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diff --git a/old/53339-h/53339-h.htm b/old/53339-h/53339-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 9551592..0000000 --- a/old/53339-h/53339-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,17643 +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 Rodmoor, 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: 35em; - border: 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 .stanza { - margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em; -} - -.poetry .indent1 { - text-indent: -2em; -} - -.poetry .attribution { - text-align: right; - margin-top: 0.5em; -} - -.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 Rodmoor, 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: Rodmoor - A Romance - -Author: John Cowper Powys - -Release Date: October 21, 2016 [EBook #53339] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RODMOOR *** - - - - -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="center larger">RODMOOR</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p> - -<div class="bbox"> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Books by</span><br /> -JOHN COWPER POWYS</p> - -<table summary="books"> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The War and Culture</span>, 1914</td><td class="tdr">$ .60</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Visions and Revisions, Essays</span>, 1915</td><td class="tdr">$2.00</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Wood and Stone, A Romance</span>, 1915</td><td class="tdr">$1.50</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Wolf’s-bane, Rhymes</span>, 1916</td><td class="tdr">$1.25</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">One Hundred Best Books with Commentary</span>, 1916</td><td class="tdr">$ .75</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Suspended Judgments, Essays</span>, 1916</td><td class="tdr">$2.00</td> - </tr> -</table> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By THEODORE FRANCIS POWYS</span></p> - -<table summary="books"> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The Soliloquy of a Hermit</span>, 1916</td><td class="tdr">$1.00</td> - </tr> -</table> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Published by</span> G. ARNOLD SHAW<br /> -GRAND CENTRAL TERMINAL, NEW YORK</p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p> - -<p class="titlepage larger">RODMOOR</p> - -<p class="titlepage">A ROMANCE</p> - -<p class="titlepage">JOHN COWPER POWYS<br /> -Author of “Wood and Stone,” etc.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"><i>O they rade on, and farther on,</i></div> -<div class="verse indent1"><i>And they waded rivers abune the knee,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>And they saw neither sun nor moon</i></div> -<div class="verse indent1"><i>But they heard the roaring of the sea.</i></div> -<div class="verse attribution"><span class="smcap">Anonymous.</span></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">1916<br /> -G. ARNOLD SHAW<br /> -NEW YORK</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></p> - -<p class="titlepage smaller">COPYRIGHT, 1916<br /> -BY G. ARNOLD SHAW</p> - -<p class="titlepage smaller">COPYRIGHT, IN GREAT BRITAIN<br /> -AND THE COLONIES</p> - -<p class="titlepage smaller">VAIL-BALLOU COMPANY<br /> -BINGHAMTON AND NEW YORK</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p> - -<p class="titlepage">DEDICATED<br /> -TO THE SPIRIT OF<br /> -EMILY BRONTE</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>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">The Borough</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">Dyke House</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">III</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Sea-drift</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">IV</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Oakguard</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">V</a></td><td><span class="smcap">A Symposium</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">VI</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Bridge-Head and Withy-Bed</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">VII</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Vespers</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">VIII</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Sun and Sea</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_102">102</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">IX</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Priest and Doctor</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_118">118</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">X</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Low Tide</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">XI</a></td><td><span class="smcap">The Sisters</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">XII</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Hamish Traherne</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_152">152</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">XIII</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Departure</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_160">160</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">XIV</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Brand Renshaw</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_175">175</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">XV</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Broken Voices</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_194">194</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">XVI</a></td><td><span class="smcap">The Fens</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_212">212</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">XVII</a></td><td><span class="smcap">The Dawn</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_226">226</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">XVIII</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Bank-Holiday</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_239">239</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">XIX</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Listeners</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_264">264</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">XX</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Ravelston Grange</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_282">282</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">XXI</a></td><td><span class="smcap">The Windmill</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_311">311</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">XXII</a></td><td><span class="smcap">The Northwest Wind</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_337">337</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">XXIII</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Warden of the Fishes</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_352">352</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">XXIV</a></td><td><span class="smcap">The Twenty-eighth of October</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_375">375</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">XXV</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Baltazar Stork</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_409">409</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">XXVI</a></td><td><span class="smcap">November Mist</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_430">430</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">XXVII</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Threnos</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_447">447</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> - -<h1>RODMOOR</h1> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_I">I<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE BOROUGH</span></h2> - -<p>It was not that he concealed anything from her. -He told her quite frankly, in that first real conversation -they had together—on the little secluded -bench in the South London park—about all the -morbid sufferings of his years in America and his final -mental collapse.</p> - -<p>He even indicated to her—while the sound of grass-mowing -came to them over the rain-wet tulips—some -of the most secret causes of this event; his savage reaction, -for instance, against the circle he was thrown into -there; his unhappy habit of deadly introspection; his -aching nostalgia for things less murderously new and -raw.</p> - -<p>He explained how his mental illness had taken so dangerous, -so unlooked for a shape, that it was only by the -merest chance he had escaped long incarceration.</p> - -<p>No; it was not that he concealed anything. It was -rather that she experienced a remote uneasy feeling -that, say what he might,—and in a certain sense he said -too much rather than too little—she did not really -understand him.</p> - -<p>Her feminine instinct led her to persuade him that -she understood; led her to say what was most reassuring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> -to him, and most consolatory; but in her heart of -hearts she harboured a teasing doubt; a doubt which -only the rare sweetness of these first love-days of her -life enabled her to hide and cover over. Nor was this -feeling about her lover’s confessions the only little cloud -on Nance Herrick’s horizon during these memorable -weeks—weeks that, after all, she was destined to look -back upon as so strangely happy.</p> - -<p>She found herself, in the few moments when her passionate -emotion left her free to think of such things, -much more anxious than she cared to admit about the -ambiguous relations existing between the two persons -dependent upon her. Ever since the death of her -father—that prodigal sailor—three years ago, when -she had taken it upon herself to support both of them -by her work in the dressmaker’s shop, she had known -that all was not well between the two. Rachel Doorm -had never forgiven Captain Herrick for marrying -again; she felt that instinctively, but it was only quite -recently that she had grown to be really troubled by the -eccentric woman’s attitude to the little half-sister.</p> - -<p>Linda’s mother, she knew, had in her long nervous -decline rather clung than otherwise to this grim friend -of the former wife; but Linda’s mother had always been -different from other women; and Nance could remember -how, in quite early days, she never interfered when -Miss Doorm took the child away to punish her.</p> - -<p>To Nance herself Rachel had always been something -of an anxiety. Her savage devotion had proved over -and over again more of a burden than a pleasure; and -now that there was this increased tension between her -and Linda, the thing began to appear invidious, rapacious, -sinister.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> - -<p>She was torn, in fact, two ways over the situation. -Her own mother had long ago—and it was one of her -few definite recollections of her—made her swear solemnly -never to desert this friend of former days; and -the vows she had registered then to obey this covenant -had grown into a kind of religious rite; the only rite, in -fact, after all these years, she was able to perform for -her dead.</p> - -<p>And yet if loyalty to her mother kept her patiently -tender with Rachel’s eccentricities, the much warmer -feeling she had for her other parent was stirred indignantly -by the thought of any unkindness dealt out to -Linda.</p> - -<p>And just at present, it was clear, Linda was not -happy.</p> - -<p>The young girl seemed to be losing her vivacity and -to be growing silent and reserved.</p> - -<p>She was now nearly eighteen; and yet Nance had -caught her once or twice lately looking at Rachel -Doorm with the same expression of frightened entreaty -as she used to wear when led away from her mother’s -side for some childish fault. Rachel’s father, a taciturn -and loveless old man, had recently died, leaving his -daughter, whom he had practically cast off, a small but -secure annuity and a little house on the east coast.</p> - -<p>It was now to this home of her ancestors, in the village -of Rodmoor, that Rachel Doorm was anxious to -transport both sisters; partly as a return for what -Nance’s mother, and more recently Nance herself, had -done for her support, and partly out of fanatical devotion -to Nance.</p> - -<p>The girl could not help experiencing a feeling of infinite -relief at the thought of being freed from her uncongenial<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> -work in the dressmaker’s establishment. Her -pleasure, nevertheless, had been considerably marred, -in the last few days, by the attitude of her sister towards -the projected change.</p> - -<p>And now, with the realisation of this thrilling new -passion possessing her, her own feeling about leaving -London was different from what it had been at -first.</p> - -<p>None of these questions interrupted, however, on that -particular afternoon, the girl’s dreamy and absorbed -happiness.</p> - -<p>In the long delicious intervals that fell between her -and her lover with a perfume sweeter than that of the -arrested rain, she let her mind wander in languid retrospect, -from that seat in Kensington Park, over every -one of the wonderful events that had led her to this.</p> - -<p>She recalled her first sight of Adrian and how it had -come over her, like an intimation from some higher -sphere of being, that her fate was henceforth to lie, for -good and for evil, in that man’s hands.</p> - -<p>It was quite early in April when she saw him; and she -remembered, sitting now by his side, how, as each day -grew milder, and the first exquisite tokens of Spring -penetrated one by one—here a basket of daffodils, -and there a spray of almond-blossom—into the street -she traversed to her work, she felt less and less inclined -to struggle against the deep delicious thrill that suffused -itself, like a warm indrawing wave, through every pulse -of her body. That it should never have come to her before—that -she should have lived absolutely fancy-free -until so near her twenty-third birthday—only made -her abandonment to what she felt now the more sweet -and entire.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It is love,—it is love,” she thought; “and I will -give myself up to it!”</p> - -<p>And she had given herself up to it. It had penetrated -her with an exultant inner spring of delight. -She had immersed herself in it. She had gone through -her tedious drudgery as if she were floating, languidly -and at ease, on a softly rocking tide. She had lived -entirely in the present. She had not made the least -movement even to learn the name of the man whose wordless -pursuit of her had stirred her senses to this exultant -response.</p> - -<p>She had felt an indescribable desire to prolong these -hours of her first love, these hours so unreturning, so -new and so sweet; a desire—she remembered it well -now—that had a tinge of unformulated fear about it; -as though the very naming, even to herself, of what she -enjoyed, would draw down the jealousy of the invisible -powers.</p> - -<p>So she had been careful never to stop or linger, in -her hurried morning walks to the historic bridge; careful—after -she had once passed him, and their eyes had -met—never so much as to turn her head, to see if he -were following.</p> - -<p>And yet she knew—as well in those first days as -she knew now—that every morning and night he -waited, wet or fine, to see her go by.</p> - -<p>And she had known, too—how could she not -know?—that this mute signalling of two human souls -must change and end; must become something nearer -or something farther as time went on. But day by day -she put off this event; too thrilled by the sweet dream -in which she moved, to wish to destroy it, either for better -or for worse.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p> - -<p>If she had doubted him; doubted that he cared for -her; all would have been different.</p> - -<p>Then she would have taken some desperate step—some -step that would have forced him to recognise her -for what she was, his one of all, ready as none else <em>could</em> -be ready, to cry with a great cry—“Lord, behold thine -hand-maid; do unto her according to Thy will!” But -she had known he did care. She had felt the magnetic -current of his longing, as if it had been a hand laid down -upon her breast.</p> - -<p>And in answer she had given herself up to him; given -herself, she thought, with no less complete a yielding -than that with which, as she heard his voice by her side, -reaching her through a delicate mist of delicious dreaming, -she gave herself up to him now.</p> - -<p>She recalled with a proud gladness the fact that she -had never—never for a moment—in all those days, -bestowed a thought on the question of any possible future -with him. In the trance-like hours wherein she had -brooded so tenderly over the form and face of her nameless -lover, she always pictured him as standing waiting -for her, a tall, bowed, foreign-looking figure, clothed -in the long weather-stained Inverness—the very texture -of which she seemed to know the touch of—by that -corner curb-stone where the flower-shop was.</p> - -<p>Just in that manner, with just that air of ardent expectation, -he might be found standing, she had felt, -through unnumbered days of enchantment, and she passing -by, in silence, with the same expectant thrill.</p> - -<p>Such a love draught, not drained, not feverishly -drunk of, but sweet in her mouth with the taste of a -mystic consecration, seemed still, even now that she had -him there beside her, to hold the secret, amid this warm<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> -breath of London’s first lilacs, of a triumphant Present, -wherein both Past and Future were abolished.</p> - -<p>It seemed to the happy girl on this unique April -afternoon, while the sliding hours, full of the city’s -monotonous murmur, sank unnoticed away, and the -gardeners planted their pansies and raked lethargically -in the scented mould, as though nothing that could ever -happen to her afterwards, could outweigh what she felt -then, or matter so very greatly in the final reckoning. -With every pulse of her young body she uttered her -litany of gratitude. “<i>Ite; missa est</i>” her heart -cried—“It is enough.”</p> - -<p>As they walked home afterwards, hand in hand -through the dusk of the friendly park, she made him tell -her, detail by detail, every least incident of those first -days of their encountering. And Adrian Sorio, catching -the spirit of that exquisite entreaty, grew voluble -even beyond his wont.</p> - -<p>He told her how, in the confusion of his mind, when -it was first revealed to him that the devastation he was -suffering from did not deny him the sweet sting of “what -men call love,” he found it impossible to face with any -definite resolution the problem of his doubtful future. -He had recognised that in a week or so every penny he -possessed would be gone; yet it was impossible—and -his new emotion did not, he confessed, alter this in the -least—to make any move to secure employment.</p> - -<p>A kind of misanthropic timidity, so he explained to -her, made the least thought of finding what is popularly -known as “work” eminently repellant to him; yet it -was obvious that work must be found, unless he wished, -simply and quietly, to end the affair by starvation.</p> - -<p>This, as things went then, he told her, giving her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> -hand a final pressure as they emerged into the lighted -streets, he did not at all urgently want—though in the -first days of his return from America he had pondered -more than once on the question of an easy and agreeable -exit. It was as they settled down side by side,—her -hat no longer held languidly in her gloveless hand,—to -their long and discreet walk home through the crowded -thoroughfares, that she was first startled by hearing -the name “Rodmoor” from his lips. How amazing -a coincidence! What a miraculous gift of the gods!</p> - -<p>Fate was indeed sweeping her away on a full tide.</p> - -<p>It seemed like a thing in some old fantastic romance. -Could it be possible even before she had time to contemplate -her separation from him that she should learn -that they were not to separate at all!</p> - -<p>Rachel Doorm was indeed a witch—was indeed -working things out for her favourite with the power of -a sorceress. She kept back her natural cry of delight, -“But that is where we are going,” and let him, all unconscious, -as it seemed, of the effect of his words, unravel -in his own way the thread of his story.</p> - -<p>It was about a certain Baltazar Stork she found he -was telling her when her startled thoughts, like a flock -of disturbed pigeons, alighted once more on the field of -his discourse. Baltazar, it appeared, was an old friend -of Sorio’s and had written to offer him a sort of indefinite -hospitality in his village on the North Sea. -The name of this place—had she ever heard of Rodmoor?—had -repeated itself very strangely in his mind -ever since he first made it out in his friend’s abominable -hand.</p> - -<p>At that point in their walk, under the glare of a great -provision shop, she suddenly became conscious that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> -was watching her with laughing excitement. “You -know!” she cried, “you know!” And it was with difficulty -that he persuaded her to let him tell her how he -knew, in his own elaborate manner.</p> - -<p>This refuge—offered to him thus out of a clear sky, -he told her—did in a considerable sense lend him an -excuse for taking no steps to find work. And the name -of the place—he confessed this with an excited emphasis—had -from the beginning strangely affected his -imagination.</p> - -<p>He saw it sometimes, so he said, that particular word, -in a queer visualised manner, dark brown against a -colourless and livid sky; and in an odd sort of way it -had related itself, dimly, obscurely, and with the incoherence -of a half-learnt language, to the wildest and -most pregnant symbols of his life.</p> - -<p>Rodmoor! The word at the same time allured and -troubled him. What it suggested to him—and he -made her admit that his ideas of it were far more -definite than her own—was no doubt what it really -implied: leagues and leagues of sea-bleached forlornness, -of sand-dunes and glaucous marshes, of solitary -willows and pallid-leaved poplars, of dark pools and -night-long-murmuring reeds.</p> - -<p>“We’ll have long walks together there!” he exclaimed, -interrupting himself suddenly with an almost -savage gesture of ardent possession. If it had been -any one but Baltazar Stork, he went on, who had sent -him this timely invitation, he would have rejected it at -once, but from Baltazar he had no hesitation in accepting -anything. They had been friends too long to make -any other attitude possible. No, it was no scruple of -pride that led him to hesitate—as he admitted to her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> -he had done. It was rather the strange and indefinable -reaction set up in his brain by those half-sinister -half-romantic syllables—syllables that kept repeating -themselves in his inner consciousness.</p> - -<p>Nance remembered more than once in a later time the -fierce sudden way he turned upon her as they stood on -the edge of the crowded square waiting the opportunity -to cross and asked, with a solemn intensity in his voice, -whether she had any presentiment as to how things -would turn out for them in this place.</p> - -<p>“It hangs over me,” he said, “it hangs over us -both. I see it like a heavy sunset weighted with purple -bars.” And then, when the girl did nothing but shake -her head and smile tenderly, “I warn you,” he went -on, “you are risking much—I feel it—I know it. -I have had this sort of instinct before about things.” -He shivered a little and laid his hand on her arm as -if he clung to her for reassurance.</p> - -<p>Nance remembered long afterwards the feelings in -her that made her turn her face full upon him and -whisper proudly, as if in defiance of his premonitions, -“What can happen to us that can hurt us, my dear, -as long as we are together, and as long as we love one -another?”</p> - -<p>He was silent after this and apparently satisfied, for -he did not scruple to return to the subject of Rodmoor. -The word gave him in those first days, he said, -that curious sensation we receive when we suddenly say -to ourselves in some new locality, “I have been here; I -have seen all this before.”</p> - -<p>Had he at that time, he told her, been less distracted -by the emotions she aroused in him, he would have -analysed to the bottom the dim mental augury—or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> -was it reminiscence?—called up by this name. As -it was he just kept the thing at the back of his mind -as something which, whatever its occult significance, at -least spared him the necessity of agitating himself about -his future.</p> - -<p>Nance’s thoughts were brought back from their half-attention -with a shock of vivid interest when he came -to the point, amid his vague recollections, of his first -entrance into her house. It was exactly a week ago, he -reminded her, that he found himself one sunny morning -securely established as a new lodger under her roof. -In his impatient longing to secure the desirable room—across -the narrow floor of which, he confessed to her, -he paced to and fro that day like a hungry tiger—he -had even forgotten to make the obvious inquiry as to -the quarter of the London sky from which his particular -portion of light and air was to come.</p> - -<p>It was only, he told her, with a remote segment of -his consciousness that he became aware of the fine, -full flood of sunshine which poured in from the southern-opening -window and lay, mellow and warm, upon his -littered books and travel-stained trunk.</p> - -<p>Casual and preoccupied were the glances he cast, -each time his mechanical perambulation brought him -to that pleasant window, at the sun-bathed traffic and -the hurrying crowd. London Bridge Road melted into -his thought; or rather his thought took possession of -London Bridge Road and reduced it to a mere sounding-board -for the emotion that obsessed him.</p> - -<p>That emotion—and Nance got exquisite pleasure -from hearing him say the words, though she turned her -face away from him as he said them—took, as he -paced his room, passionate and ardent shape. He did<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> -not re-vivify the whole of her,—of the fair young being -whose sweetness had got into his blood. He confined -himself to thinking of the delicate tilt of her head and -of the spaciousness between her breasts, spaciousness -that somehow reminded him of Pheidian sculpture.</p> - -<p>He hadn’t anticipated this particular kind of escape—though -it was certainly the escape he had been seeking—amid -the roar of London’s streets; but after all, -if it did give him his cup of nepenthe, his desired anodyne, -how much the more did he gain when it gave him -so thrilling an experience in addition? Why, indeed, -should he not dream that the gods were for once helping -him out and that the generous grace of his girl’s -form was symbolic of the restorative virtue of the great -Mother herself?</p> - -<p>Restoration was undoubtedly the thing he wanted—and -in recalling his thoughts of that earlier hour, to -her now walking with him, he found himself enlarging -upon it all quite unscrupulously in terms of what he -now felt—restoration on any terms, at any cost, to -the kindly normal paths out of which he had been so -roughly thrown. He thrust indignantly back, he told -her, that eventful morning the intrusive thought that -it was only the Spring that worked so prosperously -upon him. He did not want it to be the Spring; he -wanted it to be the girl. The Spring would pass; the -girl, if his feeling for her—and he glanced at the -broad-rimmed hat and shadowy profile at his side—were -not altogether illusive, would remain. And it was -the faculty for remaining that he especially required in -his raft of refuge.</p> - -<p>Up and down his room, at any rate, he walked that -day with a heightened consciousness such as he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> -not known for many clouded months. “The Spring”—and -in his imaginative reaction to his own memories -he grew, so Nance felt with what was perhaps her first -serious pang, almost feverishly eloquent—“the Spring, -whether I cared to recognise it or not, waved thrilling -arms towards me. I felt it”—and he raised his voice -so loud that the girl looked uneasily round them—“in -the warmth of the sun, in the faces of the wistful -shop girls, in the leaves budding against the smoke of -the Borough. It had come to me again, and you—you -had brought it! It had come to me again, the -Eternal Return, the antiphonal world-deep Renewal. -It had come, Nance, and all the slums of Rotherhithe -and Wapping, and all the chimneys, workshops, wharves -and tenements of the banks of this river of yours could -not stop the rising of the sap. The air came to me -that morning, my girl!”—and he unconsciously quickened -his steps as he spoke till, for all her long youthful -limbs she could hardly keep pace with him—“as if it -had passed over leagues of green meadows. And it -had! It had, Nance! And it throbbed for me, child, -with the sweetness of your very soul.” He paused for -a moment and, as they debouched more directly eastward -through a poor and badly lit street, she caught -him muttering to himself what she knew was Latin.</p> - -<p>He answered her quick look—her look that had a -dim uneasiness in it—with a slow repetition of the famous -line, and Nance was still quite enough of a young -girl to feel a thrill of pride that she had a lover who, -within a stone’s throw of the “Elephant and Castle,” -could quote for her on an April evening that “<i>cras amet -qui nunquam amavit</i>” of the youth of the centuries!</p> - -<p>The rich, antique flavour of the words blent well<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> -enough as far as she was concerned with the homely -houses and taverns of that dilapidated quarter. The -night was full of an indescribable balm, felt through the -most familiar sounds and sights, and, after all, there -was always something mellow and pagan and free about -the streets of London. It was the security, the friendly -solidity, of the immense city which more than anything -just then seemed to harmonise with this classical mood -in her wonderful foreigner and she wished he would -quote more Latin as they went along, side by side, past -the lighted fruit stalls.</p> - -<p>The overhanging shadow of Adrian’s premonitions, -or whatever they were, about Rodmoor, and her own -anxieties about Rachel Doorm and Linda withdrew -themselves into the remotest background of the girl’s -mind as she gave herself to her happiness in this favoured -hour. It was in a quiet voice, after that, that -he resumed his story. The sound, he said, of one of the -Borough clocks striking the hour of ten brought a -pause to his agitated pacing.</p> - -<p>He stretched himself, he told her, when he heard the -clock, stretched his arms out at full length, with that -delicious shivering sensation which accompanies the -near fulfilment of deferred hope. Then he chuckled to -himself, from sheer childish ecstasy, and made goblinish -faces.</p> - -<p>Nance could not help noticing as he told her all this, -how quaintly he reproduced in his exaggerated way the -precise gestures he had indulged in. “Per Bacco! I -had only three pounds left,” he said, and as he shrugged -his shoulders and glowered at her under a flickering -lamp from eyes sunken deep in his heavy face, she realised -of what it was he had been all this while vaguely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> -reminding her—of nothing less, in fact, than one of -those saturnine portrait-busts of the Roman decadence, -at which as a child she used to stare, half-frightened -and half-attracted, in the great Museum.</p> - -<p>The first thing he did, he told her, when the sound -of the clock brought him to his senses, was to empty -his pockets on the top of the chest-of-drawers which -was, except for the bed and a couple of rickety chairs, -the only article of furniture in the room. An errant -penny, rolling aside from the rest, tinkled against the -edge of his washing basin. “Not three pounds!” he muttered -and leered at himself in his wretched looking glass.</p> - -<p>It was precisely at that moment that the sound of -voices struck his ears, proceeding from the adjoining -room.</p> - -<p>“I had spent half the night,” he whispered, drawing -his companion closer to his side as a couple of tipsy -youths pushed roughly by them, “lying awake listening. -I felt a queer kind of shame, yes, shame, as I -realised how near I was to you. You know I knew -nothing of you then, absolutely nothing except that you -went to work every day and lived with some sort of -elderly person and a younger sister. It was this ignorance -about you, child, that made my situation so -exciting. I waited breathlessly, literally petrified, in -the middle of the room.”</p> - -<p>Nance at this point felt herself compelled to utter -a little cry of protest.</p> - -<p>“You ought to have made some kind of noise,” she -said, “to let us know you were listening.”</p> - -<p>But he waved aside her objection, and continued:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> -“I remained petrified in the centre of the room, feeling -as though the persons I listened to might at any moment -stop their conversation and listen, in their turn, -to the frantic beating of my heart. I heard your voice. -I knew it in a moment to be yours—it had the round, -full sweetness”—his arm was about her now—“of -your darling figure. ‘Good-bye!’ you called out and -there came the sound of a door opening upon the -passage, ‘Good-bye! I’m off. Meet me to-night if -you like. Yes, soon after six. Good-bye! Look after -each other.’</p> - -<p>“The door shut and I heard you running down the -stairs. I felt as though that ‘Meet me to-night’ had -been addressed to myself. I crossed over to the window -and watched you thread your way through the -crowd in the direction of the Bridge. I knew you were -late. I hoped you would not be scolded for it by some -shrewish or brutal employer. I wished I had had the -courage to go out on the landing and see you off. Why -is one always so paralysed when these chances offer -themselves? I might easily have taken a fellow-lodger’s -privilege and bidden you good morning. Then I found -myself wondering whether you had any inkling that I -had been sleeping so near you that night. Had you, -you darling, had you any such instinct?”</p> - -<p>Nance shook her head, nor could he see the expression -of her eyes in the quiet darkened square, across -which they were then moving. They came upon a -wooden bench, under some iron railings, and he made -her sit down while he completed his tale. The spot was -unfrequented at that hour, and above their heads—as -they leaned back, sighing tranquilly, and he took possession -of her hand—the branch of a stunted beech-tree -stretched itself out, hushed and still, enjoying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> -some secret dream of its own amid the balmy perfumes -of the amorous night.</p> - -<p>“May I go on?” he enquired, looking tenderly at -her.</p> - -<p>In her heart Nance longed to cry, “No! No! No -more of these tiresome memories! Make love to me! -Make love to me!” but she only pressed his fingers -gently and remained silent.</p> - -<p>“I took up a book,” he went on, “from the heap on -the floor and drawing one of those miserable chairs to -the window, I opened it at random. It happened to -be that mad lovely thing of Remy de Gourmont. I -forgot whether you said you had got as far as French -poetry in that collection of yours that Miss Doorm -is so suspicious of. It was, in fact, ‘Le livre des -Litanies,’ and shall I tell you the passage I read? I -was too excited to gather its meaning all at once, and -then such a curious thing happened to me! But I -will say the lines to you, child, and you will understand -better.”</p> - -<p>Nance could only press his hand again, but her heart -sank with an unaccountable foreboding.</p> - -<p>“It was the Litany of the Rose,” he said, and his -voice floated out into the embalmed stillness with the -same ominous treachery in its tone, so the poor girl -fancied, as the ambiguous words he chanted.</p> - -<p>“<i>Rose au regard saphique, plus pâle que les lys, rose -au regard saphique, offre-nous le parfum de ton illusoire -virginité, fleur hypocrite, fleur de silence.</i>”</p> - -<p>The strange invocation died away on the air, and a -singular oppression, heavy as if with some undesired -spiritual presence, weighed upon them both. Sorio did<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> -not speak for some minutes, and when he did so there -was an uneasy vibration in his voice.</p> - -<p>“As soon as I had read those lines, there came over -me one of the most curious experiences I have ever -had. I seemed to see, yes, you may smile,”—Nance -was far from smiling—“but it is actually true—I -seemed to see a living human figure outline itself against -the wall of my room. To the end of my days I shall -never forget it! It was a human form, Nance, but it -was unlike all human forms I’ve ever beheld—unless it -be one of those weird drawings, you know? of Aubrey -Beardsley. It was neither the form of a boy nor of a -girl, and yet it had the nature of both. It gazed at -me with a fixed sorrowful stare, and I felt—was not -that a strange experience—that I had known it before, -somewhere, far off, and long ago. It was the -very embodiment of tragic supplication, and yet, in the -look it fixed on me, there was a cold, merciless mockery.</p> - -<p>“It was the kind of form, Nance, that one can imagine -wandering in vain helplessness down all the years -of human history, seeking amid the dreams of all the -great, perverse artists of the world for the incarnation -it has been denied by the will of God.” He paused -again, and an imperceptible breath of hot balmy air -stirred the young leaves of the beech branch above -them.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” he whispered, “I know what I thought of -then. I thought of that ‘Secret Rose Garden’ where -the timid boy-girl thing—you know the picture I -mean, Nance?—is led forth by some wanton lamp -bearer between rose branches that are less soft than her -defenceless sides.”</p> - -<p>Once more he was silent and the hot wind, rising a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> -little, uttered a perceptible murmur in the leaves above -their heads.</p> - -<p>“But what was more startling to me, Nance,” he -went on, “even than the figure I saw (and it only -stayed a moment before disappearing) was the fact -that at the very second it vanished, I heard, spoken -quite distinctly, in the room next to mine, the word -‘Rodmoor.’</p> - -<p>“I threw down the ‘Book of Litanies’ and once -more stood breathlessly listening. I caught the word -again, uttered in a tone that struck me as having something -curiously threatening about it. It was your -Miss Doorm, Nance. No wonder she and I instinctively -hated each other when we met. She must have -known that I had heard this interesting conversation. -Your sister’s voice—and you must think about that, -Nance, you must think about that—sounded like the -voice of a little girl that has been punished—yes, punished -into frightened submissiveness.</p> - -<p>“Miss Doorm was evidently talking to her about this -Rodmoor scheme. ‘It’s what I’ve waited for, for years -and years,’ I heard her say. ‘Every Spring that came -round I hoped he would die, and he didn’t. It seemed -that he wouldn’t—just to spite me, just to keep me -out of my own. But now he’s gone—the old man—gone -with all his wickedness upon him, and my place -returns to me—my own place. It’s mine, I tell you, -mine! mine! mine!’ It was extraordinary, Nance, the -tone in which she said these things. Then she went -on to speak of you. ‘I can free her now,’ she said, ‘I -can free her at last. Aren’t you glad I can free her? -Aren’t you glad?’</p> - -<p>“I confess it made me at that moment almost indignant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> -with your sister that she should need such pressing -on such a subject. Her voice, however, when she murmured -some kind of an answer, appeared, as I have said, -quite obsequious in its humility.</p> - -<p>“‘O my precious, my precious!’ the woman cried -again, evidently apostrophising you, ‘you’ve worked -for me, and saved for me, and now I can return it—I -can return it!’ There was a few minutes’ silence then, -and I moved,” Sorio continued, “quite close to the wall -so as to catch if I could your sister’s whispers.</p> - -<p>“Miss Doorm soon began once more and I liked her -tone still less. ‘Why don’t you speak? Why do you -sit silent and sulky like that? Aren’t you glad she’ll -be free of all this burden—of all this miserable -drudgery? Aren’t you glad for her? She kept you -here like a Duchess, you with your music lessons! A -lot of money you’ll ever earn with your music! And -now it’s my turn. She shall be a lady in my house, a -lady!’”</p> - -<p>Nance’s head hung low down over her knees as she -listened to all this and the hand that her lover still -retained grew colder and colder.</p> - -<p>“I remember her next words,” Sorio went on, “particularly -well because a lovely fragrance of lilacs came -suddenly into the window from a cart in the street and -I thought how to my dying day I should associate that -scent with this first morning under your roof.</p> - -<p>“‘You say you don’t like the sea?’ Miss Doorm -went on, ‘and you actually suppose that your not liking -the sea will stop my freeing her! No! No! -You’ll have the sea, my beauty, at Rodmoor—the sea -and the wind. No more dilly-dallying among the pretty -shop windows and the nice young music students. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> -Wind and the Sea! Those are the things that are waiting -for you at Rodmoor—at Rodmoor, in my house, -where she will be a lady at last!’</p> - -<p>“You see, Nance,” Adrian observed, letting her hand -go and preparing to light a cigarette, “Miss Doorm’s -idea seems to be that you will receive quite a social lift -from your move to her precious Rodmoor. She evidently -holds the view that no lady has ever earned her -living with her own hands. Does she propose to keep -a horde of servants in this small house, I wonder, and -stalk about among them, grim and majestic, in a black -silk gown?</p> - -<p>“I must confess I feel at this moment a certain -understanding of your sister’s reluctance to plunge -into this ‘milieu.’ I can see that house—oh, so -clearly!—surrounded by a dark back-water and swept -by horribly cold winds. I’m sure I don’t know, Nance, -what kind of neighbours you’re going to have on the -Doorm estate. Probably half the old hags of East -Anglia will troop in upon you, like descendants of the -Valkyries. And the North Sea! You realise, my dear, -I suppose, what the North Sea is? I don’t blame little -Linda for shivering at the thought of it.”</p> - -<p>For the first time since she had known him Nance’s -voice betrayed irritation. “Don’t tease me, Adrian. -I can’t stand it to-night. You don’t know what all this -means to Rachel.”</p> - -<p>Adrian smiled. “Your dear Rachel,” he said, -“seems to have got you both fairly well under her -thumb.”</p> - -<p>“She was my mother’s best friend!” the girl burst -out. “I should never forgive myself if I made her -unhappy!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p> - -<p>“There seems more chance, as I see it now,” observed -Sorio, “that Miss Doorm will make Linda unhappy. -I think I may take it that Linda’s mother -wasn’t much of a favourite of hers? Isn’t that so, -my dear?”</p> - -<p>“We must be getting home now,” the girl remarked, -rising from the bench. But Sorio remained seated, -coolly puffing wreaths of cigarette smoke into the aromatic -night.</p> - -<p>“There’s not the slightest need to get cross with me,” -he said gently, giving the sleeve of her coat a little -deprecatory caress.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p> -<p>“As a matter of fact, when I heard that woman scold -Linda for not wanting to set you free I felt, in a most -odd and subtle manner, curiously anxious to scold her, -too; I quite longed to overcome and override her absurd -reluctance. I even felt a strange excitement in -the thought of walking with her along the edge of this -water, and in the face of this wind. O! I became -Miss Doorm’s accomplice, Nance! You may be perfectly -happy. I made up my mind that very moment -that I would write at once to Baltazar and accept his -invitation. Indeed I did write to him, the minute I -could hear no more talking. I was too excited to write -much. I just wrote: ‘Amico mio:—I will come to you -very soon,’ and when I’d finished the letter I went -straight out and posted it. I believe I heard Linda -crying as I went downstairs, but, as I tell you, Nance, -I had become quite an accomplice of Miss Doorm! It -seemed to me outrageous that the selfish silliness of a -child like that should interfere with your emancipation. -Besides I liked the thought of walking with her by the -shore of this sea and calming her curious fear.”</p> - -<p>He threw away his cigarette and, rising to his feet, -drew the girl’s arm within his own and led her homewards.</p> - -<p>The beech-tree, as if relieved by their departure, gave -itself up with more delicious abandonment than ever to -the embraces of the warm Spring night. They had not -far to go now, and Nance only spoke once before they -arrived at their door in the London Bridge Road.</p> - -<p>“Had that figure you saw,” she asked in a low constrained -voice, “the same look Linda has—now that -you know what she is like?”</p> - -<p>“Linda?” he answered, “Oh, no, my dear, no, no! -That one had nothing to do with Linda. But I think,” -he added, after a pause, “it had something to do with -Rodmoor.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_II">II<br /> -<span class="smaller">DYKE HOUSE</span></h2> - -<p>Nance Herrick stood at her window -in the Doorm dwelling the morning -after their arrival thinking desperately -of what she had done. The window, open at the top, -let in a breath of chilly, salt-tasting wind which -stirred the fair loose hair upon her forehead and cooled -her throat and shoulders. At the sound of her sister’s -voice she closed the window, cast one swift, troubled -look at the river flowing so formidably near, and moved -across to Linda’s side. Drowsy and warm after her -deep sleep, the younger girl stretched out her long, -youthful arms from the bed and clasped them round -Nance’s neck.</p> - -<p>“Are you glad,” she whispered, “are you glad, after -all, that I made you come? I couldn’t have borne to -be selfish, dear. I should have had no peace. No!—,” she -interrupted an ejaculation from Nance, “—it -wasn’t anything to do with Rachel. It wasn’t, Nancy -darling, it really and truly wasn’t! I’m going to be -perfectly good now. I’m going to be so good that -you’ll hardly know me. Shall I tell you what I’m going -to do? I’m going to learn the organ. Rachel says -there’s a beautiful one in the church here, and Mr. -Traherne—he’s the clergyman, you know—plays -upon it himself. I’m going to persuade him to teach -me. O! I shall be perfectly happy!”</p> - -<p>Nance extricated herself from the young girl’s arms<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> -and, stepping back into the middle of the room, stood -contemplating her in silence. The two sisters, thus -contrasted, in the hard white light of that fen-land -morning, would have charmed the super-subtle sense of -some late Venetian painter. Nance herself, without -being able precisely to define her feeling, felt that the -mere physical difference between them was symbolic of -something dangerously fatal in their conjunction. Her -sister was not an opposite type. She too was fair—she -too was tall and flexible—she too was emphatically -feminine in her build—she even had eyes of the same -vague grey colour. And yet, as Nance looked at her -now, at her flushed excited cheeks, her light brown -curls, her passionate neurotic attitude, and became at -the same time conscious of her own cold pure limbs, -white marble-like skin and heavily-hanging shining -hair, she felt that they were so essentially different, -even in their likeness, that the souls in their two bodies -could never easily comprehend one another nor arrive -at any point of real instinctive understanding.</p> - -<p>Something of the same thought must have troubled -Linda too at that moment, for as they fixed their eyes -on each other’s faces there fell between them that sort -of devastating silence which indicates the struggle of -two human spirits, seeking in vain to break the eternal -barrier in whose isolating power lies all the tragedy and -all the interest of life.</p> - -<p>Suddenly Nance moved to the window and threw it -wide open.</p> - -<p>“Listen!” she said.</p> - -<p>The younger sister made a quick apprehensive movement -and clasped her hands tightly together. Her eyes -grew wide and her breast rose and fell.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Listen!” Nance repeated.</p> - -<p>A low, deep-drawn murmur, reiterated, and again reiterated, -in menacing monotony, filled the room.</p> - -<p>“The sea!” cried both sisters together.</p> - -<p>Nance shivered, closed the window and sank down on -a chair. With lowered eyes she remained for some -seconds absorbed and abstracted. When she lifted her -head she saw that her sister was watching her and -that there was a look on her face such as she had never -seen there before. It was a look she was destined to -be unable to thrust from her memory, but no effort of -hers could have described it then or afterwards. Making -an effort of will which required all the strength of -her soul, Nance rose to her feet and spoke solemnly and -deliberately.</p> - -<p>“Swear to me, Linda, that nothing I could have said -or done would have made you agree to stay in London. -I told you I was ready to stay, didn’t I, that night I -came back with Adrian and found you awake? I -begged and begged you to tell me the truth, to tell me -whether Rachel was forcing you into going. I offered -to leave her for good and all—didn’t I?—if she was -unkind to you. It’s only the truth I want—only the -truth! We’ll go back—now—to-morrow—the moment -you say you wish it. But if you don’t wish it, -make me know you don’t! Make me know it—here—in -my heart!”</p> - -<p>In her emotion, pressing her hand to her side, she -swayed with a pathetic, unconscious movement. Linda -continued to watch her, the same indescribable look -upon her face.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p> -<p>“Will you swear that nothing I could have done -would have made you stay? Will you swear that, -Linda?”</p> - -<p>The younger girl in answer to this appeal, leapt from -her bed and rushing up to her sister hugged her tightly -in her arms.</p> - -<p>“You darling thing!” she cried, “of course I’ll -swear it. Nothing—nothing—<em>nothing</em>! would have -made me stay. Oh, you’ll soon see how happy I can be -in Rodmoor—in dear lovely Rodmoor!”</p> - -<p>A simultaneous outburst of weeping relieved at that -moment the feelings of both of them, and they kissed -one another passionately through their falling tears.</p> - -<p>In the hush that followed—whether by reason of a -change in the wind or simply because their senses had -grown more receptive—they both clearly heard -through the window that remained closed, the husky, -long-drawn beat, reiterative, incessant, menacing, of the -waves of the North Sea.</p> - -<p>During breakfast and the hours which succeeded that -meal, Nance was at once surprised and delighted by the -excellent spirits of both Miss Doorm and Linda. They -even left her to herself before half the morning was -over and went off together, apparently in complete harmony -along the banks of the tidal stream.</p> - -<p>She herself, loitering in the deserted garden, felt a -curious sensation of loneliness and a wonder, not -amounting to a sense of discomfort but still remotely -disturbing, as to why it was that Adrian had not, as he -had promised, appeared to take her out. Acting at -last on a sudden impulse, she ran into the house, put -on her hat and cloak, and started rapidly down the road -leading to the village.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> - -<p>The Spring was certainly not so far advanced in -Rodmoor as it was in London. Nance felt as though -some alien influence were at work here, reducing to -enforced sterility the natural movements of living and -growing things. The trees were stunted, the marigolds -in the wet ditches pallid and tarnished. The leaves of -the poplars, as they shook in the gusty wind, seemed -to her like hundreds and hundreds of tiny dead hands—the -hands of ghostly babies beseeching whatever power -called them forth to give them more life or to return -them to the shadows.</p> - -<p>Yes, some alien influence was at work, and the Spring -was ravished and tarnished even while yet in bud. It -was as if by an eternal mandate, registered when this -portion of the coast first assumed its form, the seasons -had been somehow thwarted and perverted in the processes -of their natural order, and the land left, a neutral, -sterile, derelict thing, neither quite living nor quite -dead, doomed to changeless monotony.</p> - -<p>Nance was still some little distance from the village, -but she slackened her pace and lingered now, in the hope -that at any moment she might see Adrian approaching. -She knew from Rachel’s description only very vaguely -where Mr. Stork’s cottage was and she was afraid of -missing her lover if she went too far.</p> - -<p>The road she was following was divided from the river -by some level water meadows and she did not feel certain -whether the village itself lay on the right or the -left of the river mouth. Miss Doorm had spoken of a -bridge, but among the roofs and trees which she made -out in front of her, she was unable at present to see -anything of this.</p> - -<p>What she did see was a vast expanse of interminable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> -fen-land stretching away for miles and miles on every -side of her, broken against the sky line, towards which -she was advancing, by grey houses and grey poplars -but otherwise losing itself in misty horizons which -seemed infinite in their remoteness. On both sides of -the little massed group of roofs and trees and what the -girl made out as the masts of boats in the harbour, a -long low bank of irregular sand-dunes kept the sea from -her view, though the sound of the waves—and Nance -fancied it came to her in a more friendly manner now -she was closer to it—was insistent and clear.</p> - -<p>Across the fens to her left she discerned what was -evidently the village church but the building looked so -desolate and isolated—alone there in the midst of the -marshes—that she found it difficult to conceive the -easily-daunted Linda as practising organ music in such -a place. She wondered if the grey building she could -just obscurely distinguish, leaning against the wall of -the church, were the abode of Mr. Traherne. If so, -she thought, he must indeed be a man of God to endure -that solitude.</p> - -<p>She had wandered into the wet grass by the road’s -edge and was amusing herself by picking a bunch of -dandelions, the only flower at that moment in sight, -when she saw a man’s figure approaching her from the -Rodmoor direction. At first she assumed it was Adrian, -and made several quick steps to meet him, but -when she recognised her mistake the disappointment -made her so irritable that she threw her flowers away. -Her irritation vanished, however, after a long survey -of him, when the stranger actually drew near.</p> - -<p>He was a middle-sized man wearing at the back of his -head a dark soft hat and buttoned up, from throat to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> -ankles, in a light-coloured heavy overcoat. His face, -plump, smooth, and delicately oval, possessed a winning -freshness of tint and outline which was further enhanced -by the challenging friendliness of his whimsical smile -and the softness of his hazel eyes. What could be seen -of his mouth—for he wore a heavy moustache—was -sensitive and sensuous, but something about the way he -walked—a kind of humorous roll, Nance mentally defined -it, of his sturdy figure—gave an impression that -this body, so carefully over-coated against the cold, was -one whose heart was large, mellow and warm. It was -not till after a minute or two, not in fact till he had -wavered and hovered at her side like an entomologist -over a newly discovered butterfly, that the girl got upon -the track of other interesting peculiarities.</p> - -<p>His nose, she found, for instance, was the most striking -feature of his face, being extremely long and pointed -like the nose of a rodent, and with large quivering nostrils -slightly reddened, it happened just then, by the -impact of the wind, and tilted forward as the man -veered about as though to snuff up the very perfume -and essence of the fortunate occasion.</p> - -<p>From the extreme tip of this interesting feature hung -a pearly drop of rheum.</p> - -<p>What—next to the man’s nose—struck the girl’s -fancy and indeed so disarmed her dignity that even his -entomological hoverings were forgiven, was the straight -lock of black-brown hair which falling across his forehead -gave him a deliciously ruffled and tumbled look, as -if he had recently been engaged in a rural game of -“blind man’s buff.” The forehead itself, or what could -be seen of it, was weighty and thoughtful; the forehead -of a scholar or a philosopher.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> - -<p>Nance had never in all her life been treated by a -stranger quite in the way this worthy man treated her, -for not only did he return upon his steps immediately -after he had passed her, but he permitted his eyes, both -in passing and repassing, to search her smilingly up and -down from her boots to the top of her head, precisely -as if he were a connoisseur in a gallery observing the -“values” of a famous picture.</p> - -<p>And yet, for she was not by any means oblivious to -such distinctions, the girl was unable to feel even for -one second that this surprising admirer was anything -but a gentleman—a gentleman, however, with very -singular manners. That she certainly did feel. And -yet, she liked him, liked him before he uttered a word, -liked him with that swift, irrational, magnetic attraction -which, with women even more than with men, is -the important thing.</p> - -<p>Passing her for the third time he suddenly darted -into the grass, and with a movement so comically impetuous -that though she gave a start she could not feel -angry, picked up her discarded flowers and gravely presented -them to her, saying as he did so, “Perhaps you’ll -be annoyed at leaving these behind—or do you wish -them at the devil?”</p> - -<p>Nance took them from him and smiled frankly into -his face.</p> - -<p>“I suppose I oughtn’t to have picked them,” she -said. “People don’t like dandelions brought into -houses.”</p> - -<p>“What an Attic chin you have!” was the stranger’s -next remark. There was such an absence in his tone of -all rakish or conventional gallantry that the girl still -felt she could not repulse him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p> - -<p>“You are staying here—in Rodmoor?” he went -on.</p> - -<p>Nance explained that she had come to live with Miss -Doorm.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” The stranger looked at her curiously, smiling -with exquisite sweetness. “You have been here before,” -he said. “You came in a coach, pulled by six -black horses. You know every sort of reed and every -kind of moss in all the fens. You know all the shells -on the shore and all the seaweed in the sea.”</p> - -<p>Nance was less puzzled than might be supposed by -this fantastic address, as she had the advantage of -interpreting it in the light of the humorous and reassuring -smile which accompanied its utterance.</p> - -<p>She brought him back to reality by a direct question. -“Can you tell me where Mr. Stork lives, please? I’ve -a friend staying with him and I want to know which -way a person would naturally take coming from there -to us. I had rather hoped,” she hesitated a little, “to -have met my friend already. But perhaps Mr. Stork -is a late riser.”</p> - -<p>The stranger, who had been looking very intently at -the opposite hedge while she asked her question, suddenly -darted towards it. The queer way in which he -ran with his arms swinging loosely from his shoulders, -and his body bent a little forward, struck Nance as peculiarly -fascinating. When he reached the hedge he -hovered momentarily in front of it and then pounced at -something. “Missed!” he cried in a peevish voice. -“Damn the little scoundrel! A shrew-mouse! That’s -what it was! A shrew-mouse!”</p> - -<p>He came hurrying back as fast as he went, almost -as if Nance herself had been some kind of furred or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> -feathered animal that might disappear if it were not -held fast.</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon, Madam,” he said, breathlessly, -“but you don’t often see those so near the town. -Hullo!” This last exclamation was caused by the appearance, -not many paces from them, of Adrian Sorio -himself who emerged from a gap in the hedge, hatless -and excited.</p> - -<p>“I was on the tow-path,” he gasped, “and -I caught sight of you. I was afraid you’d have started. -Baltazar made me go with him to the station.” He -paused and stared at Nance’s companion.</p> - -<p>The latter looked so extremely uncomfortable that -the girl hastened to come to his rescue.</p> - -<p>“This gentleman was just going to show me the way,” -she said, “to your friend’s house. Look, Adrian! -Aren’t these lovely?”</p> - -<p>She held out the dandelions towards him, but he disregarded -them.</p> - -<p>“Well,” he remarked rather brusquely, “now I’ve -found you, I fancy we’d better go back the way we came. -I’m longing to see how Linda feels. I want to take her -down to the sea this afternoon. Shall we do that? Or -perhaps you can’t both leave Miss Doorm at the same -time?”</p> - -<p>He stared at the stranger as if bidding him clear off. -But the admirer of shrew-mice had recovered his equanimity. -“I know Mr. Stork well,” he remarked to -Sorio. “He and I are quite old friends. I was just -asking this lady if she had ever been in the fens before, -but I gather this is her first visit.”</p> - -<p>Adrian had by this time begun to look so morose that -Nance broke in hurriedly.</p> - -<p>“We must introduce ourselves,” she said. “My<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> -name is Miss Herrick. This is Mr. Adrian Sorio.” -She paused and waited. A long shrill cry followed by a -most melancholy wail which gradually died away in the -distance, came to them over the marshes.</p> - -<p>“A curlew,” remarked the intruder. “Beautiful -and curious—and with very interesting mating habits. -They are rare, too.”</p> - -<p>“Come along, Nance,” Sorio burst out. But the girl -turned to her new acquaintance and extended her hand.</p> - -<p>“You haven’t told us <em>your</em> name yet,” she said. “I -hope we shall meet again.”</p> - -<p>The stranger gave her a look which, for caressing -softness, could only be compared to a virtuoso’s finger -laid upon an incomparable piece of Egyptian pottery.</p> - -<p>“Certainly we shall meet,” he murmured. “Of -course, most certainly. I know every one here. My -name is Raughty—Doctor Fingal Raughty. I was -with old Doorm when he died. A noble head, though -rather malformed behind the ears. He had a peculiar -smell too—not unpleasant—rather musky in fact. -They called him Badger in the village. He could drink -more gin at a sitting than any man I have ever seen. -He resembled the portraits of Descartes. Good-bye, -Miss—Nance!”</p> - -<p>As soon as the lovers were alone Sorio’s rage broke -forth.</p> - -<p>“What a man!” he cried. “Who gave him leave -to talk like that of Mr. Doorm? How did he know -you weren’t related to him? And what surpassing -coolness to call you by your Christian name! Confound -him—he’s gone the way we wanted to go. I -believe he knew that. Look! He’s fooling about in -the ditch, waiting for us to overtake him!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> - -<p>Nance could not help laughing a little at this. -“Not at all, my dear. He’s looking for shrew-mice.”</p> - -<p>“What?” rejoined the other crossly. “On the public -road? He’s mad. Come, we must get round him -somehow. Let’s go through here and hit the tow -path.”</p> - -<p>They had no more interruptions as they strolled -slowly back along the river’s bank. Nance was perplexed, -however, by Adrian’s temper. He seemed irritable -and brusque. She had never known him in such -a mood, and a dim, obscure apprehension to which she -could assign no adequate cause, began to invade her -heart.</p> - -<p>They had both become so silent, and the girl’s nerves -had been so set on edge by his unusual attitude towards -her, that she gave a quite perceptible start when he -suddenly pointed across the stream to a clump of oak -trees, the only ones, he told her, to be found in the -neighbourhood.</p> - -<p>“There’s something behind them,” she remarked, “a -house of some kind. I shouldn’t like to live out in that -place. How they must hear the wind! It must howl -and moan sometimes—mustn’t it?” She smiled at -him and shivered.</p> - -<p>“I think I miss London Bridge Road a little, and—Kensington -Park. Don’t you, too, Adrian?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, there’s a house behind them,” Sorio repeated, -disregarding her last words and staring fixedly at the -oak trees. “There’s a house behind them.”</p> - -<p>His manner was so queer that the girl looked at him -with serious alarm.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter with you, Adrian?” she said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> -“I’ve never known you like this—”</p> - -<p>“It’s where the Renshaws live,” her lover continued. -“They have a kind of park. Its wall runs close to -the village. Some of the trees are very old. I walked -there this morning before breakfast. Baltazar advised -me to.”</p> - -<p>Nance looked at him still more nervously. Then she -gave a little forced laugh. “That is why you were so -late in coming to see me, I suppose! Well, you say -the Renshaws live there. May one ask who the Renshaws -are?”</p> - -<p>He took the girl’s arm in his own and dragged her -forward at a rapid pace. She remarked that it was -not until some wide-spreading willows on the further -side of the river concealed the clump of oaks that he -replied to her question.</p> - -<p>“Baltazar told me everything about them. He -ought to know, for he’s one of them himself. Yes, he’s -one of them. He’s the son of old Herman, Brand’s -father; not legitimate, of course, and Brand isn’t always -kind to him. But he’s one of them.”</p> - -<p>He stopped abruptly on this last word and Nance -caught him throwing a furtive glance across the stream.</p> - -<p>“Who are they, Adrian? Who are they?” repeated -the girl.</p> - -<p>“I’ll tell you,” he cried, with strange irritation. -“I’ll tell you everything! When <em>haven’t</em> I told you -everything? They are brewers. That isn’t very romantic, -is it? And I suppose you might call them -landowners, too. They’ve lived here forever, it seems, -and in the same house.”</p> - -<p>He burst into an uneasy laugh.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p> -<p>“In the same house for centuries and centuries! -The churchyard is full of them. It’s only lately -they’ve taken to be brewers—I suppose the land don’t -pay for their vices.”</p> - -<p>And again he laughed in the same jarring and ungenial -way.</p> - -<p>“Brand employs Baltazar—just as if he wasn’t -his brother at all—in the office at Mundham. You -remember Mundham? We came through it in the train. -It’s over there,” he waved his hand in front of him, -“about seven miles off. It’s a horrid place—all slums -and canals. That’s where they make their beer. -Their beer!” He laughed again.</p> - -<p>“You haven’t yet told me who they are—I mean -who else there is,” observed Nance while, for some reason -or other, her heart began to beat tumultuously.</p> - -<p>“Haven’t I said I’d tell you everything?” Sorio -flung out. “I’ll tell you more than you bargain for, -if you tease me. Oh, confound it! There’s Rachel -and Linda! Look now, do they appear as if they were -happy?”</p> - -<p>Favoured by the wind which blew sea-wards, the -lovers had been permitted to approach quite close to -their friends without any betrayal of their presence.</p> - -<p>Linda was seated on the river bank, her head in her -hands, while Miss Doorm, like a black-robed priestess -of some ancient ritual, leant against the trunk of a -leafless pollard.</p> - -<p>“They were perfectly happy when I left them,” -whispered Nance, but she was conscious as she spoke -of a cold, miserable misgiving in her inmost spirit. -Like a flash her mind reverted to the lilac bushes of the -London garden, and a sick loneliness seized her.</p> - -<p>“Linda!” she cried, with a quiver of remorse in her -voice. The young girl leapt hurriedly to her feet, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> -Miss Doorm removed her hand from the tree. A quick -look passed between the sisters, but Nance understood -nothing of what Linda’s expression conveyed. They -moved on together, Adrian with Linda and Nance with -Rachel.</p> - -<p>“What do they call this river?” Nance enquired of -her companion, as soon as she felt reassured by the -sound of the girl’s laugh.</p> - -<p>“The Loon, my dear,” replied Miss Doorm. -“They call it the Loon. It runs through Mundham -and then through the fens. It forms the harbour at -Rodmoor.”</p> - -<p>Nance sat silent. In the depths of her heart she -made a resolution. She would find some work to do -here in Rodmoor. It was intolerable to be dependent -on any one. Yes, she would find work, and, if need be, -take Linda to live with her.</p> - -<p>She felt now, though she would have found it hard -to explain the obscure reason for it, more reluctant -than ever to return to London. Every pulse of her -body vibrated with a strange excitement. A reckless -fighting spirit surged up within her. Not easily, not -quickly, should her hold on the man she loved be -loosed! But she felt danger on the horizon—nearer -than the horizon. She felt it in her bones.</p> - -<p>They had now reached the foot of Rachel’s garden -and there was a general pause in order that Adrian -might do justice to the heavy architecture of Dyke -House, as it was called—that house which the Badger—to -follow Doctor Raughty’s tale—had taken -into his “noble” but “malformed” head to leave to his -solitary descendant.</p> - -<p>As they passed in one by one through the little dilapidated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> -gate, Nance had a sudden inspiration. She -seized her lover by the wrist. “Adrian,” she whispered, -“has there been anything—any one—to remind -you—of what—you saw—that morning?”</p> - -<p>She could not but believe that he had heard her and -caught her meaning, yet it was hard to assume it, for -his tone was calm and natural as he answered her, apparently -quite misunderstanding her words:</p> - -<p>“The sea, you mean? Yes, I’ve heard it all night -and all day. We’ll go down there this afternoon, and -Linda with us.” He raised his voice. “You’ll come to -the sea, Linda; eh, child? To the Rodmoor sea?”</p> - -<p>The words died away over the river and across the -fens. The others had already entered the house, but a -laughing white face at one of the windows and the tapping -of girlish hands on the closed pane seemed to indicate -acquiescence in what he suggested.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_III">III<br /> -<span class="smaller">SEA-DRIFT</span></h2> - -<p>The wind had dropped but no gleam of sunshine -interrupted the monotonous stretch of grey -sky, grey dunes and grey sea, as the sisters -with their two companions strolled slowly in the late -afternoon along the Rodmoor sands.</p> - -<p>Linda was a little pale and silent, and Nance fancied -she discerned now and again, in the glances Miss Doorm -threw upon her, a certain sinister exultation, but she -was prevented from watching either of them very closely -by reason of the extraordinary excitement which the -occasion seemed to arouse in Sorio. He kept shouting -bits of poetry, some of which Nance caught the -drift of, while others—they might have been Latin or -Greek, for all she knew—conveyed nothing to her but -a vague feeling of insecurity. He was like an excited -magician uttering incantations and invoking strange -gods.</p> - -<p>The sea was neither rough nor calm. Wisps of -tossed-up foam appeared and disappeared at far distant -points in its vast expanse, and every now and then -the sombre horizon was broken in its level line by the -emergence of a wave larger and darker than the rest.</p> - -<p>Flocks of gulls disturbed by their approach rose, -wheeling and screaming, from their feeding-grounds on -the stranded seaweed and flapped away over the water.</p> - -<p>The four friends advanced along the hard sand, close -to the changing line of the tide’s retreat, and from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> -blackened windrow there, of broken shells and anonymous -sea refuse they stopped, each one of them, at different -moments, to pick up some particular object which -attracted or surprised them. It was Nance who was -the first to become aware that they were not the only -frequenters of that solitude. She called Adrian’s attention -to two figures moving along the edge of the -sand-dunes and apparently, from the speed with which -they advanced, anxious to reach a protruding headland -and disappear from observation.</p> - -<p>Adrian stopped and surveyed the figures long and intently. -Then to her immense surprise, and it must be -confessed a little to her consternation, he started off at -a run in pursuit of them. His long, lean, hatless figure -assumed so emphatic and strange an appearance as he -crossed the intervening sands that Linda burst into -peals of laughter.</p> - -<p>“I wish they’d run away from him,” she cried. “We -should see a race! Who are they? Does he know -them?”</p> - -<p>Nance made no reply, but Miss Doorm, who had been -watching the incident with sardonic interest, muttered -under her breath, “It’s begun, has it? Soon enough, -in all conscience!”</p> - -<p>Nance turned sharply upon her. “What do you -mean, Rachel? Does Adrian know them? Do <em>you</em> -know who they are?”</p> - -<p>No answer was vouchsafed to this, nor indeed was one -necessary, for the mystery, whatever it was, was on the -point of resolving itself. Adrian had overtaken the -objects of his pursuit and was bringing them back with -him, one on either hand. Nance was not long in making -out the general characteristics of the strangers.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> -They were both women, one elderly, the other quite -young, and from what she could see of their appearance -and dress, they were clearly ladies. It was not, however, -till they came within speaking distance that the -girl’s heart began to beat an unmistakable danger-signal. -This happened directly she obtained a definite -view of the younger of Adrian’s companions. Before -any greeting could be given Rachel had whispered abruptly -into her ear, “They’re the Renshaws—I -haven’t seen them since Philippa was a child, but they’re -the Renshaws. He must have met them this morning. -Look out for yourself, dearie.”</p> - -<p>Nance only vaguely heard her. Every fibre of attention -in her body and soul was fixed upon that slender -equivocal figure by Adrian’s side.</p> - -<p>The introduction which followed was of a sufficiently -curious character. Between Nance and the young -woman designated by Rachel as Philippa there was an -exchange of glances when their fingers touched like the -crossing of two naked blades. Mrs. Renshaw retained -Linda’s hand in her own longer than convention required, -and Linda herself seemed to cling to the brown-eyed, -grey-haired lady with a movement of childish confidence. -Nance was calm enough, for all the beating of -her heart, to remark as an interesting fact that her -rival’s mother, though oppressively timid and retiring -in her manner towards them all, seemed to exercise a -quelling and restraining influence upon Rachel Doorm, -who began at once speaking to her with unusual deference -and respect. The whole party, after some desultory -conversation, began to drift away from the sea -towards the town and Nance found herself in spite of -some furtive efforts to the contrary, wedged closely in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> -between Mrs. Renshaw and Rachel—with Linda walking -in front of them—as they followed the narrow uneven -path between the sand-dunes and the heavy sand -of the upper shore.</p> - -<p>Every now and then Mrs. Renshaw would bend down -and call their attention to some little sea plant, telling -them its name in slow sweet tones, as if repeating some -liturgical formula, and indicating into what precise -colour its pale glaucous buds would unsheathe as the -weather grew warm.</p> - -<p>On these occasions Nance quickly turned her head; -but do what she could, she could only grow helplessly -conscious that Adrian and his companion were slipping -further and further behind.</p> - -<p>Once, as the tender-voiced lady touched lightly, with -the tips of her ungloved fingers, a cluster of insignificant -leaves and asked Nance if she knew the lesser rock-rose -the agitated girl found herself on the point of uttering -a strangely irrelevant cry.</p> - -<p>“<i>Rose au regard saphique</i>,” her confused heart -murmured, “<i>plus pâle que les lys, rose au regard -saphique, offre-nous le parfum de ton illusoire virginité, -fleur hypocrite, fleur de silence</i>.”</p> - -<p>They approached at last the entrance of the little -harbour, and to Nance’s ineffable relief Mrs. Renshaw -paused and made them sit down on a fish-smelling bench, -among coils of rope, and wait the appearance of the -missing ones.</p> - -<p>The tide was low and between great banks of mud the -water rushed sea-ward in a narrow, swirling current. -A heavy fishing smack with high tarred sides and red, -unfurled sails, was being steered down this channel by -two men armed with enormous poles. Through the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> -masts of several other boats, moored to iron rings in the -wooden wharf, and between the slate roofs of some ramshackle -houses on the other side, they got a glimpse, -looking westward across the fens, of a low, rusty-red -streak of sombrely illuminated sky. This apparently -was all the sunset Rodmoor was destined to know that -evening and Nance, as she listened vaguely to Mrs. Renshaw’s -gentle voice describing to Linda the various -“queer characters” among the harbour people, had a -strange, bewildered sense of being carried far and far -and far down a remorseless tide, with a heavy sky above -her and interminable grey sands around her, and all the -while something withheld, withdrawn, inexplicable in -the power that bore her forward.</p> - -<p>They came at last—Adrian and Philippa Renshaw, -and Nance had, in one heart-rending moment, the pitiless -suspicion that the battle was lost already and that -this fragile thing with the great ambiguous eyes and -the reserved manner, this thing whose slender form -and tight-braided, dusky hair might have belonged to a -masquerading boy, had snatched from her already what -could never for all the years of her life be won again!</p> - -<p>As they left the harbour and entered the main village -street, Adrian made one or two deliberate efforts to detach -Nance from the rest. He pointed out little things -to her in the homely shop-windows and seemed surprised -and disappointed when she made no response to -his overtures. She <em>could</em> not make any response. She -could not bring herself so much as to look into his face. -It was not from any capricious pride or mere feminine -pique that she thus turned away but from a profound -and lamentable numbness of every emotion. The wound -seemed to have gone further even than she herself had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> -known. Her heart felt like a dead cold weight—like a -murdered, unborn child—beneath her breast, and out -of her lethargy and inertness, as in certain tragic -dreams, she could not move. Her limbs seemed formed -of lead, and her lips—at least as far as he was concerned—became -those of a dumb animal.</p> - -<p>A man, viewing the situation from outside, the slightness -and apparent triviality of the incident, would have -been astounded at the effect upon her of so insubstantial -a blow, but women move in a different world, a world -where the drifting of the tiniest straw is indicative of -crushing catastrophes, and to the instinct of the least -sensitive among women Nance’s premonitions would have -been quite explicable.</p> - -<p>It was at that moment that it was sharply borne in -upon her how slight her actual knowledge of her lover -was. Her absorption in him was devoted and complete -but in regard to the intricacies and complications of his -character she was as much in the dark to-day as when -they first met in London Bridge Road.</p> - -<p>Strangely enough, in the paralysis of her feelings, -Nance was unconscious of any definite antagonism to -the cause of her distress. She found she could talk -quite naturally and spontaneously to Miss Renshaw -when chance threw them together as they emerged upon -the village green.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I like those trees!” she cried, as the row of -ancient sycamores which gave the forlorn little square -its chief appeal first struck her attention.</p> - -<p>The cottage of Baltazar Stork, it turned out, was -just behind these sycamores and next door to the building -which, with its immense and faded sign-board, offered -the natives of Rodmoor their unique dissipation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> -“The Admiral’s Head!” Nance repeated, surveying -the sign and thinking to herself that it must have been -under that somewhat sordid roof that Miss Doorm’s -parent had drunk himself to death.</p> - -<p>“Don’t look at it,” she heard Mrs. Renshaw say. -“I feel ashamed every time I pass it.”</p> - -<p>Philippa gave Nance a quick and rather bitter smile.</p> - -<p>“Mother is telling them that it is our beer which they -sell there. You know we are brewers, don’t you? -Mother thinks it her duty to remind every one of that -fact. She gets a curious pleasure out of talking about -it. It’s her morbid conscience. You’ll find we’re all -rather morbid here,” she added, looking searchingly into -Nance’s face.</p> - -<p>“It’s the sea. Our sea is not the same as other -seas. It eats into us.”</p> - -<p>“Why do you say just that—and in that tone—to -me?” Nance gravely enquired, answering the other’s -gaze. “My father was a sailor. I love the salt-water.”</p> - -<p>Philippa Renshaw shrugged her shoulders. “You -may love being <em>on</em> it. That’s a different thing. It remains -to be seen how you like being <em>near</em> it.”</p> - -<p>“I like it always, everywhere,” repeated Nance obstinately, -“and I’m afraid of nothing it can do to me!”</p> - -<p>They overtook the others at this point and Mrs. -Renshaw turned rather querulously to her daughter.</p> - -<p>“Don’t talk to her about the sea, Philippa—I know -that’s what you’re doing.”</p> - -<p>The girl with the figure of a boy let her eyes meet -Adrian’s and Nance felt the dead weight in her heart -grow more ice-cold than before, as she watched the effect -of that look upon her lover.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p> - -<p>It was Rachel who broke the tension. “It wasn’t -so very long ago,” she said, “that Rodmoor was quite -an inland place. There are houses now, they say, and -churches under the water. And it swallows up the land -all the time, inch by inch. The sand-dunes are much -nearer the town, I am sure of that, and the mouth of the -river, too, than when I lived here in old days.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Renshaw looked by no means pleased at this -speech.</p> - -<p>“Well,” she said, “we must be getting home -for dinner. Shall we walk through the park, Philippa? -It’s the nicest way—if the grass isn’t too -wet.”</p> - -<p>In the general chorus of adieus that followed, Nance -was not surprised when Sorio bade good-night to her -as well as to the others. He professed to be going to -the station to meet the Mundham train.</p> - -<p>“Baltazar will have a lot of things to carry,” he -said, “and I must be at hand to help.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Renshaw pressed Linda’s hand very tenderly as -they parted and a cynical observer might have been -pardoned for suspecting that under the suppressed sigh -with which she took Philippa’s arm there lurked a wish -that it had been the more docile and less difficult child -that fate had given her for a daughter.</p> - -<p>Linda, at any rate, proved to be full of enthusiastic -and excited praise for the sad-voiced lady, as the -sisters went off with Rachel. She chattered, indeed, so -incessantly about her that Nance, whose nerves were in -no tolerant state, broke out at last into a quite savage -protest.</p> - -<p>“She’s the sort of person,” she threw in, “who’s always -sentimental about young girls. Wait till you find<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> -her with some one younger than you are, and you’ll -soon see! Am I not right, Rachel?”</p> - -<p>“She’s not right at all, is she?” interposed the other. -Miss Doorm looked at them gravely.</p> - -<p>“I don’t think either of you understand Mrs. Renshaw. -Indeed there aren’t many who do. She’s had -troubles such as you may both pray to God you’ll never -know. That wisp of a girl will be the cause of others -before long.”</p> - -<p>She glanced at Nance significantly.</p> - -<p>“Hold tight to your Adrian, my love. Hold tight to -him, my dearie!”</p> - -<p>Thus, as they emerged upon the tow path spoke -Rachel Doorm.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, from his watch above the Inn, the nameless -Admiral saw the shadows of night settle down upon -his sycamores. His faded countenance, with its defiant -bravado, stared insolently at what he could catch between -trees and houses, of the darkening harbour and -if Rodmoor had been a ship instead of a village, and he -a figurehead instead of a sign-board, he could not have -confronted the unknown and all that the unknown might -bring more indifferently, more casually, more contemptuously.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_IV">IV<br /> -<span class="smaller">OAKGUARD</span></h2> - -<p>The night of her first meeting with Adrian -Sorio, found the daughter of the house of Renshaw -restless and wakeful. She listened to the -hall clock striking the hour of twelve with an intentness -that would have suggested to any one observing her -that she had only been waiting for that precise moment -to plunge into some nocturnal enterprise fraught with -both sweetness and peril.</p> - -<p>The night was chilly, the sky starless and overcast. -The heavy curtains were drawn but the window, wide-open -behind them, let in a breath of rain-scented air -which stirred the flames of the two silver candles on the -dressing table and fluttered the thin skirt of the girl’s -night-dress as she sat, tense and expectant, over the red -coals of a dying fire.</p> - -<p>A tall gilt-framed mirror of antique design stood on -the left of the fireplace.</p> - -<p>As the last stroke of midnight sounded, the girl leapt -to her feet and swiftly divesting herself of her only -garment, stood straight and erect, her hands clasped behind -her head, before this mirror. The firelight cast a -red glow over her long bare limbs and the flickering -candle flames threw wavering shadows across her lifted -arms and slender neck. Her hair remained tightly -braided round her head and this, added to the boyish -outlines of her body, gave her the appearance of one of -those androgynous forms of later Greek art whose ambiguous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> -loveliness wins us still, even in the cold marble, -with so touching an appeal. Her smooth forehead and -small delicately moulded face showed phantom-like in -the mirror. Her scarlet lips quivered as she gazed at -herself, quivered into that enigmatic smile challenging -and inscrutable which seems, more than any other human -expression, to have haunted the imagination of certain -great artists of the past.</p> - -<p>Permitted for a brief moment to catch a glimpse of -that white figure, an intruder, if possessed of the smallest -degree of poetic fancy, would have been tempted to -dream that the dust of the centuries had indeed been -quickened and some delicate evocation of perverse pagan -desire restored to breath and consciousness.</p> - -<p>Such a dream would not, perhaps, have survived a -glance at the girl’s face. With distended pupils and -irises so large that they might have been under the influence -of some exciting drug, her eyes had that particular -look, sorrowful and heavy with mystery, which -one feels <em>could not have been in the world</em> before the -death of Christ.</p> - -<p>With her epicene figure, she resembled some girl-priestess -of Artemis invoking a mocking image of her -own defiant sexlessness. With her sorrowful inhuman -eyes she suggested some strange elf-creature, born of -mediæval magic.</p> - -<p>Turning away from the mirror, Philippa Renshaw -blew out the candles and flung open the curtains. -Standing thus for a moment in the presence of the -vague starless night full of chilly earth odours, she -drew several long deep breaths and seemed to inhale the -very essence of the darkness as if it had been the kiss of -some elemental lover. Then she shivered a little, closed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> -the window and began hurriedly to dress herself by the -firelight. Bare-headed, but with a dark cloak reaching -to her feet, she softly left her room and crept silently -down the staircase. One by one she drew the -heavy bolts of the hall door and turned the ponderous -key.</p> - -<p>Letting herself out into the night air with the movements -of one not unaccustomed to such escapades, she -hurried down the stone pathway, passed through the -iron entrance gates, and emerged into the park. Catching -up the skirt of her cloak, and drawing it tightly -round her so that it should not impede her steps, she -plunged into the wet grass and directed her course towards -the thickest group of oak trees. Between the -immense trunks and mossy roots of these sea-deformed -and wind-stunted children of the centuries she groped -her way, her feet stumbling over fallen branches and -her face whipped by the young wet leaves.</p> - -<p>A mad desire seemed to possess her, to throw off -every vestige and token of her human imprisonment and -to pass forth free and unfettered into the embrace of -the primeval powers. One would have thought, to have -watched her as she flung herself, at last, on her face -under one of the oldest of the trees and liberating her -arms from her cloak, stretched them round its trunk, -that she was some worshipper of a banished divinity invoking -her god while her persecutors slept, and passionately -calling upon him to return to his forsaken shrine. -Releasing her fierce clasp upon the rough bark of the -tree, not however before it had bruised her flesh, the -girl dug her nails into the soft damp leaf-mould and -rubbed her forehead against the wet moss. She shuddered -as she lay like this, and as she shuddered she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> -clutched yet more tightly, as if in a kind of ecstasy, -the roots of grass and the rubble of earth into which her -fingers dug.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, within the house, another little drama unrolled -itself. In the old-fashioned library collected by -many generations of Renshaws, where the noble Rabelaisian -taste of the eighteenth century jostled unceremoniously -with the attenuated banalities of a later -epoch, there sat, at the very moment when the girl descended -the stairs, a tall powerfully built man in evening -dress.</p> - -<p>Brand Renshaw was a figure of striking and formidable -appearance. Immensely muscular and very tall, -he carried upon his massive shoulders a head of so -strange a shape that had he been a mediæval chieftain -he would doubtless have gone down to posterity as -Brand Hatchet-pate, or Brand Hammer-skull. His -head receded from a forehead narrow and high, and rose -at the back into a dome-like protrusion which, in spite -of the closely-clipt, reddish hair that covered it, suggested, -in a manner that was almost sinister, the actual -bony substructure of the cranium beneath.</p> - -<p>The fire was out. The candles on the table were guttering -and flickering with little spitting noises as -their wicks sank and the cold hearth in front of him was -littered with the ashes of innumerable cigarettes. He -was neither reading nor smoking them. He sat with his -hands on the arms of his chair, staring into vacancy.</p> - -<p>Brand Renshaw’s eyes were like the eyes of a morose -animal, an animal endowed perhaps with intellectual -powers denied to the human race, but still an animal, -and when he fixed his gaze in his concentrated manner<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> -upon the unknown objects of his thought there was a -weight of heavily focussed intensity in his stare that -was unpleasantly threatening.</p> - -<p>He was staring in this way at the empty grate when, -in the dead silence of the house, he caught the sound of -a furtive step in the hall without, and immediately afterwards -the slight rasping noise of bolts carefully shot -back.</p> - -<p>In a flash he leapt to his feet and extinguished the -guttering candles. Quietly and on tip-toe he moved -to the door and soundlessly turning the handle peered -into the hall. He was just in time to see the heavy -front door closed. Without the least token of haste -or surprise he slipped on an overcoat, took his hat and -stick and went forth in pursuit of the escaped one.</p> - -<p>At first he saw only the darkness and heard no sound -but the angry flutterings of some bird in the high trees, -and—a long way off, perhaps even beyond the park—the -frightened squeal of a hunted rabbit. But by -the time he got to the gate, taking care to walk on the -flower-beds rather than on the stone pathway, he could -make out the figure of the girl no great way in front of -him. She ran on, so straight and so blindly, towards -the oak trees that he was able without difficulty to follow -her even though, every now and then, her retreating -figure was absorbed and swallowed up by the darkness.</p> - -<p>When at last he came up to her side as she lay -stretched out at the foot of the tree, he made no immediate -attempt to betray his presence. With his arms -folded he stood regarding her, a figure as silent and inhuman -as herself, and over them both the vague immensities<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> -and shadowy obscurities of the huge earth-scented -night hung lowering and tremendous, like powers -that held their breath, waiting, watching.</p> - -<p>At intervals an attenuated gust of wind, coming from -far away across the marshes, moved the dead leaves -upon the ground and made them dance a little death -dance. This it did without even stirring the young -living shoots on the boughs above them.</p> - -<p>The darkness seemed to rise and fall about the two -figures, to advance, to recede, to dilate, to diminish, in -waves of alternate opacity and tenuity. In its indrawings -and outbreathings, in the ebb and flow of its fluctuating -presence, it seemed to beat—at least that is how -Brand Renshaw felt it—like the pulse of an immense -heart charged with unutterable mysteries.</p> - -<p>This illusion, if it were an illusion, may have been -due to nothing more recondite than the fact that, in the -silence of the heavy night, the sound of the tide on the -Rodmoor sands was the background of everything.</p> - -<p>It was not till the girl rose from the ground that she -saw him standing there, a shadow among the shadows. -She uttered a low cry and made a movement as if to -rush away, but he stepped quickly forward and caught -her in his arms. Tightly and almost savagely he held -her, pressing her lithe body against his own and caressing -it with little, deep-voiced mutterings as if he were -soothing a desperate child. She submitted passively -to his endearments and then, with a sound that was -something between a moan and a laugh, she whispered -brokenly into his ear, “Let me go, Brand, I was silly to -come out. I couldn’t help it. I won’t do it again. I -won’t, I swear.”