped you’d -go on being the same simple fool, after you were -married. She said she’d find it mighty easy to twist -you round her finger. ‘Why,’ she said, ‘I can do -what I like with him now. He treats me as if I -were a high-born lady and he were a mere common -man. I believe he’s downright afraid of me!’ That’s -the sort of things she says about you, uncle. She -thinks in her heart that you’re just a fool, a simple -frightened fool!”</p> - -<p>“Darn her! she does, does she?” cried Mr. Goring, -touched at last by the serpent’s tongue. “She thinks -I’m a fool, does she? Well! Let her have her laugh. -Them laughs best as laughs last, in my thinking!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, she thinks you’re a great big silly fool, uncle. -Of course it’s all pretence, her talk about wanting -you to be like that; but that’s what she thinks you -are. What she’d really like—only she doesn’t say -so, even to me—would be for you to catch her -suddenly round the waist and kiss her on the mouth, -and laugh at her pretendings. I expect she’s waiting -to give you a chance to do something of that sort; -only you don’t come near her. Oh, she must think -you’re a monstrous fool! She must chuckle to herself -to think what a fool you are.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll teach her what kind of a fool I am,” muttered -Mr. Goring, “when I’ve got her to myself, up at the -farm. This business of dangling after a maid’s -apron strings, this kissing and cuddling, don’t suit -somehow with my nature. I’m not one of your -fancy-courting ones and never was!”</p> - -<p>“Listen, uncle!” said Gladys eagerly, laying her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_554" id="Page_554">[554]</a></span> -hand on his arm. “Suppose I was to take her up -to Cæsar’s Quarry this afternoon? That would be a -lovely chance! You could come strolling round about -four o’clock. I’d be on the watch; and before she -knew you were there, I’d scramble out, and you -could climb down. She couldn’t get away from you, -and you’d have quite a nice little bit of love-making.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Goring paused, and prodded the ground with -the end of his stick.</p> - -<p>“What a little devil you are!” he exclaimed. -“Darn me if this here job isn’t a queer business! -Here are you, putting yourself out and fussing -around, only for a fellow to have what’s due to him. -You leave us alone, sweetheart, my young lady and -me! I reckon we know what’s best for ourselves, -without you thrusting your hand in.”</p> - -<p>“But you might just walk up that way, uncle; it -isn’t far over the hill. I’d give—oh, I don’t know -what!—to see you two together. She wants to be -teased a little, you know! She’s getting too proud -and self-satisfied for anything. It would do her ever -so much good to be taught a lesson. It isn’t much -to do, is it? Just to give the girl you’re going to -marry one little kiss?”</p> - -<p>“But how do I know you two wenches aren’t -fooling me, even now?” protested the cautious -farmer. “’Tis just the sort of maids’ trick ye might -set out to play upon a man. How do I know ye -haven’t put your two darned little heads together -over this job?”</p> - -<p>Gladys looked round. They were approaching the -Mill Copse.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_555" id="Page_555">[555]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Please, uncle,” she cried, “don’t say such things -to me. You know I wouldn’t join with anyone -against you. Least of all with her! Just do as I -tell you, and stroll up to Cæsar’s Quarry about four -o’clock. I promise you faithfully I haven’t said a -word to her about it. Please, uncle, be nice and -kind over this.”</p> - -<p>She threw her arms round Mr. Goring’s neck. -“You haven’t done anything for me for a long time,” -she murmured in her most persuasive tone. “Do -you remember how I used to give you butterfly-kisses -when I was a little girl, and you kept apples -for me in the big loft?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Goring’s nature may, or may not have been, -as he described it; it is certain that the caresses and -cajoleries of his lovely niece had an instantaneous -effect upon him. His slow-witted suspicions melted -completely under the spell of her touch.</p> - -<p>“Well, my pretty,” he said, as they moved on, -under the shadowy trees of the park, “may-be, if -I’ve nothing else to do and things seem quiet, I’ll -take a bit of a walk this afternoon. But you mustn’t -count on it. If I do catch sight of ’ee, ’round -Cæsar’s way, I’ll let ’ee know. But ’tisn’t a downright -promise, mind!”</p> - -<p>Gladys clapped her hands. “You’re a perfect love, -uncle!” she cried jubilantly. “I wish I were Lacrima; -I’d be ever, ever so nice to you!”</p> - -<p>“Ye can be nice to me, as ’tis, sweetheart,” replied -the farmer. “You and me have always been -kind of fond of each other, haven’t us? But I reckon -ye’d best be slipping off now, up to your house. I -never care greatly for meeting your father by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_556" id="Page_556">[556]</a></span> -accident-like. He’s one of these sly ones that always -makes a fellow feel squeamy and leery.”</p> - -<p>That afternoon it happened that the adventurous -Luke had planned a trip down to Weymouth, with a -new flame of his, a certain Polly Shadow, whose -parents kept a tobacco-shop in Yeoborough.</p> - -<p>He had endeavoured to persuade his brother to -accompany them on this little excursion, in the hope -that a breath of sea-air might distract and refresh -him; but James had expressed his intention of paying -a visit to his gentle restorer, up at Wild Pine, -who was now sufficiently recovered to enable her to -sit out in the shade of the great trees.</p> - -<p>The church clock had just struck three, when James -Andersen approached the entrance to Nevil’s Gully.</p> - -<p>He had not advanced far into the shadow of the -beeches, when he heard the sound of voices. He -paused, and listened. The clear tones of Ninsy -Lintot were unmistakable, and he thought he detected—though -of this he was not sure—the -nervous high-pitched voice of Philip Wone. From the -direction of the sounds, he gathered that the two -young people were seated somewhere on the bracken-covered -slope above the barton, where, as he well -knew, there were several shady terraces overlooking -the valley.</p> - -<p>Unwilling to plunge suddenly into a conversation -that appeared, as far as he could catch its purport, -to be of considerable emotional tension, Andersen -cautiously ascended the moss-grown bank on his -left, and continued his climb, until he had reached -the crest of the hill. He then followed, as silently as -he could, the little grassy path between the stubble-field<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_557" id="Page_557">[557]</a></span> -and the thickets, until he came to the open -space immediately above these fern-covered terraces.</p> - -<p>Yes, his conjecture had been right. Seated side -by side beneath the tall-waving bracken, the auburn-haired -Ninsy and her anarchist friend were engaged -in an absorbing and passionate discussion. Both of -them were bare-headed, and the young man’s hand -rested upon the motionless fingers of his companion, -which were clasped demurely upon her lap. Philip’s -voice was raised in intense and pitiful supplication.</p> - -<p>“I’d care for you day and night,” Andersen heard -him cry. “I’d nurse you when you were ill, and -keep you from every kind of annoyance.”</p> - -<p>“But, Philip dear,” the girl’s voice answered, “you -know what the doctor said. He said I mustn’t marry -on any account. So even if I had nothing against it, -it wouldn’t be possible for us to do this.”</p> - -<p>“Ninsy, Ninsy!” cried the youth pathetically, -“don’t you understand what I mean? I can’t bear -having to say these things, but you force me to, -when you talk like that. The doctor meant that it -would be wrong for you to have children, and he took -it for granted that you’d never find anyone ready -to live with you as I’d live with you. It would only -be a marriage in name. I mean it would only be a -marriage in name in regard to children. It would be -a real marriage to me, it would be heaven to me, to -live side by side with you, and no one able any more -to come between us! I can’t realize such happiness. -It makes me feel dizzy even to think of it!”</p> - -<p>Ninsy unclasped her hands, and gently repulsing -him, remained buried in deep thought. Standing erect -above them, like a sentry upon a palisade, James<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_558" id="Page_558">[558]</a></span> -Andersen stared gloomily down upon this little drama. -In some strange way,—perhaps because of some -sudden recurrence of his mental trouble,—he seemed -quite unconscious of anything dishonourable or base -in thus withholding from these two people the knowledge -that he was overhearing them.</p> - -<p>“I’ll take care of you to the end of my life!” the -young man repeated. “I’m doing quite well now -with my work. You’ll be able to have all you want. -You’ll be better off than you are here, and you know -perfectly well that as soon as your father’s free -he’ll marry that friend of his in Yeoborough. I -saw him with her last Sunday. I’m sure it’s only for -your sake that he stays single. She’s got three -children, and that’s what holds him back—that, -and the thought that you two mightn’t get on together. -You’d be doing your father a kindness if you -said yes to me, Ninsy. Please, please, my darling, -say it, and make me grateful to you forever!”</p> - -<p>“I can’t say it,—Philip, dear, I can’t, I can’t”; -murmured the girl, in a voice so low that the sentinel -above them could only just catch her words. “I do -care for you, and I do value your goodness to me, -but I can’t say the words, Philip. Something seems -to stop me, something in my throat.”</p> - -<p>It was not to her throat however, that the agitated -Ninsy raised her thin hands. As she pressed -them against her breast a look of tragic sorrow came -into her face. Philip regarded her wistfully.</p> - -<p>“You’re thinking you don’t love me, dear,—and -never can love me. I know that, well enough! I -know you don’t love me as I love you. But what -does that matter? I’ve known that, all the time.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_559" id="Page_559">[559]</a></span> -The thing is, you won’t find anyone who loves you as -I do,—ready to live with you as I’ve said I will, -ready to nurse you and look after you. Other people’s -love will be always asking and demanding from you. -Mine—oh, it’s true, my darling, it’s true!—mine -only wants to give up everything to make you -happy.”</p> - -<p>Ninsy was evidently more than a little moved by -the boy’s appeal. There was a ring of passionate -sincerity in his tone which went straight to her -heart. She bent down and covered her face with her -hands. When at length she lifted up her head and -answered him, there were tears on her cheeks, and -the watchful listener above them did not miss the -quiver in her tone.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry, Philip boy, more sorry than I can -say, that I can’t be nicer to you, that I can’t show -my gratitude to you, in the way you wish. But -though I do care for you, and—and value your -dear love—something stops me, something makes -it impossible that this should happen.”</p> - -<p>“I believe it’s because you love that fellow Andersen!” -cried the excited youth, leaping to his feet in -his agitation.</p> - -<p>In making this movement, the figure of the stone-carver, -silhouetted with terrible distinctness against -the sky-line, became visible to him. Instinctively he -uttered a cry of surprise and anger.</p> - -<p>“What do you want here? You’ve been listening! -You’ve been spying on us! Get away, can’t you! -Get back to your pretty young lady—her that’s -going to marry John Goring for the sake of his -money! Clear out of this, do you hear? Ninsy’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_560" id="Page_560">[560]</a></span> -sick of you and your ways. Clear off! or I’ll make you—eavesdropper!”</p> - -<p>By this time Ninsy had also risen, and stood facing -the figure above them. Every vestige of colour had -left her cheeks, and her hand was pressed against her -side. Andersen made a curious incoherent sound and -took a step towards them.</p> - -<p>“Get away, can’t you!” reiterated the furious -youth. “You’ve caused enough trouble here already. -Look at her,—can’t you see how ill she is? Get -back—damn you!—unless you want to kill her.”</p> - -<p>Ninsy certainly looked as though in another moment -she were going to fall. She made a piteous -little gesture, as if to ward off from Andersen the -boy’s savage words, but Philip caught her passionately -round the waist.</p> - -<p>“Get away!” he cried once more. “She belongs to -me now. You might have had her, you coward—you -turn-coat!—but you let her go for your newer -prey. Oh, you’re a fine gentleman, James Andersen, -a fine faithful gentleman! <em>You</em> don’t hold with -strikes. <em>You</em> don’t hold with workmen rising against -masters. <em>You</em> hold with keeping in with those that -are in power. Clear off—eavesdropper! Get back -to Mistress John Goring and your nice brother! -He’s as pretty a gentleman as you are, with his dear -Miss Gladys!”</p> - -<p>Ninsy’s feet staggered beneath her and she began -to hang limp upon his arm. She opened her mouth -to speak, but could only gasp helplessly. Her wide-open -eyes—staring from her pallid face—never left -Andersen for a moment. Of Philip she seemed absolutely -unconscious. The stone-carver made another<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_561" id="Page_561">[561]</a></span> -step down the hill. His eyes, too, were fixed intently -on the girl, and of his rival’s angry speeches he seemed -utterly oblivious.</p> - -<p>“Get away!” the boy reiterated, beside himself -with fury, supporting the drooping form of his companion -as if its weight were nothing. “We’ve had -enough of your shilly-shallying and trickery! We’ve -had enough of your fine manners! A damned cowardly -spy—that’s what I call you, you well-behaved -gentleman! Get back—can’t you!”</p> - -<p>The drooping girl uttered some incoherent words -and made a helpless gesture with her hand. Andersen -seemed to read her meaning in her eyes, for he paused -abruptly in his approach and stretched out his arms.</p> - -<p>“Good-bye, Ninsy!” he murmured in a low voice. -He said no more, and turning on his heel, scrambled -swiftly back over the crest of the ridge and disappeared -from view.</p> - -<p>Philip flung a parting taunt after him, and then, -lifting the girl bodily off her feet, staggered down -the slope to the cottage, holding her in his arms.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile James Andersen walked swiftly across -the stubble-field in the direction of Leo’s Hill. At -the pace he moved it only took him some brief -minutes to reach the long stone wall that separates, -in this quarter, the quarried levels of the promontory -from the high arable lands which abut upon it.</p> - -<p>He climbed over this barrier and strode blindly -and recklessly forward among the slippery grassy -paths that crossed one another along the edges of -the deeper pits.</p> - -<p>The stone-carver was approaching, though quite -unconsciously, the scene of a very remarkable drama.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_562" id="Page_562">[562]</a></span> -Some fifteen minutes before his approach, the two -girls from Nevilton House had reached the precipitous -edge of what was known in that locality as -Cæsar’s Quarry. Cæsar’s Quarry was a large disused -pit, deeper and more extensive than most of the old -excavations on the Hill, and surrounded, on all but -one side, by blank precipitous walls of weather-stained -sandstone. These walls of smooth stone -remained always dark and damp, whatever the temperature -might be of the air above them; and the -floor of the Quarry was composed of a soft verdant -carpet of cool moist moss, interspersed by stray -heaps of discoloured rubble, on which flourished, at -this particular season of the year, masses of that -sombre-foliaged weed known as wormwood.</p> - -<p>On the northern side of Cæsar’s Quarry rose a high -narrow ridge of rock, divided, at uneven spaces, by -deeply cut fissures or chasms, some broad and some -narrow, but all overgrown to the very edge by short -slippery grass. This ridge, known locally as Claudy’s -Leap, was a favourite venture-place of the more -daring among the children of the neighbourhood, who -would challenge one another to feats of courage and -agility, along its perilous edge.</p> - -<p>On the side of Claudy’s Leap, opposite from Cæsar’s -Quarry, was a second pit, of even deeper descent than -the other, but of much smaller expanse. This second -quarry, also disused for several generations, remained -so far nameless, destiny having, it might seem, withheld -the baptismal honour, until the place had earned -a right to it by becoming the scene of some tragic, -or otherwise noteworthy, event.</p> - -<p>Gladys and Lacrima approached Cæsar’s Quarry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_563" id="Page_563">[563]</a></span> -from the western side, from whose slope a little -winding path—the only entrance or exit attainable—led -down into its shadowy depths. The Italian -glanced with a certain degree of apprehension into -the gulf beneath her, but Gladys seemed to take the -thing so much for granted, and appeared so perfectly -at her ease, that she was ashamed to confess her -tremors. The elder girl, indeed, continued chatting -cheerfully to her companion about indifferent matters, -and as she clambered down the little path in front -of her, she turned once or twice, in her fluent discourse, -to make sure that Lacrima was following. -The two cousins stood for awhile in silence, side by -side, when they reached the bottom.</p> - -<p>“How nice and cool it is!” cried Gladys, after a -pause. “I was getting scorched up there! Let’s sit -down a little, shall we,—before we start back? I -love these old quarries.”</p> - -<p>They sat down, accordingly, upon a heap of stones, -and Gladys serenely continued her chatter, glancing -up, however, now and again, to the frowning ridges -of the precipices above them.</p> - -<p>They had not waited long in this way, when the -quarry-owner’s daughter gave a perceptible start, and -raised her hand quickly to her lips.</p> - -<p>Her observant eye had caught sight of the figure -of Mr. John Goring peering down upon them from -the opposite ridge. Had Lacrima observed this -movement and lifted her eyes too, she would have -received a most invaluable warning, but the Powers -whoever they may have been, who governed the -sequence of events upon Leo’s Hill, impelled her to -keep her head lowered, and her interest concentrated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_564" id="Page_564">[564]</a></span> -upon a tuft of curiously feathered moss. Gladys -remained motionless for several moments, while the -figure on the opposite side vanished as suddenly as it -had appeared. Then she slowly rose.</p> - -<p>“Oh, how silly I am,” she cried; “I’ve dropped that -bunch of marjoram. Stop a minute, dear. Don’t -move! I’ll just run up and get it. It was in the -path. I know exactly where!”</p> - -<p>“I’ll come with you if you like,” said Lacrima -listlessly, “then you won’t have to come back. Or -why not leave it for a moment?”</p> - -<p>“It’s on the path, I tell you!” cried her cousin, -already some way up the slope; “I’m scared of someone -taking it. Marjoram isn’t common about here. -Oh no! Stay where you are. I’ll be back in a -second.”</p> - -<p>The Italian relapsed into her former dreamy unconcern. -She listlessly began stripping the leaves -from a spray of wormwood which grew by her side. -The place where she sat was in deep shadow, though -upon the summit of the opposite ridge the sun lay hot. -Her thoughts hovered about her friend in Dead Man’s -Lane. She had vaguely hoped to get a glimpse of -him this afternoon, but the absence of Dangelis had -interfered with this.</p> - -<p>She began building fantastic castles in the air, -trying to call up the image of a rejuvenated Mr. -Quincunx, freed from all cares and worries, living the -placid epicurean life his heart craved. Would he, -she wondered, recognize then, what her sacrifice -meant? Or would he remain still obsessed by this -or the other cynical fantasy, as far from the real -truth of things as a madman’s dream? She smiled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_565" id="Page_565">[565]</a></span> -gently to herself as she thought of her friend’s -peculiarities. Her love for him, as she felt it now, -across a quivering gulf of misty space, was a thing -as humorously tolerant and tender as it might have -been had they been man and wife of many years’ -standing. In these things Lacrima’s Latin blood gave -her a certain maturity of feeling, and emphasized -the maternal element in her attachment.</p> - -<p>She contemplated dreamily the smooth bare walls -of the cavernous arena in which she sat. Their -coolness and dampness was not unpleasant after the -heat of the upper air, but there was something -sepulchral about them, something that gave the girl -the queer impression of a colossal tomb—a tomb -whose scattered bones might even now be lying, -washed by centuries of rain, under the rank weeds of -these heaps of rubble.</p> - -<p>She heard the sound of someone descending the -path behind her but, taking for granted that it was -her cousin, she did not turn her head. It was only -when the steps were quite close that she recognized -that they were too heavy to be those of a girl.</p> - -<p>Then she leapt to her feet, and swung round,—to -find herself confronted by the sturdy figure of Mr. -John Goring. She gave a wild cry of panic and fled -blindly across the smooth floor of the great quarry. -Mr. Goring followed her at his leisure.</p> - -<p>The girl’s terror was so great, that, hardly conscious -of what she did, she ran desperately towards the remotest -corner of the excavation, where some ancient -blasting-process had torn a narrow crevice out of -the solid rock. This direction of her flight made the -farmer’s pursuit of her a fatally easy undertaking,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_566" id="Page_566">[566]</a></span> -for the great smooth walls closed in, at a sharp angle, -at that point, and the crevice, where the two walls -met, only sank a few feet into the rock.</p> - -<p>Mr. Goring, observing the complete hopelessness -of the girl’s mad attempt to escape him, proceeded -to advance towards her as calmly and leisurely as if -she had been some hare or rabbit he had just shot. -The fact that Lacrima had chosen this particular -cul-de-sac, on the eastern side of the quarry, was a -most felicitous accident for Gladys, for it enabled -her to watch the event with as much ease as if she -had been a Drusilla or a Livia, seated in the Roman -amphitheatre. The fair-haired girl crept to the -extreme brink of the steep descent and there, lying -prone on the thyme-scented grass, her chin propped -upon her hands, she followed with absorbed interest -the farmer’s movements as he approached his recalcitrant -fiancée.</p> - -<p>The terrified girl soon found out the treachery of -the panic-instinct which had led her into this trap. -Had she remained in the open, it is quite possible -that by a little manœuvring she could have escaped; -but now her only exit was blocked by her advancing -pursuer.</p> - -<p>Turning to face him, and leaning back against the -massive wall of stone, she stretched out her arms on -either side of her, seizing convulsively in her fingers -some tufts of knot-grass which grew on the surface -of the rock. Here, with panting bosom and pallid -cheeks, she awaited his approach. Her tense figure -and terror-stricken gaze only needed the imprisoning -fetters to have made of her an exact modern image -of the unfortunate Andromeda. She neither moved<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_567" id="Page_567">[567]</a></span> -nor uttered the least cry, as Mr. Goring drew near -her.</p> - -<p>At that moment a wild and unearthly shout reverberated -through the quarry. The sound of it—caught -up by repeated echoes—went rolling away across -Leo’s Hill, frightening the sheep and startling the cider-drinkers -in the lonely Inn. Gladys leapt to her feet, -ran round to where the path descended, and began -hastily scrambling down. Mr. Goring retreated hurriedly -into the centre of the arena, and with his hand -shading his eyes gazed up at the intruder.</p> - -<p>It was no light-footed Perseus, who on behalf of this -forlorn child of classic shores, appeared as if from the -sky. It was, indeed, only the excited figure of James -Andersen that Mr. Goring’s gaze, and Lacrima’s -bewildered glance, encountered simultaneously. The -stone-carver seemed to be possessed by a legion of -devils. His first thundering shout was followed by -several others, each more terrifying than the last, -and Gladys, rushing past the astonished farmer, -seized Lacrima by the arm.</p> - -<p>“Come!” she cried. “Uncle was a brute to frighten -you. But, for heaven’s sake, let’s get out of this, -before that madman collects a crowd! They’ll all -be down here from the inn in another moment. -Quick, dear, quick! Our only chance is to get away -now.”</p> - -<p>Lacrima permitted her cousin to hurry her across -the quarry and up the path. As they neared the -summit of the slope the Italian turned and looked -back. Mr. Goring was still standing where they had -left him, gazing with petrified interest at the wild -gestures of the man above him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_568" id="Page_568">[568]</a></span></p> - -<p>Andersen seemed beside himself. He kept frantically -waving his arms, and seemed engaged in some -incoherent defiance of the invisible Powers of the -air. Lacrima, as she looked at him, became convinced -that he was out of his mind. She could not even -be quite clear if he recognized her. She was certain -that it was not against her assailant that his wild -cries and defiances were hurled. It did not appear -that he was even aware of the presence of the farmer. -Whether or not he had seen her and known her when -he uttered his first cry, she could not tell. It -was certainly against no earthly enemies that the -man was struggling now.</p> - -<p>Vennie Seldom might have hazarded the superstitious -suggestion that his fit was not madness at all -but a sudden illumination, vouchsafed to his long -silence, of the real conditions of the airy warfare that -is being constantly waged around us. At that moment, -Vennie might have said, James Andersen was -the only perfectly sane person among them, for to his -eyes alone, the real nature of that heathen place and -its dark hosts was laid manifestly bare. The man, -according to this strange view, was wrestling to the -death, in his supreme hour, against the Forces that -had not only darkened his own days and those of -Lacrima, but had made the end of his mother’s life -so tragic and miserable.</p> - -<p>Gladys dragged Lacrima away as soon as they -reached the top of the ascent but the Pariah had -time to mark the last desperate gesture of her deliverer -before he vanished from her sight over the -ridge.</p> - -<p>Mr. Goring overtook them before they had gone<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_569" id="Page_569">[569]</a></span> -far, and walked on with them, talking to Gladys -about Andersen’s evident insanity.</p> - -<p>“It’s no good my trying to do anything,” he remarked. -“But I’ll send Bert round for Luke as soon -as I get home. Luke’ll bring him to his senses. They -say he’s been taken like this before, and has come -round. He hears voices, you know, and fancies -things.”</p> - -<p>They walked in silence along the high upland road -that leads from the principal quarries of the Hill to -the Wild Pine hamlet and Nevil’s Gully. When they -reached the latter place, the two girls went on, down -Root-Thatch Lane, and Mr. Goring took the field-path -to the Priory.</p> - -<p>Before they separated, the farmer turned to his -future bride, who had been careful to keep Gladys -between herself and him, and addressed her in the -most gentle voice he knew how to assume.</p> - -<p>“Don’t be angry with me, lass,” he said. “I was -only teasing, just now. ’Twas a poor jest may-be, -and ye’ve cause to look glowering. But when we -two be man and wife ye’ll find I’m a sight better -to live with than many a fair-spoken one. These -be queer times, and like enough I seem a queer fellow, -but things’ll settle themselves. You take my -word for it!”</p> - -<p>Lacrima could only murmur a faint assent in reply -to these words, but as she entered with Gladys the -shadow of the tunnel-like lane, she could not help -thinking that her repulsion to this man, dreadful -though it was, was nothing in comparison with the -fear and loathing with which she regarded Mr. -Romer. Contrasted with his sinister relative, Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_570" id="Page_570">[570]</a></span> -John Goring was, after all, no more than a rough -simpleton.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, on Leo’s Hill, an event of tragic significance -had occurred. It will be remembered that -the last Lacrima had seen of James Andersen was the -wild final gesticulation he made,—a sort of mad -appeal to the Heavens against the assault of invisible -enemies,—before he vanished from sight on the -further side of Claudy’s Leap. This vanishing, just -at that point, meant no more to Lacrima than that -he had probably taken a lower path, but had Gladys -or Mr. Goring witnessed it,—or any other person -who knew the topography of the place,—a much -more startling conclusion would have been inevitable. -Nor would such a conclusion have been incorrect.</p> - -<p>The unfortunate man, forgetting, in his excitement, -the existence of the other quarry, the nameless one; -forgetting in fact that Claudy’s Leap was a razor’s -edge between two precipices, had stepped heedlessly -backwards, after his final appeal to Heaven, and -fallen, without a cry, straight into the gulf.</p> - -<p>The height of his fall would, in any case, have -probably killed him, but as it was “he dashed his -head,” in the language of the Bible, “against a stone”; -and in less than a second after his last cry, his soul, -to use the expression of a more pagan scripture, -“was driven, murmuring, into the Shades.”</p> - -<p>It fell to the lot, therefore, not of Luke, who did -not return from Weymouth till late that evening, -but of a motley band of holiday-makers from the -hill-top Inn, to discover the madman’s fate. Arriving -at the spot almost immediately after the girls’ -departure, these honest revellers—strangers to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_571" id="Page_571">[571]</a></span> -locality—had quickly found the explanation of the -unearthly cries they had heard.</p> - -<p>The eve of the baptism of Mr. Romer’s daughter -was celebrated, therefore, by the baptism of the -nameless quarry. Henceforth, in the neighbourhood -of Nevilton, the place was never known by any -other appellation than that of “Jimmy’s Drop”; and -by that name any future visitors, curious to observe -the site of so singular an occurrence, will have to -enquire for it, as they drink their pint of cider in the -Half-Moon Tavern.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_572" id="Page_572">[572]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII<br /> -<span class="smaller">A ROYAL WATERING-PLACE</span></h2> - -<p>Luke Andersen’s trip to Weymouth proved -most charming and eventful. He had scarcely -emerged from the crowded station, with its -row of antique omnibuses and its lethargic phalanx -of expectant out-porters and bath-chair men,—each -one of whom was a crusted epitome of ingrained -quaintness,—when he caught sight of Phyllis Santon -and Annie Bristow strolling laughingly towards the -sea-front. They must have walked to Yeoborough -and entered the train there, for he had seen nothing -of them at Nevilton Station.</p> - -<p>The vivacious Polly, a lively little curly-haired -child, of some seventeen summers, was far too happy -and thrilled by the adventure of the excursion and -the holiday air of the sea-side, to indulge in any jealous -fits. She was the first of the two, indeed, to greet -the elder girls, both of them quite well known to -her, running rapidly after them, in her white stiffly-starched -print frock, and hailing them with a shout -of joyous recognition.</p> - -<p>The girls turned quickly and they all three awaited, -in perfect good temper, the stone-carver’s deliberate -approach. Never had the spirits of this latter been -higher, or his surroundings more congenial to his mood.</p> - -<p>Anxious not to lose any single one of the exquisite -sounds, sights, smells, and intimations, which came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_573" id="Page_573">[573]</a></span> -pouring in upon him, as he leisurely drifted out upon -the sunny street, he let his little companion run after -his two friends as fast as she wished, and watched with -serene satisfaction the airy flight of her light figure, -with the deep blue patch of sea-line at the end of -the street as its welcome background.</p> - -<p>The smell of sea-weed, the sound of the waves -on the beach, the cries of the fish-mongers, and the -coming and going of the whole heterogeneous crowd, -filled Luke’s senses with the same familiar thrill of -indescribable pleasure as he had known, on such an -occasion, from his earliest childhood. The gayly -piled fruit heaped up on the open stalls, the little -tobacco-shops with their windows full of half-sentimental -half-vulgar picture-cards, the weather-worn -fronts of the numerous public-houses, the wood-work -of whose hospitable doors always seemed to him -endowed with a peculiar mellowness of their own,—all -these things, as they struck his attentive senses, -revived the most deeply-felt stirrings of old associations.</p> - -<p>Especially did he love the sun-bathed atmosphere, -so languid with holiday ease, which seemed to float -in and out of the open lodging-house entrances, -where hung those sun-dried sea-weeds and wooden -spades and buckets, which ever-fresh installments of -bare-legged children carried off and replaced. Luke -always maintained that of all mortal odours he loved -best the indescribable smell of the hall-way of a sea-side -lodging-house, where the very oil-cloth on the -floor, and the dead bull-rushes in the corner, seemed -impregnated with long seasons of salt-burdened sun-filled -air.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_574" id="Page_574">[574]</a></span></p> - -<p>The fish-shops, the green-grocer’s shops, the second-hand -book-shops, and most of all, those delicious -repositories of sea-treasures—foreign importations all -glittering with mother-of-pearl, dried sea-horses, sea-sponges, -sea-coral, and wonderful little boxes all -pasted over with shimmering shells—filled him with -a delight as vivid and new as when he had first -encountered them in remote infancy.</p> - -<p>This first drifting down to the sea’s edge, after -emerging from the train, always seemed to Luke -the very supremacy of human happiness. The bare -legs of the children, little and big, who ran laughing -or crying past him and the tangled curls of the -elder damsels, tossed so coquettishly back from their -sun-burnt faces, the general feeling of irresponsibility -in the air, the tang of adventure in it all, of the unexpected, -the chance-born, always wrapped him about -in an epicurean dream of pleasure.