</p> - -<p>“No, I think you won’t!” the man muttered, keeping<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> -his arm securely round her waist and striding swiftly -towards the house. “No, I think you won’t!”</p> - -<p>He paused when they reached the entrance into the -garden and, taking her by the wrists, pressed her fiercely -against one of the stone pillars upon which the gate -hung.</p> - -<p>“I know what it is,” he whispered. “You can’t deceive -me. You’ve been with those people from London. -You’ve been with that friend of Baltazar’s. That’s the -cause of all this, isn’t it? You’ve been with that damned -fool—that idiotic, good-for-nothing down at the village. -Haven’t you been with him? Haven’t you?”</p> - -<p>The arms with which he pressed her hands against -her breast trembled with anger as he said these words.</p> - -<p>“Baltazar told me,” he went on, “only this morning—down -at Mundham—everything about these people. -They’re of no interest, none, not the least. -They’re just like every one else. That fellow’s half-foreign, -that’s all. An American half-breed, of some -mongrel sort or other, that’s all there is to be said of -him! So if you’ve been letting any mad fancies get -into your head about Mr. Sorio, the sooner you get rid -of them the better. He’s not for you. Do you hear? -He’s—not—for—you!” These last words were accompanied -by so savage a tightening of the hands -that held her that the girl was compelled to bite her lip -to stop herself from crying.</p> - -<p>“You hurt me,” she said calmly. “Let me go, -Brand.” The self-contained tone of her voice seemed -to quiet him and he released her. She raised one of her -wrists to her mouth and softly caressed it with her lips.</p> - -<p>“You’ll be interested, yourself, in these people before -very long,” she murmured, flashing a mocking look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> -at him over her bare arm. “The second girl is very -young and very pretty. She confided in me that she -was extremely afraid of the sea. She appealed to -mother’s protective instincts at once. I’ve no doubt -she’ll appeal to your—protective instincts! So don’t -be too quick in your condemnation.”</p> - -<p>“Damn you!” muttered her brother, pushing the gate -open. “Come! Get in with you! You talk to me as -if I were a professional rake. I take no interest—not -the slightest—in your young innocents with their engaging -terrors. To bed! To bed! To bed!”</p> - -<p>He pushed her before him along the path, but Philippa -knew well that the hand on her shoulder was -lighter and less angry than the one that had held her a -moment ago, and as she ascended the steps of Oakguard—the -name borne by the Renshaw house since -the days of the Conqueror—there flickered over her -shadowy face the same equivocal smile of dubious meaning -that had looked out at its owner, not so long since, -from the mirror in her room.</p> - -<p>When the dawn finally crept up, pallid and cold out -of the North Sea and lifted, with a sort of mechanical -weariness, the weight of the shadows, it was neither -Brand nor Philippa who was awake.</p> - -<p>Roused, as always, by the slightest approach of an -unusual sound, the mother of that strange pair had lain -in her bed listening ever since her daughter’s first emerging -from the house.</p> - -<p>Once she had risen, and had stood for a moment at -the window, her loose grey hair mixed with the folds of -an old, faded, dusky-coloured shawl. That, however, -was when both of her children were away in the middle -of the park and absolute silence prevailed. With this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> -single exception she had remained listening, always silently -listening, lying on her back and with an expression -of tragic and harassed expectation in her great, -hollow, brown eyes. She might have been taken, lying -there alone in the big four-posted bed, surrounded by -an immense litter of stored-up curios and mementoes, -for a symbolic image of all that is condemned, as this -mortal world goes round, to watch and wait and invoke -the gods and cling fast to such pathetic relics and -memorials as time consents to leave of the days that it -has annihilated.</p> - -<p>Slowly the dawn came up upon the trees and roofs of -Oakguard. With a wan grey light it filled the pallid -squares of the windows. With a livid grey light it -made definite and ghastly every hollow and every wrinkle -in that patient watcher’s face.</p> - -<p>Travelling far up in the sky, a long line of marsh-fowl -with outstretched necks sought the remoter solitudes -of the fens. In the river marshes the sedge-birds -uttered their harsh twitterings while, gathered in flocks -above the sand-dunes, the sea-gulls screamed to the inflowing -tide their hunger for its drifted refuse.</p> - -<p>Wearily, at last, Helen Renshaw closed her eyes and -it was the first streak of sunshine that Rodmoor had -known for many days which, several hours later, kissed -her white forehead—and the grey hairs that lay disordered -across it—softly, gently, tenderly, as it might -have kissed the forehead of the dead.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_V">V<br /> -<span class="smaller">A SYMPOSIUM</span></h2> - -<p>Adrian Sorio sat opposite his friend over a -warm brightly burning fire.</p> - -<p>Baltazar Stork was a slight frail man of -so delicate and dainty an appearance that many people -were betrayed into behaving towards him as gently and -considerately as if he had been a girl. This, though a -compliment to his fragility, was bad policy in those who -practised it, for Baltazar was an egoist of inflexible -temper and under his velvet glove carried a hand of -steel.</p> - -<p>The room in which the two friends conversed was furnished -in exquisite and characteristic taste. Old prints, -few in number and rare in quality, adorned its walls. -Precious pieces of china, invaluable statuettes in pottery -and metal, stood charmingly arranged, with due -space round each, in every corner. On either side of -the mantelpiece was a Meissen-ware figure of engaging -aspect and Watteau-like design, while in the centre, in -the place where a clock is usually to be found, was a -piece of statuary of ravishing delicacy and grace representing -the escape of Syrinx from the hands of Pan.</p> - -<p>The most remarkable picture in the room, attracting -the attention at once of all who entered, was a dark, -richly coloured, oval-shaped portrait—a portrait of a -young man in a Venetian cloak, with a broad, smooth -forehead, heavy-lidded penetrating eyes, and pouting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> -disdainful mouth. This picture, said to have been -painted under the influence of Giorgione by that incomparable -artist’s best loved friend, passed for a portrait -of Eugenio Flambard, the favourite secretary of the Republic’s -most famous ambassador during his residence -at the Papal Court.</p> - -<p>The majority of these treasures had been picked up -by Baltazar during certain prolonged holidays in various -parts of the Continent. This, however, was several -years ago before the collapse of the investment, or -whatever it was, which he inherited from Herman Renshaw.</p> - -<p>Since that time he had been more or less dependent -upon Brand, a dependence which nothing but his happy -relations with Brand’s mother and sister and his unfailing -urbanity could have made tolerable.</p> - -<p>“Adrian, you old villain, why didn’t you tell me you’d -seen Philippa. Brand informed me yesterday that -you’ve seen her twice. This isn’t the kind of thing that -pleases me at all. I don’t approve of these clandestine -meetings. Do you hear me, you old reprobate? You -don’t think it’s very nice, do you, for me to learn by -accident—by a sort of wretched accident—of an event -like this? If you <em>must</em> be at these little games you -might at least be open about them. Besides, I have a -brotherly interest in Philippa. I don’t want to have -her innocence corrupted by an old satyr like you.”</p> - -<p>Sorio contented himself by murmuring the word -“Rats.”</p> - -<p>“It’s all very well for you to cry ‘Rats!’ in that -tone,” went on the other. “The truth is, this affair is -going to become serious. You don’t suppose for a moment, -do you, that your Nance is going to lie down, as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> -they say, and let my extraordinary sister walk over -her?”</p> - -<p>Adrian got up from his seat and began pacing up -and down the little room.</p> - -<p>“It’s absurd,” he muttered, “it’s all absurd. I feel -as if the whole thing were a kind of devilish dream. -Yes, the whole thing! It’s all because I’ve got nothing -to do but walk up and down these damned sands!”</p> - -<p>Baltazar watched him with a serene smile, his soft -chin supported by his feminine fingers and his fair, -curly head tilted a little on one side.</p> - -<p>“But you know, mon enfant,” he threw in with a -teasing caress in his voice, “you know very well you’re -the last person to talk of work. It was work that did -for you in America. You don’t want to start <em>that</em> -over again, do you?”</p> - -<p>Adrian stood still and glared at him.</p> - -<p>“Do you think I’m going to let <em>that</em>—as you call it—finish -me forever? My life’s only begun. In London -it was different. By God! I wish I’d stayed in -London! Nance feels just the same. I know she does. -She’ll have to get something, too, or we shall both go -mad. It’s this cursed sea of yours! I’ve a good mind -to marry her, out of hand, and clear off. We’d find -something—somewhere—anywhere—to keep body -and soul together.”</p> - -<p>“Why did you come to us at all, my dear, if you find -us so dreadful?” laughed Baltazar, bending down to -tie his shoe-string and pull up more tightly one of his -silk socks.</p> - -<p>Adrian made no answer but continued his ferocious -pacing of the room.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p> -<p>“You’ll knock something over if you’re not careful,” -protested his friend, shrugging his shoulders. “You’re -the most troublesome fellow. You accept a person’s -offer and make no end of a fuss over it, and then a -couple of weeks later you roar like a bull and send us -all to the devil. What’s the matter with us? What’s -the matter with the place? Why can’t you and your -precious Nance behave like ordinary people and make -love to one another and be happy? She’s got all her -time to herself and you’ve got all your time to yourself. -Why can’t you enjoy yourselves and collect seaweed -or starfish or something?”</p> - -<p>Adrian paused in his savage prowl for the second -time.</p> - -<p>“It’s your confounded sea that’s at the bottom of -it,” he shouted. “It gets on her nerves and it gets on -mine. Little Linda was perfectly right to be scared of -it.”</p> - -<p>“I fancied,” drawled the other, selecting a cigarette -from an enamelled box and turning up the lamp, “you -found little Linda’s fears rather engaging than otherwise.”</p> - -<p>“It works upon us,” Sorio went on, heedless of the -interruption, “it works upon us in some damnable kind -of way! Nance says she hears it in her sleep. -I’m sure <em>I</em> do. I hear it without a moment’s cessation. -Listen to the thing now—<em>shish, shish, shish, shish!</em> -Why can’t it make some other noise? Why can’t it -stop altogether? It makes me long for the whole -damned farce to end. It annoys me, Tassar, it annoys -me!”</p> - -<p>“Sorry you find the elements so trying, Adriano,” -replied the other languidly, “but I really don’t know -what I can do to help you—I can only advise you to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> -keep out of Philippa’s way. She’s an element more -troublesome than any of them.”</p> - -<p>“Tassar!” shouted the enraged man in a burst of -fury, “if you don’t stop dragging Philippa in, I’ll -murder you! What’s Philippa to me? I <em>hate</em> her—do -you hear? I hate the very sound of her name!”</p> - -<p>“Her name?” murmured Stork, meditatively, “her -name? Oh, I think you’re quite wrong to hate that. -Her name suggests all sorts of interesting things. -Her name has quite a historic sound. It’s mediæval in -colour and Greek in form. It makes me think of Euripides.”</p> - -<p>“This whole damned Rodmoor of yours,” moaned -Adrian, “gets too much for me. Where on earth else, -could a man find it so hard to collect his thoughts and -look at things as they are? There’s something here -which works upon the mind, Tassar, something which -works upon the mind.”</p> - -<p>“What’s working on <em>your</em> mind, my friend,” laughed -Baltazar Stork, “is not anything so vague as dreams or -anything so simple as the sea. It’s just the quite definite -but somewhat complicated business of managing -two love affairs at the same time! I’m sorry for you, -little Adrian, I’m extremely sorry for you. It’s a situation -not unknown in the history of the world, in fact, -it might be called quite common. But I’m afraid that -doesn’t make it any pleasanter for you. However, it -can be dealt with, with a little skill, Adrian, with just a -little skill!”</p> - -<p>The man accused in this teasing manner turned furiously -round, an angry outburst of blind protest trembling -on his tongue. At that moment there was a low -knock at the outer door. Baltazar jumped to his feet.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> -“That must be Raughty,” he cried. “I begged him -to come round to-night. I so longed for you to meet -him.” He hastened out and admitted the visitor with a -cordial welcome. After a momentary pause and a -good deal of shuffling—for Dr. Raughty was careful to -wear not only an overcoat but also goloshes and even -gaiters when the weather was inclement—the two men -entered the room and Stork began an elaborate introduction.</p> - -<p>“Dr. Fingal Raughty,” he said, “Mr. Adrian—” -but to his astonishment Sorio intervened, “The Doctor -and I have already become quite well acquainted,” he -remarked, shaking the visitor vigorously by the hand. -“I’m afraid I wasn’t as polite as I ought to have been -on that occasion,” he went on, speaking in an unnaturally -loud voice and with a forced laugh, “but the Doctor -will forgive me. The Doctor I’m sure will make allowances.”</p> - -<p>Dr. Raughty gave him a quick glance, at once -friendly and ironical, and then he turned to Stork. -“Mother Lorman’s dead,” he remarked with a little -sigh, “dead at last. She was ninety-seven and had -thirty grandchildren. She gurgled in her throat at the -last with a noise like a nightingale when its voice breaks -in June. I prefer deaths of this kind to any other, but -they’re all pitiful.”</p> - -<p>“Nance tells me you were present at old Doorm’s -death, Doctor,” said Adrian while their host moved off -to the kitchen to secure glasses and refreshment.</p> - -<p>The Doctor nodded. “I measured that fellow’s -skull,” he remarked gravely. “It was asymmetrical -and very curiously so. The interesting thing is that -there exists in this part of the coast a definite tradition<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> -of malformed skulls. They recur in nearly all the old -families. Brand Renshaw is a splendid example. <em>His</em> -skull ought to be given to a museum. It is beautiful, -quite beautiful, in the anterior lobes.”</p> - -<p>Baltazar returned carrying a tray. The eyes of -Dr. Raughty gleamed with a mellow warmth. “Nutmeg,” -he remarked, approaching the tray and touching -every object upon it lightly and reverently. -“Nutmeg, lemon, hot water, gin—<em>and</em> brandy! It’s -an admirable choice and profoundly adapted to the occasion. -May I put the hot water on the hob until we’re -ready for it?”</p> - -<p>While Baltazar once more withdrew from the scene, -Dr. Raughty remarked, gravely and irritably, to Sorio -that it was a mistake to substitute brandy for rum. -“He does it because he can’t get the best rum, but it’s a -ridiculous thing to do. <em>Any</em> rum is better than no -rum when it’s a question of punch-making. Are you -with me in this, Mr. Sorio?”</p> - -<p>Adrian expressed such complete and emphatic agreement -that for the moment the Doctor seemed almost embarrassed.</p> - -<p>On Baltazar’s return to the room, however, he hazarded -another suggestion. “What about having the -kettle itself brought in here?”</p> - -<p>Stork looked at him without speaking and placed on -the table a small plate of macaroons. The Doctor -glanced whimsically at Sorio and, helping himself from -the little plate, muttered in a low voice after he had -nibbled the edge of a biscuit, “Yes, these seem perfectly -up to par to-day.”</p> - -<p>The three men had scarcely settled themselves down<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> -in their respective chairs around the fire than Adrian -began speaking hurriedly and nervously.</p> - -<p>“I have an extraordinary feeling,” he said, “that -this evening is full of fatal significance. I suppose -it’s nothing to either of you, but it seems to me as -though this damned <em>shish, shish, shish, shish</em> of the sea -were nearer and louder than usual. Doctor, you don’t -mind my talking freely to you? I like you, though I -was rude to you the other day—but that’s nothing—” -he waved his hand, “that’s what any fool might -fall into who didn’t know you. I feel I know you now. -That word about the rum—forgive me, Tassar!—and -the kettle—yes, particularly about the kettle—hit -me to the heart. I love you, Doctor Raughty. I -announce to you that my feeling at this moment -amounts to love—yes, actually to love!</p> - -<p>“But that’s not what I wanted to say.” He thrust -his hands deep into his pockets, stretched his legs -straight out, let his chin sink upon his chest and glared -at them with sombre excitement. “I feel to-night,” he -went on, “as though some great event were portending. -No, no! What am I saying? Not an event. Event -isn’t the word. Event’s a silly expression, isn’t it, -Doctor,—isn’t it—dear, noble-looking man? For -you do look noble, you know, Doctor, as you drink that -punch—though to say the truth your nose isn’t quite -straight as I see it from here, and there are funny -blotches on your face. No, not there. <em>There!</em> Don’t -you see them, Tassar? Blotches—curious purply -blotches.”</p> - -<p>While this outburst proceeded Mr. Stork fidgeted uneasily -in his chair. Though sufficiently accustomed to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> -Sorio’s eccentricities and well aware of his medical -friend’s profound pathological interest in all rare -types, there was something so outrageous about this -particular tirade that it offended what was a very -dominant instinct in him, his sense, namely, of social -decency and good breeding. Possibly in a measure because -of the “bar sinister” over his own origin, but -much more because of the nicety of his æsthetic taste, -anything approaching a social fiasco or <i>faux pas</i> -always annoyed him excessively. Fortunately, however, -on this occasion nothing could have surpassed the -sweetness with which Adrian’s wild phrases were received -by the person addressed.</p> - -<p>“One would think you’d drunk half the punch already, -Sorio,” Baltazar murmured at last. “What’s -come over you to-night? I don’t think I’ve ever known -you quite like this.”</p> - -<p>“Remind me to tell you something, Mr. Sorio, when -you’ve finished what you have to say,” remarked Dr. -Raughty.</p> - -<p>“Listen, you two!” Adrian began again, sitting -erect, his hands on the arms of his chair. “There’s -a reason for this feeling of mine that there’s something -fatal on the wind to-night. There’s a reason for it.”</p> - -<p>“Tell us as near as you can,” said Dr. Raughty, -“what exactly it is that you’re talking about.”</p> - -<p>Adrian fixed upon him a gloomy, puzzled frown.</p> - -<p>“Do you suppose,” he said slowly, “that it’s for -nothing that we three are together here in hearing of -that—”</p> - -<p>Baltazar interrupted him. “Don’t say ‘shish, shish, -shish’ again, my dear. Your particular way of imitating -the Great Deep gives me no pleasure.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> - -<p>“What I meant was,” Sorio raised his voice, “it’s -a strange thing that we three should be sitting together -now like this when two months ago I was in prison in -New York.”</p> - -<p>Baltazar made a little deprecatory gesture, while the -Doctor leaned forward with grave interest.</p> - -<p>“But that’s nothing,” Sorio went on, “that’s a -trifle. Baltazar knows all about that. The thing I -want you two to recognise is that something’s on the -wind,—that something’s on the point of happening. -Do you feel like that—or don’t you?”</p> - -<p>There was a long and rather oppressive silence, -broken only by the continuous murmur which in every -house in Rodmoor was the background of all conversation.</p> - -<p>“What I was going to say a moment ago,” remarked -the Doctor at last, “was that in this place it’s necessary -to protect oneself from <em>that</em>.” He jerked his -thumb towards the window. “Our friend Tassar does -it by the help of Flambard over there.” He indicated -the Venetian. “I do it by the help of my medicine-chest. -Hamish Traherne does it by saying his prayers. -What I should like to know is how <em>you</em>,” he stretched -a warning finger in the direction of Sorio, “propose to -do it.”</p> - -<p>Baltazar at this point jumped up from his seat.</p> - -<p>“Oh, shut up, Fingal,” he cried peevishly. “You’ll -make Adrian unendurable. I’m perfectly sick of hearing -references to this absurd salt-water. Other people -have to live in coast towns besides ourselves. Why can’t -you let the thing take its proper position? Why can’t -you take it for granted? The whole subject gets on -my nerves. It bores me, I tell you, it bores me to tears.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> -For Heaven’s sake, let’s talk of something else—of -any damned thing. You both make me thoroughly -wretched with your sea whispers. It’s as bad as having -to spend an evening at Oakguard alone with Aunt -Helen and Philippa.”</p> - -<p>His peevishness had an instantaneous effect upon -Sorio who pushed him affectionately back into his chair -and handed him his glass. “So sorry, Tassar,” he -said. “I won’t do it again. I <em>was</em> beginning to feel -a little odd to-night. One can’t go through the experience -of cerebral dementia—doesn’t that sound -right, Doctor?—without some little trifling after-effects. -Come, let’s be sensible and talk of things that -are really important. It’s not an occasion to be missed, -is it, Tassar, having the Doctor here and punch made -with brandy instead of rum, on the table? What interests -me so much just now,” he placed himself in front -of the fireplace and sighed heavily, “is what a person’s -to do who hasn’t got a penny and is unfit for every -sort of occupation. What do you advise, Doctor? -And by the way, why have you eaten up all the macaroons -while I was talking?”</p> - -<p>This remark really did seem a little to embarrass the -person indicated, but Sorio continued without waiting -for a reply.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p> -<p>“Yes, I suppose you’re right, Tassar. It’s a mistake -to be sensitive to the attraction of young girls. -But it’s difficult—isn’t it, Doctor?—not to be. -They’re so maddeningly delicious, aren’t they, when -you come to think of it? It’s something about the way -their heads turn—the line from the throat, you know—and -about the way they speak—something pathetic, -something—what shall I call it?—helpless. -It quite disarms a person. It’s more than pathetic, it’s -tragic.”</p> - -<p>The Doctor looked at him meditatively. “I think -there’s a poem of Goethe’s which would bear that out,” -he remarked, “if I’m not mistaken it was written after -he visited Sicily—yes, after that storm at sea, you -remember, when the story of Christ’s walking on the -waves came into his mind.”</p> - -<p>Sorio wrinkled up his eyes and peered at the speaker -with a sort of humorous malignity.</p> - -<p>“Doctor,” he said, “pardon my telling you, but -you’ve still got some crumbs on your moustache.”</p> - -<p>“The one word,” put in their host, while Dr. -Raughty moved very hastily away from the table and -surveyed himself with a whimsical puckering of all the -lines in his face, at one of Stork’s numerous mirrors, -“the one word that I shall henceforth refuse to have -pronounced in my house is the word ‘sea.’ I’m surprised -to hear that Goethe—a man of classical taste—ever -refers to such Gothic abominations.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” cried Sorio, “the great Goethe! The sly old -curmudgeon Goethe! He knew how to deal with these -little velvet paws!”</p> - -<p>Dr. Raughty, reseating himself, drummed absent-mindedly -with his fingers upon the empty macaroon -plate. Then with a soft and pensive sigh he produced -his tobacco pouch, and filling his pipe, struck a match.</p> - -<p>“Doctor,” murmured Sorio, his rebellious lips curved -into a sardonic smile and his eyes screwed up till they -looked as sinister as those of his namesake, Hadrian, -“why do you move your head backwards and forwards -like that, when you light your pipe?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t answer him, Fingal,” expostulated Baltazar,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> -“he’s behaving badly now. He’s ‘showing off’ as they -say of children.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not showing off,” cried Sorio loudly, “I’m -asking the Doctor a perfectly polite question. It’s -very interesting the way he lights his pipe. There’s -more in it than appears. There’s a great deal in it. -It’s a secret of the Doctor’s; probably a pantheistic -one.”</p> - -<p>“What on earth do you mean by a ‘pantheistic’ -one? How, under Heaven, can the way Fingal holds a -match be termed ‘pantheistic’?” protested Stork irritably. -“You’re really going a little too far, Adriano -mio.”</p> - -<p>“Not at all, not at all,” argued Sorio, stretching out -his long, lean arms and grasping the back of a chair. -“The Doctor can deny it or not, as he pleases, but -what I say is perfectly true. He gets a cosmic ecstasy -from moving his head up and down like that. He feels -as if he were the centre of the universe when he does -it.”</p> - -<p>The Doctor looked sideways and then upon the -ground. Sorio’s rudeness evidently disconcerted him.</p> - -<p>“I think,” he said, rising from his chair and putting -down his glass, “I must be going now. I’ve an early -call to make to-morrow morning.”</p> - -<p>Baltazar cast a reproachful look at Adrian and rose -too. They went into the hall together and the same -shufflings and heavy breathings came to the ears of the -listener as on Raughty’s arrival. The Doctor was -putting on his goloshes and gaiters.</p> - -<p>Adrian went out to see him off and, as if to make up -for his bad behaviour, walked with him across the green, -to his house in the main street. They parted at last,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> -the best of good friends, but Sorio found Baltazar seriously -provoked when he returned.</p> - -<p>“Why did you treat him like that?” the latter persisted. -“You’ve got no grudge against him, have you? -It was just your silly fashion of getting even with -things in general, eh? Your nice little habit of venting -your bad temper on the most harmless person within -reach?”</p> - -<p>Sorio stared blankly at his friend. It was unusual -for Mr. Stork to express himself so strongly.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry, my dear, very sorry,” muttered the accused -man, looking remorsefully at the Doctor’s empty -glass and plate.</p> - -<p>“You may well be,” rejoined the other. “The one -thing I can’t stand is this sort of social lapse. It’s -unpardonable—unpardonable! Besides, it’s childish. -Hit out by all means when there’s reason for it or -you’re dealing with some scurvy dog who needs suppressing -but to make a sensitive person like Fingal uncomfortable, -out of a pure spirit of bullying—it’s -damnable!”</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry, Tassar,” repeated the other meekly. “I -can’t think why I did it. He’s certainly a charming -person. I’ll make up to him, my dear. I’ll be gentle -as a lamb when I see him next.”</p> - -<p>Baltazar smiled and made a humorous and hopeless -gesture with his hands. “We shall see,” he said, “we -shall see.”</p> - -<p>He locked the door and lit a couple of candles with -ritualistic deliberation. “Turn out the lamp, amico -mio, and let us sleep on all this. The best way of -choosing between two loves is to say one’s prayers and -go to bed. These things decide themselves in dreams.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p> - -<p>“In dreams,” repeated the other, submissively following -him upstairs, “in dreams. But I wish I knew -why the Doctor’s ankles look so thick when he sits -down. He must wear extraordinary under-clothes.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VI">VI<br /> -<span class="smaller">BRIDGE-HEAD AND WITHY-BED</span></h2> - -<p>Philippa Renshaw’s light-spoken words -about Linda recurred more than once to -the mind of the master of Oakguard as April -gave place to May and May itself began to slip -by. The wet fields and stunted woods of Rodmoor -seemed at that time to be making a conscious and almost -human effort to throw off the repressive influence -of the sea and to respond to the kindlier weather. The -grasses began to grow high and feathery by the road-side, -and in the water-meadows, buttercups superseded -marigolds.</p> - -<p>As he went to and fro between his house and his -office in Mundham, Brand—though he made as yet no -attempt to see her—became more and more preoccupied -with the <em>idea</em> of the young girl. That terror of -the sea in the little unknown touched, as his sister -well knew it would, something strangely deep-rooted in -his nature. His ancestors had lived so long in this -place that there had come to exist between the man’s -inmost being and the voracious tides which year by year -devoured the land he owned, an obstinate reciprocity -of mood and feeling. That a young and fragile intruder -should have this morbid fear of the very element -which half-consciously he assimilated to himself, gave -him a subtle and sullen exultation. The thing promised -to become a sort of perverted link between them, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> -he pleased himself by fancying, even while, in fear of -disillusionment, he kept putting off their encounter, -that the girl herself could not be quite free of some sort -of premonition of what awaited her.</p> - -<p>Thus it happened that Philippa Renshaw’s stroke in -her own defence worked precisely as she had anticipated. -Brooding, in his slow tenacious way, as the weeks went -by, upon this singular projection of his imagination, -he let his sister do what she chose, feeling assured that -in her pride of race, she would not seriously commit -herself with a nameless foreigner, and promising himself -to end the business with a drastic hand as soon as -it suited him to do so.</p> - -<p>It was about the middle of May when an event took -place which gave the affair a decisive and fatal impulse. -This was a chance encounter, upon the bridge -crossing the Loon, between Brand and Rachel Doorm. -He would have passed her even then without recognition, -but she stopped him and held out her hand.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you remember me, Mr. Renshaw?” she said.</p> - -<p>He removed his hat, displaying his closely cropped -reddish head with its abnormal upward slope, and regarded -her smilingly.</p> - -<p>“You’ve changed, Miss Rachel,” he remarked, “but -your voice is the same. They told me you were here. -I knew we should meet sooner or later.”</p> - -<p>“Put on your hat, Mr. Renshaw,” she said, seating -herself on a little stone bench below the parapet and -making room for him at her side. “I knew, too, that -we should meet. It’s a long time from those days—isn’t -it?—a long time, and a dark one for some of -us. Do you remember when you were a child, how -you asked me once why they called this place the New<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> -Bridge, when it’s obviously so very old? Do you remember -that, Mr. Renshaw?”</p> - -<p>He looked at her curiously, screwing up his eyes and -wrinkling his forehead. “My mother told me you’d -come back,” he muttered. “She was always fond of -you. She used to hope—well, you know what I mean.”</p> - -<p>“That I’d marry Captain Herrick?” Miss Doorm -threw in. “Don’t be afraid to say it. The dead can’t -hear us and except the dead, there’s none who cares. -Yes, she hoped that, and schemed for it, too, dear soul. -But it was not to be, Mr. Renshaw. Ellie Story was -prettier. Ellie Story was cleverer. And so it happened. -The bitter thing was that he swore an oath -to Mary before she died, swore it on the head of my -darling Nance, that if he did ever marry again, I should -be the one. Mary died thinking that certain. Anything -else would have hurt her to the heart. I know -that well enough; for she and I, Mr. Renshaw, as your -mother could tell you, were more than sisters.”</p> - -<p>“I thought you and Linda’s mother were friends, -too,” observed Brand, looking with a certain dreamy -absorption up the straight white road that led to the -Doorm house. The mental fantasies the man had -woven round the name he now uttered for the first time -in his life had so vivid a meaning for him that he let -pass unnoticed the spasm of vindictiveness that convulsed -his companion’s face.</p> - -<p>Rachel Doorm folded her arms across her lean bosom -and flung back her head.</p> - -<p>“Ellie was <em>afraid</em> of me, Mr. Renshaw,” she pronounced -huskily, and then, looking at him sharply: -“Yes,” she said, “Mrs. Herrick and I were excellent -friends, and so are Linda and I. She’s a soft, nervous,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> -impressionable little thing—our dear Linda—and -very pretty, too, in her own way—don’t you think so, -Mr. Renshaw?”</p> - -<p>It was the man’s turn now to suffer a change of -countenance. “Pretty?” he laughed. “I’m sure I -don’t know. I’ve never seen her!”</p> - -<p>Rachel clasped her hands tightly on the lap of her -black dress and fixed her eyes upon him. “You’d like -to see her, wouldn’t you?” she murmured eagerly. He -answered her look, and a long, indescribable passage of -unspoken thoughts flickered, wavered and took shape -between them.</p> - -<p>“I’ve seen Nance—in the distance—with my -mother,” he remarked, letting his glance wander to the -opposite parapet and away beyond it where the swallows -were skimming, “but I’ve never yet spoken to -either of the girls. I keep to myself a good deal, as -every one about here knows, Miss Rachel.”</p> - -<p>Rachel Doorm rose abruptly to her feet with such unexpected -suddenness that the man started as if from a -blow.</p> - -<p>“Your sister,” she jerked out with concentrated vehemence, -“is doing my Nance a deadly injury. She’s -given her heart—sweet darling—absolutely and without -stint to that foreigner down there.” She waved -her hand towards the village. “And if Miss Renshaw -doesn’t let him go, there’ll be a tragedy.”</p> - -<p>Brand looked at her searchingly, his lips trembling -with a smile of complicated significance.</p> - -<p>“Do make her let him go!” the woman repeated, advancing -as if she were ready to clasp his hand; “you -can if you like. You always could. If she takes him -away, my darling’s heart will be broken. Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> -Renshaw—please—for the sake of old days, for the sake -of old friends, do this for me, and make her give him -up!”</p> - -<p>He drew back a little, the same subtle and ambiguous -smile on his lips. “No promises, Miss Rachel,” he -said, “no promises! I never promise any one anything. -But we shall see; we shall see. There’s plenty of time. -I’m keeping my eye on Philippa; you may be sure of -that.”</p> - -<p>He held out his hand as he spoke to the agitated -woman. She took it in both of her own and quick as a -flash raised it to her lips.</p> - -<p>“I knew I should meet you, Mr. Renshaw,” she said, -turning away from him, “and you see it has happened! -I won’t ask why you didn’t come to me before. I haven’t -asked <em>that</em> yet—have I?—and I won’t ever ask it. -We’ve met at last; that’s the great thing. That’s the -only thing. Now we’ll see what’ll come of it all.”</p> - -<p>They separated, and Brand proceeded to cross the -Bridge. He had hardly done so when he heard her -voice calling upon him to stop. He turned impatiently.</p> - -<p>“When you were a little boy, Mr. Renshaw,”—her -words came in panting gasps—“you said once, down by -the sea, that Rachel was the only person in the world -who really loved you. Your mother heard you say it -and looked—you know how she looks! You used always -to call me ‘Cousin’ then. Far back, they say, the -Renshaws and the Doorms <em>were</em> cousins. But you -didn’t know that. It was just your childish fancy. -‘Cousin Rachel,’ you said once—just like that—‘come -and take me away from them.’”</p> - -<p>Brand acquiesced in all this with an air of strained -politeness. But his face changed when he heard her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> -final words. “Listen,” she said, “I’ve talked to Linda -about you. She’s got the idea of you in her mind.”</p> - -<p>At the very moment when this encounter at the New -Bridge ended—which was about six in the afternoon—Nance -Herrick was walking with a beating heart to a -promised assignation with Sorio. This was to take -place at the southern corner of a little withy-bed situated -about half a mile from Dyke House in the direction -of Mundham. It was Nance’s own wish that her -lover—if he could still be called so—should meet her -here rather than in the house. She had discovered the -spot herself and had grown fond of it. Sheltered from -the wind by the clump of low-growing willows, and cut -off by the line of the banked-up tow-path from the -melancholy horizon of fens, the girl had got into the -habit of taking refuge here as if from the pursuit of -vague inimical presences. In the immediate neighbourhood -of the withy-bed were several corn fields, the beginning -of a long strip of arable land which divided -the river from the marshes as far as Mundham.</p> - -<p>The particular spot where she hoped to find Sorio -awaiting her was a low grassy bank overshadowed by -alders as well as willows, and bordered by a field of -well-grown barley, a field which, though still green, -showed already to an experienced eye the kind of grain -which a month or so of not too malicious weather would -ripen and turn to gold. Already amid the blades of the -young corn could be seen the stalks and leaves of newly -grown poppies, and mingled with these, also at their -early stage of growth, small, indistinguishable plants -that would later show themselves as corn-flowers and -succory.</p> - -<p>The neighbourhood of this barley field, with its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> -friendly look and homely weeds, promising a revel of -reassuring colour as the summer advanced, had come to -be, to the agitated and troubled girl, a sort of symbol -of hope. It was the one place in Rodmoor—for the -Doorm garden shared the gloomy influences of the -Doorm house—where she could feel something like her -old enjoyment in the natural growths of the soil. Here, -in the freshly sprouting corn and the friendly weeds -that it protected, was the strong, unconquerable pressure -of earth-life, refusing to be repressed, refusing to -be thwarted, by the malign powers of wind and water.</p> - -<p>Here, on the bank she had chosen as her retreat, little -childish plants she knew by name—such as pimpernel -and milkwort—were already in flower and from the -alders and willows above her head sweet and consolatory -odours, free from the tang of marsh mist or brackish -stream, brought memories of old country excursions -into places far removed from fen or sea.</p> - -<p>She had never yet revealed this sanctuary of hers to -Sorio and it was with throbbing pulses and quickened -step that she approached it now, longing to associate -its security with her master-feeling, and yet fearful lest, -by finding her lover unkind or estranged, the place -should lose its magic forever. She had dressed herself -with care that afternoon, putting on—though the -weather was hardly warm enough to make such airy attire -quite suitable—a white print frock, covered with -tiny roses. Several times in front of the mirror she -had smoothed down her dress and unloosened and tied -back again her shining masses of hair. She held her -hat in her hand now, as she approached the spot, for -he had told her once in London that he liked her better -when she was bareheaded.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> - -<p>She had left her parasol behind, too, and as she hastened -along the narrow path from the river to the -withy-bed, she nervously switched the green stalks by -her side with a dead stick she had unconsciously -picked up.</p> - -<p>Her print dress hung straight and tight over her -softly moulded figure and her limbs, as she walked, -swayed with a free and girlish grace.</p> - -<p>Passionately, intently, she scanned the familiar outlines -of the spot, hoping and yet fearing to see him. -Not yet—not yet! Nothing visible yet, but the low-lying -little copse and the stretch of arable land around -it. She drew near. She was already within a few -paces of the place. Nothing! He was not there—he -had failed her!</p> - -<p>She drew a deep breath and stood motionless, the -dead stick fallen from her hand and her gloveless fingers -clasping and unclasping one another mechanically.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Adrian! Adrian!” she moaned. “You don’t -care any more—not any more.”</p> - -<p>Suddenly she heard a swish of leafy branches and a -crackle of broken twigs. He was there, after all.</p> - -<p>“Adrian!” she cried. “Is that you, Adrian?”</p> - -<p>There was more rustling and swishing, and then with -a discordant laugh he burst out from the undergrowth.</p> - -<p>“You frightened me,” she said, looking at him with -quivering lips. “Why did you hide away like that, -Adrian?”</p> - -<p>He went straight up to her, seized her fiercely in his -arms and covered her mouth, her throat and neck with -hot, furious kisses. This was not what Nance’s heart -craved. She longed to sob out her suppressed feelings<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> -on his shoulder. She longed to be petted and caressed, -gently, quietly, and with soft endearing words.</p> - -<p>Instead of which, it seemed to her that he was seeking, -as he embraced her body and clung to her flesh -with his lips, to escape from his own thoughts, to suppress -<em>her</em> thoughts, to sweep them both away—away -from all rational consciousness—on the brutal impulse -of mere animal passion.</p> - -<p>Her tears which were on the point of flowing, in a tide -of heart-easing abandonment, were driven inwards by -his violence, and in her grey eyes, if he had cared to -look, he would have seen a frightened appeal—pitiful -and troubled—like the wild glance of a deer harried -by dogs.</p> - -<p>His violence brought its own reaction at last and, -letting her go, he flung himself panting upon the ground. -She stood above him for a while, flushed and silent, -smoothing down her hair with her hands and looking -into his face with a puzzled frown.</p> - -<p>“Sit down,” he gasped. “Why do you stare at me -like that?”</p> - -<p>Obediently she placed herself by his side, tucked her -skirt around her ankles and let her hands fall on her lap.</p> - -<p>“Adrian,” she said, glancing shyly at him. “Why -did you kiss me like that, just now?”</p> - -<p>He propped himself up and gazed gloomily across -the barley field. “Why—did—I—kiss you?” he -muttered, as if speaking in a dream.</p> - -<p>“Yes—why, like that, just then,” she went on.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> -“It wasn’t like you and me at all. You were rough, -Adrian. You weren’t yourself. Oh, my dear, my -dear! I don’t believe you care for me half as you used -to!”</p> - -<p>He beat his fists irritably on the ground and an almost -vindictive look came into his eyes.</p> - -<p>“That’s the way!” he flung out, “that’s the way I -knew you’d take it. You girls want to be loved but -you must be loved just thus and so. A touch too near, -a word too far—and you’re all up in arms.”</p> - -<p>Nance felt as though an ice-cold wedge had been -thrust between her breasts.</p> - -<p>“Adrian,” she cried, “how can you treat me in this -way? How can you say these things to me? Have I -ever stopped you kissing me? Have I ever been unresponsive -to you?”</p> - -<p>He looked away from her and began pulling up a -patch of moss by its roots. “What are you annoyed -about, then?” he muttered.</p> - -<p>She sighed bitterly. Then with a strong effort to -give her voice a natural tone. “I didn’t feel as though -you were kissing me at all just now. I was simply a -girl in your arms—any girl! It was a shame, Adrian. -It hurt me. Surely, dear,”—her voice grew gentle -and pleading—“you <em>must</em> know what I mean.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know in the least what you mean,” he cried. -“It’s some silly, absurd scruple some one’s been putting -in your head. I can’t always make love to you as -if we were two children, can I—two babes in the -wood?”</p> - -<p>Nance’s mouth quivered at this and she stretched out -her arm towards him and then, letting it drop, fumbled -with her fingers at a blade of grass. A curious line, -rarely visible on her face, wrinkled her forehead and -twitched a little as if it had been a nerve beneath the -skin. This line had a pathos in it beyond a mere frown. -It would have been well if the Italian had recalled,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> -as he saw it, certain ancient tragic masks of his native -country, but it is one of life’s persistent ironies that -the tokens of monumental sorrow, which serve so nobly -the purposes of art, should only excite peevish irritation -when seen near at hand. Sorio did not miss that -line of suffering but instead of softening him it increased -his bitterness.</p> - -<p>“You’re really not angry about my kissing you,” he -said. “That’s what all you women do—you pitch -upon something quite different and revenge yourself -with it, when all the time you’re thinking about—God -knows what!—some mad grievance of your own that -has no connection with what you say!”</p> - -<p>She leapt up at this, as if bitten by an adder and -looked at him with flashing eyes.</p> - -<p>“Adrian! You’ve no right—I’ve never given you -the right—to speak to me so. Come! We’d better go -back to the house. I wish—oh, how I wish—I’d never -asked you to meet me here.”</p> - -<p>She stooped to pick up her hat. “I liked it so here,” -she added with a wistful catch in her voice, “but it’s -all spoilt now.” Sorio did not move. He looked at -her gravely.</p> - -<p>“You’re a little fool, Nance,” he said, “absolutely -a little fool. But you look extraordinarily lovely at -this moment, now you’re in a fury. Come here, child, -come back and sit down and let’s talk sensibly. There -are other things and much more important things in -the world than our ridiculous quarrels.”</p> - -<p>The tone of his voice had its effect upon her but she -did not yield at once.</p> - -<p>“I think perhaps to-day,” she murmured, “it would -be better to go back.” She continued to stand in front<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> -of him, swaying a little—an unconscious trick of hers—and -smiling sadly.</p> - -<p>“Come and sit down,” he repeated in a low voice. -She obeyed him, for it was what her heart ached for, -and clinging tightly to him she let her suppressed emotions -have full vent. With her head pressed awkwardly -against his coat she sobbed freely and without restraint.</p> - -<p>Sorio gently buttoned up the fastening of one of her -long sleeves which had come unloosed. He did this -gravely and without a change of expression. That peculiar -and tragic pathos which emanates from a girl’s -forgetfulness of her personal appearance did not apparently -cross his consciousness. Nance, as she leant -against him, had a pitiable and even a grotesque air. -One of her legs was thrust out from beneath her skirt. -Sorio noticed that her brown shoes were a little worn -and did not consort well with her white stockings. It -momentarily crossed his mind that he had fancied -Nancy’s ankles to be slenderer than it seemed they were.</p> - -<p>Her sobs died away at last in long shuddering gasps -which shook her whole frame. Sorio kept stroking her -head, but his eyes were fixed on the distant river bank -along which a heavily labouring horse was tugging at a -rope. Every now and then his face contracted a little -as if he were in physical pain. This was due to the fact -that from the girl’s weight pressing against his knee -he began to suffer from cramp. Though her sobs had -died down, Nance still seemed unwilling to stir.</p> - -<p>With one of her hands she made a tremulous movement -in search of his, and he answered it by tightly -gripping her fingers. While he held her thus his gaze -wandered from the horse on the tow-path and fixed itself -upon a large and beautifully spotted fly that was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> -moving slowly and tentatively up a green stalk. With -its long antennæ extended in front of it the fly felt -its way, every now and then opening and shutting its -gauzy wings.</p> - -<p>Sorio hated the horse, hated the fly and hated himself. -As for the girl who leant so heavily upon him, -he felt nothing for her just then but a dull, inert patience -and a kind of objective pity such as one might -feel for a wounded animal. One deep, far-drawn channel -of strength and hope remained open in the remote -depths of his mind—associated with his inmost identity -and with what in the fortress of his soul he loved to call -his “secret”—and far off, at the end of this vista, -visualized through clouds of complicated memories—was -the image of his boy, his boy left in America, from -whom, unknown even to Nance, he received letters week -by week, letters that were the only thing, so it seemed -to him at this moment, which gave sweetness to his life.</p> - -<p>He had sought, in giving full scope to his attraction -to Nance, to cover up and smooth over certain jagged, -bleeding edges in his outraged mind, and in this, even -now, as he returned the pressure of her soft fingers, he -recognized that he had been successful.</p> - -<p>It was, he knew well, only the appearance of this -<em>other one</em>—this insidious “rose au regard saphique”—this -furtive child of marsh and sea—who had spoilt -his delight in Nance—Nance had not changed, nor indeed -had he, himself. It was only the discovery of -Philippa, the revelation of Philippa, which had altered -everything.</p> - -<p>With his fingers entangled in the shining hair, beneath -his hand, he found himself cursing the day he had -ever come to Rodmoor. And yet—as far as his “secret”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> -went—that “fleur hypocrite” of the salt-marshes -came nearer, nearer than mortal soul except -Baptiste—to understanding the heart of his mystery. -The sun sinking behind them, had for some while now -thrown long dark shadows across the field at their feet.</p> - -<p>The flies which hovered over the girl’s prostrate form -were no longer radiantly illuminated and from the vague -distances in every direction came those fitful sounds of -the closing day—murmurs and whispers and subtle -breathings, sweet and yet profoundly sad, which indicate -the ebb of the life-impulse and approach of twilight.</p> - -<p>The girl moved at last, and lifting up a tear-stained -face, looked timidly and shyly into his eyes. She appeared -at that moment so submissive, so pitiful, and so -entirely dependent on him that Sorio would have been -hardly human if he had not thrown his arms reassuringly -round her neck and kissed her wet flushed cheek.</p> - -<p>They rose together from the ground and both laughed -merrily to see how stained and crumpled her newly -starched frock had become.</p> - -<p>“I’ll meet you here again—to-morrow if you like,” -he said gently. She smiled but did not answer. Simple-hearted -though she was, she was enough of a woman -to know well that her victory, if it could be called victory, -over his morose mood was a mere temporary matter. -The future of their love seemed to her more than -ever dubious and uncertain, and it was with a chilled -heart, in spite of her gallant attempts to make their -return pleasant to them both, that she re-entered the -forlorn garden of Dyke House and waved good-bye to -him from the door.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VII">VII<br /> -<span class="smaller">VESPERS</span></h2> - -<p>Nance continued to resort to her withy-bed, -in spite of the spoiling of its charm, but she -did not again ask Sorio to meet her there. -She met him still, however,—sometimes in Rachel’s -desolate garden which seemed inspired by some occult -influence antipathetic to every softening touch, and -sometimes—and these latter encounters were the happier -ones—in the little graveyard of Mr. Traherne’s -church. She found him affectionate enough in these -ambiguous days and even tender, but she was constantly -aware of a barrier between them which nothing -she could say or do seemed able to surmount.</p> - -<p>Her anxiety with regard to the relations between -Rachel and Linda did not grow less as days went on. -Sometimes the two seemed perfectly happy and Nance -accused herself of having a morbid imagination, but -then again something would occur—some quite slight -and unimportant thing—which threw her back upon -all her old misgivings.</p> - -<p>Once she was certain she heard Linda crying in the -night and uttering Rachel’s name but the young girl, -when roused from her sleep, only laughed gaily and -vowed she had no recollection of anything she had -dreamed.</p> - -<p>As things thus went on and there seemed no outlet -from the difficulties that surrounded her, Nance began -making serious enquiries as to the possibility of finding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> -work in the neighbourhood. She read the advertisements -in the local papers and even answered some of -them but the weeks slipped by and nothing tangible -seemed to emerge.</p> - -<p>Her greatest consolation at this time was a friendship -she struck up with Hamish Traherne, the curate-in-charge -of Rodmoor upon whose organ in the forlorn -little Norman church, Linda was now daily practising.</p> - -<p>Dr. Raughty, too, when she chanced to meet him, -proved a soothing distraction. The man’s evident admiration -for her gratified her vanity, while her tender -and playful way of expressing it put a healing ointment -upon her wounded pride.</p> - -<p>One late afternoon when the sun at last seemed to -have got some degree of hold upon that sea-blighted -country, she found herself seated with Mr. Traherne -on a bench adjoining the churchyard, waiting there -in part for the service—for Hamish was a rigorous -ritualist in these things and rang his bell twice a day -with devoted patience—and in part for the purpose -of meeting Mrs. Renshaw, who, as she knew, came regularly -to church, morning and evening.</p> - -<p>Linda was playing inside the little stone edifice and -the sound of her music came out to them as they talked, -pleasantly softened by the intervening walls. Mr. -Traherne’s own dwelling, a battered, time-worn fragment -of monastic masonry, clumsily adapted to modern -use, lay behind them, its unpretentious garden passing -by such imperceptible degrees into the sacred enclosure -that the blossoms raised, in defiance of the winds that -swept the marshes, in the priest’s flower-beds, shed their -petals upon the more recently dug of his parishioners’ -graves.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p> - -<p>It may have been the extreme ugliness of Rodmoor’s -curate-in-charge that drew Nance so closely to him. -Mr. Traherne was certainly in bodily appearance the -least prepossessing person she had ever beheld. He resembled -nothing so much as an over-driven and excessively -patient horse, his long, receding chin, knobbed -bulbous nose, and corrugated forehead not even being -relieved by any particular quality in his small, deeply-set -colourless eyes—eyes which lacked everything such -as commonly redeems an otherwise insignificant face -and which stared out of his head upon the world with a -fixed expression of mild and dumb protest.</p> - -<p>Whether it was his ugliness, or something indefinable -in him that found no physical or even vocal expression—for -his voice was harsh and husky—the girl herself -would have been puzzled to say, but whatever it was, it -drew her and held her and she experienced curious relief -in talking with him.</p> - -<p>This particular afternoon she had permitted herself -to go further than usual in these relieving confidences -and had treated the poor man as if he were actually -and in very truth her father-confessor.</p> - -<p>“I’ve had no luck so far,” she said, speaking of her -attempts to get work, “but I think I shall have before -long. I’m right, am I not, in <em>that</em> at any rate? Whatever -happens, it’s better Linda and I should be independent.”</p> - -<p>The priest nodded vigorously and clasped his bony -hands over his knees.</p> - -<p>“I wish,” he said, “that I knew Mr. Sorio as I know -you. When I know people I like them, and as a rule—” -he opened his large twisted mouth and smiled humorously -at her—“as a rule they like me.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t misunderstand what I said just now,” -cried Nance anxiously. “I didn’t mean that Adrian -doesn’t like you. I know he likes you very much. It’s -that he’s afraid of your influence, of your religion, of -your goodness. He’s afraid of you. That’s what it -is.”</p> - -<p>“Of course we know,” said Hamish Traherne, prodding -the ground with his oak stick and tucking his long -cassock round his legs, “of course we know that it’s -really Mr. Sorio who ought to find work. He ought -to find it soon, too, and as soon as he’s got it he ought -to marry you! That’s how I would see this affair settled.” -He smiled at her with humorous benignity.</p> - -<p>Nance frowned a little. “I don’t like it when you -talk like that,” she remarked, “it makes me feel as -though I’d done wrong in saying anything about it. -It makes me feel as though I had been disloyal to Adrian.”</p> - -<p>For so ugly and clumsy a man, there was a pathetic -gentleness in the way he laid his hand, at that, upon his -companion’s arm. “The disloyalty,” he said in a low -voice, “would have been <em>not</em> to have spoken to me. -Who else can help our friend? Who else is anxious to -help him?”</p> - -<p>“I know, I know,” she cried, “you’re as sweet to me -as you can be. You’re my most faithful friend. It’s -only that I feel—sometimes—as though Adrian -wouldn’t like it for me to talk about him at all—to -any one. But that’s silly, isn’t it? And besides I -must, mustn’t I? Otherwise there’d be no way of helping -him.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll find a way,” muttered the priest. “You needn’t -mention his name again. We’ll take him for granted in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> -future, little one, and we’ll both work together in his -interests.”</p> - -<p>“If he could only be made to understand,” the girl -went on, looking helplessly across the vast tract of fens, -“what his real feelings are! I believe he loves me at -the bottom of his heart. I know I can help him as no -one else can. But how to make him understand that?”</p> - -<p>They were interrupted at this point by the appearance -of Mrs. Renshaw who, standing in the path leading -to the church door, looked at them hesitatingly as if -wondering whether she ought to approach them or not.</p> - -<p>They rose at once and crossed the grass to meet her. -At the same time Linda, emerging from the building, -greeted them with excited ardour.</p> - -<p>“I’ve done so well to-day, Mr. Traherne,” she cried, -“you’d be astonished. I can manage those pedals perfectly -now, and the stops too. Oh, it’s lovely! It’s -lovely! I feel I’m going really to be a player.”</p> - -<p>They all shook hands with Mrs. Renshaw, and then, -while the priest went in to ring his bell, the three women -strolled together to the low stone parapet built as a protection -against floods, which separated the churchyard -from the marshes.</p> - -<p>Tiny, delicate mosses grew on this wall, interspersed -with small pale-flowered weeds. On its further side was -a wide tract of boggy ground, full of deep amber-coloured -pools and clumps of rushes and terminated, some -half mile away, by a raised dyke. There was a pleasant -humming of insects in the air, and although a procession -of large white clouds kept crossing the low, -horizontal sun, and throwing their cold shadows over -the landscape, the general aspect of the place was -more friendly and less desolate than usual.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> - -<p>They sat down upon the parapet and began to talk. -“Brand promised to come and fetch me to-night,” said -Mrs. Renshaw. “I begged him to come in time for the -service but—” and she gave a sad, expressive little -laugh, “he said he wouldn’t be early enough for that. -Why is it, do you think, that men in these days are so -unwilling to do these things? It isn’t that they’re -wiser than their ancestors. It isn’t that they’re -cleverer. It isn’t that they have less need of the Invisible. -Something has come over the world, I think—something -that blots out the sky. I’ve thought that -often lately, particularly when I wake up in the mornings. -It seems to me that the dawns used to be fresher -and clearer than they are now. God has got tired of -helping us, my dears,” and she sighed wearily.</p> - -<p>Linda extended her warm little hand with a caressing -movement, and Nance said, gently, “I know well what -you mean, but I feel sure—oh, I feel quite sure—it’s -only for a time. And I think, too, in some odd way, -that it’s our own fault—I mean the fault of women. -I can’t express clearly what’s in my mind but I feel as -though we’d all changed—changed, that is, from what -we used to be in old days. Don’t you think there’s -something in that, Mrs. Renshaw? But of course that -only applies to Linda and me.”</p> - -<p>The elder woman’s countenance assumed a pinched -and withered look as the girl spoke, the lines in it deepening -and the pallor of it growing so noticeable that -Nance found herself recalling the ghastly whiteness of -her father’s face as she saw him at the last, laid out in -his coffin. She shivered a little and let her fingers stray -over the crumbling masonry and tangled weeds at her -side, seeking there, in a fumbling, instinctive manner,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> -to get into touch with something natural, earthy, and -reassuring.</p> - -<p>The procession of clouds suffered a brief interlude at -that moment in their steady transit and the sinking sun -shone out warm and mellow, full of odours of peat and -moss and reedy mud. Swarms of tiny midges danced -in the long level light and several drowsy butterflies -rose out of nowhere and fluttered over the mounds.</p> - -<p>“Oh, there’s Brand coming!” cried Mrs. Renshaw, -suddenly, with a queer contraction of her pale forehead, -“and the bell has stopped. How strange we -none of us noticed that! Listen! Yes—he’s begun -the service. Can’t you hear? Oh, what a pity! I -can’t bear going in after he’s begun.”</p> - -<p>Brand Renshaw, striding unceremoniously over the -graves, approached the group. They rose to greet -him. Nance felt herself surveyed from head to foot, -weighed in the balances and found wanting. Linda -hung back a little, shamefaced and blushing deeply. It -was upon her that Brand kept his eyes fixed all the while -he was being introduced. She—as Nance recognized -in a flash—was <em>not</em> found wanting.</p> - -<p>They stood talking together, easily and freely enough, -for several minutes, but nothing that Nance heard or -said prevented her mind from envisaging the fact that -there had leapt into being, magnetically, mysteriously, -irresistibly, one of those sudden attractions between -a man and a girl that so often imply—as the world is -now arranged—the emergence of tragedy upon the -horizon.</p> - -<p>“I think—if you don’t mind, Brand,” said Mrs. -Renshaw when a pause arrived in their conversation,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> -“we’ll slip into the church now for a minute or two. -He’s got to the Psalms. I can hear. And it hurts me, -somehow, for the poor man to have to go through them -alone.”</p> - -<p>Nance moved at once, but Linda pouted and looked -shyly at Brand. “I’m tired of the church,” she murmured. -“I’ll wait for you out here. Are you going in -with them, Mr. Renshaw?”</p> - -<p>Brand made no reply to this, but walked gravely -with the two others as far as the porch.</p> - -<p>“Don’t be surprised if your sister’s spirited away -when you come out, Miss Herrick,” he said smilingly as -he left them at the door.</p> - -<p>Returning with a quick step to where Linda stood -gazing across the marshes, he made some casual remark -about the quietness of the evening and led her forth -from the churchyard. Neither of them uttered any -definite reference to what they were doing. Indeed, a -queer sort of nervous dumbness seemed to have seized -them both, but there was a suppressed surge of excitement -in the man’s resolute movements and under the -navy blue coat and skirt which hung so delicately and -closely round her slender figure. The girl’s pulses beat -a wild excited tune.</p> - -<p>He led her straight along the narrow, reed-bordered -path, with a ditch on either side of it which ended in the -bridge across the Loon. Before they reached the -bridge, however, he swerved to the left and helped her -over a low wooden railing. From this point, by following -a rough track along the edge of one of the water -meadows it was possible to reach the sand-dunes without -entering the village.</p> - -<p>“Not to the sea,” pleaded Linda, holding back when -she perceived the direction of their steps.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes, to the sea!” he cried, pulling her forward with -merciless determination. She made no further resistance. -She did not even protest when, arrived at the -end of their path, he lifted her bodily over the gate that -barred their way. She let him help her across the -heavily sinking sand, covered with pallid, coarse grass -which yielded to every step they took. She let him, -when at last they reached the summit of the dunes and -saw the sea spread out before them, retain the hand she -had given him and lead her down, hardly holding back -at all now, to the very edge of the water.</p> - -<p>They were both at that moment like persons under -the power of some sort of drug. Their eyes were wild -and bright and when they spoke their voices had an unnatural -solemnity. In the absoluteness of the magnetic -current which swept them together, they could do nothing, -it seemed, but take all that happened to them for -granted—take all—all—as if it could not be otherwise, -as if it were <em>unthinkable</em> otherwise.</p> - -<p>When they reached the place where the tide turned -and the tremulous line of spindrift glimmered in the -dying sunlight, the girl stopped at last. Her lips and -cheeks were pale as the foam itself. She tried to tear -her fingers from his grasp. Her feet, sinking in the wet -sand, were splashed by the inflowing water.</p> - -<p>“They told me you were afraid,” he muttered, and -his voice sounded to them both as if it came from far -away, “but I didn’t believe it. I thought it was some -little girl’s nonsense. But I see now they were right. -You <em>are</em> afraid.”</p> - -<p>He rose to his full height, drawing into his lungs -with a breath of ecstasy the sharp salt wind that blew -across the water’s surface.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> - -<p>“But out of your fear we’ll make a bond between -us,” he went on, raising his voice, “a bond which none -of them shall be able to break!”</p> - -<p>He suddenly bent down and, scooping with his fingers -in the water, lifted towards her a handful of sea-foam -that gleamed ghostly white as he held it.</p> - -<p>“There, child,” he cried, “you can’t escape from me -now!”</p> - -<p>As he spoke he flung, with a wild laugh, straight -across her face, the foam-bubbles which he had caught. -She started back with a little gasp, but recovering herself -instantly lifted the hand which held her own and -pressed it against her forehead. They stood for a moment, -after this, staring at one another, with a hushed, -dazed, bewildered stare, as though they felt the very -wind of the wing of fate pass over their heads.</p> - -<p>Brand broke the spell with a laugh. “I’ve christened -you now,” he said, “so I can call you what I like. -Come up here, Linda, my little one, and let’s talk of all -this.”</p> - -<p>Hand in hand they moved away from the sea’s edge -and crouched down in the shadow of the sand-dunes. -The rose-coloured light died out along the line of foam -and the mass of the waters in front of them darkened -steadily, as if obscured by the over-hovering of some -colossal bird. Far off, on the edge of the horizon, a -single fragment of drifting cloud took the shape of a -bloody hand with outstretched forefinger but even that -soon faded as the sun, sinking into the fens behind them, -gave up the struggle with darkness.</p> - -<p>With the passing of the light from the sea’s surface, -all that was left of the wind sank also into absolute immobility. -An immense liberating silence intensified,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> -rather than interrupted by the monotonous splash of -the waves, seemed to stream forth from some planetary -reservoir and overflow the world.</p> - -<p>Not a sea-gull screamed, not a sound came from the -harbour, not a plover cried from the marshes, not a -step, not a voice, not a whisper, approached their solitude -or disturbed their strange communion.</p> - -<p>Linda sat with her head sunk low upon her breast -and her hands clasped upon her knees. Brand, beside -her, caressed her whole figure with an intense gaze of -concentrated possession.</p> - -<p>Neither of them spoke a word, but one of the man’s -heavy hands lay upon hers like a leaden weight bruising -a fragile plant.</p> - -<p>What he seemed attempting to achieve in that conspiring -hour was some kind of magnetizing of the girl’s -senses so that the first movement of overt passion should -come from her rather than from himself. In this it -would seem he was not unsuccessful, for after two or -three scarce audible sighs her body trembled a little and -leant towards his and a low whisper uttered in a tone -quite unlike her ordinary one, tore itself from her lips, -as if against her volition.</p> - -<p>“What are you doing to me?” she murmured.</p> - -<p>While the invisible destinies were thus inaugurating -their projected work upon Brand and Linda, Nance -and Mrs. Renshaw issued forth from the churchyard.</p> - -<p>“If only life were clearer,” the girl was thinking, -“it would be endurable. It’s this uncertainty in everything—this -dreadful uncertainty—which I can’t -bear!”</p> - -<p>“That was a beautiful psalm we had just now,” said -Mrs. Renshaw, in her gentle penetrating voice as, after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> -some minutes’ silent walking they emerged upon the -bridge across the Loon. Nance looked down over the -parapet and in her depressed fancy she saw the drowned -figure of herself, drifting, face upward, upon the flowing -water.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she replied mechanically, “the psalms are -always beautiful.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe,” the lady went on, glancing at her -with eyes so hollow and sorrowful that it seemed as -though the twilight of a world even sadder than the one -they looked upon emanated from them, “I don’t believe -I understand that little sister of yours. She’s very -highly strung—she’s very nervous. She requires a -great deal of care. To tell the truth, I don’t consider -my son Brand at all a good companion for her. I wish -they’d waited and not gone off like that. He doesn’t -always remember what a sensitive thing the heart of a -young girl is.”</p> - -<p>They had now reached the southern side of the Loon -and were on the main road between Rodmoor and Mundham. -A few paces further brought them to the first -houses of the village. Something in the helpless, apologetic, -deprecatory way with which, just then, Mrs. -Renshaw greeted an old woman who passed them, had a -strangely irritating effect upon Nance’s nerves.</p> - -<p>“I don’t see why young people should be considered -more than any one else!” she burst out. “It’s a purely -conventional idea. We all have our troubles, and what -I think is the older you get the more difficult life becomes.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Renshaw’s face assumed a mask of weary obstinacy -and she walked more slowly, her head bent forward -a little and her feet dragging.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Women have to learn what duty means,” she said, -“and the sooner they learn it the better. Those among -us who are privileged to make one good man happy have -the best that life can give. It’s natural to be restless -till you have this. But we must try to overcome our -restlessness. We must ask for help.”</p> - -<p>She was silent. Her white face drooped and bowed -itself, while her tired fingers relaxed their hold on her -skirt which trailed in the dust of the road. Her profile, -as Nance glanced sideways at it, had a look of hopeless -and helpless passivity.</p> - -<p>The girl withdrew into herself, irritated and yet remorseful. -She felt an obscure longing to be of some -service to this unhappy one; yet as she watched her, -thus bowed and impenetrable, she felt shut out and excluded.</p> - -<p>Before they reached the centre of the village—for -Nance felt unwilling to leave Mrs. Renshaw until she -had seen her safe within her park gates—they suddenly -came upon Baltazar Stork returning from his -daily excursion to Mundham.</p> - -<p>He was as elegantly dressed as usual and in one hand -carried a little black bag, in the other a bunch of -peonies. Nance, to her surprise, caught upon her companion’s -face a look of extraordinary illumination as -the man advanced towards them. In recalling the look -afterwards, she found herself thinking of the word -“vivacity” in regard to it.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’m always the same,” Mr. Stork replied to the -elder lady’s greeting. “I grow more annoyingly the -same every day. I say the same things, think the same -thoughts and meet the same people. It’s—lovely!”</p> - -<p>“I’m glad you ended like that,” observed Nance,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> -laughing. It was one of her peculiarities to laugh—a -little foolishly—when she was embarrassed and though -she had encountered Sorio’s friend once or twice before, -she felt for some reason or other ill at ease with him.</p> - -<p>With exquisite deliberation Mr. Stork placed the -black bag upon the ground and selecting two of the -freshest blooms from his gorgeous bunch, handed one -by the light of a little shop window to each of the -women.</p> - -<p>“How is your friend?” enquired Mrs. Renshaw with -a touch of irony in her tone. “This young lady has -not seen him to-day.”</p> - -<p>At that moment Nance realized that she hated this -melancholy being whom a chance encounter with her -husband’s son seemed to throw into such malicious -spirits. She felt that everything Mrs. Renshaw was -destined to say from now till they separated, would be -designed to humiliate and annoy her. This may have -been a fantastic illusion, but she acted upon it with -resolute abruptness.</p> - -<p>“Good-bye,” she exclaimed, turning to her companion, -“I’ll leave you in Mr. Stork’s care. I promised -Rachel not to be late to-night. Good-bye—and thank -you,” she bowed to the young man and held up the -peony, “for this.”</p> - -<p>“She’s jealous,” remarked Baltazar as he led Mrs. -Renshaw across the green under the darkening sycamores. -“She is abominably jealous! She was in a -furious temper—I saw it myself—when Adrian took -her sister out the other day and now she’s wild because -he’s friendly with Philippa. Oh, these girls, these -girls!”</p> - -<p>An amused smile flickered for a moment across the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> -lady’s face but she suppressed it instantly. She sighed -heavily. “You are all too much for me,” she said, -“too much for me. I’m getting old, Tassar. God be -merciful! This world is not an easy place to live in.”</p> - -<p>She walked by his side after this in heavy silence till -they reached the entrance of the park.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VIII">VIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">SUN AND SEA</span></h2> - -<p>As the days began to grow warmer and in the -more sheltered gardens the first roses appeared, -Nance was not the only one who showed signs -of uneasiness over Adrian Sorio’s disturbed state of -mind.</p> - -<p>Baltazar was frequently at a loss to know where, -in the long twilights, his friend wandered. Over and -over again, after June commenced, the poor epicure was -doomed to take his supper in solitude and sit companionless -through the evening in the grassy enclosure at the -back of his house.</p> - -<p>As the longest day approached and the heavily -scented hawthorn tree which was the chief ornament of -his small garden had scattered nearly all its red blossoms, -Stork’s uneasiness reached such a pitch that he -protested vigorously to the wanderer, using violent expressions -and, while not precisely accusing him of ingratitude, -making it quite plain that this was neither -the mood nor the treatment he expected from so old a -friend.</p> - -<p>Sorio received this outburst meekly enough—indeed -he professed himself entirely penitent and ready to -amend his ways—but as the days went on, instead of -any improvement in the matter, things became rapidly -worse and worse.</p> - -<p>Baltazar could learn nothing definitely of what he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> -did when he disappeared but the impression gradually -emphasized itself that he spent these lonely hours in immense, -solitary walks along the edge of the sea. He -returned sometimes like a man absolutely exhausted and -on these occasions his friend could not help observing -that his shoes were full of sand and his face scorched.</p> - -<p>One especially hot afternoon, when Stork had returned -from Mundham by the midday train in the hope -of finding Adrian ready to stroll with him under the -trees in the park, there occurred quite a bitter and -violent scene between them when the latter insisted, as -soon as their meal was over, on setting off alone.</p> - -<p>“Go to the devil!” Adrian finally flung back at his -entertainer when—his accustomed urbanity quite -broken down—the aggrieved Baltazar gave vent to the -suppressed irritation of many days. “Go to the -devil!” the unconscionable man repeated, putting down -his hat over his head and striding across the green.</p> - -<p>Once clear of the little town, he let his speed subside -into a more ordinary pace and, crossing the bridge over -the Loon, made his way to the sea shore. The blazing -sunshine, pouring down from a sky that contained no -trace of a cloud, seemed to have secured the power that -day of reducing even the ocean itself to a kind of magnetised -stupor. The waters rolled in, over the sparkling -sands, with a long, somnolent, oily ripple that spent itself -and drew back without so much as a flicker or flake -of foam. The sea-gulls floated languidly on the unruffled -tide, or quarrelled with little, short, petulant -screams over the banks of bleached pungent-smelling -seaweed where swarms of scavenging flies shared with -them their noonday fretfulness.</p> - -<p>On the wide expanse of the sea itself there lay a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> -kind of glittering haze, thin and metallic, as if hammered -out of some marine substance less resistant but -not less dazzling than copper or gold. This was in the -mid-distance, so to speak, of the great plain of water. -In the remote distance the almost savage glitter diminished -and a dull livid glare took its place, streaked in -certain parts of the horizon by heavy bars of silvery -mist where the sea touched the sky. The broad reaches -of hard sand smouldered and flickered under the sun’s -blaze and little vibrating heat waves danced like shapeless -demons over the summit of the higher dunes.</p> - -<p>Turning his face northward, Sorio began walking -slowly now and with occasional glances at the dunes, -along the level sand by the sea’s edge. He reached in -this way a spot nearly two miles from Rodmoor where -for leagues and leagues in either direction no sign of -human life was visible.</p> - -<p>He was alone with the sun and the sea, the sun that -was dominating the water and the water that was dominating -the land.</p> - -<p>He stood still and waited, his heart beating, his pulses -feverish, his deep-sunken eyes full of a passionate, expectant -light. He had not long to wait. Stepping -down slowly from the grass-covered dunes, past a deserted -fisherman’s hut which had become their familiar -rendezvous, came the desired figure. She walked deliberately, -slowly, with a movement that, as Sorio -hastened to meet her, had something almost defiant in -its dramatic reserve.</p> - -<p>They greeted one another with a certain awkwardness. -Neither held out a hand—neither smiled. It -might have been a meeting of two conspirators fearful -of betrayal. It was only after they had walked in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> -silence, side by side and still northwards for several -minutes, that Sorio began speaking, but his words broke -from him then with a tempestuous vehemence.</p> - -<p>“None of these people here know me,” he cried, “not -one of them. They take me for a dawdler, an idler, an -idiotic fool. Well! That’s nothing. Nance doesn’t -know me. She doesn’t care to know me. She—she -<em>loves</em>! As if love were what I wanted—as if love were -enough!”</p> - -<p>He was silent and the girl looked at him curiously, -waiting for him to say more.</p> - -<p>“They’d be a bit surprised, wouldn’t they,” he burst -out, “if they knew about the manuscripts <em>he</em>”—he uttered -this last word with concentrated reverence,—“is -guarding for me over there? <em>He</em> understands me, Phil, -and not a living person except him. Listen, Phil! -Since I’ve known you I’ve been able to breathe—just -able to breathe—in this damned England. Before -that—God! I shudder to think of it—I was dumb, -strangled, suffocated, paralyzed, dead. Even now—even -with you, Phil,—I’m still fumbling and groping -after it—after what I have to say to the world, after -my secret, my idea!</p> - -<p>“It hurts me, my idea. You know that feeling, Phil. -But I’m getting it into order—into shape. Look -here!”</p> - -<p>He pulled out of his pocket a small thick notebook -closely written, blurred with erasures and insertions, -stained with salt-water.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p> -<p>“That’s what I’ve done since I’ve known you—in -this last month—and it’s better than anything I’ve -written before. It’s clearer. It hits the mark more -crushingly. Phil, listen to me! I <em>know</em> I’ve got it in -me to give to the world something it’s never dreamed of—something -with a real madness of truth in it—something -with a bite that gets to the very bone of things. -I know I’ve got that in me.”</p> - -<p>He stooped down and picked up a stranded jelly-fish -that lay—a mass of quivering, helpless iridescence—in -the scorching sun. He stepped into the water till it -was over his shoes and flung the thing far out into the -oily sea. It sank at once to the bottom, leaving a small -circle of ripples.</p> - -<p>“Go on, go on!” cried the girl, looking at him with -eyes that darkened and grew more insatiable as she -felt his soul stir and quiver and strip itself before her.</p> - -<p>“Go on! Tell me more about Nance.”</p> - -<p>“I <em>have</em> told you,” he muttered, “I’ve told you everything. -She’s good and faithful and kind. She gives -me love—oh, endless love!—but that’s not what I -want. She no more understands me than <em>I</em> understand—eternity! -Little Linda reads me better.”</p> - -<p>“Tell me about Linda,” murmured the girl.</p> - -<p>Sorio threw a wild glance around them. “It’s her -fear that taught her what she knew—what she guessed. -Fear reads deep and far. Fear breaks through many -barriers. But she’s changed now since she’s been with -Brand. She’s become like the rest.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Brand—!” Philippa shrugged her shoulders. -“So <em>he’s</em> come into it? Well, let them go. Tell me -more about Nance. Does she cling to you and make a -fuss? Does she try the game of tears?”</p> - -<p>Sorio looked at her sharply. A vague suspicion invaded -the depths of his heart. They walked along in -silence for several minutes. The power of the sun -seemed to increase. A mass of seaweed, floating below<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> -the water, caused in one place an amber-coloured shadow -to break the monotony of the glittering surface.</p> - -<p>“Does your son believe in you—as I do?” she asked -gently.</p> - -<p>As soon as the words had crossed her lips she knew -they were the very last she ought to have uttered. The -man withdrew into himself with a rigid tightening of -every nerve. No one—certainly not Nance—had -ever dared to touch this subject. Once to Nance, in -London, and twice recently to his present companion, -had he referred to Baptiste but this direct question -about the boy was too much; it outraged something in -him which was beyond articulation. The shock given -him was so intense and the reaction upon his feelings so -vivid that, hardly conscious of what he did, he thrust -his hand into his pocket and clutched tightly with his -fingers the book containing his work, as though to protect -it from aggression. As he thus stood there before -her, stiff and speechless, she could only console herself -by the fact that he avoided her eyes.</p> - -<p>Her mind moved rapidly. She must invent, at all -costs, some relief to this tension. She had trusted her -magnetism too far.</p> - -<p>“Adriano,” she said, imitating with feminine instinct -Baltazar’s caressing intonation, “I want to bathe. -We’re out of sight of every one. We know each other -well enough now. Shall we—together?”</p> - -<p>He met her eyes now. There was a subtile appeal in -their depths which drew him to her and troubled his -senses. He nodded and uttered an embarrassed laugh. -“Why not?” he answered.</p> - -<p>“Very well,” she said quickly, clinching her suggestion -before he had time to revoke his assent, “I’ll just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> -run behind these sand hills and take off my things. You -undress here and get into the water. And swim out, -too, Adrian, with your back to me! I’ll soon join you.”</p> - -<p>She left him and he obeyed her mechanically—only -looking nervously round for a moment as he folded his -coat containing the precious manuscript and laid a -heavy stone upon it.</p> - -<p>He plunged out into the waveless sea with fierce, impetuous -strokes. The water yielded to his violent movements -like a lake of quicksilver. Dazzling threads and -flakes and rainbows flashed up, wavered, trembled, glittered -and vanished as he swam forward. With his eyes -fixed on the immense dome of sky above him, where, like -the rim of a burnished shield, it cut down into the horizon, -he struck out incessantly, persistently, seeking, in -thus embracing a universe of white light, to find the -escape he craved.</p> - -<p>Strange thoughts poured through his brain as he -swam on. The most novel, the most terrific of the -points contained in those dithyrambic notes left behind -under the stone surged up before him and, mingling with -them in fierce exultant affection, the image of Baptiste -beckoned to him out of a molten furnace of white -light.</p> - -<p>Far away behind him at last he heard the voice of -his companion. Whether she intended him to turn he -did not know, for her words were inaudible, but when he -did he perceived that she was standing, a slim white -figure, at the water’s edge. He watched her with feelings -that were partly bitter and partly tender.</p> - -<p>“Why does she stand there so long?” he muttered to -himself. “Why doesn’t she get in and start swimming?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p> - -<p>As if made aware of his thought by some telepathic -instinct the girl at that moment slipped into the water -and began walking slowly forward, her hands clasped -behind her head. When the water reached above her -knees she swung up her hands and with a swift spring -of her white body, disappeared from view. She remained -so long invisible that Sorio grew anxious and -took several vigorous strokes towards her. She reappeared -at last, however, and was soon swimming vigorously -to meet him.</p> - -<p>When they met she insisted on advancing further and -so, side by side, with easy, leisurely movements, they -swam out to sea, their eyes on the far horizon and their -breath coming and going in even reciprocity.</p> - -<p>“Far enough!” cried Sorio at last, treading water -and looking closely at her.</p> - -<p>There was a strange wild light in the girl’s face. -“Why go back?” her look seemed to say—“Why not -swim on and on together—until the waters cover us -and all riddles are solved?” There was something in -her expression at that moment—as, between sky and -sea, the two gazed mutely at one another—which -seemed to interpret some terrible and uttermost mystery. -It was, however, too rare a moment to endure -long, and they turned their heads landwards.</p> - -<p>The return took longer than they had anticipated and -the girl was swimming very slowly and displaying evident -signs of exhaustion before they got near shore. -As soon as she could touch the bottom with her feet -she hurried out and staggered, with stiff limbs, across -the sands to where she had left her clothes.</p> - -<p>When she came back, dressed and in lively spirits, -her unbound hair shimmering in the sunshine like wet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> -silk, she found him pacing the sea’s edge with an expression -of gloomy resolution.</p> - -<p>“I shall have to rewrite every word of these notes,” -he said, striking his hand against his pocket. “I had -a new thought just now as I was in the water and it -changes everything.”</p> - -<p>She threw herself down on the hot sand and spread -out her hair to let it dry.</p> - -<p>“Don’t let’s go yet, Adrian,” she pleaded. “I feel -so sleepy and happy.”</p> - -<p>He looked at her thoughtfully, hardly catching the -drift of her words. “It changes everything,” he repeated.</p> - -<p>“Lie down here,” she murmured softly, letting her -gaze meet his with a wistful entreaty.</p> - -<p>He placed himself beside her. “Don’t get hurt by -the sun,” he said. She smiled at that—a long, slow, -dreamy smile—and drawing him towards her with her -eyes, “I believe you’re afraid of me to-day, Adrian,” -she whispered.</p> - -<p>Her boyish figure, outlined beneath the thin dress -she wore, seemed to breathe a sort of classic voluptuousness -as she languidly stretched her limbs. As she did -this, she turned her head sideways, till her chin rested -on her shoulder and a tress of brown hair, wet and -clinging, fell across her slender neck.</p> - -<p>A sudden impulse of malice seemed to seize the man -who bent over her. “Your hair isn’t half as long as -Nance’s,” he said, turning abruptly away and hugging -his knees with his arms.</p> - -<p>The girl drew herself together, at that, like a snake -from under a heavy foot and, propping herself up on -her hands, threw a glance upon him which, had he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> -caught it, might have produced a yet further change in -the book of philosophic notes. Her eyes, for one passing -second, held in them something that was like livid -fire reflected through blue ice.</p> - -<p>For several minutes after this they both contemplated -the level mass of illuminated waters with absorbed concentration. -At last Adrian broke the silence.</p> - -<p>“What I’m aiming at in my book,” he said, “is a -revelation of how the essence of life is found in the instinct -of destruction. I want to show—what is simply -the truth—that the pleasure of destruction, destruction -entered upon out of sheer joy and for its own sake, -lies behind every living impulse that pushes life forward. -Out of destruction alone—out of the rending and -tearing of something—of something in the way—does -new life spring to birth. It isn’t destruction for -cruelty’s sake,” he went on, his fingers closing and unclosing -at his side over a handful of sand. “Cruelty -is mere inverted sentiment. Cruelty implies attraction, -passion, even—in some cases—love. Pure destruction—destruction -for its own sake—such as I see it—is -no thick, heavy, muddy, perverted impulse such as -the cruel are obsessed by. It’s a burning and devouring -flame. It’s a mad, splendid revel of glaring whiteness -like this which hurts our eyes now. I’m going to -show in my book how the ultimate essence of life, as we -find it, purest and most purged in the ecstasies of the -saints, is nothing but an insanity of destruction! -That’s really what lies at the bottom of all the asceticism -and all the renunciation in the world. It’s the instinct -to destroy—to destroy what lies nearest to one’s -hand—in this case, of course, one’s own body and the -passions of the body. Ascetics fancy they do this for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> -the sake of their souls. That’s their illusion. They do -it for its own sake—for the sake of the ecstasy of destruction! -Man is the highest of all animals because -he can destroy the most. The saints are the highest -among men because they can destroy humanity.”</p> - -<p>He rose to his feet and, picking up a flat stone -from the sea’s edge, sent it skimming across the -water.</p> - -<p>“Five!” he cried, as the stone sank at last.</p> - -<p>The girl rose and stood beside him. “I can play at -‘Ducks and Drakes’ too,” she said, imitating his action -with another stone which, however, sank heavily after -only three cuttings of the shiny surface.</p> - -<p>“You can’t play ‘Ducks and Drakes’ with the universe,” -retorted Sorio. “No girl can—not even you, -with your boy-arms and boy-legs! You can’t even -throw a stone out of pure innocence. You only threw -that—just now—because I did and because you -wanted me to see you swing your arm—and because -you wanted to change the conversation.”</p> - -<p>He looked her up and down with an air of sullen -mockery. “What the saints and the mystics seek,” he -went on, “is the destruction of everything within reach—of -everything that sticks out, that obtrudes, that is -simply <em>there</em>. That is why they throw their stones at -every form of natural life. But the life they attack is -doing the same thing itself in a cruder way. The sea -is destroying the land; the grass is destroying the -flowers; the flowers one another; the woods, the marshes, -the fens, are all destroying something. The saints -are only the maddest and wisest of all destroyers—”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> -<p>“Sorio! There’s a starfish out there—being -washed in. Oh, let me try and reach it!”</p> - -<p>She snatched his stick from him and catching up her -skirt stepped into the water.</p> - -<p>“Let it be!” he muttered, “let it be!”</p> - -<p>She gave up her attempt with an impatient shrug -but continued to watch the steady pressure of the incoming -tide with absorbed interest.</p> - -<p>“What the saints aim at,” Sorio continued, “and -the great poets too, is that absolute <em>white light</em>, which -means the drowning, the blinding, the annihilating, of -all these paltry-coloured things which assert themselves -and try to make themselves immortal. The only godlike -happiness is the happiness of seeing world after -world tumbled into oblivion. That’s the mad, sweet -secret thought at the back of all the religions. God—as -the great terrible minds of antiquity never forgot—is -the supreme name for that ultimate destruction -of all things which is the only goal. That’s why God -is always visualised as a blaze of blinding white light. -That’s why the Sun-God, greatest of destroyers, is pictured -with burning arrows.”</p> - -<p>While Adrian continued in this wild strain, expounding -his desperate philosophy, it was a pity there was no -one to watch the various expressions which crossed in -phantasmal sequence, like evil ghosts over a lovely mirror, -the face of Philippa Renshaw.</p> - -<p>The conflict between the man and woman was, -indeed, at that moment, of curious and elaborate interest. -While he flung out, in this passionate way, his -metaphysical iconoclasm, her instinct—the shrewd -feminine instinct to reduce everything to the personal -touch—remained fretting, chafing, irritable, and unsatisfied. -It was nothing to her that the formula he -used was the formula of her own instincts. She loved<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> -destruction but in her subtle heart she despised, with infinite -contempt, all philosophical theories—despised -them as being simply irrelevant and off the track of -actual life—off the track, in fact, of those primitive -personal impulses which alone possess colour, perfume, -salt and sweetness!