</p> - -<p>That monotonous splash of the waves against the -pebbles,—how he associated it with endless exquisite -flirtations,—flirtations conducted with adorable shamelessness -between the blue sky and the blue sea! The -memory of these, the vague memory of enchanting -forms prone or supine upon the glittering sands, with -the passing and re-passing of the same plump bathing-woman,—he -had known her since his childhood!—and -the same donkeys with their laughing -burdens, and the same sweet-sellers with their trays, -almost made him cry aloud with delight, as emerging -at length upon the Front, and overtaking his friends -at the Jubilee Clock-Tower, he saw the curved expanse -of the bay lying magically spread out before him. How -well he knew it all, and how inexpressibly he loved it!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_575" id="Page_575">[575]</a></span></p> - -<p>The tide was on its outward ebb when the four -happy companions jumped down, hand in hand, from -the esplanade to the shingle. The long dark windrow -of broken shells and sea-weed drew a pleasant dividing -line between the dry and the wet sand. Luke always -associated the stranded star-fish and jelly-fish and -bits of scattered drift-wood which that windrow -offered, with those other casually tossed-up treasures -with which an apparently pagan-minded providence -had bestrewn his way!</p> - -<p>Once well out upon the sands, and while the girls, -with little shrieks and bursts of merriment, were -pushing one another into the reach of the tide, Luke -turned to survey with a deep sigh of satisfaction, the -general appearance of the animated scene.</p> - -<p>The incomparable watering-place,—with its charming -“after-glow,” as Mr. Hardy so beautifully puts -it, “of Georgian gaiety,”—had never looked so -fascinating as it looked this August afternoon.</p> - -<p>The queer old-fashioned bathing-machines, one of -them still actually carrying the Lion and Unicorn -upon its pointed roof, glittered in the sunshine with -an air of welcoming encouragement. The noble sweep -of the houses behind the crescent-shaped esplanade, -with the names of their terraces—Brunswick, -Regent, Gloucester, Adelaide—so suggestive of the -same historic epoch, gleamed with reciprocal hospitality; -nor did the tall spire of St. John’s Church, a -landmark for miles round, detract from the harmony -of the picture.</p> - -<p>On Luke’s left, as he turned once more and faced -the sea, the vibrating summer air, free at present -from any trace of mist, permitted a wide and lovely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_576" id="Page_576">[576]</a></span> -view of the distant cliffs enclosing the bay. The -great White Horse, traced upon the chalk hills, seemed -within an hour’s walk of where he stood, and the -majestic promontory of the White Nore drew the -eye onward to where, at the end of the visible coast-line, -St. Alban’s Head sank into the sea.</p> - -<p>On Luke’s right the immediate horizon was blocked -by the grassy eminence known to dwellers in Weymouth -as “the Nothe”; but beyond this, and beyond -the break-water which formed an extension of it, -the huge bulk of Portland—Mr. Hardy’s Isle of the -Slingers—rose massive and shadowy against the -west.</p> - -<p>As he gazed with familiar pleasure at this unequalled -view, Luke could not help thinking to himself -how strangely the pervading charm of scenes of -this kind is enhanced by personal and literary association. -He recalled the opening chapters of “The -Well-Beloved,” that curiously characteristic fantasy-sketch -of the great Wessex novelist; and he also -recalled those amazing descriptions in Victor Hugo’s -“L’Homme qui Rit,” which deal with these same -localities.</p> - -<p>Shouts of girlish laughter distracted him at last -from his exquisite reverie, and flinging himself down on -the hot sand he gave himself up to enjoyment. Holding -her tight by either hand, the two elder girls, their -skirts already drenched with salt-water, were dragging -their struggling companion across the foamy sea-verge. -The white surf flowed beneath their feet and -their screams and laughter rang out across the bay.</p> - -<p>Luke called to them that he was going to paddle, -and implored them to do the same. He preferred<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_577" id="Page_577">[577]</a></span> -to entice them thus into the deeper water, rather -than to anticipate for them a return home with -ruined petticoats and wet sand-filled shoes. Seeing -him leisurely engaged in removing his boots and socks -and turning up his trousers, the three exuberant -young people hurried back to his side and proceeded -with their own preparations.</p> - -<p>Soon, all four of them, laughing and splashing one -another with water, were blissfully wading along the -shore, interspersing their playful teasing with alternate -complimentary and disparaging remarks, relative -to the various bathers whose isolation they invaded.</p> - -<p>Luke’s spirits rose higher and higher. No youthful -Triton, with his attendant Nereids, could have -expressed more vividly in his radiant aplomb, the -elemental energy of air and sea. His ecstatic delight -seemed to reach its culmination as a group of extraordinarily -beautiful children came wading towards -them, their sunny hair and pearl-bright limbs gleaming -against the blue water.</p> - -<p>At the supreme moment of this ecstasy, however, -came a sudden pang of contrary emotion,—of dark -fear and gloomy foreboding. For a sudden passing -second, there rose before him,—it was now about -half-past four in the afternoon,—the image of his -brother, melancholy and taciturn, his heart broken -by Lacrima’s trouble. And then, like a full dark -tide rolling in upon him, came that ominous reaction, -spoken of by the old pagan writers, and regarded by -them as the shadow of the jealousy of the Immortal -Gods, envious of human pleasure—the reaction to the -fare of the Eumenides.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_578" id="Page_578">[578]</a></span></p> - -<p>His companions remained as gay and charming as -ever. Nothing could have been prettier than to -watch the mixture of audacity and coyness with -which they twisted their frocks round them, nothing -more amusing than to note the differences of character -between the three, as they betrayed their naive souls -in their childish abandonment to the joy of the hour.</p> - -<p>Both Phyllis and Annie were tall and slender and -dark. But there the likeness between them ceased. -Annie had red pouting lips, the lower one of which -protruded a little beyond its fellow, giving her face -in repose a quite deceptive look of sullenness and petulance. -Her features were irregular and a little heavy, -the beauty of her countenance residing in the shadowy -coils of dusky hair which surmounted it, and in the -velvet softness of her large dark eyes. For all the -heaviness of her face, Annie’s expression was one of -childlike innocence and purity; and when she flirted -or made love, she did so with a clinging affectionateness -and serious gravity which had much of the -charm of extreme youth.</p> - -<p>Phyllis, on the contrary, had softly outlined features -of the most delicate regularity, while from her hazel -eyes and laughing parted lips perpetual defiant provocations -of alluring mischief challenged everyone -she approached. Annie was the more loving of the -two, Phyllis the more lively and amorous. Both of -them made constant fun of their little curly-headed -companion, whose direct boyish ways and whimsical -speeches kept them in continual peals of merriment.</p> - -<p>Tired at last of paddling, they all waded to the -shore, and crossing the warm powdery sand, which is -one of the chief attractions of the place, they sat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_579" id="Page_579">[579]</a></span> -down on the edge of the shingle and dried their feet -in the sun.</p> - -<p>Reassuming their shoes and stockings, and demurely -shaking down their skirts, the three girls -followed the now rather silent Luke to the little tea-house -opposite the Clock-Tower, in an upper room of -which, looking out on the sea, were several pleasant -window-seats furnished with convenient tables.</p> - -<p>The fragrant tea, the daintiness of its accessories, -the fresh taste of the bread and butter, not to speak -of the inexhaustible spirits of his companions, soon -succeeded in dispelling the stone-carver’s momentary -depression.</p> - -<p>When the meal was over, as their train was not -due to leave till nearly seven, and it was now hardly -five, Luke decided to convey his little party across -the harbour-ferry. They strolled out of the shop -into the sunshine, not before the stone-carver had -bestowed so lavish a tip upon the little waitress that -his companions exchanged glances of feminine dismay.</p> - -<p>They took the road through the old town to reach -the ferry, following the southern of the two parallel -streets that debouch from the Front at the point -where stands the old-fashioned equestrian statue of -George the Third. Luke nourished in his heart a -sentimental tenderness for this simple monarch, -vaguely and quite erroneously associating the royal -interest in the place with his own dreamy attachment -to it.</p> - -<p>When they reached the harbour they found it in a -stir of excitement owing to the arrival of the passenger-boat -from the Channel Islands, one of the -red-funneled modern successors to those antique<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_580" id="Page_580">[580]</a></span> -paddle-steamers whose first excursions must have -been witnessed from his Guernsey refuge by the author -of the “Toilers of the Deep.” Side by side with the -smartly painted ship, were numerous schooners and -brigs, hailing from more northern regions, whose -cargoes were being unloaded by a motley crowd of -clamorous dock-hands.</p> - -<p>Luke and his three companions turned to the left -when they reached the water’s edge and strolled along -between the warehouses and the wharves until they -arrived at the massive bridge which crosses the -harbour. Leaning upon the parapet, whose whitish-grey -fabric indicated that the dominion of Leo’s -Hill gave place here to the noble Portland Stone, -they surveyed with absorbed interest the busy scene -beneath them.</p> - -<p>The dark greenish-colored water swirled rapidly -seaward in the increasing ebb of the tide. White-winged -sea-gulls kept swooping down to its surface -and rising again in swift air-cutting curves, balancing -their glittering bodies against the slanting sunlight. -Every now and then a boat-load of excursionists -would shoot out from beneath the shadow of the -wharves and shipping, and cross obliquely the swift-flowing -tide to the landing steps on the further shore.</p> - -<p>The four friends moved to the northern parapet of -the bridge, and the girls gave little cries of delight, -to see, at no great distance, where the broad expanse -of the back-water began to widen, a group of stately -swans, rocking serenely on the shining waves. They -remained for some while, trying to attract these -birds by flinging into the water bits of broken cake, -saved by the economic-minded Annie from the recent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_581" id="Page_581">[581]</a></span> -repast. But these offerings only added new spoil to -the plunder of the greedy sea-gulls, from whose -rapid movements the more aristocratic inland creatures -kept haughtily aloof.</p> - -<p>Preferring to use the ferry for their crossing rather -than the bridge, Luke led his friends back, along the -wharves, till they reached the line of slippery steps -about which loitered the lethargic owners of the ferry-boats. -With engaging alarm, and pretty gasps and -murmurs of half-simulated panic, the three young -damsels were helped down into one of these rough -receptacles, and the bare-necked, affable oarsman proceeded, -with ponderous leisureliness, to row them across.</p> - -<p>As the heavy oars rattled in their rowlocks, and the -swirling tide gurgled about the keels, Luke, seated -in the stern, between Annie and Phyllis, felt once -more a thrilling sense of his former emotion. With -one hand round Phyllis’ waist, and the other caressing -Annie’s gloveless fingers, he permitted his gaze to -wander first up, then down, the flowing tide.</p> - -<p>Far out to sea, he perceived a large war-ship, like -a great drowsy sea-monster, lying motionless between -sky and wave; and sweeping in, round the little -pier’s point, came a light full-sailed skiff, with the -water foaming across its bows.</p> - -<p>With the same engaging trepidation in his country-bred -comrades, they clambered up the landing-steps, -the lower ones of which were covered with green -sea-weed, and the upper ones worn smooth as marble -by long use, and thence emerged upon the little -narrow jetty, bordering upon the harbour’s edge.</p> - -<p>Here were a row of the most enchanting eighteenth -century lodging-houses, interspersed, at incredibly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_582" id="Page_582">[582]</a></span> -frequent spaces, by small antique inns, bearing quaint -names drawn from British naval history.</p> - -<p>Skirting the grassy slopes of the Nothe, with its -old-fashioned fort, they rounded the small promontory -and climbed down among the rocks and rock-pools -which lay at its feet. It was pretty to observe -the various flutterings and agitations, and to hear -the shouts of laughter and delight with which the -young girls followed Luke over these perilous and -romantic obstacles, and finally paused at his side -upon a great sun-scorched shell-covered rock, surrounded -by foamy water.</p> - -<p>The wind was cool in this exposed spot, and holding -their hats in their hands the little party gave -themselves up to the freedom and freshness of air -and sea.</p> - -<p>But the wandering interest of high-spirited youth -is as restless as the waves. Very soon Phyllis and -Polly had drifted away from the others, and were -climbing along the base of the cliff above, filling their -hands with sea-pinks and sea-lavender, which attracted -them by their glaucous foliage.</p> - -<p>Left to themselves, Luke removed his shoes and -stockings, and dangled his feet over the rock’s edge, -while Annie, prone upon her face, the sunshine -caressing her white neck and luxuriant hair, stretched -her long bare arms into the cool water.</p> - -<p>Leaning across the prostrate form of his companion, -and gazing down into the deep recesses of the tidal -pool which separated the rock they reclined on from -the one behind it, the stone-carver was able to make -out the ineffably coloured tendrils and soft translucent -shapes of several large sea-anemones, submerged<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_583" id="Page_583">[583]</a></span> -beneath the greenish water. He pointed these out -to his companion, who moving round a little, and -tucking up her sleeves still higher, endeavoured to -reach them with her hand. In this she was defeated, -for the deceptive water was much deeper than either -of them supposed.</p> - -<p>“What are those darling little shells, down there -at the bottom, Luke?” she whispered. Luke, with -his arm round her neck, and his head close to hers, -peered down into the shadowy depths.</p> - -<p>“They’re some kind of cowries,” he said at last, -“shells that in Africa, I believe, they use as money.”</p> - -<p>“I wish they were money here,” murmured the -girl, “I’d buy mother one of those silver brushes -we saw in the shop.”</p> - -<p>“Listen!” cried Luke, and taking a penny from -his pocket he let it fall into the water. They both -fancied they heard a little metallic sound when it -struck the bottom.</p> - -<p>Suddenly Annie gave a queer excited laugh, shook -herself free from her companion’s arm, and scrambled -up on her knees. Luke lay back on the rock and -gazed in wonder at her flushed cheeks and flashing -eyes.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter, child?” he enquired.</p> - -<p>She fumbled at her bosom, and Luke noticed for the -first time that she was wearing round her neck a -little thin metal chain. At last with an impatient -movement of her fingers she snapped the resisting -cord and flung it into the tide. Then she held out -to Luke a small golden object, which glittered in the -palm of her hand. It was a weather-stained ring, -twisted and bent out of all shape.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_584" id="Page_584">[584]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It’s <em>her</em> ring!” she cried exultantly. “Crazy Bert -got it out of that hole, with a bit of bent wire, and -Phyllis squirmed it away from him by letting him -give her a lift in the wagon. He squeezed her dreadful -hard, she do say, and tickled her awful with -straws and things, but before evening she had the -ring away from him. You can bet I kissed her and -thanked her, when I got it! Us two be real friends, -as you might call it! Phyllis cried, in the night, -dreaming the idiot was pinching her, and she not -able to slap ’im back. But I got the ring, and there’t -be, Luke, glittering-gold as ever, though ’tis sad -bended and battered.”</p> - -<p>Luke made a movement to take the object, but -the girl closed her fingers tightly upon it and held it -high above his head. With her arm thus raised and -the glitter of sea and sun upon her form, she resembled -some sweetly-carved figure-head on the bows of -a ship. The wind fanned her hot cheeks and caressed, -with cool touch, her splendid coils of hair. Luke was -quite overcome by her beauty, and could only stare -at her in dazed amazement, while she repeated, in -clear ringing tones, the words of the old country -game.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“My lady’s lost her golden ring;</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Her golden ring, her golden ring;</div> -<div class="verse">My lady’s lost her golden ring;</div> -<div class="verse indent1">I pitch upon you to find it!”</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The song’s refrain died away over the waves, and -was answered by the scream of an astonished cormorant, -and by a mocking shout from a group of -idle soldiers on the grassy terrace above the cliff.</p> - -<p>“Shall us throw her ring out to sea?” cried Annie.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_585" id="Page_585">[585]</a></span> -“They say a ring lost so, means sorrow for her that -owns it. Say ‘yes,’ and it’s gone, Luke!”</p> - -<p>While the girl’s arm swung backwards and forwards -above him, the stone-carver’s thoughts whirled even -more rapidly through his brain. A drastic and bold -idea, that had often before crossed the threshold of -his consciousness, now assumed a most dominant -shape. Why not ask Annie to marry him?</p> - -<p>He was growing a little weary of his bachelor-life. -The wayward track of his days had more than once, -of late, seemed to have reached a sort of climax. -Why not, at one reckless stroke, end this epoch of -his history, and launch out upon another? His close -association with James had hitherto stood in the way -of any such step, but his brother had fallen recently -into such fits of gloomy reticence, that he had found -himself wondering more than once whether such a -drastic troubling of the waters, as the introduction -of a girl into their ménage, would not ease the situation -a little. It was not for a moment to be supposed -that he and James could separate. If Annie -did marry him, she must do so on the understanding -of his brother’s living with them.</p> - -<p>Luke began to review in his mind the various cottages -in Nevilton which might prove available for this -adventure. It tickled his fancy a great deal, the -thought of having a house and garden of his own, and -he was shrewd enough to surmise that of all his -feminine friends, Annie was by far the best fitted to -perform the functions of the good-tempered companion -of a philosophical sentimentalist. The gentle creature -had troubled him so little by jealous fits in her rôle -of sweetheart, that it did not present itself as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_586" id="Page_586">[586]</a></span> -probable that she would prove a shrewish wife. -Glancing across the blue water to the great Rock-Island -opposite them, Luke came rapidly to the conclusion -that he would take the risk and make the -eventful plunge. He knew enough of himself to have -full confidence in his power of dealing with the delicate -art of matrimony, and the very difficulties of the -situation, implied in the number of his contemporary -amours, only added a tang and piquancy to the -enterprise.</p> - -<p>“Well,” cried Annie. “Shall us throw the pretty -lady’s ring into the deep sea? It’ll mean trouble -for her, trouble and tears, Luke! Be ’ee of a mind -to do it, or be ’ee not? ’Tis your hand must fling it, -and with the flinging of it, her heart’ll drop, splash—splash—into -deep sorrow. She’ll cry her eyes -out, for this ’ere job, and that’s the truth of it, -Luke darling. Be ’ee ready to fling it, or be ’ee -not ready? There’ll be no getting it back, once us -have throwed it in.”</p> - -<p>She held out her arm towards him as she spoke, -and with her other hand pushed back her hair from -her forehead. For so soft and tender a creature as -the girl was, it was strange, the wild Maenad-like -look, which she wore at that moment. She might -have been an incarnation of the avenging deities of -sea and air, threatening disaster to some unwitting -Olympian.</p> - -<p>Luke scrambled to his feet, and seizing her wrist -with both his hands, forced her fingers apart, and -possessed himself of the equivocal trinket.</p> - -<p>“If I throw it,” he cried, in an excited tone, “will -you be my wife, Annie?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_587" id="Page_587">[587]</a></span></p> - -<p>At this unexpected word a complete collapse overtook -the girl. All trace of colour left her cheeks and -a sudden trembling passed through her limbs. She -staggered, and would have fallen, if Luke had not -seized her in his arms.</p> - -<p>In the shock of saving her, the stone-carver’s hand -involuntarily unclosed, and the piece of gold, slipping -from his fingers, fell down upon the slope of the rock, -and sliding over its edge, sank into the deep water.</p> - -<p>“Annie! Annie! What is it, dear?” murmured -Luke, making the trembling girl sit down by his side, -and supporting her tenderly.</p> - -<p>For her only answer she flung her arms round his -neck and kissed him passionately again and again. It -was not only of kisses that Luke became conscious, -for, as she pressed him to her, her breast heaved -pitifully under her print frock, and when she let him -go, the taste of her tears was in his mouth. For the -first time in his life the queer wish entered the stone-carver’s -mind that he had not, in his day, made love -quite so often.</p> - -<p>There was something so pure, so confiding, and -yet so passionately tender, about little Annie’s -abandonment, that it produced, in the epicurean -youth’s soul, a most quaint sense of shame and embarrassment. -It was deliciously sweet to him, all -the same, to find how, beyond expectation, he had -made so shrewd a choice. But he wished some -humorous demon at the back of his mind wouldn’t -call up before him at that moment the memory of -other clinging arms and lips.</p> - -<p>With an inward grin of sardonic commentary upon -his melting mood, the cynical thought passed through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_588" id="Page_588">[588]</a></span> -his mind, how strange it was, in this mortal world, -that human kisses should all so lamentably resemble -one another, and that human tears should all leave -behind them the same salt taste! Life was indeed a -matter of “eternal recurrence,” and whether with -Portland and its war-ships as the background, or -with Nevilton Mount and its shady woods, the same -emotions and the same reactions must needs come -and go, with the same inexorable monotony!</p> - -<p>He glanced down furtively into the foam-flecked -water, but there was no sign of the lost ring. The -tide seemed to have turned now, and the sea appeared -less calm. Little flukes of white spray surged up -intermittently on the in-rolling waves, and a strong -breath of wind, rising with the sinking of the sun, -blew cool and fresh upon their foreheads.</p> - -<p>“Her ring’s gone,” whispered Annie, pulling down -her sleeves over her soft arms, and holding out her -wrists, for him to fasten the bands, “and you do -belong to none but I now, Luke. When shall us be -married, dear?” she added, pressing her cool cheek -against his, and running her fingers through his hair.</p> - -<p>The words, as well as the gesture that accompanied -them, jarred upon Luke’s susceptibilities.</p> - -<p>“Why is it,” he thought, “that girls are so extraordinarily -stupid in these things? Why do they -always seem only waiting for an opportunity to drop -their piquancy and provocation, and become confident, -assured, possessive, complacent? Have I,” he said to -himself, “made a horrible blunder? Shall I regret -this day forever, and be ready to give anything for -those fatal words not to have been uttered?”</p> - -<p>He glanced down once more upon the brimming,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_589" id="Page_589">[589]</a></span> -in-rushing tide that covered Gladys’ ring. Then with -a jerk he pulled out his watch.</p> - -<p>“Go and call the others,” he commanded, “I’m -going to have a dip before we start.”</p> - -<p>Annie glanced quickly into his face, but reassured -by his friendly smile, proceeded to obey him, with -only the least little sigh.</p> - -<p>“Don’t drown yourself, dear,” she called back to -him, as she made her way cautiously across the rocks.</p> - -<p>Luke hurriedly undressed, and standing for a moment, -a slim golden figure, in the horizontal sunlight, -swung himself lightly down over the rock’s edge and -struck out boldly for the open sea.</p> - -<p>With vigorous strokes he wrestled with the inflowing -tide. Wave after wave splashed against his -face. Pieces of floating sea-weed and wisps of surf -clung to his arms and hair. But he held resolutely -on, breathing deep breaths of liberty and exultation, -and drinking in, as if from a vast wide-brimmed cup, -the thrilling spaciousness of air and sky.</p> - -<p>Girls, love-making, marriage,—the whole complication -of the cloying erotic world,—fell away from -him, like the too-soft petals of some great stifling -velvet-bosomed flower; and naked of desire, as he was -naked of human clothes, he gave himself up to the -free, pure elements. In later hours, when once more -the old reiterated tune was beating time in his brain, -he recalled with regret the large emancipation of that -moment.</p> - -<p>As he splashed and spluttered, and turned over -deliciously in the water, like some exultant human-limbed -merman, returning, after a long inland exile, -to his natural home, he found his thoughts fantastically<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_590" id="Page_590">[590]</a></span> -reverting to those queer, mad ideas, about the -evil power of the stone they both worked upon, to -which James Andersen had given expression when his -wits were astray. Here at any rate, in the solid -earth’s eternal antagonist, was a power capable of -destroying every sinister spell.</p> - -<p>He remorsefully blamed himself that he had not -compelled his brother to come down with them to -the sea. He recalled the half-hearted invitation he -had extended to James, not altogether sorry to have -it refused, and not repeating it. He had been a selfish -fool, he thought. Were James swimming now by his -side, his pleasure in that violet-coloured coast-line and -that titanic rock-monster, would have been doubled -by the revival of indescribably appealing memories.</p> - -<p>He made a vigorous resolution that never again—whatever -mood his brother might be in—would he -allow the perilous lure of exquisite femininity, to come -between him and the nobler classic bond, of the -love that “passeth the love of women.”</p> - -<p>Conscious that he must return without a moment’s -further delay if they were to catch their train, he -swung round in the water and let the full tide bear -him shoreward.</p> - -<p>On the way back he was momentarily assailed by -a slight touch of cramp in his legs. It quickly -passed, but it was enough to give the life-enamoured -youth a shock of cold panic. Death? <em>That</em>, after -all, he thought, was the only intolerable thing. As -long as one breathed and moved, in this mad world, -nothing that could happen greatly mattered! One -was conscious,—one could note the acts and scenes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_591" id="Page_591">[591]</a></span> -of the incredible drama; and in this mere fact of -consciousness, one could endure anything. But to be -dead,—to be deprived of the sweet air,—that -remained, that must always remain, the one absolute -Terror!</p> - -<p>Reaching his starting-place, Luke was amused to -observe that the tide was already splashing over -their rock, and in another minute or two would have -drenched his clothes. He chuckled to himself as he -noted how this very practical possibility jerked his -mind into a completely different vein. Love, philosophy, -friendship, all tend to recede to the very depths -of one’s invaluable consciousness, when there appears -a risk of returning to a railway station in a drenched -shirt.</p> - -<p>He collected his possessions with extreme rapidity, -and holding them in a bundle at arm’s length from -his dripping body, clambered hastily up the shore, -and humorously waving back his modest companions, -who were now being chaffed by quite a considerable -group of soldiers on the cliff above, he settled himself -down on a bank of sea-weed and began hurriedly to -dry, using his waistcoat as a towel.</p> - -<p>He was soon completely dressed, and, all four of -them a little agitated, began a hasty rush for the -train.</p> - -<p>Phyllis and Polly scolded him all the way without -mercy. Had he brought them out here, to keep them -in the place all night? What would their mothers -say, and their fathers, and their brothers, and their -aunts?</p> - -<p>Annie, alone of the party, remained silent, her full -rich lips closed like a sleepy peony, and her heavy-lidded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_592" id="Page_592">[592]</a></span> -velvety eyes casting little timid affectionate -glances at her so unexpectedly committed lover.</p> - -<p>The crossness of the two younger girls grew in -intensity when, the ferry safely crossed, Luke dragged -them at remorseless speed through the crowded town. -Pitiful longing eyes were cast back at the glittering -shops and the magical picture-shows. Why had he -taken them to those horrid rocks? Why hadn’t he -given them time to look at the shop-windows? -They’d promised faithfully to bring back something -for Dad and Betty and Queenie and Dick.</p> - -<p>Phyllis had ostentatiously flung into the harbour -her elaborately selected bunch of sea-flora, and the -poor ill-used plants, hot from the girl’s hand, were -now tossing up and down amid the tarry keels and -swaying hawsers. The girl regretted this action -now,—regretted it more and more vividly as the -station drew near. Mummy always loved a bunch -o’ flowers, and they were so pretty! She was sure it -was Luke who had made her lose them. He had -pushed her so roughly up those nasty steps.</p> - -<p>Tears were in Polly’s eyes as, bedraggled and -panting, they emerged on the open square where the -gentle monarch looks down from his stone horse. -There were sailors now, mixed with the crowd on the -esplanade,—such handsome boys! It was cruel, it -was wicked, that they had to go, just when the real -sport began.</p> - -<p>The wretched Jubilee Clock—how they all hated -its trim appearance!—had a merciless finger pointing -at the very minute their train was due to start, as -Luke hurried them round the street-corner. Polly -fairly began to cry, as they dragged her from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_593" id="Page_593">[593]</a></span> -alluring scene. She was certain that the Funny Men -were just going to begin. She was sure that that -distant drum meant Punch and Judy!</p> - -<p>Breathlessly they rushed upon the platform. -Wildly, with anxious eyes and gasping tones, they -enquired of the first official they encountered, whether -the Yeoborough train had gone.</p> - -<p>Observing the beauty of the three troubled girls, -this placid authority proceeded to tantalize them, -asking “what the hurry was,” and whether they -wanted a “special,” and other maddening questions. -It was only when Luke, who had rushed furiously to -the platform’s remote end, was observed to be cheerfully -and serenely returning, that Phyllis recovered -herself sufficiently to give their disconcerted insulter -what she afterwards referred to as “a bit of lip in -return for his blarsted sauce.”</p> - -<p>No,—the train would not be starting for another -ten minutes. Fortunate indeed was this accident of -a chance delay on the Great Western Railroad,—the -most punctual of all railroads in the world,—for it -landed Luke with three happy, completely recovered -damsels, and in a compartment all to themselves, -when the train did move at last. Abundantly -fortified with ginger-pop and sponge-cake,—how -closely Luke associated the savour of both these -refreshments with such an excursion as this!—and -further cheered by the secure possession of chocolates, -bananas, “Ally Sloper’s Half Holiday,” and the “Illustrated -London News,”—the girls romped, and sang, -and teased each other and Luke, and whispered -endearing mockeries out of the window to sedately -unconscious gentlemen, at every station where they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_594" id="Page_594">[594]</a></span> -stopped until the aged guard’s paternal benevolence -changed to irritable crossness, and Luke himself was -not altogether sorry when the familiar landscape of -Yeoborough, dusky and shadowy in the twilight, -hove in sight.</p> - -<p>Little Polly left them at the second of the two -Yeoborough stations, and the others, crowding at -the window to wave their good-byes, were carried on -in the same train to Nevilton.</p> - -<p>During this final five minutes, Annie slipped softly -down upon her lover’s knees and seemed to wish to -indicate to Phyllis, without the use of words, that her -relations with their common friend were now on a -new plane,—at once more innocent and less reserved.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_595" id="Page_595">[595]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">AVE ATQUE VALE!</span></h2> - -<p>James Andersen lay dead in the brothers’ -little bedroom at the station-master’s cottage. -It could not be maintained that his face wore the -unruffled calm conventionally attributed to mortality’s -last repose. On the other hand, his expression was not -that of one who has gone down in hopeless despair.</p> - -<p>What his look really conveyed to his grief-worn -brother, as he hung over him all that August night, -was the feeling that he had been struck in mid-contest, -with equal chance of victory or defeat, and -with the indelible imprint upon his visage of the stress -and strain of the terrific struggle.</p> - -<p>It was a long and strange vigil that Luke found -himself thus bound to keep, when the first paroxysm -of his grief had subsided and his sympathetic landlady -had left him alone with his dead.</p> - -<p>He laughed aloud,—a merciless little laugh,—at -one point in the night, to note how even this blow, -rending as it did the very ground beneath his feet, -had yet left quite untouched and untamed his irresistible -instinct towards self-analysis. Not a single -one of the innumerable, and in many cases astounding, -thoughts that passed through his mind, but he -watched it, and isolated it, and played with it,—just -in the old way.</p> - -<p>Luke was not by any means struck dumb or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_596" id="Page_596">[596]</a></span> -paralyzed by this event. His intelligence had never -been more acute, or his senses more responsive, than -they remained through those long hours of watching.</p> - -<p>It is true he could neither eat nor sleep. The influence -of the motionless figure beside him seemed to -lie in a vivid and abnormal stimulation of all his -intellectual faculties.</p> - -<p>Not a sound arose from the sleeping house, from -the darkened fields, from the distant village, but he -noted it and made a mental record of its cause. He -kept two candles alight at his brother’s head, three -times refilling the candlesticks, as though the guttering -and hissing of the dwindling flames would tease -and disturb the dead.</p> - -<p>He had been careful to push the two windows of -the room wide open; but the night was so still that -not a breath of wind entered to make the candles -flicker, or to lift the edge of the white sheet stretched -beneath his brother’s bandaged chin. This horrible -bandage,—one of the little incidents that Luke -marked as unexpectedly ghastly,—seemed to slip its -knot at a certain moment, causing the dead man’s -mouth to fall open, in a manner that made the -watcher shudder, so suggestive did it seem of one -about to utter a cry for help.</p> - -<p>Luke noted, as another factor in the phenomena of -death, the peculiar nature of the coldness of his -brother’s skin, as he bent down once and again to -touch his forehead. It was different from the coldness -of water or ice or marble. It was a clammy coldness; -the coldness of a substance that was neither—in the -words of the children’s game—“animal, vegetable, -nor mineral.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_597" id="Page_597">[597]</a></span></p> - -<p>Luke remembered the story of that play of Webster’s, -in which the unhappy heroine, in the blank -darkness of her dungeon, is presented with a dead -hand to caress. The abominably wicked wish crossed -his mind once, as he unclosed those stark fingers, that -he could cause the gentle Lacrima, whom he regarded,—not -altogether fairly,—as responsible for his -brother’s death, to feel the touch of such a hand.</p> - -<p>There came over him, at other times, as he inhaled -the cool, hushed air from the slumbering fields, and -surveyed the great regal planet,—Mr. Romer’s star, -he thought grimly,—as it hung so formidably close -to the silvery pallid moon, a queer dreamy feeling -that the whole thing were a scene in a play or a -story, absolutely unreal; and that he would only -have to rouse himself and shake off the unnatural -spell, to have his brother with him again, alive and in -full consciousness.</p> - -<p>The odd thing about it was that he found himself -refusing to believe that this was his brother at all,—this -mask beneath the white sheet,—and even -fancying that at any moment the familiar voice -might call to him from the garden, and he have to -descend to unlock the door.</p> - -<p>That thought of his brother’s voice sent a pang -through him of sick misgiving. Surely it couldn’t -be possible, that never, not through the whole of -eternity, would he hear that voice again?</p> - -<p>He moved to the window and listened. Owls were -hooting somewhere up at Wild Pine, and from the -pastures towards Hullaway came the harsh cry of a -night-jar.</p> - -<p>He gazed up at the glittering heavens, sprinkled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_598" id="Page_598">[598]</a></span> -with those proud constellations whose identity it was -one of his pastimes to recognize. How little they -cared! How appallingly little they cared! What a -farce, what an obscene, unpardonable farce, the whole -business was!</p> - -<p>He caught the sound of an angry bark in some -distant yard.</p> - -<p>Luke cursed the irrelevant intrusive noise. “Ah! -thou vile Larva!” he muttered. “What! Shall a dog, -a cat, a rat, have life; and thou no breath at all?”</p> - -<p>He leant far out of the window, breathing the -perfumes of the night. He noticed, as an interesting -fact, that it was neither the phloxes nor the late roses -whose scent filled the air, but that new exotic tobacco-plant,—a -thing whose sticky, quickly-fading, trumpet-shaped -petals were one of his brother’s especial -aversions.</p> - -<p>The immense spaces of the night, as they carried -his gaze onward from one vast translunar sign to -another, filled him with a strange feeling of the -utter unimportance of any earthly event. The -Mythology of Power and the Mythology of Sacrifice -might wrestle in desperate contention for the mastery; -but what mattered, in view of this great dome which -overshadowed them, the victory or the defeat of -either? Mythologies were they both; both woven -out of the stuff of dreams, and both vanishing like -dreams, in the presence of this stark image upon the -bed!</p> - -<p>He returned to his brother’s side, and rocked himself -up and down on his creaking bedroom chair. -“Dead and gone!” he muttered, “dead and gone!”</p> - -<p>It was easy to deal in vague mystic speculation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_599" id="Page_599">[599]</a></span> -But what relief could he derive, he who wanted his -brother back as he was, with his actual tones, and -ways and looks, from any problematic chance that -some thin “spiritual principle,” or ideal wraith, of the -man were now wandering through remote, unearthly -regions? The darling of his soul—the heart of his -heart—had become forever this appalling waxen -image, this thing that weighed upon him with its -presence!</p> - -<p>Luke bent over the dead man. What a personality, -what a dominant and oppressive personality, a corpse -has! It is not the personality of the living man, but -another—a quite different one—masquerading in -his place.</p> - -<p>Luke felt almost sure that this husk, this shell, -this mockery of the real James, was possessed of some -detestable consciousness of its own, a consciousness -as remote from that of the man he loved as that -pallid forehead with the deep purple gash across it, -was remote from the dear head whose form he knew -so well. How crafty, how malignant, a corpse was!</p> - -<p>He returned to his uncomfortable chair and pondered -upon what this loss meant to him. It was -like the burying alive of half his being. How could -he have thoughts, sensations, feelings, fancies; how -could he have loves and hates, without James to tell -them to? A cold sick terror of life passed through -him, of life without this companion of his soul. He -felt like a child lost in some great forest.</p> - -<p>“Daddy James! Daddy James!” he cried, “I want -you;—I want you!”</p> - -<p>He found himself repeating this infantile conjuration -over and over again. He battered with clenched<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_600" id="Page_600">[600]</a></span> -hand upon the adamantine wall of silence. But there -was neither sign nor voice nor token nor “any that -regarded.” There was only the beating of his own -heart and the ticking of the watch upon the table. -And all the while, with its malignant cunning, the -corpse regarded him, mute, derisive, contemptuous.</p> - -<p>He thought, lightly and casually, as one who at the -grave of all he loves plucks a handful of flowers, of -the girls he had just parted from, and of Gladys and -all his other infatuations. How impossible it seemed -to him that a woman—a girl—that any one of -these charming, distracting creatures—should strike -a man down by their loss, as he was now stricken -down.</p> - -<p>He tried to imagine what he would feel if it were -Annie lying there, under the sheet, in place of James. -He would be sorry; he would be bitterly sad; he would -be angry with the callous heavens; but as long as -James were near, as long as James were by his side,—his -life would still be his life. He would suffer, and -the piteous tragedy of the thing would smite and -sicken him; but it would not be the same. It would -not be like this!</p> - -<p>What was there in the love of a man that made -the loss of it—for him at least—so different a -thing? Was it that with women, however much one -loved them, there was something equivocal, evasive, -intangible; something made up of illusion and -sorcery, of magic and moonbeams; that since it could -never be grasped as firmly as the other, could never -be as missed as the other, when the grasp had to -relax? Or was it that, for all their clear heads,—heads -so much clearer than poor James’!—and for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_601" id="Page_601">[601]</a></span> -all their spiritual purity,—there was lacking in -them a certain indescribable mellowness of sympathy, -a certain imaginative generosity and tolerance, which -meant the true secret of the life lived in common?</p> - -<p>From the thought of his girls, Luke’s mind wandered -back to the thought of what the constant -presence of his brother as a background to his life -had really meant. Even as he sat there, gazing so -hopelessly at the image on the bed, he found himself -on the point of resolving to explain all these matters -to James and hear his opinion upon them.</p> - -<p>By degrees, as the dawn approached, the two -blank holes into cavernous darkness which the -windows of the chamber had become, changed their -character. A faint whitish-blue transparency grew -visible within their enclosing frames, and something -ghostly and phantom-like, the stealthy invasion of a -new presence, glided into the room.</p> - -<p>This palpable presence, the frail embryo of a new -day, gave to the yellow candle-flames a queer sickly -pallor and intensified to a chalky opacity the dead -whiteness of the sheet, and of the folded hands -resting upon it. It was with the sound of the first -twittering birds, and the first cock-crow, that the ice-cold -spear of desolation pierced deepest of all into -Luke’s heart. He shivered, and blew out the candles.</p> - -<p>A curious feeling possessed him that, in a sudden -ghastly withdrawal, that other James, the James he -had been turning to all night in tacit familiar appeal, -had receded far out of his reach. From indistinct -horizons his muffled voice moaned for a while, like -the wind in the willows of Lethe, and then died away<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_602" id="Page_602">[602]</a></span> -in a thin long-drawn whisper. Luke was alone; -alone with his loss and alone with the image of -death.</p> - -<p>He moved to the window and looked out. Streaks -of watery gold were already visible above the eastern -uplands, and a filmy sea of white mist swayed and -fluttered over the fields.</p> - -<p>All these things together, the white mist, the white -walls of the room, the white light, the white covering -on the body, seemed to fall upon the worn-out -watcher with a weight of irresistible finality. James -was dead—“gone to his death-bed;—he never -would come again!”</p> - -<p>Turning his back wearily upon those golden sky-streaks, -that on any other occasion would have -thrilled him with their magical promise, Luke observed -the dead bodies of no less than five large moths -grouped around the extinct candles. Two of them -were “currant-moths,” one a “yellow under-wing,” and -the others beyond his entomological knowledge. -This was the only holocaust, then, allowed to the -dead man. Five moths! And the Milky Way had -looked down upon their destruction with the same -placidity as upon the cause of the vigil that slew -them.</p> - -<p>Luke felt a sudden desire to escape from this room, -every object of which bore now, in dimly obscure -letters, the appalling handwriting of the ministers of -fate. He crept on tiptoe to the door and opened it -stealthily. Making a mute valedictory gesture towards -the bed, he shut the door behind him and slipped -down the little creaking stairs.</p> - -<p>He entered his landlady’s kitchen, and as silently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_603" id="Page_603">[603]</a></span> -as he could collected a bundle of sticks and lit the -fire. The crackling flames produced an infinitesimal -lifting of the cloud which weighed upon his spirit. -He warmed his hands before the blaze. From some -remote depth within him, there began to awake once -more the old inexpugnable zest for life.</p> - -<p>Piling some pieces of coal upon the burning wood -and drawing the kettle to the edge of the hob, he left -the kitchen; and crossing the little hall, impregnated -with a thin sickly odor of lamp-oil, he shot back the -bolts of the house-door, and let himself out into the -morning air.</p> - -<p>A flock of starlings fluttered away over the meadow, -and from the mist-wreathed recesses of Nevilton -House gardens came the weird defiant scream of a -peacock.</p> - -<p>He glanced furtively, as if such a glance were -almost sacrilegious, at the open windows of his -brother’s room; and then pushing open the garden-gate -emerged into the dew-drenched field. He could -not bring himself to leave the neighbourhood of the -house, but began pacing up and down the length of -the meadow, from the hedge adjacent to the railway, -to that elm-shadowed corner, where not so many -weeks ago he had distracted himself with Annie and -Phyllis. He continued this reiterated pacing,—his -tired brain giving itself up to the monotony of a -heart-easing movement,—until the sun had risen -quite high above the horizon. The great fiery orb -pleased him well, in its strong indifference, as with its -lavish beams it dissipated the mist and touched the -tree-trunks with ruddy colour.</p> - -<p>“Ha!” he cried aloud, “the sun is the only God!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_604" id="Page_604">[604]</a></span> -To the sun must all flesh turn, if it would live and -not die!”</p> - -<p>Half ashamed of this revival of his spirits he obeyed -the beckoning gestures of the station-master’s wife, -who now appeared at the door.</p> - -<p>The good woman’s sympathy, though not of the -silent or tactful order, was well adapted to prevent -the immediate return of any hopeless grief.</p> - -<p>“’Tis good it were a Saturday when the Lord took -him,” she said, pouring out for her lodger a steaming -cup of excellent tea, and buttering a slice of bread; -“he’ll have Sunday to lie up in. It be best of all -luck for these poor stiff ones, to have church bells -rung over ’em.”</p> - -<p>“I pray Heaven I shan’t have any visitors today,” -remarked Luke, sipping his tea and stretching out his -feet to the friendly blaze.</p> - -<p>“That ye’ll be sure to have!” answered the woman; -“and the sooner ye puts on a decent black coat, and -washes and brushes up a bit, the better ’twill be for -all concerned. I always tells my old man that when -he do fall stiff, like what your brother be, I shall put -on my black silk gown and sit in the front parlour -with a bottle of elder wine, ready for all sorts and -conditions.”</p> - -<p>Luke rose, with a piece of bread-and-butter in his -hand, and surveyed himself in the mirror.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I do need a bit of tidying,” he said. “Perhaps -you wouldn’t mind my shaving down here?”</p> - -<p>Even as he spoke the young stone-carver could not -help recalling those sinister stories of dead men whose -beards have grown in their coffins. The landlady -nodded.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_605" id="Page_605">[605]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I’ll make ’ee up a bed for these ’ere days,” she -said, “in Betty’s room. As for shaving and such like, -please yourself, Master Luke. This house be thy -house with him lying up there.”</p> - -<p>Between nine and ten o’clock Luke’s first visitor -made his appearance. This was Mr. Clavering, who -showed himself neither surprised nor greatly pleased -to find the bereft brother romping with the children -under the station-master’s apple-trees.</p> - -<p>“I cannot express to you the sympathy I feel,” -said the clergyman, “with your grief under this -great blow. Words on these occasions are of little -avail. But I trust you know where to turn for true -consolation.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, sir,” replied Luke, who, though carefully -shaved and washed, still wore the light grey -flannel suit of his Saturday’s excursion.</p> - -<p>“Give Mr. Clavering an apple, Lizzie!” he added.</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t for a moment,” continued the Reverend -Hugh, “intrude upon you with any impertinent -questions. But I could not help wondering as I -walked through the village how this tragedy would -affect you. I prayed it might,”—here he laid a -grave and pastoral hand on the young man’s arm,—“I -prayed it might give you a different attitude to -those high matters which we have at various times -discussed together. Am I right in my hope, Luke?”</p> - -<p>Never had the superb tactlessness of Nevilton’s -vicar betrayed him more deplorably.</p> - -<p>“Death is death, Mr. Clavering,” replied the -stone-carver, lifting up the youngest of the children -and placing her astride on an apple-branch. “It’s -about the worst blow fate’s ever dealt me. But when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_606" id="Page_606">[606]</a></span> -it comes to any change in my ideas,—no! I can’t -say that I’ve altered.”</p> - -<p>“I understand you weren’t with him when this -terrible thing happened,” said the clergyman. “They -tell me he was picked up by strangers. There’ll be -no need, I trust, for an inquest, or anything of that -kind?”</p> - -<p>Luke shook his head. “The doctor was up here -last night. The thing’s clear enough. His mind -must have given way again. He’s had those curst -quarries on his nerves for a long while past. I wish -to the devil—I beg your pardon, sir!—I wish I’d -taken him to Weymouth with me. I was a fool not -to insist on that.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I heard you were away,” remarked Hugh, -with a certain caustic significance in his tone. “One -or two of our young friends were with you, I believe?”</p> - -<p>Luke did not fail to miss the implication, and he hit -back vindictively.</p> - -<p>“I understand you’ve had an interesting little service -this morning, sir, or perhaps it’s yet to come off? -I can’t help being a bit amused when I think of it!”</p> - -<p>An electric shock of anger thrilled through Clavering’s -frame. Controlling himself with a heroic effort, -he repelled the malignant taunt.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t know you concerned yourself with these -observances, Andersen,” he remarked. “But you’re -quite right. I’ve just this minute come from receiving -Miss Romer into our church. Miss Traffio was with -her. Both young ladies were greatly agitated over -this unhappy occurrence. In fact it cast quite a -gloom over what otherwise is one of the most beautiful -incidents of all, in our ancient ritual.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_607" id="Page_607">[607]</a></span></p> - -<p>Luke swung the little girl on the bough backwards -and forwards. The other children, retired to a -discreet distance, stared at the colloquy with wide-open -eyes.</p> - -<p>“This baptizing of adults,” continued Luke,—“you -call ’em adults, don’t you, on these occasions?—is -really a little funny, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“Funny!” roared the angry priest. “No, sir, it -isn’t funny! The saving of an immortal soul by -God’s most sacred sacrament may not appeal to you -infidels as an essential ceremony,—but only a thoroughly -vulgar and philistine mind could call it -funny!”</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid we shall never agree on these topics, -Mr. Clavering,” replied Luke calmly. “But it was -most kind of you to come up and see me. I really -appreciate it. Would it be possible,”—his voice -took a lower and graver tone,—“for my brother’s -funeral to be performed on Wednesday? I should be -very grateful to you, sir, if that could be arranged.”</p> - -<p>The young vicar frowned and looked slightly -disconcerted. “What time would you wish it to be, -Andersen?” he enquired. “I ask you this, because -Wednesday is—er—unfortunately—the date fixed -for another of these ceremonies that you scoff at. -The Lord Bishop comes to Nevilton then. It is his -own wish. I should myself have preferred a later -date.”</p> - -<p>“Ha! the confirmation!” ejaculated Luke, with a -bitter little laugh. “You’re certainly bent on striking -while the iron’s hot, Mr. Clavering. May I ask what -hour has been fixed for <em>this</em> beautiful ceremony?”</p> - -<p>“Eleven o’clock in the morning,” replied the priest,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_608" id="Page_608">[608]</a></span> -ignoring with a dignified wave of his hand the stone-carver’s -jeering taunt.</p> - -<p>“Well then—if that suits you—and does not -interfere with the Lord Bishop—” said Luke, “I -should be most grateful if you could make the hour -for James’ funeral, ten o’clock in the morning? <em>That</em> -service I happen to be more familiar with than the -others,—and I know it doesn’t take very long.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Clavering bent his head in assent.</p> - -<p>“It shall certainly be as you wish,” he said. “If -unforeseen difficulties arise, I will let you know. But -I have no doubt it can be managed.</p> - -<p>“I am right in assuming,” he added, a little uneasily, -“that your brother was a baptized member of -our church?”</p> - -<p>Luke lifted the child from the bough and made her -run off to play with the others. The glance he then -turned upon the vicar of Nevilton was not one of -admiration.</p> - -<p>“James was the noblest spirit I’ve ever known,” -he said sternly. “If there is such a thing as another -world, he is certain to reach it—church or no -church. As a matter of fact, if it is at all important -to you, he was baptized in Nevilton. You’ll find his -name in the register—and mine too!” he added with -a laugh.</p> - -<p>Mr. Clavering kept silence, and moved towards the -gate. Luke followed him, and at the gate they shook -hands. Perhaps the same thought passed through -the minds of both of them, as they went through this -ceremony; for a very queer look, almost identical in -its expression on either face, was exchanged between -them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_609" id="Page_609">[609]</a></span></p> - -<p>Before the morning was over Luke had a second -visit of condolence. This was from Mr. Quincunx, -and never had the quaint recluse been more warmly -received. Luke was conscious at once that here was -a man who could enter into every one of his feelings, -and be neither horrified nor scandalized by the most -fantastic inconsistency.</p> - -<p>The two friends walked up and down the sunny -field in front of the house, Luke pouring into the -solitary’s attentive ears every one of his recent impressions -and sensations.</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx was evidently profoundly moved by -James’ death. He refused Luke’s offer to let him -visit the room upstairs, but his refusal was expressed -in such a natural and characteristic manner that the -stone-carver accepted it in perfect good part.</p> - -<p>After a while they sat down together under the -shady hedge at the top of the meadow. Here they -discoursed and philosophized at large, listening to the -sound of the church-bells and watching the slow-moving -cattle. It was one of those unruffled Sunday -mornings, when, in such places as this, the drowsiness -of the sun-warmed leaves and grasses seems endowed -with a kind of consecrated calm, the movements of -the horses and oxen grow solemn and ritualistic, the -languor of the heavy-winged butterflies appears holy, -and the stiff sabbatical dresses of the men and women -who shuffle so demurely to and fro, seem part of a -patient liturgical observance.</p> - -<p>Luke loved Mr. Quincunx that morning. The -recluse was indeed precisely in his element. Living -habitually himself in thoughts of death, pleased—in -that incomparable sunshine—to find himself still<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_610" id="Page_610">[610]</a></span> -alive, cynical and yet considerate, mystical and yet -humorous, he exactly supplied what the wounded -heart of the pagan mourner required for its comfort.</p> - -<p>“Idiots! asses! fools!” the stone-carver ejaculated, -apostrophizing in his inmost spirit the various persons, -clever or otherwise, to whom this nervous and eccentric -creature was a mere type of failure and superannuation. -None of these others,—not one of them,—not -Romer nor Dangelis nor Clavering nor Taxater—could -for a moment have entered into the peculiar -feelings which oppressed him. As for Gladys or -Phyllis or Annie or Polly,—he would have as soon -thought of relating his emotions to a row of swallows -upon a telegraph-wire as to any of those dainty -epitomes of life’s evasiveness!</p> - -<p>A man’s brain, a man’s imagination, a man’s -scepticism, was what he wanted; but he wanted it -touched with just that flavour of fanciful sentiment of -which the Nevilton hermit was a master. A hundred -quaint little episodes, the import of which none but -Mr. Quincunx could have appreciated, were evoked -by the stone-carver. Nothing was too blasphemous, -nothing too outrageous, nothing too bizarre, for the -solitary’s taste. On the other hand, he entered with -tender and perfect clairvoyance into the sick misery -of loss which remained the background of all Luke’s -sensations.</p> - -<p>The younger man’s impetuous confidences ebbed -and dwindled at last; and with the silence of the -church-bells and the receding to the opposite corner -of the field of the browsing cattle, a deep and melancholy -hush settled upon them both.</p> - -<p>Then it was that Mr. Quincunx began speaking of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_611" id="Page_611">[611]</a></span> -himself and his own anxieties. In the tension of the -moment he even went so far as to disclose to Luke, -under a promise of absolute secrecy, the sinister story -of that contract into which Lacrima had entered with -their employer.</p> - -<p>Luke was all attention at once. This was indeed a -piece of astounding news! He couldn’t have said -whether he wondered more at the quixotic devotion -of Lacrima for this quaint person, or at the solitary’s -unprecedented candour in putting him “en rapport” -with such an amazing situation.</p> - -<p>“Of course we know,” murmured Mr. Quincunx, -in his deep subterranean voice, “that she wouldn’t -have promised such a thing, unless in her heart she -had been keen, at all costs, to escape from those -people. It isn’t human nature to give up everything -for nothing. Probably, as a matter of fact, she -rather likes the idea of having a house of her own. -I expect she thinks she could twist that fool Goring -round her finger; and I daresay she could! But the -thing is, what do you advise <em>me</em> to do? Of course I’m -glad enough to agree to anything that saves me from -this damnable office. But what worries me about it -is that devil Romer put it into her head. I don’t -trust him, Luke; I don’t trust him!”</p> - -<p>“I should think you don’t!” exclaimed his companion, -looking with astonishment and wonder into -the solemn grey eyes fixed sorrowfully and intently -upon his own. What a strange thing, he thought to -himself, that this subtle-minded intelligence should be -so hopelessly devoid of the least push of practical -impetus.</p> - -<p>“Of course,” Mr. Quincunx continued, “neither<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_612" id="Page_612">[612]</a></span> -you nor I would fuss ourselves much over the idea of a -girl being married to a fool like this, if there weren’t -something different from the rest about her. This -nonsense about their having to ‘love,’ as the little -simpletons call it, the man they agree to live with, is -of course all tommy-rot. No one ‘loves’ the person -they live with. She wouldn’t love me,—she’d -probably hate me like poison,—after the first week -or so! The romantic idiots who make so much of -‘love,’ and are so horrified when these little creatures -are married without it, don’t understand what this -planet is made of. They don’t understand the feelings -of the girls either.</p> - -<p>“I tell you a girl <em>likes</em> being made a victim of in this -particular kind of way. They’re much less fastidious, -when it comes to the point, than we are. As a matter -of fact what does trouble them is being married to a -man they really have a passion for. Then, jealousy -bites through their soft flesh like Cleopatra’s serpent, -and all sorts of wild ideas get into their heads. It’s -not natural, Luke, it’s not natural, for girls to marry -a person they love! That’s why we country dogs -treat the whole thing as a lewd jest.</p> - -<p>“Do you think these honest couples who stand -giggling and smirking before our dear clergyman every -quarter, don’t hate one another in their hearts? Of -course they do; it wouldn’t be nature if they didn’t! -But that doesn’t say they don’t get their pleasure -out of it. And Lacrima’ll get her pleasure, in some -mad roundabout fashion, from marrying Goring,—you -may take my word for that!”</p> - -<p>“It seems to me,” remarked Luke slowly, “that -you’re trying all this time to quiet your conscience.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_613" id="Page_613">[613]</a></span> -I believe you’ve really got far more conscience, -Maurice, than I have. It’s your conscience that -makes you speak so loud, at this very moment!”</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx got up on his feet and stroked his -beard. “I’m afraid I’ve annoyed you somehow,” he -remarked. “No person ever speaks of another person’s -conscience unless he’s in a rage with him.”</p> - -<p>The stone-carver stretched out his legs and lit a -cigarette. “Sit down again, you old fool,” he said, -“and let’s talk this business over sensibly.”</p> - -<p>The recluse sighed deeply, and, subsiding into his -former position, fixed a look of hopeless melancholy -upon the sunlit landscape.</p> - -<p>“The point is this, Maurice,” began the young -man. “The first thing in these complicated situations -is to be absolutely certain what one wants oneself. -It seems to me that a good deal of your agitation -comes from the fact that you haven’t made up your -mind what you want. You asked my advice, you -know, so you won’t be angry if I’m quite plain with -you?”</p> - -<p>“Go on,” said Mr. Quincunx, a remote flicker of -his goblin-smile twitching his nostrils, “I see I’m in -for a few little hits.”</p> - -<p>Luke waved his hand. “No hits, my friend, no -hits. All I want to do, is to find out from you what -you really feel. One philosophizes, naturally, about -girls marrying, and so on; but the point is,—do you -want this particular young lady for yourself, or don’t -you?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx stroked his beard. “Well,”—he -said meditatively, “if it comes to that, I suppose I do -want her. We’re all fools in some way or other, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_614" id="Page_614">[614]</a></span> -fancy. Yes, I do want her, Luke, and that’s the -honest truth. But I don’t want to have to work -twice as hard as I’m doing now, and under still more -unpleasant conditions, to keep her!”</p> - -<p>Luke emitted a puff of smoke and knocked the -ashes from his cigarette upon the purple head of a -tall knapweed.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” he ejaculated. “Now we’ve got something -to go upon.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx surveyed the faun-like profile of -his friend with some apprehension. He mentally -resolved that nothing,—nothing in heaven nor -earth,—should put him to the agitation of making -any drastic change in his life.</p> - -<p>“We get back then,” continued Luke, “to the -point we reached on our walk to Seven Ashes.”</p> - -<p>As he said the words “Seven Ashes” the ice-cold -finger of memory pierced him with that sudden stab -which is like a physical blow. What did it matter, -after all, he thought, what happened to any of these -people, now Daddy James was dead?</p> - -<p>“You remember,” he went on, while the sorrowful -grey eyes of his companion regarded him with wistful -anxiety, “you told me, in that walk, that if some -imaginary person were to leave you money enough -to live comfortably, you would marry Lacrima without -any hesitation?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx nodded.</p> - -<p>“Well,”—Luke continued—“in return for your -confession about that contract, I’ll confess to you -that Mr. Taxater and I formed a plan together, when -my brother first got ill, to secure you this money.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx made a grimace of astonishment.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_615" id="Page_615">[615]</a></span></p> - -<p>“The plan has lapsed now,” went on Luke, “owing -to Mr. Taxater’s being away; but I can’t help feeling -that something of that kind might be done. I feel -in a queer sort of fashion,” he added, “though I can’t -quite tell you why, that, after all, things’ll so work -themselves out, that you <em>will</em> get both the girl and -the money!”</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx burst into a fit of hilarious merriment, -and rubbed his hands together. But a moment -later his face clouded.</p> - -<p>“It’s impossible,” he murmured with a deep sigh; -“it’s impossible, Luke. Girls and gold go together -like butterflies and sunshine. I’m as far from either, -as the sea-weed under the arch of Weymouth Bridge.”</p> - -<p>Luke pondered for a moment in silence.</p> - -<p>“It’s an absurd superstition,” he finally remarked, -“but I can’t help a sort of feeling that James’ spirit -is actively exerting itself on your side. He was -a romantic old truepenny, and his last thoughts were -all fixed—of that I’m sure—upon Lacrima’s -escaping this marriage with Goring.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx sighed. He had vaguely imagined -the possibility of some grand diplomatic stroke on his -behalf, from the astute Luke; and this relapse into -mysticism, on the part of that sworn materialist, did -not strike him as reassuring.</p> - -<p>The silence that fell between them was broken by -the sudden appearance of a figure familiar to them -both, crossing the field towards them. It was Witch-Bessie, -who, in a bright new shawl, and with a mysterious -packet clutched in her hand, was beckoning to -attract their attention. The men rose and advanced -to meet her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_616" id="Page_616">[616]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I’ll sit down a bit with ’ee,” cried the old woman, -waving to them to return to their former position.