</p> - -<p>Vaguely, at the bottom of his soul, even while he was -speaking, Sorio knew that the girl was irritated and -piqued; but the consciousness of this, so far from being -unpleasant, gave an added zest to his words. He -revenged himself on her for the attraction he felt towards -her by showing her that in the metaphysical -world at any rate, he could reduce her to non-existence! -Her annoyance at last gave her, in desperation, a -flash of diabolic cunning. She tossed out to him as a -bait for his ravening analysis, her own equivocal nature.</p> - -<p>“I know well what you mean,” she said, as they -moved slowly back towards Rodmoor. “Poor dear, -you must have been torn and rent, yourself, to have -come to such a point of insight! I, too, in my way, -have experienced something of the sort. My brain—you -know <em>that</em>, by this time, don’t you, Adriano?—is -the brain of a man while my body is the body of a -woman. Oh, I hate this woman’s body of mine, Adrian! -You can’t know how I hate it! All that annoys you -in me, and all that annoys myself too, comes from -this,” and she pressed her little hands savagely to her -breast as she spoke, as though, there before him, she -would tear out the very soul of her femininity.</p> - -<p>“From earliest childhood,” she went on, “I’ve loathed -being a girl. Long nights, sometimes, I’ve lain awake, -crying and crying and crying, because I wasn’t born<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> -different. I’ve hated my mother for it. I hate her -still, I hate her because she has a morbid, sentimental -mania for what she calls the sensitiveness of young -girls. The sensitiveness! As if they weren’t the -toughest, stupidest, sleepiest things in the world! -They’re not sensitive at all. They’ve neither sensitiveness -nor fastidiousness nor modesty nor decency! It’s -all put on—every bit of it. I <em>know</em>, for I’m like that -myself—or half of me is. I betray myself to myself -and lacerate myself for being myself. It’s a curious -state of things—isn’t it, Adriano?”</p> - -<p>She had worked herself up into such a passion of emotional -self-pity that great swimming tears blurred the -tragic supplication of her eyes. The weary swing of -her body as she walked by his side and the droop of her -neck as she let her head fall when his glance did not respond -were obviously not assumed. The revelation of -herself, entered upon for an exterior purpose, had gone -further than she intended and this very stripping of -herself bare which was to have been her triumph became -her humiliation when witnessed so calmly, so indifferently.</p> - -<p>After this they walked for a long while in silence, -he so possessed by the thrilling sense of having a new -vista of thought under his command that he was hardly -conscious of her presence, and she in obstinate bitter -resolution wrestling with the remorse of her mistake -and searching for some other means—any means—of -sapping the strength of his independence.</p> - -<p>As they moved on and the afternoon advanced, a -large and striking change took place in the appearance -of the scene. A narrow, clear-cut line of shadow made -itself visible below the sand-dunes. The sky lost its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> -metallic glitter and became a deep hyacinthine blue, a -blue which after a while communicated itself, with hardly -any change in its tint, to the wide-spread volume of -water beneath it. In those spots where masses of seaweed -floated beneath the surface, the omnipresent blue -deepened to a rich indescribable purple, that amazing -purple more frequent in southern than in northern seas, -which we may suppose is indicated in the Homeric epithet -“wine dark.”</p> - -<p>As the friends approached the familiar environs of -Rodmoor they suddenly came upon a fisherman’s boat -pulled up upon the sand, with some heavy nets left lying -beside it.</p> - -<p>“Sorio!” cried the girl, stooping down and lifting -the meshes of one of these, “Sorio! there’s something -alive left here. Look!”</p> - -<p>He bent over the net beside her and began hastily -disentangling several little silvery fish which were struggling -and flapping feebly and opening their tiny gills in -labouring gasps.</p> - -<p>“All right—all right!” cried the man, addressing -in his excitement the tiny prisoners, “I’ll soon set you -free.”</p> - -<p>“What are you doing, Adrian?” expostulated the -girl. “No—no! You mustn’t throw them back—you -mustn’t! The children always come round when -school’s over and search the nets. It’s a Rodmoor custom.”</p> - -<p>“It’s a custom I’m going to break, then!” he shouted, -rushing towards the sea with a handful of gasping little -lives. His fingers when he returned, were covered with -glittering scales but they did not outshine the gleam in -his face.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p> - -<p>“You should have seen them dash away,” he cried. -“I’m glad those children won’t find them!”</p> - -<p>“They’ll find others,” remarked Philippa Renshaw. -“There’ll always be some nets that have fish left in -them.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_IX">IX<br /> -<span class="smaller">PRIEST AND DOCTOR</span></h2> - -<p>There are hours in every man’s day when the -main current of his destiny, rising up from -some hidden channel, becomes a recognizable -and palpable element in his consciousness. Such hours, -if a man’s profoundest life is—so to speak—in harmony -with the greater gods, are hours of indescribable -and tremulous happiness.</p> - -<p>It was nothing less than an experience of this kind -which flowed deliciously, like a wave of divine ether, -over the consciousness of Hamish Traherne on the day -following the one when Sorio and Philippa walked so -far.</p> - -<p>As he crossed his garden in the early morning -and entered the church, the warm sun and clear-cut -shadows filled him with that sense of indestructible joy -to which one of the ancient thinkers has given the beautiful -name of μονοχρονος ἡδονὴ—the Pleasure of the Ideal -Now.</p> - -<p>From the eastern window, flooding the floor of the -little chancel, there poured into the cool, sweet-smelling -place a stream of quivering light. He had opened -wide the doors under the tower and left them open and -he heard, as he sank on his knees, the sharp clear twittering -of swallows outside and the chatter of a flock of -starlings. Through every pulse and fibre of his being, -as he knelt, vibrated an unutterable current of happiness,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> -of happiness so great that the words of his -prayer melted and dissolved and all definite thought -melted with them into that rare mood where prayer becomes -ecstasy and ecstasy becomes eternal.</p> - -<p>Returning to his house without spilling one golden -drop of what was being allowed him of the wine of the -Immortals, he brought his breakfast out into the garden -and ate it, lingeringly and dreamily, by the side of his -first roses. These were of the kind known as “the -seven sisters”—small and white-petaled with a faint -rose-flush—and the penetrating odour of them as he -bent a spray down towards his face was itself suggestive -of old rich wine, “cooled a long age in the deep-delved -earth.”</p> - -<p>From the marshes below the parapet came exquisite -scents of water-mint and flowering-rush and, along with -these, the subtle fragrance, pungent and aromatic, of -miles and miles of sun-heated fens.</p> - -<p>The grass of his own lawn and the leaves of the trees -that overshadowed it breathed the peculiar sweetness—a -sweetness unlike anything else in the world—of -the first hot days of the year in certain old East Anglian -gardens. Whether it is the presence of the sea which -endows these places with so rare a quality or the mere -existence of reserve and austere withholding in the ways -of the seasons there, it were hard to say, but the fact -remains that there are gardens in Norfolk and Suffolk—and -to Hamish Traherne’s flower-beds in spite of the -modesty of their appeal, may well be conceded something -of this charm—which surpass all others in the -British Isles in the evocation of wistful and penetrating -beauty.</p> - -<p>The priest had just lit his cigarette and was sipping<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> -his tea when he was startled by the sudden appearance -of Nance Herrick, white and desperate and panting for -breath.</p> - -<p>“I had to come to you,” she gasped, refusing his -proffered chair and sinking down on the grass. “I had -to! I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t -stop in that house. I saw him last night. He was -walking with <em>her</em> near the harbour. I spoke to them. -I was quiet—not angry or bitter at all and he let her -insult me. He let her whip me with her tongue, -wickedly, cruelly and yet so under cover, so sideways—you -know the kind of thing, Hamish?—that I couldn’t -answer. If I’d been alone with her I could have, but his -being there made me stupid, miserable, foolish! And -she took advantage of it. She said—oh, such mean, -biting things! I can’t say them to you. I hate to -think of them. They went right through me like a steel -lash. And he stood there and did nothing. He was -like a man in a trance. He stood there and let her do -it. Hamish—Hamish—I wish I were at the bottom -of the sea!”</p> - -<p>She bowed her white, grief-distorted face until it -was buried in the grass. The sun, playing on her -bright hair, made it look like newly-minted gold. Mr. -Traherne sank on his knees beside her. His ugliness, -intensified by the agitation of his pity, reached a pitch -that was almost sublime. He was like a gargoyle consoling -a goddess.</p> - -<p>“Child, child, listen to me!” he cried, his husky grating -voice flinging itself upon the silence of her misery -like a load of rubble upon a marble pavement.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> -<p>“There are moments in our life when no words, however -tender, however wise, can do any good. The only -way—child, it is so—it is so!—the only way is to -find in love itself the thing that can heal. For love <em>can</em> -do this, I know it, I have proved it.”</p> - -<p>He raised one of his arms with a queer, spasmodic -gesture and let it drop as suddenly as he had raised -it.</p> - -<p>“Love rejoices to bear everything,” he went on. -“It forgives and forgives again. It serves its beloved -night and day, unseen and unfelt, it draws strength -from suffering. When the blows of fate strike it, it -sinks into its own heart and rises stronger than fate. -When the passing hour’s cruel to it, it sinks away -within, below the passing of every possible hour, beyond -the hurt of every conceivable stroke. Love does not -ask anything. It does not ask to be recognized. It is -its own return, its own recognition. Listen to me, -child! If what I’m saying to you is not true, if love is -not like this, then the whole world is dust and ashes and -‘earth’s base built on stubble’!”</p> - -<p>His harsh voice died away on the air and for a little -while there was no sound in that garden except the twitter -of birds, the hum of insects, and the murmur of the -sea. Then she moved, raised herself from the ground -and rubbed her face with her hands.</p> - -<p>“Thank you, Hamish,” she said.</p> - -<p>He got up from his knees and she rose too and they -walked slowly together up and down the little grass -plot. His harsh voice, harsher than ever when its pitch -was modulated, rose and fell monotonously in the sunny -air.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p> -<p>“I don’t say to you, Nance, that you shouldn’t expect -the worst. I think we always should expect that -and prepare to meet it. What I say is that in the very -power of the love you feel there is a strength capable of -sustaining you through your whole life, whatever happens. -And it is out of this very strength—a strength -stronger than all the world, my dear—than all the -world!—that you’ll be able to give your Adrian what -he needs. He needs your love, little one, not your -jealousy, nor your self-pity, nor your anger. God -knows how much he needs it! And if you sink down -into your heart and draw upon that and wait for him -and pray for him and endure for him you will see how, -in the end, he’ll come back to you! No—I won’t even -say that. For in this world he may never realize whose -devotion is sustaining him. I’ll say, whether he comes -back or not, you’ll have been his only true love and he’ll -know it, child, in this world or another, he’ll know you -for what you are!”</p> - -<p>The sweet, impossible doctrine, older than the centuries, -older than Plato, of the supremacy of spiritual -passion had never—certainly not in that monastic -garden—found a more eloquent apologist. As she -listened to his words and her glance lingered upon a certain -deeply blue border of larkspurs, which, as they -paced up and down mingled with the impression he made -upon her, Nance felt that a crisis had indeed arrived in -her life—had arrived and gone—the effect of which -could never, whatever happened, altogether disappear. -She was still unutterably sad. Her new mood brought -no superficial comfort. But her sadness had nothing in -it now of bitterness or desperation. She entered, at -any rate for that hour, into the company of those who -resolutely put life’s sweetness away from them and find -in the accepted pressure of its sharp sword-point a -pride which is its own reward.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> - -<p>This mood of hers still lasted on, when, some hours -later, she found herself in the main street of the little -town, staring with a half-humorous smile at the reflection -of herself in the bow-window of the pastry-cook’s. -She had just emerged from the shop adjoining -this one, a place where she had definitely committed herself -to accept the post of “forewoman” in the superintendence -of half a dozen young girls who worked in the -leisurely establishment of Miss Pontifex, “the only official -dressmaker,” as the advertisement announced, -“on that side of Mundham.”</p> - -<p>She felt unspeakably relieved at having made this -plunge. She had begun to weary of idleness—idleness -rendered more bitter by the misery of her relations with -Sorio—and the independence guaranteed by the -eighteen shillings a week which Miss Pontifex was to pay -her seemed like an oasis of solid assurance in a desert -of ambiguities. She cared nothing for social prestige. -In that sense she was a true daughter of her father, the -most “democratic” officer in the British Navy. What -gave her a profound satisfaction in the midst of her -unhappiness was the thought that now, without leaving -Rodmoor, she could, if Rachel’s jealousy or whatever -it was, became intolerable, secure some small, separate -lodging for herself and her sister.</p> - -<p>Linda even, now her organ-playing had advanced so -far, might possibly be able to earn something. There -were perhaps churches in Mundham willing to pay for -such assistance if the difficulty of getting over there on -Sundays when the trains were few, could in some way -be surmounted. At any rate, she felt, she had made a -move in the right direction. For the present, living at -Dyke House, she would be able to save every penny Miss<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> -Pontifex gave her, and the sense of even this relative -independence would strengthen her hand and afford -her a sort of vantage-ground whatever happened -in the future.</p> - -<p>She was still standing in front of the confectioner’s -window when she heard a well-known voice behind her -and, turning quickly round, found herself face to face -with Fingal Raughty. The Doctor looked at her with -tender solicitude.</p> - -<p>“Feeling the heat?” he said, retaining her fingers in -his own and stroking them as one might stroke the petals -of a rare orchid.</p> - -<p>She smiled affectionately into his eyes and thought -how strange an irony it was that every one, except the -person she cared most for, should treat her thus considerately.</p> - -<p>“Come,” the Doctor said, “now I’ve got you I’m not -going to let you go. You must see my rooms! You -promised you would, you know.”</p> - -<p>She hadn’t the heart to refuse him and together they -walked up the street till they came to the tiny red-brick -house which the Doctor shared with the family of a -Mundham bank-clerk. He opened the door and led her -upstairs.</p> - -<p>“All this floor is mine,” he explained. “There’s -where I see my patients, and here,” he led her into the -room looking out on the street, “here’s my study.”</p> - -<p>Nance was for the moment inclined to smile at the -use of the word “study” as applied to any room in -Rodmoor High Street, but when she looked round at -walls literally lined with books and at tables and chairs -covered with books, some of them obviously rare and -valuable, she felt she had not quite done justice to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> -Doctor’s taste. He fluttered round her now with a hundred -delicate attentions, made her remove her hat and -gloves and finally placed her in a large comfortable armchair -close to the open window. He pulled one of the -green blinds down a little way to soften the stream of -sunshine and, rushing to his book-case, snatched at a -large thin volume which stood with others of the same -kind on the lowest shelf. This he dusted carefully with -his sleeve and laid gently upon her lap.</p> - -<p>“I think you’ll like it,” he murmured. “It’s of no -value as an edition, but it’s in his best style. I suppose -Miss Doorm has all the old masters up at Dyke House -bound in morocco and vellum? Or has she only county -histories and maps?”</p> - -<p>While his visitor turned over the pages of the work -in question, her golden head bent low and her lips -smiling, the doctor began piling up more books, one on -the top of another, at her side.</p> - -<p>“Apuleius!—he’s a strange old fellow, not without -interest, but you know him, of course? Petronius Arbiter! -you had better not read the text but the illustrations -may amuse you. William Blake! There are -some drawings here which have a certain resemblance -to—to one or two people we know! Bewick! Oh, -you’ll enjoy this, if you don’t know it. I’ve got the -other volume, too. You mustn’t look at <em>all</em> the -vignettes but some of them will please you.”</p> - -<p>“But—Fingal—” the girl protested, lifting her -head from Pope’s Rape of the Lock illustrated by Aubrey -Beardsley—“what are <em>you</em> going to do? I feel -as if you were preparing me for a voyage. I’d sooner -talk to you than look at any books.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll be back in a moment,” he said, throwing at her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> -a nervous and rather harassed look, “I must wash my -hands.”</p> - -<p>He hurried precipitously from the room and Nance, -lifting her eyebrows and shrugging her shoulders, returned -to the “Rape of the Lock.”</p> - -<p>The doctor’s bathroom was situated, it appeared, in -the immediate vicinity of the study. Nance was conscious -of the turning of what sounded like innumerable -taps and of a rush of mighty waters.</p> - -<p>“Is the dear man going to have a bath?” she said to -herself, glancing at the clock on the chimney-piece. If -her conjecture was right, Dr. Raughty took a long -while getting ready for his singularly timed ablution for -she heard him running backwards and forwards in the -bathroom like a mouse in a cage. She uttered a little -sigh and, laying the “Rape of the Lock” on the top -of “Bewick,” looked wearily out of the window, her -thoughts returning to Sorio and the event of the preceding -evening.</p> - -<p>Quite ten minutes elapsed before her host returned. -He returned in radiant spirits but all that was visible -to the eye as the result of his prolonged toilet was a -certain smoothness in the lock of hair which fell across -his forehead and a certain heightening of the colour of -his cheeks. This latter change was obviously produced -by vigorous rubbing, not by the application of any -cosmetic.</p> - -<p>He drew a chair close to her side and ignored with -infinite kindness the fact that his pile of books lay untouched -where he had placed them.</p> - -<p>“Your neck is just like a column of white marble,” -he said. “Are your arms the same—I mean are they -as white—under this?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p> - -<p>Very gently and using his hands as if they belonged -to someone else, he began rolling up the sleeve of her -summer frock. Nance was sufficiently young to be -pleased at his admiration and sufficiently experienced -not to be shocked at his audacity. She let him turn the -sleeve quite far back and smiled sadly to herself as she -saw how admirably its freshly starched material showed -off the delicacy and softness of the arm thus displayed. -She was not even surprised or annoyed when she found -that the Doctor, having touched several times with the -tips of his fingers the curve of her elbow, possessed himself -of her hand and tenderly retained it. She continued -to look wistfully and dreamily out of the window, -her lips smiling but her heart weary, thinking once more -what an ironic and bitter commentary it was on the -little ways of the world that amorousness of this sort—gentle -and delicate though it might be—was all that -was offered her in place of what she was losing.</p> - -<p>“You ought to be running barefooted and full of -excellent joy,” the voice of Dr. Raughty murmured, -“along the sands to-day. You ought to be paddling in -the sea with your skirts pinned round your waist! -Why don’t you let me take you down there?”</p> - -<p>She shook her head, turning her face towards him and -releasing her fingers.</p> - -<p>“I must get back now,” she remarked, looking him -straight in the eyes, “so please give me my things.”</p> - -<p>He meekly obeyed her and she put on her hat and -gloves. As they were going downstairs, she in front of -him, Nance had a remote consciousness that Dr. -Raughty murmured something in which she caught -Adrian’s name. She let this pass, however, and gave -him her hand gratefully as he opened the door for her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Mayn’t I even see you home?” he asked.</p> - -<p>Once more she shook her head. She felt that her -nerves, just then, had had enough of playful tenderness.</p> - -<p>“Good-bye!” she cried, leaving him on his threshold.</p> - -<p>She cast a wistful glance at Baltazar’s cottage as she -crossed the green.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Adrian, Adrian,” she moaned, “I’d sooner be -beaten by you than loved by all the rest of the world!”</p> - -<p>It was with a slow and heavy step that Dr. Raughty -ascended his little staircase after he had watched her -disappear. Entering his room he approached the pile -of books left beside her chair and began transporting -them, one by one, to their places in the shelves.</p> - -<p>“A sweet creature,” he murmured to himself as he -did this, “a sweet creature! May ten thousand cartloads -of hornified devils carry that damned Sorio into -the pit of Hell!”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_X">X<br /> -<span class="smaller">LOW TIDE</span></h2> - -<p>Nance was so absorbed, for several days after -this, in making her final arrangements with -the dressmaker and getting into touch with -the work required of her that she was able to keep her -nerves in quite reasonable control. She met Sorio -more than once during this time and was more successful -than she had dared to hope in the effort of suppressing -her jealous passion. Her feelings did not remain, -she admitted that to herself sadly enough, on the -sublime platonic level indicated by Mr. Traherne, but -as long as she made no overt reference to Philippa nor -allowed her intercourse with her friend to be poisoned -by her wounded pride, she felt she had not departed -far from the priest’s high doctrine.</p> - -<p>It was from Sorio himself, however, that she learned -at last of a new and alarming turn of events, calculated -to upset all her plans. This was nothing less than that -her fatal presentiment in the churchyard had fulfilled -itself and that Brand and Linda were secretly meeting. -Sorio seemed surprised at the tragic way she received -this news and she was equally indignant at his equanimity -over it. The thing that made it worse to her was -her deep-rooted suspicion that Rachel Doorm was implicated. -Adrian laughed when she spoke of this.</p> - -<p>“What did you expect?” he said. “Your charming -friend’s an old crony of the Renshaws and nothing -would please her better than to see Linda in trouble.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> -She probably arranges their meetings for them. She -has the look of a person who’d do that.”</p> - -<p>They were walking together along the Mundham road -when this conversation took place. It was then about -three o’clock and Nance remembered with a sudden -sinking of her heart how cheerfully both of her companions -had encouraged her to make this particular -excursion. She was to walk with Sorio to Mundham -and return late in the evening by train.</p> - -<p>“I shall go back,” she cried, standing still and looking -at him with wild eyes. “This is too horrible! -They must have plotted for me to be out of the way. -How could Linda do it? But she’s no more idea than a -little bird in the hedge what danger she’s in.”</p> - -<p>Sorio shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p>“You can’t go back now,” he protested. “We’re -more than two miles away from the bridge. Besides, -what’s the use? You can’t do anything. You can’t -stop it.”</p> - -<p>Nance looked at him with flashing eyes.</p> - -<p>“I don’t understand what you mean, Adrian. She’s -in danger. Linda’s in danger. Of course I shall go. -I’m not afraid of Brand.”</p> - -<p>She glanced across the wide expanse of fens. On -the southern side of the road, as she looked back, the -park trees of Oakguard stood out against the sky and -nearer, on the northern side, the gables of Dyke House -itself rose above the bank of the river.</p> - -<p>“Oh, my dear, my dear,” she cried distractedly, “I -must get back to them! I must! I must! Look—there’s -our house! You can see its roof! There’s -some way—surely—without going right back to the -bridge? There <em>must</em> be some way.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p> - -<p>She dragged him to the side of the road. A deep -black ditch, bordered by reeds, intersected the meadow -and beyond this was the Loon. A small wooden enclosure, -isolated and forlorn, lay just inside the field -and from within its barrier an enormous drab-coloured -sow surveyed them disconsolately, uttering a lamentable -squeal and resting its front feet upon the lower -bar of its prison, while its great, many-nippled belly -swung under it, plain to their view. Their presence -as they stood in a low gap of the hedge tantalized the -sow and it uttered more and more discordant sounds. -It was like an angry impersonation of fecundity, mocking -Nance’s agitation.</p> - -<p>“Nothing short of wading up to your waist,” said -Sorio, surveying the scene, “would get you across that -ditch, and nothing short of swimming would get you -over the river.”</p> - -<p>Angry tears came into Nance’s eyes. “I would do -it,” she gasped, “I would do it if I were a man.”</p> - -<p>Sorio made a humorous grimace and nodded in the -direction of the sow.</p> - -<p>“What’s your opinion about it—eh, my beauty?”</p> - -<p>At that moment there came the sound of a trotting -horse.</p> - -<p>“Here’s something,” he added, “that may help you -if you’re bent on going.”</p> - -<p>They returned to the road and the vehicle soon approached, -showing itself, as it came near, to be the -little pony-cart of Dr. Raughty. The Doctor proved, -as may be imagined, more than willing to give Nance -a lift. She declared she was tired but wouldn’t ask -him to take her further than the village.</p> - -<p>“I’ll take you wherever you wish,” said Fingal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> -Raughty, giving a nervous little cough and scrambling -down to help her in.</p> - -<p>“Ah! I forgot! Excuse me one minute. Hold the -pony, please. I promised to get some water-mint for -Mrs. Sodderly.”</p> - -<p>He ran hurriedly into the field and Nance, sitting in -the cart, looked helplessly at Sorio who, making a gesture -as if all the world had gone mad, proceeded to -stroke the pony’s forehead. They waited patiently and -the Doctor let them wait. They could see him through -the gap in the hedge running hither and thither and -every now and then stooping down and fumbling in the -grass. He seemed entirely oblivious of their discomfort.</p> - -<p>“This water-mint business,” muttered Sorio, “is -worse than the shrew-mouse hunt. I suppose he collects -groundsel and feverfew for all the old women in -Rodmoor.”</p> - -<p>Nance soon reached the limit of her patience. “Dr. -Raughty!” she cried, and then in feminine desperation, -“Fingal! Fingal!” she shouted.</p> - -<p>The Doctor came hurrying back at that and to -Sorio’s astonishment it appeared he had secured his -desired plants. As he clambered up into the little cart -a delicious aromatic fragrance diffused itself around -Nance.</p> - -<p>“I’ve found them all right,” he said. “They’re under -my hat. Sorry I’ve only got room for one of you. -Get on, Elizabeth!”</p> - -<p>They drove off, Sorio making a final, Pilate-like gesture -of complete irresponsibility.</p> - -<p>“A noble creature—that sow,” the Doctor observed, -glancing nervously at his companion, “a noble,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> -beautiful animal! I expect it likes to feed on watermelons -as well as any one. Did you observe its eye? -Like a small yellow daisy! A beautiful eye, but with -something wicked in it—didn’t you think so?—something -menacing and malicious.”</p> - -<p>Nance compelled herself to smile at this sally but her -hands itched to snatch the whip and hasten the pony’s -speed. They arrived at last at the New Bridge and -Nance wondered whether the Doctor would be really -amenable to her wishes or whether he would press her -to visit his study again. But he drove on without -a word, over the Loon, and westward again on the -further side of it straight in the direction of Dyke -House.</p> - -<p>As they drew near the place Nance’s heart began to -beat furiously and she cast about in her mind for some -excuse to prevent her companion taking her any further. -He seemed to read her thoughts for, with almost -supernatural tact, he drew up when they were within a -few hundred yards of the garden gate.</p> - -<p>“I won’t come in if you don’t mind,” he said. “I -have several patients to see before supper and I want -to take Mrs. Sodderly her water-mint.”</p> - -<p>Nance jumped quickly out of the cart and thanked -him profusely.</p> - -<p>“You’re looking dreadfully white,” he remarked, as -he bade her good-bye. “Oh, wait a moment, I must -give you a few of these.”</p> - -<p>He carefully removed his hat and once more the aromatic -odour spread itself on the air.</p> - -<p>“There!” he said, handing her two or three damp-rooted -stems with purplish-green leaves. She took -them mechanically and was still holding them in her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> -hands when she arrived with pale lips and drawn, white -face, at the entrance to the Doorm dwelling.</p> - -<p>All was quiet in the garden and not a sound of any -living thing issued from the house. With miserable -uncertainty she advanced to the door, catching sight, -as she did so, of her own garden tools left lying on the -weedy border and some newly planted and now sadly -drooping verbenas fading by their side. She blamed -herself even at that moment for having, in her excitement -at going to meet Sorio, forgotten to water these -things. She resolved—at the back of her mind—that -she would pull up every weed in the place before -she had done with it.</p> - -<p>Never before had she realized the peculiar desolation -of Dyke House. With its closed windows and smokeless -chimneys it looked as if it might have been deserted -for a hundred years. She entered and standing in the -empty hall listened intently. Not a sound! Except -for a remote ticking and the buzzing of a blue bottle fly -in the parlour windows, all was hushed as the inside -of a tomb. There came over her as she stood there -an indescribable sense of loneliness. She felt as though -all the inhabitants of the earth had been annihilated -and she only left—she and the brainless ticking of -clocks in forsaken houses.</p> - -<p>She ran hurriedly up the staircase and entered the -room she shared with Linda. The child’s neatly made -little bed with the embroidered night-dress cover lying -on the pillow, struck her with a passion of maternal -feeling.</p> - -<p>“My darling! My darling!” she cried aloud. -“It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault!”</p> - -<p>She moved to the window and looked out. In a moment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> -her hands clasped tightly the wooden sash and -she leaned forward with motionless intensity. The uninterrupted -expanse of that level landscape lent itself -to her quick vision. She made out, clearly and instantaneously, -a situation that set her trembling from -head to foot. In one rapid moment she took it in and -in another moment she was prepared for swift action.</p> - -<p>Moored on the further side of the river was a small -boat and in the boat, sitting with his forehead bowed -upon his hands, was Brand Renshaw. His head was -bare and the afternoon sun shining upon it made it -look red as blood. On the further side of the Mundham -road—the very road she had so recently traversed—she -could see the figure of a girl, unmistakably her -sister—advancing quickly and furtively towards the -shelter of a thin line of pine trees, the most western -extremity of the Oakguard woods. The man in the -boat could see nothing of this. Even if he rose to his -feet he could see nothing. The river bank was too -high. For the same reason the girl crossing the fields -could see nothing of the man in the boat. Nance alone, -from her position at the window, was in complete command -of both of them. She drew back a little into the -room lest by chance Brand should look up and catch -sight of her. What a fortunate thing she had entered -so quietly! They were taking every precaution, these -two! The man was evidently intending to remain where -he was till the girl was well concealed among the trees. -Rachel Doorm, it seemed, had taken herself off to leave -them to their own devices but it was clear that Brand -preferred an assignation in his own park to risking an -entrance to Dyke House in the absence of its mistress. -For that, at any rate, Nance was devoutly thankful.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> -Watching Linda’s movements until she saw her disappear -beneath the pines, Nance hurried down the -stairs and out into the garden. She realized clearly -what she had to do. She had to make her way to her -sister before Brand got wind she was there at all.</p> - -<p>She knew enough of the Renshaw family to know that -if she were to call out to him across the river he would -simply laugh at her. On the other hand if he got the -least idea she were so near he would anticipate events -and hasten off at once to Linda.</p> - -<p>But how on earth could she herself reach the girl? -The Loon flowed mercilessly between them. One thing -she had not failed to remark as she looked at Brand in -his little sea boat and that was that the tide was now -running very low. Sorio had been either mistaken or -treacherous when he assured her it was at its height. -It must have been falling even then.</p> - -<p>She let herself noiselessly out of the gate and stood -for a moment contemplating the river bank. No, -Brand could not possibly see her. Without further -hesitation she left the path and moved cautiously, -ankle-deep in grass, to where the Loon made a sharp -turn to the left. She had a momentary panic as she -crawled on hands and knees up the embankment. No, -even here, as long as she did not stand upright, she was -invisible from the boat. Descending on the further -side she slipped down to the brink of the river. The -Loon was low indeed. Only a narrow strip of rapidly -moving water flowed in the centre of the channel. On -either side, glittering in the sun, sloped slimy banks of -mud.</p> - -<p>Her face was flushed now and through her parted -lips the breath came heavily, in excited gasps.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Linda—little Linda!” she murmured, “it’s my -fault—all my fault!”</p> - -<p>With one nervous look at the river she sank down on -the sun-baked mud and took off her shoes and stockings. -Then, thrusting the stockings inside the shoes -and tying the laces of these latter together, she pulled -up her skirts and secured them round her waist. As -she did this she peered apprehensively round her. But -she was quite alone and with another shuddering glance -at the tide she picked up her shoes and began advancing -into the slippery mud. She staggered a little at first -and her feet sank deep into the slime but as soon as she -was actually in the water she walked more easily, feeling -a surer footing. The Loon swirled by her, sending -a chill of cold through her bare white limbs. The -water was soon high above her knees and she was hardly -a quarter of the way across! Her heart beat miserably -now and the flush died from her cheeks. It came across -her mind like an ice-cold hand upon her throat, how -dreadful it would be to be swept off her feet and carried -down that tide—down to the Rodmoor harbour and -out to sea—dead and tangled in weeds—with wide-open -staring eyes and the water pouring in and out -of her mouth. Nothing short of her desperate maternal -instinct, intensified to frenzy by the thought -that she was responsible for Linda’s danger, could have -impelled her to press on. The tide was up to her waist -now and all her clothes were drenched but still she had -not reached the middle of the current.</p> - -<p>It was when, taking a step further, she sank as deep -as her arm-pits, that she wavered in earnest and a terrible -temptation took her to turn and give it up.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps, after all,” she thought, “Brand has no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> -evil intentions. Perhaps—who can tell?—he is genuinely -in love with her.”</p> - -<p>But even as she hesitated, looking with white face -up and down the swirling stream, she knew that this -reasoning was treacherous. She had heard nothing -but evil of Brand’s ways with women ever since she came -to Rodmoor. And why should he treat her sister better -than the rest?</p> - -<p>Suddenly, without any effort of her own, she seemed -to visualize with extraordinary clearness a certain look -with which, long ago, when she was quite a child, Linda -had appealed to her for protection. A passion of maternal -remorse made her heart suddenly strong and -she plunged recklessly forward. For one moment she -lost her footing and in the struggle to recover herself -the tide swept over her shoulders. But that was the -worst. After that she waded steadily forward till she -reached the further side.</p> - -<p>Dripping from head to foot she pulled on her shoes, -wrung as much of the water as she could out of her -drenched skirts and shook them down over her knees. -Then she scrambled up the bank, glanced round to make -certain she was still unseen and set off through the fields. -She could not help smiling to herself when she reached -the Mundham high-road and fled quickly across it to -think how amazed Sorio would have been had he seen -her just then! But neither Sorio nor any one else -was in sight and leaving behind her the trail of wet -shoes in the hot road dust, she ran, more rapidly than -ever, towards the group of ancient and dark-stemmed -pines, into the shadow of which she had seen her sister -vanish.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XI">XI<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE SISTERS</span></h2> - -<p>Linda was so astounded that she could hardly -repress a scream when, as she sat with her back -against a tree on a carpet of pine-needles, -Nance suddenly appeared before her breathless with -running. It was some moments before the elder girl -could recover her speech. She seized her sister by the -shoulders and held her at arms’ length, looking wildly -into her face and panting as she struggled to find words. -“I waded,” she gasped, “across the Loon—to get to -you. Oh, Linda! Oh, Linda!”</p> - -<p>A deep flush appeared in the younger sister’s cheeks -and spread itself over her neck. She gazed at Nance -with great terrified eyes.</p> - -<p>“Across the river—” she began, and let the words -die away on her lips as she realized what this meant.</p> - -<p>“But you’re wet through—wet through!” she cried. -“Here! You must wear something of mine.”</p> - -<p>With trembling fingers she loosened her own dress, -hurriedly slipped out of her skirt, flung it aside and -began to fumble at Nance’s garments. With little -cries of horror as she found how completely drenched -her sister was, she pulled her into the deeper shadow of -the trees and forced her to take off everything.</p> - -<p>“How beautiful you look, my dear,” she cried, -searching as a child might have done for any excuse to -delay the impending judgment. Nance, even in the reaction<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> -from her anxiety, could not be quite indifferent -to the naïveté of this appeal and she found herself actually -laughing presently as with her arms stretched -high above her head and her fingers clinging to a -resinous pine branch, she let her sister chafe her body -back to warmth.</p> - -<p>“Look! I’ll finish you off with ferns!” cried the -younger girl, and plucking a handful of new-grown -bracken she began rubbing her vigorously with its sweet-scented -fronds.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you do look lovely!” she cried once more, surveying -her from head to foot. “<em>Do</em> let me take down -your hair! You’d look like—oh, I don’t know what!”</p> - -<p>“I wish Adrian could see you,” she added. This -last remark was a most unlucky blunder on Linda’s -part. It had two unfortunate effects. It brought -back to Nance’s mind her own deep-rooted trouble and -it restored all her recent dread as to her sister’s destiny.</p> - -<p>“Give me something to put on,” she said sharply. -“We must be getting away from here.”</p> - -<p>Linda promptly stripped herself of yet more garments -and after a friendly contest as to which of them -should wear the dry skirt they were ready to emerge -from their hiding-place. Nance fancied that all her -difficulties for that day were over. She was never more -mistaken.</p> - -<p>They had advanced about half a mile towards the -park, keeping tacitly within the shadow of the pines -when suddenly Linda, who was carrying her sister’s -wet clothes, dropped the bundle with a quick cry and -stood, stone-still, gazing across the fields. Nance -looked in the direction of her gaze and understood in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> -a moment what was the matter. There, walking hastily -towards the spot they had recently quitted—was the -figure of a man.</p> - -<p>Evidently this was the appointed hour and Brand -was keeping his tryst. Nance seized her sister’s hand -and pulled her back into the shadow. Linda’s eyes had -grown large and bright. She struggled to release herself.</p> - -<p>“What are you doing, Nance?” she cried. “Let -me go! Don’t you see he wants me?”</p> - -<p>The elder sister’s grasp tightened.</p> - -<p>“My dear, my dear,” she pleaded, “this is madness! -Linda, Linda, my darling, listen to me. I can’t let you -go on with this. You’ve no idea what it means. -You’ve no idea what sort of a man that is.”</p> - -<p>The young girl only struggled the more violently to -free herself. She was like a thing possessed. Her -eyes glittered and her lips trembled. A deep red spot -appeared on each of her cheeks.</p> - -<p>“Linda, child! My own Linda!” cried Nance, desperately -snatching at the girl’s other wrist and leaning -back, panting against the trunk of a pine.</p> - -<p>“What has come to you? I don’t know you like -this. I can’t, I can’t let you go.”</p> - -<p>“He wants me,” the girl repeated, still making frantic -efforts to release herself. “I tell you he wants me! -He’ll hate me if I don’t go to him.”</p> - -<p>Her fragile arms seemed endowed with supernatural -strength. She wrenched one wrist free and tore desperately -at the hand that held the other.</p> - -<p>“Linda! Linda!” her sister wailed, “are you out -of your mind?”</p> - -<p>The unhappy child actually succeeded at last in freeing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> -herself and sprang away towards the open. Nance -flung herself after her and, seizing her in her arms, half-dragged -her, half-carried her, back to where the trees -grew thick. But even there the struggle continued. -The girl kept gasping out, “He loves me, I tell you! -He loves me!” and with every repetition of this cry -she fought fiercely to extricate herself from the other’s -embrace. While this went on the wind, which had been -gusty all the afternoon, began to increase in violence, -blowing from the north and making the branches of the -pines creak and mutter over their heads. A heavy -bank of clouds covered the sun and the air grew colder. -Nance felt her strength weakening. Was fate indeed -going to compel her to give up, after all she had endured?</p> - -<p>She twined her arms round her sister’s body and the -two girls swayed back and forwards over the dry, sweet-scented -pine-needles. Their scantily-clothed limbs were -locked tightly together and, as they struggled, their -breasts heaved and their hearts beat in desperate reciprocity.</p> - -<p>“Let me go! I hate you! I hate you!” gasped -Linda, and at that moment, stumbling over a moss-covered -root, they fell together on the ground.</p> - -<p>The shock of the fall and the strain of the struggle -threw the younger girl into something like a fit of -hysteria. She began screaming and Nance, fearful -lest the sound should reach Brand’s ears, put her hand -over the child’s mouth. The precaution was unnecessary. -The wind had increased now to such a pitch -that through the moaning branches and rustling foliage -nothing could be heard outside the limits of the wood.</p> - -<p>“I hate you! I hate you!” shrieked Linda, biting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> -in her frenzy at the hand which was pressed against her -mouth. Nance’s nerves had reached the breaking point.</p> - -<p>“Won’t you help me, God?” she cried out.</p> - -<p>Suddenly Linda’s violence subsided. Two or three -shuddering spasms passed through her body and her -lips turned white. Nance released her hold and rose -to her feet. The child’s head fell back upon the ground -and her eyes closed. Nance watched her with fearful -apprehension. Had she hurt her heart in their struggle? -Was she dying? But the girl did not even lose -consciousness. She remained perfectly still for several -minutes and then, opening her eyes, threw upon her sister -a look of tragic reproach.</p> - -<p>“You’ve won,” she whispered faintly. “You’re too -strong for me. But I’ll never forgive you for this—never—never—never!”</p> - -<p>Once more she closed her eyes and lay still. Nance, -kneeling by her side, tried to take one of her hands -but the girl drew it away.</p> - -<p>“Yes, you’ve won,” she repeated, fixing upon her sister’s -face a look of helpless hatred. “And shall I tell -you why you’ve done this? Shall I tell you why you’ve -stopped my going to him?” she went on, in a low exhausted -voice. “You’ve done it because you’re jealous -of me, because you can’t make Adrian love you as you -want, because Adrian’s got so fond of Philippa! You -can’t bear the idea of Brand loving me as he does—so -much more than Adrian loves you!”</p> - -<p>Nance stared at her aghast. “Oh, Linda, my little -Linda!” she whispered, “how can you say these terrible -things? My only thought, all the time, is for you.”</p> - -<p>Linda struggled feebly to her feet, refusing her sister’s -help.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I can walk,” she said, and then, with a bitterness -that seemed to poison the air between them, “you -needn’t be afraid of my escaping from you. He -wouldn’t like me now, you’ve hurt me and made me -ugly.”</p> - -<p>Nance picked up her bundle of mud-stained clothes. -The smell of the river which still clung to them gave -her a sense of nausea.</p> - -<p>“Come,” she said, “we’ll follow the park wall.”</p> - -<p>They moved off slowly together without further -speech and never did any hour, in either of their lives, -pass more miserably. As they came within sight of -Oakguard, Linda looked so white and exhausted that -Nance was on the point of taking her boldly in and -begging Mrs. Renshaw’s help, but somehow the thought -of meeting Philippa just at that moment was more than -she was able to endure, and they dragged on towards -the village.</p> - -<p>Emerging from the park gates and coming upon the -entrance to the green, Nance became aware that it -would be out of the question to make Linda walk any -further and, after a second’s hesitation, she led her -across the grass and under the sycamores to Baltazar’s -cottage.</p> - -<p>The door was opened by Mr. Stork himself. He -started back in astonishment at the sight of their two -figures pale and shivering in the wind. He led them -into his sitting-room and at once proceeded to light the -fire. He wrapped warm rugs round them both and -made them some tea. All this he did without asking -them any questions, treating the whole affair as if it -were a thing of quite natural occurrence. The warmth -of the fire and the pleasant taste of the epicure’s tea<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> -restored Nance, at any rate, to some degree of comfort. -She explained that they had walked too far and -that she had tried to cross the river to get help for her -sister. Linda said hardly anything but gazed despairingly -at the picture of the Ambassador’s secretary. -The young Venetian seemed to answer her look and -Baltazar, always avid of these occult sympathies, -watched this spiritual encounter with sly amusement. -He had wrapped an especially brilliant oriental rug -round the younger girl and the contrast between its -rich colours and the fragile beauty of the face above -them struck him very pleasantly.</p> - -<p>In his heart he shrewdly guessed that some trouble -connected with Brand was at the bottom of this and the -suspicion that she had been interfering with her sister’s -love affair did not diminish the prejudice he had already -begun to cherish against Nance. Stork was constitutionally -immune from susceptibility to feminine -charm and the natural little jests and gaieties -with which the poor girl tried to “carry off” a sufficiently -embarrassing situation only irritated him the -more.</p> - -<p>“Why must they always play their tricks and be -pretty and witty?” he thought. “Except when one -wants to make love to them they ought to sit still.” -And with a malicious desire to annoy Nance he began -making much of Linda, persuading her to lie down on -the sofa and wrapping an exquisite cashmere shawl -round her feet.</p> - -<p>To test the truth of his surmise as to the cause of -their predicament, he unexpectedly brought in Brand’s -name.</p> - -<p>“Our friend Adrian,” he remarked, “refuses to allow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> -that Mr. Renshaw’s a handsome man. What do -you ladies think about that?”</p> - -<p>His device met with instant success. Linda turned -crimson and Nance made a gesture as if to stop him.</p> - -<p>“Ha! Ha!” he laughed to himself, “so that’s how -the wind blows. Our little sister must be allowed no -kind of fun, though we ourselves may flirt with the -whole village.”</p> - -<p>He continued to pay innumerable attentions to Linda. -Professing that he wished to tell her fortune he drew -his chair to her side and began a long rigamarole about -heart lines and life lines and dark men and fair men. -Nance simply moved closer to the fire while this went -on and warmed her hands at its blaze.</p> - -<p>“I must ask him to fetch us a trap from the Inn,” -she thought. “I wish Adrian would come. I wonder -if he will, before we go.”</p> - -<p>Partly by reason of the fact that he had himself -arranged her drapery and partly because of a touch -of something in the child’s face which reminded him of -certain pictures of Pintericchio, Baltazar began to feel -tenderer towards Linda than he had done for years -towards any feminine creature. This amused him immensely -and he gave the tenuous emotion full rein. But -it irritated him that he couldn’t really vex his little -protégé’s sister.</p> - -<p>“I expect,” he said, replacing Linda’s white fingers -upon the scarlet rug, “I expect, Miss Herrick, you’re -beginning to feel the effects of our peculiar society. -Yes, that’s my Venetian boy, Flambard”—this was addressed -to Linda—“isn’t he delicious? Wouldn’t you -like to have him for a lover?—for Rodmoor is a rather -curious place. It’s a disintegrating place, you know,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> -a place where one loses one’s identity and forgets the -rules. Of course it suits <em>me</em> admirably because I never -consider rules, but you—I should think—must find -it somewhat disturbing? Fingal maintains there’s a -definite physiological cause for the way people behave -here. For we all behave very badly, you know, Miss -Herrick. He says it’s the effect of the North Sea. He -says all the old families that live by the North Sea get -queer in time,—take to drink, I mean, or something of -that sort. It’s an interesting idea, isn’t it? But I -suppose that sort of thing doesn’t appeal to you? You -take—what do you call it?—a more serious view of -life.”</p> - -<p>Nance turned round towards him wearily.</p> - -<p>“If Adrian doesn’t come in a minute or two,” she -thought, “I shall ask him to get a trap for us, or I -shall go to Dr. Raughty.”</p> - -<p>“It’s an odd thing,” Baltazar continued, lighting -a cigarette and walking up and down the room, “how -quickly I know whether people are serious or not. It -must be something in their faces. Linda, now”—he -looked caressingly at the figure on the sofa—“is obviously -never serious. She’s like me. I saw that in -her hand. She’s destined to go through life as I do, -playing on the surface like a dragon-fly on a pond.”</p> - -<p>The young girl answered his look with a soft but -rather puzzled smile, and once more he sat down by her -side and renewed his fortune-telling. His fingers, as he -held her hand, looked almost as slender as her own and -his face, as Nance saw it in profile, had a subtle delicacy -of outline that made her think of Philippa. There was, -to the mind of the elder girl, a refined inhumanity about -every gesture he made and every word he spoke which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> -filled her with aversion. The contours of his face were -exquisitely moulded and his round small head covered -with tight fair curls was supported on a neck as soft -and white as a woman’s; but his eyes, coloured like -some glaucous sea plant, were to the girl’s thinking -extraordinarily sinister. She could not help a swift -mental comparison between Baltazar’s attitude as he -leaned over Linda and that of Dr. Raughty when, -on various occasions, that honest man had made playful -love to herself. It was hard to define the difference -but, as she watched Baltazar she came to the conclusion -that there was a soul of genuine affectionateness in the -doctor’s amorous advances which made them harmless -as compared with this other’s.</p> - -<p>Linda, however, was evidently very pleased and flattered. -She lay with her head thrown back and a smile -of languid contentment. She did not even make an -attempt to draw away her hand when the fortune-telling -was over. Nance resolved that she would wait five minutes -more by their host’s elegant French time-piece and -then, if Adrian had not come, she would make Mr. Stork -fetch them a conveyance. It came over her that there -was something morbid and subtly unnatural about the -way Baltazar was treating Linda and yet she could -not put her finger upon what was wrong. She felt, -however, by a profound instinct, an instinct which she -could not analyse, that nothing that Brand Renshaw -could possibly do—even were he the unscrupulous seducer -she suspected him of being—could be as dangerous -for the peace of her sister’s mind as what she -was now undergoing. With Brand there was quite -simply a strong magnetic attraction, formidable and -overpowering, and that was all, but she trembled to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> -think what elements of complicated morbidity Baltazar’s -overtures were capable of arousing.</p> - -<p>“Look,” he said presently, “Flambard’s watching -us! I believe he’s jealous of me because of you, or of -you because of me. I don’t believe he’s ever seen any -one so near being his rival as you are! I think you -must have something in you that he understands. Perhaps -you’re a re-incarnation of one of his Venetians! -Don’t you think, Miss Herrick,” and he turned urbanely -to Nance, “she’s got something that suggests Venice -in her as she lies there—with that smile?”</p> - -<p>The languorous glance of secret triumph which Linda -at that moment threw upon her sister was more than -Nance could endure.</p> - -<p>“Do you mind getting us a trap of some sort at the -Admiral’s Head?” she said brusquely, rising from her -seat.</p> - -<p>Baltazar assented at once with courteous and even -effusive politeness and left the room. As soon as he -was gone, Nance moved to Linda’s side.</p> - -<p>“Little one,” she said, with trembling lips, “I seem -not to know you to-day. You’re not my Linda at all.”</p> - -<p>The child’s face stiffened spasmodically and her whole -expression hardened. She fixed her gaze on the ambiguous -Flambard and made no answer.</p> - -<p>“Linda, darling—I’m only thinking all the time of -you,” pleaded Nance, putting out her hand.</p> - -<p>A gleam of positive hatred illuminated the child’s -eyes. She suddenly snatched at the proffered hand -and surveyed it vindictively.</p> - -<p>“I can see where I bit you just now. I’m glad I -did!” she cried, and once more she set herself to stare -at Flambard.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p> - -<p>Nance went over to the fireplace and sat down. But -something seemed to impel Linda to strike her again.</p> - -<p>“You thought you were going to have every one in -Rodmoor to yourself, didn’t you?” she said. “You -thought you’d have Adrian and Dr. Raughty and Mr. -Traherne and everybody. You never thought any one -would begin liking me!”</p> - -<p>Nance looked at her in sheer terrified astonishment. -Certainly the influence of Baltazar was making itself -felt.</p> - -<p>“You brought me here,” Linda went on. “I didn’t -want to come and <em>you knew I didn’t</em>. Now—as <em>he</em> -says, we must make the best of it.”</p> - -<p>The phrase “and you knew I didn’t” went through -Nance’s heart like a poisoned dagger. Yes, she had -known! She had tried to put the thing far from her—to -throw the responsibility for it upon her reluctance -to hurt Rachel. But she had known. And now her -punishment was beginning. She bowed her head upon -her hands and covered her face.</p> - -<p>“You came,” the girl’s voice went on, “because you -hated leaving Adrian. But Adrian doesn’t want you -any more now. He wants Philippa. Do you know, -Nance, I believe he’d marry Philippa, if he could—if -Brand would let him!”</p> - -<p>The hands that hid Nance’s face trembled. She -longed to run away and sob her heart out. She had -thought she was at the bottom of all possible misery. -She had never expected this. Linda, as if drawing -inspiration for the suffering she inflicted, continued to -look Flambard in the eyes.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p> -<p>“Brand told me Philippa meets Adrian every night -in the park. He said he spied on them once and found -them kissing each other. He said they were leaning -against one of the oak trees and Adrian bent her head -back against the trunk and kissed her like that. He -showed me just how he did it. And he made me laugh -like anything afterwards by something else he said. -But I don’t think I’ll tell you that—unless you want -to hear very much—Do you want to hear?”</p> - -<p>Nance, at this moment, lifted up her head. She had -a look in her eyes that nothing except the inexhaustible -pitilessness of a woman thwarted in her passion could -have endured without being melted.</p> - -<p>“Are you trying to kill me, Linda?” she murmured.</p> - -<p>Her sister gave her one quick glance and looked -away again at Flambard. She remained silent after -that, while the French clock ticked out the seconds -with a jocular malignity.</p> - -<p>The wind, rising steadily, swept large drops of rain -against the window and the noise of the waves which it -brought with it sounded louder and clearer than before -as if the sea itself had advanced several leagues across -the land since first they entered the house.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XII">XII<br /> -<span class="smaller">HAMISH TRAHERNE</span></h2> - -<p>Nance said nothing to Rachel Doorm on the -night they returned, driven home by the landlord -of the Admiral’s Head. What Rachel -feared, or what she imagined, as the sisters entered the -house in their thin attire carrying the bundle of -drenched clothes, it was impossible to surmise. She -occupied herself with lighting a fire in their room and -while they undressed she brought them up their supper -with her own hands. It was a wretched night for -both of the sisters and few were the words exchanged -between them as they ate their meal. Once in bed and -the light extinguished, it was Nance, in spite of all, who -fell asleep first. “The pangs of despised love” have -not the same corrosive poison as the sting of passion -embittered by rancour.</p> - -<p>Nance was up early and took her breakfast alone. -She felt an irresistible need to see Mr. Traherne. She -arrived at the priest’s house almost as early as she had -done on a former occasion, only this time, the day being -overcast and the wind high, he received her within-doors. -She found him reading “Don Quixote” and, -without giving her time to speak, he made her listen -to the gentle and magnanimous story of the poor -knight’s death.</p> - -<p>“There’s no book,” he said, when he had finished,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> -“which so recovers my spirits as this one. Cervantes -is the noblest soul of them all and the bravest. He’s -the only author who never gives up his humility before -God or his pride before the Universe. He’s the author -for me! He’s the author for us poor priests!”</p> - -<p>Mr. Traherne lit a cigarette and looked at Nance -through its smoke with a grotesque scowl of infinite -reassurance.</p> - -<p>“Cheer up, little one!” he said, “the spirit of the -great Cervantes is not dead in the world. God has -not deserted us. Nothing can hurt us while we hold -to Christ and defy the Devil!”</p> - -<p>Nance smiled at him. The conviction with which he -spoke was like a cup of refreshing water to her in a -dry desert.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Traherne,” she began, but he interrupted her -with a wave of his arm.</p> - -<p>“My name’s Hamish,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Hamish, then,” she went on, smiling at the ghoulish -countenance before her, round which the cigarette -smoke ascended like incense about the head of an idol, -“I’ve more to tell you than I can say. So you must -listen and be very good to me!”</p> - -<p>He settled himself in his deep horse-hair chair with -one leg over the other and his ancient, deplorably-stained -cassock over both. And she poured forth the -full history of her troubles, omitting nothing—except -one or two of Linda’s cruel speeches. When she had -completed her tale she surveyed him anxiously. One -terrible fear made her heart beat—the fear lest he -should tell her she must carry Linda back to London. -He seemed to read her thoughts in her eyes. “One -thing,” he began, “is quite clear. You must both of -you leave Dyke House. Don’t look so scared, child.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> -I don’t mean you must leave Rodmoor. You can’t -kidnap your sister by force and nothing short of force -would get her, in her present mood, to go away with -you. But I think—I think,” he added, “we could -persuade her to leave Miss Doorm.”</p> - -<p>He straightened out his legs, puckered his forehead -and pouted his thick lips.</p> - -<p>“Have a strawberry,” he said suddenly, reaching -with his hand for a plate lying amid a litter of books -and papers, and stretching it out towards her. “Oh, -there are ashes on it. I’m sorry! But the fruit’s all -right. There! keep it by you—on the floor—anywhere—and -help yourself!”</p> - -<p>He once more subsided into his chair and frowned -thoughtfully. Nance, with a smile of infinite relief—for -had he not said that to leave Rodmoor was impossible?—kept -the plate on her lap and began eating -the fruit. She longed to blow the ashes away but -fear of hurting his feelings restrained her. She -brushed each strawberry surreptitiously with the tips -of her fingers before lifting it to her mouth.</p> - -<p>“You’re not cold, are you?” he said suddenly, “because -I <em>could</em> light a fire.”</p> - -<p>Nance looked at the tiny grate filled with a heap of -bracken-leaves and wondered how this would be achieved.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no!” she said, smiling again. “I’m perfectly -warm.”</p> - -<p>“Then, if you don’t mind,” he added, making the -most alarming grimace, “pull your skirt down. I can -see your ankles.”</p> - -<p>Nance hurriedly drew up her feet and tucked them -under her. “All right now?” she asked, with a faint -flush.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Sorry, my dear,” said Hamish Traherne, “but you -must remember I’m a lonely monk and ankles as pretty -as yours disturb my mind.” He glared at her so humorously -and benevolently that Nance could not be -angry with him. There was something so boyish in -his candour that it would have seemed inhuman to -take offence.</p> - -<p>“I believe I could think better if I had Ricoletto,” -he cried a moment later, jumping up and leaving the -room. Nance took the opportunity of blowing every -trace of cigarette-ash from her strawberry plate into -the fender. She had hardly done this and demurely -tucked herself up again in her chair when Mr. Traherne -re-entered the room carrying in his hands a large -white rat.</p> - -<p>“Beautiful, isn’t he?” he remarked, offering the animal -for the girl to stroke. “I love him. He inspires -me with all my sermons. He pities the human race, -don’t you, Ricoletto? And doesn’t hate a living thing -except cats. He has a seraphic temper and no wish -to marry. Ankles are nothing to him—are they, -Ricoletto?—but he likes potatoes.”</p> - -<p>As he spoke the priest brushed aside a heap of papers -and laid bare the half-gnawed skin of one of these -vegetables.</p> - -<p>“Come, darling!” he said, reseating himself in his -chair and placing rat and potato-skin together upon his -shoulder, “enjoy yourself and give me wisdom to defeat -the wiles of all the devils. Devils are cats, Ricoletto -darling, great, fluffy, purring cats with eyes as -big as saucers.”</p> - -<p>Nance quietly went on eating strawberries and thinking -to herself how strange it was that with every conceivable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> -anxiety tugging at her heart she could feel -such a sense of peace.</p> - -<p>“He’s a papistical rat,” remarked Mr. Traherne, -“he likes incense.”</p> - -<p>Once more he relapsed into profound thought and -Ricoletto’s movements made the only sound in the room.</p> - -<p>“What you want, my child,” he began at last, while -the girl put her plate down on the table and hung upon -his words, “is lodgings for yourself and Linda in the -village. I know an excellent woman who’d take you in—quite -close to Miss Pontifex and not far from our -dear Raughty. In fact, she’s the woman who cleans -Fingal’s rooms. So that’s all in her favour! Fingal -has a genius for getting nice people about him. You -like Fingal, Nance, eh? But I know you do, and I -know,” and the priest made the most outrageous grimace, -“I know he adores <em>you</em>. You’re perfectly safe, let -me tell you, with Fingal, my dear; however, he may -tease you. He’s a hopeless heathen but he has a heart -of gold.”</p> - -<p>Nance nodded complete assent to the priest’s words. -She smiled, however, to herself to think what a little way -this “safety” he spoke of would go if by chance her -heart were not so entirely preoccupied. She couldn’t -resist the thought of how pathetically like children all -these admirable men were, both in their frailties and in -their struggles against their frailties. Her sense of -peace and security grew upon her, and with this—for -she was human—a delicate feeling of feminine power. -Mr. Traherne continued—</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p> -<p>“Yes, you must take lodgings in the village. Eighteen -shillings a week—that was what that Pontifex -woman promised you, wasn’t it?—won’t be over much -for two of you. But it’ll keep you alive. Wait, -though, wait! I don’t see why Linda shouldn’t play -for us, up here, on Sundays. I’m always having to go -round begging for some one. Often I have to be organist -myself as well as priest. Yes—let her try—let -her try! It’ll help me to keep an eye on her. It’ll be -a distraction for her. Yes, let her try! I could give -her a little for doing it—not what she ought to have, -of course, but a little, enough to make her feel she was -helping you in your housekeeping. Yes,” he clapped -his hands together so violently that Ricoletto scrambled -up against his collar and clung there with his -paws. “Yes, that’s what we’ll do, my dear. We’ll -turn your sister into a regular organist. Music’s the -best charm in the world to drive away devils, isn’t it, -Ricoletto? Better even than white rats.”</p> - -<p>Nance looked at him with immense gratitude and, -completely forgetting his instructions, altered her position -to what it had been before. Mr. Traherne rose -and, turning his back to her, drummed with his fingers -on the mantelpiece while Ricoletto struggled desperately -to retain his balance.</p> - -<p>A queer thought came suddenly into Nance’s head -and she asked the priest why it was that there were so -many unmarried men in Rodmoor. He swung round at -that and gave her a most goblinish look, rubbing the -rat’s nose as he did so, against his cheek.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p> -<p>“You go far, Nance, you go far with your questions. -As a matter of fact, I’ve sometimes asked myself -that very thing. You’re quite right, you know, -perfectly right. It applies to the work-people here -as much as to the gentry. We must see what Fingal -Raughty says. He’d laugh at my explanation.”</p> - -<p>“What’s your explanation?” enquired the girl.</p> - -<p>“A very simple one,” returned the priest. “It’s the -effect of the sea. If you look at the plants which grow -here you’ll understand better what I mean. But you -haven’t seen the plant yet which is most of all characteristic -of Rodmoor. It’ll be out soon and I’ll show -it to you. The yellow horned poppy! When you see -that, Nance,—and it’s the devil’s own flower, I can -assure you!—you’ll realize that there’s something in -this place that tends to the abnormal and the perverse. -I don’t say that the devil isn’t active enough everywhere -and I don’t say that all married people are exempt -from his attacks. But the fact remains that the -Rodmoor air has something about it, something that -makes it difficult for those who come under its influence -to remain quite simple and natural. We should -grow insane ourselves—shouldn’t we, old rat? -shouldn’t we, my white beauty?—if it weren’t that we -had the church to pray in and ‘Don Quixote’ to read! -I don’t want to frighten you, Nance, and I pray -earnestly that your Adrian will shake off, like King -Saul, the devil that troubles him. But Rodmoor isn’t -the place to come to unless you have a double share -of sound nerves, or a bottomless fund of natural goodness—like -our friend Fingal Raughty. It’s absurd -not to recognize that human beings, like plants and -animals, are subject to all manner of physical influences. -Nature can be terribly malign in her tricks -upon us. She can encourage our tendencies to morbid -evil just as she can produce the horned yellow poppy. -The only thing for us to do is to hold fast to a power -completely beyond Nature which can come in from outside,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> -Nance—from outside!—and change everything.”</p> - -<p>While Nance listened to Mr. Traherne’s discourse -with a portion of her mind, another part of it reverted -to Linda and as soon as he paused she broke in.</p> - -<p>“Can’t we do anything, anything at all, to stop Mr. -Renshaw from seeing my sister?”</p> - -<p>The priest sighed heavily and screwed his face into a -hundred grotesque wrinkles.</p> - -<p>“I’ll talk to him,” he said. “It’s what I dread doing -more than anything on earth, for, to tell you the -honest truth, I’m a thorough coward in these things. -But I’ll talk to him. I knew you were going to ask -me to do that. I knew it directly you came here. I -said to myself as soon as I saw you, ‘Hamish, my friend, -you’ve got to face that man again,’ but I’ll do it, Nance. -I’ll do it. Perhaps not to-day. Yes, I’ll do it to-day. -He’ll be up at Oakguard this evening. I’ll go after -supper. It’ll be precious little supper I’ll eat, Nance, -but I’ll see him, I’ll see him!”</p> - -<p>Nance showed her gratitude by giving him her hand -and looking tenderly into his eyes. It was Mr. Traherne -who first broke the spell and unclasped their fingers.</p> - -<p>“You’re a good girl, my dear,” he muttered, “a -good girl,” and he led her gently to the door.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIII">XIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">DEPARTURE</span></h2> - -<p>After her talk with Mr. Traherne, Nance went -straight to the village and visited the available -lodging. She found the place quite reasonably -adapted to her wishes and met with a genial, though -a somewhat surprised reception from the woman of the -house. It was arranged that the sisters should come -to her that very evening, their more bulky possessions—and -these were not, after all, very extensive—to -follow them on the ensuing day, as suited the convenience -of the local carrier. It remained for her to secure -her sister’s agreement to this sudden change and -to announce their departure to Rachel Doorm. The -first of these undertakings proved easier than Nance -had dared to hope.</p> - -<p>During these morning hours Miss Doorm gave Linda -hardly a moment of peace. She persecuted her with -questions about the events of the preceding day and -betrayed such malignant curiosity as to the progress -of the love affair with Brand that she reduced the child -to a condition bordering upon hysterical prostration. -Linda finally took refuge in her own room under the -excuse of changing her dress but even here she was not -left alone. Lying on her bed, with loosened hair and -wide-open, troubled eyes fixed upon the ceiling, she -heard Rachel moving uneasily from room to room below -like a revengeful ghost disappointed of its prey.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> -The young girl put her fingers in her ears to keep this -sound away. As she did so, her glance wandered to the -window through which she could discern heavy dark -clouds racing across the sky, pursued by a pitiless wind. -She watched these clouds from where she lay and her agitated -mind increased the strangeness of their ominous -storm-blown shapes. Unable at last to endure the -sight of them any longer she leapt to her feet and, with -her long bare arms, pulled down the blind. To any one -seeing her from outside as she did this she must have -appeared like a hunted creature trying to shut out the -world. Flinging herself upon her bed again she pressed -her fingers once more into her ears. In crossing the -room she had heard the heavy steps of her enemy ascending -the staircase. Conscious of the vibration of -these steps, even while she obliterated the sound they -made, the young girl sat up and stared at the door. -She could see it shake as the woman, trying the handle, -found it locked against her.</p> - -<p>Nothing is harder than to keep human ears closed -by force when the faculty of human attention is -strained to the uttermost. It was not long before she -dropped her hands and then in a moment her whole -soul concentrated itself upon listening. She heard -Miss Doorm move away and walk heavily to the end of -the passage. Then there was a long pause of deadly -silence and then, tramp—tramp—tramp, she was -back again.</p> - -<p>“I won’t unlock the door! I won’t! I won’t! I -won’t!” muttered the girl, and as if to make certain -that her body obeyed her will she stretched herself out -stiffly and clutched the iron bars above her head. She -lay like this for some minutes, her lips parted, her eyes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> -wildly alert and her breast rising and falling under her -bodice.</p> - -<p>Once more the door shook and she heard her name -pronounced in a low clear-toned voice.</p> - -<p>“Linda! Linda!” the voice repeated. “Linda! -I must talk to you!”</p> - -<p>Unable to endure the tension any longer and finding -the dimness of the room more trying than the view -of the sky, the girl ran to the window and pulled up the -blind as hastily as she had pulled it down. She gazed -out, pressing her face against the pane. The clouds, -darker and more threatening than ever, followed one -another across the heavens like a huge herd of monstrous -beasts driven by invisible herdsmen. The Loon -swirled and eddied between its banks, its waters a pale -brownish colour and here and there, floating on its surface, -pieces of seaweed drifted. The vast horizon of -fens, stretching away towards Mundham, looked almost -black under the sky and the tall pines of Oakguard -seemed to bow their heads as if at the approach of -some unknown menace.</p> - -<p>The door continued to be shaken and the voice of -Rachel Doorm never ceased its appeal. Linda went -back to her bed and sat down upon it, propping her -chin on her hands. There is something about the darkening -of a house by day, under the weight of a threatened -storm, that has more of what is ominous and evil -in it than anything that can occur at night. The -“demon that walketh by noonday” draws close to us -at these times.</p> - -<p>“Linda! Linda! Let me in! I want to speak to -you,” pleaded the woman. The girl rose to her feet -and, rushing to the door, unlocked it quickly. Returning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> -to her bed she threw herself down on her face -and remained motionless. Rachel Doorm entered and, -seating herself close to Linda’s side, laid her hand upon -the girl’s shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Why haven’t you got on your frock?” she murmured. -“Your arms must be cold as ice. Yes, so -they are! Let me help you to dress as I used to in -the old days.”</p> - -<p>Linda drew herself away from her touch and with -a convulsive jerk of her body turned over towards the -wall.</p> - -<p>“It’s a pity you didn’t think over everything,” Miss -Doorm went on, “before you began this game with Mr. -Renshaw. It’s begun to hurt you now, hasn’t it? -Then why don’t you stop? Tell me that, Linda Herrick. -Why don’t you stop and refuse to see him any -more? What? You won’t answer me? I’ll answer -for you then. You don’t stop now, you don’t draw -back now, because you can’t! He’s got hold of you. -You feel him even now—don’t you—tugging at your -heart? Yes, you’re caught, my pretty bird, you’re -caught. No more tossing up of your little chin and -throwing back your head! No more teasing this one -and that with your dainty ways—while you whistle -them all down the wind. It’s you—you—that has to -come now when some one else calls, and come quickly, -too, wherever you may have run! How do you know -he doesn’t want you now? How do you know he’s not -waiting for you now over there by the pines? Take -care, my girl! Mr. Renshaw isn’t a man you can play -with, as you played with those boys in London. It’ll -be you who’ll do the whining and crying this time. The -day’s near when you’ll be on your knees to him begging<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> -and begging for what you’ll never get! Did you think -that a chit of a child like you, just because you’ve got -soft hair and white skin, could keep and hold a man -like that?</p> - -<p>“Don’t say afterwards that Rachel Doorm hadn’t -warned you. I say to you now, give him up, let him -go, hide yourself away from him! I say that—but I -know very well you won’t do what I say. And you -won’t do it because you can’t do it, because he’s got -your little heart and your little body and your little -soul in the palm of his hand! I can tell you what that -means. I know why you press your hands against -your breast and turn to the wall. I’ve done that in -my time and turned and tossed, long nights, and got no -comfort. And you’ll turn and toss, too, and call and -call to the darkness and get no answer—just as I got -none. Why don’t you leave him now, Linda, before it’s -too late? Shall I tell you why you don’t? Because -it’s too late already! Because he’s got you for good -and all—got you forever and a day—just as some -one, no matter who, got Rachel once upon a time!”</p> - -<p>Her voice was interrupted by a sudden splashing of -rain against the window and the loud moaning gust of -a tremendous wind making all the casements of the -house rattle.</p> - -<p>“Where’s Nance?” cried the young girl, starting -up and leaping from the bed. “I want Nance! I -want to tell her something!”</p> - -<p>At that moment there were voices below and the -sound of a vehicle driven to the rear of the house. Miss -Doorm left the room and ran down the stairs. Linda -flung on the first dress that offered itself and going to -the mirror began hastily tying up her hair. She had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> -hardly finished when her sister entered. Nance stood -on the threshold for a moment hesitating, and looking -anxiously at the other. It was Linda who made the -first movement.</p> - -<p>“Take me away from here,” she gasped, flinging -herself into her sister’s arms and embracing her passionately, -“take me away from here!”</p> - -<p>Nance returned the embrace with ardour but her -thoughts whirled a mad dance through her brain. She -had a momentary temptation to reveal at once her new -plan and let her sister’s cry have no other answer. But -her nobler instinct conquered.</p> - -<p>“At once, at once! My darling,” she murmured. -“Yes, oh, yes, let’s go at once! I’ve got some money -and Mr. Traherne will send me some more. We’ll take -the three o’clock train and be safe back in London -before night. Oh, my darling, my darling! I’m so -glad! We’ll begin a new life together—a new life.”</p> - -<p>At the mention of the word “London” Linda’s arms -relaxed their hold and her whole body stiffened.</p> - -<p>“No,” she gasped, pushing her sister away and -pressing her hand to her side, “no, Nance dear, I can’t -do it. It would kill me. I should run away from you -and come back here if I had to walk the whole way. -I won’t see him. I won’t! I won’t! I won’t talk to -him—I won’t let him love me—but I can’t go away -from here. I can’t go back to London. I should get -ill and die. I should want him so much that I should -die. No, no, Nance darling, if you dragged me by -force to London I should come back the next day somehow -or another. I know I should—I feel it <em>here</em>—as -she said.”</p> - -<p>She kept her hand still pressed against her side and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> -gazed into Nance’s face with a look of helpless pleading.</p> - -<p>“We can find somewhere to live, you and I, without -going far away, somewhere where we shan’t see <em>her</em> -any more—can’t we, Nance?”</p> - -<p>It was then, and with a clear conscience now, that -the elder girl, speaking hurriedly and softly, communicated -the preparations she had made and the fact that -they were free to leave Dyke House at any moment they -chose.</p> - -<p>“I’ve asked the man to put up the horse here for -the afternoon,” she said, “so that we shall have time -to collect the things we want. They’ll send for our -trunks to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>Linda’s relief at hearing this news was pathetic to -see.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you darling—you darling!” she cried, “I -might have known you’d save me. I might have known -it! Oh, Nance dear, it was horrid of me to say those -things to you yesterday. I’ll be good now and do whatever -you tell me. As long as I’m not far away from -<em>him</em>—not too far—I won’t see him, or speak to him, -or write to him! How sweet of Mr. Traherne to let -me play the organ! And he’ll pay me, too, you say? -So that I shall be helping you and not only be a burden? -Oh, my dear, what happiness, what happiness!”</p> - -<p>Nance left her and descended to the kitchen to help -Miss Doorm prepare their midday meal. The two -women, as they busied themselves at their task, avoided -any reference to the issue between them, and Nance -wondered if the man from the Admiral’s Head, who -now sat watching their preparations and speculating -whether they intended to give him beer as well as meat,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> -had intimated to Rachel the object of his delayed departure. -When the meal was ready, Linda was summoned -to share it and the thirsty ostler, sipping lemonade -with a wry countenance, at a side table, was -given the privilege of hearing how three feminine persons, -their heads full of agitation and antipathy, could -talk and laugh and eat as if everything in the wide -world was smooth, safe, harmless and uninteresting.</p> - -<p>When the meal was over Nance and Linda once more -retired to their room and busied themselves with selecting -from their modest possessions such articles as -they considered it advisable to take with them. The -rest they carefully packed away in their two leather -trunks—trunks which bore the initials “N. H.” and -“L. H.” and still had glued to their sides railway labels -with the word “Swanage” upon them, reminiscent of -their last seaside excursion with their father.</p> - -<p>The afternoon slipped rapidly away and still the -threatened storm hung suspended, the rain coming and -going in fitful gusts of wind and the clouds racing -along the sky. By six o’clock it became so dark that -Nance was compelled to light candles. Their packing -had been interrupted by eager low-voiced consultation -as to how they would arrange their days when these -were, for the first time in their lives, completely at their -own disposal. No further reference had been made -between them, either to Adrian or to Mr. Renshaw. -The candles, flickering in the gusty wind, threw intermittent -spots of light upon the girls’ figures as they -stooped over their work or bent forward, on their knees, -whispering and laughing. Not since either of them had -arrived in Rodmoor had they been quite so happy. The -relief at escaping from Dyke House lifted the atmosphere<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> -about them so materially that while they spoke of -their lodging in the High Street and of the virtues of -Mrs. Raps, Nance began to feel that Adrian would, -after all, soon grow weary of Philippa and Linda began -to dream that, in spite of all appearances, Brand’s -attitude towards her was worthy of a man of honour.</p> - -<p>At six o’clock they were ready and Nance went down -to announce their departure to Rachel Doorm. She -found their driver asleep by the kitchen fire and, having -roused him and told him to put his horse into the -trap, she went out to look for her mother’s friend.</p> - -<p>She found Rachel standing on the tow path gazing -gloomily at the river. She was bareheaded and the -wind, wailing round her, fluttered a wisp of her grey -hair against her forehead. Beneath this her sunken -eyes seemed devoid of all light. She turned when she -heard Nance’s step, her heavy skirt flapping in the wind -as she did so, like a funereal flag.</p> - -<p>“I see,” she said, pointing at the light in the sisters’ -room where the figure of Linda could be observed passing -and repassing, “I see you’re taking her away. I -suppose it’s because of Mr. Renshaw. May I ask—if -it’s of any interest to you that I should care at all—what -you’re going to do with her? She’s been—she -and her mother—the curse of <em>my</em> life, and I fancy -she’s now going to be the curse of yours.”</p> - -<p>Nance wrapped herself more tightly in a cloak she -had picked up as she came out and looked unflinchingly -into the woman’s haggard face.</p> - -<p>“Yes, we’re going away—both of us,” she said. -“We’re going to the village.”</p> - -<p>“To live on air and sea-water?” inquired the other -bitterly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No,” rejoined Nance gently, “to live in lodgings -and to work for our living. I’ve got a place already -at the Pontifex shop and Mr. Traherne’s going to pay -Linda for playing the organ. It’ll be better like that. -I couldn’t let her go on here after what happened yesterday.”</p> - -<p>Her voice trembled but she continued to look Miss -Doorm straight in the face.</p> - -<p>“You were away on purpose yesterday, Rachel,” she -said gravely, “so that those two might be together. -It was only some scruple, or fear, on Mr. Renshaw’s -part that stopped him meeting her in the house. How -often this has happened before—his seeing her like -this—I don’t know, and I don’t want to know—I only -pray to God that no harm’s been done. If it <em>has</em> been -done, the child’s ruin’s on <em>our</em> head. I cannot understand -you, Rachel, I cannot understand you.”</p> - -<p>Miss Doorm’s haggard mouth opened as if to utter -a cry but she breathed deeply and restrained it. Her -gaunt fingers twined and untwined themselves and the -wind, blowing at her skirt, displayed the tops of her -old-fashioned boots with their worn, elastic sides.</p> - -<p>“So she’s separated us, has she?” she hissed. “I -thought she would. She was born for that. And it’s -nothing to you that I’ve nursed you and cared for you -and planned for you since you were a baby? Nothing! -Nothing at all! She comes between us now as -her mother came before. I knew it would happen so! -I knew it would! She’s just like her mother—soft and -clinging—soft and white—and this is the end of it.”</p> - -<p>Her voice changed to a low, almost frightened tone.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> -<p>“Do you realize that her mother comes to me every -night and sits looking at me with her great eyes just -as she used to do when Linda had been rude to me in -the old days? Do you realize that she walks backwards -and forwards outside my door when I’ve driven -her away? Do you realize that when I go to bed I -find her there, waiting for me, white and soft and clinging?”</p> - -<p>Her voice rose to a kind of moan and the wind carried -it across the empty road and tossed it over the -fields.</p> - -<p>“And she speaks, too, Nance. She says things to -me, soft, clinging, crying things that drive me distracted. -One day, she told me <em>that</em> only last night, -one day she’s going to kiss me and never let me go—going -to kiss me with soft, pleading, terrified lips -through all eternity, kiss me just as she did once when -Linda lost my beads. You remember my beads, Nance? -Real jade, they were, with funny red streaks. I often -see them round her neck. They’ll be round her neck -when she kisses me, jade, you know, my dear, with red -streaks. I shall see nothing else then, nothing else -while we lie buried together!”</p> - -<p>She lowered her voice to a whisper.</p> - -<p>“It was the Captain who brought them. He brought -them over far seas. He brought them for me, do you -hear—for me! But they’re always round her neck -now, after that day.”</p> - -<p>Nance listened to this wild outburst with a set stern -face. She had always suspected that there was something -desperate and morbid about Rachel’s attachment -to her father but never, until this moment, had she -dreamed how far the thing went. She looked at the -woman’s face now and sighed and with that sigh she -flung to the blowing wind the covenant between herself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> -and her own mother. All the girl’s natural sanity and -sense of proportion were awake now and she stiffened -her nerves and hardened her heart for what she had -to do.</p> - -<p>“Between a vow to the dead,” she thought, “and the -safety of the living, there can be only one choice for -me.”</p> - -<p>“So you’re going away,” began Miss Doorm again. -“Well, go, my dear, go and leave me! I shan’t trouble -the earth much longer after you’re gone.”</p> - -<p>She turned her face to the river and remained motionless, -watching the flowing water. The heavy weight -of the threatening storm, the storm that seemed as -though some powerful earth-god, with uplifted hand, -were holding back its descent, had destroyed all natural -and normal daylight without actually plunging the -world into darkness. A strange greenish-coloured -shadow, like the shadow of water seen through water, -hung over the trees of the park and the opposite bank -of the river. The same greenish shadow, only touched -there with something darker and more mysterious, -brooded over the far fens out of which, in the remote -distance, a sort of reddish exhalation indicated the locality -of the Mundham factories. The waters of the -Loon—as Rachel and Nance looked at them now—had -a dull whitish gleam, like the gleam of a dead fish’s -eye. The sense of thunder in the air, though no sound -of it had yet been heard, seemed to evoke a kind of -frightened expectancy. The smaller birds had been -reduced to absolute stillness, their twitterings hushed -as if under the weight of a pall. Only a solitary -plover’s scream, at rare intervals, went whirling by on -the wind.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Come back, come in, will you?” said Nance at last, -“and say good-bye to us, Rachel. I shall come and -see you, of course. We shall not be far away.”</p> - -<p>She stretched out her hand to help her down the -slope of the embankment. Rachel made no response -to this overture but followed her in silence. No sooner, -however, had they entered the garden and closed the -little gate behind them, than the woman fell on her -knees on the ground and caught the girl round the -waist.</p> - -<p>“Nance, my treasure!” she cried pitifully, “Nance, -my heart’s baby! Nance, oh, Nance, you won’t leave -me like this after all these years? No, I won’t let -you go! Nance, you can’t mean it? You can’t really -mean it?”</p> - -<p>The wind, blowing in gusts about them, made the gate -behind them swing open on its hinges. Rachel’s dishevelled -tress of grey hair flapped like a tattered piece -of rag against the girl’s side.</p> - -<p>“Look,” the woman wailed, “I pray you on my -knees not to desert me! You don’t know what you’re -doing to me. You don’t, Nance, you don’t! It’s all -my life you’re taking. Oh, my darling, won’t you have -pity? You’re the only thing I’ve got—the only thing -I love. Nance, Nance, have pity on me!”</p> - -<p>Nance, with tears in her eyes but her face still firm -and hard-set, tried to free herself from the hands that -held her. She tried gently and tenderly at first but -Rachel’s despair made the attempt difficult. Then she -realized that this appalling tension must be brought -at all costs to an end. With a sudden, relentless jerk, -she tore herself away and rushed towards the house. -Rachel fell forward on her face, her hands clutching<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> -the damp mould. Then she staggered up and raised her -hand towards the lighted window above at which Linda’s -figure was clearly visible.</p> - -<p>“It’s you—it’s you,” she called aloud, “it’s you -who’ve done this—who’ve turned my heart’s darling -against me, and may you be cursed for it! May your -love turn to poison and eat your white flesh! May -your soul pray and pray for comfort and find none! -Never—never—never—find any! Oh, you may -well hide yourself! But <em>he</em> will find you. Brand will -find you and make you pay for this! Brand and the -sea will find you. Listen! Do you hear me? Listen! -It’s crying out for you now!”