</p> - -<p>When they were seated once more beneath the -bank,—the old lady, like some strange Peruvian -idol, resting cross-legged at their feet,—she began, -without further delay, to explain the cause of her -visit.</p> - -<p>“I know’d how ’twould be with ’ee,” she said, -addressing Luke, but turning a not unfriendly eye -upon his companion. “I did know well how ’twould -be. I hear’d tell of brother’s being laid out, from -Bert Leerd, as I traipsed through Wild Pine this -morning.</p> - -<p>“Ninsy Lintot was a-cryin’ enough to break her -poor heart. I hear’d ’un as I doddered down yon -lane. She were all lonesome-like, under them girt -trees, shakin’ and sobbin’ terrible. She took on so, -when I arst what ailed ’un, that I dursn’t lay finger -on the lass.</p> - -<p>“She did right down scare I, Master Luke, and -that’s God’s holy truth! ‘Let me bide, Bessie,’ says -she, ‘let me bide.’ I telled her ’twas a sin to He -she loved best, to carry on so hopeless; and with that -she up and says,—‘I be the cause of it all, Bessie,’ -says she, ‘I be the cause he throw’d ’isself away.’ -And with that she set herself cryin’ again, like as -’twas pitiful to hear. ‘My darlin’, my darlin’,’ she -kept callin’ out. ‘I love no soul ’cept thee—no -soul ’cept thee!’</p> - -<p>“’Twas then I recollected wot my old Mother used -to say, ’bout maids who be cryin’ like pantin’ hares. -‘Listen to me, Ninsy Lintot,’ I says, solemn and slow,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_617" id="Page_617">[617]</a></span> -like as us were in church. ‘One above’s been talking -wi’ I, this blessed morn, and He do say as Master -James be in Abram’s Bosom, with them shining ones, -and it be shame and sin for mortals like we to wish -’un back.’</p> - -<p>“That quieted the lass a bit, and I did tell she -then, wot be God’s truth, that ’tweren’t her at all -turned brother’s head, but the pleasure of the -Almighty. ‘’Tis for folks like us,’ I says to her, ‘to -take wot His will do send, and bide quiet and still, -same as cows, drove to barton.’</p> - -<p>“’Twere a blessing of providence I’d met crazy -Bert afore I seed the lass, else I’d a been struck dazed-like -by wot she did tell. But as ’twas, thanks be -to recollectin’ mother’s trick wi’ such wendy maids, -I dried her poor eyes and got her back home along. -And she gave I summat to put in brother’s coffin -afore they do nail ’un down.”</p> - -<p>Before either Luke or Mr. Quincunx had time to -utter any comment upon this narration, Witch-Bessie -unfastened the packet she was carrying, and produced -from a card-board box a large roughly-moulded -bracelet, or bangle, of heavy silver, such as may be -bought in the bazaars of Tunis or Algiers.</p> - -<p>“There,” cried the old woman, holding the thing -up, and flashing it in the sun, “that’s wot she gave -I, to bury long wi’ brother! Be pretty enough, -baint ’un? Though, may-be, not fittin’ for a quiet -home-keeping lass like she. She had ’un off some -Gipoo, she said; and to my thinkin’ it be a kind of -heathen ornimint, same as folks do buy at Roger-town -Fair. But such as ’tis, that be wot ’tis bestowed -for, to put i’ the earth long wi’ brother. Seems<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_618" id="Page_618">[618]</a></span> -somethin’ of a pity, may-be, but maid’s whimsies be -maids’ whimsies, and God Almighty’ll plague the -hard-hearted folk as won’t perform wot they do cry -out for.”</p> - -<p>Luke took the bangle from the old woman’s -hand.</p> - -<p>“Of course I’ll do what she wants, Bessie,” he said. -“Poor little Ninsy, I never knew how much she -cared.”</p> - -<p>He permitted Mr. Quincunx to handle the silver -object, and then carefully placed it in his -pocket.</p> - -<p>“Hullo!” he cried, “what else have you got, -Bessie?” This exclamation was caused by the fact -that Witch-Bessie, after fumbling in her shawl had -produced a second mysterious packet, smaller than -the first and tightly tied round with the stalks of some -sort of hedge-weed.</p> - -<p>“Cards, by Heaven!” exclaimed Luke. “Oh Bessie, -Bessie,” he added, “why didn’t you bring these -round here twenty-four hours ago? You might have -made me take him with me to Weymouth!”</p> - -<p>Untying the packet, which contained as the stone-carver -had anticipated, a pack of incredibly dirty -cards, the old woman without a word to either of -them, shuffled and sifted them, according to some -secret rule, and laid aside all but nine. These, almost, -but not entirely, consisting of court cards, -she spread out in a carefully concerted manner on -the grass at her feet.</p> - -<p>Muttering over them some extraordinary gibberish, -out of which the two men could only catch the -following words,</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_619" id="Page_619">[619]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“Higgory, diggory, digg’d</div> -<div class="verse indent2">My sow has pigg’d.</div> -<div class="verse">There’s a good card for thee.</div> -<div class="verse">There’s a still better than he!</div> -<div class="verse">There is the best of all three,</div> -<div class="verse">And there is Niddy-noddee!”—</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Witch-Bessie picked up these nine cards, and shuffled -them long and fast.</p> - -<p>She then handed them to Luke, face-downward, and -bade him draw seven out of the nine. These she once -more arranged, according to some occult plan, upon -the grass, and pondered over them with wrinkled brow.</p> - -<p>“’Tis as ’twould be!” she muttered at last. “Cards -be wonderful crafty, though toads and efties, to my -thinkin’, be better, and a viper’s innards be God’s -very truth.”</p> - -<p>Making, to Luke’s great disappointment, no further -allusion to the result of her investigations, the old -woman picked up the cards and went through the -whole process again, in honour of Mr. Quincunx.</p> - -<p>This time, after bending for several minutes over -the solitary’s choice, she became more voluble.</p> - -<p>“Thy heart’s wish be thine, dearie,” she said. -“But there be thwartings and blastings. Three -tears—three kisses—and a terrible journey. Us -shan’t have ’ee long wi’ we, in these ’ere parts. Thee -be marked and signed, master, by fallin’ stars and -flyin’ birds. There’s good sound wood gone to ship’s -keel wot’ll carry thee fast and far. Blastings and -thwartings! But thy heart’s wish be thine, dearie.”</p> - -<p>The humourous nostrils of Mr. Quincunx and the -expressive curves of his bearded chin had twitched -and quivered as this sorcery began, but the old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_620" id="Page_620">[620]</a></span> -woman’s reference to a “terrible journey” clouded -his countenance with blank dismay.</p> - -<p>Luke pressed the sybil to be equally communicative -with regard to his own fate, but the old woman gathered -up her cards, twisted the same faded stalks -round the packet, and returned it to the folds of -her shawl. Then she struggled up upon her feet.</p> - -<p>“Don’t leave us yet, Bessie,” said Luke. “I’ll -bring you out something to eat presently.”</p> - -<p>Witch-Bessie’s only reply to this hospitable invitation -was confounding in its irrelevance. She -picked up her draggled skirt with her two hands, displaying -her unlaced boots and rumpled stockings, -and then, throwing back her wizened head, with its -rusty weather-bleached bonnet, and emitting a pallid -laugh from her toothless gums, she proceeded to -tread a sort of jerky measure, moving her old feet -to the tune of a shrill ditty.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“Now we dance looby, looby, looby,</div> -<div class="verse">Now we dance looby, looby, light;</div> -<div class="verse">Shake your right hand a little,</div> -<div class="verse">Shake your left hand a little,</div> -<div class="verse">And turn you round about.”</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“Ye’ll both see I again, present,” she panted, when -this performance was over, “but bide where ’ee be, -bide where ’ee be now. Old Bessie’s said her say, -and she be due long of Hullaway Cross, come noon.”</p> - -<p>As she hobbled off to the neighbouring stile, Luke -saw her kiss the tips of her fingers in the direction -of the station-master’s house.</p> - -<p>“She’s bidding Daddy James good-bye,” he -thought. “What a world! ‘Looby, looby, looby!’ -A proper Dance of Death for a son of my mother!”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_621" id="Page_621">[621]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE GRANARY</span></h2> - -<p>Luke persuaded Mr. Quincunx to stay with -him for the station-master’s Sunday dinner, -and to stroll with him down to the churchyard -in the afternoon to decide, in consultation with the -sexton, upon the most suitable spot for his brother’s -interment. The stone-carver was resolved that this -spot should be removed as far as possible from the -grave of their parents, and the impiety of this resolution -was justified by the fact that Gideon’s tomb -was crowded on both sides by less aggressive sleepers.</p> - -<p>They finally selected a remote place under the -southern wall, at the point where the long shadow -of the tower, in the late afternoon, flung its clear-outlined -battlements on the waving grass.</p> - -<p>Luke continued to be entirely pleased with Mr. -Quincunx’s tact and sympathy. He felt he could -not have secured a better companion for this task -of selecting the final resting-place of the brother of -his soul. “Curse these fools,” he thought, “who rail -against this excellent man!” What mattered it, -after all, that the fellow hated what the world calls -“work,” and loved a peaceful life removed from -distraction?</p> - -<p>The noble attributes of humour, of imagination, -of intelligence,—how much more important they were, -and conducive to the general human happiness, than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_622" id="Page_622">[622]</a></span> -the mere power of making money! Compared with -the delicious twists and diverting convolutions in -Mr. Quincunx’s extraordinary brain, how dull, how -insipid, seemed such worldly cleverness!</p> - -<p>The death of his brother had had the effect of -throwing these things into a new perspective. The -Machiavellian astuteness, which, in himself, in Romer, -in Mr. Taxater, and in many others, he had, until -now, regarded as of supreme value in the conduct -of life, seemed to him, as he regretfully bade the -recluse farewell and retraced his steps, far less essential, -far less important, than this imaginative sensitiveness -to the astounding spectacle of the world.</p> - -<p>He fancied he discerned in front of him, as he -left the churchyard, the well-known figure of his newly -affianced Annie, and he made a detour through the -lane, to avoid her. He felt at that moment as -though nothing in the universe were interesting or -important except the sympathetic conversation of the -friends of one’s natural choice—persons of that -small, that fatally small circle, from which just now -the centre seemed to have dropped out!</p> - -<p>Girls were a distraction, a pastime, a lure, an -intoxication; but a shock like this, casting one back -upon life’s essential verities, threw even lust itself -into the limbo of irrelevant things. All his recent -preoccupation with the love of women seemed to -him now, as though, in place of dreaming over the -mystery of the great tide of life, hand in hand with -initiated comrades, he were called upon to go launching -little paper-boats on its surface, full of fretful -anxiety as to whether they sank or floated.</p> - -<p>Weighed down by the hopeless misery of his loss,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_623" id="Page_623">[623]</a></span> -he made his way slowly back to the station-master’s -house, too absorbed in his grief to speak to anyone.</p> - -<p>After tea he became so wretched and lonely, that -he decided to walk over to Hullaway on the chance -of getting another glimpse of Witch-Bessie. Even -the sympathy of the station-master’s wife got on his -nerves and the romping of the children fretted and -chafed him.</p> - -<p>He walked fast, swinging his stick and keeping his -eyes on the ground, his heart empty and desolate. -He followed the very path by which Gladys and he, -some few short weeks before, had returned in the -track of their two friends, from the Hullaway stocks.</p> - -<p>Arriving at the village green, with its pond, its -elms, its raised pavement, and its groups of Sunday -loiterers, he turned into the churchyard. As we have -noted many times ere now, the appealing silence of -these places of the dead had an invincible charm for -him. It was perhaps a morbid tendency inherited -from his mother, or, on the other hand, it may have -been a pure æsthetic whim of his own, that led him, -with so magnetic an attraction, towards these oases -of mute patience, in the midst of the diurnal activities; -but whatever the spell was, Luke had never -found more relief in obeying it than he did at this -present hour.</p> - -<p>He sat down in their favourite corner and looked -with interest at the various newly-blown wild-flowers, -which a few weeks’ lapse had brought to light. How -well he loved the pungent stringy stalks, the grey -leaves, the flat sturdy flowers of the “achillea” or -“yarrow”! Perhaps, above all the late summer blooms,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_624" id="Page_624">[624]</a></span> -he preferred these—finding, in their very coarseness -of texture and toughness of stem, something that -reassured and fortified. They were so bitter in their -herbal fragrance, so astringent in the tang of their -pungent taste, that they suggested to him the kind -of tonic cynicism, the sort of humorous courage and -gay disdain, with which it was his constant hope to -come at last to accept life.</p> - -<p>It pleased him, above all when he found these -plants tinged with a delicious pink, as though the -juice of raspberries had been squeezed over them, -and it was precisely this tint he noticed now in a -large clump of them, growing on the sun-warmed -grave of a certain Hugh and Constance Foley, -former occupants of the old Manor House behind -him.</p> - -<p>He wondered if this long-buried Hugh—a mysterious -and shadowy figure, about whom James and he -had often woven fantastic histories—had felt as -forlorn as he felt now, when he lost his Constance. -Could a Constance, or an Annie, or a Phyllis, ever -leave quite the void behind them such as now ached -and throbbed within him? Yes, he supposed so. -Men planted their heart’s loves in many various -soils, and when the hand of fate tugged them away, -it mattered little whether it was chalk, or sand, or -loam, that clung about the roots!</p> - -<p>He looked long and long at the sunlit mounds, -over which the tombstones leaned at every conceivable -angle and upon which some had actually fallen prostrate. -These neglected monuments, and these tall -uncut grasses and flowers, had always seemed to -him preferable to the trim neatness of an enclosure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_625" id="Page_625">[625]</a></span> -like that of Athelston, which resembled the lawn of -a gentleman’s house.</p> - -<p>James had often disputed with him on this point, -arguing, in a spirit of surly contradiction, in favour -of the wondrous effect of those red Athelston roses -hanging over clear-mown turf. The diverse suggestiveness -of graveyards was one of the brothers’ best-loved -topics, and innumerable cigarettes had they -both consumed, weighing this subject, on this very -spot.</p> - -<p>Once more the hideous finality of the thing pierced -the heart of Luke with a devastating pang. On Wednesday -next,—that is, after the lapse of two brief -days,—he would bid farewell, for ever and ever and -ever, to the human companion with whom he had -shared all he cared for in life!</p> - -<p>He remembered a little quarrel he once had with -James, long ago, in this very place, and how it had -been the elder and not the younger who had made -the first overtures of reconciliation, and how James -had given him an old pair of silver links,—he was -wearing them at that moment!—as a kind of peace-offering. -He recollected what a happy evening they -had spent together after that event, and how they -had read “Thus spake Zarathustra” in the old formidable -English translation—the mere largeness of the -volume answering to the largeness of the philosopher’s -thought.</p> - -<p>Never again would they two “take on them,” in -the sweet Shakespearean phrase, “the mystery of -things, as though they were God’s spies.”</p> - -<p>Luke set himself to recall, one by one, innumerable -little incidents of their life together. He remembered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_626" id="Page_626">[626]</a></span> -various occasions in which, partly out of pure contrariness, -but partly also out of a certain instinctive bias -in his blood, he had defended their father against -his brother’s attacks. He recalled one strange conversation -they had had, under the withy-stumps of -Badger’s Bottom, as they returned through the dusk -of a November day, from a long walk over the -southern hills. It had to do with the appearance of -a cloud-swept crescent moon above the Auber woods.</p> - -<p>James had maintained that were he a pagan of -the extinct polytheistic faith, he would have worshipped -the moon, and willingly offered her, night -by night,—he used the pious syllables of the great -hedonist,—her glittering wax tapers upon the sacred -wheaten cake. Luke, on the contrary, had sworn -that the sun, and no lesser power, was the god of -his idolatry, and he imagined himself in place of his -brother’s wax candles, pouring forth, morning by -morning, a rich libation of gold wine to that bright -lord of life.</p> - -<p>This instinctive division of taste between the two, -had led, over and over again, to all manner of friendly -dissension.</p> - -<p>Luke recalled how often he had rallied James upon -his habit of drifting into what the younger brother -pertinently described as a “translunar mood.” He -was “translunar” enough now, at any rate; but now -it was in honour of that other “lady of the night,” -of that dreadful “double” of his moon-goddess—the -dark pomegranate-bearer—that the candles must -be lit!</p> - -<p>Luke revived in his mind, as he watched the slow-shifting -shadows move from grave to grave, all those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_627" id="Page_627">[627]</a></span> -indescribable “little things” of their every-day life -together, the loss of which seemed perhaps worst -of all. He recalled how on gusty December evenings -they would plod homeward from some Saturday -afternoon’s excursion to Yeoborough, and how the -cheerful firelight from the station-master’s house -would greet them as they crossed the railway.</p> - -<p>So closely had their thoughts and sensations grown -together, that there were many little poignant memories, -out of the woven texture of which he found -himself quite unable to disentangle the imaginative -threads that were due to his brother, from such as -were the evocation of his own temperament.</p> - -<p>One such concentrated moment, of exquisite memory, -he associated with an old farm-house on the -edge of the road leading from Hullaway to Rogerstown. -This road,—a forlorn enough highway of -Roman origin, dividing a level plain of desolate rain-flooded -meadows,—was one of their favourite haunts. -“Halfway House,” as the farm-dwelling was called, -especially appealed to them, because of its romantic -and melancholy isolation.</p> - -<p>Luke remembered how he had paused with his -brother one clear frosty afternoon when the puddles -by the road-side were criss-crossed by little broken -stars of fresh-formed ice, and had imagined how they -would feel if such a place belonged to them by hereditary -birthright, what they would feel were they even -now returning there, between the tall evergreens -at the gate, to spend a long evening over a log fire, -with mulled claret on the hob, and cards and books -on the table, and a great white Persian cat,—this -was James’ interpolation!—purring softly, and rubbing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_628" id="Page_628">[628]</a></span> -its silky sides against Chinese vases full of -rose-leaves.</p> - -<p>Strange journeys his mind took, that long unforgettable -afternoon,—the first of his life spent without -his brother! He saw before him, at one moment, -a little desolate wooden pier, broken by waves and -weather, somewhere on the Weymouth coast. The indescribable -pathos of things outworn and done with, -of things abandoned by man and ill-used by nature, -had given to this derelict pile of drift-wood a curious -prominence in his House of Memory. He remembered -the look with which James had regarded it, and how -the wind had whistled through it and how they had -tried in vain to light their cigarettes under its -shelter.</p> - -<p>At another moment his mind swung back to the -daily routine in their pleasant lodging. He recalled -certain spring mornings when they had risen together -at dawn and had crept stealthily out, for fear of waking -their landlady. He vividly remembered the peculiar -smell of moss and primroses with which the air seemed -full on one of these occasions.</p> - -<p>The place Luke had chosen for summoning up all -these ghosts of the past held him with such a spell -that he permitted the church-bells to ring and the -little congregation to assemble for the evening -service without moving or stirring. “Hugh and -Constance Foley” he kept repeating to himself, as the -priest’s voice, within the sacred building, intoned the -prayers. The sentiment of the plaintive hymn with -which the service closed,—he hardly moved or stirred -for the brief hour of the liturgy’s progress,—brought -tears, the first he had shed since his brother’s death,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_629" id="Page_629">[629]</a></span> -to this wanton faun’s eyes. What is there, he thought, -in these wistful tunes, and impossible, too-sweet -words, that must needs hit the most cynical of -sceptics?</p> - -<p>He let the people shuffle out and drift away, and -the grey-haired parson and his silk-gowned wife follow -them and vanish, and still he did not stir. For -some half-an-hour longer he remained in the same -position, his chin upon his knees, staring gloomily -in front of him. He was still seated so, when, to -the eyes of an observer posted on the top of the -tower, two persons, the first a woman and the second -a man, would have been observed approaching, -by a rarely-traversed field-path, the side of the enclosure -most remote from Hullaway Green.</p> - -<p>The path upon which these figures advanced was -interrupted at certain intervals by tall elm-trees, and -it would have been clear to our imaginary watcher -upon the tower that the second of the two was glad -enough of the shelter of these trees, of which it was -evident he intended to make use, did the first figure -turn and glance backward.</p> - -<p>Had such a sentinel been possessed of local knowledge -he would have had no difficulty in recognizing -the first of these persons as Gladys Romer and the -second as Mr. Clavering.</p> - -<p>Gladys had, in fact, gone alone to the evening -service, on the ground of celebrating the close of her -baptismal day. Immediately after the service she -had slipped off down the street leading to the railroad, -directing her steps towards Hullaway, whither -a sure instinct told her Luke had wandered.</p> - -<p>She was still in sight, having got no further than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_630" id="Page_630">[630]</a></span> -the entrance to Splash Lane, when Clavering, who -had changed his surplice with lightning rapidity, -issued forth into the street. In a flash he remarked -the direction of her steps, and impelled by an impulse -of mad jealousy, began blindly following her.</p> - -<p>Not a few heads were inquisitively turned, and not -a few whispering comments were exchanged, as first -the squire’s daughter, and then the young clergyman, -made their way through the street.</p> - -<p>As soon as Gladys had crossed the railroad and -struck out at a sharp pace up the slope of the meadow -Clavering realized that wherever she intended to go -it was not to the house in which lay James Andersen. -Torn with intolerable jealousy, and anxious, at all -risks, to satisfy his mind, one way or the other, as -to her relations with Luke, he deliberately decided to -follow the girl to whatever hoped-for encounter, or -carefully plotted assignation, she was now directing -her steps. How true, how exactly true, to his interpretation -of Luke’s character, was this astutely arranged -meeting, on the very day after his brother’s -death!</p> - -<p>At the top of the station-field Gladys paused for -a moment, and, turning round, contemplated the -little dwelling which was now a house of the dead.</p> - -<p>Luckily for Mr. Clavering, this movement of hers -coincided with his arrival at the thick-set hedge separating -the field from the metal track. He waited at -the turn-stile until, her abstraction over, she passed -into the lane.</p> - -<p>All the way to Hullaway Mr. Clavering followed -her, hurriedly concealing himself when there seemed -the least danger of discovery, and at certain critical<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_631" id="Page_631">[631]</a></span> -moments making slight deviations from the direct -pursuit.</p> - -<p>As she drew near the churchyard the girl showed -evident signs of nervousness and apprehension, -walking more slowly, and looking about her, and sometimes -even pausing as if to take breath and collect -her thoughts.</p> - -<p>It was fortunate for her pursuer at this final moment -of the chase that the row of colossal elms, of -which mention has been made, interposed themselves -between the two. Clavering was thus able to approach -quite close to the girl before she reached her destination, -for, making use of these rugged trunks, as an -Indian scout might have done, he was almost within -touch of her by the time she clambered over the -railings.</p> - -<p>The savage bite of insane jealousy drove from the -poor priest’s head any thought of how grotesque he -must have appeared,—could any eyes but those of -field-mice and starlings have observed him,—with his -shiny black frock-coat and broad-brimmed hat, peeping -and spying in the track of this fair young person.</p> - -<p>With a countenance convulsed with helpless fury -he watched the girl walk slowly and timidly up to -Luke’s side, and saw the stone-carver recognize her -and rise to greet her. He could not catch their -words, though he strained his ears to do so, but their -gestures and attitudes were quite distinguishable.</p> - -<p>It was, indeed, little wonder that the agitated -priest could not overhear what Gladys said, for the -extreme nervousness under which she laboured made -her first utterances so broken and low that even -her interlocutor could scarcely follow them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_632" id="Page_632">[632]</a></span></p> - -<p>She laid a pleading hand on Luke’s arm. “I was -unhappy,” she murmured, “I was unhappy, and I -wanted to tell you. I’ve been thinking about you all -day. I heard of his death quite early in the morning. -Luke,—you’re not angry with me any more, are -you? I’d have done anything that this shouldn’t -have happened!”</p> - -<p>Luke looked at her searchingly, but made, at the -same time, an impatient movement of his arm, so -that the hand she had placed upon his sleeve fell -to her side.</p> - -<p>“Let’s get away from here, Luke,” she implored; -“anywhere,—across the fields,—I told them at -home I might go for a walk after church. It’ll be -all right. No one will know.”</p> - -<p>“Across the fields—eh?” replied the stone-carver. -“Well—I don’t mind. What do you say to a walk -to Rogerstown? I haven’t been there since I went -with James, and there’ll be a moon to get home by.” -He looked at her intently, with a certain bitter humour -lurking in the curve of his lips.</p> - -<p>Under ordinary circumstances it was with the -utmost difficulty that Gladys could be persuaded to -walk anywhere. Her lethargic nature detested that -kind of exercise. He was amazed at the alacrity with -which she accepted the offer.</p> - -<p>Her eyes quite lit up. “I’d love that, Luke, I’d -simply love it!” she cried eagerly. “Let’s start! I’ll -walk as fast as you like—and I don’t care how late -we are!”</p> - -<p>They moved out of the churchyard together, by the -gate opening on the green.</p> - -<p>Luke was interested, but not in the least touched,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_633" id="Page_633">[633]</a></span> -by the girl’s chastened and submissive manner. His -suggestion about Rogerstown was really more of a -sort of test than anything else, to see just how far -this clinging passivity of hers would really go.</p> - -<p>As they followed the lane leading out of one of the -side-alleys of the village towards the Roman Road, -the stone-carver could not help indulging in a certain -amount of silent psychological analysis in regard to -this change of heart in his fair mistress. He seemed -to get a vision of the great world-passions, sweeping -at random through the universe, and bending the -most obstinate wills to their caprice.</p> - -<p>On the one hand, he thought, there is that absurd -Mr. Clavering,—simple, pure-minded, a veritable -monk of God,—driven almost insane with Desire, -and on the other, here is Gladys,—naturally as -selfish and frivolous a young pagan as one could -wish to amuse oneself with,—driven almost insane -with self-oblivious love! They were like earthquakes -and avalanches, like whirlpools and water-spouts, -he thought, these great world-passions! They could -overwhelm all the good in one person, and all the -evil in another, with the same sublime indifference, -and in themselves—remain non-moral, superhuman, -elemental!</p> - -<p>In the light of this vision, Luke could not resist a -hurried mental survey of the various figures in his -personal drama. He wondered how far his own love -for James could be said to belong to this formidable -category. No! He supposed that both he and Mr. -Quincunx were too self-possessed, or too epicurean, -ever to be thus swept out of their path. His brother -was clearly a victim of these erotic Valkyries, so was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_634" id="Page_634">[634]</a></span> -Ninsy Lintot, and in a lesser degree, he shrewdly -surmised, young Philip Wone. He himself, he supposed, -was, in these things, amorous and vicious -rather than passionate. So he had always imagined -Gladys to have been. But Gladys had been as completely -swept out of the shallows of her viciousness, -by this overpowering obsession, as Mr. Clavering -had been swept out of the shallows of his puritanism, -by the same power. If that fantastic theory of Vennie -Seldom’s about the age-long struggle between the two -Hills—between the stone of the one and the wood of -the other—had any germ of truth in it, it was clear -that these elemental passions belonged to a region -of activity remote from either, and as indifferent to -both, as the great zodiacal signs were indifferent to -the solar planets.</p> - -<p>Luke had just arrived at this philosophical, or, if -the reader pleases, mystical conclusion, when they -emerged upon the Roman Road.</p> - -<p>Ascending an abrupt hill, the last eminence between -Hullaway and far-distant ranges, they found themselves -looking down over an immense melancholy -plain, in the centre of which, on the banks of a muddy -river, stood the ancient Roman stronghold of Rogerstown, -the birth-place, so Luke always loved to remind -himself, of the famous monkish scientist Roger -Bacon.</p> - -<p>The sun had already disappeared, and the dark line -of the Mendip Hills on the northern horizon were -wrapped in a thick, purple haze.</p> - -<p>The plain they looked down upon was cut into two -equal segments by the straight white road they were -to follow,—if Luke was serious in his intention,—and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_635" id="Page_635">[635]</a></span> -all along the edges of the road, and spreading in -transverse lines across the level fields, were deep, -reedy ditches, bordered in places by pollard willows.</p> - -<p>The whole plain, subject, in autumn and winter, -to devastating floods, was really a sort of inlet or -estuary of the great Somersetshire marshes, lying -further west, which are collectively known as -Sedgemoor.</p> - -<p>Gladys could not refrain from giving vent to a -slight movement of instinctive reluctance, when she -saw how close the night was upon them, and how long -the road seemed, but she submissively suppressed any -word of protest, when, with a silent touch upon -her arm, her companion led her forward, down the -shadowy incline.</p> - -<p>Their figures were still visible—two dark isolated -forms upon the pale roadway—when, hot and panting, -Mr. Clavering arrived at the same hill-top. With a -sigh of profound relief he recognized that he had not -lost his fugitives. The only question was, where -were they going, and for what purpose? He remained -for several minutes gloomy and watchful at his post -of observation.</p> - -<p>They were now nearly half a mile across the plain, -and their receding figures had already begun to grow -indistinct in the twilight, when Mr. Clavering saw -them suddenly leave the road and debouch to the -left. “Ah!” he muttered to himself, “They’re going -home by Hullaway Chase!”</p> - -<p>This Hullaway Chase was a rough tract of pasturage -a little to the east of the level flats, and raised -slightly above them. From its southern extremity a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_636" id="Page_636">[636]</a></span> -long narrow lane, skirting the outlying cottages of -the village, led straight across the intervening uplands -to Nevilton Park. It was clearly towards this lane, -by a not much frequented foot-path over the ditches, -that Gladys and Luke were proceeding.</p> - -<p>To anyone as well acquainted as Clavering was -with the general outline of the country the route that -the lovers—or whatever their curious relation -justifies us in calling them—must needs take, to -return to Nevilton, was now as clearly marked as -if it were indicated on a map.</p> - -<p>“Curse him!” muttered the priest, “I hope he’s -not going to drown her in those brooks!”</p> - -<p>He let his gaze wander across the level expanse at -his feet. How could he get close to them, he wondered, -so as to catch even a stray sentence or two of -what they were saying.</p> - -<p>His passion had reached such a point of insanity -that he longed to be transformed into one of those -dark-winged rooks that now in a thin melancholy line -were flying over their heads, so that he might swoop -down above them and follow them—follow them—every -step of the way! He was like a man drawn to -the edge of a precipice and magnetized by the very -danger of the abyss. To be near them, to listen to -what they said,—the craving for that possessed him -with a fixed and obstinate hunger!</p> - -<p>Suddenly he shook his cane in the air and almost -leaped for joy. He remembered the existence, at -the spot where the lane they were seeking began, of -a large dilapidated barn, used, by the yeoman-farmer -to whom the Chase belonged, as a rough store-house -for cattle-food. The spot was so attractive a resting-place<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_637" id="Page_637">[637]</a></span> -for persons tired with walking, that it seemed -as though it would be a strange chance indeed if the -two wanderers did not take advantage of it. The -point was, could he forestall them and arrive there -first?