</p> - -<p>Whether it was the sudden cessation of her voice, -intensifying the stillness, or a slight veering of the wind -to the eastward, it is certain that at that moment, -above the noise of the creaking gate and the rustling -bushes, came the sound which, of all others, seemed the -expression of Rodmoor’s troubled soul. Linda herself -may not have heard it for at that moment she was -feverishly helping Nance to pile up their belongings -in the cart. But the driver of their vehicle heard -it.</p> - -<p>“The wind’s changing,” he remarked. “Can you -hear that? That’s the darned sea!”</p> - -<p>The trap carrying the two sisters was already some -distance along the road when Nance turned her head -and looked back. They had blown out their candles -before leaving and the kitchen fire had died down so -that there was no reason to be surprised that no light -shone from any of the windows. Yet it was with a -cold sinking of the heart that the girl leaned forward -once more by the driver’s side. She could not help<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> -seeing in imagination a broken figure stumbling round -the walls of that dark house, or perhaps even now standing -in their dismantled room alone amid emptiness and -silence, alone amid the ghosts of the past.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIV">XIV<br /> -<span class="smaller">BRAND RENSHAW</span></h2> - -<p>While the sisters were taking possession of -their new abode and trying to eat—though -neither had much appetite—the supper -provided for them by Mrs. Raps, Hamish Traherne, his -cassock protected from the threatening storm by a -heavy ulster, was making his promised effort to “talk” -with the master of Oakguard. Impelled by an instinct -he could not resist, perhaps with a vague notion that -the creature’s presence would sustain his courage, he -carried, curled up in an inside pocket of his cloak, -his darling Ricoletto. The rat’s appetite had been unusually -good that evening and it now slept peacefully -in its warm nest, oblivious of the beating heart of its -master. Carrying his familiar oak stick in his hand -and looking to all appearance quite as formidable as -any highwayman the priest made his way through the -sombre avenue of gnarled and weather-beaten trees that -led to the Renshaw mansion. He rang the bell with an -impetuous violence, the violence of a visitor whose internal -trepidation mocks his exterior resolution. To -his annoyance and surprise he learnt that Mr. Renshaw -was spending the evening with Mr. Stork down -in the village. He asked to be allowed to see Mrs. Renshaw, -feeling in some obscure way suspicious of the -servant’s statement and unwilling to give up his enterprise -at the first rebuff. The lady came out at once -into the hall.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Come in, come in, Mr. Traherne,” she said, quite -eagerly. “I suppose you’ve already dined but you can -have dessert with us. Philippa always sits long over -dessert. She likes eating fruit better than anything -else. She’s eating gooseberries to-night.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Renshaw always had a way of detaching herself -from her daughter and speaking of her as if she -were a strange and somewhat menacing animal with -whom destiny had compelled her to live. But the priest -refused to remove his ulster. The interest of seeing -Philippa eat gooseberries was not strong enough to -interrupt his purpose.</p> - -<p>“Your son won’t be home till late, I’m afraid?” he -said. “I particularly—yes, particularly—wanted -to see him to-night. I understand he’s at the cottage.”</p> - -<p>“Wait a minute,” cried the lady in her hurried, low-voiced -tone. “Sit down here, won’t you? I’ll just—I’ll -just see Philippa.”</p> - -<p>She returned to the dining-room and the priest sat -down and waited. Presently she came hurrying back -carrying in her hands a plate upon which was a bunch -of grapes.</p> - -<p>“These are for you,” she said. “Philippa won’t -touch them. There! Let me choose you out some -nice ones.”</p> - -<p>The servant had followed her and now stood like a -pompous and embarrassed policeman uncertain of his -duty. It seemed to give Mrs. Renshaw some kind of -inscrutable satisfaction to cause this embarrassment. -She sat down beside the priest and handed him the -grapes, one by one, as if he were a child.</p> - -<p>“Brand orders these from London,” she remarked,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> -“that’s why we get them now. I call it extravagance, -but he <em>will</em> do it.” She sighed heavily. “Philippa,” -she repeated, “prefers garden fruit so you mustn’t -mind eating them. They’ll get bad if they’re not -eaten.”</p> - -<p>The servant hastened on tip-toe to the dining-room -door, peered in, and returned to his post. He looked -for all the world, thought Mr. Traherne, like a ruffled -and disconsolate heron. “He’ll stand on one leg -soon,” he said to himself.</p> - -<p>“When do you expect your son home?” he enquired -again. “Perhaps I might call at the cottage and walk -back with him.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, do!” Mrs. Renshaw cried with unexpected -eagerness. “Do call at the cottage. It’ll be nice for -you to join them. They’ll all be there—Mr. Sorio -and the Doctor and Brand. Yes, do go in! It’ll be -a relief to me to think of you with them. I’m sometimes -afraid that cousin Tassar encourages dear Brand to -drink too much of that stuff he likes to make. They -will put spirits into it. I’m always telling them that -lime juice would be just as nice. Yes, do go, Mr. Traherne, -and insist on having lime juice!”</p> - -<p>The priest looked at the lady, looked at the servant -and looked at the hall door. He felt a faint scratching -going on inside his cloak. Ricoletto was beginning -to wake up.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ll go!” he exclaimed, rising to his feet.</p> - -<p>At that moment the figure of Philippa, exquisitely -dressed in a dark crimson gown, emerged from the dining-room. -She advanced slowly towards them with -more than her usual air of dramatic reserve. Mr. Traherne -noticed that her lips were even redder than her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> -dress. Her eyes looked dark and tired but they shone -with a mischievous menace. She held out her hand sedately -and as he took it, fumbling with his ulster, “I -hope you enjoyed your grapes,” she said.</p> - -<p>“You ought to apologize to Mr. Traherne for appearing -before him at all in that wild costume,” remarked -Mrs. Renshaw. “You wouldn’t think she’d -been at the dentist’s all day, would you? She looks -as if she were in a grand London house, doesn’t she, -just waiting to go to a ball?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, at the dentist’s,” Mrs. Renshaw went on, -speaking quite loudly, “at the dentist’s in Mundham. -She’s got an abscess under one of her teeth. It kept -her awake in the night. I think your face is still a -little swollen, dear, isn’t it? She oughtn’t to stand in -this cold hall, ought she, Mr. Traherne? And with so -much of her neck exposed. It was quite a large abscess. -Let me look, dear.” She moved towards her -daughter, who drew hastily back.</p> - -<p>“She won’t let me look at it,” she added plaintively. -“She never would, not even when she was a child.”</p> - -<p>Hamish, fumbling with his fingers inside his ulster, -made a grotesque grimace of sympathy and once more -intimated his desire to say good-night. He discerned -in the look the girl had now fixed upon her mother an -expression which indicated how little sympathy there -was between them. It was nearly half past nine when -he reached Rodmoor and knocked at Baltazar’s door. -There was some sort of village revel going on inside -the tavern and the sound of this blended, in intermittent -bursts of uproar, with the voices from Stork’s -little sitting-room. Both wind and rain had subsided<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> -and the thunder-feeling in the air had grown less oppressive.</p> - -<p>Traherne found himself, as he had been warned, in -the presence of Raughty, Sorio and Brand. Ushered -in by the urbane Baltazar he greeted them all with a -humorous and benignant smile and took, willingly -enough, a cup of the admirable wine which they were -drinking. They all seemed, except their host himself, -a little excited by what they had imbibed and the priest -observed that several other bottles waited the moment -of uncorking. Dr. Raughty alone appeared seriously -troubled at the new-comer’s entrance. He coughed -several times, as was his habit when disconcerted, and -glanced anxiously at the others.</p> - -<p>Sorio, it seemed, was in the midst of some sort of -diatribe, and as soon as they had resumed their seats -he made no scruple about continuing it.</p> - -<p>“It’s all an illusion,” he exclaimed, looking at Mr. -Traherne as if he defied him to contradict his words, -“it’s all an absolute illusion that women are more subtle -than men. The idea of their being so is simply due -to the fact that they act on impulse instead of by reason. -Any one who acts on impulse appears subtle if -his impulses vary sufficiently! Women are extraordinarily -simple. What gives them the appearance of -subtlety is that they never know what particular impulse -they’re going to have next. So they just lie back -on themselves and wait till it comes. They’re eminently -<em>physiological</em>, too, in their reactions. Am I not -right there, Doctor? They’re more entirely material -than we are,” he went on, draining his glass with a -vicious gulp, “they’re simply soaked and drenched in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> -matter. They’re not really completely or humanly -<em>conscious</em>. Matter still holds them, still clings to them, -still drowns them. That is why the poets represent -Nature as a woman. The sentimental writers always -speak of women as so responsive, so porous, to the -power of Nature. They put it down to their superior -sensitiveness. It isn’t their sensitiveness at all! It’s -their element. Of course they’re porous to it. They’re -part of it! They’ve never emerged from it. It flows -round them like waves round seaweed. Take this question -of drink—of this delicious wine we’re drinking! -No woman who ever lived could understand the pleasure -we’re enjoying now—a pleasure almost purely intellectual. -They think, in their absurd little heads, -that all we get out of it is the mere sensation of putting -hot stuff or sweet stuff or intoxicating stuff into -our mouths. They haven’t the remotest idea that, as -we sit in this way together, we enter the company of all -great and noble souls, philosophizing upon the nature -of the gods and sharing their quintessential happiness! -They think we’re simply sensual beasts—as they are -themselves, the greedy little devils!—when they eat -pastry and suck sugar-candy at the confectioner’s. -No woman yet understood, or ever will, the sublime detachment -from life, the victory over life, which an honest -company of sensible and self-respecting friends -enjoy when they drink, serenely and quietly, a wine as -rare, as well chosen, as harmless as this! Women hate -to think of the happiness we’re enjoying now. I know -perfectly well that every one of the women who are -connected with us at this moment—and that only applies,” -he added with a smile, “to Mr. Renshaw and -myself—would suffer real misery to see us at this moment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> -It’s an instinct and from <em>their</em> point of view -they’re justified fully enough.</p> - -<p>“Wine separates us from Nature. It frees us from -sex. It sets us among the gods. It destroys—yes!—that’s -what it does, it destroys our physiological fatality. -With wine like this,” he raised his glass above -his head, “we are no longer the slaves of our senses and -consequently the slaves of matter. We have freed ourselves -from matter. We have <em>destroyed</em> matter!”</p> - -<p>“I’m not quite sure,” said Doctor Raughty, going -carefully to the fireplace where, on the fender, he had -deposited for later consumption, a saucer of brandied -cherries, “I am not sure whether you’re right about -wine obliterating sex. I’ve seen quite plain females, in -my time, appear like so many Ninons and Thaises when -one’s a bit shaky. Of course I know they may appear -so,” he went on patiently and assiduously letting every -drop of juice evaporate from the skin of the cherry -he held between his fingers before placing it in his -mouth, “appear desirable wenches, I mean, without our -having any inclination to meddle with them but the impulse -is the same. At least,” he added modestly, “their -being there does not detract from the pleasure.”</p> - -<p>He paused and, with his head bent down over his -cherries, became absolutely oblivious to everything else -in the world. What he was trying now was the delicate -experiment of dipping the fruit, dried by being -waved to and fro in the air, in the wine-glass at his -side. As he achieved this end, his cheeks flushed and -nervous spasmodic quiverings twitched his expressive -nostrils.</p> - -<p>“I am inclined to agree with the Doctor,” said Brand -Renshaw. “It seems mere monkish nonsense to me to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> -separate things that were so obviously meant to go -together. I like drinking while girls dance for me. I -like them to dance on and on, and on and on till they’re -tired out and then—” He was interrupted by a sudden -crash which made all the glasses ring and ting. Mr. -Traherne had brought down his fist heavily upon the -rosewood table.</p> - -<p>“What you people are forgetting,” shouted the -priest, “is that God is not dead. No! He’s not dead, -even in Rodmoor. Nature, girls, wine, rats,—are all -shadows in flickering water. Only one thing’s eternal -and that is a pure and loving heart!”</p> - -<p>There was a general and embarrassed hush after this -and the priest looked round at the four men with a -sort of wistful bewilderment. Then an expression of -indescribable sweetness came into his face.</p> - -<p>“Forgive me, children,” he muttered, pressing his -hand to his forehead. “I didn’t mean to be violent. -Baltazar, you must have filled my glass too quickly. -No, no! I mustn’t touch a drop more.”</p> - -<p>Stork leaned forward towards him.</p> - -<p>“We understand,” he said. “We understand perfectly. -You felt we were going a little too far. And -so we were! These discourses about the mystery of -wine and the secret of women always betray one into -absurdity. Adrian ought to have known better than -to begin such a thing.”</p> - -<p>“It was my fault,” repeated Mr. Traherne humbly. -“If you’ll excuse me I’ll get something out of my -pocket.”</p> - -<p>He rose and went into the passage. Brand Renshaw -shrugged his shoulders and lifted his glass to his -lips.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I believe it’s his rat,” whispered Dr. Raughty -softly. “He lives too much alone.”</p> - -<p>The priest returned with Ricoletto in his hand and -resuming his seat stroked the animal dreamily. Baltazar -looked from one to another of his guests and his -delicate features assumed a curious expression, an expression -as though he isolated himself from them all -and washed his hands of them all.</p> - -<p>“Traherne refers to God,” he began in a flutelike -tone, “and it’s no more than what he has a right to do. -But I should be in a sorry position myself if my only -escape from the nuisance of women was to drag in -Eternity. Our dear Adrian, whose head is always full -of some girl or another, fancies he can get out of it by -drink. Brand here doesn’t want to get out of it. He -wants to play the Sultan. Raughty—we know what -an amorous fellow <em>you</em> are, Doctor!—has his own -fantastic way of drifting in and out of the dangerous -waters. I alone, of all of you, have the true key to -escape. For, between ourselves, my dears, we know -well enough that God and Eternity are just Hamish’s -innocent illusion.”</p> - -<p>The priest seemed quite deaf to this last remark but -Brand turned his hatchet-shaped head towards the -speaker.</p> - -<p>“Shut up, Tassar,” he muttered harshly, “you’ll -start him again.”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?” cried Sorio. “Go on! Go -on and tell us what you mean.”</p> - -<p>“Wait one moment,” intervened Dr. Raughty, “talk -of something else for one moment. I must cool my -head.”</p> - -<p>He put down his pipe by the side of his saucer of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> -cherries, arranging it with exquisite care so that its -stem was higher than its bowl. Lifting his chair, he -placed it at a precise angle to the table, returning -twice to add further little touches to it before he was -half-way to the door. Finally, laying down his tobacco -pouch, lightly as a feather upon the seat of the chair, -he rushed out of the room and up the stairs.</p> - -<p>“When the Doctor gets into the bathroom,” remarked -Brand, “we may as well put him out of our -minds. The last time he dined with me at Oakguard -he nearly flooded the house.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Traherne pressed his rat to his cheek and -grinned like a satyr.</p> - -<p>“None of you people understand Fingal,” he burst -out, “it’s his way of praying. Yes, I mean it! It’s -his way of saying his prayers. He does it just as -Ricoletto does. It’s ritual with him. I understand -it perfectly.”</p> - -<p>The conversation at this point seemed to have a -peculiarly irritating effect upon Sorio. He fidgeted -and looked about him uneasily. Presently he made an -extraordinary gesture with one of his hands, opening -it, extending the fingers stiffly back and then closing it -again. Baltazar, watching him closely, remarked at -last, -“What’s on your mind now, Adriano? Any new -obsession?”</p> - -<p>They all looked at the Italian. His heavy “Roman-Emperor” -face quivered through all its muscles.</p> - -<p>“It’s not ritual,” he muttered gloomily, “you’d better -not ask me what it is, for I <em>know</em>!”</p> - -<p>Brand Renshaw smiled a cruel smile.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p> - -<p>“He means that it’s <em>madness</em>,” he remarked carelessly, -“and I dare say he’s quite right.”</p> - -<p>“Fingal Raughty’s not mad,” protested Mr. Traherne, -“I tell you he bathes himself just as my rat -does—to praise God and purge his sins!”</p> - -<p>“I wasn’t thinking about the Doctor,” said Brand -quietly, the same cruel gleam in his eyes. “Mr. Sorio -knows what I meant.”</p> - -<p>The Italian made a movement as if he were about to -leap upon him and strike him, but the reappearance of -Fingal, his cheeks shining and his face softly irradiated, -distracted the general attention.</p> - -<p>“You’d begun to tell us, Stork,” said the Doctor, -“what <em>your</em> escape is from the sting of sensuality. -You wipe out, altogether, you say, God and Eternity?”</p> - -<p>Baltazar’s feminine features hardened as if under a -thin mask of enamel. Brand shot a malignant glance -at him.</p> - -<p>“I can answer that,” he said, with venomous bitterness. -“Tassar thinks himself an artist, you know. -He despises the whole lot of us as numbskulls and -Philistines. He’ll tell you that art’s the great thing -and that critics of art know much more about it than -the damned fools who do it, all there is to be known, -in fact.”</p> - -<p>Baltazar’s expression as he listened to his half-brother’s -speech was a palimpsest of conflicting emotions. -The look that predominated, however, was the -look of a woman under the lash, waiting her hour. He -smiled lightly enough and gesticulated with his delicate -hand.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p> - -<p>“We all have our secret,” he declared gaily. -“Brand thinks he knows mine but he’s as far from -knowing it as that new moon over there is from knowing -the secret of the tide.”</p> - -<p>His words caused them to glance at the window. -The clouds had vanished and the thin ghostly crescent -peered at them from between the curtains.</p> - -<p>“The tide obeys it,” he added significantly, “but it -keeps its own counsel.”</p> - -<p>“And it has,” put in Sorio fiercely, “depths below -depths which it were better for no corpse-world to interfere -with!”</p> - -<p>Dr. Raughty, who had cleared his throat uneasily -several times during the last few moments, now called -the attention of the company to a scorched moth which, -hurt by one of the candles, lay shuddering upon the -edge of the table.</p> - -<p>“Hasn’t it exquisite markings?” he said, touching -the creature with the tip of his forefinger, and bending -forward over it like a lover. “It’s a puss-moth! -I wish I had my killing-bottle here. I’d keep it for -Horace Pod.”</p> - -<p>Sorio suddenly leapt from his seat and made a snatch -at the moth.</p> - -<p>“Shame!” he cried, addressing indiscriminately the -Doctor, Horace Pod and the universe. “Poor little -thing!” he added, seizing it in his fist and carrying it -to the window. When, with some difficulty and many -muttered imprecations he had flung it out, “it tickled -me,” he remarked gravely. “Moths flutter so in your -hand.”</p> - -<p>“Most things flutter,” remarked Brand, “when you -try to get rid of them. Some of them,” he added in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> -significant tone, “don’t confine themselves to fluttering.”</p> - -<p>The incident of the moth seemed to break up, more -than any of the preceding interruptions, the harmony -of the evening. Dr. Raughty, looking nervously at -Sorio and replacing his pipe in his pocket, announced -that he intended to depart. Brand Renshaw rose too -and with him, Mr. Traherne.</p> - -<p>“May I walk with you a little way?” said the -priest.</p> - -<p>The master of Oakguard stared at him blankly.</p> - -<p>“Of course, of course,” he replied, “but I’m afraid -it’ll take you out of your road.”</p> - -<p>It was some time before they got clear of the house -as Baltazar with a thousand delicate attentions to each -of them and all manner of lively speeches, did his best, -in the stir of their separation, to smooth over and -obliterate from their minds the various little shocks -that had ruffled his entertainment. They got away, -however, at last and Brand and the priest, bidding the -rest good night, took the road to the park. The sky -as they entered the park gates was clear and starry -and the dark trees of the avenue up which they walked, -rose beside them in immovable stillness.</p> - -<p>Mr. Traherne, putting his hand into the pocket of -his ulster to derive courage from contact with his pet, -plunged without preamble into the heart of the perilous -subject.</p> - -<p>“You may not know, Renshaw,” he said, “that Miss -Herrick and her sister are leaving Dyke House and -are going to live in the village. Nance has got work -at Miss Pontifex’ and Linda is going to play the organ -regularly for me. I believe there’s been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> -something—lately”—he hesitated and his voice shook a little -but, recovering himself with a tremendous effort, -“something,” he went on, “between Linda and yourself. -Now, of course, in any other case I should be -very reluctant to say anything. Interference in these -things is usually both impertinent and useless. But -this case is quite different. The girl is a young girl. -She has no parents. Her sister is herself quite young -and they are both, in a sense, dependent on me as the -priest of this place for all the protection I can give. -I feel responsible for these girls, Renshaw, responsible -for them, and no feelings of a personal kind with regard -to any one,” here he squeezed Ricoletto so tightly -that the rat emitted a frightened little squeal, “shall -interfere with what I feel is my duty. No, hear me -out, hear me out, Renshaw!” he continued hurriedly, -as his companion began to speak. “The matter is one -about which we need not mind being quite open. I want -you, in fact, to promise me—to promise me on your -word of honour—that you’ll leave this child alone. -I don’t know how far things have gone between you. I -can’t imagine, it would be shameful to imagine, that it -has gone beyond a flirtation. But whatever it has been, -it must stop now. It’s only your word of honour I -want, nothing but your word of honour, and I can’t -believe you’ll hesitate, as a gentleman, to give me that. -You’ll give me that, won’t you, Renshaw? Just say -yes and the matter’s closed.”</p> - -<p>He removed his hand from his pocket and laid it on -his companion’s wrist. Brand was sufficiently cool at -that moment to remark as an interesting fact that the -priest was trembling. Not only was he trembling but -as he removed his hat to give further solemnity to his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> -appeal, large drops of perspiration, known only to -himself, for darkness dimmed his face, trickled down -into his eyes. Brand quietly freed himself and moved -back a step.</p> - -<p>“I’m not in the least surprised,” he said, “at your -speaking to me like this, and strange as it may seem it -does not annoy me. In fact it pleases me. I like it. -It raises the value of the girl—of Linda, I mean—and -it makes me respect you. But if you imagine, my -good Mr. Traherne, that I’m going to make any such -promise as you describe, you can have no more notion -of what I’m like than you have of what Linda’s like. -Talk to <em>her</em>, Hamish Traherne, talk to her, and see -what she says!”</p> - -<p>The priest clenched his fingers round the handle of -his oak stick. He felt rising in him a tide of natural -human anger. Mentally he prayed to his God that -he might retain his self-control and not make matters -worse by violence.</p> - -<p>“If it interests you to know,” Brand continued, “I -may tell you that it’s quite possible I shall marry Linda. -She attracts me, I confess it freely, more than I could -possibly explain to you or to any one. I presume you -wouldn’t carry your responsibility so far as to make -trouble about my marrying her, eh? But that’s nothing. -That’s neither here nor there. Married or unmarried, -I do what I please. Do I convey my meaning -sufficiently clearly? I—do—what—I—please. -Let that be your clue henceforth, Mr. Hamish Traherne, -and the clue of everybody else in Rodmoor, in -dealing with me. Listen to me, sir. I do you the honour -of talking more openly to you to-night than I’m -ever likely to talk again. Perhaps you have the idea<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> -that I’m a mere commonplace sensualist, snatching at -every animal pleasure that comes my way? Perhaps -you fancy I’ve a vicious—what do you call it?—‘penchant’—for -the seduction of young girls? Let -me tell you this, Mr. Hamish, a thing that may somewhat -surprise you. I’ve walked these woods till I know -every scent in them by night and day—do you catch -that fungus-smell now? That’s one of the smells I -love best of all!—and in these walks, absolutely alone,—I -love being alone!—I’ve faced possibilities of evil—faced -them and resisted them, mind you!—compared -with which these mere normal sexual lapses we’re -talking about are silly child’s play! Linda does me -good. Do you hear? She does me good. She saves -me from things that never in your wildest dreams you’d -suppose any one capable of. Oh, you priests! You -priests! You shut yourselves up among your crucifixes -and your little books, and meanwhile—beyond -your furthest imagination—the great tides of evil -sweep backwards and forwards! Listen! I needn’t -tell you what that sound is? Yes—you can hear it. -In every part of this place you can hear it! I was -born to that tune, Traherne, and I shall die to that -tune. It’s better than rustling leaves, isn’t it? It’s -deeper. It’s the kind of music a man might have in his -head when doing something compared with which such -little sins as you’re blaming me for are virtues! Did -you see that bat? I’ve watched them under these trees -from midnight to morning. A bat in the light of dawn -is a curious thing to see. Do you like bats, Mr. Traherne, -or do you confine yourself to rats?</p> - -<p>“Bah! I’m talking like an idiot. But what I want -you to understand is this. When you’re dealing with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> -me, you are dealing with some one who’s lost the power -of being frightened by words, some one who’s broken -the world’s crust and peeped behind it, some one who’s -seen the black pools—did you guess there were black -pools in this world?—and has seen the red stains in -them and who knows what caused those stains! Damn -it all—Hamish Traherne—what did you take me for -when you talked to me like that? A common, sensual -pig? A vulgar seducer of children? A fellow to be -frightened back into the fold by talk of honour and -the manners of gentlemen? I tell you <em>I’ve seen bats in -the dawn</em>—and seen them too, with images in my memory -that only <em>that sound</em>—do you hear it still?—could -equal for horror.</p> - -<p>“It’s because Linda knows the horror of the sea -that I love her. I love to lead her to it, to feel her -draw back and not to let her draw back! And she -loves me <em>for the same reason</em>! That’s a fact, Mr. -Hamish, that may be hard for you to realize. Linda -and I understand each other. Do you hear that, you -lover of rats? We understand each other. She does -me good. She distracts me. She keeps those black -pools out of my mind. She keeps Philippa’s eyes from -following me about. She takes the taste of funguses -out of my mouth. She suits me, I tell you! She’s -what I need. She’s what I need and must have!</p> - -<p>“Bah! I’m chattering like an idiot. I must be -drunk. I <em>am</em> drunk. But that’s nothing. That’s one -of the vices that are <em>my</em> virtues. I’ll tell you another -thing, while I’m about it, Hamish Traherne. You’ve -wondered sometimes, I expect, why I’m so good to -Baltazar. Quite Christian of me, you’ve thought it, -eh? Quite noble and Christian—considering what he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> -is and what I am? That just shows how little you -know us, how little you know either of us! Tassar can -no more get away from me than I can get away from -him. We’re bound together for life, my boy, bound -together by what those black pools mean and what -<em>that sound</em>—you wouldn’t think you could hear it -here, would you?—never stops meaning.</p> - -<p>“Bah! I’m drunk as a pig to-night! I’ve not -talked like this to any one, not for years. Listen, Traherne! -You have an ugly face but you’re not a fool. -Wasn’t it Saint Augustine who said once that evil was -a mere rent in the cloak of goodness? The simple innocent! -I tell you, evil goes down to the bottom of -life and out beyond! I know that, for I’ve gone with -it. <em>I’ve seen the bats in the dawn.</em></p> - -<p>“Yes, Tassar’s gone far, Hamish Traherne, farther -than you guess. Sometimes I think he’s gone farther -than <em>I</em> guess. <em>He</em> never talks, you know. You’ll never -catch <em>him</em> drunk. Tassar could look the devil in the -face, and worse, and keep his pretty head cool!—Oh, -damn it all, Traherne, it’s not easy for a person never -to open his mouth! But Tassar’s got the secret of -that. He must get it from my father. There was a -man for you! You wouldn’t have dared to talk to him -like this.”</p> - -<p>Several times during this long outburst, Mr. Traherne’s -fingers had caused pain to Ricoletto. But now -he flung out his long arms and clutched Brand fiercely by -the shoulders.</p> - -<p>“Pray—you poor lost soul,” he shouted, “pray -the great God above us to have mercy upon you and -have mercy upon us all!”</p> - -<p>His arms trembled as he uttered these words and,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> -hardly conscious of what he was doing, he shook the -heavy frame of the man before him backwards and forwards -as if he had been a child in his hands. There -was dead silence for several seconds and, unheeded by -either of them, a weasel ran furtively across the path -and disappeared among the trees. The damp odours of -moss and leaf-mould rose up around them and, between -the motionless branches above, the stars shone like pin-pricks -through black parchment. Suddenly Brand -broke away with a harsh laugh.</p> - -<p>“Enough of this!” he cried. “We’ve had enough -melodramatic nonsense for one night. You’d better go -back to bed, Traherne, or you’ll be oversleeping yourself -to-morrow and my mother will miss her matins.”</p> - -<p>He held out his hand.</p> - -<p>“Good night!—and sleep soundly!” he added, in -his accustomed dull, sarcastic tone.</p> - -<p>The priest sighed heavily and groped about on the -ground for the hat he had dropped. Just as he had -secured it and was moving off, Brand called out to him -laughingly,</p> - -<p>“Don’t you believe a word of what I said just now. -I’m not drunk at all. I was only fooling. I’m just a -common ruffian who knows a pretty face when he sees -it. Talk to Linda about me and see what she says!” -He strode off up the avenue and the priest turned heavily -on his heel.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XV">XV<br /> -<span class="smaller">BROKEN VOICES</span></h2> - -<p>Nance and Linda were not long in growing -accustomed to their new mode of life. Nance, -after her London experiences, found Miss -Pontifex’ little work-room, looking out on a pleasant -garden, a place of refuge rather than of irksome labour. -The young girls under her charge were good-tempered -and docile; and Miss Pontifex herself—an excitable -little woman with extravagantly genteel manners, and -a large Wedgewood brooch under her chin—seemed -to think that the girl’s presence in the establishment -would redound immensely to its reputation and distinction.</p> - -<p>“I’m a conservative born and bred,” she remarked to -Nance, “and I can tell a lady out of a thousand. I -won’t say what I might say about the people here. -But we know—we know what we think.”</p> - -<p>Nance’s intimate knowledge of the more recondite -aspects of the trade took an immense load off the little -dressmaker’s mind. She had more time to devote to -her garden, which was her deepest passion, and it -filled her with pride to be able to say to her friends, -“Miss Herrick from Dyke House works with me now. -Her father was a Captain in the Royal Navy.”</p> - -<p>The month of July went by without any further agitating -incidents. As far as Nance knew, Brand left -Linda in peace, and the young girl, though looking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> -weary and spiritless, seemed to be reconciling herself -fairly well to the loss of him and to be deriving definite -distraction and satisfaction from her progress in organ-playing. -Day by day in the early afternoon, she -would cross the bridge, under all changes of the weather, -and make her way to the church. Her mornings were -spent in household duties, so that her sister might be -free to give her whole time to the work in the shop, -and in the evenings, when it was pleasant to be out of -doors, they both helped Miss Pontifex watering her -phloxes and delphiniums.</p> - -<p>Nance herself—as July drew to its close and the -wheat fields turned yellow—was at once happier and -less happy in her relations with Sorio. Her happiness -came from the fact that he treated her now more gently -and considerately than he had ever done before; her -unhappiness from the fact that he had grown more reserved -and a queer sort of nervous depression seemed -hanging over him. She knew he still saw Philippa, but -what the relations between the two were, or how far any -lasting friendship had arisen between them, it was impossible -to discover. They certainly never met now, -under conditions open to the intrusion of Rodmoor -scandal.</p> - -<p>Nance went more than once, before July was over, -to see Rachel Doorm, and the days when these visits occurred -were the darkest and saddest of all she passed -through during that time. The mistress of Dyke -House seemed to be rapidly degenerating. Nance was -horrified to find how inert and indifferent to everything -she had come to be. The interior of the house was now -as dusty and untidy as the garden was desolate, and -judging from her manner on the last visit she paid, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> -girl began to fear she had found the same solace in her -loneliness as that which consoled her father.</p> - -<p>Nance made one desperate attempt to improve matters. -Without saying anything to Miss Doorm, she -carried with her to the house one of Mrs. Raps’ own -buxom daughters, who was quite prepared, for an infinitesimal -compensation, to go every day to help her. -But this arrangement collapsed hopelessly. On the -third day after her first appearance, the young woman -returned to her home, and with indignant tears declared -she had been “thrown out of the nasty place.”</p> - -<p>One evening at the end of the month, just as the -sisters were preparing to go out for a stroll together, -their landlady, with much effusion and agitation, -ushered in Mrs. Renshaw. Tired with walking, and -looking thinner and whiter than usual, she seemed extremely -glad to sit down on their little sofa and sip the -raspberry vinegar which Nance hastened to prepare. -She ate some biscuits, too, as if she were faint for want -of food, but all the time she ate there was in her air an -apologetic, deprecatory manner, as though eating had -been a gross vice or as though never in her life before -had she eaten in public. She kept imploring Nance to -share the refreshment, and it was not until the girl made -at least a pretence of doing so that she seemed to recover -her peace of mind.</p> - -<p>Her great, hollow, brown eyes kept surveying the little -apartment with nervous admiration. “I like it -here,” she remarked at last. “I like little rooms much -better than large ones.” She picked up from the table -a well-worn copy of Palgrave’s “Golden Treasury” and -Nance had never seen her face light up so suddenly as -when, turning the pages at random, she chanced upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> -Keats’ “Ode to Autumn.” “I know that by heart,” -she said, “every word of it. I used to teach it to -Philippa. You’ve no idea how nicely she used to say -it. But she doesn’t care for poetry any more. She -reads more learned books, more clever books now. She’s -got beyond me. Both my children have got beyond -me.” She sighed heavily and Nance, with a sense of -horrible pity, seemed to visualize her—happy in little -rooms and with little anthologies of old-world verse—condemned -to the devastating isolation of Oakguard.</p> - -<p>“I see you’ve got ‘The Bride of Lammermoor’ up -there,” she remarked presently, and rising impetuously -from her seat on the sofa, she took the book in her -hands. Nance never forgot the way she touched it, or -the infinite softness that came into her eyes as she murmured, -“Poor Lucy! Poor Lucy!” and began turning -the pages.</p> - -<p>Suddenly another book caught her attention and she -took down “Humphrey Clinker” from the shelf. -“Oh!” she cried, a faint flush coming into her sunken -cheeks, “I haven’t seen that book for years and years. -I used to read it before I was married. I think Smollett -was a very great writer, don’t you? But I suppose -young people nowadays find him too simple for -their taste. That poor dear Mr. Bramble! And all -that part about Tabitha, too! I seem to remember it -all. I believe Dickens used to like Smollett. At least, -I think I read somewhere that he did. I expect he liked -that wonderful mixture of humour and pathos, though -of course, when it comes to that, I suppose none of -them can equal Dickens himself.”</p> - -<p>As Mrs. Renshaw uttered these words and caressed -the tattered volume she held as if it had been made of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> -pure gold, her face became irradiated with a look of -such innocent and guileless spirituality, that Nance, in -a hurried act of mental contrition, wiped out of her -memory every moment when she had not loved her. -“What she must suffer!” the girl said to herself as -she watched her. “What she must <em>have</em> suffered—with -those people in that great house.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Renshaw sighed as she replaced the book in the -shelf. “Writers seem to have got so clever in these -last years,” she said plaintively. “They use so many -long words. I wonder where they get them from—out -of dictionaries, do you think?—and they hurt me, -they hurt me, by the way they speak of our beloved -religion. They can’t <em>all</em> of them be great philosophers -like Spinoza and Schopenhauer, can they? They can’t -all of them be going to give the world new and comforting -thoughts? I don’t like their sharp, snappy, -sarcastic tone. And oh, Nance dear!”—she returned -to her seat on the sofa—“I can’t bear their slang! -Why is it that they feel they must use so much slang, -do you think? I suppose they want to make their -books seem real, but <em>I</em> don’t hear real people talking -like that. But perhaps it comes from America. American -writers seem extraordinarily clever, and American -dictionaries—for Dr. Raughty showed me one—seem -much bigger than ours.”</p> - -<p>She was silent for a while and then, looking gently -at Linda, “I think it’s wonderful, dear, how well you -play now. I thought last Sunday evening you played -the hymns better than I’ve ever heard them! But they -were beautiful hymns, weren’t they? That last one -was my favourite of all.”</p> - -<p>Once more she was silent, and Nance seemed to catch<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> -her lips moving, as she fixed her great sorrowful eyes -upon the book-shelf, and began slowly pulling on her -gloves.</p> - -<p>“I must be going now,” she said, with a little sigh. -“I thank you for the raspberry vinegar and the biscuits. -I think I was tired. I didn’t sleep very well -last night. Good-bye, dears. No, don’t, please, come -down. I can let myself out. It’s a lovely evening, -isn’t it, and the poppies in the cornfields are quite red -now. I can see a big patch of them from our terrace, -just across the river. Poppies always make me think -of the days when I was a young girl. We used to think -a lot of them then. We used to make fairies out of -them.”</p> - -<p>Nance insisted on seeing her into the street. When -she entered the room again, she was not altogether surprised -to find Linda convulsed with sobs. “I can’t—I -can’t help it,” gasped the young girl. “She’s too -pitiful. She’s too sad. You feel you want to hug her -and hug her, but you’re afraid even to touch her hand!” -She made an effort to recover herself, and then, with -the tears still on her cheeks, “Nance dear,” she said -solemnly, “I don’t believe she’ll live to the end of this -year. I believe, one of these days, when the Autumn -comes, we shall hear she’s been found dead in her bed. -Nance, listen!”—and the young girl’s voice became -awe-struck and very solemn—“won’t it be dreadful -for <em>those two</em>, over there, when they find her like that, -and feel how little they’ve done to make her happy? -Can’t you imagine it, Nance? The wind wailing and -wailing round that house, and she lying there all white -and dreadful—and Philippa with a candle standing -over her—”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Why do you say ‘with a candle’?” said Nance -brusquely. “You’re talking wildly and exaggerating -everything. If they found her in the morning, like -that, Philippa wouldn’t come with a candle.”</p> - -<p>Linda stared dreamily out of the window. “No, I -suppose not,” she said, “and yet I can’t see it without -Philippa holding a candle. And there’s something else -I see, too,” she added in a lower voice.</p> - -<p>“I don’t want—” Nance began and then, more gently, -“<em>What</em> else, you silly child?”</p> - -<p>“Philippa’s red lips,” she murmured softly, “red -as if she’d put rouge on them. Do you think she ever -does put rouge on them? That’s, I suppose, what -made me think of the candle. I seemed to see it flickering -against her mouth. Oh, I’m silly—I’m silly, I -know, but I couldn’t help seeing it like that—her lips, -I mean.”</p> - -<p>“You’re morbid to-day, Linda,” said Nance abruptly. -“Well? Shall we go to the garden? I feel -as though carrying watering-pots and doing weeding -will be good for both of us.”</p> - -<p>While this conversation was going on between the -sisters in their High Street lodging, Sorio and Baltazar -were seated together on a bench by the harbour’s side. -The tide was flowing in and cool sea-breaths, mixed with -the odour of tar and paint and fisherman’s tobacco, -floated in upon them as they talked.</p> - -<p>“It’s absurd to have any secrets between you and -me,” Sorio was saying, his face reflecting the light of -the sunset as it poured down the river’s surface to -where they sat. “When I become quite impossible to -you as a companion, I suppose you’ll tell me so and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> -turn me out. But until then I’m going to assume that -I interest you and don’t bore you.”</p> - -<p>“It isn’t a question of boring any one,” replied the -other. “You annoyed me just now because I thought -you were making no effort to control yourself. You -seemed trying to rake up every repulsive sensation -you’ve ever had and thrust it down my throat. Bored? -Certainly I wasn’t bored! On the contrary, I was -much more what you might call <em>bitten</em>. You go so -far, my dear, you go so far!”</p> - -<p>“I don’t call that going far at all,” said Sorio sulkily. -“What’s the use of living together if we can’t -talk of everything? Besides, you didn’t let me finish. -What I wanted to say was that for some reason or -other, I’ve lately got to a point when every one I meet—every -mortal person, and especially every stranger—strikes -me as odious and disgusting. I’ve had the feeling -before but never quite like this. It’s not a pleasant -feeling, my dear, I can assure you of that!”</p> - -<p>“But what do you mean—what do you mean by -odious and disgusting?” threw in the other. “I suppose -they’re made in the same way we are. Flesh and -blood is flesh and blood, after all.”</p> - -<p>As Baltazar said this, what he thought in his mind -was much as follows: “Adriano is evidently going -mad again. This kind of thing is one of the symptoms. -I like having him here with me. I like looking at his -face when he’s excited. He has a beautiful face—it’s -more purely antique in its moulding than half the ancient -cameos. I especially like looking at him when -he’s harassed and outraged. He has a dilapidated -wistfulness at those times which exactly suits my taste.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> -I should miss Adriano frightfully if he went away. No -one I’ve ever lived with suits me better. I can annoy -him when I like and I can appease him when I like. He -fills me with a delicious sense of power. If only Philippa -would leave him alone, and that Herrick girl -would stop persecuting him, he’d suit me perfectly. I -like him when his nerves are quivering and twitching. -I like the ‘wounded-animal look’ he has then. But -it’s these accursed girls who spoil it all. Of course it’s -their work, this new mania. They carry everything so -far! I like him to get wild and desperate but I don’t -want him mad. These girls stick at nothing. They’d -drive him into an asylum if they could, poor helpless -devil!”</p> - -<p>While these thoughts slid gently through Stork’s -head, his friend was already answering his question -about “flesh and blood.” “It’s just that which gets -on my nerves,” he said. “I can stand it when I’m -talking to you because I forget everything except your -mind, and I can stand it when I’m making love to a -girl, because I forget everything but—”</p> - -<p>“Don’t say her body!” threw in Baltazar.</p> - -<p>“I wasn’t going to,” snarled the other. “I know -it isn’t their bodies one thinks of. It’s—it’s—what -the devil is it? It’s something much deeper than that. -Well, never mind! What I want to say is this. With -you and Raughty, and a few others who really interest -me, I forget the whole thing. <em>You</em> are individuals -to me. I’m interested in you, and I forget what you’re -like, or that you have flesh at all.</p> - -<p>“It’s when I come upon people I’m neither in love -with nor interested in, that I have this sensation, and -of course,” and he surveyed a group of women who at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> -that moment were raising angry voices from an archway -on the further side of the harbour, “and of course -I have it every day.”</p> - -<p>Stork looked at him with absorbed attention, holding -between his fingers an unlit cigarette. “What -exactly <em>is</em> the feeling you have?” he enquired gently.</p> - -<p>The light on Sorio’s face had faded with the fading -of the glow on the water. There began to fall upon the -place where they sat, upon the cobble-stones of the little -quay, upon the wharf steps, slimy with green seaweed, -upon the harbour mud and the tarred gunwales -of the gently rocking barges, upon the pallid tide flowing -inland with gurglings and suckings and lappings -and long-drawn sighs, that indescribable sense of the -coming on of night at a river’s mouth, which is like -nothing else in the world. It is, as it were, the meeting -of two infinite vistas of imaginative suggestion—the -sense of the mystery of the boundless horizons sea-ward, -and the more human mystery of the unknown -distance inland, its vague fields and marshes and woods -and silent gardens—blending there together in a suspended -breath of ineffable possibility, sad and tender, -and touching the margin of what cannot be uttered.</p> - -<p>“What is it?” repeated Sorio dreamily, and in a -low melancholy voice. “How can I tell you what it -is? It’s a knowledge of the inner truth, I suppose. -It’s the fact that I’ve come to know, at last, what -human beings are really like. I’ve come to see them -stripped and naked—no! worse than that—I’ve come -to see them <em>flayed</em>. I’ve got to the point, Tassar, my -friend, when I see the world <em>as it is</em>, and I can tell you -it’s not a pleasant sight!”</p> - -<p>Baltazar Stork regarded him with a look of the most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> -exquisite pity, a pity which was not the less genuine -because the emotion that accompanied it was one of -indescribable pleasure. In the presence of his friend’s -massive face and powerful figure he felt deliciously delicate -and frail, but with this sense of fragility came a -feeling of indescribable power—the power of a mind -that is capable of contemplating with equanimity a -view of things at which another staggers and shivers -and grows insane. It was allotted to Baltazar by the -secret forces of the universe to know during that hour, -one of the most thrilling moments of his life.</p> - -<p>“To get to the point I’ve reached,” continued Sorio -gently, watching the colour die out from the water’s -surface and a whitish glimmer, silvery and phantom-like, -take its place, “means to sharpen one’s senses to -a point of terrible receptivity. In fact, until you can -hear the hearts of people beating—until you can hear -their contemptible lusts hissing and writhing in their -veins, like evil snakes—you haven’t reached the point. -You haven’t reached it until you can smell the graveyard—yes! -The graveyard of all mortality—in the -cleanest flesh you approach. You haven’t reached it -till every movement people make, every word they speak, -betrays them for what they are, betrays the vulture on -the wing, and the hyena on the prowl. You haven’t -reached it till you feel ready to cry out, like a child -in a nightmare, and beat the air with your hands, so -suffocating is the pressure of loathsome living bodies—bodies -marked and sealed and printed with the signs -of death and decomposition!”</p> - -<p>Baltazar Stork struck a match and lit his cigarette.</p> - -<p>“Well?” he remarked, stretching out his legs and -leaning back on the wooden bench. “Well? The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> -world is like that, then. You’ve found it out. You -know it. You’ve made the wonderful discovery. Why -can’t you smoke cigarettes, then, and make love to your -lovely friends, and let the whole thing go? You’ll be -dead yourself in a year or two in any case.</p> - -<p>“Adriano dear,” he lowered his voice to an impressive -whisper, “shall I tell you something? You are -making all this fuss and driving yourself desperate -about a thing which doesn’t really concern you in the -least. It’s not your business if the world does reek -like a carcass. It’s not your business if people’s brains -are full of poisonous snakes and their bellies of greedy -lecheries. It’s not your business—do you understand—if -human flesh smells of the graveyard. Your -affair, my boy, is to get what amusement you can out -of it and make yourself as comfortable as you can in it. -It might be worse, it might be better. It doesn’t really -make much difference either way.</p> - -<p>“Listen to me, Adriano! I say to you now, as we -sit at this moment watching this water, unless you get -rid of this new mania of yours, you’ll end as you did -in America. You’ll simply go mad again, my dear, -and that would be uncomfortable for you and extremely -inconvenient for me. The world is not <em>meant</em> to be -taken seriously. It’s meant to be handled as you’d -handle a troublesome girl. Take what amuses you and -let the rest go to the devil! Anything else—and I -know what I’m talking about—tends to simple misery.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span></p> -<p>“Heigh ho! But it’s a most delicious evening! -What nonsense all this talk of ours is! Look at that -boy over there. He’s not worrying himself about -grave-yards. Here, Harry! Tommy! Whatever you -call yourself—come here! I want to speak to you.”</p> - -<p>The child addressed was a ragged barelegged urchin, -of about eleven, who had been for some while slowly -gravitating around the two men. He came at once, -at Baltazar’s call, and looked at them both, wonderingly -and quizzically.</p> - -<p>“Got any pictures?” he asked. Stork nodded and, -opening a new box of cigarettes, handed the boy a little -oblong card stamped with the arms of some royal -European dynasty. “I likes the Honey-Dew ones -best,” remarked the boy, “them as has the sport cards -in ’em.”</p> - -<p>“We can’t always have sport cards, Tommy,” said -Baltazar. “Little boys, as the world moves round, -must learn to put up with the arms of European -princes. Let me feel your muscle, Tommy. I’ve an -idea that you’re suffering from deficient nourishment.” -The child extended his arm, and then bent it, with an -air of extreme and anxious gravity. “Pretty good,” -said Stork, smiling. “Yes, I may say you’re decidedly -powerful for your size. What’s your opinion, Tommy, -about things in general? This gentleman here thinks -we’re all in a pretty miserable way. He thinks -life’s a hell of a bad job. What do you think about -it?”</p> - -<p>The boy looked at him suspiciously. “Ben Porter, -what cleans the knives up at the Admiral’s, tried -that game on with me. But I let him know, soon -enough, who he were talking to.” He moved off hastily -after this, but a moment later ran back, pointing excitedly -at a couple of sea-gulls which were circling -near them.</p> - -<p>“A man shot one of them birds last night,” he said, -“and it fell into the water. Lordy! But it did<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> -splash! ’Tweren’t properly killed, I reckon—just -knocked over.”</p> - -<p>“What’s that?” said Sorio sharply. “What became -of it then? Who picked it up?”</p> - -<p>The boy looked at him with a puzzled stare. “<em>They</em> -ain’t no good to eat,” he rejoined, “they be what you -call cannibal-birds. They feeds on muck. Cats’ll eat -’em, though,” he added.</p> - -<p>“What became of it?” shouted Sorio, in a threatening -voice.</p> - -<p>“Went out with the tide, Mister, most like,” answered -the child, moving apprehensively away from him. -“I saw some fellows in a boat knock at it with their -oars, but they couldn’t get it. It sort o’ flapped and -swimmed away.”</p> - -<p>Sorio rose from his seat and strode to the edge of the -quay. He looked eastward, past the long line of half-submerged -wooden stakes which marked the approach -to the harbour. “When did that devil shoot it, do you -say?” he asked, turning to the boy. But the youngster -had taken to his heels. Angry-looking bronze-faced -gentlemen who interested themselves in wounded -sea-gulls were something new in his experience.</p> - -<p>“Let’s get a boat and row out to those stakes,” said -Adrian suddenly. “I seem to see something white -over there. Look! Don’t you think so?”</p> - -<p>Baltazar moved to his side. “Heavens! my dear,” -he remarked languidly, “you don’t suppose the thing -would be there now, after all this time? However,” -he added, shrugging his shoulders, “if it’ll put you -into a better mood, by all means let’s do it.”</p> - -<p>It was, when it came to the point, Baltazar who untied -an available boat from its moorings, and Baltazar<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> -who appropriated a pair of oars that were leaning -against a fish shed. In details of this kind the passionate -Sorio was always seized with a paralysis of -nervous incompetence. Once in the boat, however, the -younger man refused to do anything but steer. “I’m -not going to pull against this current, for all the sea-gulls -in the world,” he remarked.</p> - -<p>Sorio rowed with desperate impetuosity, but it was -a slow and laborious task. Several fishermen, loitering -on the quay after their supper, surveyed the scene -with interest. “The gentleman wants to exercise ’isself -afore dinner-time,” observed one. “’Tis a wonder -if he moves ’er,” rejoined another, “but ’e’s rowin’ -like ’twas a royal regatta.”</p> - -<p>With the sweat pouring down his face and the muscles -of his whole body taut and quivering, Sorio tugged -and strained at the oars. At first it seemed as though -the boat hardly moved at all. Then, little by little, it -forged ahead, the tide’s pressure diminishing as the -mouth of the harbour widened. After several minutes’ -exhausting effort, they reached the place where the first -of the wooden piles rose out of the water. It was tangled -with seaweed and bleached with sun and wind. -The tide gurgled and foamed round it. Baltazar -yawned.</p> - -<p>“They’re all like this one,” he said. “You see what -they’re like. Nothing could possibly cling to them, -unless it had hands to cling with.”</p> - -<p>Sorio, resting on his oars, glared at the darkening -waters. “Let’s get to the last of them anyway,” he -muttered. He pulled on, the effort becoming easier -and easier as they escaped from the in-flow of the river-mouth -and reached the open sea. When at last the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> -boat rubbed its side against the last of the stakes, -they were nearly a quarter of a mile from land. No, -there was certainly no sea-gull here, alive or dead!</p> - -<p>A buoy, with a bell attached to it, sent at intervals, -over the water, a profoundly melancholy cry—a cry -subdued and yet tragic, not absolutely devoid of hope -and yet full of heart-breaking wistfulness. The air was -hot and windless; the sky heavy with clouds; the horizon -concealed by the rapidly falling night. Sorio -seized the stake with his hand to keep the boat steady. -There were already lights in the town, and some of -these twinkled out towards them, in long, radiating, -quivering lines.</p> - -<p>“Tassar!” whispered Sorio suddenly, in a tone -strangely and tenderly modulated.</p> - -<p>“Well, my child, what is it?” returned the other.</p> - -<p>“I only want to tell you,” Adrian went on, “that -whatever I may say or do in the future, I recognize -that you’re the best friend I’ve got, except one.” As -he said the words “except one,” his voice had a vibrant -softness in it.</p> - -<p>“Thank you, my dear,” replied his friend calmly. -“I should certainly be extremely distressed if you made -a fool of yourself in any way. But who is my rival, -tell me that! Who is this one who’s a better friend -than I? Not Philippa, I hope—or Nance Herrick?”</p> - -<p>Sorio sighed heavily. “I vowed to myself,” he muttered, -“I would never talk to any one again about him: -but the sound of that bell—isn’t it weird, Tassar? -Isn’t it ghostly?—makes me long to talk about him.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! I understand,” and Baltazar Stork drew in -his breath with a low whistle, “I understand! You’re -talking about your boy over there. Well, my dear, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> -don’t blame you if you’re homesick for him. I have -a feeling that he’s an extraordinarily beautiful youth. -I always picture him to myself like my Venetian. Is he -like Flambard, Adrian?”</p> - -<p>Sorio sighed again, the sigh of one who sins against -his secret soul and misses the reward of his sacrilege. -“No—no,” he muttered, “it isn’t that! It isn’t anything -to do with his being beautiful. God knows if -Baptiste <em>is</em> beautiful! It’s that I want him. It’s that -he understands what I’m trying to do in the darkness. -It’s simply that I want him, Tassar.”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean by that ‘trying in the darkness,’ -Adriano? What ‘darkness’ are you talking -about?”</p> - -<p>Sorio made no immediate answer. His hand, as he -clung to the stake amid the rocking of the boat, encountered -a piece of seaweed of that kind which possesses -slippery, bubble-like excrescences, and he dug his -nails into one of these leathery globes, with a vague -dreamy idea that if he could burst it he would burst -some swollen trouble in his brain.</p> - -<p>“Do you remember,” he said at last, “what I showed -you the other night, or have you forgotten?”</p> - -<p>Baltazar looked at his mistily outlined features and -experienced, what was extremely unusual with him, a -faint sense of apprehensive remorse. “Of course I -remember,” he replied. “You mean those notes of -yours—that book you’re writing?”</p> - -<p>But Sorio did not hear him. All his attention was -concentrated just then upon the attempt to burst another -seaweed bubble. The bell from the unseen buoy -rang out brokenly over the water; and between the side -of their boat and the stake to which the man was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> -clinging there came gurglings and lappings and whispers, -as if below them, far down under the humming -tide, some sad sea-creature, without hope or memory -or rest, were tossing and moaning, turning a drowned -inhuman face towards the darkened sky.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVI">XVI<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE FENS</span></h2> - -<p>Nance was able, in a sort of lethargic obstinacy, -to endure the strain of her feelings -for Sorio, now that she had the influence of -her familiar work to dull her nerves. She tried hard -to make things cheerful for her not less heart-weary -sister, devising one little scheme after another to divert -and distract the child, and never permitting her -own trouble to interfere with her sympathy.</p> - -<p>But behind all this her soul ached miserably, and -her whole nature thirsted and throbbed for the satisfaction -of her love. Her work played its part as a -kind of numbing opiate and the evenings spent among -Letitia Pontifex’ flower-beds were not devoid of moments -of restorative hope, but day and night the pain -of her passion hurt her and the tooth of jealousy bit -into her flesh.</p> - -<p>It was worst of all in the nights. The sisters slept -in two small couches in the same room and Nance found -herself dreading more and more, as July drew to its -close, that hour when they came in from their neighbour’s -garden and undressing in silence, lay down so -near to one another. They both tried hard, Linda no -less than her sister, to put the thoughts that vexed them -out of their minds and behave as if they were fancy-free -and at peace, but the struggle was a difficult one. If -they only hadn’t known, so cruelly well, just what the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> -other was feeling, as they turned alternately from side -to side, and like little feverish animals gasped and -fretted, it would have been easier to bear. “Aren’t -you asleep yet?” one of them would whisper plaintively, -and the submissive, “I’m so sorry, dear; but oh! -I wish the morning would come,” that she received in -answer, met with only too deep a response.</p> - -<p>One unusually hot night—it happened to be the -first Sunday in August and the eve of the Bank Holiday—Nance -felt as though she would scream out aloud -if her sister moved in her bed again.</p> - -<p>There was something that humiliated and degraded -in this mutual misery. It was hard to be patient, hard -not to feel that her own aching heart was in some subtle -way mocked and insulted by the presence of the same -hurt in the heart of another. It reduced the private -sorrow of each to a sort of universal sex pain, to suffer -from which was a kind of outrage to what was sacred -and secret in their individual souls.</p> - -<p>There were two windows in their room, one opening -on the street and one upon an enclosed yard at the back -of the house. Nance, as she now lay, with the bed-clothes -tossed aside from her, and her hands clasped -behind her head, was horribly conscious not only of the -fact that her sister was just as wide awake as she herself, -but that they were listening <em>together</em> to the same -sounds. These sounds were two-fold, and they came -sometimes separately and sometimes simultaneously. -They consisted of the wailing of an infant in a room on -the other side of the street, and the whining of a dog -in a yard adjoining their own.</p> - -<p>The girl felt as though every species of desolation -known in the world were concentrated in these two<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> -sounds. She kept her eyes tightly shut so as not to -see the darkness, but this proceeding only intensified -the acute receptivity of her other senses. She visualized -the infant and she visualized the dog. The one -she imagined with a puckered, wrinkled face—a face -such as Mr. Traherne might have had in his babyhood—and -plague-spots of a loathsome colour; she saw -the colour against her burning eyeballs as if she were -touching it with her fingers and it was of a reddish -brown. The dog had a long smooth body, without hair, -and as it whined she saw it feebly scratching itself, but -while it scratched, she knew, with evil certainty, that -it was unable to reach the place where the itching maddened -it.</p> - -<p>There was hardly any air in the room, in spite of -the open windows, and Nance fancied that she discerned -an odour proceeding from the wainscoting that resembled -the dust that had once greeted her from a cupboard -in one of the unused bedrooms in Dyke House, -dust that seemed to be composed of the moth-eaten -garments of generations of dead humanity.</p> - -<p>She felt that she could have borne these things—the -whining dog, and the wailing infant—if only -Linda, lying with her face to the wall, were not listening -to them also, listening with feverish intentness. Yes, -she could have borne it if the whole night were not -listening—if the whole night were not listening to the -turnings and tossings of humanity, trying to ease the -itch of its desire and never able to reach, toss and turn -as it might, the place where the plague-spot troubled -it.</p> - -<p>With a cry she leapt from her bed and, fumbling on -the dressing-table, struck a match and lit a candle.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> -The flickering flame showed Linda sitting bolt-upright -with lamentable wide-open eyes.</p> - -<p>Nance went to the window which looked out on the -yard. Here she turned and threw back from her forehead -her masses of heavy hair. “God help us, Linda!” -she whispered. “It’s no use. Nothing is any -use.”</p> - -<p>The young girl slowly and wearily left her bed and, -advancing across the room, nestled up against her sister -and caressed her in silence.</p> - -<p>“What shall we do?” Nance repeated, hardly knowing -what she said. “What shall we do? I can’t bear -this. I can’t bear it, little one, I can’t bear it!”</p> - -<p>As if in response to her appeal, the dog and the infant -together sent forth a pitiful wail upon the night.</p> - -<p>“What misery there is in the world—what horrible -misery!” Nance murmured. “I’m sure we’re all better -off dead, than like this. Better off dead, my -darling.”</p> - -<p>Linda answered by slipping her arms round her waist -and hugging her tightly. Then suddenly, “Why don’t -we dress ourselves and go out?” she cried. “It’s too -hot to sleep. Yes, do let’s do that, Nance! Let’s -dress and go out.”</p> - -<p>Nance looked at her with a faint smile. There was -a childish ardour about her tone that reminded her of -the Linda of many years ago. “Very well,” she said, -“I don’t mind.”</p> - -<p>They dressed hurriedly. The very boldness of the -idea helped them to recover their spirits. Bare-headed -and in their house-shoes they let themselves out into the -street. It was between two and three o’clock. The -little town was absolutely silent. The infant in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> -house opposite made no sound. “Perhaps it’s dead -now,” Nance thought.</p> - -<p>They walked across the green, and Nance gave a -long wistful look at the windows of Baltazar’s cottage. -The heavy clouds had lifted a little, and from various -points in the sky the stars threw down a faint, uncertain -glimmer. It remained, however, still so dark that -when they reached the centre of the bridge, neither bank -was visible, and the waters of the Loon flowing beneath -were hidden in profound obscurity. They leant upon -the parapet and inhaled the darkness. What wind -there was blew from the west so that the air was heavy -with the scent of peat and marsh mud, and the sound -of the sea seemed to come from far away, as if it belonged -to a different world.</p> - -<p>They crossed the bridge and began following the -footpath that led to the church. Coming suddenly -on an open gate, however, they were tempted, by a -curious instinct of unconscious self-cruelty, to deviate -from the path they knew and to pursue a strange and -unfamiliar track heading straight for the darkened -fens. It was on the side of the path removed from the -sea that this track began, and it led them, along the -edge of a reedy ditch, into a great shadowy maze of -silent water-meadows.</p> - -<p>Fortunately for the two girls, the particular ditch -they followed had a high and clearly marked embankment, -an embankment used by the owners of cattle in -that district as a convenient way of getting their herds -from one feeding-ground to another. No one who has -never experienced the sensation of following one of -these raised banks, or dyke-tracks, across the fens, can -conceive the curious feelings it has the power of evoking.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> -Even by day these impressions are unique and -strange. By night they assume a quality which may -easily pass into something bordering upon panic-terror. -The palpable and immediate cause of this emotion is the -sense of being isolated, separated, and cut-off, from all -communication with the ordinary world.</p> - -<p>On the sea-shore one is indeed in contact with the -unknown mass of waters, but there is always, close at -hand, the familiar inland landscape, friendly and reassuring. -On the slope of a mountain one may look -with apprehension at the austere heights above, but -there is always behind one the rocks and woods, the -terraces and ledges, past which one has ascended, and -to which at any moment one can return.</p> - -<p>In the midst of the fens there is no such reassurance. -The path one has followed becomes merged in the illimitable -space around; merged, lost and annihilated. -No mark, no token, no sign indicates its difference from -other similar tracks. No mark nor token separates -north from south or east from west. On all sides the -same reeds, the same meadows, the same gates, the same -stunted willow-trees, the same desolate marsh pools, -the same vast and receding horizons. The mind has -nothing to rest itself upon except the general expanse, -and the general expanse seems as boundless as infinity.</p> - -<p>Nance and her sister were not, of course, far enough -away from their familiar haunts to get the complete -“fen-terror,” but, aided by the darkness, the power of -the thing was by no means unfelt. The instinct to escape -from the burden of their thoughts which drove -the girls on, became indeed more and more definitely -mingled, as they advanced, with a growing sense of -alarm. But into this very alarm they plunged forward<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> -with a species of exultant desperation. They -both experienced, as they went hand in hand, a morbid -kind of delight in being cruel to themselves, in forcing -themselves to do the very thing—and to do it in the -dead of night—which, of all, they had most avoided, -even in the full light of day.</p> - -<p>Before they had gone much more than a mile from -their starting-point they were permitted to witness a -curious trick of the elemental powers. Without any -warning, there suddenly arose from the west a much -more powerful current of wind. Every cloud was -driven sea-ward and with the clouds every trace of sea-mist. -The vast dome of sky above them showed itself -clear and unstained; and across the innumerable constellations—manifest -to their eyes in its full length—stretched -the Milky Way. Not only did the stars thus -make themselves visible. In their visibility they threw -a weird and phantom-like light over the whole landscape. -Objects that had been mere misty blurs became -distinct identities and things that had been absolutely -out of sight were now unmistakably recognizable.</p> - -<p>The girls stood still and looked around them. They -could see the church tower rising squat and square -against the line of the distant sand-dunes. They could -see the roofs of the village, huddled greyly and obscurely -together, beyond the dark curve of the bridge. -They could make out the sombre shape of Dyke House -itself, just distinguishable against the high tow-path of -the river. And Nance, turning westward, could even -discern her favourite withy-copse, surrounded by shadowy -cornfields.</p> - -<p>There was a pitiable pathos in the way each of the -girls, now that the scene of their present trouble was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> -thus bared to their view, turned instinctively to the -object most associated with the thoughts they were -seeking to escape. Nance looked long and wistfully at -the little wood of willows and alders, now a mere misty -exhalation of thicker shadow above the long reaches of -the fens. She thought of how mercilessly her feelings -had been outraged there; of how violent and strange -and untender Sorio had been. Yet even at that moment, -her heart aching with the recollection of what -she had suffered, the old fierce passionate cry went up -from her soul—“better be beaten by Adrian than -loved by all the rest of the world!”</p> - -<p>It was perhaps because of her preoccupation with -her own thoughts and her long dreamy gaze at the spot -which recalled them, that she did not remark a certain -sight which set her companion trembling with intolerable -excitement. This was nothing less than the sudden -appearance, between the trees that almost hid the -house from view, of a red light in a window of Oakguard. -It was an unsteady light and it seemed to -waver and flicker. Sometimes it grew deeply red, like -a threatening star, and at other times it paled in colour -and diminished in size. All at once, after flickering -and quivering for several seconds, it died out altogether.</p> - -<p>Only when it had finally disappeared did Linda -hastily glance round to see if Nance had discerned it. -But her sister had seen nothing.</p> - -<p>It was, as a matter of fact, small wonder that this -particular light observed in a window of Oakguard, -thrilled the young girl with uncontrollable agitation. -It had been this very signal, arranged between them -during their few weeks of passionate love-making, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> -had several times flickered across the river to Dyke -House and had been answered, unknown to Nance, -from the sisters’ room. Linda shivered through every -nerve and fibre of her being, and in the darkness her -cheeks grew hot as fire. She suddenly felt convinced -that by some strange link between her heart and his, -Brand knew that she was out in the fens, and was telling -her that he knew it, in the old exciting way.</p> - -<p>“He is calling me,” she said to herself, “he is calling -me!” And as she formed the words, there came -over her, with a sick beating of her heart and a dizzy -pain in her breast, the certainty that Brand had left -the house and was waiting for her, somewhere in the -long avenue of limes and cedars, where they had met -once before in the early evening.</p> - -<p>“He is waiting for me!” she repeated, and the dizziness -grew so strong upon her that she staggered and -caught at her sister’s arm. “Nance,” she whispered, -“I feel sick. My head hurts me. Shall we go back -now?”</p> - -<p>Nance, full of concern and anxiety, passed her fingers -across her sister’s forehead. “Oh, my dear, my -dear,” she cried, “you’re in a fever! How silly of me -to let you come out on this mad prank!”</p> - -<p>Supporting her on her arm she led her slowly back, -along the embankment. As they walked, Nance felt -more strongly than she had done since she crossed the -Loon, that deep maternal pity, infinite in its emotion -of protection, which was the basic quality in her nature. -For the very reason, perhaps, that Linda now clung to -her like a child, she felt happier than she had done for -many days. A mysterious detachment from her own -fate, a sort of resigned indifference to what happened,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> -seemed to liberate her at that moment from the worst -pang of her loss. The immense shadowy spaces about -her, the silence of the fens, broken only by the rustling -of the reeds and an occasional splash in the stream by -their side as a fish rose, the vast arch of starlit sky -above her, full of a strange and infinite reassurance—all -these things thrilled the girl’s heart, as they moved, -with an emotion beyond expression.</p> - -<p>At that hour there came to her, with a vividness unfelt -until then, the real meaning of Mr. Traherne’s -high platonic mystery. She told herself that whatever -henceforth happened to her or did not happen, -it was not an illusion, it was not a dream—this strange -spiritual secret. It was something palpable and real. -She had felt it—at least she had touched the fringe -of it—and even if the thing never quite returned or -the power of it revived as it thrilled her now, it remained -that it <em>had been</em>, that she had known it, that it -was there, somewhere in the depths, however darkly hidden.</p> - -<p>Very different were the thoughts that during that -walk back agitated the mind of the younger girl. Her -whole nature was obsessed by one fierce resolve, the -resolve to escape at once to the arms of her lover. He -was waiting for her; he was expecting her; she felt -absolutely convinced of that. An indefinable pain in -her breast and a throbbing in her heart assured her that -he was watching, waiting, drawing her towards him. -The same large influences of the night, the same silent -spaces, the same starlit dome, which brought to Nance -her spiritual reassurance, brought to the frailer figure -she supported only a desperate craving.</p> - -<p>She could feel through every nerve of her feverish<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> -body the touch of her love’s fingers. She ached and -shivered with pent-up longing, with longing to yield -herself to him, to surrender herself absolutely into his -power. She was no longer a thing of body, soul, and -senses. The normal complexity of our mortal frame -was annihilated in her. She was one trembling, quivering, -vibrant chord, a chord of feverish desire, only -waiting to break into one wild burst of ecstatic music, -when struck by the hand she loved.</p> - -<p>Her desire at that moment was of the kind which -tears at the root of every sort of scruple. It did not -only endow her with the courage of madness, it inspired -her with the cunning of the insane. All the way along -the embankment she was devising desperate plans of -escape, and by the time they reached the church path -these plans had shaped themselves into a definite resolution.</p> - -<p>They emerged upon the familiar way and turned -southward towards the bridge. Nance, thankful that -she had got her sister so near home without any serious -mishap, could not resist, in the impulse of her relief, -the pleasure of stopping for a moment to pick a bunch -of flowers from the path’s reedy edge. The coolness -of the earth as she stooped, the waving grasses, the -strongly blowing, marsh-scented wind, the silence and -the darkness, all blent harmoniously together to -strengthen her in her new-found comfort.</p> - -<p>She pulled up impetuously, almost by their roots, -great heavy-flowered stalks of loose-strife and willow-herb. -She scrambled down into the wet mud of a -shallow ditch to add to her bunch a tall spray of -hemp-agrimony and some wild valerian. All these -things, ghostly and vague and colourless in the faint<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> -starlight, had a strange and mystic beauty, and as she -gathered them Nance promised herself that they should -be a covenant between her senses and her spirit; a -sign and a token, offered up in the stillness of that hour, -to whatever great invisible powers still made it possible -on earth to renounce and be not all unhappy. She -returned with her flowers to her sister’s side and together -they reached the bridge.</p> - -<p>When they were at the very centre of this, Linda -suddenly staggered and swayed. She tore herself from -her sister’s support and sank down on the little stone -seat beneath the parapet—the same stone seat upon -which, some months before, that passage of sinister -complicity had occurred between Rachel Doorm and -Brand. Falling helplessly back now in this place, the -young girl pressed her hands to her head and moaned -pitifully.</p> - -<p>Nance dropped her flowers and flung herself on her -knees beside her. “What is it, darling?” she whispered -in a low frightened voice. “Oh, Linda, what is -it?” But Linda’s only reply was to close her eyes -and let her head fall heavily back against the stone-work -of the parapet. Nance rose to her feet and stood -looking at her in mute despair. “Linda! Linda!” -she cried. “Linda! What is it?”</p> - -<p>But the shadowy white form lay hushed and motionless, -the soft hair across her forehead stirring in the -wind, but all else about her, horribly, deadly still.</p> - -<p>Nance rushed across the bridge and down to the -river’s brink. She came back, her hands held cup-wise, -and dashed the water over her sister’s face. The -child’s eyelids flickered a little, but that was all. She -remained as motionless and seemingly unconscious as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> -before. With a desperate effort, Nance tried to lift -her up bodily in her arms, but stiff and limp as the -girl was, this seemed an attempt beyond her strength.</p> - -<p>Once more she stood, helpless and silent, regarding -the other as she lay. Then it dawned upon her mind -that the only possible thing to do was to leave her -where she was and run to the village for help. She -would arouse her own landlady. She would get the -assistance of Dr. Raughty.</p> - -<p>With one last glance at her sister’s motionless form -and a quick look up and down the river on the chance -of there being some barge or boat at hand with people—as -sometimes happened—sleeping in it, she set off -running as fast as she could in the direction of the -silent town.</p> - -<p>As soon as the sound of her retreating steps died -away in the distance, the hitherto helpless Linda leapt -quickly and lightly to her feet. Standing motionless -for awhile till she had given her sister time to reach -the high-street, she set off herself with firm and rapid -steps in the same direction. She resolved that she -would not risk crossing the green, but would reach the -park wall by a little side alley which skirted the backs -of the houses. She felt certain that when she did -reach this wall it would be easy enough to climb over -it. She remembered its loose uneven stones and its -clinging ivy. And once in the park—ah! she knew -well enough what way to take then!</p> - -<p>Deserted by its human invaders, the old New Bridge -relapsed into its accustomed mood of silent expectancy. -It had witnessed many passionate loves and many passionate -hatreds. It had felt the feet of generations -of Rodmoor’s children, light as gossamer seeds, upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> -its shoulders, and it had felt the creaking of the death-wagon -carrying the same persons, heavy as lead then, -to the oblong holes dug for them in the churchyard. -All this it had felt, but it still waited, still waited in -patient expectancy, while the tides went up and down -beneath it, and sea airs swept over it and night by -night the stars looked down on it; still waited, with the -dreadful patience of the eternal gods and the eternal -elements, something that, after all, would perhaps never -come.</p> - -<p>Nance’s flowers, meanwhile, lay where she had -dropped them, upon the ground by the stone seat. -They were there when, some ten minutes after her departure, -the girl returned with Dr. Raughty and Mrs. -Raps to find Linda gone; and they were there through -all the hours of the dawn, until a farm boy, catching -sight of them as he went to his work, threw them into -the river in order that he might observe the precise -rapidity with which they would be carried by the tide -under the central arch. They were carried very swiftly -under the central arch; but linger as the boy might, he -did not see them reappear on the other side.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVII">XVII<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE DAWN</span></h2> - -<p>The dawn was just faintly making itself felt -among the trees of Oakguard when Philippa -Renshaw, restless as she often was on these -summer nights, perceived, as she leaned from her open -window, a figure almost as slender as herself standing -motionless at the edge of one of the terraces and looking -up at the house. There was no light in Philippa’s -room, so that she was able to watch this figure without -risk of being herself observed. She was certain at -once in her own mind of its identity, and she took it -immediately for granted that Brand was even now on -his way to meet the young girl at the spot where she -now saw her standing.</p> - -<p>She experienced, therefore, a certain surprise and -even annoyance—for she would have liked to have -witnessed this encounter—when, instead of remaining -where she stood, the girl suddenly slipped away like a -ghostly shadow and merged herself among the park-trees. -Philippa remained for some minutes longer at -the window peering intently into the grey obscurity -and wondering whether after all she had been mistaken -and it was one of the servants of the house. There <em>was</em> -one of the Oakguard maids addicted to walking in her -sleep, and she confessed to herself that it was quite -possible she had been misled by her own morbid fancy -into supposing that the nocturnal wanderer was Linda -Herrick.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p> - -<p>She returned to her bed after a while and tried to -sleep, but the idea that it was really Linda she had seen -and that the young girl was even now roaming about -the grounds like a disconsolate phantom, took possession -of her mind. She rose once more and cautiously -pulling down the blind and drawing the curtains began -hurriedly to dress herself, taking the precaution -to place the solitary candle which she used behind a -screen so that no warning of her wakefulness should -reach the person she suspected.</p> - -<p>Opening the door and moving stealthily down the -passage, she paused for a moment at the threshold of -her brother’s room. All was silent within. Smiling -faintly to herself, she turned the handle with exquisite -precaution and glided into the room. No! She was -right in her conjecture. The place was without an -occupant, and the bed, it appeared, had not been slept -in. She went out, closing the door silently behind her.</p> - -<p>Her mother’s room was opposite Brand’s and the -fancy seized her to enter that also. She entered it, and -stepped, softly as a wandering spirit, to her mother’s -side. Mrs. Renshaw was lying in an uneasy posture -with one arm stretched across the counterpane and her -head close to the edge of the bed. She was breathing -heavily but was not in a deep sleep. Every now and -then her fingers spasmodically closed and unclosed, and -from her lips came broken inarticulate words. The -pallid light of the early dawn made her face seem older -than Philippa had ever seen it. By her side on a little -table lay an open book, but it was still too dark for the -intruder to discern what this book was.</p> - -<p>The daughter stood for some minutes in absolute -rigidity, gazing upon the sleeper. Her face as she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> -gazed wore an expression so complicated, so subtle, -that the shrewdest observer seeking to interpret its -meaning would have been baffled. It was not malignant. -It certainly was not tender. It might have been compared -to the look one could conceive some heathen -courtesan in the days of early Christianity casting -upon a converted slave.</p> - -<p>Uneasily conscious, as people in their sleep often -are, without actually waking, of the alien presence -so near her, Mrs. Renshaw suddenly moved round in -her bed and with a low moaning utterance, settled herself -to sleep with her face to the window. It was a -human name she had uttered then. Philippa was sure -of that, but it was a name completely strange to the -watcher of her mother’s unconsciousness.</p> - -<p>Passing from the room as silently as she had entered, -the girl ran lightly down the staircase, picked up a -cloak in the hall, and let herself out of the front door.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, through the gradually lifting shadows, -Linda with rapid and resolute steps was hastening -across the park to the portion of the avenue where -grew the great cedar-trees. This was the place to -which her first instinct had called her. It was only -an after-thought, due to cooler reason that had caused -her to deviate from this and approach the house itself.</p> - -<p>As she advanced through the dew-drenched grass, -silvery now in the faint light, she felt that vague indescribable -sensation which all living creatures, even -those scourged by passion, are bound to feel, at the -first palpable touch of dawn. Perfumes and odours -that could not be expressed in words, and that seemed -to have no natural origin, came to the girl on the wind -which went sighing past her. This—so at least Linda<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> -vaguely felt—was not the west wind any more. It -was not any ordinary wind of day or night. It was -the dawn wind, the breath of the earth herself, indrawn -with sweet sharp ecstasy at the delicate terror of the -coming of the sun-god.</p> - -<p>As she approached the avenue where the trunks of -the cedars rose dark against the misty white light, she -was suddenly startled by the flapping wings of an -enormous heron which, mounting up in front of her -out of the shadow of the trees, went sailing away across -the park, its extended neck and outstretched legs outlined -against the eastern sky. She passed in among -the shadows from which the heron had emerged, and -there, as though he had been waiting for her only a -few moments, was Brand Renshaw.</p> - -<p>With one swift cry she flung herself into his arms -and they clung together as if from an eternity of separation. -In her flimsy dress wet with mist she seemed -like a creature evoked by some desperate prayer of -earth-passion. Her cheeks and breast were cold to -his touch, but the lips that answered his kisses were hot -as if with burning fever. She clung to him as though -some abysmal gulf might any moment open beneath -their feet. She nestled against him, she twined herself -around him. She took his head between her hands and -with her cold fingers she caressed his face. So thinly -was she clad that he could feel her heart beating as if -it were his own.</p> - -<p>“I knew you were calling me,” she gasped at last.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> -“I felt it—I felt it in my flesh. Oh, my only love, -I’m all yours—all, all yours! Take me, hold me, -save me from every one! Hold me, hold me, my only -love, hold me tight from all of them!”</p> - -<p>They swayed together as she clung to him and, lifting -her up from the ground he carried her, still wildly -kissing him, into the deeper shadow of the great cedars. -Exhausted at last by the extremity of her passion, -she hung limp in his arms, her face white as the white -light which now flooded the eastern horizon. He laid -her down then at the foot of one of the largest trees -and bending over her pushed back the hair from her -forehead as if she had been a tired child.</p> - -<p>By some powerful law of his strange nature, the very -intensity of her passion for him and her absolute yielding -to his will calmed and quieted his own desire. She -was his now, at a touch, at a movement; but he would -as soon have hurt an infant as have embraced her then. -His emotion at that moment was such as never again -in his life he was destined to experience. He felt as -though, untouched as she was, she belonged to him, -body and soul. He felt as though they two together -were isolated, separated, divided, from the whole living -world. Beneath the trunks of those black-foliaged cedars -they seemed to be floating in a mystic ship over a -great sea of filmy white waves.</p> - -<p>He bent down and kissed her forehead, and under his -kiss, chaste as the kiss a father might give to a little -girl, she closed her eyes and lay motionless and still, -a faint flickering smile of infinite contentment playing -upon her lips.</p> - -<p>They were in this position—the girl’s hand resting -passively in his—and he bending over her, when -through an eastward gap between the trees the sun -rose above the mist. It sent towards them a long blood-coloured -finger that stained the cedar trunks and caused -the strangely shaped head of the stooping man to look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> -as if it had been dipped in blood. It made the girl’s -mouth scarlet-red and threw an indescribable flush over -her face, a flush delicate and diaphanous as that which -tinges the petals of wild hedge roses.</p> - -<p>Linda opened her eyes and Brand leapt to his feet -with a cry. “The sun!” he shouted, and then, in a -lower voice, “what an omen for us, little one—what -an omen! Out of the sea, out of <em>our</em> sea! Come, get -up, and let’s watch the morning in! There won’t be -a trace of mist left, or dew either, in an hour or so.”</p> - -<p>He gave her his hand and hurriedly pulled her to -her feet. “Quick!” he cried. “You can see it across -the sea from over there. I’ve often seen it, but never -like this, never with you!”</p> - -<p>Hand in hand they left the shade of the trees and -hastening up the slope of a little grassy mound—perhaps -the grave of some viking-ancestor of his own—they -stood side by side surveying the wonder of the -sunrise.</p> - -<p>As they stood there and the sun, mounting rapidly -higher and higher, dispersed the mists and flooded -everything with golden light, Brand’s mood began to -change towards his companion. The situation was reversed -now and it was his arms that twined themselves -round the girl’s figure, while she, though only resisting -gently and tenderly, seemed to have recovered the -normal instincts of her sex, the instincts of self-protection -and aloofness.</p> - -<p>The warmer the sun became and the more clearly the -familiar landscape defined itself before them, the more -swiftly did the relations between the two change and -reverse. No longer did Brand feel as though some -mystic spiritual union had annihilated the difference<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> -between their sex. The girl was once more an evasive -object of pursuit. He desired her and his desire irritated -and angered him.</p> - -<p>“We shan’t have the place to ourselves much longer,” -he said. “Come—let’s say good-bye where we were -before—where we weren’t so much in sight.”</p> - -<p>He sought to lead her back to the shade of the cedars; -but she—looking timidly at his face—felt for -the first time a vague reaction against him and an indefinable -shrinking.</p> - -<p>“I think I’ll say good-bye to you here,” she said, -with a faint smile. “Nance will be looking for me -everywhere and I mustn’t frighten her any further.”</p> - -<p>She was astonished and alarmed at the change in his -face produced by her words.</p> - -<p>“As you please,” he said harshly, “here, as well as -anywhere else, if that’s your line! You’d better go -back the way you came, but the gates aren’t locked if -you prefer the avenue.” He actually left her when he -said this, and without touching her hand or giving her -another look, strode down the slope and away towards -the house.</p> - -<p>This was more than Linda could bear. She ran after -him and caught him by the arm. “Brand,” she whispered, -“Brand, my dearest one, you’re not really angry -with me, are you? Of course, I’ll say good-bye wherever -you wish! Only—only—” and she gave an agitated -little sigh, “I don’t want to frighten Nance more -than I can help.”</p> - -<p>He led her back to the spot where, under the dark -wide-spreading branches, the red finger of the sun had -first touched them. She loved him too well to resist -long, and she loved him too well not to taste, in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> -passionate tears that followed her abandonment to his -will, a wild desperate sweetness, even in the midst of -all her troubled apprehensions as to the calamitous -issues of their love.</p> - -<p>It was in the same place, finally, and under the same -dark branches, that they bade one another good-bye. -Brand looked at his watch before they parted and they -both smiled when he announced that it was nearly six, -and that at any moment the milk-cart might pass them -coming up from the village. As he moved away, Linda -saw him stoop and pick up something from the ground. -He turned with a laugh and flung the thing towards -her so that it rolled to her feet. It was a fir-cone and -she knew well why he threw it to her as their farewell -signal. They had wondered, only a little while ago, -how it drifted beneath their cedar-tree, and Brand had -amused himself by twining it in her hair.</p> - -<p>She picked it up. The hair was twisted about it -still—of a colour not dissimilar from the cone, but of -a lighter shade. She slipped the thing into her dress -and let it slide down between her breasts. It scratched -and pricked her as soon as she began to walk, but this -discomfort gave her a singular satisfaction. She felt -like a nun, wearing for the first time her symbol of -separation from the world—of dedication to her lord’s -service. “I am certainly no nun now,” she thought, -smiling sadly to herself, “but I am dedicated—dedicated -forever and a day. Oh, my dear, dear Love, I -would willingly die to give you pleasure!”</p> - -<p>She moved away, down the avenue towards the village. -She had not gone very far when she was startled -by a rustle in the undergrowth and the sound of a -mocking laugh. She stopped in terror. The laugh<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> -was repeated, and a moment later, from a well-chosen -hiding-place in a thicket of hazel-bushes, Philippa Renshaw, -with malignant shining eyes, rushed out upon -her.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” she cried joyously, “I thought it was you. -I thought it was one or other of you! And where is -our dear Brand? Has he deserted you so quickly? -Does he prefer to have his little pleasures before the -sun is <em>quite</em> so high? Does he leave her to go back all -alone and by herself? Does he sneak off like a thief -as soon as daylight begins?”</p> - -<p>Linda was too panic-stricken to make any reply to -this torrent of taunts. With drawn white face and -wide-open terrified eyes, she stared at Philippa as a -bird might stare at a snake. Philippa seemed delighted -with the effect she produced and stepping in -front of the young girl, barred her way of escape.</p> - -<p>“You mustn’t leave us now,” she cried. “It’s impossible. -It would never do. What will they say in -the village when they see you like that, crossing the -green, at this hour? What you have to do, Linda Herrick, -is to come back and have breakfast with us up at -the house. My mother will be delighted to see you. -She always gets up early, and she’s very, very fond of -you, as you know. You <em>do</em> know my mother’s fond of -you, don’t you?</p> - -<p>“Listen, you silly white-faced thing! Listen, you -young innocent, who must needs come wandering round -people’s houses in the middle of the night! Listen—you -Linda Herrick! I don’t know whether you’re -stupid enough to imagine that Brand’s going to marry -you? Are you stupid enough for that? Are you, you -dumb staring thing? Because, if you are, I can tell<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> -you a little about Brand that may surprise you. Perhaps -you think you’re the first one he’s ever made love -to in this precious park of ours. No, no, my beauty, -you’re not the first—and you won’t be the last. We -Renshaws are a curious family, as you’ll find out, you -baby, before you’ve done with us. And Brand’s the -most curious of us all!</p> - -<p>“Well, are you coming back with me? Are you coming -back to have a nice pleasant breakfast with my -mother? You’d better come, Linda Herrick, you’d better -come! In fact, you <em>are</em> coming, so that ends it. -People who spend the night wandering about other people’s -grounds must at least have the decency to show -themselves and acknowledge the hospitality! Besides, -how glad Brand will be to see you again! Can’t you -imagine how glad he’ll be? Can’t you see his look?</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, Linda Herrick, I can’t possibly let you go -like this. You see, I’m just like my dear mother. I -love gentle, sensitive, pure-minded young girls. I love -their shyness and their bashfulness. I love the unfortunate -little accidents that lead them into parks and -gardens. Come, you dumb big-eyed thing! What’s -the matter with you? Can’t you speak? Come! -Back with you to the house! We’ll find my mother -stirring—and Brand too, unless he’s sick of girls’ society -and has gone off to Mundham. Come, white-face; -there’s nothing else for it. You must do what I tell -you.”</p> - -<p>She laid her hand on Linda’s shoulder, and, such was -the terror she excited, the unhappy girl might actually -have been magnetized into obeying her, if a timely and -unexpected interruption had not changed the entire -situation. This was the appearance upon the scene<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> -of Adrian Sorio. Sorio had recently acquired an almost -daily habit of strolling a little way up the Oakguard -avenue before his breakfast with Baltazar. On -two or three of these occasions he had met Philippa, -and he had always sufficient hope of meeting her to give -these walks a tang of delicate excitement. He had -evidently heard nothing of Linda’s disappearance. -Nance in her distress had, it seemed, resisted the instinct -to appeal to him. He was consequently considerably -surprised to see the two girls standing together -in the middle of the sunlit path.</p> - -<p>Linda, flinging Philippa aside, rushed to meet him. -“Adrian! Adrian!” she cried piteously, “take me -home to Nance.” She clung to his arm and in the -misery of her outraged feelings, began sobbing like a -child who has been lost in the dark. Sorio, soothing -and petting her as well as he could, looked enquiringly -at Philippa as she came up.</p> - -<p>“Oh, it’s nothing. It’s nothing, Adrian. It’s only -that I wanted her to come up to the house. She seems -to have misunderstood me and got silly and frightened. -She’s not a very sensible little girl.”</p> - -<p>Sorio looked at Philippa searchingly. In his heart -he suspected her of every possible perversity and maliciousness. -He realized at that moment how entirely -his attraction to her was an attraction to what is dangerous -and furtive. He did not even respect her intelligence. -He had caught her more than once playing -up to his ideas in a manner that indicated a secret -contempt for them. At those moments he had hated -her, and—with her—had hated, as he fancied, the -whole feminine tribe—that tribe which refuses to be -impressed even by world-crushing logic. But how attractive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> -she was to him! How attractive, even at this -moment, as he looked into her defiant, inscrutable eyes, -and at her scornfully curved lips!</p> - -<p>“You needn’t pity her, Adrian,” she went on, casting -a bitter smile at Linda’s bowed head as the young girl -hid her face against his shoulder. “There’s no need to -pity her. She’s just like all the rest of us, only she -doesn’t play the game frankly and honestly as I do. -Send her home to her sister, as she says, and come with -me across the park. I’ll show you that oak tree if -you’ll come—the one I told you about, the one that’s -haunted.”</p> - -<p>She threw at him a long deep look, full of a subtle -challenge, and stretched out her hand as if to separate -him from the clinging child. Sorio returned her look -and a mute struggle took place between them. Then -his face hardened.</p> - -<p>“I must go back with her,” he said. “I must take -her to Nance.”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense!” she rejoined, her eyes darkening and -changing in colour. “Nonsense, my dear! She’ll find -her way all right. Come! I really want you. Yes, I -mean what I say, Adrian. I really want you this -time!”</p> - -<p>The expression with which she challenged him now -would have delighted the great antique painters of the -feminine mystery. The gates of her soul seemed to -open inwards, on magical softly-moving hinges, and an -incalculable power of voluptuous witchcraft emanated -from her whole body.</p> - -<p>It is doubtful whether a spell so provocative could -have been resisted by any one of an origin different -from Sorio’s. But he had in him—capable of being<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> -roused at moments—the blood of that race in which of -all others women have met their match. To this witchcraft -of the north he opposed the marble-like disdain -of the south—the disdain which has subtlety and -knowledge in it—the disdain which is like petrified -hatred.</p> - -<p>His face darkened and hardened until it resembled -a mask of bronze.</p> - -<p>“Good-bye,” he said, “for the present. We shall -meet again—perhaps to-morrow. But anyway, good-bye! -Come, Linda, my child.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps to-morrow—and perhaps <em>not</em>!” returned -Philippa bitterly. “Good-bye, Linda. I’ll give your -love to Brand!”</p> - -<p>Sorio said little to his companion as he escorted her -back to her lodging in the High Street. He asked her -no questions and seemed to take it as quite a natural -thing that she should have been out at that early hour. -They discovered Dr. Raughty in the house when they -arrived, doing his best to dissuade Nance from any -further desperate hunt after the wanderer, and it was -in accordance with the doctor’s advice, as well as their -own weariness that the two sisters spent the later -morning hours of their August Bank-holiday in a profound -and exhausted sleep.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVIII">XVIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">BANK-HOLIDAY</span></h2> - -<p>It was nearly two o’clock in the afternoon when -Nance woke out of a heavy dreamless sleep. She -went to the window. The shops in the little -street were all closed and several languid fishermen and -young tradesmen’s apprentices were loitering about at -the house doors, chaffing lazily and with loud bursts of -that peculiarly empty laughter which seems the prerogative -of rural idleness, the stray groups of gaily -dressed young women who, in the voluptuous contentment -of after-dinner repletion, were setting forth to -take the train for Mundham or to walk with their -sweethearts along the sea-shore. She turned and -looked closely at her still sleeping sister.</p> - -<p>Linda lay breathing softly. On her lips was a childlike -smile of serene happiness. She had tossed the bed-clothes -away and one of her arms, bare to the elbow, -hung over the edge of the bed. It seemed she was holding -fast, in the hand thus pathetically extended, some -small object round which her fingers were tightly closed. -Nance moved to her side and took this hand in her -own. The girl turned her head uneasily but continued -to sleep. Nance opened the fingers which lay helplessly -in her own and found that what they held so -passionately was a small fir-cone. The bright August -sunshine pouring down upon the room enabled her to -catch sight of several strands of light brown hair<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> -woven round the thing’s rough scales. She let the unconscious -fingers close once more round the fir-cone and -glanced anxiously at the sleeping girl. She guessed in -a moment the meaning of that red scratch across the -girl’s bosom. She must have been carrying this token -pressed close against her flesh and its rough prickly -edges had drawn blood.</p> - -<p>Nance sighed heavily and remained for a moment -buried in gloomy thought. Then, stepping softly to -the door, she ran downstairs to see if Mrs. Raps were -still in her kitchen or had left any preparations for -their belated dinner. Their habit was to make their -own breakfast and tea, but to have their midday meal -brought up to them from their landlady’s table. She -found an admirable collation carefully prepared for -them on a tray and a little note on the dresser telling -her that the family had gone to Mundham for the afternoon.</p> - -<p>“Bless your poor, dear heart,” the note ended, “the -old man and I thought best not to disappoint the children.”</p> - -<p>Nance felt faint with hunger. She put the kettle on -the fire and made tea and with this and Mrs. Raps’ tray -she returned to her sister’s side and roused her from -her sleep.</p> - -<p>Linda seemed dazed and confused when she first woke. -For the moment it was difficult not to feel as though -all the events of the night and morning were a troubled -and evil dream. Nance noticed the nervous and bewildered -way in which she put her hand to the mark -upon her breast as if wondering why it hurt her and the -hasty disconcerted movement with which she concealed -the fir-cone beneath her pillow. In spite of everything,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> -however, their meal was not by any means an unhappy -one. The sun shone warm and bright upon the floor. -Pleasant scents, in which garden-roses, salt-sea freshness -and the vague smell of peat and tar mingled together, -came in through the window, blent with the lazy, -cheerful sounds of the people’s holiday. After all they -were both young and neither the unsatisfied ache in the -soul of the one nor the vague new dread, bitter-sweet and -full of strange forebodings, in the mind of the other -could altogether prevent the natural life-impulse with -which, like two wind-shaken plants in an intermission of -quiet, they raised their heads to the sky and the sunshine. -They were young. They were alive. They -knew—too well, perhaps!—but still they knew what -it was to love, and the immense future, with all its infinite -possibilities, lay before them. “Sursum Corda!” -the August airs whispered to them. “Sursum Corda!” -“Lift up your hearts!” their own young flesh and -blood answered.</p> - -<p>Linda did not hesitate as she ate and drank to confess -to Nance how she had betrayed her and how she -had seen Brand in the park. Of the cedar trees and -their more ominous story she said nothing, but she told -how Philippa had sprung upon her in the avenue and of -wild, cruel taunts.</p> - -<p>“She frightened me,” the girl murmured. “She always -frightens me. Do you think she would really -have made me go back with her to the house—to meet -Brand and Mrs. Renshaw and all? I couldn’t have -done it,” she put her hands to her cheeks and trembled -as she spoke, “I couldn’t—I couldn’t! It would -have been too shameful! And yet I believe she was -really going to make me. Do you think she was,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> -Nance? Do you think she <em>could</em> have done such a -thing?”</p> - -<p>Nance gripped the arms of her chair savagely.</p> - -<p>“Why didn’t you leave her, dear?” she exclaimed. -“Why didn’t you simply leave her and run off? She -isn’t a witch. She’s simply a girl like ourselves.”</p> - -<p>Linda smiled. “How fierce you look, darling! I -believe if it had been you you’d have slapped her face -or pushed her down or something.”</p> - -<p>Nance gazed out of the window, frowning. She -wondered to herself by what spiritual magic Mr. Traherne -and his white rat proposed to obliterate the poisonous -rage of jealousy. She wondered what he would -say, the devoted priest, to this uncalled for and cruel -attack upon her sister. She had never heard him mention -Philippa at any time in their talks. Was he as -much afraid of <em>her</em> beauty as he pretended to be of her -own? Did he make Philippa hide her ankles in her skirt -when she visited him? But she supposed she never did -visit him. It was somehow very difficult to imagine the -sister of Brand Renshaw in the priest’s little study.</p> - -<p>From Traherne, Nance’s mind wandered to Dr. -Raughty. How kind he had been to her when she was -in despair about Linda! She had never seen him half -so serious or troubled. She could hardly help smiling -as she remembered the peculiar expression he wore and -the way he pulled on his coat and laced up his boots. -She had let him give her a little glass of <i>crême de -menthe</i> and she could see now, with wonderful distinctness, -the gravity with which he had watched her -drink it. She felt certain his hand had shaken with -nervousness when he took the glass from her. She -could hear him clearing his throat and muttering some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> -fantastic invocation to what sounded like an Egyptian -divinity. Surely the effect of extreme anxiety could -produce upon no one else in the world but Dr. Raughty -a tendency to allude to the great god Ra! And what -extraordinary things he had put into his little black -bag as he sallied forth with her to the bridge! Linda -might have been in need of several kinds of surgical operations -from the preparations he made.</p> - -<p>He had promised to spend that day on a fishing trip, -out to sea, with Adrian and Baltazar. She wondered -whether their boat was still in sight or whether they had -got beyond the view of Rodmoor harbour.</p> - -<p>“Linda, dear,” she said presently, catching her sister’s -hand feeling about under her pillows for the fir-cone -she had hidden, “Linda, dear, if I’m to forgive -you for what you did last night, for running away from -me, I mean, and pretending things, will you do something -that I want now? Will you come down to the -shore and see if we can see anything of Adrian’s boat? -He’s fishing with Dr. Raughty and Mr. Stork, and I’d -love to get a sight of their sail. I know it’s a sailing -boat they’ve gone in because Dr. Raughty said he was -going to take his mackintosh so that when they went -fast and the water splashed over the side he might be -protected. I think he was a little scared of the expedition. -Poor dear man, between us all, I’m afraid -we give him a lot of shocks!”</p> - -<p>Linda jumped up quite eagerly. She felt prepared -at that moment to do anything to please her sister. -Besides, there were certain agitating thoughts in her -brain which cried aloud for any kind of distraction. -They dressed and went out, choosing, as suited the holiday -occasion, brighter frocks and gayer hats than they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> -had worn for many weeks. Nance’s position in the -Pontifex shop was a favourable one as far as their wardrobe -was concerned.</p> - -<p>They made their way down to the harbour. They -were surprised, and in Linda’s case at any rate not very -pleasantly surprised, to find tied to a post where the -wharf widened and the grass grew between the cobble-stones -the little grey pony and brown pony-cart which -Mrs. Renshaw was in the habit of using when the hot -weather made it tiring for her to walk.</p> - -<p>“Let’s go back! Oh, Nance, let’s go back!” whispered -Linda in a panic-stricken voice. “I don’t feel I -<em>can</em> face her to-day.”</p> - -<p>They stood still, hesitating.</p> - -<p>“There she is,” cried Nance suddenly, “look—who’s -she got there with her?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Nance, it’s Rachel, yes, it’s Rachel!”</p> - -<p>“She must have gone to Dyke House to fetch her,” -murmured the other. “Quick! Let’s go back.”</p> - -<p>But it was already too late. Rising from the seat -where they were talking together at the harbour’s edge, -the two women moved towards the girls, calling them by -name. There was no escape now and the sisters advanced -to meet them.</p> - -<p>They made a strange foreground to the holiday -aspect of the little harbour, those two black-gowned figures. -Mrs. Renshaw was a little in front and her less -erect and less rigid form had a certain drooping pathos -in its advance as though she deprecated her appearance -in the midst of so cheerful a scene. Both the women -wore old-fashioned bonnets of a kind that had been discarded -for several years; but the dress and the bonnet -of Rachel Doorm presented the appearance of having<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> -been dragged out of some ancient chest and thrust upon -her in disregard of the neglected condition of her other -clothes. Contrasted with the brightly rocking waters -of the river mouth and the gay attire of the boat-load -of noisy lads and girls that was drifting sea-ward on -the out-flowing tide, the look of the two women, as they -crossed the little quay, might have suggested the sort -of scene that, raised to a poetic height by the genius -of the ancient poets, has so often in classical drama -symbolized the approach of messengers of ill-omen.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Renshaw greeted the two sisters very nervously. -Nance caught her glancing with an air of ascetic disapproval -at their bright-coloured frocks and hats. -Rachel, avoiding their eyes, extended a cold limp hand -to each in turn. They exchanged a few conventional -and embarrassed sentences, Nance as usual under such -circumstances, giving vent to little uncalled for bursts -of rather disconcerting laughter. She had a trick of -opening her mouth very wide when she laughed like this, -and her grey eyes even wider still, which gave her an -air of rather foolish childishness quite inexpressive of -what might be going on in her mind.</p> - -<p>After a while they all moved off, as if by an instinctive -impulse, away from the harbour mouth and -towards the sea-shore. To do this they had to pass a -piece of peculiarly desolate ground littered with dead -fish, discarded pieces of nets and dried heaps of sun-bleached -seaweed. Nance had a moment’s quaint and -morbid intimation that the peculiar forlornness of this -particular spot gratified in some way the taste of Mrs. -Renshaw, for her expression brightened a little and she -moved more cheerfully than when under the eyes of the -loiterers on the wharf. There were some young women<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> -paddling in the sea just at that place and some young -men watching them so that Mrs. Renshaw, who with -Nance kept in advance of the other two, led the way -along the path immediately under the sand-dunes. This -was the very spot where, on the day of their first exploration -of the Rodmoor coast, they had seen the -flowerless leaves of the little plant called the rock-rose. -The flowers of this plant, as Nance observed them now, -were already faded and withered, but other sea growths -met her eye which were not unfamiliar. There were -several tufts of grey-leaved sea-pinks and still greyer -sea-lavender. There were also some flaccid-stalked, -glaucous weeds which she had never noticed before and -which seemed in the moist sappy texture of their foliage -as though their natural place was rather beneath than -above the salt water whose propinquity shaped their -form. But what made her pause and stoop down with -sudden startled attention, was her first sight of that -plant described to her by Mr. Traherne as peculiarly -characteristic of the Rodmoor coast. Yes, there it was—the -yellow horned poppy! As she bent over it -Nance realized how completely right the priest had been -in what he said. The thing’s oozy, clammy leaves were -of a wonderful bluish tint, a tint that nothing in the -world short of the sea itself, could have possibly called -into existence. They were spiked and prickly, these -leaves, and their shape was clear-edged and threatening, -as if modelled in sinister caprice, by some Da Vinci-like -Providence, willing enough to startle and shock -humanity. But what struck the girl more vividly than -either the bluish tint or the threatening spikes were the -large, limply-drooping flowers of a pallid sulphurous -yellow which the plant displayed. They were flowers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> -that bore but small resemblance to the flowers of other -poppies. They had a peculiarly melancholy air, even -before they began to fade, an air as though the taste of -their petals would produce a sleep of a deeper, more -obliterating kind than any “drowsy syrups” or -“mandragora” which the sick soul might crave, to -“rase out” its troubles.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Renshaw smiled as Nance rose from her long -scrutiny of this weird plant, a plant that might be -imagined “rooting itself at ease on Lethe’s wharf” -while the ghost-troops swept by, whimpering and wailing.</p> - -<p>“I always like the horned poppy,” she remarked, -“it’s different from other flowers. You can’t imagine -it growing in a garden, can you? I like that. I like -things that are wild—things no one can imprison.”</p> - -<p>She sighed heavily when she had said this and, turning -her head away as they walked on, looked wearily -across the water.</p> - -<p>“Bank-holidays are days for the young,” she went -on, after a pause. “The poor people look forward to -them and I’m glad they do for they have a hard life. -But you must have a young heart, Nance, a young -heart to enjoy these things. I feel sometimes that we -don’t live enough in other people’s happiness but it’s -hard to do it when one gets older.”</p> - -<p>She was silent again and then, as Nance glanced at -her sympathetically, “I like Rodmoor because there -are no grand people here and no motor-cars or noisy -festivities. It’s a pleasure to see the poor enjoying -themselves but the others, they make my head ache! -They trouble me. I always think of Sodom and Gomorrah -when I see them.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I suppose,” murmured the girl, “that they’re human -beings and have their feelings, like the rest of us.”</p> - -<p>A shadow of almost malignant bitterness crossed Mrs. -Renshaw’s face.</p> - -<p>“I can’t bear them! I can’t bear them!” she cried -fiercely. “Those that laugh shall weep,” she added, -looking at her companion’s prettily designed dress.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I’m afraid happy people are often hard-hearted,” -remarked Nance, anxious if possible to fall in -with the other’s mood, but feeling decidedly uneasy. -Mrs. Renshaw suddenly changed the conversation.</p> - -<p>“I went over to see Rachel,” she said, “because I -heard you had left her and were working in the shop.”</p> - -<p>She took a deep breath and her voice trembled.</p> - -<p>“I think it was wrong of you to leave her,” she -went on, “I think it was cruel of you. I know what -you will say. I know what all you young people nowadays -say about being independent and so forth. But it -was wrong all the same, wrong and cruel! Your duty -was clearly to your mother’s friend. I suppose,” she -added bitterly, “you didn’t like her sadness and loneliness. -You wanted more cheerful companionship.”</p> - -<p>Nance wondered in her heart whether Mrs. Renshaw’s -hostility to the complacent and contented ones of the -earth was directed, in this case, against the hard-worked -sewing girls or against poor Miss Pontifex and her little -garden.</p> - -<p>“I did it,” she replied, “for Linda’s sake. She and -Miss Doorm didn’t seem happy together.”</p> - -<p>As she spoke, she glanced apprehensively round to -ascertain how near the others were, but it seemed as -though Rachel had resumed her ascendency over the -young girl. They appeared to be engaged in absorbing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> -conversation and had stopped side by side, looking -at the sea. Mrs. Renshaw turned upon her resentfully, -a smouldering fire of anger in her brown eyes.</p> - -<p>“Rachel has spoken to me about that,” she said. -“She told me you were displeased with her because she -encouraged Linda to meet my son. I don’t like this -interference with the feelings of people! My son is of -an age to choose for himself and so is your sister. Why -should you set yourself to come between them? I don’t -like such meddling. It’s interfering with Nature!”</p> - -<p>Nance stared at her blankly, watching mechanically -the feverish way her fingers closed and unclosed, plucking -at a stalk of sea-lavender which she had picked.</p> - -<p>“But you said—you said—” she protested feebly, -“that Mr. Renshaw was not a suitable companion for -young girls.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve changed my mind since then,” continued the -other, “at any rate in this case.”</p> - -<p>“Why?” asked Nance hurriedly. “Why have -you?”</p> - -<p>“Because,” and the lady raised her voice quite loudly, -“because he told me himself the other day that it was -possible that he would marry before long.”</p> - -<p>She glanced triumphantly at Nance. “So you see -what you’ve been doing! You’ve been trying to interfere -with the one thing I’ve been praying for for years!”</p> - -<p>Nance positively gasped at this. Had Brand really -said such a thing? Or if he had, was it possible that -it was anything but a blind to cover the tracks of his -selfishness? But whatever was the reason of the son’s -remark it was clear that Nance could not, especially in -the woman’s present mood, justify her dark suspicions -of him to his mother. So she did nothing but continue<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> -to stare, nervously and helplessly, at the stalk which -Mrs. Renshaw’s excited fingers were pulling to pieces.</p> - -<p>“I know why you’re so opposed to my son,” continued -Mrs. Renshaw in a lower and somewhat gentler -tone. “It’s because he’s so much older than your -sister. But you’re wrong there, Nance. It’s always -better for the man to be older than the woman. Tennyson -says that very thing, in one of his poems, I think in -‘The Princess.’ He puts it poetically of course, but he -must have felt the truth of it very strongly or he -wouldn’t have brought it in. Nance, you’ve no idea -how I have been praying and longing for Brand to see -some one he felt he could marry! I know it’s what he -needs to make him happy. That is to say, of course, -if the girl is good and gentle and obedient.”</p> - -<p>The use of the word “obedient” in this connection -was too much for Nance’s nerves. Her feelings towards -Mrs. Renshaw were always undergoing rapid and -contradictory changes. When she had talked of Smollett -and Dickens in their little sitting room the girl felt -she could do anything for her, so exquisitely guileless -her soul seemed, so spiritual and, as it were, transparent. -But at this moment, as she observed her, there -was an obstinate, pinched look about her face and a -rigid tightening of all its lines. It was an expression -that harmonized only too well with her next remark.</p> - -<p>“Your setting yourself against my son,” she said, -“is only what I expected. Philippa would be just like -you if I said anything to her. All you young people -are too much for me. You are too much for me. But -I hear what you say and go on just the same.”</p> - -<p>The look of dogged and inflexible resolution with -which she uttered this last sentence contrasted strangely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> -with her frail aspect and her weary drooping frame.</p> - -<p>But that phrase about “obedience” still rankled in -Nance’s mind, and she could not help saying, -“Why is it, Mrs. Renshaw, that you always speak as -though all the duty and burden of marriage rested upon -the woman? I don’t see why it’s more necessary for -her to be good and gentle than it is for the man!”</p> - -<p>Her companion’s pallid lips quivered at this into a -smile of complicated irony and a strange light came -into her hollow eyes.</p> - -<p>“Ah, my dear, my dear!” she exclaimed, “you are -indeed young yet. When you’re a few years older and -have come to know better what the world is like, you -will understand the truth of what I say. God has ordered, -in his inscrutable wisdom, that there should be -a different right and wrong for us women, from what -there is for men. It may seem unjust. It may <em>be</em> -unjust. We can no more alter it or change it than we -can alter or change the shape of our bodies. A woman -is <em>made</em> to obey. She finds her happiness in obeying. -You young people may say what you please, but any -deviation from this rule is contrary to Nature. Even -the cleverest people,” she added with a smile, “can’t -interfere with Nature without suffering for it.”</p> - -<p>Nance felt absolutely nonplussed. The woman’s -words fell from her with such force and were uttered -with such a melancholy air of finality, that her indignation -died down within her like a flame beneath the weight -of a rain-soaked garment. Mrs. Renshaw looked sadly -over the brightly-rocking expanse of sunlit water, dotted -with white sails.</p> - -<p>“It may appear to us unjust,” she went on. “It -may <em>be</em> unjust. God does not seem in his infinite pleasure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> -to have considered our ideas of justice in making -the world. Perhaps if he had there would be no women -in the world at all! Ah, Nance, my dear, it’s no use -kicking against the pricks. We were made to bear, to -endure, to submit, to suffer. Any attempt to escape -this great law necessarily ends in misery. Suffering is -not the worst evil in the world. Yielding to brutal -force is not the worst, either. I sometimes think, from -what I’ve observed in my life, that there are depths of -horror known to men, depths of horror through which -men are driven, compared with which all that <em>we</em> suffer -at their hands is paradise!”</p> - -<p>Her eyes had so strange and illumined an expression -as she uttered these words that Nance could not help -shuddering.</p> - -<p>“We, too,” she murmured, “fall into depths of -horror sometimes and it is men who drive us into them.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Renshaw did not seem to hear her. She went -on dreamily.</p> - -<p>“We can console ourselves. We have our duties. -We have our little things which must be done. God has -given to these little things a peculiar consecration. He -has touched them with his breath so that they are full -of unexpected consolations. There are horizons and -vistas in them such as no one who hasn’t experienced -what I mean can possibly imagine. They are like tiny -ferns or flowers—our ‘little things,’ Nance, growing -at the bottom of a precipice.”</p> - -<p>The girl could restrain herself no longer.</p> - -<p>“I don’t agree with you! I don’t, I don’t!” she -cried. “Life is large and infinite and splendid and there -are possibilities in it for all of us—for women just as -much as men; just, just as much!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span></p> - -<p>Mrs. Renshaw smiled at her with a look in her face -that was half pitiful and half ironical. “You don’t -like my talk of ‘little things.’ You want great things. -You want Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus! -Even your sacrifice—if you <em>do</em> sacrifice yourself—must -be striking, stirring, wonderful! Ah, my dear, -my dear, wait a little, wait a little. A time will come -when you’ll learn what the secret is of a woman’s life on -this earth.”</p> - -<p>Nance made a desperate gesture of protest. Something -treacherous in her own heart seemed to yield to -her companion’s words but she struggled vigorously -against it.</p> - -<p>“What we women have to do,” Mrs. Renshaw continued -pitilessly, “is to make some one need us—need -us with his whole nature. That is what is meant by loving -a man. Everything else is mere passion and tends -to misery. The more submissive we are, the more they -need us. I tell you, Nance, the deepest instinct in our -blood is the instinct to be needed. When a person needs -us we love him. Everything else is mere animal instinct -and burns itself out.”</p> - -<p>Nance fumbled vaguely and helplessly in her mind, as -she listened, to get back something of the high, inspiring -tone of Mr. Traherne’s mystical doctrine. <em>That</em> -had thrilled her and strengthened her, while <em>this</em> flung -her into the lowest depths of despondency. Yet, in a -certain sense, as she was compelled to admit to herself, -there was very little practical difference between the -two points of view. It was only that, with Mrs. Renshaw, -the whole thing took on a certain desolate and -disastrous colour as if high spirits and gaiety and adventurousness -were wrong in themselves and as if nothing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> -but what was pitched in a low unhappy key could -possibly be the truth of the universe. The girl had a -curious feeling, all the while she was speaking, that in -some subtle way the unfortunate woman was deriving a -morbid pleasure from putting thrilling and exalted -things upon a ground that annihilated the emotion of -heroism.</p> - -<p>“Shall we go down to the sea now, dear?” said Mrs. -Renshaw suddenly. “The others will see us and follow.”</p> - -<p>They moved together across the clinging sand. -When they approached the water’s edge, now deserted -of holiday-makers, Nance searched the skyline for any -sail that might be the one carrying Sorio and his -friends. She made out two or three against the blue -distance but it was quite impossible to tell which of -these, if any, was the one that bore the man who, according -to her companion’s words, would only “need” -her if she served him like a slave.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Renshaw began picking up shells from the -debris-scattered windrow at the edge of the wet tide-mark. -As she did this and showed them one by one to -Nance, her face once more assumed that clear, transparent -look, spiritual beyond description and touched -with a childish happiness, which the girl had noticed -upon it when she spoke of the books she loved. Could it -be that only where religion or the opposite sex were -concerned this strange being was diseased and perverted? -If so, how dreadful, how cruel, that the two -things which were to most people the very mainspring -of life were to this unhappy one the deepest causes of -wretchedness! Yet Nance was far from satisfied with -her reading of the mystery of Mrs. Renshaw. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> -was something in the woman, in spite of her almost savage -outbursts of self-revelation, so aloof, so proud, so -reserved that the girl felt only vaguely assured she was -on the right track with regard to her. Perhaps, after -all, below that tone of self-humiliating sentiment with -which she habitually spoke of both God and man, there -was some deep and passionate current of feeling, hidden -from all the world? Or was she, essentially and in -secret truth, cold and hard and pagan and only forcing -herself to drink the cup of what she conceived to be -Christianity out of a species of half-insane pride? In -all her utterances with regard to religion and sex there -was, Nance felt, a kind of heavy materiality, as if she -got an evil satisfaction in rendering what is usually -called “goodness” as colourless and contemptible as -possible. But now as she picked up a trumpet-shaped -shell from the line of debris and held it up, her eyes -liquid with pleasure, to the girl’s view, Nance could not -resist the impression that she was in some strange way a -creature forced and driven out of her natural element -into these obscure perversities.</p> - -<p>“I used to paint these shells when I was a girl,” Mrs. -Renshaw remarked.</p> - -<p>“What colour?” Nance answered, still thinking more -of the woman than of her words. Her companion -looked at her and burst into quite a merry laugh.</p> - -<p>“I don’t mean paint the shell itself,” she said. -“You’re not listening to me, Nance. I mean copy it, -of course, and paint the drawing. I used to collect sea-weeds -too, in those days, and dry them in a book. I -have that book somewhere still,” she added, wistfully, -“but I don’t know where.”</p> - -<p>She had won the girl’s attention completely now.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> -Nance seemed to visualize with a sudden sting of infinite -pity the various little relics so entirely dissociated -from Rodmoor and its inhabitants which this reserved -woman must keep stored up in that gloomy house.</p> - -<p>“It’s a funny thing,” Mrs. Renshaw went on, “but I -can smell at this moment quite distinctly (I suppose it’s -being down here by the sea that makes it come to me) -the very scent of that book! The pages used to get -stuck together and when I pulled them apart there was -always the imprint of the seaweed on the paper. I -used to like to see that. It was as though Nature had -drawn it.”</p> - -<p>“It’s lovely, collecting things,” Nance remarked sympathetically. -“I used to collect butterflies when I was -a child. Dad used to say I was more like a boy than a -girl.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Renshaw glanced at her with a curious look.</p> - -<p>“Nance, dear,” she said in a low, trembling voice, -“don’t ever get into the habit of trying to be boyish -and that sort of thing. Don’t ever do that! The -only good women are the women who accept God’s will -and bow to his pleasure. Anything else leads to untold -wretchedness.”</p> - -<p>Nance made no reply to this and they both began -searching for more shells among the stranded sea-drift.</p> - -<p>Over their heads the sea-gulls whirled with wild disturbed -screams. There was only one sail on the horizon -now and Nance fixed her thoughts upon it and an immense -longing for Adrian surged up in her heart.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, between Linda and Miss Doorm a conversation -much more sinister was proceeding. Rachel -seemed from their first encounter and as soon as the -girl came into contact with her to reassert all her old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> -mastery. She deliberately overcame the frightened -child’s instinctive movement to keep pace with the others -and held her closely to her side as if by the power of -some ancient link between them, too strong to be overcome.</p> - -<p>“Let me look at you,” she said as soon as their -friends were out of hearing. “Let me look into your -eyes, my pretty one!”</p> - -<p>She laid one of her gaunt hands on the girl’s shoulder -and with the other held up her chin.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she remarked after a long scrutiny during -which Linda seemed petrified into a sort of dumb submission, -“yes, I can see you’ve struggled against him. -I can see you’ve not given up without an effort. That -means that you <em>have</em> given up! If you hadn’t fought -against him he wouldn’t have followed you. He’s like -that. He always <em>was</em> like that.” She removed her -hands but kept her eyes fixed gloomily on the girl’s -face. “I expect you’re wishing now you’d never seen -this place, eh? Aren’t you wishing that? So this is -the end of all your selfishness and your vanity? Yes, -it’s the end, Linda Herrick. It’s the end.”</p> - -<p>She dragged the girl slowly forward along the path. -On their right as they advanced, the sun flickered upon -the rank grasses which grew intermittently in the soft -sand and on their left the glittering sea lay calm and -serene under the spacious sky.</p> - -<p>Linda felt her feet grow heavy beneath her and her -heart sank with a sick misgiving as she saw how far -they had permitted the others to outstrip them. Beyond -anything else it was the power of cruel memories -which held the young girl now so docile, so helpless, in -the other’s hands. The old panic-stricken terror which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> -Rachel had the power of exciting in her when a child -seemed ineluctable in its endurance. Faintly and feebly -in her heart Linda struggled against this spell. She -longed to shake herself free and rush desperately in -pursuit of the others but her limbs seemed turned to -lead and her will seemed paralyzed.</p> - -<p>Rachel’s face was white and haggard. She seemed -animated by some frenzied impulse—some inward, -demoniac force which drove her on. Drops of perspiration -stood out upon her forehead and made the grey -hair that fell across it moist and clammy under the rim -of her dusty black hat. Her clothes, as she held the -girl close to her side, threw upon the air a musty, fetid -odour.</p> - -<p>“Where are your soft ways now?” she went on, -“your little clinging ways, your touching little babyish -ways? Where are your whims and your fancies? -Your caprices and your blushes? Where are your -white-faced pretences, and your sham terrors, only put -on to make you look sweet?”</p> - -<p>She had her hand upon the girl’s arm as she spoke -and she tightened her grasp, almost shaking her in her -mad malignity.</p> - -<p>“Before you were born your mother was afraid of -me,” she went on. “Oh, she gained little by cutting -me out with her pretty looks! She gained little, Linda -Herrick! She dared scarcely look me in the face in -those days. She was afraid even to hate me. That is -why <em>you</em> are what you are. You’re the child of her -terror, Linda Herrick, the child of her terror!”</p> - -<p>She paused for a moment while the girl’s breath came -in gasps through her white lips as if under the burden -of an incubus.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Listen!” the woman hissed at last, staggering a -little and actually leaning against the girl as though -the frenzy of her malignity deprived her of her strength. -“Listen, Linda. Do you remember what I used to -tell you about your father? How in his heart all the -time he loved only me? How he would sooner have got -rid of your mother than have got rid of me? Do you -remember that? Listen, then! There’s something -else I must say to you—something that you’ve never -guessed, something that you couldn’t guess. When -you were—” she stopped, panting heavily and if Linda -had not mechanically assisted her she would have -fallen. “When you were—when I was—” Her -breath seemed to fail her then completely. She put -her hand to her side and in spite of the girl’s feeble -effort to support her she sank, moaning, to the -ground.</p> - -<p>Linda looked helplessly round. Nance and Mrs. -Renshaw had passed beyond a little promontory of -sand-hills and were concealed from view. She knelt -down by Rachel’s side. Even then—even when those -vindictive dark eyes looked at her without a sign of consciousness, -they seemed to hold her with their power. -As they remained mute and motionless in this manner, -the prostrate woman and the kneeling girl, a faint gust -of wind, blowing the sand in a little cloud before it and -rustling the leaves of the horned poppies, brought to -Linda’s senses an odour of inland fields. She felt a -dim return, under this air, of her normal faculties and -taking one of the woman’s hands in her own she began -gently chafing it. Rachel answered to the touch -and a shiver passed through her frame. Then, in a -flash, intelligence came back into her eyes and her lips<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> -moved. Linda bent lower so as to catch her words. -They came brokenly, and in feeble gasps.</p> - -<p>“I loved him so, I loved him more than my life. He -took my life and killed it. He killed my heart. He -brought me those beads from far across the sea. They -were for me—not for her. He brought them for me, -I tell you. I gave him my heart for them and he killed -it. He killed it and buried it. This isn’t Rachel’s -heart any more. No! No! It isn’t Rachel’s. -Rachel’s heart has gone with him—with the Captain—over -great wide seas. He got it—out of me—when—he—kissed -my mouth.”</p> - -<p>Her voice died away in inarticulate mutterings. -Then once more her words grew human and clear.</p> - -<p>“My heart went with him long ago, after that, over -the sea. It was in all his ships. It was in every ship -he sailed in—over far-off seas. And in place of my -heart—something else—something else—came and -lived in Rachel. It is this that—that—” The intelligence -once more faded out of her eyes and she lay -stiff and motionless. Linda had a sudden thought that -she was dead and, with the thought, her fear of her -rolled away. Looking at her now, lying there, in her -black dress and crumpled bonnet, she seemed to see her -as she was, a mad, wretched, passion-scorched human -being. It crossed the young girl’s mind how inconceivable -it was that this haggard image of desolation had -once been young and soft-limbed, had once danced out -on summer mornings to meet the sun as any other child! -But even as this thought came to her, Rachel stirred and -moved again. Her eyes had a dazed expression now—a -clouded, sullen, hopeless expression. Slowly and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> -with laborious effort, refusing Linda’s assistance, she -rose to her feet.</p> - -<p>“Go and call them,” she said in a low voice. “Go -and call them. Tell Mrs. Renshaw that I’m ill—that -she must take me home. You won’t be troubled with me -much longer—not much longer! But you won’t forget -me. Brand will see to that! No, you won’t forget -me, Linda Herrick.”</p> - -<p>The girl ran off without looking back. When the -three of them returned, Rachel Doorm seemed to have -quite resumed her normal taciturnity.</p> - -<p>They walked back, all four together, to the harbour -mouth. The sisters helped the two women into -the little cart and untied the pony. As they clattered -away over the cobble-stones, Nance received from Mrs. -Renshaw a smile of gratitude, a smile of such illumined -and spiritual gaiety that it rendered the pale face which -it lit up beautiful with the beauty of some ancient picture.</p> - -<p>When the pony-cart had disappeared, Nance and -Linda sat down together on the wooden bench watching -the white sail upon the horizon and talking of Rachel -Doorm.</p> - -<p>Most of the holiday-makers had now retired to their -tea and a fresh breeze, coming in with the turn of the -tide, blew pleasantly upon the girls’ foreheads and ruffled -the soft hair under their daintily beribboned hats. -Nance, holding in her fingers the trumpet-shaped shell, -found herself suddenly wondering—perhaps because -the shape of the shell reminded her of it—whether -Linda had left that ominous fir-cone behind her in her -room or whether at the last moment she had again<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> -slipped it into her dress. She glanced sideways at her -sister’s girlish bosom, scarcely stirring now as with her -head turned she looked at the full-brimmed tide, and she -wondered if, under that white and pink frock so coquettishly -open at the throat, there were any newly created -blood-stains from the rasping impact of that rough-edged -trophy of the satyr-haunted woods of Oakguard.</p> - -<p>The afternoon light was so beautiful upon the water -at that moment and the cries of the circling sea-gulls -so full of an elemental callousness that the elder girl -experienced a sort of fierce reaction against the whole -weight of this intolerable sex-passion that was spoiling -both their lives. Something hard, free and reckless -seemed to rise up within her, in defiance of every sort -of feminine sentiment and, hardly thinking what she did -or of the effect of her words, “Quick, my dear,” she -cried suddenly, “give me that fir-cone you’ve got under -your dress!”</p> - -<p>Linda’s hands rose at once and she clutched at her -bosom, but her sister was too quick for her and too -strong. Nance’s feeling at that moment was as if she -were plucking a snake away. Rising to her feet when -she had secured the trophy, she lifted up her arm and, -with a fierce swing of her whole body, flung both it and -the shell she had herself been holding far into the centre-current -of the inflowing tide.</p> - -<p>“So much for Love!” she cried fiercely.</p> - -<p>The shell sank at once to the bottom but the fir-cone -floated. For a moment, when she saw Linda’s dismay, -she felt a pang of remorse. But she crushed it fiercely -down. Behind her whole mood at that moment was a -savage reaction from Mrs. Renshaw’s emotional perversity.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Come!” she cried, snatching at her sister’s hand -as Linda wavered on the wharf-brink and watched the -fir-cone drift behind an anchored barge and disappear. -“Come! Let’s go back and help Miss Pontifex water -her garden. Then we’ll have tea and then we’ll go for -a row if it isn’t too dark! Perhaps Dr. Raughty will -be home by then and we’ll make him take us.”</p> - -<p>She was so resolute and so dominant that Linda could -do nothing but meekly submit to her. Strangely -enough she, too, felt a certain rebound of youthful vivacity -now she was conscious no longer of the rough -wood-token pressing against her flesh. She also, after -what she had heard from the lips of Rachel, experienced -a reaction against the sorrow of “what men call love.” -Their mood continued unaltered until they reached the -gate of the dressmaker’s garden.</p> - -<p>“Then it’s Dr. Raughty—not Adrian,” the -younger girl remarked with a smile, “that we’re to have -to row us to-night?”</p> - -<p>Nance looked quickly back at her and made an effort -to smile too. But the sight of the flower-beds and -the carefully tended box-hedges of the little garden, had -been associated too long and too deeply with the pain -at her heart. Her smile died away from her face and -it was in silence after all and still bowed, for all their -brave revolt under the burden of their humanity, that -the two girls set themselves to water, as the August sun -went down into the fens, the heavily-scented phloxes and -sweet lavender of the admirable Miss Pontifex. That -little lady was herself at that moment staring demurely, -under the escort of a broad-shouldered nephew from -London, at a stirring representation of “East Lynne” -in a picture show in Mundham!</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIX">XIX<br /> -<span class="smaller">LISTENERS</span></h2> - -<p>August, now it had once come, proved hotter -than was usual in that windy East Anglian district. -Before the month was half over the harvest -had begun and the wheat fields by the river bank -stood bare and stubbly round their shocks of corn. -Twined with the wheat stalks and fading now, since -their support had been cut away, were all those bright -and brilliant field flowers which Nance had watched with -so tender an emotion in their yet unbudded state from -her haunt by the willow bed. Fumitory and persicaria, -succory and corn cockles, blent together in those fragrant -holocausts with bindweed and hawkweed. At the -edges of the fields the second brood of scarlet poppies -still lingered on like thin streaks of spilt red blood round -the scalps of closely cropped heads. In the marshy -places and by the dykes and ditches the newly grown -rush spears were now feathery and high, overtopping -their own dead of the year before and gradually hiding -them from sight. The last of all the season’s flowers, -the lavender-coloured Michaelmas daisies alone refused -to anticipate their normal flowering. But even these, -in several portions of the salt marshes, were already -high-grown and only waiting the hot month’s departure -to put forth their autumnal blossoms. In the dusty -corners of Rodmoor yards and in the littered outskirts -of Mundham, where there were several gravel-quarries,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> -camomile and feverfew—those pungent children -of the late summer, lovers of rubbish heaps and deserted -cow sheds—trailed their delicate foliage and -friendly flowers. In the wayside hedges, wound-wort -was giving place to the yellow spikes of the flower -called “archangel,” while those “buds of marjoram,” -appealed to in so wistful and so bitter a strain by the -poet of the <i>Sonnets</i>, were superseding the wild basil. -The hot white dust of the road between Rodmoor and -Mundham rose in clouds under the wheels of every kind -of vehicle and, as it rose, it swept in spiral columns -across that grassy expanse which, in accordance with -the old liberal custom of East Anglian road-makers, separated -the highway on both sides from the enclosing -hedges. With the sound of the corn-cutting machine -humming drowsily all day and, in the twilight, with the -shouts and cries of the children as their spirits rose with -the appearance of the moths and bats, there mingled -steadily, day in and day out, the monotonous splash of -the waves on Rodmoor beach.</p> - -<p>To those in the vicinity, whom Nature or some ill-usage -of destiny had made morbidly sensitive to that -particular sound, there was perhaps something harder -to bear in its placid reiterated rhythm under these -halcyon influences than when, in rougher weather, it -broke into fury. The sound grew in intensity as it -diminished in volume and with the <em>beat, beat, beat</em>, of its -eternal refrain, sharpened and brought nearer in the -silence of the hot August noons there came to such nervously -sensitive ears as were on the alert to receive it, -an increasingly disturbing resemblance to the sistole -and diastole, the inbreathing and outbreathing of some -huge, half-human heart.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span></p> - -<p>Among the various persons in Rodmoor from whom -the greater and more beneficent gods seemed turning -away their faces and leaving them a prey to the lesser -and more vindictive powers, it is probable that not one -felt so conscious of this note of insane repetition, almost -bestial in its blind persistence, as did Philippa Renshaw. -Philippa, in those early August weeks, became -more and more aloof from both her mother and Brand. -She met Sorio once or twice but that was rather by -chance than by design and the encounters were not -happy for either of them. Insomnia grew upon her and -her practise of roaming at night beneath the trees of -the park grew with it. Brand often followed her on -these nocturnal wanderings but only once was he successful -in persuading her to return with him to the -house. In proportion as she drew away from him he -seemed to crave her society.</p> - -<p>One night, after Mrs. Renshaw had retired to bed, -the brother and sister lingered on in the darkened library. -It was a peculiarly sultry evening and a heavy -veil of mist obscured the young crescent moon. -Through the open windows came hot gusts of air, ruffling -the curtains and making the candle flames flicker. -Brand rose and blew out all the lights except one which -he placed on a remote table below the staring dark-visaged -portrait, painted some fifty years before, of -Herman Renshaw, their father. The other pictures -that hung in the spaces between the book-shelves were -now reduced to a shadowy and ghostly obscurity, an obscurity -well adapted to the faded and melancholy lineaments -of these older, but apparently no happier, Renshaws -of Oakguard. Round the candle he had left -alight a little group of agitated moths hovered and at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> -intervals as one or other of them got singed it would -dash itself with wild blind flutterings, into the remotest -corners of the room. From the darkness outside came -an occasional rustle of leaves and sighing of branches -as the gusts of hot air rose and died away. The oppressive -heat was like the burden of a huge, palpable -hand laid upon the roof of the house. Now and again -some startled creature pursued by owl or weasel uttered -a panic-stricken cry, but whether its enemy seized upon -it, or whether it escaped, the eyes of the darkness alone -knew. Its cry came suddenly and stopped suddenly -and the steady beat of the rhythm of the night went -on as before.</p> - -<p>Brand flung himself down in a low chair and his sister -balanced herself on the arm of it, a lighted cigarette -between her mocking lips. Hovering thus in the shadow -above him, her flexible form swaying like a phantom -created out of mist, she might have been taken for the -embodiment of some perverse vision, some dream avatar -from the vices of the dead past.</p> - -<p>“After all,” Brand murmured in a low voice, a voice -that sounded as though his thoughts were taking shape -independently of his conscious will, “after all, what do -I want with Linda or any of them since I’ve got you?”</p> - -<p>She made a mocking inclination of her head at this -but kept silence, only letting her eyes cling, with a -strange light in them, to his disturbed face. After a -pause he spoke again.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span></p> -<p>“And yet she suits me better than any one—better -than I expected it was possible for a girl like that -to suit me. She’ll never get over her fear of me and -that means she’ll never get over her love. I ought to be -contented with that, oughtn’t I?”</p> - -<p>He paused again and still Philippa uttered no word. -“I don’t think you quite understand,” he went on, “all -that there is between her and me. We touch one another -<em>in the depths</em>, there’s no doubt about that, and -our boat takes us where there are no soundings, none at -least that I’ve ever made! We touch one another where -that noise—oh, damn the wind! I don’t mean the -wind!—is absolutely still. Have <em>you</em> ever reached a -point when you’ve got that noise out of your ears? No—you -know very well you haven’t! You were born -hearing it—just as I was—and you’ll die hearing it. -But with her, just because she’s so afraid, so madly -afraid—do you understand?—I <em>have</em> reached that -point. I reached it the other night when we were together. -Yes! You may smile—you little devil—but -it’s quite true. She put it clear out of my head -just as if she’d driven the tide back!”</p> - -<p>He stared at the cloud of faint blue smoke that -floated up round his sister’s white face and then he met -her eyes again.</p> - -<p>“Bah!” he flung out angrily. “What absurd nonsense -it all is! We’ve been living too long in this place, -we Renshaws, that’s what’s the matter with us! We -ought to sell the confounded house and clear out altogether! -I will too, when mother dies. Yes, I will—brewery -or no brewery—and go off with Tassar to one -of his foreign places. I’ll sell the whole thing, the land -and the business! It’s begun to get on my nerves. It -<em>must</em> have got on my nerves, mustn’t it, when that simple -<em>break, break, break</em>, as mother’s absurd poem says of -this damned sea, sounds to me like the beating heart of -something, of something whose heart ought to be -<em>stopped</em> from beating!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span></p> - -<p>His voice which had risen to a loud pitch of excitement -died away in a sort of apologetic murmur.</p> - -<p>“Sorry,” he muttered, “only don’t look at me like -that, you girl. There, clear off and sit further away! -It’s that look of yours that makes me talk in this silly -fashion. God help us! I don’t blame that foreign fellow -for getting queer in his head. You’ve got something -in those eyes of yours, Philippa, that no living -girl ought to be allowed to have! Bah! You’ve made -me talk like an absolute fool.”</p> - -<p>Instead of moving away as she had been bidden, -Philippa touched her brother with a light caress. -Never had she looked so entirely a creature of the old -perverse civilizations as she looked at that moment.</p> - -<p>“Mother thinks you’re going to marry that girl,” -she whispered, “but I know better than that, and I’m -always right in these things, am I not, Brand darling?”</p> - -<p>He fell back under her touch and the shadowy lines -of his face contracted. He presented the appearance -of something withered and crumpled. Her mocking -smile still divided her curved lips, curved in the subtle, -archaic way as in the marbles of ancient Greece. Whatever -may have been the secret of her power over him, it -manifested itself now in the form of a spiritual cruelty -which he found very difficult to bear. He made a -movement that was almost an appeal.</p> - -<p>“Say I’m right, say I’m always right in these -things!” she persisted.</p> - -<p>But at that moment a diversion occurred, caused by -the sudden entrance of a large bat. The creature uttered -a weird querulous cry, like the cry of a newborn -babe and went wheeling over their heads in desperate -rapid circles, beating against the book-case and the picture<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> -frames. Presently, attracted by the light, it -swooped down upon the flame of the candle and in a moment -had extinguished it, plunging the room into complete -darkness.</p> - -<p>Philippa, with a low taunting laugh, ran across the -room and wrapped herself in one of the window curtains.</p> - -<p>“Open the door and drive it out,” she cried. “Drive -it out, I say! Are you afraid of a thing like that?”</p> - -<p>But Brand seemed either to have sunk into a kind of -trance or to be too absorbed in his thoughts to make -any movement. He remained reclining in his chair, -silent and motionless.</p> - -<p>The girl cautiously withdrew from her shelter and, -fumbling about for matches, at last found a box and -struck a light. The bat flew past her as she did so and -whirled away into the night. She lit several candles -and held one of them close to her brother’s face. Thus -illuminated, Brand’s sinister countenance had the look -of a mediæval wood-carving. He might have been the -protagonist of one of those old fantastic prints representing -Doctor Faustus after some hopeless struggle -with his master-slave.</p> - -<p>“Take it away, you! Let me alone. I’ve talked too -much to you already. This is a hot night, eh? A hot -night and the kind that sets a person thinking. Bah! -I’ve thought too much. It’s thinking that causes all -the devilries in the world. Thinking, and hearing -hearts beating, that ought to be stopped!”</p> - -<p>He pushed her aside and rose, stretching himself and -yawning.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span></p> -<p>“What’s the time? What? Only ten o’clock? -How early mother must have gone to bed! This is the -kind of night in which people kill their mothers. Yes, -they do, Philippa. You needn’t peer at me like that! -And they do it when their mothers have daughters that -look like you—just like you at this very moment.”</p> - -<p>He leaned against the back of a chair and watched -her as she stood negligently by the mantelpiece, her -arm extended along its marble surface.</p> - -<p>“Why does mother always say these things to you -about my marrying?” he continued in a broken thick -voice. “You lead her on to think of these things and -then when she comes out with them you bring them to -me, to make me angry with her. Tell me this, Philippa, -why do you hate mother so? Why did you have that -look in your face just now when I talked of killing her? -What—would—you—Hang it all, girl, stop staring -and smiling at me like that or it’ll be you I’ll kill! -Oh, Heaven above, help us! This hot night will send -us all into Bedlam!”</p> - -<p>He suddenly stopped and began intently listening, -his eyes on his sister’s face. “Did you hear that?” he -whispered huskily. “She’s walking up and down the -passage—walking in her slippers, that’s why you can -hardly hear her. Hush! Listen! She’ll go presently -into father’s room. She always does that in the end. -What do you think she does there, Philippa? Rummages -about, I suppose, and opens and shuts drawers -and changes the pictures! What people we are! God—what -people we are! I suppose the sound of her doing -all that irritates you till your brain nearly bursts. -It’s a strange thing, isn’t it, this family life! Human -beings like us weren’t meant to be stuck in a hole together -like wasps in a bottle. Listen! Do you hear -that? She’s doing something to his window now. A -lot he cares, six feet under the clay! But it shows how<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> -he holds her still, doesn’t it?” He made a gesture in -the direction of his father’s picture upon which the -candle-light shone clearly now, animating its heavy features.</p> - -<p>“Do you know,” he continued solemnly, looking -closely at his sister again, “I believe one of these nights, -when she walks up and down like that, in her soft slippers, -you’ll go straight up and kill her yourself. Yes, -I believe you listen like this every night till you could -put your fingers in your ears and scream.”</p> - -<p>He moved across the room and, approaching his -sister, shook her roughly by the arm. Some psychic -change in the atmosphere about them seemed to have -completely altered their relations.</p> - -<p>“Confess—confess—you girl!” he muttered -harshly. “Confess now—when you go rushing off -like that into the park it isn’t to see that foreign fellow -at all? It isn’t even to lie, as I know you love to do, -touching the stalks of the poison funguses with the tip -of your tongue under the oak trunks? It’s to escape -from hearing her, that’s what it is! Confess now. It’s -to escape from hearing her!”</p> - -<p>He suddenly relaxed his grasp and stood erect, listening -intently. The sweet heavy scent of magnolia -petals floated in through the window and somewhere—far -off among the trees—a screech-owl uttered a -broken wail, followed by the flapping of wings. The -clock in the hall outside began striking the hour. Before -each stroke a ponderous metallic vibration trembled -through the silent house.</p> - -<p>“It’s only ten now,” he said. “The clock in here -is fast.”</p> - -<p>As he spoke there was a loud ring at the entrance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> -door. The brother and sister stared blankly at one -another and then Philippa gave a low unnatural laugh. -“We might be criminals,” she whispered. They instinctively -assumed more easy and less dramatic positions -and waited in silence, while from the distant servants’ -quarters some one came to answer the summons. -They heard the door opened and the sound of suppressed -voices in the hall. There was a moment’s pause, -during which Philippa looked mockingly and enquiringly -at Brand.</p> - -<p>“It’s our dear priest,” she whispered, “and some one -else, too.”</p> - -<p>“Surely the fool’s not going to try—” began Brand.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Traherne and Dr. Raughty!” announced the -servant, opening the library door and holding it open -while the visitors entered.</p> - -<p>The clergyman advanced first. He shook hands with -Brand and bowed with old-fashioned courtesy to -Philippa. Dr. Raughty, following him, shook hands -with Philippa and nodded nervously at her brother. -The two men sank into the seats offered them and accepted -an invitation to smoke. Brand moved to a side -table and mixed for them, with an air of resigned politeness, -cool and appropriate drinks. He drank nothing -himself, however, but his sister, with a mocking apology -to Mr. Traherne, lit herself a cigarette.</p> - -<p>“How’s the rat?” she began, throwing a teasing and -provocative smile upon the priest’s perturbed countenance.</p> - -<p>“Out there,” he replied, emptying his glass at one -gulp.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span></p> -<p>“What? In your coat pocket on such a night as -this?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Traherne put down his glass and inserted his -huge workman’s fingers into the bosom of his cassock.</p> - -<p>“Nothing under this but a shirt,” he said. “Cassocks -have no pockets.”</p> - -<p>“Haven’t they?” laughed Brand. “They have -something then where you can put money. That is, -unless you parsons are like kangaroos and have some -natural little orifice in which to hide the offerings of the -faithful.”</p> - -<p>“Is he happy always in your pocket?” enquired -Philippa.</p> - -<p>“Do you want me to see?” replied the priest, rising -with a movement that almost upset the table. “I’ll -bring him in and I’ll make him go scimble-scamble all -about the room.”</p> - -<p>The tone in which he uttered these words said, as -plainly as words could say, “You’re a pretty, silly, -flirtatious piece of femininity! You only talk about -my rat for the sake of fooling me. You don’t really -care whether he’s happy in my pocket or not. It’s -only out of consideration for your silly nerves that I -don’t play with him now. And if you tease me an inch -more I will, and make him run up your petticoats, too!”</p> - -<p>“Sit down again, Traherne,” said Brand, “and let -me fill up your glass. We’ll all visit the rat presently -and find him some supper. Just at present I’m anxious -to know how things are in the village. I haven’t -been down that way for weeks.”</p> - -<p>This was a direct challenge to the priest to come, -without further delay, to the matter of his visit. Hamish -Traherne accepted it.</p> - -<p>“We came really,” he said, “to see <em>you</em>, Renshaw. -A little later, perhaps before we go, we must have our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> -conversation. We hardly expected to have the pleasure -of finding Miss Philippa sitting up so late.”</p> - -<p>Dr. Raughty, who all this while had been watching -with the most intense delight the beauty of the girl’s -white skin and scarlet lips and the indescribable charm -of her sinuous figure, now broke in impetuously.</p> - -<p>“But it can wait! It can wait! Oh, please don’t -go to bed yet, Miss Renshaw. Look, your cigarette’s -out! Throw it away and try one of these. They’re -French, they’re the yellow packets, I know you like -them. They’re what you smoked once when we were -on the river—when you caught that great perch.”</p> - -<p>Philippa, who had risen to her feet at Traherne’s -somewhat brusque remark, came at once to the Doctor’s -side.</p> - -<p>“Oh, the perch,” she cried, “yes, I should think I -do remember! You insisted on killing it at once so -that it shouldn’t jump back into the water. You put -your thumb into its mouth and bent back its head. -Oh, yes! That yellow packet brings it all back to me. -I can smell the sticky dough we tried to catch dace -with afterwards and I can see the look of your hands -all smeared with blood and silver scales. Oh, that was -a lovely day, Doctor! Do you remember how you -twisted those things, bryony leaves they were, round -my head when the others had gone? Do you remember -how you said you’d like to treat me as you treated -the perch? Do you remember how you ran after a -dragon-fly or something?”</p> - -<p>She stopped breathlessly and, balancing herself on -the arm of the Doctor’s chair, blew a great cloud of -smoke over his head, filling the room in a moment with -the pungent odour of French tobacco.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span></p> - -<p>Both Traherne and Brand regarded her with astonishment. -She seemed to have transformed herself and -to have become a completely different person. Her -eyes shone with childish gaiety and when she laughed, -as she did a moment afterwards at some sally of the -Doctor’s, there was a ring of unforced, spontaneous -merriment in the sound such as her brother had not -heard for many years. She continued to bend over -Dr. Raughty’s chair, covering them both in a thick -cloud of cigarette smoke, and the two of them soon -became absorbed in some intricate discussion concerning, -as far as the others could make out, the question -of the best bait to be used for pike.</p> - -<p>The priest took the opportunity of delivering himself -of what was on his mind.</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid, Renshaw,” he said, “you’ve gone your -own way in that matter of Linda Herrick. No! Don’t -deny it. You may not have seen her as often as before -our last conversation, but you’ve seen her. She’s -confessed as much to me herself. Now look here, Renshaw, -you and I have known one another for some good -few years. How long is it, man? Fifteen, twenty? -It can’t be less. Long enough, anyway, for me to have -earned the right to speak quite plainly and I tell you -this, you must stop the whole business!”</p> - -<p>His voice sank as he spoke to a formidable whisper. -Brand glanced round at the others but apparently they -were quite preoccupied. Mr. Traherne continued.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span></p> -<p>“The whole business, Renshaw! After this you must -leave that child absolutely alone. If you don’t—if -you insist on going on seeing her—I shall take strong -measures with you. I shall—but I needn’t say any -more! I think you can make a pretty shrewd guess -what I shall do.”</p> - -<p>Brand received this solemn ultimatum in a way calculated -to cause the agitated man who addressed it to -him a shock of complete bewilderment. He yawned -carelessly and stretched out his long arms.</p> - -<p>“As you please, Hamish,” he said, “I’m perfectly -ready not to see her. In fact, I probably shouldn’t -have seen her in any case. To tell you the truth, I’ve -got a bit sick of the whole thing. These young girls -are silly little feather-weights at best. It’s first one -mood and then another! You can’t be sure of them -for two hours at a stretch. So it’s all right, Hamish -Traherne! I won’t interfere with her. You can make -a nun of her if you like—or whatever else you fancy. -All I beg of you is, don’t go round talking about -me to your parishioners. Don’t talk about me to -Raughty! I don’t want my affairs discussed by any -one—not even by my friends. All right, my boy—you -needn’t look at me like that. You’ve known me, -as you say, long enough to know what I am. So there -you are! You’ve had your answer and you’ve got my -word. I don’t mind even your calling it ‘the word of -a gentleman’ as you did the other night. You can -call it what you like. I’m not going to see Linda for -a reason quite personal and private but if you like to -make it a favour to yourself that I don’t—well! -throw that in, too!”</p> - -<p>Hamish Traherne thrust his hand into his cassock -thinking, for the moment, that it was his well-worn -ulster and that he would feel the familiar form of -Ricoletto.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span></p> - -<p>It may be noted from this futile and unconscious -gesture, how much hangs in this world upon insignificant -threads. Had the priest’s fingers touched at that -moment the silky coat of his little friend he would -have derived sufficient courage to ask his formidable -host point-blank whether, in leaving Linda in this way, -he left her as innocent and unharmed as when he crossed -her path at the beginning. Not having Ricoletto with -him, however, and his fingers encountering nothing but -his own woolen shirt, he lacked the inspiration to carry -the matter to this conclusion. Thus, upon the trifling -accident of a tame rodent having been left outside a -library or, if you will, upon an eccentric parson having -no pocket, depended the whole future of Linda Herrick. -For, had he put that question and had Brand -confessed the truth, the priest would undoubtedly, under -every threat in his power, have commanded him to -marry her and it is possible, considering the mood the -man was in at that moment and considering also the -nature of the threat held over him, he would have bowed -to the inevitable and undertaken to do it.</p> - -<p>The intricate and baffling complications of human -life found further illustration in the very nature of -this mysterious threat hinted at so darkly by Mr. Traherne. -It was in reality—and Brand knew well that -it was—nothing more or less than the making clear -to Mrs. Renshaw beyond all question or doubt, of the -actual character of the son she tried so conscientiously -to idealize. For some basic and profound reason, inherent -in his inmost nature, it was horrible to Brand -to think of his mother knowing him. She might suspect -and <em>she might know that he knew she suspected</em>, -but to have the thing laid quite bare between them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> -would be to send a rending and shattering crack -through the unconscious hypocrisy of twenty years. -For certain natures any drastic cleavage of slowly -built-up moral relations is worse than death. Brand -would have felt less remorse in being the cause of his -mother’s death than of being the cause of her knowing -him as he really was. The matter of Linda being thus -settled between the two men, if the understanding so -reached could be regarded as settling it, they both -turned round, anxious for some distraction, to the quarter -of the room where their friends had been conversing. -But Philippa and the Doctor were no longer with them. -Brand looked whimsically at the priest who, shrugging -his shoulders, poured himself out a third glass from -the decanter on the table. They then moved to the -window which reached almost to the ground. Stepping -over its low ledge, they passed out upon the terrace. -They were at once aware of a change in the atmospheric -conditions. The veil of mist had entirely -been swept away from the sky. The vast expanse -twinkled with bright stars and, far down among the -trees, they could discern the crescent form of the new -moon.</p> - -<p>Brand pulled towards him a spray of damask roses -and inhaled their sweetness. Then he turned to his -companion and gave him an evil leer.</p> - -<p>“The Doctor and Philippa have taken advantage of -our absorbing conversation,” he remarked.</p> - -<p>“Nonsense, man, nonsense!” exclaimed the priest. -“Raughty’s only showing her some sort of moth or -beetle. Can’t you stop your sneering for once and -look at things humanly and naturally?”</p> - -<p>His words found their immediate justification.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> -Turning the corner of the house they discovered the -two escaped ones on their knees by the edge of the dew-drenched -lawn watching the movements of a toad. The -Doctor was gently directing its advance with the stalk -of a dead geranium and Philippa was laughing as merrily -as a little girl.</p> - -<p>They now realized the cause of the disappearance -of the sultriness and the heat. From over the wide-stretching -fens came, with strong steady breath, the -north-west wind. It came with a full deep coolness -in it which the plants and the trees seemed to drink -from as out of some immortal cistern. It brought with -it the odour of immense marsh-lands and fresh inland -waters and as it bowed the trees and rustled over the -flower-beds, it seemed to obliterate and drive back all -indications of their nearness to the sea.</p> - -<p>Raughty and Philippa rose to their feet at the approach -of their friends.</p> - -<p>“Doctor,” said Brand, “what’s the name of that -great star over there—or planet—or whatever it -is?”</p> - -<p>They all surveyed the portion of the sky he indicated -and contemplated the unknown luminary.</p> - -<p>“I wish they’d taught me astronomy instead of -Greek verses when I was at school,” sighed Mr. Traherne.</p> - -<p>“It’s Venus, I suppose,” remarked Dr. Raughty. -“Isn’t it Venus, Philippa?”</p> - -<p>The girl looked from the men to the sky, and from -the sky to the men.</p> - -<p>“Well, you <em>are</em> a set of wise fellows,” she cried, “not -to know the star which rules us all! And that’s <em>not</em> -Venus, Doctor! Don’t any of you really know?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> -Brand—you surely do? Well, I’ll tell you then, that’s -Jupiter, that’s the lord-star Jupiter!”</p> - -<p>And she burst into a peal of ringing boyish laughter. -Brand turned to the Doctor, who had moved away -to cast a final glance at the toad.</p> - -<p>“What have you done to her, Fingal?” he called -out. “She hasn’t laughed like that for years.”</p> - -<p>The only answer he received to this was an embarrassed -cough, but when they returned to the library -and began looking at some of the more interesting of -the volumes in its shelves it was noticed by both Brand -and Mr. Traherne that the Doctor treated the young -girl with a frank, direct, simple and humorous friendliness -as if completely oblivious of her sex.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XX">XX<br /> -<span class="smaller">RAVELSTON GRANGE</span></h2> - -<p>The hot weather continued with the intermission -of only a few wet and windy days all -through the harvest. One Saturday afternoon -Sorio, who had arranged to take Nance by train -to Mundham, loitered with Baltazar at the head of the -High Street waiting the girl’s appearance. She had -told him to meet her there rather than at her lodging -because since the occasion when they took refuge in -the cottage it had been agitating to her to see Linda -and Baltazar together. She knew without any question -asked that for several weeks her sister had seen -nothing of Brand and she was extremely unwilling, now -that the one danger seemed removed, that the child -should risk falling into another.</p> - -<p>Nance herself had lately been seeing more of her -friend’s friend than she liked. It was difficult to avoid -this, however, now that they lived so near, especially -as Mr. Stork’s leisure times between his journeys to -Mundham, coincided so exactly with her own hours of -freedom from work at the dressmaker’s. But the more -she saw of Baltazar, the more difficult she found it to -tolerate him. With Brand, whenever chance threw -him across her path, she was always able to preserve -a dignified and conventional reserve. She saw that -he knew how deep her indignation on behalf of her sister -went and she could not help respecting him for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> -tact and discretion with which he accepted her tacit -antagonism and made any embarrassing clash between -them easy to avoid. At the bottom of her heart she -had never felt any personal dislike of Brand Renshaw, -nor did that peculiar fear which he seemed to inspire -in the majority of those who knew him affect her in -the least. She would have experienced not the slightest -trepidation in confronting him on her sister’s behalf -if circumstances demanded it and meanwhile she only -asked that they should be left in peace.</p> - -<p>But with Baltazar it was different. She disliked -him cordially and, with her dislike, there mingled a -considerable element of quite definite fear. The precise -nature of this fear she was unable to gauge. In a -measure it sprang from his unfailing urbanity and the -almost effusive manner in which he talked to her and -rallied her with little witticisms whenever they met. -Nance’s own turn of mind was singularly direct and -simple and she could not avoid a perpetual suspicion in -dealing with Mr. Stork that the man was covertly -mocking at her and seeking to make her betray herself -in some way. There was something about his whole -personality which baffled and perplexed her. His languid -and effeminate manner seemed to conceal some -hard and inflexible attitude towards life which, like a -steel blade in a velvet scabbard, was continually on -the point of revealing its true nature and yet never -actually did. She completely distrusted his influence -over Sorio and indeed carried her suspicion of him to -the extreme point of even doubting his affection for his -old-time friend. Nothing about him seemed to her genuine -or natural. When he spoke of art, as he often -did, or uttered vague, cynical commentaries upon life<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> -in general, she felt towards him just as a girl feels -towards another girl whose devices to attract attention -seem to be infringing the legitimate limit of recognized -rivalry. It was not only that she suspected him of -every sort of hypocritical diplomacy or that every attitude -he adopted seemed a deliberate pose; it was that -in some indescribably subtle way he seemed to make her -feel as if her own gestures and speeches were false. He -troubled and agitated her to such an extent that she -was driven sometimes into a mood of such desperate -self-consciousness that she did actually become insincere -or at any rate felt herself saying and doing -things which failed to express what she really had in -her mind. This was especially the case when he was -present at her encounters with Sorio. She found herself -on such occasions uttering sometimes the wildest -speeches, speeches quite far from her natural character, -and even when she tried passionately to be herself -she was half-conscious all the while that Baltazar was -watching her and, so to speak, clapping his hands encouragingly -and urging her on. It was just as if she -heard him whispering in her ear and saying, “That’s -a pretty speech, that’s an effective turn of the head, -that’s a happily timed smile, that’s an appealing little -silence!”</p> - -<p>His presence seemed to perplex and bewilder the -very basis and foundation of her confidence in herself. -What was natural he made unnatural and what was -spontaneous he made premeditated. He seemed to dive -down into the very depths of her soul and stir up and -make muddy and clouded what was clearest and simplest -there. The little childish impulses and all the impetuous -girlish movements of her mind became silly and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> -forced when he was present, became something that -might have been different had she willed them to be -different, something that she was deliberately using to -bewitch Adrian.</p> - -<p>The misery of it was that she <em>couldn’t</em> be otherwise, -that she couldn’t look and talk and laugh and be silent, -in any other manner. And yet he made her feel as if -this were not only possible but easy. He was diabolically -and mercilessly clever in his malign clairvoyance. -Nance was not so simple as not to recognize that there -are a hundred occasions when a girl quite legitimately -and naturally “makes the best” of her passing moods -and feelings. She was not so stupid as not to know -that the very diffusion of a woman’s emotions, through -every fibre and nerve of her being, lends itself to innumerable -little exaggerations and impulsive underscorings, -so to speak, of the precise truth. But it was -just these very basic or, if the phrase may be permitted, -these “organic” characteristics of her self-expression, -that Baltazar’s unnatural watchfulness was -continually pouncing on. In some curious way he succeeded, -though himself a man, in betraying the very -essence of her sex-dignity. He threw her, in fact, into -a position of embarrassed self-defence over what were -really the inevitable accompaniments of her being a -woman at all.</p> - -<p>The unfairness of the thing was constantly being -accentuated and made worse by the fact of her having -so often to listen to bitter and sarcastic diatribes from -both Adrian and his friend, directed towards her sex in -general. A sort of motiveless jibing against women -seemed indeed one of the favourite pastimes of the two -men and Nance’s presence, when this topic came forward,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> -appeared rather to enhance than mitigate their -hostility.</p> - -<p>On one or two occasions of this kind, Dr. Raughty -had happened to be present and Nance felt she would -never forget her gratitude to this excellent man for -the genial and ironical way he reduced them to silence.</p> - -<p>“I’m glad you have invented,” he would say to them, -“so free and inexpensive a way of getting born. -You’ve only to give us a little more independence and -death will be equally satisfactory.”</p> - -<p>On this particular afternoon, however, Baltazar was -not encouraging Sorio in any misogynistic railings. -On the contrary he was endeavouring to soothe his -friend who at that moment was in one of his worst -moods.</p> - -<p>“Why doesn’t she come?” he kept jerking out. -“She knows perfectly how I hate waiting in the street.”</p> - -<p>“Come and sit down under the trees,” suggested -Baltazar. “She’s sure to come out on the green to -look for you and we can see her from there.”</p> - -<p>They moved off accordingly and sat down, side by -side, with a group of village people under the ancient -sycamores. Above them the nameless Admiral looked -steadily sea-wards and in the shadow thrown by the -trees several ragged little girls were playing sleepily on -the burnt-up grass.</p> - -<p>“It’s extraordinary,” Sorio remarked, “what a lot -of human beings there are in the world who would be -best out of it! They get on my nerves, these people. -I think I hear them more clearly and feel them nearer -me here than ever before in my life. Every person in -a place like this becomes more important and asserts -himself more, and the same is true of every sound. If<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> -you want really to escape from humanity there are only -two things to do, either go right away into the desert -where there’s not a living soul or go into some large -city where you’re absolutely lost in the crowd. This -half-and-half existence is terrible.”</p> - -<p>“My dear, my dear,” protested his companion, “you -keep complaining and grumbling but for the life of me -I can’t make out what it is that actually annoys you. -By the way, don’t utter your sentiments too loudly! -These honest people will not understand.”</p> - -<p>“What annoys me—you don’t understand what annoys -me?” muttered the other peevishly. “It annoys -me to be stared at. It annoys me to be called out -after. It annoys me to be recognized. I can’t move -from your door without seeing some face I know and -what’s still worse, seeing that face put on a sort of silly, -inquisitive, jeering look, as much as to say, ‘Ho! Ho! -here is that idiot again. Here is that fool who sponges -upon Mr. Stork! Here is that spying foreign devil!’”</p> - -<p>“Adrian—Adrian,” protested his companion, “you -really are becoming impossible. I assure you these -people don’t say or think anything of the kind! They -just see you and greet you and wish you well and pass -on upon their own concerns.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t they, don’t they,” cried the other, forgetting -in his agitation to modulate his voice and causing -a sudden pause in the conversation that was going -on at their side. “Don’t they think these things! I -know humanity better. Every single person who meets -another person and knows anything at all about him -wants to show that he’s a match for his little tricks, -that he’s not deceived by his little ways, that he knows -where he gets his money or doesn’t get it and what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> -woman he wants or doesn’t want and which of his parents -he wishes dead and buried! I tell you you’ve no -idea what human beings are really like! You haven’t -any such idea, for the simple reason that you’re absolutely -hard and self-centred yourself. You go your -own way. You think your own thoughts. You create -your own fancy-world. And the rest of humanity are -nothing—mere pawns and puppets and dream-figures—nothing—simply -nothing! I’m a completely different -nature from you, Tassar. I’ve got my idea—my -secret—but I’d rather not talk about that and -you’d rather not hear. But apart from that, I’m simply -helpless. I mean I’m helplessly conscious of everything -round me! I’m porous to things. It’s really -quite funny. It’s just as if I hadn’t any skin, as if -my soul hadn’t any skin. Everything that I see, or -hear, Tassar—and the hearing is worse, oh, ever so -much worse—passes straight through me, straight -through the very nerves of my inmost being. I feel -sometimes as though my mind were like a piece of parchment, -stretched out taut and tight and every single -thing that comes near me taps against it, tip-tap, tip-tap, -tip-tap, as if it were a drum! That wouldn’t be -so bad if it wasn’t that I know so horribly clearly what -people are thinking. For instance, when I go down -that alley to the station, as I shall soon with Nance, -and pass the workmen at their doors, I know perfectly -well that they’ll look at me and say to themselves, -‘There goes that fool again,’ or, ‘There goes that -slouching idiot from the cottage,’ but that’s not all, -Tassar. They soon have the sense to see that I’m the -kind of person who shrinks from being noticed and that -pleases them. They nudge one another then and look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> -more closely at me. They do their best to make me understand -that they know their power over me and intend -to use it, intend to nudge one another and look at me -every time I pass. I can read exactly what their -thoughts are. They say to themselves, ‘He may slink -off now but he’ll have to come this way again and -then we’ll see! Then we’ll look at him more closely. -Then we’ll find out what he’s after in these parts and -why that pretty girl puts up with him so long!’”</p> - -<p>He was interrupted at that moment by a roar of -laughter from the group beside them and Baltazar -rose and pulled him away. “Upon my soul, Adrian,” -he whispered, as he led him back across the green, “you -must behave better! You’ve given those honest fellows -something to gossip about for a week. They’ll think -you really are up to something, you can’t shout like -that without being listened to and you can’t quarrel -with the whole of humanity.”