</p> - -<p>He surveyed the landscape around him with an -anxious eye. It seemed as though by following the -ridge of the hill upon which he stood, and crossing -every obstacle that intervened, he ought to be able -to do so—and to do so without losing sight of the -two companions, as they unsuspiciously threaded their -way over the flats.</p> - -<p>Having made his resolution, he lost no time in -putting it into action. He clambered without difficulty -into the meadow on his right, and breaking, -in his excitement, into a run, he forced his way -through three successive bramble-hedges, and as -many dew-drenched turnip-fields, without the least -regard to the effect of this procedure upon his Sunday -attire.</p> - -<p>Every now and then, as the contours of the ground -served, he caught a glimpse of the figures in the valley -below, and the sight hastened the impetuosity of his -speed. Once he felt sure he observed them pause -and exchange an embrace, but this may have been -an illusive mirage created by the mad fumes of the -tempestuous jealousy which kept mounting higher -and higher into his head. Recklessly and blindly he -rushed on, performing feats of agility and endurance, -such as in normal hours would have been utterly -impossible.</p> - -<p>From the moment he decided upon this desperate -undertaking, to the moment, when, hot, breathless,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_638" id="Page_638">[638]</a></span> -and dishevelled, he reached his destination, only a -brief quarter of an hour had elapsed.</p> - -<p>He entered the barn leaving the door wide-open -behind him. In its interior tightly packed bundles -of dark-coloured hay rose up almost to the roof. The -floor was littered with straw and newly-cut clover.</p> - -<p>On one side of the barn, beneath the piled-up hay, -was a large shelving heap of threshed oats. Here, obviously, -was the sort of place, if the lovers paused at -this spot at all, where they would be tempted to recline.</p> - -<p>Directly opposite these oats, in the portion of the -shed that was most in shadow, Clavering observed -a narrow slit between the hay-bundles. He approached -this aperture and tried to wedge himself -into it. The protruding stalks of the hay pricked his -hands and face, and the dust choked him.</p> - -<p>With angry coughs and splutters, and with sundry -savage expletives by no means suitable to a priest of -the church, he at length succeeded in firmly imbedding -himself in this impenetrable retreat. He worked himself -so far into the shadow, that not the most cautious -eye could have discerned his presence. His sole -danger lay in the fact that the dust might very easily -give him an irresistible fit of sneezing. With the -cessation of his violent struggles, however, this danger -seemed to diminish; for the dust subsided as quickly -as it had been raised, and otherwise, as he leant -luxuriously back upon his warm-scented support, his -position was by no means uncomfortable.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Luke and Gladys were slowly and deliberately -crossing the darkening water-meadows.</p> - -<p>Gladys, whose geographical knowledge of the district -was limited to the immediate vicinity of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_639" id="Page_639">[639]</a></span> -home had not the remotest guess as to where she -was being led. For all she knew Luke might have -gone crazy, like his brother, and be now intending to -plunge both himself and her into the depths of some -lonely pool or weir. Nevertheless, she continued -passively and meekly following him, walking, when -the path along the dyke’s edge narrowed, at some few -paces behind him, with that peculiar air of being a -led animal, which one often observes in the partners -of tramps, as they plod the roads in the wake of their -masters.</p> - -<p>The expanse they traversed in this manner was -possessed of a peculiar character of its own, a character -which that especial hour of twilight seemed to -draw forth and emphasize. It differed from similar -tracts of marsh-land, such as may be found by the -sea’s edge, in being devoid of any romantic horizon -to afford a spiritual escape from the gloom it diffused.</p> - -<p>It was melancholy. It was repellant. It was sinister. -It lacked the element of poetic expansiveness. -It gave the impression of holding grimly to some -dark obscene secret, which no visitation of sun or -moon would ever cajole it into divulging.</p> - -<p>It depressed without overwhelming. It saddened -without inspiring. With its reeds, its mud, its willows, -its livid phosphorescent ditches, it produced -uneasiness rather than awe, and disquietude rather -than solemnity.</p> - -<p>Bounded by rolling hills on all sides save one, it -gave the persons who moved across it the sensation -of being enclosed in some vast natural arena.</p> - -<p>Gladys wished she had brought her cloak with -her, as the filmy white mists rose like ghosts out of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_640" id="Page_640">[640]</a></span> -the stagnant ditches, and with clammy persistence -invaded her unprotected form.</p> - -<p>It was one of those places that seem to suggest the -transaction of no stirring or heroic deeds, but of -gloomy, wretched, chance-driven occurrences. A betrayed -army might have surrendered there.</p> - -<p>Luke seemed to give himself up with grim reciprocity -to the influences of the spot. He appeared -totally oblivious of his meek companion, and except -to offer her languid, absent-minded assistance across -various gates and dams, he remained as completely -wrapped in reserve as were the taciturn levels over -which they passed.</p> - -<p>It was with an incredible sense of relief that Gladys -found herself in the drier, more wholesome, atmosphere -of Hullaway Chase. Here, as they walked -briskly side by side over the thyme-scented turf, it -seemed that the accumulated heat of the day, which, -from the damp marsh-land only drew forth miasmic -vapours, flung into the fragrant air delicious waftings -of warm earth-breath. With still greater relief, and -even with a little cry of joy, she caught sight of the -friendly open door of the capacious barn, and the -shadowy inviting heap of loose-flung oats lying beneath -its wall of hay.</p> - -<p>“Oh, we must go in here!” she cried, “what an -adorable place!”</p> - -<p>They entered, and the girl threw upon Luke one of -her slow, long, amorous glances. “Kiss me!” she -said, holding up her mouth to him beseechingly.</p> - -<p>The faint light of the dying day fell with a pale -glimmer upon her soft throat and rounded chin. -Luke found himself disinclined to resist her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_641" id="Page_641">[641]</a></span></p> - -<p>There were tears on the girl’s cheek when, loosening -her hold upon his neck, she sank down on the idyllic -couch offered them, and closed her eyes in childish -contentment.</p> - -<p>Luke hung over her thoughtfully and sadly. There -is always something sad,—something that seems to -bring with it a withering breath from the ultimate -futility of the universe,—about a lover’s recognition -that the form which formerly thrilled him with -ecstasy, now leaves him cold and unmoved. Such -sadness, chilly and desolate as the hand of death -itself, crept over the stone-carver’s heart, as he looked -at the gently-stirring breast and softly-parted lips -of his beautiful mistress. He bent down and kissed -her forehead, caressing her passively yielded fingers.</p> - -<p>She opened her eyes and smiled at him, the lingering -smile of a soothed and happy infant.</p> - -<p>They remained thus, silent and at rest, for several -moments. It was not long, however, before the -subtle instinct of an enamoured woman made the -girl aware that her friend’s responsiveness had been -but a momentary impulse. She started up, her eyes -wide-open and her lips trembling.</p> - -<p>“Luke!” she murmured, “Luke, darling,—” Her -voice broke, in a curious little sob.</p> - -<p>Luke gazed at her blankly, thankful that the weight -of weary foreknowledge upon his face was concealed -from her by the growing darkness.</p> - -<p>“I want to say to you, my dear love,” the girl -went on, her bosom rising and falling in pitiful embarrassment, -and her white fingers nervously scooping -up handful after handful of the shadowy grain.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_642" id="Page_642">[642]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I want to say to you something that is—that -is very serious—for us both, Luke,—I want to -tell you,——”</p> - -<p>Her voice once more died away, in the same inarticulate -and curious gurgle, like the sob of water -running under a weir.</p> - -<p>Luke rose to his feet and stood in front of her. -“It’s all right,” he said calmly. “You needn’t agitate -yourself. I understand.”</p> - -<p>The girl covered her face with her hands. “But -what shall I do? What shall I do?” she sobbed. “I -can’t marry Ralph like this. He’ll kill me when he -finds out. I’m so afraid of him, Luke—you don’t -know,—you don’t know,—”</p> - -<p>“He’ll forgive you,” answered the stone-carver -quietly. “He’s not a person to burst out like that. -Lots of people have to confess these little things after -they’re married. Some men aren’t half so particular -as you girls think.”</p> - -<p>Gladys raised her head and gave her friend a long -queer look, the full import of which was concealed -from him in the darkness. She made a futile little -groping movement with her hand.</p> - -<p>“Luke,” she whispered, “I must just say this to -you even if it makes you angry. I shouldn’t be happy -afterwards—whatever happens—if I didn’t say it. -I want you to know that I’m ready, if you wish, if—if -you love me enough for that, Luke,—to go away -with you anywhere! I feel it isn’t as it used to be. -I feel everything’s different. But I want you to know,—to -know without any mistake—that I’d go at -once—willingly—wherever you took me!</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_643" id="Page_643">[643]</a></span></p> -<p>“It’s not that I’m begging you to marry me,” -she wailed, “it’s only that I love you, love you and -want you so frightfully, my darling!</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t worry you, Luke,” she added, in a low, -pitiful little voice, that seemed to emerge rather from -the general shadowiness of the place than from a -human being’s lips, “I wouldn’t tease you, or scold -you when you enjoyed yourself! It’s only that I -want to be with you, that I want to be near you. -I never thought it would come to this. I thought—” -Her voice died away again into the darkness.</p> - -<p>Luke began pacing up and down the floor of the -barn.</p> - -<p>Once more she spoke. “I’d be faithful to you, -Luke, married or unmarried,—and I’d work, -though I know you won’t believe that. But I can -do quite hard work, when I like!”</p> - -<p>By some malignity of chance, or perhaps by a -natural reaction from her pleading words, Luke’s mind -reverted to her tone and temper on that June morning -when she insulted him by a present of money.</p> - -<p>“No, Gladys,” he said. “It won’t do. You and -I weren’t made for each other. There are certain -things—many things—in me that you’ll never -understand, and I daresay there are things in you -that I never shall. We’re not made for one another, -child, I tell you. We shouldn’t be happy for a week. -I know myself, and I know you, and I’m sure it -wouldn’t do.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you fret yourself about Dangelis. If he -finds out, he finds out—and that’s the end of it. -But I swear to you that I know <em>him</em> well enough to -know that you’ve nothing to be afraid of—even if -he does find out. He’s not the kind of man to make<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_644" id="Page_644">[644]</a></span> -a fuss. I can see exactly the way he’d take it. He’d -be sorry for you and laugh at himself, and plunge -desperately into his painting.</p> - -<p>“I like Dangelis, I tell you frankly. I think he’s -a thoroughly generous and large-minded fellow. Of -course I’ve hardly seen him to speak to, but you -can’t be mistaken about a man like that. At least -I can’t! I seem to know him in and out, up hill and -down dale.</p> - -<p>“Make a fuss? Not he! He’ll make this country -ring and ting with the fame of his pictures. That’s -what he’ll do! And as for being horrid to you—not -he! I know him better than that. He’ll be too much -in love with you, too,—you little demon! That’s -another point to bear in mind.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you’ll have the whip-hand of him, never fear,—and -our son,—I hope it <em>is</em> a son my dear!—will -be treated as if it were his own.</p> - -<p>“I know him, I tell you! He’s a thoroughly decent -fellow, though a bit of a fool, no doubt. But we’re -all that!</p> - -<p>“Don’t you be a little goose, Gladys, and get -fussed up and worried over nothing. After all, what -does it matter? Life’s such a mad affair anyway! -All we can do is to map things to the best of our -ability, and then chance it.</p> - -<p>“We’re all on the verge of a precipice. Do you -think I don’t realize that? But that’s no reason why -we should rush blindly up to the thing, and throw -ourselves over. And it would be nothing else than -that, nothing else than sheer madness, for you and I -to go off together.</p> - -<p>“Do you think your father would give us a penny?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_645" id="Page_645">[645]</a></span> -Not he! I detect in your father, Gladys, an extraordinary -vein of obstinacy. You haven’t clashed -up against it yet, but try and play any of these games -on him, and you’ll see!</p> - -<p>“No; one thing you may be perfectly sure of, and -that is, that whatever he finds out, Dangelis will -never breathe a word to your father. He’s madly in -love with you, girl, I tell you; and if I’m out of the -way, you’ll be able to do just what you like with -him!”</p> - -<p>It was completely dark now, and when Luke’s -oration came to an end there was no sound in the -barn except a low sobbing.</p> - -<p>“Come on, child; we must be getting home, or -you’ll be frightfully late. Here! give me your hand. -Where are you?”</p> - -<p>He groped about in the darkness until his sleeve -brushed against her shoulder. It was trembling under -her efforts to suppress her sobs.</p> - -<p>He got hold of her wrists and pulled her to her -feet. “Come on, my dear,” he repeated, “we must -get out of this now. Give me one nice kiss before -we go.”</p> - -<p>She permitted herself to be caressed—passive and -unresisting in his arms.</p> - -<p>In the darkness they touched the outer edge of -Mr. Clavering’s hiding-place, and the girl, swaying -a little backwards under Luke’s endearments, felt -the pressure of the hay-wall behind her. She did not, -however, feel the impassioned touch of the choking -kiss which the poor imprisoned priest desperately -imprinted on a loose tress of her hair.</p> - -<p>It was one of those pitiful and grotesque situations<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_646" id="Page_646">[646]</a></span> -which seem sometimes to arise,—as our fantastic -planet turns on its orbit,—for no other purpose -than that of gratifying some malign vein of goblin-like -irony in the system of things.</p> - -<p>That at the moment when Luke, under the spell -of the shadowy fragrance of the place, and the pliant -submissiveness of the girl’s form, threw something -of his old ardour into his kiss, her other, more desperate -love should have dared such an approach, was -a coincidence apparently of the very kind to appeal -to the perverse taste of this planetary humour.</p> - -<p>The actual result of such a strange consentaneousness -of rival emotion was that the three human -heads remained for a brief dramatic moment in close -juxtaposition,—the two fair ones and the dark one -so near one another, that it might have seemed almost -inevitable that their thoughts should interact in that -fatal proximity.</p> - -<p>The pitiful pathos of the whole human comedy -might well have been brought home to any curious -observer able to pierce that twilight! Such an observer -would have felt towards those three poor obsessed -craniums the same sort of tenderness that -they themselves would have been conscious of, had -they suddenly come across a sleeping person or a -dead body.</p> - -<p>Strange, that the ultimate pity in these things,—in -this blind antagonistic striving of human desires -under such gracious flesh and blood—should only -arouse these tolerant emotions when they are no longer -of any avail! Had some impossible bolt from heaven -stricken these three impassioned ones in their tragic -approximation, how,—long afterwards,—the discoverer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_647" id="Page_647">[647]</a></span> -of the three skeletons would have moralized -upon their fate! As it was, there was nothing but -the irony of the gods to read what the irony of the -gods was writing upon that moment’s drowning -sands.</p> - -<p>When Luke and Gladys left the barn, and hurriedly, -under the rising moon, retook their way towards -Nevilton, Clavering emerged from his concealment -dazed and stupefied. He threw himself down in the -darkness on the heap of oats and strove to give form -and coherence to the wild flood of thoughts which -swept through him.</p> - -<p>So this was what he had come out to learn! This -was the knowledge that his mad jealousy had driven -him to snatch!</p> - -<p>He thought of the exquisite sacredness—for him—of -that morning’s ritual in the church, and of how -easily he had persuaded himself to read into the -girl’s preoccupied look something more than natural -sadness over Andersen’s death. He had indeed,—only -those short hours ago,—allowed himself the -sweet illusion that this religious initiation really -meant, for his pagan love, some kind of Vita -Nuova.</p> - -<p>The fates had rattled their dice, however, to a -different tune. The unfortunate girl was indeed -entering upon a Vita Nuova, but how hideously different -a one from that which had been his hope!</p> - -<p>On Wednesday came the confirmation service. -How could he,—with any respect for his conscience -as a guardian of these sacred rites,—permit Gladys -to be confirmed now? Yet what ought he to do? -Drops of cold sweat stood upon his forehead as he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_648" id="Page_648">[648]</a></span> -wondered whether it was incumbent upon him to -take the first train the following morning for the -bishop’s palace and to demand an interview.</p> - -<p>No. Tomorrow the prelate would be starting on -his episcopal tour. Clavering would have to pursue -him from one remote country village to another, and -what a pursuit that would be! He recoiled from the -idea with sick aversion.</p> - -<p>Could he then suppress his fatal knowledge and let -the event take place without protest? To act in -such a manner would be nothing less than to play -the part of an accomplice in the girl’s sin.</p> - -<p>Perhaps when the bishop actually appeared he -would be able to secure a confidential interview with -him and lay the whole matter before him. Or should -he act on his own responsibility, and write to Gladys -himself, telling her that under the circumstances it -would be best for her to stay away from the ceremony?</p> - -<p>What reason could he give for such an extraordinary -mandate? Could he bluntly indicate to her, in black -and white, the secret he had discovered, and the -manner of its discovery? To accuse her on the ground -of mere village gossip would be to lay himself open -to shameful humiliation. Was he, in any case, justified -in putting the fatal information, gathered in this -way, to so drastic a use? It was only in his madness -as a jealous lover that he had possessed himself of -this knowledge. As priest of Nevilton he knew -nothing.</p> - -<p>He had no right to know anything. No; he must -pay the penalty of his shameful insanity by bearing -this burden in silence, even though his conscience<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_649" id="Page_649">[649]</a></span> -groaned and cracked beneath the weight. Such a -silence, with its attendant misery of self-accusation -and shame, was all he could offer to his treacherous -enchantress as a tacit recompense for having stolen -her secret.</p> - -<p>He rose and left the granary. As he walked homeward, -along the Nevilton road, avoiding by a sort -of scrupulous reaction the shorter route followed by -the others, it seemed to him as though the night had -never been more sultry, or the way more loaded with -the presence of impendent calamity.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_650" id="Page_650">[650]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV<br /> -<span class="smaller">METAMORPHOSIS</span></h2> - -<p>The day of James Andersen’s funeral and of -Gladys’ confirmation happened to coincide with -a remarkable and unexpected event in the life -of Mr. Quincunx. Whatever powers, lurking in air -or earth, were attempting at that moment to influence -the fatal stream of events in Nevilton, must -have been grimly conscious of something preordained -and inevitable about this eccentric man’s drift towards -appalling moral disaster.</p> - -<p>It seemed as though nothing on earth now could -stop the marriage of Lacrima and Goring, and from -the point of view of the moralist, or even of the person -of normal decency, such a marriage, if it really -did lead to Mr. Quincunx’s pensioning at the hands -of his enemy, necessarily held over him a shame and -a disgrace proportionate to the outrage done to the -girl who loved him. What these evil powers played -upon, if evil powers they were,—and not the blind -laws of cause and effect,—was the essential character -of Mr. Quincunx, which nothing in heaven nor earth -seemed able to change.</p> - -<p>There are often, however, elements in our fate, -which lie, it might seem, deeper than any calculable -prediction, deeper, it may be, than the influence of -the most powerful supernatural agents, and these -elements—unstirred by angel or devil—are sometimes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_651" id="Page_651">[651]</a></span> -roused to activity by the least expected cause. -It is, at these moments, as though Fate, in the incalculable -comprehensiveness of her immense designs, -condescended to make use of Chance, her elfish -sister, to carry out what the natural and normal -stream of things would seem to have decreed as an -impossibility.</p> - -<p>Probably not a living soul who knew him,—certainly -not Lacrima,—had the least expectation of -any chance of change in Mr. Quincunx. But then -none of these persons had really sounded the depths -in the soul of the man. There were certain mysterious -and unfathomable gulfs in the sea-floor of Mr. Quincunx’s -being which would have exhausted all the sorceries -of Witch-Bessie even to locate.</p> - -<p>So fantastic and surprising are the ways of destiny, -that,—as shall be presently seen,—what -neither gods nor devils, nor men nor angels, could -effect, was effected by nothing more nor less than a -travelling circus.</p> - -<p>The day of the burying of James and the confirmation -of Gladys brought into Nevilton a curious -cortège of popular entertainers. This cortège consisted -of one of those small wandering circuses, which, -during the month of August are wont to leave the -towns and move leisurely among the remoter country -villages, staying nowhere more than a night, and -taking advantage of any local festival or club-meeting -to enhance their popularity.</p> - -<p>The circus in question,—flamingly entitled -Porter’s Universal World-Show,—was owned and -conducted by a certain Job Love, a shrewd and avaricious -ruffian, who boasted, though with little justification,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_652" id="Page_652">[652]</a></span> -the inheritance of gipsy blood. As a matter -of fact, the authentic gipsy tribes gave Mr. Love an -extremely wide berth, avoiding his path as they would -have avoided the path of the police. This cautious -attitude was not confined, however, to gipsies. Every -species of itinerant hawker and pedler avoided the -path of Mr. Love, and the few toy-booths and sweet-stalls -that followed his noisy roundabouts were a -department of his own providing.</p> - -<p>It was late on Tuesday night when the World-Show -established itself in Nevilton Square. The sound of -hammers and the barking of dogs was the last thing -that the villagers heard before they slept, and the -first thing they heard when they awoke.</p> - -<p>The master of the World-Show spent the night -according to his custom in solitary regal grandeur -in the largest of his caravans. The sun had not, -however, pierced the white mists in the Nevilton -orchards before Mr. Love was up and abroad. The -first thing he did, on descending the steps of his -caravan, was to wash his hands and face in the basin -of the stone fountain. His next proceeding was to -measure out into a little metal cup which he produced -from his pocket a small quantity of brandy -and to pour this refreshment, diluted with water from -the fountain, down his capacious throat.</p> - -<p>Mr. Love was a lean man, of furtive and irascible -appearance. His countenance, bleached by exposure -into a species of motley-coloured leather, shone after -its immersion in the fountain like the knob of a well-worn -cudgel. His whitish hair, cut in convict style -close to his head, emphasized the polished mahogany -of his visage, from the upper portion of which his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_653" id="Page_653">[653]</a></span> -sky-blue eyes, small and glittering, shone out defiantly -upon the world, like ominous jewels set in the -forehead of an obscene and smoke-darkened idol.</p> - -<p>Having replaced his cup and flask in his pocket, -the master of the World-Show looked anxiously at -the omens of the weather, snuffing the morning breeze -with the air of one not lightly to be fooled either by -rain or shine. Returning to the still silent circus, -he knocked sharply with his knuckles at the door of -the smallest of the three caravans.</p> - -<p>“Flick!” he shouted, “let me in! Flick! Old -Flick! Darn ’ee, man, for a blighting sand-louse! -Open the door, God curse you! Old Flick! Old -Flick! Old Flick!”</p> - -<p>Thus assaulted, the door of the caravan was opened -from within, and Mr. Love pushed his way into the -interior. A strange enough sight met him when -once inside.</p> - -<p>The individual apostrophized as “Old Flick” closed -and bolted the door with extraordinary precaution, -as soon as his master had entered, and then turned -and hovered nervously before him, while Mr. Love -sank down on the only chair in the place. The -caravan was bare of all furniture except a rough -cooking-stove and a three-legged deal table. But it -was at neither of these objects that Job Love stared, -as he tilted back his chair and waved impatiently -aside the deprecatory old man.</p> - -<p>Stretched on a ragged horse-blanket upon the floor -lay a sleeping child. Clothed in little else than a -linen bodice and a short flannel petticoat, she turned -restlessly in her slumber under Mr. Love’s scrutiny, -and crossing one bare leg over the other, flung out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_654" id="Page_654">[654]</a></span> -a long white arm, while her dark curls, disturbed by -her movement, fell over her face and hid it from -view.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” remarked Mr. Love. “Quieter now, I see. -She must dance today, Flick, and no mistake about it! -You must take her out in the fields this morning, -like you did that other one. I can’t have no more -rampaging and such-like, in my decent circus. But -she must dance, there’s no getting over that,—she -must dance, Old Flick! ’Twas your own blighting -notion to take her on, remember; and I can’t have no -do-nothing foreigners hanging around, specially now -August be come.</p> - -<p>“What did she say her nonsense-name was? Lores,—Dolores? -Whoever heard tell of such a name as -that?”</p> - -<p>The sound of his voice seemed to reach the child -even in her sleep; for flinging her arms over her head, -and turning on her back, she uttered a low indistinguishable -murmur. Her eyes, however, remained -closed, the dark curves of her long eye-lashes contrasting -with the scarlet of her mouth and the ivory -pallor of her skin.</p> - -<p>Even Job Love—though not precisely an æsthete—was -struck by the girl’s beauty.</p> - -<p>“She’ll make a fine dancer, Flick, a fine dancer! -How old dost think she be? ’Bout twelve, or may-be -more, I reckon.</p> - -<p>“’Tis pity she won’t speak no Christian word. ’Tis -wonderful, how these foreign childer do hold so -obstinate by their darned fancy-tongue!</p> - -<p>“We must trim her out in them spangle-gauzes of -Skipsy Jane. <em>She</em> were the sort of girl to make the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_655" id="Page_655">[655]</a></span> -boys holler. But this one’ll do well enough, I reckon, -if so be she goes smilin’ and chaffin’ upon the boards.</p> - -<p>“But no more of that devil’s foolery, Flick? Dost -hear, man? Take her out into the fields;—take her -out into the fields! She must dance and she must -smile, all in Skipsy Jane’s spangles, come noon this -day. She must do so, Flick—or I ain’t Jobie Love!”</p> - -<p>The old man paused in his vague moth-like hovering, -and surveyed the outstretched figure. His own -appearance was curious enough to excite a thrill of -intense curiosity, had any less callous eye but that of -his master been cast upon him.</p> - -<p>He produced the effect not so much of a living -person, animated by natural impulses, as of a dead -body possessed by some sort of wandering spirit -which made use of him for its own purposes.</p> - -<p>If by chance this spirit were to desert him, one -felt that what would be left of Old Flick would be -nothing but the mask of a man,—a husk, a shard, a -withered stalk, a wisp of dried-up grass! The old -creature was as thin as a lathe; and his cavernous, -colourless eyes and drooping jaw looked, in that -indistinct light, as vague and shadowy as though they -belonged to some phantasmal mirage of mist and -rain drifted in from the sleeping fields.</p> - -<p>“How did ’ee ever get Mother Sterner to let ’ee -have so dainty a bit of goods?” went on Mr. Love, -continuing his survey of their unconscious captive. -“The old woman must have been blind-scared of the -police or summat, so as to want to be free of the -maid. ’Tisn’t every day you can pick up a lass so -cut out for the boards as she be.”</p> - -<p>At intervals during his master’s discourse the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_656" id="Page_656">[656]</a></span> -parchment-like visage of the old man twisted and -contorted itself, as if with the difficulty of finding -words.</p> - -<p>When Job Love at last became silent, the words -issued from him as if they had been rustling eddies of -chaff, blown through dried stalks.</p> - -<p>“I’ve tried her with one thing, Mister, and I’ve -tried her with another,—but ’tis no use; she do cry -and cry, and there’s no handling her. I guess I must -take her into them fields, as you do say. ’Tis because -of folks hearing that she do carry on so.”</p> - -<p>Job Love frowned and scratched his forehead.</p> - -<p>“Damn her,” he cried, “for a limpsy cat! Well—Old -Flick—ye picked her up and ye must start her -off. This show don’t begin till nigh along noon,—so -if ye thinks ye can bring her to reason, some ways -or t’other ways, off with ’ee, my man! Get her a -bite of breakfast first,—and good luck to ’ee! Only -don’t let’s have no fuss, and don’t let’s have no -onlookers. I’m not the man to stand for any law-breaking. -This show’s a decent show, and Job -Love’s a decent man. If the wench makes trouble, -ye must take her back where she did come from. -Mother Sterner’ll have to slide down. I can’t have -no quarrels with King and Country, over a limpsy -maid like she!”</p> - -<p>Uttering these words in a tone of formidable -finality, Mr. Love moved to the entrance and let -himself out.</p> - -<p>Their master gone, Old Flick turned waveringly to -the figure on the floor. Taking down a faded coat -from its peg on the wall, he carefully spread it over -the child, tucking it round her body with shaking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_657" id="Page_657">[657]</a></span> -hands. He then went to the stove in the corner, lit -it, and arranged the kettle. From the stove he -turned to the three-legged table; and removing from -a hanging cupboard a tea-pot, some cups and plates, -a loaf of bread and a pat of butter, he set out these -objects with meticulous nicety, avoiding the least -clatter or sound. This done, he sat down upon the -solitary chair, and waited the boiling of the water with -inscrutable passivity.</p> - -<p>From outside the caravan came the shuffle of -stirring feet and the murmur of subdued and drowsy -voices. The camp was beginning to enter upon its -labour of preparation.</p> - -<p>When he had made tea, Old Flick touched his -sleeping captive lightly on the shoulder.</p> - -<p>The girl started violently, and sat up, with wide-open -eyes. She began talking hurriedly, protesting -and imploring; but not a word of her speech was -intelligible to Old Flick, for the simple reason that it -was Italian,—Italian of the Neapolitan inflexion.</p> - -<p>The old man handed her a strong cup of tea, together -with a large slice of bread-and-butter, uttering -as he did so all manner of soothing and reassuring -words. When she had finished her breakfast he -brought her water and soap.</p> - -<p>“Tidy thee-self up, my pretty,” he said. “We be -goin’ out, along into them fields, present.”</p> - -<p>Bolting the caravan door on the outside, he shuffled -off to the fountain to perform his own ablutions, and -to assist his companions in unloading the stage-properties, -and setting up the booths and swings. -After the lapse of an hour he climbed the caravan-steps -and re-entered softly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_658" id="Page_658">[658]</a></span></p> - -<p>He found the girl crouched in a corner, her hands -clasped over her knees, and traces of tears upon her -cheeks. Before leaving her, the old man had placed -shoes and stockings by her side, and these she now -wore, together with a dark-coloured skirt and a scarlet -gipsy-shawl.</p> - -<p>“Come,” he said. “Thee be goin’ wi’ I into the -fields. Thee be goin’ to learn a dancin’ trick or two. -Show opens along of noon; and Master, he’s goin’ to -let ’ee have Skipsy Jane’s spangles.”</p> - -<p>How much of this the child understood it is impossible -to say; but the old man’s tone was not -threatening, and the idea of being taken away—somewhere—anywhere—roused -vague hopes in her -soul. She pulled the red shawl over her head and -let him lead her by the hand.</p> - -<p>Down the steps they clambered, and hurriedly -threaded their way across the square.</p> - -<p>The old man took the road towards Yeoborough, -and turned with the girl up Dead Man’s Lane. He -was but dimly acquainted with the neighbourhood; -but once before, in his wanderings as a pedler, he had -encamped in a certain grassy hollow bordering on the -Auber Woods, and the memory of the seclusion of -this spot drew him now.