</p> - -<p>Adrian turned fiercely round on him. “Can’t I?” -he exclaimed. “Can’t I quarrel with humanity? You -wait, my friend, till I’ve got my book published. Then -you’ll see! I tell you I’ll strike this cursed human race -of yours such a blow that they’ll wish they’d treated a -poor wanderer on the face of the earth a little better -and spared him something of their prying and peering!”</p> - -<p>“Your book!” laughed Baltazar. “A lot they’ll -care for your book! That’s always the way with you -touchy philosophers. You stir up the devil of a row -with your bad temper and make the most harmless people -into enemies and then you think you can settle it all -and prove yourselves right and everybody else wrong -by writing a book. Upon my soul, Adrian, if I didn’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> -love you very much indeed I’d be inclined to let you -loose on life just to see whether you or it could strike -the hardest blows!”</p> - -<p>Sorio looked at him with a curiously bewildered look. -He seemed puzzled. His swarthy Roman face wore a -clouded, weary, crushed expression. His brow contracted -into an anxious frown and his mouth quivered. -His air at that moment was the air of a very young -child that suddenly finds the world much harder to deal -with than it expected.</p> - -<p>Baltazar watched him with secret pleasure. These -were the occasions when he always felt strangely drawn -towards him. That look of irresolute and bewildered -weakness upon a countenance so powerfully moulded -filled him with a most delicate sense of protective pity. -He could have embraced the man as he watched him, -blinking there in the afternoon sunshine, and fumbling -with the handle of his stick.</p> - -<p>But at that moment Nance appeared, walking rapidly -with bent head, up the narrow street. Baltazar -looked at her with a gleam of hatred in his sea-coloured -eyes. She came to rob him of one of the most exquisite -pleasures of his life, the pleasure of reducing this -strong creature to humiliated submissiveness and then -petting and cajoling him back into self-respect. The -knowledge that he left Sorio in her hands in this particular -mood of deprecatory helplessness, remorseful -and gentle and like a wild beast beaten into docility, -caused him the most acute pain. With poisonous antagonism -under his urbane greeting he watched furtively -the quick glance she threw at Adrian and the -way her eyes lingered upon his, feeling her way into -his mood. He cast about for some element of discord<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> -that he could evoke and leave behind with them to spoil -the girl’s triumph for he knew well that Adrian was -now, after what had just occurred, in the frame of mind -most adapted of all to the influence of feminine sympathy. -Nance, however, did not give him an opportunity -for this.</p> - -<p>“Come on,” she said, “we’ve only just time to catch -the three o’clock train. Come on! Good-bye for a -while, Mr. Stork. I’ll bring him back safe to you, -sooner or later. Come on, Adrian, we really must be -quick!”</p> - -<p>They went off together and Baltazar wandered -slowly back across the green. He felt for the moment -so lonely that even his hatred drifted away and sank -to nothingness under the inflowing wave of bitter universal -isolation. As he approached his cottage he -stopped stone-still with his eyes on the ground and his -hands behind his back. Elegantly dressed in pleasant -summer clothes, his slight graceful figure, easy bearing, -and delicate features, gave without doubt to the casual -bystanders who observed him, an impression of unmitigated -well-being. As a matter of fact, had that -discerning historic personage who is reported to have -exclaimed after an interview with Jonathan Swift, -“there goes the unhappiest man who ever lived,” exercised -his insight now, he might have modified his conclusion -in favour of Baltazar Stork.</p> - -<p>It would certainly have required more than ordinary -discernment to touch the tip of the iron wedge that was -being driven just then into this graceful person’s brain. -Looking casually into the man’s face one would have -seen nothing perhaps but a dreamy, pensive smile—a -smile a little bitter maybe, and self-mocking but with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> -no particularly sinister import. A deeper glance, however, -would have disclosed a curious compression of the -lines about the mouth and a sort of indrawing of the -lips as if Mr. Stork were about to emit the sound of -whistling. Below the smiling surface of the eyes, too, -there might have been seen a sort of under-flicker of -shuddering pain as if, without any kind of anæsthetic, -Mr. Stork were undergoing some serious operation. -The colour had deserted his cheeks as if whatever it was -he was enduring the endurance of it had already exhausted -his physical energies. Passing him by, as we -have remarked, casually and hastily, one might have -said to oneself—“Ah! a handsome fellow chuckling -there over some pleasant matter!” but coming close up -to him one would have instinctively stretched out a -hand, so definitely would it then have appeared that, -whatever his expression meant, he was on the point of -fainting. It was perhaps a fortunate accident that, -at this particular moment as he stood motionless, a -small boy of his acquaintance, the son of one of the -Rodmoor fishermen, came up to him and asked whether -he had heard of the great catch there had been that -day.</p> - -<p>“There’s a sight o’ fish still there, Mister,” the boy -remarked, “some of them monstrous great flounders -and a heap of Satans such as squirts ink out of their -bellies!”</p> - -<p>Baltazar’s twisted lips gave a genuine smile now. -A look of extraordinary tenderness came into his face.</p> - -<p>“Ah, Tony, my boy,” he said, “so there are fish -down there, are there? Well, let’s go and see! You -take me, will you? And I’ll make those fellows give -you some for supper.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span></p> - -<p>They walked together across the green and down the -street. Baltazar’s hand remained upon the child’s -shoulder and he listened as he walked, to his chatter; -but all the while his mind visualized an immense, empty -plain—a plain of steely-blue ice under a grey sky—and -in the center of this plain a bottomless crevasse, -also of steely-blue ice, and on the edge of this crevasse, -gradually relinquishing their hold from exhaustion, two -human hands. This image kept blending itself as they -walked with all the little things which his eyes fell upon. -It blent with the cakes in the confectioner’s window. -It blent with the satiny blouses, far too expensive for -any local purchaser, in Miss Pontifex’s shop. It blent -with the criss-cross lines of the brick-work varied with -flint of the house where Dr. Raughty lived. It blent -with their first glimpse of the waters of the harbour, -seen between two ramshackle houses with gable roofs. -Nor when they finally found themselves standing with -a little crowd of men and boys round a circle of fish-baskets -upon the shore did it fail to associate itself -both with the blue expanse of waveless sea stretched -before them and with the tangled mass of sea shells, -seaweed and sea creatures which lay exposed to the -sunlight, many-coloured and glistening as the deeper -folds of the nets which had drawn them from the deep -were explored and dragged forward.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Adrian and Nance, having safely caught -their train, were being carried with the leisurely steadiness -of a local line, from Rodmoor to Mundham. -Jammed tightly into a crowded compartment full of -Saturday marketers, they had little opportunity during -the short journey to do more than look helplessly -across their perspiring neighbours at the rising and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> -falling of the telegraph wires against a background of -blue sky. The peculiar manner in which, as a train -carries one forward, these wires sink slowly downwards -as if they were going to touch the earth and then leap -up with an unexpected jerk as the next pole comes by, -was a phenomenon that always had a singular fascination -for Sorio. He associated it with his most childish -recollections of railway travelling. Would the -wires ever succeed in sinking out of sight before the -next pole jerked them high up across the window -again? That was the speculation that fascinated -him even at this moment as he watched them across -the brim of his companion’s brightly trimmed hat. -There was something human in the attempts the things -made to sink down, down, down and escape their allotted -burden and there was certainly something very -like the ways of Providence in the manner in which -they were pulled up with a remorseless jolt to perform -their duties once more.</p> - -<p>Emerging with their fellow-passengers upon the -Mundham platform both Sorio and Nance experienced -a sense of happiness and relief. They had both been -so long confined to the immediate surroundings of Rodmoor -that this little excursion to the larger town assumed -the proportions of a release from imprisonment. -It is true that it was a release that Adrian might easily -have procured for himself on any day; but more and -more recently, in the abnormal tension of his nerves, -he had lost initiative in these things. They wandered -leisurely together into the town and Sorio amused himself -by watching the demure and practical way in which -his companion managed her various economic transactions -in the shops which she entered. He could not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> -help feeling a sense of envy as he observed the manner -in which, without effort or strain, she achieved the precise -objects she had in mind and arranged for the transportation -of her purchases by the carrier’s cart that -same evening.</p> - -<p>He wondered vaguely whether all women were like this -and whether, with their dearest and best-loved dead at -home, or their own peace of mind permanently shattered -by some passage of fatal emotion only some few -hours before, they could always throw everything aside -and bargain so keenly and shrewdly with the alert -tradesmen. He supposed it was the working of some -blind atavistic power in them, the mechanical result -of ages of mental concentration. He was amused, too, -to observe how, when in a time incredibly short she had -done all she wanted, instead of rushing off blindly for -the walk they had promised themselves past the old -Abbey church and along the river’s bank, she shrewdly -interpreted their physical necessities and carried him -off to a little dairy shop to have tea and half-penny -buns. Had <em>he</em> been the cicerone of their day’s outing -he would have plunged off straight for the Abbey -church and the river fields, leaving their shopping to -the end and dooming them to bad temper and irritable -nerves from sheer bodily exhaustion. Never had Nance -looked more desirable or attractive as, with heightened -colour and little girlish jests, she poured out his tea -for him in the small shop-parlour and swallowed half-penny -buns with the avidity of a child.</p> - -<p>Baltazar Stork was not wrong in his conjecture. -Not since their early encounters in the streets and -parks of South London had Sorio been in a gentler -mood or one more amenable to the girl’s charm. As<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> -he looked at her now and listened to her happy laughter, -he felt that he had been a fool as well as a scoundrel -in his treatment of her. Why hadn’t he cut loose -long since from his philandering with Philippa which -led nowhere and <em>could</em> lead nowhere? Why hadn’t he -cast about for some definite employment and risked, -without further delay, persuading her to marry him? -With her to look after him and smooth his path for -him, he might have been quite free from this throbbing -pain behind his eyeballs and this nervous tension of -his brain. He hurriedly made up his mind that he -<em>would</em> ask her to marry him—not to-day, perhaps, or -to-morrow—for it would be absurd to commit himself -till he could support her, but very soon, as soon as he -had found any mortal kind of an occupation! What -that occupation would be he did not know. It was -difficult to think of such things all in a moment. It -required time. Besides, whatever it was it must be -something that left him free scope for his book. After -all, his book came first—his book and Baptiste. -What would Baptiste think if he were to marry again? -Would he be indignant and hurt? No! No! It was -inconceivable that Baptiste should be hurt. Besides, he -would love Nance when he knew her! Of that he was -quite sure. Yes, Baptiste and Nance were made to understand -one another. It would be different were it -Philippa he was thinking of marrying. Somehow it distressed -and troubled him to imagine Baptiste and Philippa -together. That, at all costs, must never come -about. His boy must never meet Philippa. All of -this whirled at immense speed through Sorio’s head as -he smiled back at Nance across the little marble table -and stared at the large blue-china cow which, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> -udders coloured a yet deeper ultramarine than its -striped back, placidly, like an animal sacred to Jupiter, -contemplated the universe. There must have been a -wave of telepathic sympathy between them at that moment, -for Nance suddenly swallowing the last of her -bun, hazarded a question she had never dared to ask -before.</p> - -<p>“Adrian, dear, tell me this. Why did you leave -your boy behind you in America when you came to -England?”</p> - -<p>Sorio was himself surprised at the unruffled manner -in which he received this question. At any other moment -it would have fatally disturbed him. He smiled -back at her, quite easily and naturally.</p> - -<p>“How could I bring him?” he said. “He’s got a -good place in New York and I have nothing. I <em>had</em> -to get away, somewhere. In fact, they sent me away, -‘deported’ me, as they call it. But I couldn’t drag -the boy with me. How could I? Though he was ready -enough to come. Oh, no! It’s much better as it is—much, -much better!”</p> - -<p>He became grave and silent and began fumbling in -one of his inner pockets. Nance watched him breathlessly. -Was he really softening towards her? Was -Philippa losing her hold on him? He suddenly produced -a letter—a letter written on thin paper and -bearing an American stamp—and taking it with careful -hands from its envelope, stretched it across the -table towards her. The action was suggestive of such -intimacy, suggestive of such a new and happy change -in their relations, that the girl looked at the thing with -moist and dazed eyes. She obtained a general sense of -the firm clear handwriting. She caught the opening<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> -sentence, written in caressing Italian and, for some reason -or other, the address—perhaps because of its -strangeness to a European eye—fifteen West Eleventh -Street—remained engraved in her memory. More -than this she was unable to take in for the moment out -of the sheer rush of bewildering happiness which swept -over her and made her long to cry.</p> - -<p>A moment later two other Rodmoor people, known to -them both by sight, entered the shop, and Sorio hurriedly -took the letter back and replaced it in his pocket. -He paid their bill, which came to exactly a shilling, -and together they walked out from the dairy. The -ultramarine cow contemplated the universe as the newcomers -took their vacated table with precisely the same -placidity. Its own end—some fifty years after, amid -the debris of a local fire, with the consequent departure -of its shattered pieces to the Mundham dumping ground—did -not enter into its contemplation. Many lovers, -happier and less happy than Sorio and Nance, would -sit at that marble table during that epoch and the -blue cow would listen in silence. Perhaps in its ultimate -resting-place its scorched fragments would become -more voluble as the rains dripped upon the tins -and shards around them or perhaps, even in ruins—like -an animal sacred to Jupiter—it would hold its -peace and let the rains fall.</p> - -<p>The two friends, still in a mood of delicate and -delicious harmony, threaded the quieter streets of the -town and emerged into the dreamy cathedral-like square, -spacious with lawns and trees, that surrounded the -abbey-church. A broad gravel-path, overtopped by -wide-spreading lime trees, separated the grey south -wall of the ancient edifice from the most secluded of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> -these lawns. The grass was divided from the path by -a low hanging chain-rail of that easy and friendly kind -that seems to call upon the casual loiterer to step over -its unreluctant barrier and take his pleasure under the -welcoming trees. They sat down on an empty bench -and looked up at the flying buttresses and weather-stained -gargoyles and richly traceried windows. The -sun fell in long mellow streams across the gravel beside -them, broken into cool deep patches of velvet -shadow where the branches of the lime trees intercepted -it. From somewhere behind them came the sound of -murmuring pigeons and from further off still, from one -of the high-walled, old-fashioned gardens of the houses -on the remote side of the square, came the voices of -children playing. Sorio sat with one arm stretched -out along the top of the bench behind Nance’s head and -with the other resting upon the handle of his stick. -His face had a look of deep, withdrawn contentment—a -contentment so absolute that it merged into a sort -of animal apathy. Any one familiar with the expression -so often seen upon the faces both of street-beggars -and prince-cardinals in the city on the Tiber, -would have recognized something indigenous and racial -in the lethargy which then possessed him. Nance, on -the other hand, gave herself up to a sweet and passionate -happiness such as she had not known since they -left London. While they waited thus together, reluctant -by even a word to break the spell of that favoured -hour, there came from within the church the -sound of an organ. Nance got up at once.</p> - -<p>“Let’s go in for just a minute, Adrian! Do you -mind—only just a minute?”</p> - -<p>The slightest flicker of a frown crossed Sorio’s face<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> -but it vanished before she could repeat her request.</p> - -<p>“Of course,” he said, rising in his turn, “of course! -Let’s go round and find the door.”</p> - -<p>They had no difficulty in doing this. The west entrance -of the church was wide open and they entered and -sat down at the back of the nave. Above them the -spacious vaulted roof, rich with elaborate fan-tracery, -seemed to spread abroad and deepen the echoes of the -music as if it were an immense inverted chalice spilling -the odour of immortal wine. The coolness and dim -shadowiness of the place fell gently upon them both -and the mysterious rising and sinking of the music, -with no sight of any human presence as its cause, -thrilled Nance from head to foot as she had never been -thrilled in her life. Oh, it was worth it—this moment—all -she had suffered before—all she could possibly -suffer! If only it might never stop, that heavenly -sound, but go on and on and on until all the -world came to know what the power of love was! She -felt at that moment as if she were on the verge of attaining -some clue, some signal, some sign, which should -make all things clear to her—clear and ineffably -sweet!</p> - -<p>The deep crimsons and purples in the coloured windows, -the damp chilly smell of the centuries-old masonry, -the large dark recesses of the shadowy transepts, -all blended together to transport her out of herself -into a world kindlier, calmer, quieter, than the world -she knew.</p> - -<p>“And—he—shall—feed—” rang out, as they -listened, the clear flutelike voice of some boy-singer, -practising for the morrow’s services, “shall—feed—his—flock.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span></p> - -<p>The words of the famous antiphony, “staled and -rung upon” as they might be, by the pathetic stammerings -of so old a human repetition, were, coming -just at this particular moment, more than Nance could -bear. She flung herself on her knees and, pressing her -hands to her face, burst into convulsive sobs. Sorio -stood up and laid his hand on her shoulder. With the -other hand—mindful of early associations—he -crossed himself two or three times and then remained -motionless. Slowly, by the action of that law which -is perhaps the deepest in the universe, the law of <em>ebb -and flow</em>, there began in him a reaction. Had the -words the unseen boy singer was uttering been in -Latin, had they possessed that reserve, that passionate -aloofness in emotion, which the instinct of worship in -the southern races protects from sentiment, such a -reaction might have been spared him; but the thing -was too facile, too easy. It might have been the climax -of a common melodrama. It fell too pat upon the -occasion. And it was insidiously, treacherously, horribly -human. It was too human. It lacked the ring -of style, the reserve of the grand manner. It wailed -and sobbed. It whimpered upon the Almighty’s shoulder. -It wanted the tragic abandonment of the “Dies -Irae,” as it missed the calmer dignity of the “Tantum -ergo.” It appealed to what was below the level of the -highest in religious pathos. It humiliated while it comforted. -The boy’s voice died away and the organ -stopped. There was a sound of shuffling in the choir -and the mutter of voices and even a suppressed laugh.</p> - -<p>Sorio removed his hand from Nance’s shoulder and -stooping down picked up his hat and stick. He looked -round him. A fashionably dressed lady, carrying a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> -bunch of carnations, moved past them up the aisle and -presently two younger women followed. Then a neatly -attired dapper young clergyman strolled in, adjusting -his eye-glasses. It was evidently approaching the -hour of the afternoon service. The spell was broken.</p> - -<p>But the kneeling girl knew nothing, felt nothing, of -all this. She, at all events, was in the church of her -fathers—the church that her most childish memories -rendered sacred. Had she been able to understand -Sorio’s feeling, she would have swept it aside. The -music was beautiful, she would have said, and the words -were true. From the heart of the universe they came -straight to her heart. Were they rendered unbeautiful -and untrue because so many simple souls had found -comfort in them?</p> - -<p>“Ah! Adrian,” she would have said had she argued -it out with him. “Ah, Adrian, it <em>is</em> common. It is -the common cry of humanity, set to the music of the -common heart of the world, and is not that more essential -than ‘Latin,’ more important than ‘style’?”</p> - -<p>As a matter of fact, the only controversy that arose -between them when they left the building was brief and -final.</p> - -<p>“I fancy,” remarked Sorio, “from what you tell me -of her, that that’s the sort of thing that would please -Mrs. Renshaw—I mean the music we heard just now!”</p> - -<p>Nance flushed as she answered him. “Yes, it would! -It would! And it pleases <em>me</em> too. It makes me more -certain than ever that Jesus Christ was really God.” -Sorio bowed his head at this and held his peace and -together they made their way to the bank of the Loon.</p> - -<p>What they were particularly anxious to see was an -old house by the river-side about a mile east of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> -town which had been, some hundred years before, the -abode of one of the famous East Anglian painters of -the celebrated Norwich school—a painter whose humorous -aplomb and rich earth-steeped colouring rivalled -some of the most notable of the artists of Amsterdam -and The Hague.</p> - -<p>Their train back to Rodmoor did not leave till half-past -seven and as it was now hardly five they had ample -time to make this little pilgrimage as deliberately as -they pleased. They had no difficulty in reaching the -river, and once at its edge, it was only a question of -following its windings till they arrived at Ravelston -Grange. Their way was somewhat impeded at first by -a line of warehouses, between which and a long row of -barges fastened to a series of littered dusty wharves, -lay all manner of bales and casks and bundles of hay -and vegetable. There were coal-yards there too, and -timber-yards, and in other places great piles of beer-barrels, -all bearing the name “Keith Radipole” which -had been for half a century the business title of Brand -Renshaw’s brewery. These obstacles surmounted, there -were no further interruptions to their advance along the -river path.</p> - -<p>The aspect of the day, however, had grown less promising. -A somewhat threatening bank of clouds with -dark jagged edges, which the efforts of the sun to -scatter only rendered more lurid, had appeared in the -west and when, for a moment, they turned to look back -at the town, they saw its chimneys and houses massed -gloomily together against a huge sombre bastion whose -topmost fringe was illuminated by fiery indentations. -Nance expressed some hesitation as to the wisdom of going -further with this phalanx of storm threatenings following<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> -them from behind, but Sorio laughed at her fears -and assured her that in a very short time they would -arrive at the great painter’s house.</p> - -<p>It appeared, however, that the “mile” referred to -in the little local history in which they had read about -this place did not begin till the limits of Mundham were -reached and Mundham seemed to extend itself interminably. -They were passing through peculiarly dreary -outskirts now. Little half-finished rows of wretchedly -built houses trailed disconsolately towards the river’s -edge and mingled with small deserted factories whose -walls, blackened with smoke, were now slowly crumbling -to pieces. Desolate patches of half-cultivated ground -where the stalks of potatoes, yellowing with damp, alternated -with thickly growing weeds, gave the place that -peculiar expression of sordid melancholy which seems -the especial prerogative of such fringes of human habitation. -Old decaying barges, some of them half-drowned -in water and others with gaunt, protruding -ribs and rotting planks, lay staring at the sky while -the river, swirling past them, gurgled and muttered -round their submerged keels. It was impossible for the -two friends to retain long, under these depressing surroundings, -their former mood of magical harmony. -Little shreds and fragments of their happiness seemed -to fall from them at every step and remain, bleakly -flapping among the mouldering walls and weedy river-piles, -like the bits of old paper and torn rag which -fluttered feebly or fell into immobility as the wind rose -or sank. The bank of clouds behind them had now -completely obscured every vestige of the sun and a sort -of premature twilight lay upon the surface of the river -and on the fields on its further side.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span></p> - -<p>“What’s that?” asked Nance suddenly, putting her -hand on his arm and pointing to a large square building -which suddenly appeared on their left. They had -been vaguely aware of this building for some while but -one little thing or another in their more immediate -neighbourhood had confined it to the remoter verge -of their consciousness. As soon as she had asked the -question Nance felt an unaccountable unwillingness to -carry the investigation further. Sorio, too, seemed -ready enough to let her enquiry remain unanswered. -He shrugged his shoulders as much as to say “how can -I tell?” and suggested that they should rest for a moment -on a littered pile of wood which lay close to the -water’s edge.</p> - -<p>They stepped down the bank where they were, out -of sight of the building above, and seated themselves. -With their arms around their knees they contemplated -the flowing tide and the dull-coloured mud of the opposite -bank. A coil of decaying rope, tossed aside from -some passing barge, lay at Sorio’s feet and, as he sat -in gloomy silence, he thought how like the thing was -to something he had once seen at an inquest in a house -in New York. As for Nance, she found it difficult -to remove her eyes from a shapeless bundle of sacking -which the tide was carrying. Sometimes it would get -completely submerged and then again it would reappear.</p> - -<p>“Why is it,” she thought, “that there is always -something horrible about tidal rivers? Is it because -of the way they have of carrying things backward and -forward, backward and forward, without ever allowing -them either to get far inland or clear out to sea? Is -a tidal river,” she said to herself, “the one thing in all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span> -the world in which nothing can be lost or hidden or -forgotten?”</p> - -<p>It was curious how difficult they both felt it just -then either to move from where they were or to address -a single word to one another. They seemed hypnotized -by something—hypnotized by some thought which remained -unspoken at the back of their minds. They -felt an extreme reluctance to envisage again that large -square building surrounded by weather-stained wall, a -wall from which the ivy had been carefully scraped.</p> - -<p>Slowly, little by little, the bank of clouds mounted -up to the meridian, casting over everything as it did so -a more and more ominous twilight. The silence between -them became after a while, a thing with a palpable -presence. It seemed to float upon the water to -their feet and, rising about them like a wraith, like a -mist, like the ghost of a dead child, it fumbled with -clammy fingers upon their hearts.</p> - -<p>“I’m sure,” Sorio cried at last, with an obvious -struggle to break the mysterious sorcery which weighed -on them, “I’m perfectly sure that Ravelston Grange -must be round that second bend of the river—do you -see?—where those trees are! I’m sure it must! At -any rate we <em>must</em> come to it at last if we only go on.”</p> - -<p>He looked at his watch.</p> - -<p>“Heavens! We’ve taken an hour already getting -here! It’s nearly six. How on earth have we been -so long?”</p> - -<p>“Do you know, Adrian,” Nance remarked—and she -couldn’t help noticing as she did so that though he -spoke so resolutely of going forward he made not the -least movement to leave his seat—“do you know I feel -as if we were in a dream. I have the oddest feeling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span> -that any moment we might wake up and find ourselves -back in Rodmoor. Adrian, dear, let’s go back! Let’s -go back to the town. There’s something that depresses -me beyond words about all this.”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense!” cried Sorio in a loud and angry voice, -leaping to his feet and snatching up his stick. “Come -on, my girl, come, child! We’ll see that Ravelston -place before the rain gets to us!”</p> - -<p>They clambered up the bank and walked swiftly forward. -Nance noticed that Sorio looked steadily at -the river, looked at the river without intermission and -with hardly a word, till they were well beyond the very -last houses of Mundham. It was an unspeakable relief -to her when, at last, crossing a little footbridge -over a weir, they found themselves surrounded by the -open fens.</p> - -<p>“Behind those trees, Nance,” Sorio kept repeating, -“behind those trees! I’m absolutely sure I’m right -and that Ravelston Grange is there. By the way, girl, -which of your poets wrote the verses—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">‘She makes her immemorial moan,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">She keeps her shadowy kine,</div> -<div class="verse">O, Keith of Ravelston,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The sorrows of thy line!’</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>They’ve been running in my head all the afternoon -ever since I saw ‘Keith Radipole,’ on those beer-barrels.”</p> - -<p>Nance, however, was too eager to reach the real -Ravelston to pay much heed to his poetic allusion.</p> - -<p>“Oh, it sounds like—oh, I don’t know—Tennyson, -perhaps!” and she pulled him forward towards the -trees.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span></p> - -<p>These proved to be a group of tall French poplars -which, just then, were muttering volubly in the rain-smelling -wind. They hurried past them and paused -before a gate in a very high wall.</p> - -<p>“What’s this?” exclaimed Sorio. “<em>This</em> can’t be -Ravelston. It looks more like a prison.”</p> - -<p>For a moment his eyes encountered Nance’s and the -girl glanced quickly away from what she read in his -face. She called out to an old man who was hoeing -potatoes behind some iron railings where the wall -ended.</p> - -<p>“Could you tell me where Ravelston Grange is?” -she enquired.</p> - -<p>The old man removed his hat and regarded her with -a whimsical smile.</p> - -<p>“’Tis across the river, lady, and there isn’t no -bridge for some many miles. Maybe with any luck -ye may meet a cattle-boat to take ye over but there’s -little surety about them things.”</p> - -<p>“What’s this place, then?” asked Sorio abruptly, -approaching the iron railings.</p> - -<p>“This, mister? Why this be the doctor’s house of -the County Asylum. This be where they keep the superior -cases, as you might say, them what pays summat, -ye understand, and be only what you might call half -daft. You must a’ seed the County Asylum as you -came along. ’Tis a wonderful large place, one of the -grandest, so they say, on this side of the kingdom.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” said Sorio curtly. “That’s just -what we wanted to know. Yes, we saw the house you -speak of. It certainly looks big enough. Have there -been many new cases lately? Is this what you might -call a good year for mental collapses?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span></p> - -<p>As he spoke he peered curiously between the iron -bars as if anxious to get some sight of the “half daft,” -who could afford to pay for their keep.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what you mean by ‘a good year,’ -mister,” answered the man, watching him with little -twinkling eyes, “but I reckon folk have been as liable -to go shaky this year as most other years. ’Tisn’t in -the season, I take it, ’tis in the man or for the matter -of that,” and he cast an apologetic leer in Nance’s direction, -“in the woman.”</p> - -<p>“Come on, Adrian,” interposed his companion, “you -see that guide-book told us all wrong. We’d better -get back to the station.”</p> - -<p>But Sorio held tightly to the railings with both his -hands.</p> - -<p>“Don’t tease me, Nance,” he said irritably. “I -want to talk to this excellent man.”</p> - -<p>“You’d better do what your missus says, mister,” -observed the gardener, returning to his work. -“The authorities don’t like no loitering in these -places.”</p> - -<p>But Sorio disregarded the hint.</p> - -<p>“I should think,” he remarked, “it wouldn’t be so -very difficult to escape out of here.” He received no -reply to this and Nance pulled him by the sleeve.</p> - -<p>“Please, Adrian, please come away,” she pleaded, -with tears in her voice. The old man lifted up his -head.</p> - -<p>“You go back where you be come from,” he observed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span> -“and thank the good Lord you’ve got such a -pretty lady to look after you. There be many what -envies you and many what ’ud like to stand in your -shoes, and that’s God’s truth.”</p> - -<p>Sorio sighed heavily, and letting go his hold upon -the railings, turned to his companion.</p> - -<p>“Let’s find another way to the town,” he said. -“There must be some road over there, or at worst, we -can walk along the line.”</p> - -<p>They moved off hastily in the direction opposite -from the river and the old man, after making an enigmatic -gesture behind their backs, spat upon his hands -and returned to his work. The sky was now entirely -overclouded but still no rain fell.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXI">XXI<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE WINDMILL</span></h2> - -<p>With the coming of September there was a noticeable -change in the weather. The air got -perceptibly colder, the sea rougher and -there were dark days when the sun was hardly seen at -all. Sometimes the prevailing west wind brought -showers, but so far, in spite of the cooler atmosphere, -there was little heavy rain. The rain seemed to be -gathering and massing on every horizon, but though -its presence was felt, its actual coming was delayed and -the fields and gardens remained scorched and dry. -The ditches in the fens were low that season—lower -than they had been for many years. Some of them -were actually empty and in others there was so little water -that the children could catch eels and minnows with -their naked hands. In many portions of the salt -marshes it was possible to walk dry-shod where, in the -early Spring, one would have sunk up to the waist, or -even up to the neck.</p> - -<p>Driven by the hot weather from their usual feeding-grounds -several rare and curious birds visited the fens -that year. The immediate environs of Rodmoor were -especially safe for these, as few among the fishermen -carried guns and none of the wealthier inhabitants cared -greatly for shooting. Brand Renshaw, for instance, -like his father before him, refused to preserve any sort -of game and indeed it was one of the chief causes of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span> -unpopularity with the neighbouring gentry that he -was so little of a sportsman.</p> - -<p>One species of visitor brought by that unusually hot -August was less fortunate than the birds. This was a -swallow-tail butterfly, one of the rarer of the two kinds -known to collectors in that part of the country. Dr. -Raughty was like a man out of his senses with delight -when he perceived this beautiful wanderer. He bribed -a small boy who was with him at the moment to follow -it wherever it flew while he hurried back to his rooms -for his net. Unluckily for the swift-flying nomad, instead -of making for the open fens it persisted in hovering -about the sand-dunes where grew a certain little -glaucous plant and it was upon the sand dunes, finally, -that the Doctor secured it, after a breathless and exhausting -chase.</p> - -<p>It seemed to cause Fingal Raughty real distress when -he found that neither Nance nor Linda was pleased at -what he had done. He met, indeed, with scanty congratulations -from any of his friends. With Sorio he -almost quarreled over the incident, so vituperative did -the Italian become when reference was made to it in -his presence. Mrs. Renshaw was gently sympathetic, -evidently regarding it as one of the privileges of masculine -vigour to catch and kill whatever was beautiful and -endowed with wings, but even she spoilt the savour of -her congratulations with a faint tinge of irony.</p> - -<p>Two weeks of September had already passed when -Sorio, in obedience to a little pencilled note he had received -the night before, set off in the early afternoon -to meet Philippa at one of their more recently discovered -haunts. In spite of his resolution in the little -dairy shop in Mundham he had made no drastic change<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span> -in his life, either in the direction of finding work to do -or of breaking off his relations with the girl from Oakguard. -That excursion with Nance in which they tried -so ineffectively to find the great painter’s house left, -in its final impression, a certain cruel embarrassment -between them. It became difficult for him not to feel -that she was watching him apprehensively now and with -a ghastly anxiety at the back of her mind and this -consciousness poisoned his ease and freedom with her. -He felt that her tenderness was no longer a natural, -unqualified affection but a sort of terrified pity, and -this impression set his nerves all the more on edge when -they were together.</p> - -<p>With Philippa, on the other hand, he felt absolutely -free. The girl lived herself so abnormal and isolated a -life, for Mrs. Renshaw disliked visitors and Brand discouraged -any association with their neighbours, that -she displayed nothing of that practical and human -sense of proportion which was the basis of Nance’s -character. For the very reason, perhaps, that she -cared less what happened to him, she was able to humour -him more completely. She piqued and stimulated -his intelligence too, in a way Nance never did. -She had flashes of diabolical insight which could always -rouse and astonish him. Something radically cold and -aloof in her made it possible for her to risk alienating -him by savage and malicious blows at his pride. But -the more poisonous her taunts became, the more closely -he clung to her, deriving, it might almost seem, an -actual pleasure from what he suffered at her hands. -Anxious for both their sakes to avoid as much as possible -the gossip of the village, he had continued his -habit of meeting her in all manner of out-of-the-way<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span> -places, and the spot she had designated as their rendezvous -for this particular afternoon was one of the -remotest and least accessible of all these sanctuaries -of refuge. It was, in fact, an old disused windmill, -standing by itself in the fens about two miles north of -that willow copse where he had on one fatal occasion -caused Nance Herrick such distress.</p> - -<p>Philippa was an abnormally good walker. From a -child she had been accustomed to roam long distances -by herself, so that it did not strike him as anything -unusual that she should have chosen a place so far off -from Oakguard as the scene of their encounter. -One of her most marked peculiarities was a certain imaginative -fastidiousness in regard to the <i>milieu</i> of -her interviews with him. That was, indeed, one of the -ways by which she held him. It amounted to a genius -for the elimination of the commonplace or the “familiar” -in the relations between them. She kept a -clear space, as it were, around her personality, only -approaching him when the dramatic accessories were -harmonious, and vanishing again before he had time to -sound the bottom of her evasive mood.</p> - -<p>On this occasion Sorio walked with a firm and even -gay bearing towards their rendezvous. He followed -at first the same path as that taken by Nance and her -sister on the eve of their eventful bank-holiday but when -he reached Nance’s withy-bed he debouched to his left -and plunged straight across the fens. The track he -now followed was one used rarely, even by the owners -of cattle upon the marshes and in front of him, as far -as his eye could reach, nothing except isolated poplars -and a few solitary gates, marking the bridges across -the dykes, broke the grey expanse of the horizon. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span> -deserted windmill towards which he made his way was -larger than any of the others but while, in the gently-blowing -wind the sails of the rest kept their slow and -rhythmic revolution, this particular one stretched out -its enormous arms in motionless repose as if issuing -some solemn command to the elements or, like the biblical -leader, threatening the overthrow of a hostile -army.</p> - -<p>As he walked, Sorio noticed that at last the Michaelmas -daisies were really in bloom, their grey leaves and -sad autumnal flowers blending congruously enough with -the dark water and blackened reed-stems of the stagnant -ditches. The sky above him was covered with a -thin veil of leaden-coloured clouds, against which, flying -so high as to make it difficult to distinguish their -identity, an attenuated line of large birds—Sorio wondered -if they were wild swans—moved swiftly towards -the west. He arrived at last at the windmill and entered -its cavernous interior. She rose to meet him, -shaking the dust from her clothes. In the semi-darkness -of the place, her eyes gleamed with a dangerous -lustre like the eyes of an animal.</p> - -<p>“Do you want to stay where we are?” he said when -he had relinquished the hand she gave him, after lifting -it in an exaggerated foreign manner, to his lips. She -laughed a low mocking laugh.</p> - -<p>“What’s the alternative, Adriano mio? Even <em>I</em> -can’t walk indefinitely and it isn’t nice sitting over a -half-empty dyke.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” he remarked, “let’s stay here then! Where -were you sitting before I came?”</p> - -<p>She pointed to a heap of straw in the furthest corner -of the place beneath the shadow of the half-ruined<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span> -flight of steps leading to the floor above. Adrian surveyed -this spot without animation.</p> - -<p>“It would be much more interesting,” he said, “if -we could get up that ladder. I believe we could. I -tried it clumsily the other day when I broke that step.”</p> - -<p>“But how do we know the floor above will bear us if -we do get up there?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it’ll bear us all right. Look! You can see. -The middle boards aren’t rotted at all and that hole -there is a rat-hole. There aren’t any dangerous -cracks.”</p> - -<p>“It would be so horrid to tumble through, Adrian.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, we shan’t tumble through. I swear to you it’s -all right, Phil. We’re not going to dance up there, are -we?”</p> - -<p>The girl put her hand on the dilapidated balustrade -and shook it. The whole ladder trembled from top to -bottom and a cloud of ancient flour-dust, grey and -mouldy, descended on their heads.</p> - -<p>“You see, Adrian?” she remarked. “It really isn’t -safe!”</p> - -<p>“I don’t care,” he said stubbornly. “What’s it -matter? It’s dull and stuffy down here. I’m going to -try anyway.”</p> - -<p>He began cautiously ascending what remained intact -of the forlorn ladder. The thing creaked ominously -under his weight. He managed, however, to get sufficiently -high to secure a hold upon the threshold-beam -of the floor above when, with the aid of a projecting -plank from the side-wall of the building, he managed to -retain his position and after a brief struggle, disappeared -from his companion’s view.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span></p> - -<p>His voice came down to her from above, muffled a -little by the intervening wood-work.</p> - -<p>“It’s lovely up here, Phil! There are two little windows -and you can see all over the fens. Wait a minute, -we’ll soon have you up.”</p> - -<p>There was a pause and she heard him moving about -over her head.</p> - -<p>“You’d much better come down,” she shouted. “I’m -not going up there. There’s no possible way.”</p> - -<p>He made no answer to this and there was dead silence -for several minutes. She went to the entrance and -emerged into the open air. The wide horizon around -her seemed void and empty. Upon the surface of the -immense plain only a few visible objects broke the brooding -monotony. To the south and east she could discern -just one or two familiar landmarks but to the west -there was nothing—nothing but an eternal level of -desolation losing itself in the sky. She gave an involuntary -shudder and moved away from the windmill -to the edge of a reed-bordered ditch. There was a -pool of gloomy water in the middle of the reeds and -across this pool and round and round it whirled, at an -incredible speed, a score or so of tiny water-beetles, -never leaving the surface and never pausing for a moment -in their mad dance. A wretched little moth, its -wings rendered useless by contact with the water, struggled -feebly in the centre of this pool, but the shiny-coated -beetles whirled on round it in their dizzy circles -as if it had no more significance than the shadow -of a leaf. Philippa smiled and walked back to the -building.</p> - -<p>“Adrian,” she called out, entering its dusty gloom<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span> -and looking up at the square hole in the ceiling, from -which still hung a remnant of broken wood-work.</p> - -<p>“Well? What is it?” her friend’s voice answered. -“It’s all right; we’ll soon have you up here!”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want to go up there,” she shouted back. -“I want you to come down. Please come down, Adrian! -You’re spoiling all our afternoon.”</p> - -<p>Once more there was dead silence. Then she called -out again.</p> - -<p>“Adrian,” she said, “there’s a moth being drowned -in the ditch out here.”</p> - -<p>“What? Where? What do you say?” came the -man’s reply, accompanied by several violent movements. -Presently a rope descended from the hole and swung -suspended in the air.</p> - -<p>“Look out, my dear,” Sorio’s voice ejaculated and a -moment later he came swinging down, hand over hand, -and landed at her side. “What’s that?” he gasped -breathlessly, “what did you say? A moth in the water? -Show me, show me!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it’s nothing, Adrian,” she answered petulantly. -“I only wanted you to come down.”</p> - -<p>But he had rushed out of the door and down to the -stream’s edge.</p> - -<p>“I see it! I see it!” he called back at her. “Here, -give me my stick!” He came rushing back, pushed -roughly past her, seized his stick from the ground and -returned to the ditch. It was easy enough to effect the -moth’s rescue. The same fluffy stickiness in the thing’s -wet wings that made it helpless in the water, made -it adhere to the stick’s point. He wiped it off upon -the grass and pulled Philippa back into the building.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I’m glad I came down,” he remarked. “I know -it’ll hold now. You won’t mind my tying it round -you, will you? I’ll have both the ends down here presently. -It’s round a strong hook. It’s all right. And -then I’ll pull you up.”</p> - -<p>Philippa looked at him with angry dismay. All this -agitating fuss over so childish an adventure irritated -her beyond endurance. His proposal had, as a matter -of fact, a most subtle and curious effect upon her. -It changed the relations between them. It reduced -her to the position of a girl playing with an elder -brother. It outraged, with an element of the comic, -her sense of dramatic fastidiousness. It humiliated -her pride and broke the twisted threads of all kinds of -delicate spiritual nets she had in her mind to cast over -him. It placed her by his side as a weak and timid -woman by the side of a willful and strong-limbed man. -Her ascendency over him, as she well knew, depended -upon the retaining, on her part, of a certain psychic -evasiveness—a certain mysterious and tantalizing reserve. -It depended—at any rate that is what she imagined—upon -the inscrutable look she could throw into -her eyes and upon the tragic glamour of her ambiguous -red lips and white cheeks. How could she possibly retain -all these characteristics when swinging to and fro -at the end of a rope?</p> - -<p>Sorio’s suggestion outraged something in her that -went down to the very root of her personality. Walking -with him, swimming with him, rowing in a boat with -him—all those things were harmonious to her mind -and congruous with her personal charm. None of -these things interfered with the play of her intelligence, -with the poise, the reserve, the aloofness of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span> -spiritual challenge. She was exceptionally devoid of -fear in these boyish sports and could feel herself when -she engaged in them with him, free of the limitations of -her sex. She could retain completely, as she indulged -herself in them, all the equilibrium of her being—the -rhythm of her identity. But this proposal of Sorio’s -not only introduced a discordant element that had a -shrewd vein of the ludicrous in it, it threw her into a -physical panic. It pulled and tugged at the inmost -fibres of her self-restraint. It made her long to sit -down on the ground and cry like a child. She wondered -vaguely whether it was that Adrian was revenging himself -upon her at that moment for some accumulated -series of half-physical outrages that he had himself in -his neurotic state been subjected to lately. As to his -actual sanity, it never occurred to her to question <em>that</em>. -She herself was too wayward and whimsical in the reactions -of her nerves and the processes of her mind to -find anything startling, in <em>that</em> sense, in what he was -now suggesting. It was simply that it changed their -relations—it destroyed her ascendency, it brought -things down to brute force, it turned her into a woman.</p> - -<p>Her mind, as she stood hesitating, reviewed the moth -incident. That sort of situation—Adrian’s fantastic -mania for rescuing things—had just the opposite effect -on her. He might poke his stick into half the -ditches of Rodmoor and save innumerable drowning -moths; the only effect <em>that</em> had on her was to make her -feel superior to him, better adapted than he to face the -essential facts of life, its inherent and integral cruelty -for instance. But now—to see that horrible rope-end -dangling from that gaping hole and to see the eager, -violent, masculine look in her friend’s eyes—it was unendurable;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span> -it drove her, so to speak, against the jagged -edge of the world’s brute wall.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“To dance to flutes, to dance to lutes,</div> -<div class="verse">Is delicate and rare—”</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>she found herself quoting, with a horrible sense that the -humour of the parody only sharpened the sting of her -dilemma.</p> - -<p>“I won’t do it,” she said resolutely at last, trying -to brave it out with a smile. “It’s a ridiculous idea. -Besides, I’m much too heavy. You couldn’t pull me up -if you tried till nightfall! No, no, Adriano, don’t be -so absurd. Don’t spoil our time together with these -mad ideas. Let’s sit down here and talk. Or why not -light a fire? That would be exciting enough, wouldn’t -it?”</p> - -<p>His face as he listened to her darkened to a kind of -savage fury. Its despotic and imperious lines emphasized -themselves to a degree that was really terrifying.</p> - -<p>“You won’t?” he cried, “you won’t, you won’t?” -And seizing her roughly by the shoulder he actually began -twisting the rope round her body.</p> - -<p>She resisted desperately, pushing him away with all -the strength of her arms. In the struggle between -them, which soon became a dangerous one, her hand -thrusting back his head unintentionally drew blood with -its delicate finger-nails from his upper lip. The blood -trickled into his mouth and, maddened by the taste of -it, he let her go and seizing the end of the rope, struck -her with it across the breast. This blow seemed to bewilder -her. She ceased all resistance. She became -docile and passive in his hands.</p> - -<p>Mechanically he went on with the task he had set<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span> -himself, of fastening the rope round her beneath her -arm-pits and tying it into a knot. But her absolute -submissiveness seemed presently to paralyze him as -much as his previous violence had disarmed and paralyzed -her. He unloosed the knot he was making and -with a sudden jerk pulled the rope away from her. -The rope swung back to its former position and dangled -in the air, swaying gently from side to side. They -stood looking at each other in startled silence and then, -quite suddenly, the girl moved forward and flung her -arms round his neck.</p> - -<p>“I love you!” she murmured in a voice unlike any -he had heard her use before. “I love you! I love -you!” and her lips clung to his with a long and passionate -kiss.</p> - -<p>Sorio’s emotions at that moment would have caused -her, had she been conscious of them, a reaction even less -endurable than that which she had just been through. -To confess the truth he had no emotion at all. He mechanically -returned her kisses; he mechanically embraced -her. But all the while he was thinking of those -water-beetles with shiny metallic coats that were gyrating -even now so swiftly round that reedy pool.</p> - -<p>“Water-beetles!” he thought, as the girl’s convulsive -kisses, salt with her passionate tears, hurt his wounded -lip. “Water-beetles! We are all like that. The -world is like that! Water-beetles upon a dark stream.”</p> - -<p>She let him go at last and they moved out together -hand in hand into the open air. Above them the enormous -windmill still upheld its motionless arms while -from somewhere in the fens behind it came a strange -whistling cry, the cry of one of those winged intruders -from foreign shores, which even now was perhaps bidding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span> -farewell to regions of exile and calling out for -some companion for its flight over the North Sea.</p> - -<p>With his hand still held tightly in hers, Philippa -walked silently by his side all that long way across the -meadows and dykes. Sorio took advantage of her unusually -gentle mood and began plaintively telling her -about the nervous sufferings he endured in Rodmoor -and about his hatred for the people there and his conviction -that they took delight in annoying him. Then -little by little, as the girl’s sympathetic silence led him -on, he fell to flinging out—in short, jerky, broken -sentences—as if each word were torn up by the roots -from the very soil of his soul, stammered references to -Baptiste. He spoke as if he were talking to himself -rather than to her. He kept repeating over and over -again some muttered phrase about the bond of abnormal -affection which existed between them. And then he -suddenly burst out into a description of Baptiste. He -rambled on for a long while upon this topic, leaving in -the end only a very blurred impression upon his hearer’s -mind. All, in fact, the girl was able to definitely arrive -at from what he said was that Baptiste resembled -his mother—a Frenchwoman of the coast of Brittany—and -that he was tall and had dark blue eyes.</p> - -<p>“With the longest lashes,” Sorio kept repeating, -as if he were describing to her some one it was important -she should remember, “that you, or any one else, -has ever seen! They lie on his cheek when he’s asleep -like—like—”</p> - -<p>He fumbled with the feathery head of a reed he had -picked as they were walking but seemed unable to find -any suitable comparison. It was curious to see the -shamefaced, embarrassed way he threw forth, one by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span> -one, and as if each word caused him definite pain in the -uttering, these allusions to his boy.</p> - -<p>Philippa let him ramble on as he pleased, hardly interrupting -him by a gesture, listening to him, in fact, -as if she were listening to a person talking in his -sleep. She learnt that it was only with the greatest -difficulty that he had persuaded Baptiste to keep his -position in New York and not fling everything up and -follow him to London. She learnt that Baptiste had -copied out with his own hand the larger portion of -Sorio’s book and that now, as he completed each new -chapter, he sent it by registered mail straight to the -boy in “Eleventh Street.”</p> - -<p>“It will explain my life, my whole life, that book,” -Adrian muttered. “You’ve only heard a few of its -ideas, Phil, only a few. The secret of things being -found, not in the instinct of creation but in the instinct -of destruction, is only the beginning of it. I go further—much -further than that. Don’t laugh at me, Phil, -if I just say this—only just this: I show in my book -how what every living thing really aims at is to escape -from itself, to escape from itself by the destruction of -itself. Do you get the idea in that, Phil? Everything -in the world is—how shall I put it?—these ideas are -not easy, they tear at a person’s brain before they become -clear!—everything in the world is on the edge, -on the verge, of dissolving away into what people call -nothingness. That is what Shakespeare had in his mind -when he said, ‘the great globe itself, yea! all which it -inherits, shall dissolve and—and—’ I forget exactly -how it runs but it ends with ‘leave not a rack behind.’ -But the point I make in my book is this. This ‘nothingness,’ -this ‘death,’ if you like, to which everything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span> -struggles is only a name for <em>what lies beyond life</em>—for -what lies, I mean, beyond the extreme limit of the life of -every individual thing. We shrink back from it, everything -shrinks back from it, because it is the annihilation -of all one’s familiar associations, the destruction of -the impulse to go on being oneself! But though we -shrink back from it, something in us, something that is -deeper than ourselves pushes us on to this destruction. -This is why, when people have been outraged in the very -roots of their being, when they have been lacerated and -flayed more than they can bear, when they have been, so -to speak, raked through and combed out, they often fall -back upon a soft delicious tide of deep large happiness, -indescribable, beyond words.”</p> - -<p>He was too absorbed in what he was saying to notice -that as he made this remark his companion murmured a -passionate assent.</p> - -<p>“They do! They do! They do!” the girl repeated, -with unrestrained emotion.</p> - -<p>“That is why,” he continued without heeding her,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span> -“there is always a fierce pleasure in what fools call -‘cynicism.’ Cynicism is really the only philosophy -worth calling a philosophy because it alone recognizes -‘that everything which exists ought to be destroyed.’ -Those are the very words used by the devil in Faust, do -you remember? And Goethe himself knew in his heart -the truth of cynicism, only he loved life so well,—the -great child that he was!—that he <em>couldn’t</em> endure the -thought of destruction. He understood it though, and -confessed it, too. Spinoza helped him to see it. Ah, -Phil, my girl, <em>there</em> was a philosopher! The only one—the -only one! And see how the rabble are afraid of -Spinoza! See how they turn to the contemptible Hegel, -the grocer of philosophy, with his precious ‘self-assertion’ -and ‘self-realization’! And there are some idiots -who fail to see that Spinoza was a cynic, that he hated -life and wished to destroy life. They pretend that he -worshipped Nature. Nature! He denied the existence -of it. He wished to annihilate it, and he did annihilate -it, in his terrible logic. He worshipped only one thing, -that which is beyond the limit, beyond the extremest -verge, beyond the point where every living thing ceases -to exist and <em>becomes nothing</em>! That’s what Spinoza -worshipped and that’s what I worship, Phil. I worship -the blinding white light which puts out all the candles -and all the shadows in the world. It blinds you and -ends you and so you call it darkness. But it only begins -where darkness is destroyed with everything else! -Darkness is like cruelty. It’s the opposite of love. -But what I worship is as far beyond love as it is beyond -the sun and all the shadows thrown by the sun!”</p> - -<p>He paused and contemplated a nervous water-rat that -was running along close to the water of the ditch they -walked by, desperately searching for its hole.</p> - -<p>“I call it white light,” he continued, “but really it’s -not light at all, any more than it’s darkness. It’s something -you can’t name, something unutterable, but it’s -large and cool and deep and empty. Yes, it’s empty -of everything that lives or makes a sound! It stops all -aching in one’s head, Phil. It stops all the persecution -of people who stare at you! It stops all the sickening -tiredness of having to hate things. It’ll stop all my -longing for Baptiste, for Baptiste is <em>there</em>. Baptiste -is the angel of that large, cool, quiet place. Let me -once destroy everything in the way and I get to Baptiste—and -nothing can ever separate us again!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span></p> - -<p>He looked round at the grey monotony about them, -streaked here and there by patches of autumnal yellow -where the stubble fields intersected the fens.</p> - -<p>“I prove that I’m right about this principle of destruction, -Phil,” he went on, “by bringing up instances -of the way all human beings instinctively delight to overthrow -one another’s illusions and to fling doubt upon -one another’s sincerity. We all do that. You do, -Phil, more than any one. You do it to me. And you’re -right in doing it. We’re all right in doing it! That -accounts for the secret satisfaction we all feel when -something or other breaks up the complacency of another -person’s life. It accounts for the mad desire -we have to destroy the complacency of our own life. -What we’re seeking is <em>the line of escape</em>—that’s the -phrase I use in my book. The line of escape from ourselves. -That’s why we turn and turn and turn, like -fish gasping on the land or like those beetles we saw -just now, or like that water-rat!”</p> - -<p>They had now reached the outskirts of Nance’s -withy-bed. The path Sorio had come by deviated here -sharply to the east, heading sea-wards, while another -path, wider and more frequented, led on across the -meadows to the bank of the Loon where the roof and -chimneys of Dyke House were vaguely visible. The -September twilight had already begun to fall and objects -at any considerable distance showed dim and -wraith-like. Damp mists, smelling of stagnant water, -rose in long clammy waves out of the fens and moved -in white ghostly procession along the bank of the river. -Sorio stood at this parting of the ways and surveyed the -shadowy outline of the distant tow-path and the yet -more obscure form of Dyke House. He looked at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span> -stubble field and then at the little wood where the alder -trees differentiated themselves from the willows by their -darker and more melancholy foliage.</p> - -<p>“How frightening Dyke House looks from here,” remarked -Philippa, “it looks like a haunted house.”</p> - -<p>A sudden idea struck Sorio’s mind.</p> - -<p>“Phil,” he said, letting go his companion’s hand and -pointing with his stick to the house by the river, “you -often tell me you’re afraid of nothing weird or supernatural. -You often tell me you’re more like a boy in -those things than a girl. Look here, now! You just -run over to Dyke House and see how Rachel Doorm is -getting on. I often think of her—alone in that place, -now Nance and Linda have gone. I’ve been thinking of -her especially to-day as we’ve come so near here. It’s -impossible for me to go. It’s impossible for me to see -any one. My nerves won’t stand it. But I must say -I should be rather glad to know she hadn’t quite gone -off her head. It isn’t very nice to think of her in that -large house by herself, the house where her father died. -Nance told me she feared she’d take to drink just as the -old man did. Nance says it’s in the Doorm family, that -sort of thing, drink or insanity, I mean—or both together, -perhaps!” and he broke into a bitter laugh.</p> - -<p>Philippa drew in her breath and looked at the white -mist covering the river and at the ghostly outlines of the -Doorm inheritance.</p> - -<p>“You always say you’re like a boy,” repeated Sorio, -throwing himself down where four months ago he had -sat with Nance, “well, prove it then! Run over to -Dyke House and give Rachel Doorm my love. I’ll -wait for you here. I promise faithfully. You needn’t -do more than just greet the old thing and wish her well.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span> -She loves all you Renshaws. She idealizes you.” And -he laughed again.</p> - -<p>Philippa regarded him silently. For one moment the -old wicked flicker of subtle mockery seemed on the point -of crossing her face. But it died instantly away and -her eyes grew childish and wistful.</p> - -<p>“I’m not a boy, I’m a woman,” she murmured in a -low voice.</p> - -<p>Sorio frowned. “Well, go, whatever you are,” he -cried roughly. “You’re not tired, are you?” he added -a little more gently.</p> - -<p>She smiled at this. “All right, Adrian,” she said, -“I’ll go. Give me one kiss first.”</p> - -<p>She knelt down hurriedly and put her arms round his -neck. Lying with his back against the trunk of an -alder, he returned her caress in a perfunctory, absent-minded -manner, precisely as if she were an importunate -child.</p> - -<p>“I love you! I love you!” she whispered and then -leaping to her feet, “Good-bye!” she cried, “I’ll never -forgive you if you desert me.”</p> - -<p>She ran off, her slender figure moving through the -growing twilight like a swaying birch tree half seen -through mist. Sorio’s mind left her altogether. An -immense yearning for his son took possession of him and -he set himself to recall every precise incident of their -separation. He saw himself standing at the side of the -crowded liner. He saw the people waving and shouting -from the wooden jetty of the great dock. He saw -Baptiste, standing a little apart from the rest, motionless, -not raising even a hand, paralyzed by the misery -of his departure. He too was sick with misery then. -He remembered the exact sensation of it and how he envied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span> -the sea-gulls who never knew these human sufferings -and the gay people on the ship who seemed to have all -they loved with them at their side.</p> - -<p>“Oh, God,” he muttered to himself, “give me back my -son and you may take everything—my book, my pride, -my brain—everything! everything!”</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Philippa was rapidly approaching Dyke -House. A cold damp air met her as she drew near, -rising with the white mists from off the surface of the -river. She walked round the house and pushed open the -little wooden gate. The face of desolation itself looked -at her from that neglected garden. A few forlorn -dahlias raised their troubled wine-dark heads from -among strangling nettles and sickly plants of pallid-leaved -spurge. Tangled raspberry canes and over-grown -patches of garden-mint mingled with wild cranesbill -and darnel. Grass was growing thickly on the -gravel path and clumps of green damp moss clung to the -stone-work of the entrance. The windows, as she approached -the house, stared at her like eyes—eyes that -have lost the power to close their lids. There were no -blinds down and no curtains drawn but all the windows -were dark. No smoke issued from the chimney and not -a flicker of light came from any portion of the place. -Silent and cold and hushed, it might have been only -waiting for her appearance to sink like an apparition -into the misty earth. With a beating heart the girl -ascended the steps and rang the bell. The sound -clanged horribly through the empty passages. There -was a faint hardly perceptible stir, such as one might -imagine being made by the fall of disturbed dust or the -rustle of loose paper, but that was all. Dead unbroken -silence flowed back upon everything like the flow of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span> -water round a submerged wreck. There was not even -the ticking of a clock to break the stillness. It was -more than the mere absence of any sound, that silence -which held the Doorm house. It was silence such as -possesses an individuality of its own. It took on, as -Philippa waited there, the shadowy and wavering outlines -of a palpable shape. The silence greeted the girl -and welcomed her and begged her to enter and let it -embrace her. In a kind of panic Philippa seized the -handle of the door and shook it violently. More to -her terror than reassurance it opened and a cold wave -of air, colder even than the mist of the river, struck her -in the face. She advanced slowly, her hand pressed -against her heart and a sense as if something was drumming -in her ears.</p> - -<p>The parlour door was wide open. She entered the -room. A handful of dead flowers—wild flowers of -some kind but they were too withered to be distinguishable—hung -dry and sapless over the edge of a vase of -rank-smelling water. Otherwise the table was bare and -the room in order. She came out again and went into -the kitchen. Here the presence of more homely and unsentimental -objects relieved a little the tension of her -nerves. But the place was absolutely empty—save for -an imprisoned tortoise-shell butterfly that was beating -itself languidly, as if it had done the same thing for -days, against the pane.</p> - -<p>Mindful of Sorio’s habit and with even the faint ghost -of a smile, she opened the window and set the thing free. -It was a relief to smell the river-smell that came in as -she did this. She moved out of the kitchen and once -more stood breathless, listening intently in the silent -hall-way. It was growing rapidly darker; she longed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span> -to rush from the place and return to Sorio but some indescribable -power, stronger than her own will, retained -her. Suddenly she uttered a little involuntary cry. -Struck by a light gust of wind, the front door which she -had left open, swung slowly towards her and closed with -a vibrating shock. She ran to the back and opened the -door which led to the yard. Here she was genuinely -relieved to catch the sound of a sleepy rustling in the -little wood-shed and to see through its dusty window a -white blur of feathers. There were fowls alive anyway -about Dyke House. That, at least, was some satisfaction. -Propping the door open by means of an iron -scraper she returned to the hall-way and looked apprehensively -at the staircase. Dared she ascend to the -rooms above? Dared she enter Rachel Doorm’s bedroom? -She moved to the foot of the staircase and -laid her hand upon the balustrade. A dim flicker of -waning light came in through the door she had propped -open and fell upon the heavy chairs which stood in the -hall and upon a fantastic picture representing the eruption -of Vesuvius. The old-fashioned colouring of this -print was now darkened, but she could see the outlines -of the mountain and its rolling smoke. Once again she -listened. Not a sound! She took a few steps up the -stairs and paused. Then a few more and paused again. -Then with her hands tightly clenched and a cold shivering -sensation making her feel sick and dizzy, she ran up -the remainder and stood weak and exhausted, leaning -against the pillar of the balustrade and gazing with -startled eyes at a half-open door.</p> - -<p>It is extraordinary the power of the dead over the -living! Philippa knew that in that room, behind that -door, was the thing that had once called itself a woman<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span> -and had talked and laughed and eaten and drunk with -other women. When Rachel Doorm was about the age -she herself had now reached and she was a little child, -she could remember how she had built sand-castles for -her by the sea-shore and sang to her old Rodmoor songs -about drowned sailors and sea-kings and lost children. -And now she knew—as surely as if her hand was laid -upon her cold forehead—that behind that door, probably -in some ghastly attitude of eternal listening, the -corpse of all that, of all those memories and many more -that she knew nothing of, was waiting to be found, to -be found and have her eyes shut and her jaw bandaged—and -be prepared for her coffin. The girl gripped -tight hold of the balustrade. The terror that took -possession of her then was not that Rachel Doorm -should be dead—dead and so close to her, but that she -should <em>not</em> be dead!</p> - -<p>At that moment, could she have brought herself to -push that door wide open and pass in, it would have been -much more awful, much more shocking, to find Rachel -Doorm alive and see her rise to meet her and hear her -speak! After all, what did it matter if the body of the -woman was twisted and contorted in some frightful manner—or -<em>standing</em> perhaps—Rachel Doorm was just -the one to die standing!—or if her face were staring up -from the floor? What did it matter, supposing she <em>did</em> -go straight in and feel about in the darkness and perhaps -lay her hand upon the dead woman’s mouth? -What did it matter even if she <em>did</em> see her hanging, in -the faint light of the window, from a hook above the -curtain with her head bent queerly to one side and a -lock of her hair falling loose? None of these things -mattered. None of them prevented her going straight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span> -into that room! What did prevent her and what sent -her fleeing down the stairs and out of the house with a -sudden scream of intolerable terror was the fact that -at that moment, quite definitely, there came the sound -of <em>breathing</em> from the room she was looking at. A -simple thing, a natural thing, for an old woman to retire -to her bedroom early and to lie, perhaps with all -her clothes on, upon her bed, to rest for a while before -undressing. A simple and a natural thing! But the -fact remains as has just been stated, when the sound of -breathing came from that room Philippa screamed and -ran panic-stricken out into the night. She hardly -stopped running, indeed, till she reached the willow -copse and found Sorio where she had left him. He did -not resist now when breathlessly she implored him to -accompany her back to the house. They walked -hurriedly there together, Adrian in spite of a certain -apprehension smiling in the darkness at his companion’s -certainty that Rachel Doorm was dead and her equal -certainty that she had heard her breathing.</p> - -<p>“But I understand your feeling, Phil,” he said. “I -understand it perfectly. I used to have the same sensation -at night in a certain great garden in the Campagna—the -fear of meeting the boy I used to play -with before I <em>expected</em> to meet him! I used to call -out to him and beg him to answer me so as to make -sure.”</p> - -<p>Philippa refused to enter the house again and waited -for him outside by the garden gate. He was long in -coming, so long that she was seized with the strangest -thoughts. But he came at last, carrying a lantern in -his hand.</p> - -<p>“You’re right, Phil,” he said, “the gods have taken<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span> -her. She’s stone-dead. And what’s more, she’s been -dead a long time, several weeks, I should think.”</p> - -<p>“But the breathing, Adrian, the breathing? I -heard it distinctly.”</p> - -<p>Sorio put down his lantern and leant against the gate. -In spite of his calm demeanor she could see that he also -had experienced something over and above the finding -of Rachel’s body.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said, “and you were right about that, too. -Guess, child, what it was!”</p> - -<p>And as he spoke he put his hand against the front -of his coat which was tightly buttoned up. Philippa -was immediately conscious of the same stertorous noise -that she had heard in the room of death.</p> - -<p>“An animal!” she cried.</p> - -<p>“An owl,” he answered, “a young owl. It must have -fallen from a nest in the roof. I won’t show it to you -now, as it might escape and a cat might get it. I’m -going to try and rear it if Tassar will let me. Baptiste -will be so amused when he finds me with a pet owl! He -has quite a mania for things like that. He can make -the birds in the park come to him by whistling. Well! -I suppose what we must do now is to get back to Rodmoor -as quick as we can and report this business to the -police. She must have been dead a week or more! -I’m afraid this will be a great shock to Nance.”</p> - -<p>“How did you find her?” enquired the girl as they -walked along the road towards the New Bridge.</p> - -<p>“Don’t ask me, Phil—don’t ask me,” he replied, -“She’s out of her troubles anyway and had an owl to -look after her.”</p> - -<p>“Should I have been—” began his companion.</p> - -<p>“Don’t ask me, girl!” he reiterated. “I tell you it’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span> -all past and over. Rachel Doorm will be buried in the -Rodmoor churchyard and I shall have her owl. An old -woman stops breathing and an owl begins breathing. -It’s all natural enough.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXII">XXII<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE NORTHWEST WIND</span></h2> - -<p>The funeral of Rachel Doorm was a dark and -troubled day for both Nance and Linda. -Even the sympathy of Mr. Traherne seemed -unable to console them or lift the settled gloom from -their minds. Nance especially was struck dumb with -comfortless depression. She felt doubly guilty in the -matter. Guilty in her original acquiescence in the -woman’s desire to have them with her in Rodmoor and -guilty in her neglect of her during the last weeks of her -life. For the immediate cause of her death, or of the -desperation that led to it, their leaving Dyke House for -the village, she did not feel any remorse. That was inevitable -after what had occurred. But this did not -lessen her responsibility in the other two cases. Had -she resolutely refused to leave London the probability -was that Rachel would have been persuaded to go on -living with them as she had formerly done. She might -even have sold Dyke House and with the proceeds bought -some cottage in the city suburbs for them all. It was -her own ill-fated passion for Sorio, she recognized that -clearly enough, that was the cause of all the disasters -that had befallen them.</p> - -<p>Linda’s feeling with regard to Rachel’s death was -quite different. She had to confess in the depths of -her heart that she was glad of it, glad to be relieved of -the constant presence of something menacing and vindictive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span> -on the outskirts of her life. Her trouble was of a -more morbid and abnormal kind, was, indeed, the fact -that in spite of the woman’s death, she <em>hadn’t</em> really got -rid of Rachel Doorm. The night before the funeral -she dreamed of her almost continually, dreamed that -she herself was a child again and that Rachel had -threatened her with some unknown and mysterious punishment. -The night after the funeral it was still worse. -She woke Nance by a fit of wild and desperate crying -and when the elder girl tried to discover the nature of -her trouble she grew taciturn and reserved and refused -to say anything in explanation. All the following week -she went about her occupations with an air of abstraction -and remoteness as if her real life were being lived -on another plane. Nance learnt from Mr. Traherne, -who was doing all he could think of to keep her attention -fixed on her organ-playing, that as a matter of fact -she frequently came out of the church after a few minutes’ -practise and went and stood, for long periods together, -by Rachel’s grave. The priest confessed that -on one of the occasions when he had surprised her in -this posture, she had turned upon him quite savagely -and had addressed him in a tone completely different -from her ordinary one.</p> - -<p>It was especially dreadful to Nance to feel she was -thrust out and alienated in some mysterious way from -her sister’s confidence.</p> - -<p>One morning towards the end of September, when -they were dressing together in the hazy autumnal light -and listening to the cries of sea-gulls coming up from -the harbour, Nance caught upon her sister’s face, as -the girl’s eyes met one another in their common mirror, -that same inscrutable look that she had seen upon it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span> -five months before when, in their room at Dyke House -they had first become acquainted with the eternal iteration -of the North Sea’s waves. Nance tried in vain all -the remainder of that day to think out some clue to -what that look implied. It haunted her and tantalized -her. Linda had always possessed something a little -pleading and sad in her eyes. It was no doubt the -presence of that clinging wistfulness in them which had -from the first attracted Brand. But this look contained -in it something different. It suggested to -Nance, though she dismissed the comparison as quite inadequate -almost as soon as she had made it, the cry of a -soul that was being <em>pulled backwards</em> into some interior -darkness yet uttering all the while a desperate prayer to -be let alone as if the least interference with what destiny -was doing would be the cause of yet greater peril.</p> - -<p>The following night as she lay awake watching a -filmy trail of vaporous clouds sail across a wasted haggard -moon, a moon that seemed to betray as that bright -orb seldom does the fact that it was a corpse-world -hung there with almost sacrilegious and indecent exposure, -under the watchful stars, she noticed with dismay -the white-robed figure of her sister rise from her -bed and step lightly across the room to the open window. -Nance watched her with breathless alarm. Was -she awake or asleep? She leant out of the window, her -long hair falling heavily to one side. Nance fancied -she heard her muttering something but the noise of the -sea, for the tide was high then in the early morning -hours, prevented her catching the words. Nance threw -off the bed-clothes and stole noiselessly towards her. -Yes, certainly she was speaking. The words came in a -low, plaintive murmur as if she were pleading with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span> -some one out there in the misty night. Nance crept -gently up to her and listened, afraid to touch her lest -she should cause her some dangerous nervous shock but -anxious to be as close to her as she could.</p> - -<p>“I am good now,” she heard her say, “I am good -now, Rachel. You can let me out now! I will say -those words, I am good now. I won’t disobey you -again.”</p> - -<p>There was a long silence, broken only by the sound -of the Sea and the beating of Nance’s heart. Then -once more, the voice rose.</p> - -<p>“It’s down too deep, Rachel, you can’t reach it with -that. But I’ll go in. I’m not afraid any more! If -only you’ll let me out. I’ll go in deep—deep—and -get it for you. She can’t hold it tight. The water is -too strong. Oh, I’ll be good, Rachel. I’ll get it for -you if only you’ll let me out!”</p> - -<p>Nance, unable to endure any more of this, put her -arms gently round her sister’s body and drew her back -into the room. The young girl did not resist. With -wide-open but utterly unconscious eyes she let herself be -led across the room. Only when she was close to her -bed she held back and her body became rigid.</p> - -<p>“Don’t put me in there again, Rachel. Anything -but that!”</p> - -<p>“Darling!” cried Nance desperately, “don’t you -know me? I’m with you, dear. This is Nance with -you. No one shall hurt you!”</p> - -<p>The young girl shuddered and looked at her with a -bewildered and troubled gaze as if everything were -vague and obscure. At that moment there came over -Nance that appalling terror of the unconscious, of the -<em>sub-human</em> which is one of the especial dangers of those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span> -who have to look after the insane or follow the movements -of somnambulists. But the shudder passed and -the bewildered look was superseded by one of gradual -obliviousness. The girl’s body relaxed and she swayed -as she stood. Nance, with a violent effort, lifted her in -her arms and laid her down on the bed. The girl -muttered something and turned over on her side. -Nance watched her anxiously but she was soon relieved -to catch the sound of her quiet breathing. She was -asleep peacefully now. She looked so pathetically -lovely, lying there in a childish position of absolute -abandonment that Nance could not resist bending over -her and lightly kissing her cheek.</p> - -<p>“Poor darling!” she said to herself, “how blind I’ve -been! How wickedly blind I’ve been!” She pulled the -blanket from her own bed and threw it over her sister so -as not to disturb her by altering the bed-clothes. Then, -wrapping herself in her dressing-gown she lay back upon -her pillows resigned for the rest of the night to remaining -wakeful.</p> - -<p>The next day she noticed no difference in Linda’s -mood. There was the same abstraction, the same listless -lack of interest in anything about her and worst -of all that same inscrutable look which filled Nance with -every sort of wild imagination. She cast about in despair -for some way of breaking the evil spell under -which the girl was pining. She went again and again -to see Mr. Traherne and the good man devoted hours -of his time to discussing the matter with her but nothing -either of them could think of seemed a possible -solution.</p> - -<p>At last one morning, some days after that terrifying -night, she met Dr. Raughty in the street. She walked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span> -with him as far as the bridge explaining to him as best -she could her apprehensions about her sister and asking -him for his advice. Dr. Raughty was quite definite and -unhesitating.</p> - -<p>“What Linda wants is a mother,” he said laconically. -Nance stared at him.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know,” she said. “I know well enough, poor -darling! But that’s the worst of it, Fingal. Her -mother’s been dead years and years and years.”</p> - -<p>“There are other mothers in Rodmoor, aren’t -there?” he remarked.</p> - -<p>Nance frowned. “You think I don’t look after her -properly,” she murmured. “No, I suppose I haven’t. -And yet I’ve tried to—I’ve tried my very best.”</p> - -<p>“You’re as hopeless as your Adrian with his owl,” -cried the Doctor. “He was feeding it with cake the -other day. Cake! He’d better not bring his owl and -our friend’s rat together. There won’t be much of the -rat left. Cake!” And the Doctor put back his head -and uttered an immense gargantuan laugh. Nance -looked a little disturbed and even a little indignant at -his merriment.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean by <em>other</em> mothers?” she asked. -They had just reached the bridge and Dr. Raughty bade -her look over the parapet.</p> - -<p>“What exquisite bellies those dace have!” he remarked, -snuffing the air as he spoke. “There’ll be rain -before night. Do you feel it? I know from the way -those fish rise. The sea too, it has a different voice—has -that ever caught your attention?—when there’s -rain on the wind. Those dace are shrewd fellows. -They’re after the bits of garbage the sea-gulls drop on -their way up the river. You might think they were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span> -after flies, but they’re not. I suppose George Crabbe -or George Borrow would switch ’em out with some bait -such as was never dreamed of—the droppings of rabbits -perhaps or ladybird grubs. I suppose old Doctor -Johnson would wade in up to his knees and try and -scoop ’em up in his hands. There’s a big one! Do -you see? The one waving his tail and turning sideways. -I expect he weighs half a pound or more. Fish -are beautiful things, especially dace. Isn’t it wonderful -to think that if you pulled any of those things backwards -through the water they would be drowned, simply -by the rush of water through their gills? Look, Nance, -at that one! What a silver belly! What a delicate, -exquisite tail! A plague on these fellows who philander -with owls and rats! Give me fish—if you want to -make a cult of something.” He lowered his voice to a -whisper, “I should think Lubric de Lauziere must have -kept a pet fish in his round pond!”</p> - -<p>“Good-bye, Fingal,” said Nance, holding out her -hand.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span></p> -<p>“What! Well! Where! God help us! What’s -wrong, Nance? You’re not annoyed with me, are you? -Do you think I’m talking through my hat? Not at -all! I’m leading up to it. A mother—that’s what -she wants. She wants it just as those dace want the -water to flow in their faces and not backwards through -their gills. She’s being dragged backwards—that’s -what’s the matter with her. She wants her natural element -and it must flow in the right direction. <em>You</em> -won’t do. Traherne won’t do. A mother is the thing! -A woman, Nance, who has borne children has certain -instincts in dealing with young girls which make the -wisest physicians in the world look small!”</p> - -<p>Nance smiled helplessly at him.</p> - -<p>“But, Fingal, dear,” she said, “what can I do? I -can’t appeal to Mrs. Raps, can I—or your friend Mrs. -Sodderley? When you come to think, there are very -few mothers in Rodmoor!”</p> - -<p>The Doctor sighed. “I know it,” he observed mournfully, -“I know it. The place will die out altogether in -fifty years. It’s as bad as the sand-dunes with their -sterile flora. Women who bear children are the only -really sane people in the world.”</p> - -<p>He ran his thumb, as he spoke, backwards and forwards -over a little patch of vividly green moss that grew -between the stones of the parapet. The air, crisp and -autumnal with that vague scent of burning weeds in it -which more than anything else suggests the outskirts -of a small town at the end of the summer, flowed round -them both with a mute appeal to her, so it seemed to -Nance, to let all things drift as they might and submit -to destiny. She looked at the Doctor dreamily in one -of those queer intermissions of human consciousness in -which we stand apart, as it were, from our own fate and -listen to the flowing of the eternal tide.</p> - -<p>A small poplar tree growing at the village end of the -bridge had already lost some of its leaves and a few of -these came drifting, one by one, along the raised stone -pathway to the girl’s feet. Over the misty marsh lands -in the other direction, she could see the low tower of the -church. The gilded weather-vane on the top of it shimmered -and glittered in a vaporous stream of sunlight -that seemed to touch nothing else.</p> - -<p>Dreamily she looked at the Doctor, too weary of the -struggle of life to make an effort to leave him and yet -quite hopeless as to his power to help her. Fingal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span> -Raughty continued to discourse upon the instinctive -wisdom of maternity.</p> - -<p>“Women who’ve had children,” he went on, “are the -only people in the world who possess the open secret. -They know what it is to find the ultimate virtue in exquisite -resignation. They do not only submit to fate—they -joyfully embrace it. I suppose we might maintain -that they even ‘love it’—though I confess that -that idea of ‘loving’ fate has always seemed to me -weird and fantastic. But I laugh, and so do you, I expect, -when our friends Sorio and Tassar talk in their -absurd way about women. What do they know of -women? They’ve only met, in all their lives (forgive -me, Nance!) a parcel of silly young girls. They’ve no -right to speak of life at all, the depraved children that -they are! They are outside life, they’re ignorant of -the essential mystery. Goethe was the fellow to understand -these things, and you know the name <em>he</em> gives to -the unutterable secret? <em>The Mothers.</em> That’s a good -name, isn’t it? The Mothers! Listen, Nance! All -the people in this place suffer from astigmatism and -asymmetry. Those are the outward signs of their mental -departure from the normal. And the clever ones -among them are proud of it. You know the way they -talk! They think abnormality is the only kind of -beauty. Nance, my dear, to tell you the truth, I’m sick -of them all. <em>My</em> idea of beauty is the perfect masculine -type, such as you see it in that figure they call ‘the -Theseus’—in the Elgin marbles—or the perfect -feminine type as you see it in the great Demeter. Do -you suppose they can, any of them, get round that? -Do you suppose they can fight against the rhythm of -Nature?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span></p> - -<p>He pulled out his tobacco pouch and gravely lit his -pipe, swinging his head backwards and forwards as he -did so. Nance could not help noticing the shrewd, -humorous <em>animalism</em> of his look as he performed this -function.</p> - -<p>“But what can be done? Oh, Fingal, what <em>can</em> be -done about Linda?” she asked with a heavy sigh.</p> - -<p>He settled his pipe in his mouth and blew violently -down its stem, causing a cloud of smoke to go up into -the September air.</p> - -<p>“Take her to Mrs. Renshaw,” he said solemnly. -“That’s what I’ve been thinking all this time. That’s -my conclusion. Take her to Mrs. Renshaw.”</p> - -<p>Nance stared at him. “Really?” she murmured, -“you really think <em>she</em> could help?”</p> - -<p>“Try it—try it—try it!” cried Dr. Raughty, -flinging a bit of moss at the fish in the water below -them.</p> - -<p>“It’s extraordinary,” he added, “that these dace -should come down so far as this! The water here must -be almost entirely salt.”