</p> - -<p>As they passed Mr. Quincunx’s garden they encountered -the solitary himself, who, in his sympathy -with Luke Andersen on this particular day, had -resolved to pay the young man an early morning -visit.</p> - -<p>The recluse looked with extreme and startled -interest at this singular pair. The child’s beauty -struck him with a shock that almost took his breath<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_659" id="Page_659">[659]</a></span> -away. There was something about the haunting -expression of her gaze as she turned it upon him that -roused an overpowering flood of tenderness and pity -in untouched abysses of his being.</p> - -<p>There must have been some instantaneous reciprocity -in the eccentric man’s grey eyes, for the young -girl turned back after they had passed, and throwing -the shawl away from her head, fixed upon him what -seemed a deliberate and beseeching look of appeal.</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx was so completely carried out of his -normal self by this imploring look that he went so -far as to answer its inarticulate prayer by a wave of -his hand, and by a sign that indicated,—whether -she understood it or not,—that he intended to render -her assistance.</p> - -<p>In his relations with Lacrima Mr. Quincunx was -always remotely conscious that the girl’s character -was stronger than his own, and—Pariah-like—this -had the effect of lessening the emotion he felt towards -her.</p> - -<p>But now—in the look of the little Dolores—there -was an appeal from a weakness and helplessness much -more desperate than his own,—an appeal to him from -the deepest gulfs of human dependence. The glance -she had given him burned in his brain like a coal of -white fire. It seemed to cry out to him from all the -flotsam and jetsam, all the drift and wreckage of -everything that had ever been drowned, submerged, -and stranded, by the pitilessness of Life, since the -foundation of the world.</p> - -<p>The child’s look had indeed the same effect upon -Mr. Quincunx that the look of his Master had upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_660" id="Page_660">[660]</a></span> -the fear-stricken Apostle, in the hall of Caiaphas the -high priest. In one heart-piercing stab it brought to -his overpowered consciousness a vision of all the -victims of cruelty who had ever cried aloud for help -since the generations of men began their tragic -journey.</p> - -<p>Perhaps to all extremely sensitive natures of Mr. -Quincunx’s type, a type of morbidly self-conscious -weakness as well as sensitiveness, the electric stir -produced by beauty and sex can only reach a culmination -when the medium of its appearance approximates -to the extreme limit of fragility and helplessness.</p> - -<p>Hell itself, so to speak, had to display to him its -span-long babes, before he could be aroused to descend -and “harrow” it! But once roused in him, this -latent spirit of the pitiful Son of Man became formidable, -reckless, irresistible. The very absence in him -of the usual weight of human solidity and “character” -made him the more porous to this divine mood.</p> - -<p>Anyone who watched him returning hastily to his -cottage from the garden-gate would have been amazed -by the change in his countenance. He looked and -moved like a man under a blinding illumination. So -must the citizen of Tarsus have looked, when he -staggered into the streets of Damascus.</p> - -<p>He literally ran into his kitchen, snatched up his -hat and stick, poured a glass of milk down his throat, -put a couple of biscuits into his pocket, and re-issued, -ready for his strange pursuit. He hurried up the -lane to the first gate that offered itself, and passing -into the field continued the chase on the further side -of the hedge.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_661" id="Page_661">[661]</a></span></p> - -<p>The old man evidently found the hill something -of an effort, for it was not long before Mr. Quincunx -overtook them.</p> - -<p>He passed them by unremarked, and continued his -advance along the hedgerow till he reached the -summit of the ridge between Wild Pine and Seven -Ashes. Here, concealed behind a clump of larches, -he awaited their approach. To his surprise, they -entered one of the fields on the opposite side of the -road, and began walking across it.</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx watched them. In a corner of the -field they were crossing lay a spacious hollow,—once -the bed of a pond,—but now quite dry and overgrown -with moss and clover.</p> - -<p>Old Flick’s instinct led him to this spot, as one -well adapted to the purpose he had in mind, both by -reason of its absolute seclusion and by reason of its -smooth turf-floor.</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx waited till their two figures vanished -into this declivity, and then he himself crossed the -field in their track.</p> - -<p>Having reached the mossy level of the vanished -pond,—a place which seemed as though Nature herself -had designed it with a view to his present intention,—Old -Flick assumed a less friendly air towards -his captive. A psychologist interested in searching -out the obscure workings of derelict and submerged -souls, would have come to the speedy conclusion as -he watched the old man’s cadaverous face that the -spirit which at present animated his corpse-like body -was one that had little commiseration or compunction -in it.</p> - -<p>The young Dolores had not, it seemed, to deal at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_662" id="Page_662">[662]</a></span> -this moment with an ordinary human scoundrel, but -with a faded image of humanity galvanized into life -by some conscienceless Larva.</p> - -<p>In proportion as this unearthly obsession grew upon -Old Flick, his natural countenance grew more and -more dilapidated and withered. Innumerable years -seemed suddenly added to the burden he already -carried. The lines of his face assumed a hideous and -Egyptian immobility; only his eyes, as he turned them -upon his companion, were no longer colourless.</p> - -<p>“Doll,” said he, “now thee must try thee’s steps, -or ’twill be the worse for thee!”</p> - -<p>The girl only answered by flinging herself down on -her knees before him, and pouring forth unintelligible -supplications.</p> - -<p>“No more o’ this,” cried the old man; “no more o’ -this! I’ve got to learn ’ee to dance,—and learn ’ee -to dance I will. Ye’ll have to go on them boards -come noon, whether ’ee will or no!”</p> - -<p>The child only clasped her hands more tightly -together, and renewed her pleading.</p> - -<p>It would have needed the genius of some supreme -painter, and of such a painter in an hour of sheer -insanity, to have done justice to the extraordinary -expression that crossed the countenance of Old Flick -at that moment. The outlines of his face seemed to -waver and decompose. None but an artist who had, -like the insatiable Leonardo, followed the very dead -into their forlorn dissolution, could have indicated -the setting of his eyes; and his eyes themselves, -madness alone could have depicted.</p> - -<p>With a sudden vicious jerk the old man snatched -the shawl from the girl’s shoulders, flung it on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_663" id="Page_663">[663]</a></span> -ground, and seizing her by the wrists pulled her up -upon her feet.</p> - -<p>“Dance, ye baggage!” he cried hoarsely;—“dance, -I tell ’ee!”</p> - -<p>It was plain that the luckless waif understood -clearly enough now what was required of her, and it -was also plain that she recognized that the moment -for supplication had gone by. She stepped back a -pace or two upon the smooth turf, and slipping off -her unlaced shoes,—shoes far too large for her small -feet,—she passed the back of her hand quickly -across her eyes, shook her hair away from her forehead, -and began a slow, pathetic little dance.</p> - -<p>“Higher!” cried Old Flick in an excited voice, -beating the air with his hand and humming a strange -snatch of a tune that might have inspired the dances -of Polynesian cannibals. “Higher, I tell ’ee!”</p> - -<p>The girl felt compelled to obey; and putting one -hand on her hip and lifting up her skirt with the -other, she proceeded, shyly and in forlorn silence, to -dance an old Neapolitan folk-dance, such as might be -witnessed, on any summer evening, by the shores of -Amalfi or Sorrento.</p> - -<p>It was at this moment that Mr. Quincunx made his -appearance against the sky-line above them. He -looked for one brief second at the girl’s bare arms, -waving curls, and light-swinging body, and then leapt -down between them.</p> - -<p>All nervousness, all timidity, seemed to have fallen -away from him like a snake’s winter-skin under the -spring sun. He seized the child’s hand with an air -of indescribable gentleness and authority, and made -so menacing and threatening a gesture that Old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_664" id="Page_664">[664]</a></span> -Flick, staggering backwards, nearly fell to the -ground.</p> - -<p>“Whose child is this?” he demanded sternly, -soothing the frightened little dancer with one hand, -while with the other he shook his cane in the direction -of the gasping and protesting old man.</p> - -<p>“Whose child is this? You’ve stolen her, you old -rascal! You’re no Italian,—anyone can see that! -You’re a damned old tramp, and if you weren’t so -old and ugly I’d beat you to death; do you hear?—to -death, you villain! Whose child is she? Can’t -you speak? Take care; I’m badly tempted to make -you taste this,—to make <em>you</em> skip and dance a little!</p> - -<p>“What do you say? Job Love’s circus? Well,—he’s -not an Italian either, is he? So if you haven’t -stolen her, he has.”</p> - -<p>He turned to the child, stooping over her with -infinite tenderness, and folding the shawl of which she -had again possessed herself, with hands as gentle as a -mother’s, about her shoulders and head.</p> - -<p>“Where are your parents, my darling?” he asked, -adding with a flash of amazing presence of mind,—“your -‘padre’ and ‘madre’?”</p> - -<p>The girl seemed to get the drift of the question, and -with a pitiful little smile pointed earthward, and -made a sweeping gesture with both her hands, as if -to indicate the passing of death’s wings.</p> - -<p>“Dead?—both dead, eh?” muttered Mr. Quincunx. -“And these rascals who’ve got hold of you -are villains and rogues? Damned rogues! Damned -villains!”</p> - -<p>He paused and muttered to himself. “What the -devil’s the Italian for a god-forsaken rascal?—‘Cattivo!’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_665" id="Page_665">[665]</a></span> -‘Tutto cattivo!’—the whole lot of -them a set of confounded scamps!”</p> - -<p>The child nodded her head vigorously.</p> - -<p>“You see,” he cried, turning to Old Flick, “she -disowns you all. This is clearly a most knavish -piece of work! What were you doing to the child? -eh? eh? eh?” Mr. Quincunx accompanied these final -syllables with renewed flourishes of his stick in the air.</p> - -<p>Old Flick retreated still further away, his legs -shaking under him. “Here,—you can clear out of -this! Do you understand? You can clear out of -this; and go back to your damned master, and tell -him I’m going to send the police after him!</p> - -<p>“As for this girl, I’m going to take her home with -me. So off you go,—you old reprobate; and thankful -you may be that I haven’t broken every bone in -your body! I’ve a great mind to do it now. Upon -my soul I’ve a great mind to do it!</p> - -<p>“Shall I beat him into a jelly for you,—my darling? -Shall I make him skip and dance for you?”</p> - -<p>The child seemed to understand his gestures, if not -his words; for she clung passionately to his hands, and -pressing them to her lips, covered them with kisses; -shaking her head at the same time, as much as to -say, “Old Flick is nothing. Let Old Flick go to the -devil, as long as I can stay with you!” In some such -manner as this, at any rate, Mr. Quincunx interpreted -her words.</p> - -<p>“Sheer off, then, you old scoundrel! Shog off back -to your confounded circus! And when you’ve got -there, tell your friends,—Job Love and his gang,—that -if they want this little one they’d better come -and fetch her!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_666" id="Page_666">[666]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Dead Man’s Lane,—that’s where I live. It’s -easily enough found; and so is the police-station in -Yeoborough,—as you and your damned kidnappers -shall discover before you’ve done with me!”</p> - -<p>Uttering these words in a voice so menacing that -the old man shook like an aspen-leaf, Mr. Quincunx -took the girl by the hand, and, ascending the grassy -slope, walked off with her across the field.</p> - -<p>Old Flick seemed reduced to a condition bordering -upon imbecility. He staggered up out of that -unpropitious hollow, and stood stock-still, like one -petrified, until they were out of sight. Then, very -slowly and mumbling incoherently to himself, he made -his way back towards the village.</p> - -<p>He did not even turn his head as he passed Mr. -Quincunx’s cottage. Indeed, it is extremely doubtful -how far he had recognized him as the person they -encountered on their way, and still more doubtful -how far he had heard or understood, when the tenant -of Dead Man’s Lane indicated the place of his abode.</p> - -<p>The sudden transformation of the timid recluse -into a formidable man of action did not end with his -triumphant retirement to his familiar domain. Some -mysterious fibre in his complicated temperament had -been struck, and continued to be struck, by the little -Dolores, which not only rendered him indifferent to -personal danger, but willing and happy to encounter -it.</p> - -<p>The event only added one more proof to the sage -dictum of the Chinese philosopher,—that you can -never tell of what a man is capable until he is stone-dead.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_667" id="Page_667">[667]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI<br /> -<span class="smaller">VARIOUS ENCOUNTERS</span></h2> - -<p>During the hours when Mr. Quincunx was -undergoing this strange experience, several -other human brains under the roofs of Nevilton -were feeling the pressure of extreme perturbation.</p> - -<p>Gladys, after a gloomy breakfast, which was -rendered more uncomfortable, not only by her father’s -chaffing references to the approaching ceremony, -but by a letter from Dangelis, had escaped to her -room to be assisted by Lacrima in dressing for the -confirmation.</p> - -<p>In his letter the artist declared his intention of -spending that night at the Gloucester Hotel in Weymouth, -and begged his betrothed to forgive this delay -in his return to her side.</p> - -<p>This communication caused Gladys many tremors -of disquietude. Could it be possible that the American -had found out something and that he had gone -to Weymouth to meditate at leisure upon his course -of action?</p> - -<p>In any case this intimation of a delay in his return -irritated the girl. It struck her in her tenderest spot. -It was a direct flouting of her magnetic power. It -was an insult to her sex-vanity.</p> - -<p>She had seen nothing of Luke since their Sunday’s -excursion; and as Lacrima, with cold submissive -fingers, helped her to arrange her white dress and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_668" id="Page_668">[668]</a></span> -virginal veil, she could hear the sound of the bell -tolling for James Andersen’s funeral.</p> - -<p>Mingled curiously enough with this melancholy -vibration falling at protracted intervals upon the air, -like the stroke of some reiterated hammer of doom, -came another sound, a sound of a completely opposite -character,—the preluding strains, namely, of the -steam roundabouts of Porter’s Universal Show.</p> - -<p>It was as though on one side of the village the -angel of death were striking an iron-threatening gong, -while, on the other side, the demons of life were -howling a brazen defiance.</p> - -<p>The association of the two sounds as they reached -her at this critical hour brought the figure of Luke -vividly and obsessingly into her mind. How well she -knew the sort of comment he would make upon the -bizarre combination! Beneath the muslin frills of -her virginal dress,—a dress that made her look fairer -and younger than usual,—her heart ached with sick -longing for her evasive lover.</p> - -<p>The wheel had indeed come full circle for the fair-haired -girl. She could not help the thought recurring -again and again, as Lacrima’s light fingers adjusted -her veil, that the next time she dressed in this manner -it would be for her wedding-day. Her one profound -consolation lay in the knowledge that her cousin, -even more deeply than herself, dreaded the approach -of that fatal Thursday.</p> - -<p>Her hatred for the pale-cheeked Italian re-accumulated -every drop of its former venom, as with an air -of affectionate gratitude she accepted her assistance.</p> - -<p>It is a psychological peculiarity of certain human -beings that the more they hate, the more they crave,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_669" id="Page_669">[669]</a></span> -with a curious perverted instinct, some sort of physical -contact with the object of their hatred.</p> - -<p>Every touch of Lacrima’s hand increased the -intensity of Gladys’ loathing; and yet, so powerful is -the instinct to which I refer, she lost no opportunity -of accentuating the contact between them, letting -their fingers meet again and again, and even their -breath, and throwing back her rounded chin to make -it easier for those hated wrists to busy themselves -about her throat. Her general air was an air of -playful passivity; but at one moment, imprinting a kiss -on the girl’s arm as, in the process of arranging her -veil, it brushed across her cheek, she seemed almost -anxious to convey to Lacrima the full implication of -her real feeling.</p> - -<p>Never has a human caress been so electric with the -vibrations of antipathy, as was that kiss. She followed -up this signal of animosity by a series of feline -taunts relative to John Goring, one of which, from -its illuminated insight into the complex strata of the -girl’s soul, delighted her by its effect.</p> - -<p>Lacrima winced under it, as if under the sting of a -lash, and a burning flood of scarlet suffused her -cheeks. She dropped her hands and stepped back, -uttering a fierce vow that nothing—nothing on -earth—would induce her to accompany a girl who -could say such things, to such a ceremony!</p> - -<p>“No, I wouldn’t,—I wouldn’t!” cried Gladys -mockingly. “I wouldn’t dream of coming with me! -Tomorrow week, anyway, we’re bound to go to church -side by side. Father wanted to drive with me then, -you know, and to let mother go with you,—but I -wouldn’t hear of it! I said they must go in one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_670" id="Page_670">[670]</a></span> -carriage, and you and I in another, so that our last -drive together we should be quite by ourselves. -You’ll like that, won’t you, darling?”</p> - -<p>Lacrima’s only answer to this was to turn her back -to her cousin, and begin putting on her hat and -gloves.</p> - -<p>“I know where you’re going,” said Gladys. “You’re -going to see your dear Maurice. Give him my love! -I should be ashamed to let such a wretched coward -come near me.</p> - -<p>“James—poor boy!—was a fellow of a different -metal. He’d some spirit in him. Listen! When that -bell stops tolling they’ll be carrying him into the -church. I expect you’re thinking now, darling, that -it would have been better if you’d treated him -differently. Of course you know it’s you that killed -him? Oh, nobody else! Just little Lacrima and her -coy, demure ways!</p> - -<p>“<em>I’ve</em> never killed a man. I can say that, at all -events.</p> - -<p>“That’s right! Run off to her dear Maurice,—her -dear brave Maurice! Perhaps he’ll take her on -his knees again, and she’ll play the sweet little innocent,—like -that day when I peeped through the -window!”</p> - -<p>This final dart had hardly reached its objective -before Lacrima without attempting any retort rushed -from the room.</p> - -<p>“I <em>will</em> go and see Maurice. I will! I will!” she -murmured to herself as she ran down the broad oak -staircase, and slipped out by the East door.</p> - -<p>Simultaneously with these events, a scene of equal -dramatic intensity, though of a very different character,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_671" id="Page_671">[671]</a></span> -was being enacted in the vicarage drawing-room.</p> - -<p>Vennie, as we have noted, had resolved to postpone -for the present her reception into the Catholic Church. -She had also resolved that nothing on earth should -induce her to reveal to her mother her change of -creed until the thing was an accomplished fact. The -worst, however, of the kind of mental suppression in -which she had been living of late, is that it tends to -produce a volcanic excitement of the nerves, liable at -any moment to ungovernable upheavals. Quite little -things—mere straws and bagatelles—are enough to -set this eruption beginning; and when once it begins, -the accumulated passion of the long days of fermentation -gives the explosion a horrible force.</p> - -<p>One perpetual annoyance to Vennie was her -mother’s persistent fondness for family prayers. It -seemed to the girl as though Valentia insisted on this -performance, not so much out of a desire to serve -God, as out of a sense of what was due to herself as -the mistress of a well-conducted establishment.</p> - -<p>Vennie always fancied she discerned a peculiar -tone of self-satisfaction in her mother’s voice, as, -rather loudly, and extremely clearly, she read her -liturgical selections to the assembled servants.</p> - -<p>On this particular morning the girl had avoided -the performance of this rite, by leaving her room -earlier than usual and taking refuge in the furthest -of the vicarage orchards. Backwards and forwards -she walked, in that secluded place, with her hands -behind her and her head bent, heedless of the drenching -dew which covered every grass-blade and of the -heavy white mists that still hung about the tree-trunks. -She was obliged to return to her room and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_672" id="Page_672">[672]</a></span> -change her shoes and stockings before joining her -mother at breakfast, but not before she had prayed -a desperate prayer, down there among the misty trees, -for the eternal rest of James Andersen’s soul.</p> - -<p>This little incident of her absence from prayers -was the direct cause of the unfortunate scene that -followed.</p> - -<p>Valentia hardly spoke to her daughter while the -meal proceeded, and when at last it was over, she -retired to the drawing-room and began writing letters.</p> - -<p>This was an extremely ill-omened sign to anyone -who knew Mrs. Seldom’s habits. Under normal -conditions, her first proceeding after breakfast was to -move to the kitchen, where she engaged in a long -culinary debate with both cook and gardener; a course -of action which was extremely essential, as without it,—so -bitter was the feud between these two worthies,—it -is unlikely that there would have been any vegetables -at all, either for lunch or dinner. When anything -occurred to throw her into a mood of especially good -spirits, she would pass straight out of the French -window on to the front lawn, and armed with a pair -of formidable garden-scissors would make a selection -of flowers and leaves appropriate to a festival temper.</p> - -<p>But this adjournment at so early an hour to the -task of letter-writing indicated that Valentia was in a -condition of mind, which in anyone but a lady of her -distinction and breeding could have been called nothing -less than a furious rage. For of all things in the -world, Mrs. Seldom most detested this business of -writing letters; and therefore,—with that perverse -self-punishing instinct, which is one of the most -artful weapons of offence given to refined<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_673" id="Page_673">[673]</a></span> -gentlewomen,—she took grim satisfaction in setting herself -down to write; thus producing chaos in the kitchen, -where the gardener refused to obey the cook, and -miserable remorse in the heart of Vennie, who wandered -up and down the lawn meditating a penitential -apology.</p> - -<p>Satisfied in her heart that she was causing universal -annoyance and embarrassment by her proceeding, -and yet quite confident that there was nothing but -what was proper and natural in her writing letters -at nine o’clock in the morning, Valentia began, by -gentle degrees, to recover her lost temper.</p> - -<p>The only real sedative to thoroughly aggravated -nerves, is the infliction of similar aggravation upon -the nerves of others. This process is like the laying -on of healing ointment; and the more extended the -disturbance which we have the good fortune to create, -the sooner we ourselves recover our equanimity.</p> - -<p>Valentia had already cast several longing glances -through the window at the heavy sunshine falling -mistily on the asters and petunias, and in another -moment she would probably have left her letter and -joined her daughter in the garden, had not Vennie -anticipated any such movement by entering the room -herself.</p> - -<p>“I ought to make you understand, mother,” the -girl began as soon as she stepped in, speaking in that -curious strained voice which people assume when they -have worked themselves up to a pitch of nervous -excitement, “that when I don’t appear at prayers, it -isn’t because I’m in a sulky temper, or in any mad -haste to get out of doors. It’s—it’s for a different -reason.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_674" id="Page_674">[674]</a></span></p> - -<p>Valentia gazed at her in astonishment. The tone -in which Vennie spoke was so tense, her eyes shone -with such a strange brilliance, and her look was altogether -so abnormal, that Mrs. Seldom completely -forgot her injured priestess-vanity, and waited in -sheer maternal alarm for the completion of the girl’s -announcement.</p> - -<p>“It’s because I’ve made up my mind to become a -Catholic, and Catholics aren’t allowed to attend any -other kind of service than their own.”</p> - -<p>Valentia rose to her feet and looked at her daughter -in blank dismay. Her first feeling was one of overpowering -indignation against Mr. Taxater, to whose -treacherous influence she felt certain this madness -was mainly due.</p> - -<p>There was a terrible pause during which Vennie, -leaning against the back of a chair, was conscious that -both herself and her mother were trembling from -head to foot. The soft murmur of wood-pigeons -wafted in from the window, was now blended with -two other sounds, the sound of the tolling of the -church-bell and the sound of the music of Mr. -Love’s circus, testing the efficiency of its roundabouts.</p> - -<p>“So this is what it has come to, is it?” said the -old lady at last. “And I suppose the next thing -you’ll tell me, in this unkind, inconsiderate way, is -that you’ve decided to become a nun!”</p> - -<p>Vennie made a little movement with her head.</p> - -<p>“You have?” cried Valentia, pale with anger.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_675" id="Page_675">[675]</a></span> -“You have made up your mind to do that? Well—I -wouldn’t have believed it of you, Vennie! In spite -of everything I’ve done for you; in spite of everything -I’ve taught you; in spite of everything I’ve prayed -for;—you can go and do this! Oh, you’re an unkind, -ungrateful girl! But I know that look on your face. -I’ve known it from your childhood. When you look -like that there’s no hope of moving you. Go on, -then! Do as you wish to do. Leave your mother in -her old age, and destroy the last hope of our family. -I won’t speak another word. I know nothing I can -say will change you.” She sank down upon the -chintz-covered sofa and covered her face with her -hands.</p> - -<p>Vennie cursed herself for her miserable want of -tact. What demon was it that had tempted her to -break her resolution? Then, suddenly, as she looked -at her mother swaying to and fro on the couch, a -strange impulse of hard inflexible obstinacy rose up -in her.</p> - -<p>These wretched human affections,—so unbalanced -and selfish,—what a relief to escape from them -altogether! Like the passing on its way, across a -temperate ocean, of some polar iceberg, there drove, -at that moment, through Vennie’s consciousness, a -wedge of frozen, adamantine contempt for all these -human, too-human clingings and clutchings which -would fain imprison the spirit and hold it down with -soft-strangling hands.</p> - -<p>In her deepest heart she turned almost savagely -away from this grey-haired woman, sitting there so -hurt in her earthly affections and ambitions. She -uttered a fierce mental invocation to that other -Mother,—her whose heart, pierced by seven swords, -had submitted to God’s will without a groan!</p> - -<p>Valentia, who, it must be remembered, had not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_676" id="Page_676">[676]</a></span> -only married a Seldom, but was herself one of that -breed, felt at that moment as though this girl of -hers were reverting to some mad strain of Pre-Elizabethan -fanaticism. There was something mediæval -about Vennie’s obstinacy, as there was something -mediæval about the lines of her face. Valentia -recalled a portrait she had once seen of an ancestor -of theirs in the days before the Reformation. He, the -great Catholic Baron, had possessed the same thin -profile and the same pinched lips. It was a curious -revenge, the poor lady thought, for those evicted -Cistercians, out of whose plundered house the Nevilton -mansion had been built, that this fate, of all -fates, should befall the last of the Seldoms!</p> - -<p>The tolling of the bell, which hitherto had gone on, -monotonously and insistently, across the drowsy -lawn, suddenly stopped.</p> - -<p>Vennie started and ran hurriedly to the door.</p> - -<p>“They are burying James Andersen,” she cried, -“and I ought to be there. It would look unkind and -thoughtless of me not to be there. Good-bye, mother! -We’ll talk of this when I come back. I’m sorry to -be so unsatisfactory a daughter to you, but perhaps -you’ll feel differently some day.”</p> - -<p>Left to herself, Valentia Seldom rose and went back -to her letter. But the pen fell from her limp fingers, -and tears stained the already written page.</p> - -<p>The funeral service had only just commenced when -Vennie reached the churchyard. She remained at the -extreme outer edge of the crowd, where groups of -inquisitive women are wont to cluster, wearing their -aprons and carrying their babies, and where the bigger -children are apt to be noisy and troublesome. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_677" id="Page_677">[677]</a></span> -caught a glimpse of Ninsy Lintot among those standing -quite close to where Mr. Clavering, in his white -surplice, was reading the pregnant liturgical words. -She noticed that the girl held her hands to her face -and that her slender form was shaking with the stress -of her emotion.</p> - -<p>She could not see Luke’s face, but she was conscious -that his motionless figure had lost its upright grace. -The young stone-carver seemed to droop, like a -sun-flower whose stalk has been bent by the wind.</p> - -<p>The words of the familiar English service were -borne intermittently to her ears as they fell from the -lips of the priest who had once been her friend. It -struck her poignantly enough,—that brave human -defiance, so solemn and tender, with which humanity -seems to rise up in sublime desperation and hoist its -standard of hope against hope!</p> - -<p>She wondered what the sceptical Luke was feeling -all this while. When Mr. Clavering began to read the -passage which is prefaced in the Book of Common -Prayer by the words, “Then while the earth be cast -upon the Body by some standing by, the priest shall -say,”—the quiet sobs of poor little Ninsy broke -into a wail of passionate grief, grief to which Vennie, -for all her convert’s aloofness from Protestant heresy, -could not help adding her own tears.</p> - -<p>It was the custom at Nevilton for the bearers of -the coffin, when the service was over, to re-form in -solemn procession, and escort the chief mourners back -to the house from which they had come. It was her -knowledge of this custom that led Vennie to steal -away before the final words were uttered; and her -hurried departure from the churchyard saved her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_678" id="Page_678">[678]</a></span> -from being a witness of the somewhat disconcerting -event with which the solemn transaction closed.</p> - -<p>The bringing of James’ body to the church had -been unfortunately delayed at the start by the -wayward movements of a luggage-train, which persisted -in shunting up and down over the level-crossing, -at the moment when they were carrying the coffin from -the house. This delay had been followed by others, -owing to various unforeseen causes, and by the time -the service actually began it was already close upon -the hour fixed for the confirmation.</p> - -<p>Thus it happened that, soon after Vennie’s departure, -at the very moment when the procession of -bearers, followed by Luke and the station-master’s -wife, issued forth into the street, there drove up to -the church-door a two-horsed carriage containing -Gladys and her mother, the former all whitely veiled, -as if she were a child-bride. Seeing the bearers troop -by, the fair-haired candidate for confirmation clutched -Mrs. Romer’s arm and held her in her place, but -leaning forward in the effort of this movement she -presented her face at the carriage window, just as -Luke himself emerged from the gates.</p> - -<p>The two young people found themselves looking -one another straight in the eyes, until with a shuddering -spasm that shook her whole frame, Gladys sank -back into her seat, as if from the effect of a crushing -blow received full upon the breast.</p> - -<p>Luke passed on, following the bearers, with something -like the ghost of a smile upon his drawn and -contorted lips.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_679" id="Page_679">[679]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII<br /> -<span class="smaller">VENNIE SELDOM</span></h2> - -<p>It was not towards her mother’s house that -Vennie directed her steps when she left the -churchyard. She turned sharp to the west, and -walked rapidly down the central street of the village -into the square at the end of it.</p> - -<p>Here she found an arena of busy and stirring -confusion, dominated by hissing spouts of steam, -hoarse whistlings from the “roundabout” engines, and -occasional bursts of extravagant melody, as the -circus-men made their musical experiments, pending -the opening of the show.</p> - -<p>Vennie’s intention, in crossing the square, was to -pay a morning visit to Mr. Quincunx, whose absence -from Andersen’s funeral had struck her mind as -extraordinary and ominous. She feared that the -recluse must be ill. Nothing less than illness, she -thought, would have kept him away from such an -event. She knew how closely he and the younger -stone-carver were associated, and it was inconceivable -that any insane jealousy of the dead could have held -him at home. Of course it was possible that he had -been compelled to go to work at Yeoborough as usual, -but she did not think this likely.