</p> - -<p>That afternoon Nance went to Mr. Traherne’s -vesper service. She found Mrs. Renshaw in the church -and invited both her and the priest to come back with -them to their lodgings. She did this under the pretense -of showing them some new designs of a startling -and fascinating kind that she had received from Paris. -The circean witcheries of French costumery were not -perhaps precisely the right attraction either for Mrs. -Renshaw or Hamish Traherne, but the thing served -well enough as an excuse and they both took it as such. -She was careful to hurry on in advance with Mr. Traherne -so as to make it inevitable that Linda should walk<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span> -with Mrs. Renshaw. The mistress of Oakguard seemed -unusually pale and tired that afternoon. She held -Linda back in the churchyard until the others had got -quite far and then she led her straight to Rachel -Doorm’s grave. They had buried the unhappy woman -quite close to the outermost border of the priest’s garden. -Nothing but a few paces of level grass separated -her from a row of tall crimson hollyhocks. The grave -at present lacked any headstone. Only a bunch of -Michaelmas daisies, placed there by Linda herself, stood -at its foot in a glass jar. Several wasps were buzzing -round this jar, probably conscious of some faint odour -clinging still about it from what it had formerly contained. -Mrs. Renshaw stood with her hand leaning -heavily on Linda’s shoulder. She seemed to know, from -the depths of her own fathomless morbidity, precisely -what the young girl was feeling.</p> - -<p>“Shall we kneel down?” she said. Linda began -trembling a little but with simple and girlish docility, -free from any kind of embarrassment, she knelt at the -other’s side.</p> - -<p>“We mustn’t pray for the dead,” whispered Mrs. -Renshaw. “<em>He</em>,” she meant Mr. Traherne, “tells us to -in his sermons, but it hurts me when he does for we’ve -been taught that all that is wrong—wrong and contrary -to our simple faith! We mustn’t forget the -Martyrs—must we, Linda?”</p> - -<p>But Linda’s mind was far from the martyrs. It was -occupied entirely with the thing that lay buried before -them, under that newly disturbed earth.</p> - -<p>“But we can pray to God that His will be done, on -earth, even as it is in Heaven,” murmured Mrs. Renshaw.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span></p> - -<p>She was silent after that and the younger and the -elder woman knelt side by side with bowed heads. Then -in a low whisper Mrs. Renshaw spoke again.</p> - -<p>“There are some lines I should like to say to you, -dear, if you’ll let me. I copied them out last week. -They were at the end of a book of poetry that I found -in Philippa’s room. She must have just bought it or -had it given to her. I didn’t think she cared any more -for poetry. The pages weren’t cut and I didn’t like to -cut them without her leave but I copied this out from -the end. It was the last in the book.”</p> - -<p>She hesitated a moment while Linda remained motionless -at her side, trembling still a little and watching the -movements of a Peacock butterfly which was then sharing -with the wasps their interest in the ancient honey-jar.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Renshaw then repeated the following lines in a -clear exquisitely modulated voice which went drifting -away over the surrounding marshes.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“For even the purest delight may pall,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And power must fail and the pride must fall.</div> -<div class="verse">And the love of the dearest friends grow small,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">But the glory of the Lord is all in all.”</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Her voice sank. A slight gust of wind made the trees -above them sigh softly as though the words of the -kneeling woman were in harmony with the inarticulate -heart of the earth.</p> - -<p>Linda stopped trembling. A sweet indescribable -calm began slowly to pervade her. Gently, like a child, -she slipped her hand into her companion’s.</p> - -<p>“Do you remember the Forty-third Psalm, Linda?” -Mrs. Renshaw continued and her clear dramatic voice,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span> -with a power of feeling equal to that of any great -actress, once more rose upon the air.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“Our heart is not turned back, neither have our steps declined from thy way.</div> -<div class="verse">Though thou hast sore broken us, in the place of dragons, and covered us with the shadow of death.”</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Once more she was silent but with a slight veering of -the wind, the sound of the waves beyond the sand-dunes -came to them with pitiless distinctness. It seemed to -mock—this voice of the earth’s antagonist—mock, -in triumphant derision, the forlorn hope which that -solemn invocation had roused in the girl’s heart. But -in contending against Mrs. Renshaw’s knowledge of -the Psalms even the North Sea had met its match. -With her pale face uplifted and a wild light in her eyes, -she continued to utter the old melodious incantations -with their constant references to a Power more formidable -than “all thy waves and storms.” She might have -been one of the early converts to the faith that came -from the sacred Desert, wrestling in spiritual ecstasy -with the gods and powers of those heathen waters.</p> - -<p>Either by one of the fortunate coincidences which -sometimes interrupt even the irony of nature or, as Mrs. -Renshaw would herself have maintained, by a direct answer -to her prayer, the weathercock on the church -tower swung round again. North-east it swung, then -north-north-east, then due north. And finally, even -while she was uttering her last antiphony, it pointed to -north-west, the quarter most alien and antagonistic to -the Rodmoor sea, the portion of the horizon from which -blew the wind of the great fens.</p> - -<p>In a country like East Anglia so peculiarly at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span> -mercy of the elements, every one of the winds has its -own peculiar burden and brings with it something healing -and restorative or baleful and malefic. The east -wind here is, in a paramount sense, the evil wind, the -accomplice and confederate of the salt deep, the blighter -of hopes, the herald of disaster. The north-west wind, -on the contrary, is the wind that brings the sense of inland -spaces, the smell of warm, wet earth and the fragrance -of leaf mould in sweet breathing woods. It is the -wind that fills the rivers and the wells and brings the -fresh purifying rain. It is a wind full of memories and -its heart is strong with the power of ancient love, revived -even out of graves and sepulchres. To those -sensitive to finer and rarer earth influences among the -dwellers by the east coast there may be caught sometimes -upon the north-west wind the feeling of pine woods -and moorland heather. For it comes from the opposite -side of the great plain, from Brandon Heath and -even beyond and it finds nothing in the wide fen country -to intercept it or break the rush of its sea-ward passage.</p> - -<p>Thus, when the two women rose finally to their feet it -was to be met by a cool, healing breath which, as it -bowed the ranks of the hollyhocks and rustled through -the trees, had in it a delicious odour of inland brooks -and the coming of pure rain.</p> - -<p>“Listen to me, child,” said Mrs. Renshaw as they -passed out of the churchyard, “I want to say this to -you. You mustn’t think that God allows any intercourse -between the living and the dead. That is a -wicked invention of our own sinful hearts. It is a -temptation, darling—a temptation of the devil—and -we must struggle against it. Whenever we feel it we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span> -must struggle against it and pray. It is perfectly right -for you to think gently and forgivingly of poor Miss -Doorm. It were wrong to think otherwise. But you -mustn’t think of her as anywhere near us or about us -now. She’s in the hands of God and in the mercy of -God and we must leave her there. Do you hear what -I’m saying, Linda? Do you understand me? Anything -else is wrong and evil. We are all sinners together -and we are all in the same merciful hands.”</p> - -<p>Never was the exorcising of powers hurtful to humanity -more effective. Linda bowed her head at her -words and then raising it freely, walked with a lighter -step than for seven long days. She wished in her heart -that she had the courage to talk to Mrs. Renshaw about -an anxiety much more earthly, much less easy to be -healed, than the influence of Rachel Doorm, alive or -dead, but so immense was her relief at that moment to -be free from the haunting phantom that had been pulling -her towards that mound in the churchyard that she -found it in her heart to be hopeful and reckless even -though she knew that, whatever happened, there was -bound to be pain and trouble in store for her in the not -far distant future.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXIII">XXIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">WARDEN OF THE FISHES</span></h2> - -<p>It will be found not altogether devoid of a strange -substratum of truth, though fantastic enough -in the superficial utterance, the statement that -there are certain climacteric seasons in the history -of places when, if events of importance are looming -upon the horizon, they are especially liable to fall. -Such a season with regard to Rodmoor, or at least with -regard to the persons we are most concerned with there, -may be said to have arrived with the beginning of -Autumn and with the month of October.</p> - -<p>The first weeks of this month were at any rate full of -exciting and fatal interest to Nance. Something in the -change of the weather, for the rains had come in earnest -now, affected Sorio in a marked degree. His whole being -seemed to undergo some curious disintegrating process -as difficult to analyze as the actual force in Nature -which was at that very time causing the fall of the -leaves. We may be allowed to draw at least this much -from Sorio’s own theory of the universal impulse to -self-destruction—the possible presence, that is to say, -of something positive and active, if not personal and -conscious, in the processes of natural decadence. Life, -when it corrupts and disintegrates; life when it finally -falls away and becomes what we call death, does so -sometimes, or seems to do so, with a vehemence and impetuosity -which makes it difficult not to feel the pressure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span> -of some half-conscious “will to perish” in the -thing thus plunging towards dissolution. The brilliant -colour which many flowers assume when they approach -decease bears out this theory. It is what the poet calls -a “lightning before death” and the rich tints of the -autumn foliage as well as the phosphorescent glories—only -repulsive to our human senses in fatal association—of -physical mortality itself, are symbols, if not more -than symbols, of the same splendid rushing upon nothingness.</p> - -<p>This change in Sorio was not at all to Nance’s disadvantage -in the external aspect of the relations between -them; indeed, she was carried forward by it to the -point of coming to anticipate with trembling excitement -what had begun to seem an almost impossible happiness. -For Sorio definitely and in an outburst of impatient -pleading, implored her to marry him. In the -deeper, more spiritual association between them, however, -the change which took place in him now was less -satisfactory. Nance could not help feeling that there -was something blind, childish, selfish, unchivalrous,—something -even reckless and sinister—about this proposal -and the passionate eagerness with which he -pressed it upon her, considering that he made no more -attempt than before to secure any employment and -seemed to take it for granted that either she or Baltazar -Stork or his own son in America, or some vague -providential windfall would provide the money for this -startling adventure. Side by side with her surprise at -his careless disregard for all practical considerations, -Nance could not help feeling a profound apprehension -which she herself was unwilling to bring to the surface -of her mind with regard to his mood and manner during<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span> -these days. He seemed to throw himself passively and -helplessly upon her hands. He clung to her as a sick -child might cling to its parent. His old savage outbursts -of cynical humour seemed to have vanished and -in their place was a constant querulousness and peevishness -which rendered their hours together much less -peaceful and happy than they ought to have been. All -sorts of little things irritated him—irritated him even -in her. He clung to her, she could not help fancying, -more out of a strange instinct of self-preservation than -out of natural love. She couldn’t help wondering sometimes -how it would be when they were actually married. -He seemed to find it at once difficult to endure -her society and impossible to do without it. The bitter -saying of the old Latin poet might have been his -motto at that time. “<i>Nec sine te nec tecum vivere -possum.</i>”</p> - -<p>And yet, in spite of all this, these early October days -were days of exquisite happiness for Nance. The long -probation through which her love had passed had purged -and winnowed it. The maternal instinct in her, always -the dominant note in her emotions, was satisfied now as -it had never been satisfied before, as perhaps unless she -had children of her own it would never be satisfied again.</p> - -<p>In these days of new hope and new life her youth -seemed to revive and put forth exquisite blossoms of -gaiety and tenderness. In a physical sense she actually -did revive, though this may have been partly due to -the cool crisp air that now blew constantly across the -fens, and Linda, watching the change with affectionate -sympathy, declared she was growing twice as beautiful.</p> - -<p>She offered no objection when Sorio insisted upon -having their “bans” read out in church, a duty that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></span> -was most willingly performed without further delay by -Hamish Traherne. She did not even protest when he -announced that they would be married before October -was over, announced it without any indication of how -or where they would live, upon whose money or under -whose roof!</p> - -<p>She felt a natural reluctance to press these practical -details upon his notice. The bond that united them -was too delicate, too tenuous and precarious, for her to -dare to lean heavily upon it, nor did the few hesitating -and tentative hints she threw out meet with any response -from him. He waved them aside. He threw them from -him with a jest or a childish groan of disgust or a vague -“Oh, <em>that</em> will work itself out. <em>That</em> will be all right. -Don’t worry about <em>that</em>! I’m writing to Baptiste.”</p> - -<p>But, as we have said, in spite of all these difficulties -and in spite of the deep-hidden dismay which his nervous, -querulous mood excited in her, Nance was full of a -thrilling and inexpressible happiness during these -Autumn days. She loved the roar of the great wind—the -north-west wind—in chimneys and house-tops at -night. She loved the drifting of the dead leaves along -the muddy roads. She loved the long swishing murmur -of the rushes growing by the dyke paths as they bent -their feathery heads over the wet banks or bowed in -melancholy rhythm across the rain-filled ditches.</p> - -<p>Autumn was assuredly and without doubt the climacteric -season of the Rodmoor fens. They reluctantly -yielded to the Spring; they endured the Summer, and -the Winter froze them into dead and stoical inertness. -But something in the Autumn called out the essential -and native qualities of the place’s soul. The fens rose -to meet the Autumn in happy and stormy nuptials.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span> -The brown, full-brimmed streams mounted up joyously -to the highest level of their muddy banks. The faded -mallow-plants by the river’s side and the tarnished St. -John’s wort in the drenched hedges assumed a pathetic -and noble beauty—a beauty full of vague, far-drawn -associations for sensitive humanity. The sea-gulls and -marsh-birds, the fish, the eels, the water-rats of the replenished -streams seemed to share in the general expansion -of life with the black and white hornless cattle, -the cattle of the fens, who now began to yield their -richest milk. Long, chilly, rainy days ended in magnificent -and sumptuous sunsets—sunsets in which the -whole sky from zenith to nadir became one immense -rose of celestial fire. Out of a hundred Rodmoor chimneys -rose the smell of burning peat, that smell of all -others characteristic of the country whose very soil was -formed of the vegetation of forgotten centuries.</p> - -<p>In the large dark barns the yellow grain lay piled -roof-high, while in every little shed and outhouse in the -country, damsons, pears and potatoes lay spread out as -if for the enjoyment of some Dionysian gathering of -the propitiated earth-gods.</p> - -<p>The fishermen, above all, shared in the season’s fortune, -going out early and late to their buoy-marked -spots on the horizon, where the presence of certain -year-old wrecks lying on the sand at the bottom drew -the migratory fish and held them for weeks as if by a -marine spell.</p> - -<p>But if the days had their especial quality, the nights -during that October were more significant still. The -sky seemed to draw back, back and away, to some purer, -clearer, more ethereal level while with a radiance tender -and solemn the greater and lesser stars shed down their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[357]</a></span> -magical influence. The planets, especially Venus and -Jupiter, grew so luminous and large that they seemed -to rival the moon; while the Moon, herself, the mystic -red moon of the finished harvest, the moon of the equinox, -drew the tides after her, higher and fuller and with -a deeper note in their ebb and flow than at any other -season of the year.</p> - -<p>Everywhere swallows were gathering for their long -flight, everywhere the wild geese and the herons were -rising to incredible heights in the sky and moving northward -and westward; and all this while Nance was able, -at last really able, to give herself up to her passion -for the man she loved.</p> - -<p>It was a passion winnowed by waiting and suffering, -purged to a pure flame by all she had gone through, -but it was a passion none the less—a long exclusive -passion—the love of a lifetime. It made her sometimes, -this great love of hers, dizzy and faint with fear -lest something even now should at the last moment come -between them. Sometimes it made her strangely shy -of him too, shy and withdrawn as if it were not easy, -though so triumphantly sweet, to give herself up body -and soul into hands that after all were the hands of -a stranger!</p> - -<p>Sorio did not understand all this. Sometimes when -she thrust him away as if the emotion produced by his -caresses were more than she could bear or as if some -incalculable pride in her, some inalienable chastity beyond -the power of her senses, relucted to yield further, -he grew angry and morose and accused her of jealousy -or of coldness. This would have been harder to endure -from him if there had not existed all the while at the -bottom of her heart a strange, maternal pity, a pity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[358]</a></span> -not untouched with a sort of humorous irony—the -eternal irony of the woman as she submits to the eternal -misunderstanding of the man, embracing her without -knowing what he does. He seemed to her sometimes in -the mere physical stress of his love-making almost like -an amorous and vicious boy. She could not resist the -consciousness that her knowledge of the mystery of -sex—its depth and subtlety not less than its flame and -intensity—was something that went much further and -was much more complicated and involved with her whole -being than anything he experienced. Especially did -she smile in her heart at the queer way he had of taking -it for granted that he was “seducing” her, of deriving, -it seemed, sometimes a satyrish pleasure from -that idea, and sometimes a fit of violent remorse. When -he was in either of these moods she felt towards him -precisely as a mother might feel towards a son whose -egoism and ignorance gave him a disproportioned view -of the whole world. And yet, in actual age, Sorio was -some twenty years her senior.</p> - -<p>In her own mind, as the weeks slipped by and their -names had already been coupled twice in the Sunday -services, Nance was taking thought as to what, in solid -reality, she intended to do with this child-man of hers -when the great moment came. She must move from -their present lodging. <em>That</em> seemed certain. It also -seemed certain that Linda would have still to go on -living with her. Any other arrangement than that was -obviously unthinkable. But where should they live? -And could she, with the money at present at her disposal, -support three people?</p> - -<p>A solution was found to both these problems by Mr. -Traherne. There happened to exist in Rodmoor, as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[359]</a></span> -in many other old decaying boroughs on the east coast, -certain official positions the practical service of which -was almost extinct but whose local prestige and financial -emoluments, such as they were, lingered on unaffected -by the change of conditions. The relentless -encroachments of the sea upon the land were mainly -responsible for this. In certain almost uninhabited -villages there existed official persons whose real raison -d’être lay with the submerged foundations of former -human habitations, deep at the bottom of the waters.</p> - -<p>It was, indeed, one of the essential peculiarities of -life upon those strange sea-banks this sense of living -on the edge, as it were, of the wave-drowned graves of -one’s fathers. It may have been the half-conscious -knowledge of this, bred in their flesh and blood from -infancy, that gave to the natives of those places so many -unusual and unattractive qualities. Other abodes of -men rest securely upon the immemorial roots of the -past, roots that lie, layer beneath layer, in rich historic -continuity endowing present usages and customs with -the consecration of unbroken tradition. But in the -villages of that coast all this is different. Tradition -remains, handed down from generation to generation, -but the physical continuity is broken. The east-coast -dwellers resemble certain of the stellar bodies in the -celestial spaces, they retain their identity and their -names but they are driven, in slow perpetual movement, -to change their physical position. In scriptural phrase, -they have no “abiding-place” nor can they continue -“in one stay.”</p> - -<p>The fishing boats of the present generation set their -brown sails to cross the water where, some hundreds of -years before, an earlier generation walked their cobbled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[360]</a></span> -streets. The storm-buoys rock and ring and the -boat lanterns burn their wavering signals over the -drowned foundations that once supported Town-Hall -and church tower, Market place and Village Tavern. -It is this slow, century-delayed flight from the invading -tide which so often produces in East Anglian coast -towns the phenomenal existence of two parish churches, -both it may be still in use, but the later and newer one -following the heart of the community in its enforced -retreat. Thus it is brought about in these singular -localities that the very law of the gods, the law which -utters to the elements the solemn “thus far and no -further” is as a matter of fact, daily and momently, -though with infinite slowness, broken and defied.</p> - -<p>It is perhaps small wonder that among the counties -of England these particular districts should have won -for themselves a sinister reputation for impiety and -perversity. Nothing so guards and establishes the -virtue of a community than its sense of the presence -in its midst of the ashes of its generations. Consciously -and in a thousand pious usages it “worships -its dead.” But East-Anglian coast-dwellers are not -permitted this privilege. Their “Lares and Penates” -have been invaded and submerged. The fires upon -their altars have been drowned and over the graves of -their fathers the godless tides ebb and flow without -reverence. Fishes swim where once children were led -to the font and where lovers were wedded the wild -cormorant mocks the sea-horses with its disconsolate -cry. It is easy to be believed that the remote descendants -of human beings who actually walked and -bartered and loved and philosophized on spots of -ground now tangled with seaweed and sea-drift, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[361]</a></span> -with fathoms of moaning and whispering water above -them, should come in their hour to depart in a measure -from the stable and kindly laws of human integrity! -With the ground thus literally <em>moving</em>—though in -age-long process—<em>under their feet</em>, how should they -be as faithful as other tribes of men to what is permanent -in human institution?</p> - -<p>There was perhaps a certain congruity in the fact -that now, after all these ages of tidal malice, it was in -the interests of so singular an alien as Sorio—one -whose very philosophy was the philosophy of “destruction”—that -this lingering on of offices, whose service -had been sea-drowned, remained as characteristic of -the place. But this is precisely what did occur.</p> - -<p>There was in Rodmoor a local official, appointed by -the local town council, whose title, “The Warden of -the Fishes,” carried the mind back to a time when the -borough, much larger then, had been a considerable -centre of the fishing industry. This office, tenable for -life, carried with it very few actual duties now but it -ensured a secure though small emolument and, what -was more important, the occupancy, free of rent, of -one of the most picturesque houses in the place, an old -pre-Elizabethan dwelling of incommodious size but of -romantic appearance, standing at the edge of the harbour.</p> - -<p>The last incumbent of this quaint and historic office, -whose duties were so little onerous that they could be -performed by a very old and very feeble man, was a -notable character of the village called John Peewit -Swinebitter, whose chief glory was not attained until -the close of his mortal days, which ended under the -table in the Admiral’s Head after a surfeit of the very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[362]</a></span> -fish of which he was “warden” washed down by too -copious libations of Keith-Radipole ale.</p> - -<p>Since Mr. Swinebitter’s decease in June, there had -gone on all through July and August, a desperate rivalry -between two town factions as to the choosing -of his successor and it was Mr. Traherne’s inspired -notion to take advantage of this division to secure the -post for Nance’s prospective husband.</p> - -<p>Sorio, though of foreign blood, was by birth and -nationality English and moreover he had picked up, -during his stay in Rodmoor, quite as much familiarity -with the ways and habits of fish as were necessary for -that easy post. If, at any unforeseen crisis, more -scientific and intimate knowledge was required than was -at his disposal, there was always Dr. Raughty, a past -master in all such matters, to whom he could apply. -It was Mr. Traherne’s business to wheedle the local -rivals into relinquishing their struggle in favour of -one who was outside the contention and when this was -accomplished the remaining obstacles in the way of the -appointment were not hard to surmount. Luckily for -the conspirators, Brand Renshaw, though the largest -local landowner and a Justice of the Peace, was not -on the Rodmoor council.</p> - -<p>So skillfully did Mr. Traherne handle the matter and -so cautious and reserved was Nance that it was not till -after the final reading of their bans in the church on -the marshes and the completion of the arrangements -for their marriage at the end of the following week, -that even Baltazar Stork became aware of what was -in the wind.</p> - -<p>Sorio himself had been extremely surprised at this -unexpected favour shown him by the local tradesmen.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[363]</a></span> -He had brooded so long upon his morbid delusion of -universal persecution that it seemed incredible to him, -in the few interviews which he had with these people, -that they should treat him in so courteous and kind a -manner. As a matter of fact, so fierce and obstinate -were their private dissensions, it was a genuine relief -to them to deal with a person from outside; nor must -it be forgotten that in the appointment of Nance’s husband -to the coveted post they were doing honour to -the memory of the bride’s father, Captain Herrick having -been by far the most popular of all the visitors to -Rodmoor in former times. Most of the older members -of the council could well remember the affable sailor. -Many of them had frequently gone out fishing with him -in the days when there were more fish and rarer fish to -be caught than there were at present—those “old -days” in fact which, in most remote villages, are associated -with stuffed wonders in tavern parlours and -with the quips and quirks of half-legendary heroes of -Sport and Drink.</p> - -<p>It was a reversion to such “old days” to have a -gentleman “Warden of the Fishes.” Besides it was a -blow at the Renshaws between whom and the town-council -there was an old established feud. For it was -not hidden from the gossips of Rodmoor that the relations -between Nance and the family at Oakguard were -more than a little strained, nor did the shrewder ones -among them hesitate to whisper dark and ominous -hints as to the nature of this estrangement.</p> - -<p>Baltazar Stork received the news of his friend’s -approaching marriage with something like mute fury. -The morning when Sorio announced it to him was one -of concentrated gloom. The sea was high and rough.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[364]</a></span> -The wind wailed through the now almost leafless sycamores -and made the sign which bore the Admiral’s head -creak and groan in its iron frame. It had rained -steadily all through the night and though the rain -had now ceased there was no sun to dry the little pools -of water which lay in all the trodden places in the -green or the puddles, choked up with dead leaves, -which stared desolately from the edges of the road -upon the sombre heaven. Sorio, having made his momentous -announcement in a negligent, off-hand way, -as though it were a matter of small importance, rushed -off to meet Nance at the station and go with her to -Mundham.</p> - -<p>As it was Saturday the girl had no scruple about -leaving her work. In any case she would have been -free, with the rest of Miss Pontifex’s employees, in the -early afternoon. She was anxious to spend as long -a time as was possible making her final purchases preparatory -to their taking possession of Ferry Lodge. -The mere name of this relic of Rodmoor’s faded glory -was indicative of how times had changed. What was -once an inland crossing—several miles from the shore—had -now become the river’s mouth and where farmers -formerly watered their cattle the fishing boats spread -their sails to meet the sea.</p> - -<p>Nance had made a clean sweep of the furniture of -their predecessor, something about the reputation of -Mr. Peewit Swinebitter prejudicing her, in perhaps an -exaggerated manner, against the buying of any of his -things. This fastidiousness on her part did not, however, -lessen the material difficulties of the situation, -Sorio being of singularly little assistance in the rôle -of a house-furnisher.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[365]</a></span></p> - -<p>Meanwhile, with hat pulled low down over his forehead -and his cane switching the rain-drenched grass, -Baltazar Stork walked up and down in front of his -cottage. He walked thus until he was tired and then -he came and stood at the edge of the green and looked -at his empty house and at the puddles in the road. -Into the largest of these puddles he idly poked his stick, -stirring the edge of a half-submerged leaf and making -it float across the muddy water. Children passed him -unheeded, carrying cans and bottles to be filled at the -tavern. Little boys came up to him, acquaintances of -his, full of gaiety and mischief, but something in his -face made them draw back and leave him. Never, in -all his relations with his friend, had Baltazar derived -more pleasure from being with him than he had done -during the recent weeks. That condition of helpless -and wistful incompetence which Nance found so trying -in Sorio was to Baltazar Stork the cause of the most -delicate and exquisite sensations. Never had he loved -the man so well—never had he found him so fascinating. -And now, just at the moment when he, the initiated -adept in the art of friendship, was reaping the -reward of his long patience with his friend’s waywardness -and really succeeding in making him depend on -him exactly in the way he loved best, there came this -accursed girl and carried him off!</p> - -<p>The hatred which he felt at that moment towards -Nance was so extreme that it overpowered and swamped -every other emotion. Baltazar Stork was of that peculiarly -constituted disposition which is able to hate -the more savagely and vindictively because of the -very fact that its normal mood is one of urbane and -tolerant indifference. The patient courtesy of a lifetime,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[366]</a></span> -the propitiatory arts of a long suppression, had -their revenge just then for all they had made him endure. -In a certain sense it was well for him that he -<em>could</em> hate. It was, indeed in a measure, an instinct of -self-preservation that led him to indulge such a feeling. -For below his hatred, down in the deeper levels -of his soul, there yawned a gulf, the desolating emptiness -of which was worse than death. He did not visualize -this gulf in the same concrete manner as he had -done on a previous occasion, but he was conscious of -it none the less. It was as a matter of fact a thing -that had been for long years hidden obscurely under -the hard, gay surface of his days. He covered it over -by one distraction or the other. Its remote presence -had given an added intensity to his zest for the various -little pleasures, æsthetic or otherwise, which it was his -habit to enjoy. It had done more. It had reduced -to comparative insignificance the morbid vexations and -imaginative reactions from which his friend suffered. -He could afford to appear hard and crystal-cold, capable -of facing with equanimity every kind of ultimate -horror. And he <em>was</em> capable of facing such. Under -the shadow of a thing like that—a thing beyond the -worst of insane obsessions, for his mind was cruelly -clear as he turned his eyes inward—he was able to -look contemptuously into the Gorgon face of any kind -of terror. When he chose he could always see the -thing as it was, see it as the desolation of emptiness, -as a deep, frozen space, void of sound or movement or -life or hope or end. There was not the least tinge of -insanity in the vision.</p> - -<p>What he was permitted to see, by reason of some -malign clarity of intellect denied to the majority of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[367]</a></span> -his fellows, was simply the real truth of life, its frozen -chemistry and deadly purposelessness. Most men visualize -existence through a blurring cloud of personal -passion, either erotic or imaginative. They suffer, -but they suffer from illusion. What separated Baltazar -from the majority was his power of seeing things -in absolute colourlessness—unconfused by any sort of -distorting mirage. Thus what he saw with his soul -was the ghastly loneliness of his soul. He saw this -frozen, empty, hollow space and he saw it as the natural -country in which his soul dwelt, its unutterable -reality, its appalling truth. That was why no thought -of suicide ever came to him. The thing was too deep. -He might kill himself, but in so doing he would only -destroy the few superficial distractions that afforded -him a temporary freedom. For suicide would only -fling him—that at least is what, with horrible clarity, -he had come to feel about it—into the depths of his -soul, into the very abyss, that is to say, which he -escaped by living on the surface. It was a kind of -death-in-life that he was conscious of, below his crystalline -amenities, but one does not fly to death to escape -from death.</p> - -<p>It will be seen from this how laughable to him were -all Sorio’s neurotic reactions from people and things. -People and things were precisely what Baltazar clung -to, to avoid that “frozen sea” lying there at the back -of everything. It will be easily imagined too, how absurd -to him—how fantastic and unreal—were the -various hints and glimpses which Sorio had permitted -him into what his friend called his “philosophy of destruction.” -To make a “philosophy” out of a struggle -to reach the ultimate horror of that “frozen sea,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[368]</a></span> -how lamentably pathetic it was, and how childish! -No sane person would contemplate such a thing and -the attempt proved that Sorio was not sane. As for -the Italian’s vague and prophetic suggestions with regard -to the possibility of something—philosophers -always spoke of “something” when they approached -nothing!—beyond “what we call life” that seemed -to Baltazar’s mind mere poetic balderdash and moon-struck -mysticism. But he had always listened patiently -to Sorio’s incoherences. The man would not -have been himself without his mad philosophy! It was -part of that charming weakness in him that appealed -to Baltazar so. It was absurd, of course—this whole -business of writing philosophic books—but he was -ready to pardon it, ready to listen all night and day -to his friend’s dithyrambic diatribes, as long as they -brought that particular look of exultation which he -found so touching into his classic face!</p> - -<p>This “look of exultation” in Sorio’s features had -indeed been accompanied during the last month by an -expression of wistful and bewildered helplessness and -it was just the union of these two things that Baltazar -found so irresistibly appealing. He was drawn closer -to Adrian, in fact, during these Autumn days, than he -had ever been drawn to any one. And it was just at -this moment, just when he was happiest in their life -together, that Nance Herrick must needs obtrude her -accursed feminine influence and with this result! So -he gave himself up without let or hindrance to his -hatred of this girl. His hatred was a cold, calculated, -deliberate thing, clear of all volcanic disturbances -but, such as it was, it possessed him at that moment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[369]</a></span> -to the exclusion of everything else. He imagined -to himself now, as with the end of his stick he guided -that sycamore leaf across the puddle, how Nance would -buy those things in the Mundham shops and what -pleasure there would be in her grey eyes, that peculiar -pleasure unlike anything else in the world which a -woman has when she is indulging, at the same moment, -her passion for domestic detail and her passion for her -lover!</p> - -<p>He saw the serene <em>possessive</em> look in her face, the -look of one who at last, after long waiting, arrives -within sight of the desired end. He saw the little outbursts -of girlish humour—oh, he knew them so well, -those outbursts!—and he saw the fits of half-assumed, -half-natural shyness that would come over her and -the soft, dreamy tenderness in her eyes, as together -with Adrian, she bought this thing or the other, full -of delicate association, for their new dwelling-place. -His imagination went even further. He seemed to -hear her voice as she spoke sympathetically, pityingly, -of himself. She would be sure to do that! It would -come so prettily from her just then and would appeal -so much to Adrian! She would whisper to him over -their lunch in some little shop—he saw all that too—of -how sad she felt to be taking him away from his old -friend and leaving that friend alone. And he could see -the odd bewildered smile, half-remorseful and half-joyful -with which Sorio would note that disinterested -sympathy and think to himself what a noble affectionate -creature she was and how lucky he was to win her. -He saw how careful she would be not to tire him or -tease him with her purchases, how she would probably<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[370]</a></span> -vary the tedium of the day with some pleasant little -strolls together round the Abbey grounds or perhaps -down by the wharves and the barges.</p> - -<p>Yes, she had won her victory. She was gathering -up her spoils. She was storing up her possessions! -Could any human feeling, he asked himself with a -deadly smile upon his lips, be more sickeningly, more -achingly, intense than the hatred he felt for this normal, -natural, loving woman?</p> - -<p>He swept his stick through the muddy water, splashing -it vindictively on all sides and then, moving into -the middle of the road, looked at his empty cottage. -Here, then, he would have to live again alone! Alone -with himself, alone with his soul, alone with the truth -of life!</p> - -<p>No, it was too much. He never would submit to -it. Better swallow at once and without more nonsense -the little carefully concocted draught which he -had long kept under lock and key! After all he would -have to come to that, sooner or later. He had long -since made up his mind that if things and persons—the -“things and persons” he used as his daily drug, -failed him or lost their savour he would take the irrevocable -step and close the whole farce. Everything -was the same. Everything was equal. He would only -move one degree nearer the central horror—the great -ice field of eternity—the plain without end or beginning, -frozen and empty, empty and frozen! He stared -at his cottage windows. No, it was unthinkable, beginning -life over again without Adrian. A hundred -little things plucked at random from the sweet monotony -of their days together came drifting through his mind. -The peculiar look Adrian had when he first woke in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[371]</a></span> -the morning—the savage greediness with which he -would devour honey and brown bread—the pleading, -broken, childlike tones in his voice when, after some -quarrel between them he begged his friend to forgive -him—all these things and many others, came pouring -in upon him in a great wave of miserable self-pity. -No—she should not win. She should not triumph. -She should not enjoy the fruits of her victory—the -strong feminine animal! He would sooner kill her and -then kill himself to avoid the gallows. But killing was -a silly futile kind of revenge. Infants in the art of -hatred <em>killed</em> their enemies! But at any rate, if he -killed her she would never settle down in her nice new -house with her dear husband! But then, on the other -hand, she would be the winner to the end. She would -never feel as he was feeling now; she would never look -into his eyes and know that he knew he had beaten her; -he would never <em>see</em> her disappointment. No—killing -was a stupid, melodramatic, blundering way out of it. -Artists ought to have a subtler imagination! Well, -something must be done, and done soon. He felt he -did not care what suffering he caused Sorio, the more -<em>he</em> suffered the better, if only he could see the look in -those grey eyes of Nance that confessed she was defeated!</p> - -<p>Quite quietly, quite calmly, he gathered together all -the forces of his nature to accomplish this one end. -His hatred rose to the level of a passion. He vowed -that nothing should make him pause, no scruple, no -obstacle, until he saw that beaten look in Nance’s face. -Like all dominant obsessions, like all great lusts, his -purpose associated itself with a clear concrete image, -the image of the girl’s expression when at last, face to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[372]</a></span> -face with him, she knew herself broken, helpless and at -his mercy.</p> - -<p>He walked swiftly down the High Street, crossed the -open space by the harbour and made his way to the -edge of the waves. Surely that malignant tide would -put some triumphant idea into his brain. The sea—the -sterile, unharvested sea—had from the beginning -of the world, been the enemy of woman! Warden of -the Fishes! He laughed as he thought of Sorio’s assuming -such a title.</p> - -<p>“Not yet, my friend—not quite yet!” he murmured, -gazing across the stormy expanse of water. -Warden of the Fishes! With a strong, sweet, affectionate -wife to look after him? “No, no, Adriano!” -he cried hoarsely, “we haven’t come to that yet—we -haven’t come to that quite yet!”</p> - -<p>By some complicated, psychological process he -seemed to be aware, as he stared at the foaming sea-horses, -of the head of his mute friend Flambard floating, -amid the mist of his own woman-like hair, in the -green hollows of the surf. He found himself vaguely -wondering what he—the super-subtle Venetian—would -have done had he been “fooled to the top of -his bent” by a girl like Nance—had he been betrayed -in his soul’s deepest passion. And all at once it came -over him, not distinctly and vividly but obscurely and -remotely as if through a cloudy vapour from a long -way off, from far down the vistas of time itself, what -Flambard would have done.</p> - -<p>He stooped and picked up a long leather-like thong -of wet, slippery seaweed and caressed it with his hands. -At that moment there passed through him a most curious -sensation—the sensation that he had himself—he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[373]</a></span> -and not Flambard—stood just in this way but by a -different sea, ages, centuries ago—and had arrived -at the same conclusion. The sensation vanished -quickly enough and with it the image of Flambard, but -the idea of what remained for him to do still hovered -like a cloud at the back of his mind. He did not drag -it forth from its hiding place. He never definitely accepted -it. The thing was so dark and hideous, belonging -so entirely to an age when “passional crimes” -were more common and more remorseless than at the -present, that even Baltazar with all the frozen malice -of his hate scrupled to visualize it in the daylight. -But he did not drive it away. He permitted it to work -upon him and dominate him. It was as though some -“other Baltazar” from a past as remote as Flambard’s -own and perhaps far remoter—had risen up -within him in answer to that cry to the inhuman waters. -The actual working of his mind was very complicated -and involved at that moment. There were moments -of wavering—moments of drawing back into -the margin of uncertainty. But these moments grew -constantly less and less effective. Beyond everything -else that definite image of Nance’s grey eyes, full of -infinite misery, confessing her defeat, and even pleading -with him for mercy, drove these wavering moments -away. It was worth it, any horror was worth it, to -satiate his revenge by the sight of what her expression -would be as he looked into her face then. And, after -all, the thing he projected would in any case, come -about sooner or later. It was on its way. The destinies -called for it. The nature of life demanded it. -The elements conspired to bring it about. The man’s -own fatality was already with a kind of vehemence,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[374]</a></span> -rushing headlong—under the fall of these Autumn -rains and the drifting of these Autumn leaves—to -meet it and embrace it! All he would have to do himself -would be just to give the wheel of fate the least -little push, the least vibration of an impulse forward, -with his lightest finger!</p> - -<p>Perhaps, as far as his friend was concerned, he would -really, in this way, be saving him in the larger issue. -Were Adrian’s mind, for instance, to break down now -at once, rendering it necessary that he should be put, -as they say in that appalling phrase, “under restraint,” -it might as a matter of fact, save his brain -from ultimate and final disaster. It is true that this -aspect of what he projected was too fantastic, too -ironically distorted, to be dwelt upon clearly or logically -but it came and went like a shadowy bird hovering -about a floating carcass, round the outskirts of his -unspeakable intention. What he reverted to more -articulately, as he made his way back across the littered -sand-heaps to the entrance of the harbour, was -the idea that, after all, he would only be precipitating -an inevitable crisis. His friend was already on the -verge of an attack of monomania, if not of actual insanity. -Sooner or later the thing must come to a -definite climax. Why not anticipate events, then, and -let the climax occur when it would save him from this -intolerable folly—worse than madness—of giving -himself up to his feminine pursuer? As he made his -way once more through the crowded little street, the -fixed and final impression all these thoughts left upon -his mind was the impression of Nance Herrick’s face, -pale, vanquished and helpless, staring up at him from -the ground beneath his feet.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[375]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXIV">XXIV<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE TWENTY-EIGHTH OF OCTOBER</span></h2> - -<p>Baltazar was not long in carrying out what, -in bitter self-colloquy, he called his Flambardian -campaign. He deliberately absented himself -from his work in the Mundham office and gave up all -his time to Sorio. He now encouraged this latter in -all his most dangerous manias, constantly leading the -conversation round to what he knew were exciting and -agitating topics and bringing him back again and -again to especial points of irritation and annoyance.</p> - -<p>The days quickly passed, however, and Adrian, -though in a strange and restless mood, had still, in no -public manner, given evidence of insanity, and short, -of course, of some such public manifestation, his -treacherous friend’s plan of having him put under restraint, -fell to the ground.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, Nance’s preparations for her marriage -and for their entrance into their new home advanced -towards completion. It was within three days of the -date decided upon for their wedding when Nance, who -had had less time recently at her disposal for watching -her sister’s moods, came suddenly to the conclusion, -as, on a wild and stormy afternoon, she led her home -from the church, that something was seriously wrong. -At first, as they left the churchyard and began making -their way towards the bridge, she thought the gloom -of the evening was a sufficient reason for Linda’s despairing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[376]</a></span> -silence, but as they advanced, with the wind -beating in their faces and the roar of the sea coming -to them over the dunes, she came to the conclusion -that the cause lay deeper.</p> - -<p>But that night—it was the twenty-eighth of October—was -certainly desolate enough to be the cause of -any human being’s depression. The sun was sinking -as the sisters started for their walk home. A blood-red -streak, jagged and livid, like the mutilated back -of some bleeding monster, lay low down over the fens. -The wind wailed in the poplars, whistled through the -reeds, and sighed in long melancholy gasps like the sobbing -of some unhappy earth-spirit across the dykes -and the ditches. One by one a few flickering lamps -appeared among the houses of the town as the girls -drew near the river, but the long wavering lines of -light thrown by these across the meadows only increased -the general gloom.</p> - -<p>“Don’t let’s cross at once,” said Linda suddenly, -when they reached the bridge. “Let’s walk along the -bank—just a little way! I feel excited and queer to-night. -I’ve been in the church so long. Please let’s -stay out a little.”</p> - -<p>Nance thought it better to agree to the child’s caprice; -though the river-bank at that particular hour -was dark with a strange melancholy. They left the -road and walked slowly along the tow-path in the direction -away from the town. A group of cattle standing -huddled together near the path, rushed off into the -middle of the field.</p> - -<p>The waters of the Loon were high—the tide flowing -sea-ward—and here and there from the windows of -some scattered houses on the opposite bank, faint<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[377]</a></span> -lights were reflected upon the river’s surface. A -strong smell of seaweed and brackish mud came up to -them from the dark stream.</p> - -<p>“What secrets,” said Linda suddenly, “this old -Loon could tell, if it could speak! I call it a haunted -river.”</p> - -<p>Nance’s only reply to this was to pull her sister’s -cloak more tightly round her shoulders.</p> - -<p>“I don’t mean in the sense of having drowned so -many people,” Linda went on, “I mean in the sense of -being half-human itself.”</p> - -<p>The words were hardly out of her mouth when a -slender dusky figure that had been leaning against the -edge of one of the numerous weirs that connect the -river-tides with the streams of the water-meadows, came -suddenly towards them and revealed herself as Philippa -Renshaw.</p> - -<p>Both the girls drew back in instinctive alarm. Nance -was the first to recover.</p> - -<p>“So you too are out to-night,” she said. “Linda -got so tired of practising, so we—”</p> - -<p>Philippa interrupted her: “Since we <em>have</em> met, -Nance Herrick, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t talk -a little. Or do you think the people about here would -find that an absurd thing for us to do, as we’re both -in love with the same man, and you’re going to marry -him?”</p> - -<p>She uttered these words so calmly and in so strange -a voice that Nance for the moment was too startled to -reply. She recovered herself quickly, however, and -taking Linda by the arm, made as if she would pass her -by, without further speech. But Philippa refused to -permit this. With the slow dramatic movement always<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[378]</a></span> -characteristic of her, she stepped into the middle of the -path and stopped them. Linda, at this, hung back, -trying to draw her sister away.</p> - -<p>The two women faced one another in breathless silence. -It was too dark for them to discern more than -the vaguest outlines of each other’s features, but they -were each conscious of the extreme tension, which, like -a wave of magnetic force, at once united and divided -them. Nance was the first to break the spell.</p> - -<p>“I’m surprised,” she said, “to hear you speak of -love. I thought you considered all that sort of thing -sentimental and idiotic.”</p> - -<p>Philippa’s hand went up in a quick and desperate -gesture, almost an imploring one.</p> - -<p>“Miss Herrick,” she whispered in a very low and -very clear tone, “you needn’t do that. You needn’t -say those things. You needn’t hurt me more than is -necessary.”</p> - -<p>“Come away, Nance. Oh, please come away and -leave her!” interjected Linda.</p> - -<p>“Miss Herrick, listen to me one moment!” Philippa -continued, speaking so low as almost to be inaudible. -“I have something to ask of you, something that you -can do for me. It isn’t very much. It isn’t anything -that you need suspect. It is a little thing. It’s nothing -you could possibly mind.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t listen to her, Nance,” cried Linda again. -“Don’t listen to her.”</p> - -<p>Philippa’s voice trembled as she went on, “I beg you, -I beg you on my knees to hear me. We two may never -meet again after this. Nance Herrick, will you, will -you let me speak?”</p> - -<p>Linda leapt forward. She was shaking from head<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[379]</a></span> -to foot with fear and anger. “No,” she cried, “she -shall not listen to you. She shall not, she shall not.”</p> - -<p>Nance hesitated, weary and sick at heart. She had -so hoped and prayed that all these lacerating contests -were over and done with.</p> - -<p>Finally she said, “I think you must see, you must -feel, that between you and me there can be nothing—nothing -more—nothing further. I think you’ll be -wise, I think you’ll recognize it afterwards, to let me -go now, to let me go and leave us alone.” As she spoke -she drew away from her and put her arm round Linda’s -waist. “In any case,” she added, “I can’t possibly -hear you before this child. Perhaps, but I can’t promise -anything, but perhaps, some other day, when I’m -by myself.”</p> - -<p>She gave one sad, half-sympathetic, half-reproachful -glance, at the frail shadowy figure standing mute and -silent; and then turning quickly, let herself be led away.</p> - -<p>Linda swung round when they were some few paces -away. “She’ll never listen to you!” She called out, -in a shrill vibrating voice, “I won’t ever let her listen -to you.”</p> - -<p>The growing darkness, made thicker by the river-mists, -closed in between them, and in a brief while their -very footsteps ceased to be heard. Philippa was left -alone. She looked round her. On the fen side of the -pathway there was nothing but a thick fluctuating -shadow, out of which the forms of a few pollard-willows -rose like panic-stricken ghosts. On the river itself -there shimmered at intervals a faint whitish gleam as -if some lingering relics of the vanished day, slow in -their drowning, struggled to rise to the surface.</p> - -<p>She moved back again to the place where she had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[380]</a></span> -been standing at the edge of the weir. Leaning upon -the time-worn plank rotten with autumn rains, she gazed -down into the dense blackness beneath. Nothing could -be seen but darkness. She might have been looking -down into some unfathomable pit, leading to the caverns -of the mid-earth.</p> - -<p>A deathly cold wave of damp air met her face as she -leaned over the plank, and a hollow gurgling roar, from -the heavy volume of water swirling in the darkness, -rose to her ears. She could smell the unseen water; -and the smell of it was like the smell of dead black -leaves plucked forth from a rain pool in the heart of a -forest.</p> - -<p>As she leaned forward with her soft breast pressing -against the wooden bar and her long slender fingers -clutching its edge, a sinister line of poetry, picked up -somewhere—she could not recall where—came into -her mind, and she found her lips mechanically echoing -it. “Like a wolf, sucked under a weir,” the line ran, -and over and over again she repeated those words.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Nance, as they returned across the bridge, -did her best to soothe and quiet her sister. The sudden -appearance of Philippa seemed to have thrown the -girl into a paroxysm of frenzy. “Oh, how I hate -her!” she kept crying out, “oh, how I loathe and hate -her!”</p> - -<p>Nance was perplexed and bewildered by Linda’s mood. -Never had she known the girl to give way to feelings -of this sort. When at last she got her into their house, -and had seen her take off her things and begin tidying -herself up for their evening meal quite in her accustomed -way, she asked her point-blank what was the -matter, and why to-day, on this twenty-eighth of October,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[381]</a></span> -she had suddenly grown different from her ordinary -self.</p> - -<p>Linda, standing with bare arms by the mirror and -passing a comb through her heavy hair, turned almost -fiercely round.</p> - -<p>“Do you want to know? Do you really want to -know?” she cried, throwing back her head and holding -the hair back with her hands. “It’s because of Philippa -that <em>he</em> has deserted me! It’s because of Philippa -that he hasn’t seen me nor spoken to me for a whole -month! It’s because of Philippa that he won’t answer -my letters and won’t meet me anywhere! It’s because -of Philippa that now—now when I most want him”—and -she threw the comb down and flung herself on her -bed—“he refuses to come to me or to speak a word.”</p> - -<p>“How do you know it’s because of Philippa?” Nance -asked, distressed beyond words to find that in spite of -all her efforts Linda was still as obsessed by Brand as -ever before.</p> - -<p>“I know <em>from him</em>,” the girl replied. “You needn’t -ask me any more. She’s got power over him, and she -uses it against me. If it wasn’t for her he’d have married -me before now.” She sat up on the edge of her -bed and looked woefully at her sister with large sunken -eyes. “Yes,” she went on, “if it wasn’t for her he’d -marry me now—to-day—and, oh, Nance, I want -him so! I want him so!”</p> - -<p>Nance felt an oppressive weight of miserable helplessness -in the presence of this heart-stricken cry. As -she looked round the room and saw her various preparations -for leaving it and for securing the happiness -of her own love, she felt as though in some subtle way -she had once more betrayed the unhappy child. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[382]</a></span> -knew herself, only too well, what that famished and -starving longing is—that cry of the flesh and blood, -and the heart and the spirit, for what the eternal destinies -have put out of our reach!</p> - -<p>And she could do nothing to help her. What <em>could</em> -she do? Now for the first time in her life, as she looked -at that lamentable youthful figure, dumbly pleading -with her for some kind of miracle, Nance was conscious -of a vague unformulated indignation against the whole -system of things that rendered this sort of suffering -possible. If only <em>she</em> were a powerful and a tender -deity, how she would hasten to end this whole business -of sex-life which made existence so intolerable! Why -could not people be born into the world like trees or -plants? And being born, why could not love instinctively -create the answering passion it craved, and not -be left to beat itself against cruel walls, after scorching -itself in the irresistible flame?</p> - -<p>“Nance!” said the young girl suddenly. “Nance! -Come here. Come over to me. I want to tell you -something.”</p> - -<p>The elder sister obeyed. It was not long—for hard -though it may be to break silence, these things are -quickly spoken—before she knew the worst. Linda, -with her arms clutched tightly round her, and her face -hidden, confessed that she was with child.</p> - -<p>Nance leapt to her feet. “I’ll go to him,” she cried,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[383]</a></span> -“I’ll go to him at once! Of course he must marry you -now. He must! He must! I’ll go to him. I’ll go -to Hamish. I’ll go to Adrian—to Fingal! He <em>must</em> -marry you, Linda. Don’t cry, little one. I’ll make it -all right. It <em>shall</em> be all right! I’ll go to him this -very evening.”</p> - -<p>A faint flush appeared in Linda’s pale cheeks and -a glimmer of hope in her eyes. “Do you think, possibly, -that there’s any chance? <em>Can</em> there be any -chance? But no, no, darling, I know there’s none—I -know there’s none.”</p> - -<p>“What makes you so sure, Linda?” asked Nance, -rapidly changing her dress, and as she did so pouring -herself out a glass of milk.</p> - -<p>“It’s Philippa,” murmured the other in a low voice. -“Oh, how I hate her! How I hate her!” she continued, -in a sort of moaning refrain, twisting her long hair -between her fingers and tying the ends of it into a little -knot.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m off, my dear,” cried Nance at length, -finishing her glass of milk and adjusting her hat-pins. -“I’m going straight to find him. I may pick up Adrian -on the way, or I may not. It rather depends. -And I <em>may</em> have a word or two with Philippa. The -chances are that I shall overtake her if I go now. She -can’t have waited much longer down by the river.”</p> - -<p>Linda rushed up to her and clasped her in her arms. -“My own darling!” she murmured, “how good you -are to me—how good you are! Do you know, I was -<em>afraid</em> to tell you this—afraid that you’d be angry -and ashamed and not speak to me for days. But, oh, -Nance, I do love him so much! I love him more than -my life—more than my life <em>even now</em>!”</p> - -<p>Nance kissed her tenderly. “Make yourself some -tea, my darling, won’t you? We’ll have supper whenever -I come back, and that’ll be—I hope—with good -news for you! Good-bye, my sweetheart! Say your -prayers for me, and don’t be frightened however late -I am. And have a good tea!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[384]</a></span></p> - -<p>She kissed her again, and with a final wave of the -hand and an encouraging smile, she left the room and -ran down the stairs. She walked slowly to the top of -the street, her head bent, wondering in her mind whether -she should ask Adrian to go with her to the Renshaws’ -or whether she should go alone.</p> - -<p>The question was decided for her. As she emerged -on the green she suddenly came upon Sorio himself, -standing side by side with Philippa. They both turned -quickly as, in the flare of a wind-blown lamp, they perceived -her approach. They turned and awaited her -without a word.</p> - -<p>Without a word, too—and in that slow dreamlike -manner which human beings assume at certain crises -in their lives, when fate like a palpable presence among -them takes their movements into its own hand—they -moved off, all three together, in the direction of the -park gates. Not a word did any of them utter, till, -having passed the gates, they were quite far advanced -along that dark and lonely avenue.</p> - -<p>Then Philippa broke the silence. “I can say to her, -Adrian, what I’ve just said to you—mayn’t I?”</p> - -<p>In the thick darkness, full of the heavy smell of -rain-soaked leaves, Sorio walked between them. -Nance’s hand was already resting upon his arm, and -now, as she spoke, Philippa’s fingers searched for his, -and took them in her own and held them feverishly.</p> - -<p>“You can say what you please, Phil,” he muttered, -“but you’ll see what she answers—just what I told -you just now.”</p> - -<p>Their tone of intimate association stabbed like a -knife at the heart of Nance. A moment ago—in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[385]</a></span> -fact, ever since she had left her by the weir—she had -been feeling less antagonistic and more pitiful towards -her vanquished rival. But this pronoun “she” applied -mutually by them to herself, seemed to push her -back—back and away—outside the circle of some -mysterious understanding between the two. Her heart -hardened fiercely. Was this girl still possessed of some -unknown menacing power?</p> - -<p>“What I asked Adrian,” said Philippa quietly, while -the pressure of her burning fingers within the man’s -hand indicated the strain of this quietness, “was -whether you would be generous and noble enough to give -him up to me for his last free day—the last day before -you’re married. Would you be large-hearted -enough for that?”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean—‘give him up’ to you?” murmured -Nance.</p> - -<p>Philippa burst in a shrill unearthly laugh. “Oh, -you needn’t be frightened!” she exclaimed. “You -needn’t be jealous. I only mean let me go with him, -for the whole day, a long walk—you know—or something -like that—perhaps a row up the river. It -doesn’t matter what, as long as I feel that that day is -<em>my</em> day, my day <em>with him</em>—the last, and the longest!”</p> - -<p>She was silent, feverish, her fingers twining and twisting -themselves round her companion’s, and her breath -coming in quick gasps. Nance was silent also, and -they all three moved forward through the heavy fragrant -darkness.</p> - -<p>“You two seem to have settled it between yourselves -definitely enough,” Nance remarked at last. “I don’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[386]</a></span> -really see why you need bring me into it at all. Adrian -is, of course, entirely free to do what he likes. I don’t -see what I have to do with it!”</p> - -<p>Philippa’s hot fingers closed tightly upon Sorio’s as -she received this rebuff. “You see!” she murmured -in a tone that bit into Nance’s flesh like the tooth of -an adder. “You see, Adriano!” She shrugged her -shoulders and gave a low vindictive laugh. “She’s a -thorough woman,” she added with stinging emphasis. -“She’s what my mother would call a sweet, tender, -sensitive girl. But we mustn’t expect too much from -her, Adrian, must we? I mean in the way of generosity.”</p> - -<p>Nance withdrew her hand from the arm of her betrothed -and they all three walked on in silence.</p> - -<p>“You see what you’re in for, my friend,” Philippa -began again. “Once married it’ll be always like this. -That is what you seem unable to realize. It’s a mistake, -as I’ve often said, this mixing of classes.”</p> - -<p>Nance could no longer restrain herself. “May I -ask what you mean by that last remark?” she whispered -in a low voice.</p> - -<p>Philippa laughed lightly. “It doesn’t need much -explanation,” she replied. “Adrian is, of course, of -very ancient blood, and you—well, you betray yourself -naturally by this lack of nobility, this common -middle-class jealousy!”</p> - -<p>Nance turned fiercely upon them, and clutching -Sorio’s arm spoke loudly and passionately. “And <em>you</em>—what -are <em>you</em>, who, like a girl of the streets, are -ready to pick up what you can of a man’s attentions -and attract him with mere morbid physical attraction? -<em>You</em>—what are <em>you</em>, who, as you say yourself, are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[387]</a></span> -ready to <em>share</em> a man with some one else? Do you call -<em>that</em> a sign of good-breeding?”</p> - -<p>Philippa laughed again. “It’s a sign at any rate -of being free from that stupid, stuffy, bourgeois respectability, -which Adrian is going to get a taste of -now! That very sneer of yours—‘a girl of the -streets’—shows the class to which you belong, Nance -Herrick! We don’t say those things. It’s what one -hears among tradespeople.”</p> - -<p>Nance’s fingers almost hurt Sorio’s arms as she -tightened her hold upon him. “It’s better than being -what <em>you</em> are, Philippa Renshaw,” she burst out. “It’s -better than deliberately helping your brother to ruin -innocent young girls—yes, and taking pleasure in -seeing him ruining them—and then taunting them -cruelly in their shame, and holding him back from doing -them justice! It’s better than that, Philippa Renshaw, -though it <em>may</em> be what most simple-minded decent-hearted -women feel. It’s better than being reduced -by blind passion to have to come to another -woman and beg her on your knees for a ‘last day’ as -you call it! It’s better than <em>that</em>—though it <em>may</em> -be what ordinary unintellectual people feel!”</p> - -<p>Philippa’s fingers grew suddenly numb and stiff in -Sorio’s grasp. “Do you know,” she murmured, “you -‘decent-feeling’ woman—if that’s what you call yourself—that -a couple of hours ago, when you left me -on the river bank, I was within an ace of drowning -myself? I suppose ‘decent-feeling’ women never run -such a risk! They leave that to ‘street-girls’ and—and—and -to us others!”</p> - -<p>Nance turned to Sorio. “So she’s been telling you -that she was thinking of drowning herself? I thought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[388]</a></span> -it was something of that kind! And I suppose you believed -her. I suppose you always believe her!”</p> - -<p>“And he always believes <em>you</em>!” Philippa cried. -“Yes, he’s always deceived—the easy fool—by your -womanly sensitive ways and your touching refinement! -It’s women like you, without intelligence and without -imagination, who are the ruin of men of genius. A -lot <em>you</em> care for his work! A lot <em>you</em> understand of -his thoughts! Oh, yes, you may get him, and cuddle -him, and spoil him, but, when it comes to the point, -what <em>you</em> are to him is a mere domestic drudge! And -not only a drudge, you’re a drag, a burden, a dead-weight! -A mere mass of ‘decent-feeling’ womanliness—weighing -him down. He’ll never be able to write -another line when once you’ve really got hold of him!”</p> - -<p>Nance had her answer to this. “I’d sooner he never -<em>did</em> write another line,” she cried, “and remain in his -sober senses, than be left to <em>your</em> influence, and be -driven mad by you—you and your diseased, morbid, -wicked imagination!”</p> - -<p>Their two voices, rising and falling in a lamentable -litany of elemental antagonism—antagonism cruel as -life and deeper than death—floated about Sorio’s -head, in that perfumed darkness, like opposing streams -of poison. It was only that he himself, harassed by -long irritating debates with Baltazar, was too troubled, -too obsessed by a thousand agitating doubts, to have -the energy or the spirit to bring the thing to an end, -or he could not have endured it up to this point. With -his nerves shaken by Baltazar’s corrosive arts, and the -weight of those rain-heavy trees and thick darkness all -around him, he felt as if he were in some kind of trance, -and were withheld by a paralysing interdict from lifting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[389]</a></span> -a finger. There came to him a sort of half-savage, -half-humorous remembrance of a conversation he had -once had with some one or other—his mind was too -confused to recall the occasion—in which he had upheld -the idealistic theory of the arrival of a day when -sex jealousy would disappear from the earth.</p> - -<p>But as the girls continued to outrage each other’s -most secret feelings, each unconsciously quickening her -pace as she poured forth her taunts, and both dragging -Sorio forward with them, the feeling grew upon him -that he was watching some deep cosmic struggle, that -was, in its way, as inhuman and elemental as a conflict -between wind and water. With this idea lodged -in his brain, he began to derive a certain wild and fantastic -pleasure from the way they lacerated one another. -There was no coxcombry in this. He was far -too wrought-upon and shaken in his mind. But there -was a certain grim exultant enjoyment, as if he were, -at that moment, permitted a passing glimpse into some -dark forbidden “cellarage” of Nature, where the -primordial elements clash together in eternal conflict.</p> - -<p>Inspired by this strange mood, he returned the pressure -of Philippa’s fingers, and entwined his arm round -the trembling form of his betrothed, drawing both the -girls closer towards him, and, in consequence, closer -towards one another.</p> - -<p>They continued their merciless encounter, almost unconscious, -it seemed, of the presence of the man who -was the cause of it, and without strength left to resist -the force with which he was gradually drawing them together.</p> - -<p>Suddenly the wind, which had dropped a little during -the previous hour, rose again in a violent and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[390]</a></span> -furious gust. It tore at the dark branches above their -heads and went moaning and wailing through the thickets -on either side of them. Drops of rain, held in suspension -by the thicker leaves, splashed suddenly upon -their faces, and from the far distance, with a long-drawn -ominous muttering, that seemed to come from -some unknown region of flight and disaster, the sound -of thunder came to their ears.</p> - -<p>Sorio dropped Philippa’s hand and embracing her -tightly, drew her, too, closely towards him. Thus interlocked -by the man’s arms, all three of them staggered -forward together, lashed by the wind and surrounded -by vague wood-noises that rose and fell mysteriously -in the impenetrable darkness.</p> - -<p>The powers of the earth seemed let loose, and strange -magnetic currents in fierce antipodal conflict, surged -about them, and tugged and pulled at their hearts. -The sound of the thunder, the wild noises of the night, -the strange dark evocations of elemental hatred which -at once divided and united his companions, surged -through Sorio’s brain and filled him with a sort of -intoxication.</p> - -<p>The three of them together might have been taken, -had the clock of time been put back two thousand -years, for some mad Dionysian worshippers following -their god in a wild inhuman revel.</p> - -<p>Inspired at last by a sort of storm-frenzy, while the -wind came wailing and shrieking down the avenue into -their faces, Sorio suddenly stopped.</p> - -<p>“Come, you two little fools,” he cried, “let’s end -this nonsense! Here—kiss one another! Kiss one -another, and thank God that we’re alive and free and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[391]</a></span> -conscious, and not mere inert matter, like these dead -drifting leaves!”</p> - -<p>As he spoke he stepped back a little, and with a -swing of his powerful arms, brought both the girls face -to face with one another. Nance struggled fiercely, -and resisted with all her strength. Philippa, with a -strange whispering laugh, remained passive in his hands.</p> - -<p>“Kiss one another!” he cried again. “Are you kissing -or are you holding back? It’s too dark for me to -see!”</p> - -<p>Philippa suddenly lost her passivity, slipped like a -snake from under his encircling arms, and rushed away -among the trees. “I leave her to you!” she called -back to them out of the darkness. “I leave her to -you! You won’t endure her long. <em>And what will -Baptiste do</em>, Adriano?”</p> - -<p>This last word of hers calmed Sorio’s mood and threw -him back upon his essential self. He sighed heavily.</p> - -<p>“Well, Nance,” he said, “shall we go back? It’s -no use waiting for her. She’ll find her way to Oakguard. -She knows every inch of these woods.” He -sighed again, as if bidding farewell, in one fate-burdened -moment, both to the woods and the girl who -knew them.</p> - -<p>“<em>You</em> can go back if you like,” Nance answered -curtly. “I’m going to speak to Brand”; and she told -him in a brief sentence what she had learned from -Linda.</p> - -<p>Sorio seized her hand and clutched it savagely. -“Yes, yes,” he cried, “yes, yes, let’s go together. He -must be taught a lesson—this Brand! Come, let’s go -together!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[392]</a></span></p> - -<p>They moved on rapidly and soon approached the -end of the avenue and the entrance to the garden. As -Sorio pushed open the iron gates, a sharp crack of -thunder, followed by reverberating detonations, broke -over their heads. The sudden flash that succeeded the -sound brought into vivid relief the dark form of the -house, while a long row of fading dahlias, drooping on -their rain-soaked stems, stood forth in ghastly illumination.</p> - -<p>Nance had time to catch on Adrian’s face a look -that gave her a premonition of danger. Had she not -herself been wrought-up to an unnatural pitch of excitement -by her contest with Philippa, she would probably -have been warned in time and have drawn back, -postponing her interview with Brand till she could have -seen him alone. As it was, she felt herself driven forward -by a force she could not resist. “Now—very -now,” she must face her sister’s seducer.</p> - -<p>A light, burning behind heavy curtains, in one of -the lower mullioned windows, enabled them to mount the -steps. As she rang the bell, a second peal of thunder, -but this time farther off, was followed by a vivid flash -of lightning, throwing into relief the wide spaces of -the park and the scattered groups of monumental -oak trees. For some queer psychic reason, inexplicable -to any material analysis, Nance at that moment -saw clearly before her mind’s eye, a little church -almanac, which Linda had pinned up above their -dressing-table, and on this almanac she saw the date—the -twenty-eighth of October—printed in Roman figures.</p> - -<p>To the servant who opened the door Nance gave their -names, and asked whether they could see Mr. Renshaw.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[393]</a></span> -“<em>Mr.</em> Renshaw,” she added emphatically, “and please -tell him it’s an urgent and important matter.”</p> - -<p>The man admitted them courteously and asked them -to seat themselves in the entrance hall while he went -to look for his master. He returned after a short time -and ushered them into the library, where a moment -later Brand joined them.</p> - -<p>During their moment of waiting, both in the hall and -in the room, Sorio had remained taciturn and inert, -sunk in a fit of melancholy brooding, his chin propped -on the handle of his stick. He had refused to allow the -servant to take out of his hands either his stick or his -hat, and he still held them both, doggedly and gloomily, -as he sat by Nance’s side opposite the carved fireplace.</p> - -<p>When Brand entered they both rose, but he motioned -them to remain seated, and drawing up a chair for himself -close by the side of the hearth, looked gravely and -intently into their faces.</p> - -<p>At that moment another rolling vibration of thunder -reached them, but this time it seemed to come from -very far away, perhaps from several miles out to sea.</p> - -<p>Brand’s opening words were accompanied by a fierce -lashing of rain against the window, and a spluttering, -hissing noise, as several heavy drops fell through the -old-fashioned chimney upon the burning logs.</p> - -<p>“I think I can guess,” he said, “why you two have -come to me. I am glad you have come, especially you, -Miss Herrick, as it simplifies things a great deal. It -has become necessary that you and I should have an -explanation. I owe it to myself as well as to you. -Bah! What nonsense I’m talking. It isn’t a case of -‘owing.’ It isn’t a case of ‘explaining.’ I can see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[394]</a></span> -that clearly enough”—he laughed a genial boyish -laugh—“in your two faces! It’s a case of our own -deciding, with all the issues of the future clearly in -mind, what will be really best for your sister’s happiness.”</p> - -<p>“She has not sent—” began Nance hurriedly.</p> - -<p>“What you’ve got to understand—you Renshaw—” -muttered Adrian, in a strange hoarse voice, -clenching and unclenching his fingers.</p> - -<p>Brand interrupted them both. “Pardon me,” he -cried, “you do not wish, I suppose, either of you, to -cause any serious shock to my mother? It’s absurd -of her, of course, and old-fashioned, and all that sort -of thing; but it would actually <em>kill</em> her—” he rose as -he spoke and uttered the words clearly and firmly. “It -would actually <em>kill</em> her to get any hint of what we’re -discussing now. So, if you’ve no objection, we’ll continue -this discussion in the work-shop.” He moved -towards the door.</p> - -<p>Sorio followed him with a rapid stride. “You must -understand, Renshaw—” he began.</p> - -<p>“If it’ll hurt your mother so,” cried Nance hurriedly, -“what must Linda be suffering? You didn’t -think of this, Mr. Renshaw, when you—”</p> - -<p>Brand swung round on his heel. “You shall say -all this to me, all that you wish to say—everything, -do you hear, everything! Only it must and <em>shall</em> be -where she cannot overhear us. Wait till we’re alone. -We shall be alone in the work-shop.”</p> - -<p>“If this ‘work-shop’ of yours,” muttered Sorio -savagely, seizing him by the arm, “turns out to be one -of your English tricks, you’d better—”</p> - -<p>“Silence, you fool!” whispered the other. “Can’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[395]</a></span> -you stop him, Miss Herrick? It’ll be pure murder if -my mother hears this!”</p> - -<p>Nance came quickly between them. “Lead on, Mr. -Renshaw,” she said. “We’ll follow you.”</p> - -<p>He led them across the hall and down a long dimly -lit passage. At the end of this there was a heavily -panelled door. Brand took a key from his pocket and -after some ineffectual attempts turned the lock and -stood aside to let them enter. He closed the door behind -them, leaving the key on the outside. The “work-shop” -Brand had spoken of turned out to be nothing -more or less than the old private chapel of Oakguard, -disassociated, however, for centuries from any religious -use.</p> - -<p>Nance glanced up at the carved ceiling, supported -on foliated corbels. The windows, high up from the -ground, were filled with Gothic tracery, but in place of -biblical scenes their diamonded panes showed the armorial -insignia of generations of ancient Renshaws. -There was a raised space at the east end, where, in former -times, the altar stood, but now, in place of an altar, -a carpenter’s table occupied the central position, covered -with a litter of laths and wood-chippings. The -middle portion of the chapel was bare and empty, but -several low cane chairs stood round this space, like -seats round a toy coliseum.</p> - -<p>Brand indicated these chairs to his visitors, but -neither Nance nor Sorio seemed inclined to avail themselves -of the opportunity to rest. They all three, -therefore, stood together, on the dark polished oak -floor.</p> - -<p>On first entering the chapel, Brand had lit one of a -long row of tapers that stood in wooden candlesticks<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[396]</a></span> -along the edge of what resembled choir stalls. Now, -leaving his companions, he proceeded very deliberately -to set light to the whole line of these. The place thus -illuminated had a look strangely weird and confused.</p> - -<p>Certain broken flower-pots on the ground, and one -or two rusty gardening implements, combined with the -presence of the wicker-chairs to produce the impression -of some sort of “Petit Trianon,” or manorial summer-house, -into which all manner of nondescript rubbish had -in process of long years come to drift.</p> - -<p>The coats-of-arms in the windows above, as the -tapers flung their light upon them, had an air almost -“collegiate,” as if the chamber were some ancient dining-hall -of a monastic order. The carpenter’s table -upon the raised dais, with some dimly coloured Italianated -picture behind it, inserted in the panelling, gave -Nance a most odd sensation. Where had she seen an -effect of that kind before? In a picture—or in -reality?</p> - -<p>But the girl had no heart to analyse her emotions. -There was too much at stake. The rain, pattering -heavily on the roof of the building, seemed to remind -her of her task. She faced Brand resolutely as he -strolled back towards them across the polished floor.</p> - -<p>“Linda has told me everything,” she said. “She is -going to have a child, and you, Mr. Renshaw, are the -father of it.”</p> - -<p>Sorio made an inarticulate exclamation and approached -Brand threateningly. But the latter, disregarding -him, continued to look Nance straight in the -face.</p> - -<p>“Miss Herrick,” he said quietly, “you are a sensible -woman and not one, I think, liable to hysteric sentimentalism.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[397]</a></span> -I want to discuss this thing quite freely -and openly with you, but I would greatly prefer it if -your husband—I beg your pardon—if Mr. Sorio -would let us talk without interrupting. I haven’t got -unlimited time. My mother and sister will be both -waiting dinner for me and sending people to find me, -perhaps even coming themselves. So it’s obviously in -the interests of all of us—particularly of Linda—that -we should not waste time in any mock heroics.”</p> - -<p>Nance turned quickly to her betrothed. “You’ll -hear all we say, Adrian, but if it makes things easier, -perhaps—”</p> - -<p>Without a word, in mute obedience to her sad smile, -Sorio left their side, and drawing back, seated himself -in one of the wicker chairs, hugging his heavy stick -between his knees.</p> - -<p>The rain continued falling without intermission upon -the leaden roof, and from a pipe above one of the -windows they could hear a great jet of water splashing -down outside the wall.</p> - -<p>Brand spoke in a low hurried tone, without embarrassment -and without any sort of shame. “Yes, Miss -Herrick, what she says is quite true. But now come -down to the facts, without any of this moral vituperation, -which only clouds the issues. You have, no doubt, -come here with the idea of asking me to marry Linda. -No! Don’t interrupt me. Let me finish. But I want -to ask you this—how do you know that if I marry -Linda, she’ll be <em>really</em> any happier than she is to-day? -Suppose I were to say to you that I would marry her—marry -her to-morrow—would <em>that</em>, when you come -to think it over in cold blood, really make you happy in -your mind about her future?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[398]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Come, Miss Herrick! Put aside for a moment -your natural anger against me. Grant what you -please as to my being a dangerous character and a bad -man, does that make me a suitable husband for your -sister? Your instinct is a common instinct—the natural -first instinct of any protector of an injured girl, -but is it one that will stand the light of quiet and reasonable -second thoughts?</p> - -<p>“I am, let us say, a selfish and unscrupulous man -who has seduced a young girl. Very well! You want -to punish me for my ill-conduct, and how do you go -about it? By giving up your sister into my hands! -By giving up to me—a cruel and unscrupulous -wretch, at your own showing—the one thing you love -best in the world! Is that a punishment such as I deserve? -In one moment you take away all my remorse, -for no one remains remorseful <em>after</em> he has been punished. -And you give my victim up—bound hand and -foot—into my hands.</p> - -<p>“Linda may love me enough to be glad to marry me, -quite apart from the question of her good fame. But -will you, who probably know me better than Linda, feel -happy at leaving her in my hands? Your idea may -be that I should marry her and then let her go. But -suppose I wouldn’t consent to let her go? And suppose -she wouldn’t consent to leave me?</p> - -<p>“There we are—tied together for life—and she as -the weaker of the two the one to suffer for the ill-fated -bargain! <em>That</em> will not have been a punishment for -me, Nance Herrick, nor will it have been a compensation -for her. It will simply have worked out as a -temporary boredom to one of us, and as miserable -wretchedness to the other!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[399]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Is that what you wish to bring about by this interference -on her behalf? It’s absurd to pretend that you -think of me as a mere hot-headed amorist, desperately -in love with Linda, as she is with me, and that, by -marrying us, you are smoothing out her path and settling -her down happily for the rest of her life. You -think of me as a cold-blooded selfish sensualist, and to -punish me for being what I am, you propose to put -Linda’s entire happiness absolutely in my hands!</p> - -<p>“Of course, I speak to you like this knowing that, -whatever your feelings are, you have the instincts of a -lady. A different type of woman from yourself would -consider merely the worldly aspect of the matter and -the advantage to your sister of becoming mistress of -Oakguard. <em>That</em>, I know, does not enter, for one moment, -into your thoughts, any more than it enters into -hers. I am not ironical in saying this. I am not insulting -you. I am speaking simply the truth.</p> - -<p>“Forgive me, Miss Herrick! Even to mention such -a thing is unworthy of either of us. I am, as you -quite justly realize—and probably more than you -realize—what the world calls unscrupulous. But no -one has ever accused me of truckling to public opinion -or social position. I care nothing for those things, -any more than you do or Linda does. As far as those -things go I would marry her to-morrow. My mother, -as you doubtless know, hopes that I <em>shall</em> marry her—wishes -and prays for it. My mother has never given -a thought, and never will give a thought, to the opinion -of the world. It isn’t in her nature, as no doubt you -quite realize. We Renshaws have always gone our -own way, and done what we pleased. My father did—Philippa -does; and I do.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[400]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Come, Miss Herrick! Try for a moment to put -your anger against me out of the question. Suppose -you did induce me to marry Linda, and Linda to marry -me, does that mean that you make me change my nature? -We Renshaws never change and <em>I</em> never shall, -you may be perfectly sure of that! I <em>couldn’t</em> even if -I wanted to. My blood, my race, my father’s instincts -in me, go too deep. We’re an evil tribe, Nance Herrick, -an evil tribe, and especially are we evil in our relations -with women. Some families are like that, you -know! It’s a sort of tradition with them. And it is -so with us. It may be some dark old strain of Viking -blood, the blood of the race that burnt the monasteries -in the days of Æthelred the Unready! On the other -hand it may be some unaccountable twist in our brains, -due—as Fingal says—to—oh! to God knows what!</p> - -<p>“Let it go! It doesn’t matter what it is; and I -daresay you think me a grotesque hypocrite for bringing -such a matter into it at all. Well! Let it go! -There’s really no need to drag in Æthelred the Unready! -What you and I have to do, Miss Herrick, is, -seriously and quietly, without passion or violence, to -discuss what’s best for your sister’s happiness. Put -my punishment out of your mind for the present—that -can come later. Your friend Mr. Sorio will be -only too pleased to deal with that! The point for <em>us</em> -to consider, for us who both love your sister, is, what -will really be happiest for her in the long run—and I -can assure you that no woman who ever lived could be -happy long tied hand and foot to a Renshaw.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[401]</a></span></p> -<p>“Look at my mother! Does she suggest a person -who has had a happy life? I tell you she would give -all she has ever enjoyed here—every stick and stone -of Oakguard—never to have set eyes on my father—never -to have given birth to Philippa or to me! We -Renshaws may have our good qualities—God knows -what they are—but we may have them. But one -thing is certain. We are worse than the very devil for -any woman who tries to live with us! It’s in our blood, -I tell you. We can’t help it. We’re made to drive -women mad—to drive them into their graves!”</p> - -<p>He stopped abruptly with a bitter and hopeless shrug -of his shoulders. Nance had listened to him, all the -way through his long speech, with concentrated and -frowning attention. When he had finished she stood -staring at him without a word, almost as if she wished -him to continue; almost as if something about his personality -fascinated her in spite of herself, and made -her sympathetic.</p> - -<p>But Sorio, who had been fidgetting with his heavy -stick, rose now, slowly and deliberately, to his feet. -Nance, looking at his face, saw upon it an expression -which from long association she had come to regard -with mingled tenderness and alarm. It was the look his -features wore when on the point of rushing to the assistance -of some wounded animal or ill-used child.</p> - -<p>He uttered no word, but flinging Nance aside with -his left hand, with the other he struck blindly with his -stick, aiming a murderous blow straight at Brand’s -face.</p> - -<p>Brand had barely time to raise his hand. The blow -fell upon his wrist, and his arm sank under it limp and -paralysed.</p> - -<p>Nance, with a loud cry for assistance, clung frantically -to Sorio’s neck, trying to hold him back. But -apparently beyond all consciousness now of what he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[402]</a></span> -was doing, Sorio flung her roughly back and drove his -enemy with savage repeated strokes into a corner of -the room. It was not long before Brand’s other arm -was rendered as useless as the first, and the blows falling -now on his unprotected head, soon felled him to the -ground.</p> - -<p>Nance, who had flung open the door and uttered wild -and panic-stricken cries for help, now rushed across the -room and pinioned the exhausted flagellant in her -strong young arms. Seeing his enemy motionless and -helpless with a stream of blood trickling down his face, -Adrian resigned himself passively to her controlling -embrace.</p> - -<p>They were found in this position by the two men-servants, -who came rushing down the passage in answer -to her screams. Mrs. Renshaw, dressing in her -room on the opposite side of the house, heard nothing. -The steady downpour of the rain dulled all other -sounds. Philippa had not yet returned.</p> - -<p>Under Nance’s directions, the two men carried their -master out of the “work-shop,” while she herself continued -to cling desperately to Sorio. There had been -something hideous and awful to the girl’s imagination -about the repeated “thud—thud—thud” of the -blows delivered by her lover. This was especially so -after the numbing of his bruised arms reduced Adrian’s -victim to helplessness.