</p> - -<p>It was, however, not only anxiety lest her mother’s -queer friend should be ill that actuated her. She -felt,—now that her ultimatum had been delivered,—that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_680" id="Page_680">[680]</a></span> -the sooner she entered the Catholic Church and -plunged into her novitiate, the better it would be. -When events had <em>happened</em>, Mrs. Seldom accepted -them. It was during the days of uncertain waiting -that her nerves broke down. Once the daughter -were actually a postulant in a convent, she felt sure -the mother would resign herself, and resume her -normal life.</p> - -<p>Valentia was a very independent and self-sufficient -woman. With her favourite flowers and her favourite -biographies of proconsular personages, the girl felt -convinced she would be much less heart-broken than -she imagined.</p> - -<p>Her days in Nevilton being thus numbered, Vennie -could not help giving way to a desire that had lately -grown more and more definite within her, to have a -bold and unhesitating interview with Mr. Quincunx. -Perhaps even at this last hour something might be -done to save Lacrima from her fate!</p> - -<p>Passing along the outskirts of the circus, she could -not resist pausing for a moment to observe the numerous -groups of well-known village characters, whom -curiosity had drawn to the spot.</p> - -<p>She was amazed to catch sight of the redoubtable -Mr. Wone, holding one of his younger children by -the hand and surveying with extreme interest the -setting up of a colossal framework of gilded and -painted wood, destined to support certain boat-shaped -swings. She felt a little indignant with the -worthy man for not having been present at Andersen’s -funeral, but the naive and childlike interest with -which, with open mouth and eyes, he stood gaping at -this glittering erection, soothed her anger into a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_681" id="Page_681">[681]</a></span> -smile. He really was a good sort of man, this poor -Wone! She wondered vaguely whether he intended -himself to indulge in the pastime of swinging in a -boat-shaped swing or whirling round upon a wooden -horse. She felt that if she could see him on one of -these roundabouts,—especially if he retained that -expression of guileless admiration,—she could really -forgive him everything.</p> - -<p>She caught a glimpse of two other figures whose -interest in the proceedings appeared extremely vivid, -no less persons than Mr. John Goring and his devoted -henchman, Bert Leerd. These two were -engaged in reading a glaring advertisement which depicted -a young woman clad in astounding spangles -dancing on a tight-rope, and it was difficult to say -whether the farmer or the idiot was the more -absorbed.</p> - -<p>She was just turning away, when she heard herself -called by name, and from amid a crowd of women -clustering round one of Mr. Love’s bric-a-brac stalls, -there came towards her, together, Mrs. Fringe and -Mrs. Wotnot.</p> - -<p>Vennie was extremely surprised to find these two -ladies,—by no means particularly friendly as a rule,—thus -joined in partnership of dissipation, but she -supposed the influence of a circus, like the influence -of religion, has a dissolvent effect upon human animosity. -That these excellent women should have -preferred the circus, however, to the rival entertainment -in the churchyard, did strike her mind as extraordinary. -She did not know that they had, as a -matter of fact, “eaten their pot of honey” at the -one, before proceeding, post-haste, to enjoy the other.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_682" id="Page_682">[682]</a></span></p> - -<p>“May we walk with you, miss, a step?” supplicated -Mrs. Fringe, as Vennie indicated her intention -of moving on, as soon as their salutations were -over.</p> - -<p>“Thank you, you are very kind, Mrs. Fringe. -Perhaps,—a little way, but I’m rather busy this -morning.”</p> - -<p>“Oh we shan’t trouble you long,” murmured Mrs. -Wotnot, “It’s only,—well, Mrs. Fringe, here, had -better speak.”</p> - -<p>Thus it came about that Vennie began her advance -up the Yeoborough road supported by the two housekeepers, -the lean one on the left of her, and the fat -one on the right of her.</p> - -<p>“Will I tell her, or will you tell her?” murmured -the plump lady sweetly, when they were clear of the -village.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Wotnot made a curious grimace and clasped -and unclasped her hands.</p> - -<p>“Better you; much, much better, that it should -be you,” she remarked.</p> - -<p>“But ’twas thy tale, dearie; ’twas thy tale and -surprisin’ discoverin’s,” protested Mrs. Fringe.</p> - -<p>“Those that knows aren’t always those that tells,” -observed the other sententiously.</p> - -<p>“But you do think it’s proper and right the young -lady should know?” said Mr. Clavering’s housekeeper.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Wotnot nodded. “If ’taint too shameful for -her, ’tis best what she’d a’ ought to hear,” said the -lean woman.</p> - -<p>Vennie became conscious at this moment that -whenever Mrs. Wotnot opened her mouth there -issued thence a most unpleasant smell of brandy, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_683" id="Page_683">[683]</a></span> -it flashed upon her that this was the explanation of -the singular converging of these antipodal orbits. In -the absence of her master, Mrs. Wotnot had evidently -“taken to drink,” and it was doubtless out of her -protracted intoxication that Mrs. Fringe had derived -whatever scandalous piece of gossip it was that she -was now so anxious to impart.</p> - -<p>“I’ll tell ’ee, miss,” said Mrs. Fringe, “with no -nonsense-fangles and no shilly-shally. I’ll tell ’ee -straight out and sober,—same as our dear friend -did tell it to me. ’Tis along of Miss Romer,—ye -be to understand, wot is to be confirmed this same -blessed day.</p> - -<p>“The dear woman, here, was out a-gatherin’ laurel-leaves -one fine evenin’, long o’ some weeks since, and -who should she get wind of, in the bushes near-by, -but Mr. Luke and Miss Gladys. I been my own self -ere now, moon-daft on that there lovely young man, -but Satan’s ways be Satan’s ways, and none shall -report that I takes countenance of <em>such</em> goings on. -Mrs. Wotnot here, she heerd every Jack word them -sinful young things did say,—and shameful-awful -their words were, God in Heaven do know!</p> - -<p>“They were cursin’ one another, like to split, that -night. She were cryin’ and fandanderin’ and he -were laughin’ and chaffin’. ’Twas God’s terror to hear -how they went on, with the holy bare sky over their -shameless heads!”</p> - -<p>“Tell the young lady quick and plain,” ejaculated -Mrs. Wotnot at this point, clutching Vennie’s arm -and arresting their advance.</p> - -<p>“I <em>am</em> ’a tellin’ her,” retorted Mrs. Fringe, “I’m -a tellin’ as fast as my besom can breathe. Don’t ’ee<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_684" id="Page_684">[684]</a></span> -push a body so! The young lady ain’t in such a -tantrum-hurry as all that.”</p> - -<p>“I am <em>rather</em> anxious to get on with my walk,” -threw in Vennie, looking from one to another with -some embarrassment, “and I really don’t care very -much about hearing things of this kind.”</p> - -<p>“Tell ’er! Tell ’er! Tell ’er!” cried Mrs. Wotnot.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Fringe cast a contemptuous look at her rival -housekeeper.</p> - -<p>“Our friend baint quite her own self today, miss,” -she remarked with a wink at Vennie, “the weather -or summat’ ’ave moved ’er rheumatiz from ’er legs, -and settled it in ’er stummick.”</p> - -<p>“Tell her! Tell her!” reiterated the other.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Fringe lowered her voice to a pregnant -whisper.</p> - -<p>“The truth be, miss, that our friend here heered -these wicked young things talk quite open-like about -their gay goings on. So plain did they talk, that -all wot the Blessed Lord ’is own self do know, of -such as most folks keeps to ’emselves, went burnin’ -and shamin’ into our friend’s ’stonished ears. And wot -she did gather was that Miss Gladys, for certin’ and -sure, be a lost girl, and Mr. Luke ’as ’ad ’is bit of -fun down to the uttermost drop.”</p> - -<p>The extraordinary solemnity with which Mrs. -Fringe uttered these words and the equally extraordinary -solemnity with which Mrs. Wotnot nodded -her head in corroboration of their truth had a devastating -effect upon Vennie. There was no earthly -reason why these two females should have invented -this squalid story. Mrs. Fringe was an incurable -scandal-monger, but Vennie had never found her a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_685" id="Page_685">[685]</a></span> -liar. Besides there was a genuine note of shocked -sincerity about her tone which no mere morbid suspicion -could have evoked.</p> - -<p>The thing was true then! Gladys and Luke were -lovers, in the most extreme sense of that word, and -Dangelis was the victim of an outrageous betrayal.</p> - -<p>Vennie had sufficient presence of mind to avoid the -eyes of both the women, eyes fixed with ghoulish and -lickerish interest upon her, as they watched for the -effect of this revelation,—but she was uncomfortably -conscious that her cheeks were flaming and her voice -strained as she bade them good-bye. Comment, of -any kind, upon what they had revealed to her she -found absolutely impossible. She could only wish -them a pleasant time at the circus if they were -returning thither, and freedom from any ill effects -due to their accompanying her so far.</p> - -<p>When she was alone, and beginning to climb the -ascent of Dead Man’s Lane, the full implication of -what she had learnt thrust itself through her brain -like a red-hot wedge. Vennie’s experience of the -treacherousness of the world had, as we know, gone -little deeper than her reaction from the rough discourtesy -of Mr. Clavering and the evasive aloofness -of Mr. Taxater. This sudden revelation into the -brutishness and squalour inherent in our planetary -system had the effect upon her of an access of physical -nausea. She felt dizzy and sick, as she toiled up the -hill, between the wet sun-pierced hedges, and under -the heavy September trees.</p> - -<p>The feeling of autumn in the air, so pleasant under -normal conditions to human senses, seemed to associate -itself just now with this dreadful glance she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_686" id="Page_686">[686]</a></span> -had had into the basic terrors of things. The whole -atmosphere about her seemed to smell of decay, of -decomposition, of festering mortality. The pull and -draw of the thick Nevilton soil, its horrible demonic -gravitation, had never got hold of her more tenaciously -than it did then. She felt as though some -vast octopus-like tentacles were dragging her earthward.</p> - -<p>Vennie was one of those rare women for whom, -even under ordinary conditions, the idea of sex is -distasteful and repulsive. Presented to her as it was -now, mingled with treachery and deception, it obsessed -her with an almost living presence. Sensuality -had always been for her the one unpardonable sin, -and sensuality of this kind, turning the power of sex -into a mere motive for squalid pleasure-seeking, filled -her with a shuddering disgust.</p> - -<p>So this was what men and women were like! This -was the kind of thing that went on, under the “covert -and convenient seeming” of affable lies!</p> - -<p>The whole of nature seemed to have become, in -one moment, foul and miasmic. Rank vapours rose -from the ground at her feet, and the weeds in the -hedge took odious and indecent shapes.</p> - -<p>An immense wave of distrust swept over her for -everyone that she knew. Was Mr. Clavering himself -like this?</p> - -<p>This thought,—the thought of what, for all she -could tell, might exist between her priest-friend and -this harlot-girl,—flushed her cheeks with a new -emotion. Mixed at that moment with her virginal -horror of the whole squalid business, was a pang of -quite a different character, a pang that approached,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_687" id="Page_687">[687]</a></span> -if it did not reach, the sharp sting of sheer physical -jealousy.</p> - -<p>As soon as she became aware of this feeling in -herself it sickened her with a deeper loathing. Was -she also contaminated, like the rest? Was no living -human being free from this taint?</p> - -<p>She stopped and passed her hand across her forehead. -She took off her hat and made a movement -with her arms as if thrusting away some invisible -assailant. She felt she could not encounter even -Mr. Quincunx in this obsessed condition. She had -the sensation of being infected by some kind of -odious leprosy.</p> - -<p>She sat down in the hedge, heedless of the still -clinging dew. Strange and desperate thoughts whirled -through her brain. She longed to purge herself in -some way, to bathe deep, deep,—body and soul,—in -some cleansing stream.</p> - -<p>But what about Gladys’ betrothed? What about -the American? Vennie had scarcely spoken to -Dangelis, hardly ever seen him, but she felt a wave of -sympathy for the betrayed artist surge through her -heart. It could not be allowed,—it could not,—that -those two false intriguers should fool this innocent -gentleman!</p> - -<p>Struck by a sudden illumination as if from the -unveiled future, she saw herself going straight to -Dangelis and revealing the whole story. He should -at least be made aware of the real nature of the girl -he was marrying!</p> - -<p>Having resolved upon this bold step, Vennie recovered -something of her natural mood. Where was Mr. -Dangelis at this moment? She must find that out,—perhaps<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_688" id="Page_688">[688]</a></span> -Mr. Quincunx would know. She must make -a struggle to waylay the artist, to get an interview -with him alone.</p> - -<p>She rose to her feet, and holding her hat in her -hand, advanced resolutely up the lane. She felt -happier now, relieved, in a measure, of that odious -sense of confederacy with gross sin which had weighed -her down. But there still beat vaguely in her brain -a passionate longing for purification. If only she -could escape, even for a few hours, from this lust-burdened -spot! If only she could cool her forehead -in the sea!</p> - -<p>As she approached Mr. Quincunx’s cottage she experienced -a calm and restorative reaction from her -distress of mind. She felt no longer alone in the -world. Having resolved on a drastic stroke on behalf -of clear issues, she was strangely conscious, as she -had not been conscious for many months, of the -presence, near her and with her, of the Redeemer of -men.</p> - -<p>It suddenly was borne in upon her that that other -criminal abuse, which had so long oppressed her soul -with a dead burden,—the affair of Lacrima and -Goring,—was intimately associated with what she -had discovered. It was more than likely that by -exposing the one she could prevent the other.</p> - -<p>Flushed with excitement at this thought she opened -Mr. Quincunx’s gate and walked up his garden-path. -To her amazement, she heard voices in the cottage -and not only voices, but voices speaking in a language -that vaguely reminded her of the little Catholic -services in the chapel at Yeoborough.</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx himself answered her knock and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_689" id="Page_689">[689]</a></span> -opened the door. He was strangely agitated. The hand -which he extended to her shook as it touched her fingers.</p> - -<p>But Vennie herself was too astonished at the sight -which met her eyes to notice anything of this. Seated -opposite one another, on either side of the solitary’s -kitchen-fire, were Lacrima and the little Dolores. -Vennie had interrupted a lively and impassioned -colloquy between the two Italians.</p> - -<p>They both rose at her entrance, and their host, -in hurried nervous speech, gave Vennie an incoherent -account of what had happened.</p> - -<p>When they were all seated,—Vennie in the little -girl’s chair, and the child on Mr. Quincunx’s knees,—the -embarrassment of the first surprise quickly subsided.</p> - -<p>“I shall adopt her,” the solitary kept repeating,—as -though the words were uttered in a defiance of -universal opposition, “I shall adopt her. You’d -advise me to do that, wouldn’t you Miss Seldom?</p> - -<p>“I shall get a proper document made out, so that -there can be no mistake. I shall adopt her. Whatever -anyone likes to say, I shall adopt her!</p> - -<p>“Those circus-scoundrels will hold their tongues and -let me alone for their own sakes. I shall have no -trouble. Lacrima will explain to the police who -the child is, and who her parents were. That is, if -the police come. But they won’t come. Why should -they come? I shall have a document drawn out.”</p> - -<p>It seemed as though the little Neapolitan knew by -instinct what her protector was saying, for she nestled -down against his shoulder and taking one of his hands -in both of hers pressed it against her lips.</p> - -<p>Vennie gazed at Lacrima, and Lacrima gazed at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_690" id="Page_690">[690]</a></span> -Vennie, but neither of them spoke. There was an -inner flame of triumphant concentration in Vennie’s -glance, but Lacrima’s look was clouded and sad.</p> - -<p>“Certainly no one will interfere with you,” said -Vennie at last. “We shall all be so glad to think -that the child is in such good hands.</p> - -<p>“The only difficulty I can see,” she paused a moment, -while the grey eyes of Mr. Quincunx opened -wide and an expression of something like defiance -passed over his face, “is that it’ll be difficult for you -to know what to do with her while you are away in -Yeoborough. You could hardly leave her alone in -this out-of-the-way place, and I’m afraid our Nevilton -National School wouldn’t suit her at all.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx freed his hand and stroked his beard. -His fingers were quivering, and Vennie noticed a -certain curious twitching in the muscles of his face.</p> - -<p>“I shan’t go to Yeoborough any more,” he cried. -“None of you need think it!</p> - -<p>“That affair is over and done with. I shan’t stay -here, any more, either, to be bullied by the Romers -and made a fool of by all these idiots. I shall go -away. I shall go—far away—to London—to -Liverpool,—to—to Norwich,—like the Man in the -Moon!”</p> - -<p>This final inspiration brought a flicker of his old -goblin-humour to the corners of his mouth.</p> - -<p>Lacrima looked at Vennie with an imperceptible -lifting of her eyebrows, and then sighed deeply.</p> - -<p>The latter clasped the arms of her high-backed -chair with firm hands.</p> - -<p>“I think it is essential that you should know <em>where</em> -you are going, Mr. Quincunx. I mean for the child’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_691" id="Page_691">[691]</a></span> -sake. You surely don’t wish to drag her aimlessly -about these great cities while you look for work?</p> - -<p>“Besides,—you won’t be angry will you, if I -speak plainly?—what work, exactly, have you in -your mind to do? It isn’t, I’m afraid, always easy—”</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx interrupted her with an outburst of -unexpected fury.</p> - -<p>“That’s what I knew you’d say!” he cried in a -loud voice. “That’s what <em>she</em> says.” He indicated -Lacrima. “But you both say it, only because you don’t -want me to have the pleasure of adopting Dolores!</p> - -<p>“But I <em>shall</em> adopt her,—in spite of you all. Yes, in -spite of you all! Nothing shall stop me adopting her!”</p> - -<p>Once more the little Italian nestled close against -him, and took possession of his trembling hand.</p> - -<p>Vennie perceived an expression of despairing hopelessness -pass like an icy mist over Lacrima’s face.</p> - -<p>The profile of the Nevilton nun assumed those lines -of commanding obstinacy which had reminded -Valentia a few hours ago of the mediæval baron. -She rose to her feet.</p> - -<p>“Listen to me, Mr. Quincunx,” she said sternly. -“You are right; you are quite right, to wish to save -this child. No one shall stop you saving her. No -one shall stop you adopting her. But there are other -people whose happiness depends upon what you do, -besides this child.”</p> - -<p>She paused, and glanced from Mr. Quincunx to -Lacrima, and from Lacrima to Mr. Quincunx. Then -a look of indescribable domination and power passed -into her face. She might have been St. Catharine -herself, magnetizing the whole papal court into -obedience to her will.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_692" id="Page_692">[692]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh you foolish people!” she cried, “you foolish -people! Can’t you see where God is leading you? -Can’t you see where His Spirit has brought you?”</p> - -<p>She turned upon Mr. Quincunx with shining eyes, -while Lacrima, white as a phantom and with drooping -mouth, watched her in amazement.</p> - -<p>“It’s not only this child He’s helped you to save,” -she went on. “It’s not only this child! Are you -blind to what He means? Don’t you understand the -cruelty that is being done to your friend? Don’t -you understand?”</p> - -<p>She stretched out her arm and touched Mr. Quincunx’s -shoulder.</p> - -<p>“You must do more than give this little one a father,” -she murmured in a low tone, “you must give her -a mother. How can she be happy without a mother?</p> - -<p>“Come,” she went on, in a voice vibrating with -magnetic authority, “there’s no other way. You and -Lacrima must join hands. You must join hands at -once, and defy everyone. Our little wanderer must -have both father and mother! That is what God -intends.”</p> - -<p>There was a long and strange silence, broken only -by the ticking of the clock.</p> - -<p>Then Mr. Quincunx slowly rose, allowed the child -to sink down into his empty chair, and crossed over -to Lacrima’s side. Very solemnly, and as if registering -a sacred vow, he took his friend’s head between his -hands and kissed her on the forehead. Then, searching -for her hand and holding it tightly in his own, he -turned towards Vennie, while Lacrima herself, pressing -her face against his shabby coat, broke into convulsive -crying.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_693" id="Page_693">[693]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I’ll take your advice,” he said gravely. “I’ll -take it without question. There are more difficulties -in the way than you know, but I’ll do,—we’ll do,—just -what you tell us. I can’t think—” he hesitated -for a moment, while a curious smile flickered -across his face, “how on earth I’m going to manage. -I can’t think how we’re going to get away from here. -But I’ll take your advice and we’ll do exactly as -you say.</p> - -<p>“We’ll do what she says, won’t we, Lacrima?”</p> - -<p>Lacrima’s only answer was to conceal her face still -more completely in his dusty coat, but her crying -became quieter and presently ceased altogether.</p> - -<p>At that moment there came a sharp knock a the -door.</p> - -<p>The countenance of Mr. Quincunx changed. He -dropped his friend’s hand, and moved into the centre -of the room.</p> - -<p>“That must be the circus-people,” he whispered. -“They’ve come for Dolores. You’ll support me won’t -you?” He looked imploringly at Vennie. “You’ll -tell them they can’t have her—that I refuse to give -her up—that I’m going to adopt her?”</p> - -<p>He went out and opened the door.</p> - -<p>It was not the circus-men he found waiting on his -threshold. Nor was it the police. It was only one -of the under-gardeners from Nevilton House. The -youth explained that Mr. Romer had sent him to fetch -Lacrima.</p> - -<p>“They be goin’ to lunch early, mistress says, and -the young lady ’ave to come right along ’ome wi’ I.”</p> - -<p>Vennie intervened at this moment between her -agitated host and the intruder.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_694" id="Page_694">[694]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I’ll bring Miss Traffio home,” she said sternly, -“when she’s ready to come. You may go back and -tell Mrs. Romer that she’s with me,—with Miss -Seldom.”</p> - -<p>The youth touched his hat, and slouched off, -without further protest.</p> - -<p>Vennie, returning into the kitchen, found Mr. -Quincunx standing thoughtfully by the mantelpiece, -stroking his beard, and the two Italians engaged in -an excited conversation in their own tongue.</p> - -<p>The descendant of the lords of Nevilton meditated -for a moment with drooping head, her hands characteristically -clasped behind her back. When she -lifted up her chin and began to speak, there was the -same concentrated light in her eyes and the same -imperative tone in her voice.</p> - -<p>“The thing for us to do,” she said, speaking hurriedly -but firmly, “is to go—all four of us—straight -away from here! I’m not going to leave you until -things are settled. I’m going to get you all clean -out of this,—clean away!”</p> - -<p>She paused and looked at Lacrima. “Where’s Mr. -Dangelis?” she asked.</p> - -<p>Lacrima explained how the artist had written to -Gladys that he was staying until the following day at -the Gloucester Hotel in Weymouth.</p> - -<p>Vennie’s face became radiant when she heard this. -“Ah!” she cried, “God is indeed fighting for us! -It’s Dangelis that I must see, and see at once. Where -better could we all go,—at any rate for tonight—than -to Weymouth? We’ll think later what must be -done next. Dangelis will help us. I’m perfectly -certain he’ll help us.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_695" id="Page_695">[695]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh yes, we’ll go to Weymouth at once,—before -there’s any risk of the Romers stopping us! We’ll -walk to Yeoborough—that’ll give us time to think -out our plans—and take the train from there.</p> - -<p>“I’ll send a telegram to my mother late tonight, -when there’s no chance of her communicating with -the House. As to being seen in Yeoborough by any -Nevilton people, we must risk that! God has been -so good to us today that I can’t believe He won’t -go on being good to us.</p> - -<p>“Oh what a relief it’ll be,—what a relief,—to get -away from Nevilton! And I shall be able to dip my -hands in the sea!”</p> - -<p>While these rapid utterances fell from Vennie’s -excited lips, the face of Mr. Quincunx was a wonder -to look upon. It was the crisis of his days, and he -displayed his knowledge that it was so by more -convulsive changes of expression, than perhaps, in -an equal stretch of time, had ever crossed the visage -of a mortal man.</p> - -<p>“We’ll take your advice,” he said, at last, with -immense solemnity.</p> - -<p>Lacrima looked at him wistfully. Her face was -very pale and her lips trembled.</p> - -<p>“It isn’t only because of the child, is it, that he’s -ready to go?” she murmured, clutching at Vennie’s -arm, as Mr. Quincunx retired to make his brief -preparations. “I shouldn’t like to think it was only -that. But he <em>is</em> fond of me. He <em>is</em> fond of me!”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_696" id="Page_696">[696]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">LODMOOR</span></h2> - -<p>It was Mr. Quincunx who had to find the money -for their bold adventure. Neither Vennie nor -Lacrima could discover a single penny on their -persons. Mr. Quincunx produced it from the bottom -of an old jam-pot placed in the interior recesses of -one of his deepest cupboards. He displayed to his -three friends, with not a little pride, the sum he was -possessed of,—no less in fact than five golden -sovereigns.</p> - -<p>Their walk to Yeoborough was full of thrilling little -excitements. Three times they concealed themselves -on the further side of the hedge, to let certain suspicious -pedestrians, who might be Nevilton people, -pass by unastonished.</p> - -<p>Once well upon their way, they all four felt a -strange sense of liberation and expansion. The little -Neapolitan walked between Mr. Quincunx and Lacrima, -a hand given to each, and her childish high -spirits kept them all from any apprehensive brooding.</p> - -<p>Once and once only, they looked back, and Mr. -Quincunx shook his fist at the two distant hills.</p> - -<p>“You are right,” he remarked to Vennie, “it’s the -sea we’re in want of. These curst inland fields have -the devil in their heavy mould.”</p> - -<p>They found themselves, when they reached the -town, with an hour to spare before their train started,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_697" id="Page_697">[697]</a></span> -and entering a little dairy-shop near the station, -they refreshed themselves with milk and bread-and-butter. -Here Mr. Quincunx and the child waited -in excited expectation, while the two girls went -out to make some necessary purchases—returning -finally, in triumph, with a light wicker-work suit-case, -containing all that they required for several days -and nights.</p> - -<p>They were in the train at last, with a compartment -to themselves, and, as far as they could tell, quite -undiscovered by anyone who knew them.</p> - -<p>Vennie had hardly ever in her life enjoyed anything -more than she enjoyed that journey. She felt that -the stars were fighting on her side or, to put it in -terms of her religion, that God Himself was smoothing -the road in front of her.</p> - -<p>She experienced a momentary pang when the train, -at last, passing along the edge of the back-water, -ran in to Weymouth Station. It was so sweet, so -strangely sweet, to know that three living souls -depended upon her for their happiness, for their -escape from the power of the devil! Would she feel -like this, would she ever feel quite like this, when -the convent-doors shut her away from this exciting -world?</p> - -<p>They emerged from the crowded station,—Mr. -Quincunx carrying the wicker-work suit-case—and -made their way towards the Esplanade.</p> - -<p>The early afternoon sun lay hot upon the pavements, -but from the sea a strong fresh wind was -blowing. Both the girls shivered a little in their -thin frocks, and as the red shawl of the young Italian -had already excited some curiosity among the passers-by,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_698" id="Page_698">[698]</a></span> -they decided to enter one of the numerous drapery -shops, and spend some more of Mr. Quincunx’s -money.</p> - -<p>They were so long in the shop that the nervous -excitement of the recluse was on the point of changing -into nervous irritation, when at last they reappeared. -But he was reconciled to the delay when he perceived -the admirable use they had made of it.</p> - -<p>All three were wearing long tweed rain-cloaks of -precisely the same tint of sober grey. They looked -like three sisters, newly arrived from some neighbouring -inland town,—Dorchester, perhaps, or Sherborne,—with -a view to spending a pleasant afternoon at -the sea-side. Not only were they all wrapped in -the same species of cloak. They had purchased three -little woollen caps of a similar shade, such things as -it would have been difficult to secure in any shop -but a little unfashionable one, where summer and -winter vogues casually overlapped.</p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx, whose exaltation of mood had not -made him forget to bring his own overcoat with him, -now put this on, and warmly and comfortably clad, -the four fugitives from Nevilton strolled along the -Esplanade in the direction of St. John’s church.</p> - -<p>To leave his three companions free to run down to -the sea’s edge, Mr. Quincunx possessed himself of -the clumsy paper parcels containing the hats they -had relinquished and also of the little girl’s red shawl, -and resting on a seat with these objects piled up by -his side he proceeded to light a cigarette and gaze -placidly about him. The worst of his plunge into -activity being over,—for, whatever happened, the -initial effort was bound to be the worst,—the wanderer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_699" id="Page_699">[699]</a></span> -from Dead Man’s Lane chuckled to himself with -bursts of cynical humour as he contemplated the -situation they were in.</p> - -<p>But what a relief it was to see the clear-shining -foam-sprinkled expanse of water lying spread out -before him! Like the younger Andersen, Mr. Quincunx -had a passionate love of Weymouth, and never -had he loved it more than he did at that moment! -He greeted the splendid curve of receding cliffs—the -White Nore and St. Alban’s Head—with a sigh -of profound satisfaction, and he looked across to the -massive bulk of Portland, as though in its noble -uncrumbling stone—stone that was so much nearer -to marble than to clay—there lurked some occult -talisman ready to save him from everything connected -with Leo’s Hill.</p> - -<p>Yes, the sea was what he wanted just then! How -well the salt taste of it, the smell of its sun-bleached -stranded weeds, its wide horizons, its long-drawn -murmur, blent with the strange new mood into which -that morning’s events had thrown him!</p> - -<p>How happy the little Dolores looked, between -Lacrima and Vennie, her dark curls waving in the -wind from beneath her grey cap!</p> - -<p>All at once his mind reverted to James Andersen, -lying now alone and motionless, under six feet of -yellow clay. Mr. Quincunx shivered. After all it -was something to be alive still, something to be still -able to stroke one’s beard and stretch one’s legs, -and fumble in one’s pocket for a “Three Castles” -cigarette!</p> - -<p>He wondered vaguely how and when this young -St. Catharine of theirs intended to marry him to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_700" id="Page_700">[700]</a></span> -Lacrima. And then what? Would he have to work -frightfully, preposterously hard?</p> - -<p>He chuckled to himself to think how blank Mr. -Romer would look, when he found that both his -victims had been spirited away in one breath. What -a girl this Vennie Seldom was!</p> - -<p>He tried to imagine what it would be like, this -business of being married. After all, he was very -fond of Lacrima. He hoped that dusky wavy hair -of hers were as long as it suggested that it was! He -liked girls to have long hair.</p> - -<p>Would she bring him his tea in the morning, -sometimes, with bare arms and bare feet? Would -she sit cross-legged at the foot of his bed, while he -drank it, and chatter to him of what they would do -when he came back from his work?</p> - -<p><em>His work!</em> That was an aspect of the affair which -certainly might well be omitted.</p> - -<p>And then, as he stared at the three girlish figures -on the beach, there came over him the strange illusion -that both Vennie and Lacrima were only dream-people—unreal -and fantastic—and that the true -living persons of his drama were himself and his little -Neapolitan waif.</p> - -<p>Suppose the three girls were to take a boat—one -of those boats whose painted keels he saw glittering -now so pleasantly on the beach—and row out into -the water. And suppose the boat were upset and -both Vennie and Lacrima drowned? Would he be -so sad to have to live the rest of his life alone with -the little Dolores?</p> - -<p>Perhaps it would be better if this event occurred -after Vennie had helped him to secure some work to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_701" id="Page_701">[701]</a></span> -do—some not too hard work! Well—Vennie, at -any rate, <em>was</em> going to be drowned in a certain sense, -at least she was meditating entering a convent, and -that was little different from being drowned, or being -buried in yellow clay, like James Andersen!</p> - -<p>But Lacrima was not meditating entering a convent. -Lacrima was meditating being married to -him, and being a mother to their adopted child. He -hoped she would be a gentle mother. If she were -not, if she ever spoke crossly to Dolores, he would -lose his temper. He would lose his temper so much -that he would tremble from head to foot! He called -up an imaginary scene between them, a scene so -vivid that he found himself trembling now, as his -hand rested upon the paper parcel.</p> - -<p>But perhaps, if by chance they left England and -went on a journey,—Witch-Bessie had found a -journey, “a terrible journey,” in the lines of his -hand,—Lacrima would catch a fever in some foreign -city, and he and Dolores would be left alone, quite -as alone as if she were drowned today!</p> - -<p>But perhaps it would be he, Maurice Quincunx, -who would catch the fever. No! He did not like -these “terrible journeys.” He preferred to sit on a -seat on Weymouth Esplanade and watch Dolores -laughing and running into the sea and picking up -shells.</p> - -<p>The chief thing was to be alive, and not too tired, -or too cold, or too hungry, or too harassed by insolent -aggressive people! How delicious a thing life -could be if it were only properly arranged! If cruelty, -and brutality, and vulgarity, and <em>office-work</em>, were -removed!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_702" id="Page_702">[702]</a></span></p> - -<p>He could never be cruel to anyone. From that -worst sin,—if one could talk of such a thing as sin -in this mad world,—his temperament entirely saved -him. He hoped when they were married that Lacrima -would not want him to be too sentimental -about her. And he rather hoped that he would still -have his evenings to himself, to turn over the pages -of Rabelais, when he had kissed Dolores good night.</p> - -<p>His meditations were interrupted at this point by -the return of his companions, who came scrambling -across the shingle, threading their way among the -boats, laughing and talking merrily, and trailing long -pieces of sea-weed in their hands.</p> - -<p>Vennie announced that since it was nearly four -o’clock it would be advisable for them to secure their -lodging for the night, and when that was done she -would leave them to their own devices for an hour -or two, while she proceeded to the Gloucester Hotel -to have her interview with Ralph Dangelis.</p> - -<p>Their various sea-spoils being all handed over to -the excited little foundling, they walked slowly along -the Esplanade, still bearing to the east, while they -surveyed the appearance of the various “crescents,” -“terraces,” and “rows” on the opposite side of the -street. It was not till they arrived at the very end -of these, that Vennie, who had assumed complete -responsibility for their movements, piloted them -across the road.</p> - -<p>The houses they now approached were entitled -“Brunswick Terrace,” and they entirely fulfilled their -title by suggesting, in the pleasant liberality of their -bay-windows and the mellow dignity of their well-proportioned -fronts, the sort of solid comfort which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_703" id="Page_703">[703]</a></span> -the syllables “Brunswick” seem naturally to convey. -They began their enquiries for rooms, about five -doors from the end of the terrace, but it was not till -they reached the last house,—the last except two -reddish-coloured ones of later date,—that they -found what they wanted.</p> - -<p>It was arranged that the two Italians should share -a room together. Vennie elected to sleep in a small -apartment adjoining theirs, while Mr. Quincunx was -given a front-room, looking out on the sea, on the -third floor.</p> - -<p>Vennie smiled to herself as she thought how amazed -her mother would have been could she have seen her -at that moment, as she helped Lacrima to unpack -their solitary piece of luggage, while Mr. Quincunx -smoked cigarettes in the balcony of the window!</p> - -<p>She left them finally in the lodging-house parlour, -seated on a horse-hair sofa, watching the prim landlady -preparing tea. Vennie refused to wait for this -meal, being anxious—she said—to get her interview -with the American well over, for until that moment -had been reached, she could neither discuss their -future plans calmly, nor enjoy the flavour of the -adventure.</p> - -<p>When Vennie had left them, and the three were all -comfortably seated round the table, Mr. Quincunx -found Lacrima in so radiant a mood that he began -to feel a little ashamed of his ambiguous meditations -on the Esplanade. She was, after all, quite beautiful -in her way,—though, of course, not as beautiful -as the young Neapolitan, whose eyes had a look in -them, even when she was happy, which haunted one -and filled one with vague indescribable emotions.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_704" id="Page_704">[704]</a></span></p> - -<p>Mr. Quincunx himself was in the best of spirits. -His beard wagged, his nostrils quivered, his wit -flowed. Lacrima fixed her eyes upon him with delighted -appreciation,—and led him on and on, -through a thousand caprices of fancy. The poor -Pariah’s heart was full of exquisite happiness. She -felt like one actually liberated from the tomb. For -the first time since she had known anything of England -she was able to breathe freely and spontaneously -and be her natural self.</p> - -<p>For some queer reason or other, her thoughts kept -reverting to James Andersen, but reverting to him -with neither sadness nor pity. She felt no remorse -for not having been present when he was buried that -morning. She did not feel as though he were buried. -She did not feel as though he were dead. She felt, -in some strange way, that he had merely escaped from -the evil spells of Nevilton, and that in the power of -his new strength he was the cause of her own -emancipation.</p> - -<p>And what an emancipation it was! It was like suddenly -becoming a child again—a child with power -to enjoy the very things that children so often miss.</p> - -<p>Everything in this little parlour pleased her. The -blue vases on the mantelpiece containing dusty -“everlasting flowers,” the plush-framed portraits of -the landlady’s deceased parents, enlarged to a magnitude -of shadowy dignity by some old-fashioned -photographic process, the quaint row of minute -china elephants that stood on a little bracket in the -corner, the glaring antimacassar thrown across the -back of the arm-chair, the sea-scents and sea-murmurs -floating in through the window, the melodious crying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_705" id="Page_705">[705]</a></span> -of a fish-pedler in the street; all these things thrilled -her with a sense of freedom and escape, which over-brimmed -her heart with happiness.</p> - -<p>What matter, after all, she thought, that her little -compatriot with the wonderful eyes had been the -means of arousing her friend from his inertia! Her -long acquaintance with Mr. Quincunx had mellowed -her affection for him into a tenderness that was -almost maternal. She could even find it in her to -be glad that she was to be saved from the burden of -struggling alone with his fits of melancholia. With -Dolores to keep him amused, and herself to look after -his material wants, it seemed probable that, whatever -happened, the dear man would be happier than -he had ever dreamed of being!</p> - -<p>The uncertainty of their future weighed upon her -very little. She had the true Pariah tendency to -lie back with arms outstretched upon the great tide, -and let it carry her whither it pleased. She had done -this so long, while the tide was dark and evil, that -to do it where the waters gleamed and shone was a -voluptuous delight.</p> - -<p>While her protégées were thus enjoying themselves -Vennie sought out and entered, with a resolute bearing, -the ancient Gloucester Hotel. The place had -recently been refitted according to modern notions -of comfort, but in its general lines, and in a certain -air it had of liberal welcoming, it preserved the -Georgian touch.</p> - -<p>She was already within the hall-way when, led by an -indefinable impulse to look back, she caught sight of -Dangelis himself walking rapidly along the Esplanade -towards the very quarter from which she had just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_706" id="Page_706">[706]</a></span> -come. Without a moment’s hesitation she ran down -the steps, crossed the road and followed him.</p> - -<p>The American seemed to be inspired by some mania -for fast walking that afternoon. Vennie was quite -breathless before she succeeded in approaching him, -and she did not manage to do this until they were -both very nearly opposite Brunswick Terrace.</p> - -<p>Just here she was unwilling to make herself known, -as her friends might at any moment emerge from their -lodging. She preferred to follow the long strides of -the artist still further, till, in fact he had led her, -hot and exhausted in her new cloak, quite beyond the -limits of the houses.</p> - -<p>Where the town ceases, on this eastern side, a long -white dusty road leads across a mile or two of level -ground before the noble curve of cliffs ending in St. -Alban’s Head has its beginning. This road is bounded -on one hand by a high bank of shingle and on the -other by a wide expanse of salt-marshes known in -that district under the name of Lodmoor. It was -not until the American had emerged upon this solitary -road that his pursuer saw fit to bring him to -a halt.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Dangelis!” she called out, “Mr. Dangelis!”</p> - -<p>He swung round in astonishment at hearing his -name. For the first moment he did not recognize -Vennie. Her newly purchased attire,—not to speak -of her unnaturally flushed cheeks,—had materially -altered her appearance. When she held out her hand, -however, and stopped to take breath, he realized -who she was.</p> - -<p>“Oh Mr. Dangelis,” she gasped, “I’ve been following -you all the way from the Hotel. I so want to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_707" id="Page_707">[707]</a></span> -talk to you. You <em>must</em> listen to me. It’s very, very -important!”</p> - -<p>He held his hat in his hand, and regarded her with -smiling amazement.</p> - -<p>“Well, Miss Seldom, you <em>are</em> an astonishing person. -Is your mother here? Are you staying at Weymouth? -How did you catch sight of me? Certainly—by all -means—tell me your news! I long to hear this thing -that’s so important.”</p> - -<p>He made as if he would return with her to the -town, but she laid her hand on his arm.</p> - -<p>“No—no! let’s walk on quietly here. I can talk -to you better here.”</p> - -<p>The roadway, however, proved so disconcerting, -owing to great gusts of wind which kept driving the -sand and dust along its surface, that before Vennie had -summoned up courage to begin her story, they found -it necessary to debouch to their left and enter the -marshy flats of Lodmoor. They took their way along -the edge of a broad ditch, whose black peat-bottomed -waters were overhung by clumps of “Michaelmas -daisies” and sprinkled with weird glaucous-leafed -plants. It was a place of a singular character, owing -to the close encounter in it of land and sea, and it -seemed to draw the appeal of its strange desolation -almost equally from both these sources.</p> - -<p>Vennie, on the verge of speaking, found her senses -in a state of morbid alertness. Everything she felt -and saw at that moment lodged itself with poignant -sharpness in her brain and returned to her mind long -afterwards. So extreme was her nervous tension that -she found it difficult to disentangle her thoughts from -all these outward impressions.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_708" id="Page_708">[708]</a></span></p> - -<p>The splash of a water-rat became an episode in -her suspended revelation. The bubbles rising from -the movements of an eel in the mud got mixed with -the image of Mrs. Wotnot picking laurel-leaves. The -flight of a sea-gull above their heads was a projection -of Dangelis’ escape from the spells of his false mistress. -The wind shaking the reeds was the breath of -her fatal news ruffling the man’s smiling attention. -The wail of the startled plovers was the cry of her own -heart, calling upon all the spirits of truth and justice, -to make him believe her words.</p> - -<p>She told him at last,—told him everything, walking -slowly by his side with her eyes cast down and her -hands clasped tight behind her.</p> - -<p>When she had finished, there was an immense -intolerable silence, and slowly, very slowly, she -permitted her glance to rise to her companion’s -face, to grasp the effect of her narration upon -him.</p> - -<p>How rare it is that these world-shaking revelations -produce the impression one has anticipated! To -Vennie’s complete amazement,—and even, it must -be allowed, a little to her dismay,—Dangelis regarded -her with a frank untroubled smile.</p> - -<p>“You,—I—” she stammered, and stopped -abruptly. Then, before he could answer her, “I -didn’t know you knew all this. Did you really know -it,—and not mind? Don’t people mind these things -in—in other countries?”</p> - -<p>Dangelis spoke at last. “Oh, yes of course, we -mind as much as any of you; that is to say, if we -<em>do</em> mind,—but you must remember, Miss Seldom, -there are circumstances, situations,—there are, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_709" id="Page_709">[709]</a></span> -fact feelings,—which make these things sometimes -rather a relief than otherwise!”</p> - -<p>He threw up his stick in the air, as he spoke, and -caught it as it descended.</p> - -<p>“Pardon me, one moment, I want—I want to -see if I can jump this ditch.”</p> - -<p>He threw both stick and hat on the ground, and -to Vennie’s complete amazement, stepped back a -pace or two, and running desperately to the brink -of the stream cleared it with a bound. He repeated -this manœuvre from the further bank, and returned, -breathing hard and fast, to the girl’s side.</p> - -<p>Picking up his hat and stick, he uttered a wild -series of barbaric howls, such howls as Vennie had -never, in her life, heard issuing from the mouth of -man or beast. Had Gladys’ treachery turned his -brain?</p> - -<p>But no madman could possibly have smiled the -friendly boyish smile with which he greeted her when -this performance was over.</p> - -<p>“So sorry if I scared you,” he said. “Do you -know what that is? It’s our college ‘yell.’ It’s what -we do at base-ball matches.”</p> - -<p>Vennie thought he was going to do it again, and in -her apprehension she laid a hand on his sleeve.</p> - -<p>“But don’t you really mind Miss Romer’s being like -this? Did you know she was like this?” she enquired.</p> - -<p>“Don’t let’s think about her any more,” cried the -artist. “I don’t care what she’s like, now I can get -rid of her. To tell you the honest truth, Miss Seldom, -I’d come down here for no other reason than -to think over this curst hole I’ve got myself into, -and to devise some way out.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_710" id="Page_710">[710]</a></span></p> - -<p>“What you tell me,—and I believe every word of -it, I want to believe every word of it!—just gives -me the excuse I need. Good-bye, Miss Gladys! -Good-bye, Ariadne! ‘Ban-ban, Ca-Caliban, Have a -new master, get a new man!’ No more engagements -for me, dear Miss Seldom! I’m a free lance now, a -free lance,—henceforward and forever!”</p> - -<p>The exultant artist was on the point of indulging -once more in his college yell, but the scared and -bewildered expression on Vennie’s face saved her from -a second experience of that phenomenon.</p> - -<p>“Shall I tell you what I was thinking of doing, -as I strolled along the Front this afternoon?”</p> - -<p>Vennie nodded, unable to repress a smile as she remembered -the difficulty she had in arresting this stroll.</p> - -<p>“I was thinking of taking the boat for the Channel -Islands tomorrow! I even went so far as to make -enquiries about the time it started. What do you -think of that?”</p> - -<p>Vennie thought it was extremely singular, and she -also thought that she had never heard the word -“enquiries” pronounced in just that way.</p> - -<p>“It leaves quite early, at nine in the morning. And -it’s <em>some</em> boat,—I can tell you that!”</p> - -<p>“Well,” continued Vennie, recovering by degrees -that sense of concentrated power which had accompanied -her all day, “what now? Are you still going -to sail by it?”</p> - -<p>“That’s—a—large—proposition,” answered her -interlocutor slowly. “I—I rather think I am!”</p> - -<p>One effect of his escape from his Nevilton enchantress -seemed to be an irrepressible tendency to relapse -into the American vernacular.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_711" id="Page_711">[711]</a></span></p> - -<p>They continued advancing along the edge of the -ditch, side by side.</p> - -<p>Vennie plunged into the matter of Lacrima and -Mr. Quincunx.</p> - -<p>She narrated all she knew of this squalid and sinister -story. She enlarged upon the two friends’ long -devotion to one another. She pictured the wickedness -and shame of the projected marriage with John -Goring. Finally she explained how it had come about -that both Mr. Romer’s slaves, and with them the -little circus-waif, were at that moment in Weymouth.</p> - -<p>“And so you’ve carried them off?” cried the Artist -in high glee. “Bless my soul, but I admire you for -it! And what are you going to do with them now?”</p> - -<p>Vennie looked straight into his eyes. “That is -where I want <em>your</em> help, Mr. Dangelis!”</p> - -<p>It was late in the evening before the citizen of -Toledo, Ohio, and the would-be Postulant of the -Sacred Heart parted from one another opposite the -Jubilee Clock.</p> - -<p>A reassuring telegram had been sent to Mrs. Seldom -announcing Vennie’s return in the course of the following -day.</p> - -<p>As for the rest, all had been satisfactorily arranged. -The American had displayed overpowering generosity. -He seemed anxious to do penance for his obsession -by the daughter, by lavishing benefactions upon the -victims of the father. Perhaps it seemed to him that -this was the best manner of paying back the debt, -which his æsthetic imagination owed to the suggestive -charms of the Nevilton landscape.</p> - -<p>He made himself, in a word, completely responsible -for the three wanderers. He would carry them off<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_712" id="Page_712">[712]</a></span> -with him to the Channel Isles, and either settle them -down there, or make it possible for them to cross -thence to France, and from France, if so they pleased, -on to Lacrima’s home in Italy. He would come to -an arrangement with his bankers to have handed over -definitely to Mr. Quincunx a sum that would once -and for all put him into a position of financial -security.</p> - -<p>“I’d have paid a hundred times as much as that,” -he laughingly assured Vennie, “to have got clear of -my mix-up with that girl.”</p> - -<p>Thus it came about that at nine o’clock on the day -which followed the burial of James Andersen, Vennie, -standing on the edge of the narrow wharf, between -railway-trucks and hawsers, watched the ship with the -red funnels carry off the persons who—under Heaven—were -the chief cause of the stone-carver’s death.</p> - -<p>As the four figures, waving to her over the ship’s -side grew less and less distinct, Vennie felt an extraordinary -and unaccountable desire to burst into a fit -of passionate weeping. She could not have told why -she wept, nor could she have told whether her tears -were tears of relief or of desolation, but something in -the passing of that brightly-painted ship round the -corner of the little break-water, gave her a different -emotion from any she had ever known in her life.</p> - -<p>When at last she turned her back to the harbour, -she asked the way to the nearest Catholic Church, -but in place of following the directions given her, she -found herself seated on the shingles below Brunswick -Terrace, watching the in-drawing and out-flowing -waves.</p> - -<p>How strange this human existence was! Long after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_713" id="Page_713">[713]</a></span> -the last block of Leonian stone had been removed -from its place—long after the stately pinnacles of -Nevilton House had crumbled into shapeless ruins,—long -after the memory of all these people’s troubles -had been erased and forgotten,—this same tide would -fling itself upon this same beach, and its voice then -would be as its voice now, restless, unsatisfied, -unappeased.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_714" id="Page_714">[714]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE GOAT AND BOY</span></h2> - -<p>It was the middle of October. Francis Taxater -and Luke Andersen sat opposite one another -over a beer-stained table in the parlour of the -Goat and Boy. The afternoon was drawing to its -close and the fire in the little grate threw a warm -ruddy light through the darkening room.</p> - -<p>Outside the rain was falling, heavily, persistently,—the -sort of rain that by long-continued importunity -finds its way through every sort of obstacle. For -nearly a month this rain had lasted. It had come in -with the equinox, and Heaven knew how long it was -going to stay. It had so thoroughly drenched all -the fields, woods, lanes, gardens and orchards of -Nevilton, that a palpable atmosphere of charnel-house -chilliness pervaded everything. Into this -atmosphere the light sank at night like a thing -drowned in deep water, and into this atmosphere the -light rose at dawn like something rising from beneath -the sea.</p> - -<p>The sun itself, as a definite presence, had entirely -disappeared. It might have fallen into fathomless -space, for all the visible signs it gave of its existence. -The daylight seemed a pallid entity, diffused through -the lower regions of the air, unconnected with any -visible fount of life or warmth.</p> - -<p>The rain seemed to draw forth from the earth all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_715" id="Page_715">[715]</a></span> -the accumulated moisture of centuries of damp -autumns, while between the water below the firmament -and the water above the firmament,—between -the persistent deluge from the sky and the dampness -exuded from the earth,—the death-stricken multitudinous -leaves of Nevilton drifted to their morgue -in the cart-ruts and ditches.</p> - -<p>The only object in the vicinity whose appearance -seemed to suffer no change from this incursion of -many waters was Leo’s Hill. Leo’s Hill looked as -if it loved the rain, and the rain looked as if it loved -Leo’s Hill. In no kind of manner were its familiar -outlines affected, except perhaps in winning a certain -added weight, by reason of the fact that its rival -Mount had been stripped of its luxuriant foliage.</p> - -<p>“So our dear Mr. Romer has got his Freight Bill -through,” said Luke, sipping his glass of whiskey -and smiling at Mr. Taxater. “He at any rate then -won’t be worried by this rain.”</p> - -<p>“I’m to dine with him tomorrow,” answered the -papal champion, “so I shall have an opportunity of -discovering what he’s actually gained by this.”</p> - -<p>“I wish I’d had James cremated,” muttered Luke, -staring at the fire-place, into which the rain fell down -the narrow chimney.</p> - -<p>Mr. Taxater crossed himself.</p> - -<p>“What do you really feel,” enquired the younger -man abruptly, “about the chances in favour of a life -after death?”</p> - -<p>“The Church,” answered Mr. Taxater, stirring his -rum and sugar with a spoon, “could hardly be -expected to formulate a dogma denying such a hope. -The true spirit of her attitude towards it may perhaps<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_716" id="Page_716">[716]</a></span> -be best understood in the repetition of her -requiem prayer, ‘Save us from eternal death!’ We -none of us want eternal death, my friend, though -many of us are very weary of this particular life. I -do not know that I am myself, however. But that -may be due to the fact that I am a real sceptic. To -love life, Andersen, one cannot be too sceptical.”</p> - -<p>“Upon my soul I believe you!” answered the stone-carver, -“but I cannot quite see how <em>you</em> can make -claim to that title.”</p> - -<p>“You’re not a philosopher my friend,” said Mr. -Taxater, leaning his elbows on the table and fixing -a dark but luminous eye upon his interlocutor.</p> - -<p>“If you were a philosopher you would know that -to be a true sceptic it is necessary to be a Catholic. -You, for instance, aren’t a sceptic, and never can be. -You’re a dogmatic materialist. You doubt everything -in the world except doubt. I doubt doubt.”</p> - -<p>Luke rose and poked the fire.</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid my little Annie’ll be frightfully wet,” -he remarked, “when she gets home tonight. I wish -that last train from Yeoborough wasn’t quite so late.”</p> - -<p>“Do you propose to go down to the station to -meet her?” enquired Mr. Taxater.</p> - -<p>Luke sighed. “I suppose so,” he said. “That’s the -worst of being married. There’s always something -or other interfering with the main purpose of life.”</p> - -<p>“May I ask what the main purpose of life may be?” -said the theologian.</p> - -<p>“Talking with you, of course,” replied the young -man smiling; “talking with any friend. Oh damn! I -can’t tell you how I miss going up to Dead Man’s -Cottage.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_717" id="Page_717">[717]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes,” said the great scholar meditatively, “women -are bewitching creatures, especially when they’re very -young or very old, but they aren’t exactly arresting -in conversation.”</p> - -<p>Luke became silent, meditating on this.</p> - -<p>“They throw out little things now and then,” he -said. “Annie does. But they’ve no sense of proportion. -If they’re happy they’re thrilled by everything, -and if they’re unhappy,—well, you know how it is! -They don’t bite at the truth, for the sake of biting, -and they never get to the bone. They just lick the -gloss of things with the tips of their tongues. And -they quiver and vibrate so, you never know where -they are, or what they’ve got up their sleeve that -tickles them.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Taxater lifted his glass to his mouth and carefully -replaced it on the table. There was something -in this movement of his plump white fingers which -always fascinated Luke. Mr. Taxater’s hands looked -as though, beyond the pen and the wine-cup, they never -touched any earthly object.</p> - -<p>“Have you heard any more of Philip Wone?” -enquired the stone-carver.</p> - -<p>The theologian shook his head. “I’m afraid, -since he went up to London, he’s really got entangled -in these anarchist plots.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not unselfish enough to be an anarchist,” -said Luke, “but I sympathize with their spirit. The -sort of people I can’t stand are these Christian Socialists. -What really pleases me, I suppose, is the notion -of a genuine aristocracy, an aristocracy as revolutionary -as anarchists in their attitude to morals and -such things, an aristocracy that’s flung up out of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_718" id="Page_718">[718]</a></span> -this mad world, as a sort of exquisite flower of chance -and accident, an aristocracy that is <em>worth</em> all this -damned confusion!”</p> - -<p>Mr. Taxater smiled. It always amused him when -Luke Andersen got excited in this way, and began -catching his breath and gesticulating. He seemed -to have heard these remarks on other occasions. He -regarded them as a signal that the stone-carver had -drunk more whiskey than was good for him. When -completely himself Luke talked of girls and of death. -When a little depressed he abused either Nonconformists -or Socialists. When in the early stages of -intoxication he eulogized the upper classes.</p> - -<p>“It’s a pity,” said the theologian, “that Ninsy -couldn’t bring herself to marry that boy. There’s -something morbid in the way she talks. I met her -in Nevil’s Gully yesterday, and I had quite a long -conversation with her.”</p> - -<p>Luke looked sharply at him. “Have you yourself -ever seen her, across there?” he asked making a -gesture in the direction of the churchyard.</p> - -<p>Mr. Taxater shook his head. “Have you?” he -demanded.</p> - -<p>Luke nodded.</p> - -<p>A sudden silence fell upon them. The rain beat in -redoubled fury upon the window, and they could -hear it pattering on the roof and falling in a heavy -stream from the pipe above the eaves.</p> - -<p>The younger man felt as though some tragic intimation, -uttered in a tongue completely beyond the reach -of both of them, were beating about for entry, at -closed shutters.</p> - -<p>Mr. Taxater felt no sensation of this kind. “<i>Non<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_719" id="Page_719">[719]</a></span> -est reluctandum cum Deo</i>” were the sage words with -which he raised his glass to his lips.</p> - -<p>Luke remained motionless staring at the window, -and thinking of a certain shrouded figure, with hollow -cheeks and crossed hands, to whom this rain was -nothing, and less than nothing.</p> - -<p>Once more there was silence between them, as -though a flock of noiseless night-birds were flying -over the house, on their way to the far-off sea.</p> - -<p>“How is Mrs. Seldom getting on?” enquired Luke, -pushing back his chair. “Is Vennie allowed to write -to her from that place?”</p> - -<p>The theologian smiled. “Oh, the dear lady is perfectly -happy! In fact, I think she’s really happier -than when she was worrying herself about Vennie’s -future.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t like these convents,” remarked Luke.</p> - -<p>“Few people like them,” said the papal champion, -“who have never entered them.</p> - -<p>“I’ve never seen an unhappy nun. They are -almost too happy. They are like children. Perhaps -they’re the only persons in existence who know what -continual, as opposed to spasmodic, happiness means. -The happiness of sanctity is a secret that has to be -concealed from the world, just as the happiness of -certain very vicious people has,—for fear there -should be no more marriages.”</p> - -<p>“Talking of marriages,” remarked Luke, “I’d give -anything to know how our friend Gladys is getting -on with Clavering. I expect his attitude of heroic -pity has worn a little thin by this time. I wonder -how soon the more earthly side of the shield will -wear thin too! But—poor dear girl!—I do feel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_720" id="Page_720">[720]</a></span> -sorry for her. Fancy having to listen to the Reverend -Hugh’s conversation by night and by day!</p> - -<p>“I sent her a picture post-card, the other afternoon, -from Yeoborough—a comic one. I wonder if -she snapped it up, and hid it, before her husband -came down to breakfast!”</p> - -<p>The jeering tone of the man jarred a little on -Mr. Taxater’s nerves.</p> - -<p>“I think I understand,” he thought to himself, -“why it is that he praises the aristocracy.”</p> - -<p>To change the conversation, he reverted to Miss -Seldom’s novitiate.</p> - -<p>“Vennie was very indignant with me for remaining -so long in London, but I am glad now that I did. -None of our little arrangements—eh, my friend?—would -have worked out so well as her Napoleonic -directness. That shows how wise it is to stand aside -sometimes and let things take their course.”</p> - -<p>“Romer doesn’t stand aside,” laughed Luke. “I’d -give a year of my life to know what he felt when -Dangelis carried those people away! But I suppose -we shall never know.</p> - -<p>“I wonder if it’s possible that there’s any truth in -that strange idea of Vennie’s that Leo’s Hill has a -definite evil power over this place? Upon my soul -I’m almost inclined to wish it has! God, how it -does rain!”</p> - -<p>He looked at his watch. “I shall have to go down -to the station in a minute,” he remarked.</p> - -<p>One curious feature of this conversation between -the two men was that there began to grow up a deep -and vague irritation in Mr. Taxater’s mind against -his companion. Luke’s tone when he alluded to that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_721" id="Page_721">[721]</a></span> -picture-card—“a comic one”—struck him as touching -a depth of cynical inhumanity.</p> - -<p>The theologian could not help thinking of that gorgeous-coloured -image of the wayward girl, represented -as Ariadne, which now hung in the entrance-hall of -her father’s house. He recalled the magnificent pose -of the figure, and its look of dreamy exultation. -Somehow, the idea of this splendid heathen creature -being the wife of Clavering struck his mind as a revolting -incongruity. For such a superb being to be -now stretching out hopeless arms towards her Nevilton -lover,—an appeal only answered by comic -post-cards,—struck his imagination as a far bitterer -commentary upon the perversity of the world than -that disappearance of Vennie into a convent which -seemed so to shock Luke.</p> - -<p>He extended his legs and fumbled with the gold -cross upon his watch-chain. He seemed so clearly -to visualize the sort of look which must now be -settling down on that pseudo-priest’s ascetic face. -He gave way to an immoral wish that Clavering -might take to drink. He felt as though he -would sooner have seen Gladys fallen to the streets -than thus made the companion of a monkish -apostate.</p> - -<p>He wondered how on earth it had been managed -that Mr. Romer had remained ignorant of the cause -of Dangelis’ flight and the girl’s precipitate marriage. -It was inconceivable that he should be aware of -these things and yet retain this imperturbable young -man in his employment. How craftily Gladys must -have carried the matter through! Well,—she was -no doubt paying the penalty of her double-dyed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_722" id="Page_722">[722]</a></span> -deceptions now. The theologian experienced a sick -disgust with the whole business.</p> - -<p>The rain increased in violence. It seemed as though -the room where they sat was isolated from the whole -world by a flood of down-pouring waves. The gods -of the immense Spaces were weeping, and man, in his -petty preoccupation, could only mutter and stare.</p> - -<p>Luke rose to his feet. “To Romer and his Stone-Works,” -he cried, emptying his glass at one gulp -down his throat, “and may he make me their -Manager!”</p> - -<p>Mr. Taxater also rose. “To the tears that wash -away all these things,” he said, “and the Necessity -that was before them and will be after them.”</p> - -<p>They went out of the house together, and the -silence that fell between them was like the silence -at the bottom of deep waters.</p> - -<p class="titlepage">THE END</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Wood and Stone, by John Cowper Powys - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WOOD AND STONE *** - -***** This file should be named 53157-h.htm or 53157-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/1/5/53157/ - -Produced by Stephen Rowland and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - -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. 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