</p> - -<p>As she clung to him now she seemed to hear the -sound of those blows—each one striking, as it seemed, -something resistless and prostrate in her own being. -And once more, with grotesque iteration, the figures -upon Linda’s almanac ticked like a clock in answer to -the echo of that sound. “October the twenty-eighth—October<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[403]</a></span> -the twenty-eighth,” repeated the church-almanac, -from its red-lettered frame.</p> - -<p>The extraordinary thing was that as her mind began -to function more naturally again, she became conscious -that, all the while, during that appalling scene, even -at the very moment when she was crying out for help, -she had experienced a sort of wild exultation. She recalled -that emotion quite clearly now with a sense of -curious shame.</p> - -<p>She was also aware that while glancing at Brand’s -pallid and unconscious face as they carried him from -the room, she had felt a sudden indescribable softening -towards him and a feeling for him that she would -hardly have dared to put into words. She found herself, -even now, as she went over in her mind with lightning -rapidity every one of the frightful moments she -had just gone through, changing the final episode in -her heart, to quite a different one; to one in which she -herself knelt down by their enemy’s side, and wiped the -blood from his forehead, and brought him back to consciousness.</p> - -<p>Left alone with Sorio, Nance relaxed her grasp and -laid her hands appealingly upon his shoulder. But it -was into unseeing eyes that she looked, and into a face -barely recognizable as that of her well-beloved. He -began talking incoherently and yet with a kind of terrible -deliberation and assurance.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[404]</a></span></p> -<p>“What’s that you say? Only the rain? They say -it’s only the rain when they want to fool me and quiet -me. But I know better! They can’t fool me like that. -It’s blood, of course; it’s Nance’s blood. <em>You</em>, Nance? -Oh, no, no, no! I’m not so easily fooled as that. -Nance is at the bottom of that hole in the wood, where -I struck her—<em>one</em>—<em>two</em>—<em>three</em>! It took three hits -to do it—and she didn’t speak a word, not a word, nor -utter one least little cry. It’s funny that I had to hit -her three times! She is so soft, so soft and easy to -hurt. No, no, no, no! I’m not to be fooled like that. -My Nance had great laughing grey eyes. Yours are -horrible, horrible. I see terror in them. <em>She</em> was -afraid of nothing.”</p> - -<p>His expression changed, and a wistful hunted look -came into his face. The girl tried to pull him towards -one of the chairs, but he resisted—clasping her hand -appealingly.</p> - -<p>“Tell me, Phil,” he whispered, in a low awe-struck -voice, “tell me why you made me do it. Did you think -it would be better, better for all of us, to have her -lying there cold and still? No, no, no! You needn’t -look at me with those dreadful eyes. Do you know, -Phil, since you made me kill her I think your eyes have -grown to look like hers, and your face, too—and all -of you.”</p> - -<p>Nance, as he spoke, cried out woefully and helplessly. -“I am! I am! I am! Adrian—my own—my -darling—don’t you know me? I am your Nance!”</p> - -<p>He staggered slowly now to one of the chairs, moving -each foot as he did so with horrible deliberation -as if nothing he did could be done naturally any more, -or without a conscious effort of will. Seating himself -in the chair, he drew her down upon his knee and began -passing his fingers backwards and forwards over -her face.</p> - -<p>“Why did you make me do it, Phil?” he moaned, -rocking her to and fro as if she were a child. “Why -did you make me do it? She would have given me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[405]</a></span> -sleep, if you’d only let her alone, cool, deep, delicious -sleep! She would have smoothed away all my troubles. -She would have destroyed the old Adrian and made a -new one—a clear untroubled one, bathed in great -floods of glorious white light!”</p> - -<p>His voice sank to an awe-struck and troubled murmur. -“Phil, my dear,” he whispered, “Phil, listen to -me. There’s something I can’t remember! Something—O -God! No! It’s <em>some one</em>—some one most precious -to me—and I’ve forgotten. Something’s happened -to my brain, and I’ve forgotten. It was after -I struck those blows, those blows that made her mouth -look so twisted and funny—just like yours looks now, -Phil! Why is it, do you think, that dead people have -that look on their mouths? Phil, tell me; tell me what -it is I’ve forgotten! Don’t be cruel now. I can’t stand -it now. I <em>must</em> remember. I always seem just on the -point of remembering, and then something in my brain -closes up, like an iron door. Oh, Phil—my love, my -love, tell me what it is!”</p> - -<p>As he spoke he clasped the girl convulsively, crushing -her and hurting her by the strength of his arms. -To hear him address her thus by the name of her rival -was such misery to Nance that she was hardly conscious -of the physical distress caused by his violence. It was -still worse when, relaxing the force of his grasp, he -began to fondle and caress her, stroking her face with -his fingers and kissing her cheeks.</p> - -<p>“Phil, my love, my darling!” he kept repeating, -“please tell me—please, please tell me, what it is I’ve -forgotten!”</p> - -<p>Nance suffered at that moment the extreme limit of -what she was capable of enduring. She dreaded every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[406]</a></span> -moment that Philippa herself would come in. She -dreaded the reappearance of the servants, perhaps -with more assistance, ready to separate them and -carry Adrian away from her. To feel his caresses -and to know that in his wild thoughts they were not -meant for her at all—that was more, surely more, -than God could have intended her to suffer!</p> - -<p>Suddenly she had an inspiration. “Is it Baptiste -that you’ve forgotten?”</p> - -<p>The word had an electrical effect upon him. He -threw her off his lap and leapt to his feet.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he cried savagely and wildly, the train of -his thoughts completely altered, “you’re all keeping -him away from me! That’s what’s at the bottom of -it! You’ve hidden Nance from me and given me this -woman who looks like her but who can’t smile and -laugh like my Nance, to deceive me and betray me! -I know you—you staring, white-faced, frightened -thing! <em>You</em> don’t deceive me! <em>You</em> don’t fool Adrian. -I know you. <em>You</em> are not my Nance.”</p> - -<p>She had staggered away, a few paces from him, when -he first threw her off, and now, with a heart-rending -effort, she tried to smooth the misery out of her face -and to smile at him in her normal, natural way. But -the effort was a ghastly mockery. It was little wonder, -seeing her there, so lamentably trying to smile into -his eyes, that he cried out savagely: “That’s not my -Nance’s smile. That’s the smile of a cunning mask! -You’ve hidden her away from me. Curse you all—you’ve -hidden her away from me—and Baptiste, too! -Where is my Baptiste—you staring white thing? -Where is my Baptiste, you woman with a twisted -mouth?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[407]</a></span></p> - -<p>He rushed fiercely towards her and seized her by -the throat. “Tell me what you’ve done with him,” he -cried, shaking her to and fro, and tightening his grasp -upon her neck. “Tell me, you devil! Tell me, or I’ll -kill you.”</p> - -<p>Nance’s brain clouded and darkened. Her senses -grew confused and misty. “He’s going to strangle -me,” she thought, “and I don’t care! This pain won’t -last long, and it will be death from <em>his</em> hand.”</p> - -<p>All at once, however, in a sudden flash of blinding -clearness, she realized what this moment meant. If she -let him murder her, passively, unresistingly, what would -become of him when she was dead? Simultaneously -with this thought something seemed to rise up, strong -and clear, from the depths of her being, something powerful -and fearless, ready to wrestle with fate to the -very end.</p> - -<p>“He shan’t kill me!” she thought. “I’ll live to save -us both.” Tearing frantically at his hands, she struggled -backwards towards the open door, dragging him -with her. In his mad blood-lust he was horribly, murderously -strong; but this new life-impulse, springing -from some supernatural level in the girl’s being, proved -still stronger. With one tremendous wrench at his -wrists she flung him from her; flung him away with -such violence that he slipped and fell to the ground.</p> - -<p>In a moment she had rushed through the doorway and -closed and locked the heavy door behind her. Even -at the very second she achieved this and staggered -faint and weak against the wall, what seemed to her -rapidly clouding senses a large concourse of noisy -people carrying flickering lights, swept about her. As -they came upon her she sank to the floor, her last impression<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[408]</a></span> -being that of the great dark eyes of Philippa -Renshaw illuminated by an emotion which was beyond -her power of deciphering, an emotion in which her -mind lost itself, as she tried to understand it, in a deep -impenetrable mist, that changed to absolute darkness -as she fainted away.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[409]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXV">XXV<br /> -<span class="smaller">BALTAZAR STORK</span></h2> - -<p>The morning of the twenty-ninth of October -crept slowly and greyly through the windows -of the sisters’ room. Linda had done her best -to forget her own trouble and to offer what she could -of consolation and hope to Nance. It was nearly three -o’clock before the unhappy girl found forgetfulness in -sleep, and now with the first gleam of light she was -awake again.</p> - -<p>The worst she could have anticipated was what had -happened. Adrian had been taken away—not recognizing -any one—to that very Asylum at Mundham -which they had glanced at together with such ominous -forebodings. She herself—what else could she do?—had -been forced to sign her name to the official document -which, before midnight fell upon Oakguard, made -legal his removal.</p> - -<p>She had signed it—she shuddered now to think of -her feelings at that moment—below the name of Brand, -who as a magistrate was officially compelled to take the -initiative in the repulsive business. Dr. Raughty and -Mr. Traherne, who had both been summoned to the -house, had signed that dreadful paper, too. Nance’s -first impression on regaining consciousness was that of -the Doctor’s form bending anxiously over her. She -remembered how queer his face looked in the shadowy -candle-light and how gently he had stroked the back of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[410]</a></span> -her hand when she unclosed her eyes, and what relief -his expression had shown when she whispered his name.</p> - -<p>It was the Doctor who had driven her home at last, -when the appalling business was over and the people -had come, with a motor car from Mundham, and carried -Adrian away. She had learnt from him that -Brand’s injuries were in no way serious and were likely -to leave no lasting hurt, beyond a deep scar on the forehead. -His arms were bruised and injured, Fingal told -her, but neither of them was actually broken.</p> - -<p>Hamish Traherne had gone with the Mundham people -to the Asylum and would spend the night there. He -had promised Nance to come and see her before noon -and tell her everything.</p> - -<p>She gathered also from Fingal that Philippa, showing -unusual promptitude and tact, had succeeded in -keeping Mrs. Renshaw away, both from the closed door -of the chapel and from the bedside of Brand, until the -latter had recovered consciousness.</p> - -<p>Nance, as her mind went over and over every detail -of that hideous evening, could not help thanking God -that Adrian had at least been spared the tragic burden -of blood-guiltiness. As far as the law of the land was -concerned, he had only to recover his sanity and regain -his normal senses, to make his liberation easy and -natural. There had been no suggestion in the paper -she had signed—and she had been especially -on the look-out for that—with regard to <em>criminal</em> -lunacy.</p> - -<p>She sat up in bed and looked at her sister. Linda -was sleeping as peacefully as a child. The cold morning -light gave her face a curious pallor. Her long -brown lashes lay motionless upon her cheeks, and from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[411]</a></span> -her gently parted lips her breath came evenly and -calmly.</p> - -<p>Nance recalled the strange interview she had had with -Brand before Adrian flung himself between them. It -was strange! Do what she could, she could not feel -towards that man anything but a deep unspeakable -pity. Had he magnetized her—her too—she wondered—with -that mysterious force in him, that force -at once terrible and tender, which so many women had -found fatal? No—no! That, of course, was ridiculous. -That was unthinkable. Her heart was Adrian’s -and Adrian’s alone. But why, then, was it that she -found herself not only pardoning him what he had -done but actually—in some inexplicable way—condoning -it and understanding it? Was she, too, losing -her wits? Was she, too,—under the influence of this -disastrous place—forfeiting all sense of moral proportion?</p> - -<p>The man had seduced her sister, and had refused—<em>that</em> -remained quite clearly as the prevailing impression -of that wild interview with him—definitely and obstinately -to marry her, and yet, here was she, her sister’s -only protector in the world, softening in her heart -towards him and thinking of him with a sort of sentimental -pity! Truly the minds of mortal men and -women contained mysteries past finding out!</p> - -<p>She lay back once more upon her pillows and let the -hours of the morning flow over her head like softly -murmuring waves. There is often, especially in a -country town, something soothing and refreshing beyond -words in the opening of an autumn day. In -winter the light does not arrive till the stir and noise -and traffic of the streets has already, so to speak, established<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[412]</a></span> -itself. In summer the earlier hours are so -long and bright, that by the time the first movements -of humanity begin, the day has already been ravished -of its pristine freshness and grown jaded and garish. -Early mornings in spring have a magical and thrilling -charm, but the very exuberance of joyous life then, -the clamorous excitement of birds and animals, the -feverish uneasiness and restlessness of human children, -make it difficult to lie awake in perfect receptivity, -drinking in every sound and letting oneself be rocked -and lulled upon a languid tide of half-conscious dreaming.</p> - -<p>Upon such a tide, however, Nance now lay, in spite -of everything, and let the vague murmurs and the -familiar sounds flow over her, in soft reiteration. That -she should be able to lie like this, listening to the rattle -of the milkman’s cans and the crying of the sea-gulls -and the voices of newly-awakened bargemen higher up -the river, and the lowing of cattle from the marshes -and the chirping of sparrows on the roof, when all the -while her lover was moaning, in horrible unconsciousness, -within those unspeakable walls, was itself, as she -contemplated it in cold blood, an atrocious trick of all-subverting -Nature!</p> - -<p>She looked at the misty sunlight, soft and mellow, -which now began to invade the room, and she marvelled -at herself in a sort of bewildered shame that she -should not, at this crisis in her life, <em>be able to feel more</em>. -Was it that her experiences of the day before had so -harrowed her soul that she had no power of reaction -left? Or was it—and upon this thought she tried -to fix her mind as the true explanation—that the great -underlying restorative forces were already dimly but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[413]</a></span> -powerfully exerting themselves on behalf of Adrian, -and on behalf of her sister and herself?</p> - -<p>She articulated the words “restorative forces” in -the depths of her mind, giving her thought this palpable -definition; but as she did so she was only too conscious -of the presence of a mocking spirit there, whose finger -pointed derisively at the words as soon as she had -imaged them. Restorative forces? Were there such -things in the world at all? Was it not much more -likely that what she felt at this moment was nothing -more than that sort of desperate calm which comes, -with a kind of numbing inertia, upon human beings, -when they have been wrought upon to the limit of their -endurance? Was it not indeed rather a sign of her -helplessness, a sign that she had come now to the end -of all her powers, and could do no more than just -stretch out her arms upon the tide and lie back upon the -dark waters, letting them bear her whither they pleased—was -it not rather a token of this, than of any inkling -of possible help at hand?</p> - -<p>It was at that moment that amid the various sounds -which reached her ear, there came the clear joyous -whistling of some boy apprentice, occupied in removing -the shutters from one of the shop-windows in the -street. The boy was whistling, casually and clumsily -enough, but still with a beautiful intonation, certain -familiar strophes from the Marseillaise. The great -revolutionary tune echoed clear and strong over the -drowsy cobble-stones, between the narrow patient -walls, and down away towards the quiet harbour.</p> - -<p>It was incredible the effect which this simple accident -had upon the mind of the girl. In one moment -she had flung to the winds all thought of submission to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[414]</a></span> -destiny—all idea of “lying back” upon fate. No -longer did she dream vaguely and helplessly of “restorative -forces,” somewhere, somehow, remotely active in -her favour. The old, brave, defiant, youthful spirit -in her, the spirit of her father’s child, leapt up, strong -and vigorous in her heart and brain. No—no! -Never would she yield. Never would she submit. -“<i>Allons, enfants!</i>” She would fight to the end.</p> - -<p>And then, all in a moment, she remembered Baptiste. -Of course! That was the thing to be done. Fool that -she was not to have thought of it before! She must -send a cabled message to Adrian’s son. It was towards -Baptiste that his spirit was continually turning. -It must be Baptiste who should restore him to health!</p> - -<p>It was not much after six o’clock when that boy’s -whistling reached her, but between then and the first -moment of the opening of the post office, her mind was -in a whirl of hopeful thoughts.</p> - -<p>As she stood waiting at the little stuccoed entrance -for the door to open, and watched with an almost humorous -interest the nervous expectancy of the most -drooping, pallid, unhealthy and unfortunately complexioned -youth she had ever set eyes upon, she felt -full of strength and courage. Adrian had been ill before -and had recovered. He would recover now! She -herself would bring him the news of Baptiste’s coming. -The mere news of it would help him.</p> - -<p>There was a little garden just visible through some -iron railings by the side of the post office and above -these railings and drooping towards them so that it -almost rested upon their spikes, was a fading sunflower. -The flower was so wilted and tattered that -Nance had no scruple about stretching her hand towards<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[415]</a></span> -it and trying to pluck it from its stem. She did -this half-mechanically, full of her new hope, as a child -on its way to catch minnows in a freshly discovered -brook might pluck a handful of clover.</p> - -<p>The sickly-looking youth—Nance couldn’t help -longing to cover his face with zinc-ointment; why did -one <em>always</em> meet people with dreadful complexions in -country post offices?—observing her efforts, extended -<em>his</em> hand also, and together they pulled at the radiant -derelict, until they broke it off. When she held it in -her hands, Nance felt a little ashamed and sorry, for -the tall mutilated stem stood up so stark and raw with -drops of white frothy sap oozing from it. She could -not help remembering how it was one of Adrian’s innocent -superstitions to be reluctant to pick flowers. -However, it was done now. But what should she do -with this great globular orb of brown seeds with the -scanty yellow petals, like weary taper-flames, surrounding -its circumference?</p> - -<p>The lanky youth looked at her and smiled shyly. -She met his eyes, and observing his embarrassment, -obviously tinged with unconcealed admiration, she -smiled back at him, a sweet friendly smile of humorous -camaraderie.</p> - -<p>Apparently this was the first time in his life that -a really beautiful girl had ever smiled at him, for he -blushed a deep purple-red all over his face.</p> - -<p>“I think, ma’am,” he stammered nervously, “I know -who you are. I’ve seen you with Mr. Stork.”</p> - -<p>Nance’s face clouded. She regarded it as a bad -omen to hear this name mentioned. Her old mysterious -terror of her friend’s friend rose powerfully upon her. -In some vague obscure way, she felt conscious of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[416]</a></span> -intimate association with all the forces in the world -most inimical to her and to her future.</p> - -<p>Observing her look and a little bewildered by it, the -youth rambled helplessly on. “Mr. Stork has been a -very good friend to me,” he murmured. “He got me -my job at Mr. Walpole’s—Walpole the saddler, Miss. -I should have had to have left mother if it hadn’t been -for him.”</p> - -<p>With a sudden impulse of girlish mischief, Nance -placed in the boy’s hand the great faded flower she was -holding. “Put it into your button-hole,” she said.</p> - -<p>At that moment the door opened, and forgetting the -boy, the sunflower, and the ambiguous Mr. Stork, she -hurried into the building, full of her daring enterprise.</p> - -<p>Her action seemed to remove from the youth’s -thoughts whatever motive he may have had in waiting -for the opening of the office. Perhaps this goddess-like -apparition rendered commonplace and absurd some -quaint pictorial communication, smudgy and blotched, -which now remained unstamped in his coat-pocket. At -any rate he slunk away, with long, furtive, slouching -strides, carrying the flower she had given him as reverently -as a religious-minded acolyte might carry a -sacred vessel.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, Nance sent off her message, laying down -on the counter her half-sovereign with a docility that -thrilled the young woman who officiated there with awe -and importance.</p> - -<p>“Baptiste Sorio, fifteen West Eleventh Street, New -York City,” the message ran, “come at once; your father -in serious mental trouble”; and she signed it with -her own name and address, and paid five shillings more -to secure an immediate reply.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[417]</a></span></p> - -<p>Then, leaving the post office, she returned slowly and -thoughtfully to her lodging. The usual stir and movement -of the beginning of the day’s work filled the little -street when she approached her room. Nance could -not help thinking how strange and curious it was that -the stream of life should thus go rolling forward with -its eternal repetition of little familiar usages, in spite -of the desperation of this or the other cruel personal -drama.</p> - -<p>Adrian might be moaning for his son in that Mundham -house. Linda might be fearing and dreading the -results of her obsession. Philippa might be tossing -forth her elfish laugh upon the wind among the oak-trees. -She herself might be “lying back upon fate” -or struggling to wrestle with fate. What mattered -any of these things to the people who sold and bought -and laughed and quarrelled and laboured and made -love, as the powers set in motion a new day, and the -brisk puppets of a human town began their diurnal -dance?</p> - -<p>It was not till late in the afternoon that Nance received -an answer to her message. She was alone when -she opened it, Linda having gone as usual, under her -earnest persuasion, to practise in the church. The -message was brief and satisfactory: “Sailing to-morrow -<i>Altrunia</i> Liverpool six days boat Baptiste.”</p> - -<p>So he would really be here—here in Rodmoor—in -seven or eight days. This was news for Adrian, if -he had the power left to understand anything! She -folded the paper carefully and placed it in her purse.</p> - -<p>Mr. Traherne had come to her about noon, bringing -news that, on the whole, was entirely reassuring. It -seemed that Sorio had done little else than sleep since<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[418]</a></span> -his first entrance into the place; and both the doctors -there regarded this as the best possible sign.</p> - -<p>Hamish explained to her that there were three degrees -of insanity—mania, melancholia, and dementia—and, -from what he could learn from his conversations -with the doctors, this heavy access of drowsiness ruled -out of Adrian’s case the worst symptom of both these -latter possibilities. What they called “mania,” he explained -to her, was something quite curable and with -nearly all the chances in favour of recovery. It was -really—he told her he had gathered from them—“only -a question of time.”</p> - -<p>The priest had been careful to inquire as to the -possibility of Nance being allowed to visit her betrothed; -but neither of the doctors seemed to regard -this, at any rate for the present, as at all desirable. -He cordially congratulated her, however, on having -sent for Sorio’s son. “Whatever happens,” he said, -“it’s right and natural that <em>he</em> should be here with -you.”</p> - -<p>While Nance was thus engaged in “wrestling with -fate,” a very different mental drama was being enacted -behind the closed windows of Baltazar’s cottage.</p> - -<p>Mr. Stork had not been permitted even to fall asleep -before rumours reached him that some startling event -had occurred at Oakguard. Long before midnight, by -the simple method of dropping in at the bar of the -Admiral’s Head, he had picked up sufficient information -to make him decide against seeing any one that -night. They had taken Sorio away, and Mr. Renshaw -had escaped from a prolonged struggle with the demented -man with the penalty of only a few bruises. -Thus, with various imaginative interpolations which he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[419]</a></span> -discounted as soon as he heard them, Baltazar got from -the gossips of the tavern a fair account of what had -occurred.</p> - -<p>There was, indeed, so much excitement in Rodmoor -over the event that, for the first time in the memory of -the oldest inhabitants, the Admiral’s Head remained -open two whole hours after legal closing time. This -was in part explained by the fact that the two representatives -of the law in the little town had been summoned -to Oakguard to be ready for any emergency.</p> - -<p>It was now about four o’clock in the afternoon. -Baltazar had found himself with little appetite for -either breakfast or lunch, and at this moment, as he -sat staring at a fireplace full of nothing but burnt out -ashes, his eyes had such dark lines below them that one -might have assumed that sleep as well as food had lost -its savour for him in the last twelve hours. By his -side on a little table stood an untasted glass of brandy, -and at his feet in the fender lay innumerable, but in -many cases only half-smoked, cigarettes.</p> - -<p>The impression which was now upon him was that of -being one of two human creatures left alive, those two -alone, after some world-destroying plague. He had -the feeling that he had only to go out into the street -to come upon endless dead bodies strewn about, in fantastic -and horrible attitudes of death, and in various -stages of dissolution. It was his Adriano who alone -was left alive. But he had done something to him—so -that he could only hear his voice without being able -to reach him.</p> - -<p>“I must end this,” he said aloud; and then again, -as if addressing another person, “We must put an end -to this, mustn’t we, Tassar?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[420]</a></span></p> - -<p>He rose to his feet and surveyed himself in one of -his numerous beautifully framed mirrors. He passed -his slender fingers through his fair curls and peered -into his own eyes, opening the lids wide and wrinkling -his forehead. He smiled at himself then—a long -strange wanton smile—and turned away, shrugging -his shoulders.</p> - -<p>Then he moved straight up to the picture of the -Venetian Secretary and snapped his fingers at it. -“You wait, you smirking ‘imp of fame’; you wait a -little! We’ll show you that you’re not so deep or so -subtle after all. You wait, Flambard, my boy, you -wait a while; and we’ll show you plots and counter-plots!”</p> - -<p>Then without a word he went upstairs to his bathroom. -“By Jove!” he muttered to himself, “I begin -to think Fingal’s right. The only place in this Christian -world where one can possess one’s soul in peace is -a tiled bathroom—only the tiles must be perfectly -white,” he added, after a pause.</p> - -<p>He made an elaborate and careful toilet, brushing -his hair with exhaustive assiduity, and perfuming his -hands and face. He dressed himself in spotlessly -clean linen and put on a suit that had never been worn -before. Even the shoes which he chose were elegant -and new. He took several minutes deciding what tie -to wear and finally selected one of a pale mauve colour. -Then, with one final long and wistful glance at himself, -he kissed the tips of his fingers at his own image, -and stepped lightly down the stairs.</p> - -<p>He paused for a moment in the little hall-way to select -a cane from the stick rack. He took an ebony one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[421]</a></span> -at last, with an engraved silver knob bearing his own -initials. There was something ghastly about the deliberation -with which he did all this, but it was ghastliness -wasted upon polished furniture and decrepit flies—unless -every human house conceals invisible watchers. -He hesitated a little between a Panama hat and -one of some light-coloured cloth material, but finally -selected the former, toying carefully with its flexible -rim before placing it upon his head, and even when it -was there giving it some final touches.</p> - -<p>The absolute loneliness of the little house, broken -only by an occasional voice from the tavern door, became, -during his last moments there, a sort of passive -accomplice to some nameless ritual. At length he -opened the door and let himself out.</p> - -<p>He walked deliberately and thoughtfully towards the -park gates, and, passing in, made his way up the leaf-strewn -avenue. Arrived at the house, he nodded in a -friendly manner at the servant who opened the door, -and asked to be taken to Mrs. Renshaw’s room. The -man obeyed him respectfully, and went before him up -the staircase and down the long echoing passage.</p> - -<p>He found Mrs. Renshaw sewing at the half-open window. -She put down her work when he entered and -greeted him with one of those <em>illumined</em> smiles of hers, -which Fingal Raughty was accustomed to say made -him believe in the supernatural.</p> - -<p>“Thank you for coming to see me,” she said, as he -seated himself at her side, spreading around him an -atmosphere of delicate odours. “Thank you, Baltazar, -so much for coming.”</p> - -<p>“Why do you always say that, Aunt Helen?” he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">[422]</a></span> -murmured, almost crossly. It was one of the little -long-established conventions between them that he -should address his father’s wife in this way.</p> - -<p>There came once more that indescribable spiritual -light into her faded eyes. “Well,” she said gaily, -“<em>isn’t</em> it kind of a young man, who has so many interests, -to give up his time to an old woman like me?”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense, nonsense, Aunt Helen!” he cried, with -a rich caressing intonation, laying one of his slender -hands tenderly upon hers. “It makes me absolutely -angry with you when you talk like that!”</p> - -<p>“But isn’t it true, Tassar?” she answered. “Isn’t -this world meant for the young and happy?”</p> - -<p>“As if I cared what the world was <em>meant</em> for!” he -exclaimed. “It’s meant for nothing at all, I fancy. -And the sooner it reaches what it was meant for and -collapses altogether, the better for all of us!”</p> - -<p>A look of distress that was painful to witness came -into Mrs. Renshaw’s face. Her fingers tightened upon -his hand and she leant forward towards him. “Tassar, -Tassar, dear!” she said very gravely, “when you talk -like that you make me feel as if I were absolutely alone -in the world.”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean, Aunt Helen?” murmured the -young man in a low voice.</p> - -<p>“You make me feel as if it were wrong of me to love -you so much,” she went on, bending her head and looking -down at his feet.</p> - -<p>As he saw her now, with the fading afternoon light -falling on her parted hair, still wavy and beautiful -even in its grey shadows, and on her broad pale forehead, -he realized once more what he alone perhaps, of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[423]</a></span> -all who ever had known her realized, the unusual and -almost terrifying power of her personality. She forced -him to think of some of the profound portraits of the -sixteenth century, revealing with an insight and a passion, -long since lost to art, the tragic possibilities of -human souls.</p> - -<p>He laughed gently. “Dear, dear Aunt Helen!” he -cried, “forget my foolishness. I was only jesting. I -don’t give a fig for any of my opinions on these things. -To the deuce with them all, dear! To free you from -one single moment of annoyance, I’d believe every word -in the Church Catechism from ‘What is your name?’ -down to ‘without doubt are lost eternally’!”</p> - -<p>She looked up at this, and made a most heart-breaking -effort not to smile. Her abnormally sensitive -mouth—the mouth, as Baltazar always maintained, of -a great tragic actress—quivered at the corners.</p> - -<p>“If <em>I</em> had taught you your catechism,” she said, -“you would remember it better than that!”</p> - -<p>Baltazar’s eyes softened as he watched her, and a -strange look, full of a pity that was as impersonal as -the sea itself, rose to their surface. He lifted her hand -to his lips.</p> - -<p>“Don’t do that! You mustn’t do that!” she murmured, -and then with another flicker of a smile, “you -must keep those pretty manners, Tassar, for all your -admiring young women!”</p> - -<p>“Confound my young women!” cried the young man. -“You’re far more beautiful, Aunt Helen, than all of -them put together!”</p> - -<p>“You make me think of that passage in ‘Hamlet,’” -she rejoined, leaning back in her chair and resuming<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[424]</a></span> -her work. “How does it go? ‘Man delights me not -nor woman either—though by your smiling you seem -to say so!’”</p> - -<p>“Aunt Helen!” he cried earnestly, “I have something -important to say to you. I want you to understand -this. It’s sweet of you not to speak of Adriano’s -illness. Any one but you would have condoled -with me most horribly already!”</p> - -<p>She raised her eyes from her sewing. “We must -pray for him,” she said. “I have been praying for him -all day—and all last night, too,” she added with a -faint smile. “I let Philippa think I didn’t know what -had happened. But I knew.” She shuddered a little. -“I knew. I heard him in the ‘work-shop.’”</p> - -<p>“What I wanted to say, Aunt Helen,” he went on, -“was this. I want you to remember—whatever happens -to either of us—that I love you more than any -one in the world. Yes—yes,” he continued, not allowing -her to interrupt, “better even than Adriano!”</p> - -<p>A look resembling the effect of some actual physical -pain came into her face. “You mustn’t say that, my -dear,” she murmured. “You must keep your love for -your wife when you marry. I don’t like to hear you -say things like that—to an old woman.” She hesitated -a moment. “It sounds like flattery, Tassar,” -she added.</p> - -<p>“But it’s true, Aunt Helen!” he repeated with almost -passionate emphasis. “You’re by far the most -beautiful and by far the most interesting woman I’ve -ever met.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Renshaw drew her hand across her face. Then -she laughed gaily like a young girl. “What would -Philippa say,” she said, “if she heard you say that?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[425]</a></span></p> - -<p>Baltazar’s face clouded. He looked at her long and -closely.</p> - -<p>“Philippa is interesting and deep,” he said with a -grave emphasis, “but she doesn’t understand me. <em>You</em> -understand me, though you think it right to hide your -knowledge even from yourself.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Renshaw’s face changed in a moment. It became -haggard and obstinate. “We mustn’t talk any -more about understanding and about love,” she said. -“God’s will is that we should all of us only completely -love and understand the person He leads us, in His -wisdom, to marry.”</p> - -<p>Baltazar burst into a fit of heathen laughter. “I -thought you were going to end quite differently, Aunt -Helen,” he said. “I thought the only person we were -to love was going to be God. But it seems that it is -man—or woman,” he added bitterly.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Renshaw bent low over her work and the -shadow grew still deeper upon her face. Seeing that -he had really hurt her, Baltazar changed his tone.</p> - -<p>“Dear Aunt Helen!” he whispered gently, “how -many happy hours, how many, how many!—have we -spent together reading in this room!”</p> - -<p>She looked up quickly at this, with the old bright -look. “Yes, it’s been a happy thing for me, Tassar, -having you so near us. Do you remember how, last -winter, we got through the whole of Sir Walter Scott? -There’s no one nowadays like <em>him</em>—is there? Though -Philippa tells me that Mr. Hardy is a great writer.”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Hardy!” exclaimed her interlocutor whimsically.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426">[426]</a></span> -“I believe you <em>would</em> have come to him at last—perhaps -you <em>will</em>, dear, some day. Let’s hope so! -But I’m afraid I shall not be here then.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t talk like that, Tassar,” she said without -looking up from her work. “It will not be <em>you</em> who -will leave <em>me</em>.”</p> - -<p>There was a pause between them then, and Baltazar’s -eyes wandered out into the hushed misty garden.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Hardy does not believe in God,” he remarked.</p> - -<p>“Tassar!” she cried reproachfully. “You know -what you promised just now. You mustn’t tease me. -No one deep down in his heart disbelieves in God. How -can we? He makes His power felt among us every -day.”</p> - -<p>There was another long silence, broken only by the -melancholy cawing of the rooks, beginning to gather -in their autumnal roosting-places.</p> - -<p>Presently Mrs. Renshaw looked up. “Do you remember,” -she said very solemnly, “how you promised -me one day never again to let Brand or Philippa speak -disrespectfully of our English hymn-book? You said -you thought the genius of some of our best-known poets -was more expressed in their hymns than in their poetry. -I have often thought of that.”</p> - -<p>A very curious expression came into Baltazar’s face. -He suddenly leaned forward. “Aunt Helen,” he said, -“this illness of Adrian’s makes me feel, as you often -say, how little security there is for any of our lives. -I wish you’d say to me those peculiarly sad lines—you -know the one I mean?—the one I used to make you -smile over, when I was in a bad mood, by saying it always -made me think of old women in a work-house! -You know the one, don’t you?”</p> - -<p>The whole complicated subtlety of Mrs. Renshaw’s -character showed itself in her face now. She smiled -almost playfully but at the same moment a supernatural<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">[427]</a></span> -light came in her eyes. “I know,” she said, and -without a moment’s hesitation or the least touch of embarrassment, -she began to sing, in a low plaintive melodious -voice, the following well-known stanza. As she -sang she beat time with her hand; and there came over -her hearer the obscure vision of some old, wild, primordial -religion, as different from paganism as it was -different from Christianity, of which his mysterious -friend was the votary and priestess. The words drifted -away through the open window into the mist and the -falling leaves.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“Rest comes at length, though life be long and weary,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The day must dawn and darksome night be past;</div> -<div class="verse">Faith’s journey ends in welcome to the weary,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And heaven, the heart’s true home, will come at last.”</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>When it was finished there was a strange silence in -the room, and Baltazar rose to his feet. His face was -pale. He moved to her side and, for the first and last -time in their curious relations, he kissed her—a long -kiss upon the forehead.</p> - -<p>With a heightened colour in her cheeks and a nervous -deprecatory smile on her lips, she went with him to -the door. “Listen, dear,” she said, as she took his -hand, “I want you to think of that poem of Cowper’s -written when he was most despairing—the one that -begins ‘God moves in a mysterious way.’ I want you -to remember that though what he lays upon us seems -<em>crushing</em>, there is always something behind it—infinite -mercy behind infinite mystery.”</p> - -<p>Baltazar looked her straight in the face. “I wonder,” -he said, “whether it is I or you who is the most -unhappy person in Rodmoor!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">[428]</a></span></p> - -<p>She let his hand fall. “What we suffer,” she said, -“seems to me like the weight of some great iron engine -with jagged raw edges—like a battering-ram -beating us against a dark mountain. It swings backwards -and forwards, and it drives us on and on and on.”</p> - -<p>“And yet you believe in God,” he whispered.</p> - -<p>She smiled faintly. “Am I not alive and speaking -to you, dear? If behind it all there wasn’t His will, -who could endure to live another moment?”</p> - -<p>They looked into one another’s face in silence. He -made an attempt to say something else to her but his -tongue refused to utter what his heart suggested.</p> - -<p>“Good-bye, Aunt Helen,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Good night, Tassar,” she answered, “and thank -you for coming to see me.”</p> - -<p>He left the house without meeting any one else and -walked with a deliberate and rapid step towards the -river. The twilight had already fallen, and a white -mist coming up over the sand-dunes was slowly invading -the marshes. The tide had just turned and the full-brimmed -current of the river’s out-flowing poured swift -and strong between the high mud-banks.</p> - -<p>The Loon was at that moment emphasizing and asserting -its identity with an exultant joy. It seemed -almost to <em>purr</em>, with a kind of feline satisfaction, as -its dark volume of brackish water rushed forward towards -the sea. Whatever object it touched in its swift -passage, it drew from it some sort of half-human sound—some -whisper or murmur or protest of querulous -complaining.</p> - -<p>The reeds flapped; the pollard-roots creaked; the -mud-promontories moaned; and all the while, with gurglings -and suckings and lappings and deep-drawn, inward,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429">[429]</a></span> -self-complacent laughter, the sliding body of the -slippery waters swept forward under its veil of mist.</p> - -<p>On that night, of all nights, the Loon seemed to -have reached that kind of emphasis of personality -which things are permitted to attain—animate as well -as inanimate—when their functional activity is at its -highest and fullest.</p> - -<p>And on that night, carefully divesting himself of -his elegant clothes, and laying his hat and stick on the -ground beside them, Baltazar Stork, without haste or -violence, and with his brain supernaturally clear, -drowned himself in the Loon.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430">[430]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXVI">XXVI<br /> -<span class="smaller">NOVEMBER MIST</span></h2> - -<p>Baltazar’s death, under circumstances which -could leave no doubt as to the unhappy man’s -intention to destroy himself, coming, as it did, -immediately after his friend’s removal to the Asylum, -stirred the scandalous gossip of Rodmoor to its very -dregs.</p> - -<p>The suicide’s body—and even the indurated hearts -of the weather-battered bargemen who discovered it, -washed down by the tide as far as the New Bridge, -were touched by its beauty—was buried, after a little -private extemporary service, just at the debatable margin -where the consecrated churchyard lost itself in the -priest’s flower-beds. Himself the only person in the -place exactly aware of the precise limits of the sacred -enclosure—the enclosure which had never been enclosed—Mr. -Traherne was able to follow the most -rigid stipulations of his ecclesiastical conscience without -either hurting the feelings of the living or offering -any insult to the dead. When it actually came to the -point he was, as it turned out, able to remove from his -own over-scrupulous heart the least occasion for future -remorse.</p> - -<p>The Rodmoor sexton—the usual digger of graves—happened -to be at that particular time in the throes, -or rather in the after-effects, of one of his periodic outbursts -of inebriation. So it happened that the curate-in-charge<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431">[431]</a></span> -had with his own hands to dig the grave of -the one among all his parishioners who had remained -most distant to him and had permitted him the least -familiarity.</p> - -<p>Mr. Traherne remained awake in his study half the -night, turning over the pages of ancient scholastic authorities -and comparing one doctrinal opinion with another -on the question of the burial of suicides.</p> - -<p>In the end, what he did, with a whimsical prayer to -Providence to forgive him, was to <em>begin</em> digging the -hole just outside the consecrated area, but by means -of a slight northward <i>excavatio</i>, when he got a few -feet down, to arrange the completed orifice in such a -way that, while Baltazar’s body remained in common -earth, his head was lodged safe and secure, under soil -blessed by Holy Church.</p> - -<p>One of the most pious and authoritative of the early -divines, Mr. Traherne found out, maintained, as no -fantastic or heretical speculation but as a reasonable -and reverent conclusion, the idea that the surviving -portion of a man—his “psyche” or living soul—had, -as its mortal tabernacle, the posterior lobes of the human -skull, and that it was from the <em>head</em> rather than -from the <em>body</em> that the shadowy companion of our -earthly days—that “animula blandula” of the -heathen emperor—melted by degrees into the surrounding -air and passed to “its own place.”</p> - -<p>The Renshaws themselves showed, none of them, the -slightest wish to interfere with his arrangements, nor -did Hamish Traherne ever succeed in learning whether -the hollow-eyed lady of Oakguard knew or did not know -that the clay mound over which every evening without -fail, after the day of the unceremonious interment,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_432" id="Page_432">[432]</a></span> -she knelt in silent prayer, was outside the circle of -the <em>covenanted</em> mercies of the Power to which she -prayed.</p> - -<p>The “last will and testament” of the deceased—written -with the most exquisite care—was of so -strange a character, taking indeed the shape of something -like a defiant and shameless “confession,” that -Brand and Dr. Raughty, who were the appointed executors, -hurriedly hid it out of sight. Everything Mr. -Stork possessed was left to Mrs. Renshaw, except the -picture of Eugenio Flambard. This, by a fantastic -codicil, which was so extraordinary that when Brand -and Dr. Raughty read it they could do nothing but -stare at one another in silent amazement, was bequeathed, -at the end of an astonishing panegyric, “to -our unknown Hippolytus, Mr. Baptiste Sorio, of New -York City.”</p> - -<p>Baltazar had been buried on the first of November, -and as the following days of this dark month dragged -by, under unbroken mists and rain, Nance lived from -hour to hour in a state of trembling expectancy. -Would Baptiste’s ship bring him safely to England? -Would he, when he came, and discovered what her -relations with his father were, be kind to her and sympathetic, -or angry and hurt? She could not tell. She -could make no guess. She did not even know whether -Adrian had really done what he promised and written -to his son about her at all.</p> - -<p>The figure of the boy—on his way across the Atlantic—took -a fantastic hold upon her disturbed imagination. -As day followed day and the time of his -arrival drew near, she found it hard to concentrate her -mind even sufficiently to fulfil her easy labours with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_433" id="Page_433">[433]</a></span> -little dressmaker. Miss Pontifex gently remonstrated -with her.</p> - -<p>“I know you’re in trouble, Miss Herrick, and have -a great deal on your mind, but it does no good worrying, -and the girls get restless—you see how it is!—when -you can’t give them your full attention.”</p> - -<p>Thus rebuked, Nance would smile submissively and -turn her eyes away from the misty window.</p> - -<p>But every night before she slept, she would see -through her closed eyelids that longed-for boy, standing—that -was how she always conceived him—at the -bows of the ship, standing tall and fair like a young -god; borne forwards over the starlit ocean to bring -help to them all.</p> - -<p>In her dreams, night after night, the boy came to -her, and she found him then of an unearthly beauty -and endowed with a mysterious supernatural power. -In her dreams, the wild impossible hope, that somehow, -somewhere, he would be the one to save Linda from the -ruin of her youthful life, took to itself sweet immediate -fulfilment.</p> - -<p>Every little event that happened to her during -those days of tension assumed the shape of something -pregnant and symbolic. Her mind made auguries of -the movements of the clouds, and found significant -omens, propitious or menacing, from every turn of the -wind and every coming and going of the rain. The -smallest and simplest encounter took upon itself at that -time a curious and mystic value.</p> - -<p>In after days, she remembered with sad and woeful -clearness how persons and things impressed her then, -as, in their chance-brought groupings and gestures, -they lent themselves to her strained expectant mood.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_434" id="Page_434">[434]</a></span></p> - -<p>For instance, she never could forget the way she -waited, on the night of the third of November, along -with Linda and Dr. Raughty, for the arrival of the -last train from Mundham, bringing Mr. Traherne back -from a visit to the Asylum with news of Adrian.</p> - -<p>The news the priest brought was unexpectedly favourable. -Adrian, it seemed, had taken a rapid turn -for the better, and the doctors declared that any day -now it might become possible for Nance to see him.</p> - -<p>As they stood talking on the almost deserted platform, -Nance’s mind visualized with passionate intensity -the moment when she herself would take Baptiste -to see his father and perhaps together—why not?—bring -him back in triumph to Rodmoor.</p> - -<p>Her happy reverie on this particular occasion was -interrupted by a fantastic incident, which, trifling -enough in itself, left a queer and significant impression -behind it. This was nothing less than the sudden escape -from Mr. Traherne’s pocket of his beloved Ricoletto.</p> - -<p>In the excitement of their pleasure over the news -brought by the priest, the rat took the opportunity of -slipping from the recesses of his master’s coat; and -jumping down on the platform, he leapt, quick as a -flash, upon the railway track below. Mr. Traherne, -with a cry of consternation, scrambled down after him, -and throwing aside his ulster which impeded his progress, -began desperately pursuing him. The engine of -the train by which the clergyman had arrived was now -resting motionless, separate from the line of carriages, -deserted by its drivers. Straight beneath the wheels -of this inert monster darted the escaped rat. The agitated -priest, with husky perturbed cries, ran backwards<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_435" id="Page_435">[435]</a></span> -and forwards along the side of the engine, every now -and then stooping down and frantically endeavouring -to peer beneath it.</p> - -<p>It was so queer a sight to see this ungainly figure, -dressed as always in his ecclesiastical cassock, rushing -madly round the dark form of the engine and at intervals -falling on his knees beside it, that Linda could -not restrain an almost hysterical fit of laughter.</p> - -<p>Dr. Raughty looked whimsically at Nance.</p> - -<p>“He might be a priest of Science, worshipping the -god of machines,” he remarked, assuming as he spoke -a sitting posture, the better to slide down, himself, from -the platform to the track.</p> - -<p>The station-master now approached, anxious to close -his office for the night and go home. The porter, a -peculiarly unsympathetic figure, took not the least notice -of the event, but coolly proceeded to extinguish the -lights, one by one.</p> - -<p>The ostler from the Admiral’s Head, who had come -to meet some expected visitor who never arrived, leaned -forward with drowsy interest from his seat on his cab -and surveyed the scene with grim detachment, promising -himself that on the following night at his familiar -bar table, he would be the center of public interest as -he satisfied legitimate local curiosity with regard to -this unwonted occurrence.</p> - -<p>Nance could not help smiling as she saw the excellent -Fingal, his long overcoat flapping about his legs, -bending forward between the buffers of the engine and -peering into its metallic belly. She noticed that he -was tapping with his knuckles on the polished breast-plate -of the monster and uttering a clucking noise with -his tongue, as if calling for a recalcitrant chicken.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_436" id="Page_436">[436]</a></span></p> - -<p>It was not long before Mr. Traherne, growing desperate -as the oblivious porter approached the last of -the station lamps, fell flat on his face and proceeded to -shove himself clean under the engine. The vision of -his long retreating form, wrapped in his cassock, thus -worming himself slowly out of sight, drew from Nance -a burst of laughter, and as for Linda, she clapped her -hands together like a child.</p> - -<p>He soon reappeared, to the relief of all of them, with -his recaptured pet in his hand, and scrambled back upon -the platform, just as the last of the lamps went out, -leaving the place in utter darkness.</p> - -<p>Nance, her laughter gone then, had a queer sensation -as they moved away, that the ludicrous scene she -had just witnessed was part of some fantastic unreal -dream, and that she herself, with the whole tragedy of -her life, was just such a dream, the dream perhaps of -some dark driverless cosmic engine—of some remote -Great Eastern Railway of the Universe!</p> - -<p>The morning of the fourth of November dawned far -more auspiciously than any day which Rodmoor had -known for many weeks. It was one of those patient, -hushed, indescribable days—calm and tender and full -of whispered intimations of hidden reassurance—which -rarely reach us in any country but England or -in any district but East Anglia. The great powers of -sea and air and sky seemed to draw close to one another -and close to humanity; as if with some large and -gracious gesture of benediction they would fain lay -to rest, under a solemn and elemental requiem, the body -of the dead season’s life.</p> - -<p>Nance escaped before noon from Miss Pontifex’s -work-room. She and Linda had been invited by Dr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_437" id="Page_437">[437]</a></span> -Raughty to lunch with him and Hamish at the pastry-cook’s -in the High Street. It was to be a sort of modest -celebration, this little feast, to do honour to the -good news which Mr. Traherne had brought them the -night before and which was corroborated by a letter -to Nance herself from the head doctor, with regard to -Adrian’s astonishing improvement.</p> - -<p>Nance felt possessed by a deep and tumultuous excitement. -Baptiste surely must be near England now! -Any day—almost any hour—she might hear of his -arrival. She strolled out across the Loon to meet -Linda, who had gone that morning to practise on the -organ for the following Sunday’s services.</p> - -<p>As she crossed the marsh-land between the bridge -and the church, she encountered Mrs. Renshaw returning -from a visit to Baltazar’s grave. The mistress of -Oakguard stopped for a little while to speak to her, -and to express, in her own way, her sympathy over -Adrian’s recovery. She did this, however, in a manner -so characteristic of her that it depressed rather -than encouraged the girl. Her attitude seemed to -imply that it was better, wiser, more reverent, not to -cherish any buoyant hopes, but to assume that the worst -that could come to us from the hands of God was what -ought to be expected and awaited in humble submissiveness.</p> - -<p>She seemed in some strange way to <em>resent</em> any lifting -of the heavy folds of the pall of fate and with a kind -of obstinate weariness, to lean to the darker and more -sombre aspect of every possibility.</p> - -<p>She carried in her hands a bunch of faded flowers -brought from the grave she had visited and which she -seemed reluctant to throw away, and Nance never forgot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_438" id="Page_438">[438]</a></span> -the appearance of her black-gowned drooping figure -and white face, as she stood there, by the edge of -the misty, sun-illumined fens, holding those dead stalks -and withered leaves.</p> - -<p>As they parted, Nance whispered hesitatingly some -little word about Baltazar. She half expected her to -answer with tears, but in place of that, her eyes seemed -to shine with a weird exultant joy.</p> - -<p>“When you’re as old as I am, dear,” she said, “and -have seen life as I have seen it, you will not be sad to -lose what you love best. The better we love them, the -happier we must be when they are set free from the -evil of the world.”</p> - -<p>She looked down on the ground, and when she raised -her head, her eyes had an unearthly light in them. “I -am closer to him now,” she said, “closer than ever before. -And it will not be long before I go to join him.”</p> - -<p>She moved slowly away, dragging her limbs heavily.</p> - -<p>Nance, as she went on, kept seeing again and again -before her that weird unearthly look. It left the impression -on her mind that Mrs. Renshaw had actually -secured some strange and unnatural link with the dead -which made her cold and detached in her attitude towards -the living.</p> - -<p>Perhaps it had been all the while like this, the girl -thought. Perhaps it was just this habitual intercourse -with the Invisible which rendered her so entirely -a votary of moonlight and of shadows, and so unsympathetic -towards the sunshine and towards all genial -normal expressions of natural humanity.</p> - -<p>Nance had the sensation—when at last, with Linda -at her side, she returned dreamily to the village—of -having encountered some creature from a world different<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_439" id="Page_439">[439]</a></span> -from ours, a world of grey vapours and shadowy -margins, a world where the wraiths of the unborn meet -the ghosts of the dead, a world where the “might-have-been” -and the “never-to-be-again” weep together by -the shores of Lethe.</p> - -<p>The little party which assembled presently round a -table in the bow-window of the Rodmoor confectioner’s -proved a cheerful and happy one. The day was Saturday, -so that the street was full of a quiet stir of people -preparing to leave their shops and begin the weekly -holiday. There was a vague feeling of delicate sadness, -dreamy yet not unhappy, in the air, as though the -year itself were pausing for a moment in its onward -march towards the frosts of winter and gathering for -the last time all its children, all its fading leaves and -piled-up fruits and drooping flowers, into a hushed maternal -embrace, an embrace of silent and everlasting -farewell.</p> - -<p>The sun shone gently and tenderly from a sky of a -faint, sad, far-off blue—the sort of blue which, in the -earlier and more reserved of Florentine painters, may -be seen in the robes of Our Lady caught up to heaven -out of a grave of lilies.</p> - -<p>The sea was calm and motionless, its hardly stirring -waves clearer and more translucent in their green -depths than when blown upon by impatient winds or -touched by shameless and glaring light.</p> - -<p>A soft opalescent haze lay upon the houses, turning -their gables, their chimneys, their porches, and -their roofs, into a pearl-dim mystery of vague illusive -forms; forms that might have arisen out of the “perilous -sea” itself, on some “beachéd margent” woven of -the stuff of dreams.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_440" id="Page_440">[440]</a></span></p> - -<p>The queer old-fashioned ornaments of the room -where the friends ate their meal took to themselves, as -Nance in her dreamy emotion drew them into the circle -of her thoughts, a singular and symbolic power. They -seemed suggestive, these quaint things, of all that world -of little casually accumulated mementoes and memories -with which our troubled and turbulent humanity strews -its path and fills the places of its passionate sojourning. -Mother-of-pearl shells, faded antimacassars, -china dogs, fruit under glass-cases, old faded photographs -of long-since dead people, illuminated texts -embroidered in bright wool, tarnished christening mugs -of children that were now old women, portraits of -celebrities from days when Victoria herself was in her -cradle, all the sweet impossible bric-a-brac of a tea-parlour -in a village shop surrounded them as they sat -there, and thrilled at least two of their hearts—for -Linda’s mood was as receptive and as sensitive as -Nance’s—with an indescribable sense of the pathos of -human life.</p> - -<p>It was of “life”—in general terms—that Dr. -Raughty was speaking, as the two young girls gave -themselves up to the influence of the hour and played -lightly with their food.</p> - -<p>“It’s all nonsense,” the doctor cried, “this confounded -perpetual pessimism! Why can’t these people -read Rabelais and Montaigne, and drink noble wine -out of great casks? Why can’t they choose from -among the company of their friends gay and honest -wenches and sport with them under pleasant trees? -Why can’t they get married to comfortable and comely -girls and regale themselves in cool and well-appointed -kitchens?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_441" id="Page_441">[441]</a></span></p> - -<p>He helped himself as he spoke to another slice of -salmon and sprinkled salt upon a plateful of tomatoes -and lettuce.</p> - -<p>“Whose pessimism are you talking about, Fingal?” -inquired Nance, playing up to his humour.</p> - -<p>“Don’t get it only for me,” Mr. Traherne cried, -addressing the demure and freckled damsel who waited -on them. “I’m asking for a glass of ale, Doctor. -They can send out for it. But I don’t want it unless—”</p> - -<p>The Doctor’s eyes shone across the table at him like -soft lamps of sound antique wisdom. “Burton’s,” he -exclaimed emphatically. “None of friend Renshaw’s -stuff! Burton’s! And let it be that old dark mahogany-coloured -liquor we drank once under the elm-trees -at Ashbourne.”</p> - -<p>The waitress regarded him with a coquettish smile. -She laboured under the perpetual illusion that every -word the Doctor uttered was some elaborate and recondite -gallantry directed towards herself.</p> - -<p>The conversation ran on in lively spasmodic waywardness. -It was not long before the ale appeared, -of the very body and colour suggested by the Doctor’s -memories. Nance refused to touch it.</p> - -<p>“Have some ginger-pop, instead, then,” murmured -Fingal, pouring the brown ale into a china jug decorated -with painted pansies. “Linda would like some -of that, I know.”</p> - -<p>The priest held out his glass in the direction of the -jug.</p> - -<p>“A thousand deep-sea devils—pardon me, Nance, -dear!—carry off these pessimists,” went on the Doctor, -filling up the clergyman’s glass and his own with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_442" id="Page_442">[442]</a></span> -ritualistic solemnity while the little maid, the victim -of an irrepressible laughing-fit, retired to fetch ginger-beer. -“Let us remember how the great Voltaire served -God and defended all honest people. Here’s to Voltaire’s -memory and a fig for these neurotic scribblers -who haven’t the gall to put out their tongues!” He -raised his glass to his lips, his eyes shining with humorous -enjoyment.</p> - -<p>“What scribblers are you talking about?” inquired -Nance, peeling a golden apple and glancing at the misty -roofs through the window at her side.</p> - -<p>“All of these twopenny-halfpenny moderns,” cried -the Doctor, “who haven’t the gall in their stomachs to -take the world by the scruff of its neck and lash out. -A fig for them! Our poor dear Adrian, when he gets -cured, will write something—you mark my words—that’ll -make ’em stir themselves and sit up!”</p> - -<p>“But Adrian is pessimistic too, isn’t he?” said -Nance, looking wistfully at the speaker.</p> - -<p>“Nonsense!” cried the Doctor. “Adrian has more -Attic salt in him than you women guess. I believe, myself, -that this book of his will be worthy to be put beside -the ‘Thoughts’ of Pascal. Have you ever seen -Pascal’s face? He isn’t as good-looking as Adrian but -he has the same intellectual fury.”</p> - -<p>“What’s your opinion, Fingal,” remarked Mr. Traherne, -peering anxiously into the pansied jug, “about -the art of making life endurable?”</p> - -<p>Dr. Raughty surveyed him with a placid and equable -smile. “Courage and gaiety,” he said, “are the only -recipe, and I don’t mind sprinkling these, in spite of -our modern philosophers, with a little milk of human -kindness.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_443" id="Page_443">[443]</a></span></p> - -<p>The priest nodded over what was left of his ale. “<i>De -fructu operum tuorum, Domine, satiabitur terra: ut -educas panem de terra, et vinum lætificet cor hominis; -ut exhilaret faciem in oleo, et panis cor hominis confirmet</i>,” -he muttered, stretching out his long legs under -the table and tilting back his chair.</p> - -<p>“What the devil does all that mean?” asked the -Doctor a little peevishly. “Can’t you praise God in -simple English? Nance and I couldn’t catch a word -except ‘wine’ and ‘bread’ and ‘oil.’”</p> - -<p>Mr. Traherne looked unspeakably ashamed. “I’m -sorry, Nance,” he murmured, sitting up very straight -and pulling himself together. “It was out of place. -It was rude. I’m not sure that it wasn’t profane. I’m -sorry, Fingal!”</p> - -<p>“It’s a beautiful afternoon,” said Nance, keeping her -eyes on the little street, whose very pavements reflected -the soft opalescent light which was spreading itself -over Rodmoor.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” cried Dr. Raughty, “we left <em>that</em> out in our -summary of the compensations of life. <em>You</em> left that -out, too, Hamish, from your ‘fructu’ and ‘panem’ -and ‘vinum’ and the rest. But, after all, that is what -we come back to in the end. The sky, the earth, the -sea,—the great cool spaces of night—the sun, like a -huge splendid god; the moon, like a sweet passionate -nun; and the admirable stars, like gems in some great -world-peacock’s tail—yes, my darlings, we come back -to these in the end!”</p> - -<p>He rose from his seat and with shining eyes surveyed -his guests.</p> - -<p>“By the body of Mistress Bacbuc,” he cried, in a -loud voice, “we do wrong to sit here any longer! Let’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_444" id="Page_444">[444]</a></span> -go down to the sands and cool our heads. Here, Maggie! -Madge! Marjorie! Where the deuce has that -girl gone? There she is! Get me the bill, will you, -and bring me a finger-bowl.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Traherne laid his hand gently on the doctor’s -arm. “I’m afraid we’ve been behaving badly, Fingal,” -he whispered. “We’ve been drinking ale and forgetting -our good manners. Do I look all right? I mean, -do I look as if I’d been drinking mahogany-coloured -Burton? Do I look as usual?”</p> - -<p>The doctor surveyed him with grave intentness. -“You look,” he said at last, “something between -Friar John and Bishop Berkeley.” He gave him a little -push. “Go and talk to the girls while I buy them -chocolates.”</p> - -<p>Having paid the bill, he occupied himself in selecting -with delicate nicety a little box of sweet-meats for each -of his friends, choosing one for Nance with a picture -of Leda and the Swan upon it and one for Linda with -a portrait of the Empress Josephine.</p> - -<p>As he leant over the counter, his eyes gleamed with -a soft benignant ecstasy and he rallied the shop-woman -about some heart-shaped confectionary adorned with -blue ribbons.</p> - -<p>Before Mr. Traherne rejoined them Nance had time -to whisper to Linda, “They’re both a little excited, -dear, but we needn’t notice it. They’ll be themselves -in a moment. Men are all so babyish.”</p> - -<p>Linda smiled faintly at this and nodded her head. -She looked a little sad and a little pale.</p> - -<p>Dr. Raughty soon appeared. “Come on,” he said, -“let’s go down to the sea”; and in a low dreamy voice -he murmured the following ditty:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_445" id="Page_445">[445]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“A boat—a boat—to cross the ferry!</div> -<div class="verse">And let us all be wise and merry,</div> -<div class="verse">And laugh and quaff and drink brown sherry!”</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Linda caught at Nance’s sleeve. “I think I’ll let -you go without me,” she whispered. “I feel rather -tired.”</p> - -<p>Nance looked anxiously into her eyes. “I’d come -back with you,” she murmured, “but it would hurt their -feelings. You’d better lie down a little. I’ll be back -soon.” Then, in a lower whisper, “They did it to -cheer us up. They’re dear, absurd people. Take care -of yourself, darling.”</p> - -<p>Linda stood for a while after she had bidden them -all good-bye and watched them move down the street. -In the misty sunshine there was something very gentle -and appealing about Nance’s girlish figure as she -walked between the two men. They both seemed talking -to her at the same time and, as they talked, they -watched her face with affectionate and tender admiration.</p> - -<p>“She treats them like children,” said Linda to herself. -“That’s why they’re all so fond of her.”</p> - -<p>She walked slowly back up the street; but instead of -entering her house, she drifted languidly across the -green and made her way towards the park gates.</p> - -<p>She felt very lonely, just then—lonely and full of -a heart-aching longing. If only she could catch one -glimpse, just one, of the man who was so dear to her—of -the man who was the father of her child.</p> - -<p>She thought of Adrian’s recovery and she thought -vaguely and wistfully of the coming of Baptiste. “I -hope he will like us,” she said to herself. “I hope he -will like us both.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_446" id="Page_446">[446]</a></span></p> - -<p>Hardly knowing what she did, she passed in through -the gates and began moving up the avenue. All the -tragic and passionate emotions associated with this -place came over her like a rushing wave. She stopped -and hesitated. Then with a pitiful effort to control -her feelings, she turned and began retracing her steps.</p> - -<p>Suddenly she stopped again, her heart beating -wildly. Yes, there were footsteps approaching her -from the direction of Oakguard. She looked around. -Brand Renshaw himself was behind her, standing at a -curve of the avenue, bareheaded, under an enormous -pine. The horizontal sunlight piercing the foliage in -front of him shone red on the trunk of the great tree -and red on the man’s blood-coloured head.</p> - -<p>She started towards him with a little gasping cry, -like an animal that, after long wandering, catches sight -of its hiding-place.</p> - -<p>The man had stopped because he had seen her, and -now when he saw her approaching him a convulsive -tremor ran through his powerful frame. For one second -he made a movement as if to meet her; but then, -raising his long arms with a gesture as if at once embracing -her and taking leave of her, he plunged into -the shadows of the trees and was lost to view.</p> - -<p>The girl stood where he had left her—stood as if -turned to stone—for several long minutes, while over -her head the misty sky looked down through the -branches, and from the open spaces of the park came -the harsh cry of sea-gulls flying towards the coast.</p> - -<p>Then, with drooping head and dazed expressionless -eyes, she walked slowly back, the way she had come.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_447" id="Page_447">[447]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXVII">XXVII<br /> -<span class="smaller">THRENOS</span></h2> - -<p>After her encounter with Nance, Mrs. Renshaw, -returning to Oakguard, informed both -Philippa and Brand of the improvement in -the condition of Adrian Sorio.</p> - -<p>Philippa received the news quietly enough, conscious -that the eyes of her brother were upon her; but as soon -as she could get away, which was not till the afternoon -was well advanced, she slipped off hastily and directed -her steps, by a short cut through the park, to -the Rodmoor railway-station. She had one fixed idea -now in her mind—the idea of seeing Adrian and talking -with him before any interview was allowed to the -others.</p> - -<p>She knew that her name and her prestige as the sister -of the largest local landowner, would win her at any -rate respectful consideration for anything she asked—and -everything beyond that she left recklessly in the -hands of fate.</p> - -<p>Baltazar’s death had affected her more than she -would herself have supposed possible. She had felt -during these last days a sort of malignant envy of her -mother, whose attitude towards her friend’s loss was -so strange and abnormal.</p> - -<p>Philippa, with her scarlet lips, her classic flesh, her -Circean feverishness, suffered from her close association -with this exultant mourner, as some heathen boy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_448" id="Page_448">[448]</a></span> -robbed of his companion might have suffered from contact -with a Christian visionary, for whom death was -“far better.”</p> - -<p>At this moment, however, as she hurried towards the -station, it was not of Baltazar, it was of Adrian, and -Adrian only, that she thought.</p> - -<p>She dismissed the fact of Baptiste’s expected arrival -with bitter contempt. Let the boy go to Nance if he -pleased! After all, it was to herself—much more intimately -than to Nance—that Adrian had confided -his passionate idealization of his son and his savage -craving for him.</p> - -<p>Yes, it was to her he had confided this, and it was to -her always, and never to Nance, that he spoke of his -book and of his secret thoughts. Her <em>mind</em> was what -Adrian wanted—her mind, her spirit, her imagination. -These were things that Nance, with all her feminine -ways, was never able to give him.</p> - -<p>Why couldn’t she tear him from her now and from -all these people?</p> - -<p>Let these others be afraid of his madness. He was -not mad to her. If he were, why then, she too, she -who loved him and understood him, was mad!</p> - -<p>From the long sloping spaces of the park, as she -hurried on, she could see at intervals, through the misty -sun-bathed trees, the mouth of the harbour, with its -masts and shipping, and, beyond that, the sea itself.</p> - -<p>Ah! the sea was the thing that had mingled their -souls! The sea was the accomplice of their love!</p> - -<p>Yes, he was hers—hers in the heights and the depths—and -none of them should tear him from her!</p> - -<p>All the whimpering human crowd of them, with their -paltry pieties and vulgar prudence—how she would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_449" id="Page_449">[449]</a></span> -love to strike them down and pass over them—over -their upturned staring faces—until he and she were -together!</p> - -<p>Through the dreamy air, with its floating gossamer-seeds -and faint smell of dead leaves, came to her, as she -ran on, over the uneven ground, past rabbit-holes and -bracken and clumps of furze, the far distant murmur -of the waves on the sands. Yes! The sea was what -had joined them; and, as long as that sound was in her -ears, no power on earth could hold them apart!</p> - -<p>She reached the station just in time. It was five -minutes to five and the train left at the hour. Philippa -secured a first-class ticket for herself and sank down -exhausted in the empty compartment.</p> - -<p>How long that five minutes seemed!</p> - -<p>She was full of a fierce jealous dread lest any of -Nance’s friends might be going that very evening to -visit the patient.</p> - -<p>She listened to the conversation of two lads on the -platform near her carriage window. They were speaking -of a great bonfire which was to be prepared that -day, on the southern side of the harbour, to be set -alight the following evening, in honour of the historic -Fifth of November. In the tension of her nerves -Philippa found herself repeating the quaint lines of the -old refrain, associated in her mind with many childish -memories.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“Remember, remember</div> -<div class="verse">Fifth of November,</div> -<div class="verse">Gunpowder Treason and plot.</div> -<div class="verse">We know no reason</div> -<div class="verse">Why Gunpowder Treason</div> -<div class="verse">Should ever be forgot!”</div> -</div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_450" id="Page_450">[450]</a></span></p> -<p>And the question flashed through her mind as to what -would have happened by the time that great spire of -smoke and flame—she recalled the look of it so well!—rose -up and drifted across the water. Would it be -the welcoming signal to bring Baptiste to Rodmoor—to -Rodmoor and to Adrian?</p> - -<p>Two minutes more! She watched the hand upon the -station-clock. It was slowly crossing the diminishing -strip of white which separated it from the figure of the -hour. Oh, these cruel signs, with their murderous -moving fingers! Why must Love and Hope and Despair -depend upon little patches of vanishing white, between -black marks?</p> - -<p>Off at last! And she made a little gasping noise -in her throat as if she had swallowed that strip of -white.</p> - -<p>An hour later, as the November darkness was closing -in, she passed through the iron gates into the -Asylum garden. As she moved in, a small group of -inmates of the Asylum, accompanied by a nurse, -emerged from a secluded path. It was shadowy and -obscure under those heavy trees, but led by the childish -curiosity of the demented, these unfortunate persons, -instead of obeying their attendant’s command, drifted -waveringly towards her.</p> - -<p>A movement took place among them like that described -by Dante in his Inferno as occurring when -some single soul, out of a procession of lost spirits, -recognizes in the dubious twilight, a living figure from -the upper air.</p> - -<p>For the moment Philippa wondered if Adrian was -among them, but if he was he was given no opportunity -to approach her, for the alert guardian of these people,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_451" id="Page_451">[451]</a></span> -like some Virgilian watcher of ghostly shadows -upon the infernal stream, shepherded them away, across -the darkened lawn, towards the corner of the building.</p> - -<p>The Renshaw name acted like magic when she reached -the house. Yes, Mr. Sorio was much better; practically -quite himself again, and there was no reason at -all why Miss Renshaw should not have an interview -with him. A letter had, indeed, only that very afternoon -been posted to Miss Herrick, asking her to come -up to the place the following day.</p> - -<p>Philippa inquired whether her interview with the patient -might take the form of a little walk with him, before -the hour of their evening meal. This request produced -a momentary hesitation on the part of the official -to whom she made it, but ultimately—for, after -all, Miss Renshaw was the sister of the magistrate who -had procured the unhappy man’s admission into the -place—that too was granted her, on condition that -she returned in half-an-hour’s time, and did not take -her companion into the streets of the town. Having -granted her request the Asylum doctor left her in the -waiting-room, while he went to fetch her friend.</p> - -<p>Philippa sank down upon a plush-covered chair and -looked around her. What a horrible room it was! -The shabby furniture, covered with gloomy drapery, -had an air of sombre complicity with all the tragedies -that darkened human life. It was like a room only -entered when some one was dead or dying. It was like -the ante-room to a cemetery. Everything in it -drooped, and seemed anxious to efface itself, as if -ashamed to witness the indecent exposures of outraged -human thoughts.</p> - -<p>They brought Sorio at last, and the man’s sunken<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_452" id="Page_452">[452]</a></span> -eyes gleamed with a light of indescribable pleasure -when his hand met Philippa’s and clutched it with -trembling eagerness.</p> - -<p>They went out of the room together and moved -down the long passage that led to the entrance of the -place. As she walked by his side, Philippa experienced -the queer sensation of having him as her partner in -some diabolic <i>danse-macabre</i>, performed to the mingled -tune of all the wild “songs of madness” created -since the beginning of the world.</p> - -<p>She couldn’t help noticing that the groups of people -they passed on their way had an air quite different -from persons in a hospital or even in a prison. They -made her think—these miserable ones—of some horrible -school for grown-up people; such a school as those -who have been ill-used in childhood see sometimes in -their dreams.</p> - -<p>They seemed to loiter and gather and peer and mutter, -as if, “with bated breath and whispering humbleness,” -they were listening to something that was going -on behind closed doors. Philippa got the impression -of a horrible atmosphere of <em>guilt</em> hanging over the -place, as if some dark and awful retribution were being -undergone there, for crimes committed against the natural -instincts of humanity.</p> - -<p>A lean, emaciated old woman came shuffling past -them, with elongated neck and outstretched arms. -“I’m a camel! I’m a camel! I’m a camel!” Philippa -heard her mutter.</p> - -<p>Suddenly Adrian laid his hand on her arm. “They -let me have my owl in here, Phil,” he said. “We -mustn’t go far to-night or it’ll get hungry. It has its -supper off my plate. I never told you how I found it,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_453" id="Page_453">[453]</a></span> -did I? It was pecking at her eyes, you know. Yes, -at her eyes! But that’s nothing, is it? She had been -dead for weeks, and owls are scavengers, and corpses -are carrion!”</p> - -<p>They crossed the garden with quick steps.</p> - -<p>“How good the air is to-night!” cried Philippa’s -companion, throwing back his head and snuffing the -leaf-scented darkness.</p> - -<p>They were let out through the iron gates and turning -instinctively south-wards, they wandered slowly -down to the river—the girl’s hand resting on the man’s -arm.</p> - -<p>They passed, on their way, the blackened wall of a -disused factory. A blurred and feeble street-lamp -threw a flickering light upon this wall. Pasted upon -its surface was a staring and coloured advertisement -of some insurance company, representing a phoenix -surrounded by flames.</p> - -<p>Philippa thought at once of the bonfire which was -being prepared for the ensuing evening. Would -Adrian’s boy really arrive in so short a time? And -would Adrian himself, like that grotesque bird, so imperturbable -in the midst of its funeral pyre, rise to new -life after all this misery? Let it be her—oh, great -heavenly powers!—let it be her and not Nance, nor -Baptiste, nor any other, who should save him and heal -him!</p> - -<p>Still looking at the picture on the wall, she repeated -to her companion a favourite verse of Mrs. Renshaw’s -which she had learnt as a child.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_454" id="Page_454">[454]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Death is now the phoenix’ nest</div> -<div class="verse">And the turtle’s loyal breast</div> -<div class="verse">To eternity doth rest.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Leaving no posterity,</div> -<div class="verse">’Twas not their infirmity,</div> -<div class="verse">It was married chastity.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The rich dirge-like music of these Shakespearian -rhymes—placed so quaintly under their strange title -of “Threnos,” at the end of the familiar volume—had -a soothing influence upon them both at that moment.</p> - -<p>It seemed to Philippa as if, by her utterance of them, -they both came to share some sad sweet obsequies over -the body of something that was neither human nor inhuman, -something remote, strange, ineffable, that lay -between them, and was of them and yet not of them, -like the spirit-corpse of an unborn child.</p> - -<p>They reached the bank of the river. The waters of -the Loon were high and, through the darkness, a murmur -as if composed of a hundred vague whispering -voices blending together, rose to their ears from its -dark surface.</p> - -<p>They moved down close to the river’s edge. A small -barge, with its long guiding-pole lying across it, lay -moored to the bank. Without a moment’s delay—as -if the thing had been prepared in advance to receive -him—Adrian jumped into the barge and seized the -pole.</p> - -<p>“Come!” he said quietly.</p> - -<p>She was too reckless and indifferent to everything -now, to care greatly what they did; so without a word -of protest, or any attempt to turn his purpose, she -leapt in after him and settling herself in the stern, -seized the heavy wooden rudder.</p> - -<p>The tide was running sea-ward, fast and strong, and -the barge, pushed vigorously by Adrian’s pole away -from the bank, swept forward into the darkness.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_455" id="Page_455">[455]</a></span></p> - -<p>Adrian, standing firmly on his feet, continued to hold -the pole, his figure looming out of obscurity, tall and -commanding.</p> - -<p>The tide soon swept them beyond the last houses of -the town and out into the open fens.</p> - -<p>The night was very still and quite free from wind -but a thin veil of mist concealed the stars.</p> - -<p>Adrian, letting the pole sink down on the deck of -the barge, moved forward to where she sat holding the -rudder, and stretched himself out at her feet.</p> - -<p>“Will they follow us?” he whispered in a dreamy -indifferent voice.</p> - -<p>“No, no!” the girl answered. “They’ll never think -of this. They’ll wait for us and when we don’t come -back, they’ll search the town and the roads. Let’s go -on as we are, dearest. What does it matter? What -does anything matter?”</p> - -<p>She lay back and ran her fingers gently and dreamily -over his forehead.</p> - -<p>Swiftly and silently the barge swept on, and willows, -poplars, weirs, dam-gates, tall reeds and ruined rush-thatched -hovels, passed them by, like figures woven out -of unreal shadows.</p> - -<p>The water gurgled against the sides of the barge -and whispered mournfully against the banks, and, as -they advanced, the mystery of the night and the brooding -silence of the fens received them in a mystic embrace.</p> - -<p>A strange deep happiness gradually surged up in -Philippa’s heart. She was with the man she loved; she -was with the darkness she loved, and the river she -loved. The Loon carried them forward, the pitiful -friendly Loon, the Loon which had flowed by the dwelling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_456" id="Page_456">[456]</a></span> -of her race for so many ages; the Loon which had -given Baltazar the peace he craved.</p> - -<p>Just the faintest tremor of doubt troubled her, the -thought that it was towards Nance—towards her -rival—that the tide was bearing them; but let come -what might come, that hour at least was hers! Not -all the world could take that hour from her—and the -future? What did the future matter?</p> - -<p>As to the brain-sick man himself, who lay at the girl’s -feet, it were long and hard to tell all the strange dim -visions that flowed through his head. He took Philippa’s -hand in his own and kissed it tenderly but, had -the girl known, his thoughts were not of her. They -were not even of his son; of the son for whom he had -so passionately longed. They were not of any human -being. They circled constantly—these thoughts—round -a strange vague image, an image moulded of -white mists and white vapours and the reflection of -white stars in dark waters.</p> - -<p>This image, of a shape dim and vast and elemental, -seemed to flow upwards from land and sea, and stretch -forth towards infinite space. It was an image of something -beyond human expression, of something beyond -earth-loves and earth-hatreds, beyond life and also beyond -death. It was the image of Nothingness; and yet -in this Nothingness there was a relief, an escape, a -refuge, a beyond-hope, which made all the ways of humanity -seem indifferent, all its gods childish, all its -dreams vain, and yet offered a large cool draught of -“deep and liquid rest” the taste of which set the soul -completely free.</p> - -<p>Many hours passed thus over their heads, as the tide -carried them down towards Rodmoor, round the great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_457" id="Page_457">[457]</a></span> -sweeping curves made by the Loon, through the stubble-fields -and the marshes.</p> - -<p>It was, at last, the striking of the side of the barge -against one of the arches of the New Bridge, which -roused the prostrate man from the trance into which -he had fallen.</p> - -<p>As soon as they had emerged on the further side of -the arch, he leapt to his feet. Bending forward towards -Philippa, he pointed with an outstretched arm -towards the shadowy houses of Rodmoor which, with -here and there a faint light in some high window, could -now be discerned through the darkness.</p> - -<p>“I smell the sea!” he cried. “I smell the sea! -Drift on, Phil, my little one, drift on to the harbour! -I must leave you now. We shall meet by the sea, my -girl—by the sea in the old way—but I can’t wait -now. I must be alone, alone, alone!”</p> - -<p>Waving his hand wildly with a gesture of farewell, -he clutched at a clump of reeds and sprang out upon -the bank. Philippa, letting the barge float on as it -pleased, followed him with all the speed she could.</p> - -<p>He had secured a considerable start of her, however, -and it was all she could do to keep him in sight in the -darkness.</p> - -<p>He ran first towards the church, but when he reached -the path which deviated towards the sand-dunes, he -turned sharply eastward. He ran wildly, desperately, -with no thought in his whole being but the feeling that -he must reach the sea and be alone.</p> - -<p>He felt at that moment as though the whole of humanity—loathsome, -cancerous, suffocating humanity—were -pursuing him with outstretched hands.</p> - -<p>Once, as he was mid-way between the church path<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_458" id="Page_458">[458]</a></span> -and the dunes, he turned his head, and catching sight -of Philippa’s figure following him, he plunged forward -in a fury of panic.</p> - -<p>As he crossed the dunes, at this savage pace, something -seemed to break in his brain or in his heart. He -spat out a mouthful of sweet-tasting blood, and, falling -on his knees, fumbled in the loose sand, as if searching -for some lost object.</p> - -<p>Staggering once more to his feet, and seeing that his -pursuer was near, he stumbled wildly down the slope -of the dunes and tottered across the sand to the water’s -edge.</p> - -<p>He was there at last—safe from everything—safe -from love and hatred and madness and pity—safe -from unspeakable imaginations—safe from himself!</p> - -<p>The long dark line of waves broke calmly and indifferently -at his feet, and away—away into the eternal -night—stretched the vast expanse of the sea, dim, -vague, full of inexpressible, infinite reassurance.</p> - -<p>He raised both his arms into the air. For one brief -miraculous moment his brain became clear and an ecstatic -feeling of triumph and unconquerable joy swept -through him.</p> - -<p>“Baptiste!” he shouted in a shrill vibrating voice, -“Baptiste!”</p> - -<p>His cry went reverberating over the water. He -turned and tried to struggle back. A rush of blood -once more filled his mouth. His head grew dizzy.</p> - -<p>“Tell Nance that I—that I—” His words died -into a choking murmur and he fell heavily on his face -on the sand.</p> - -<p>He was dead when she reached him. She lifted him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_459" id="Page_459">[459]</a></span> -gently till he lay on his back and then pressing her -hand to his heart, she knew that it was the end.</p> - -<p>She sank beside him, bowing her forehead till it -touched the ground, and clinging to his neck. After a -minute or two she rose, and taking his hand in her own -she sat staring into the darkness, with wide-open tearless -eyes.</p> - -<p>She was “alone with her dead” and nothing mattered -any more now.</p> - -<p>She remained motionless for several long moments, -while over her head something that resembled eternity -seemed to pass by, on beautiful, terrible, beating wings.</p> - -<p>Then she rose up upon her feet.</p> - -<p>“She shall never have him!” she murmured. “She -shall never have him!”</p> - -<p>She tore from her waist a strongly-woven embroidered -cord, the long tassels of which hung down at her -side. She dragged the dead man to the very edge of -the water. With an incredible effort, she raised him -up till he leant, limp and heavy, against her own body.</p> - -<p>Then, supporting him with difficulty, and with difficulty -keeping herself from sinking under his weight, -she twisted the cord round them both, and tied it in a -secure knot. Holding him thus before her, with his -chin resting on her shoulder, she staggered forward -into the water.</p> - -<p>It was not easy to advance, and her heart seemed -on the point of breaking with the strain. But the -savage thought that she was taking him away from -Nance—from Nance and from every one—to possess -him herself forever, gave her a supernatural -strength.</p> - -<p>It seemed as though the demon of madness, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_460" id="Page_460">[460]</a></span> -had passed from Adrian at the last, and left him free, -had entered into her.</p> - -<p>If that was indeed the case, it is more than likely that -when she fell at last—fell backwards under his weight -beneath the waves—it was rather with a mad ecstasy -of abandonment that she drank the choking water, than -with any hopeless struggle to escape the end she had -willed.</p> - -<p>Bound tightly together, both by the girl’s clinging -arms and by the cord she had fastened round them, -the North Sea as it drew back in the out-flowing of its -tide, carried their bodies forth into the darkness.</p> - -<p>Far from land it carried them—under the misty -unseeing sky—far from misery and madness, and when -the dawn came trembling at last over the restless expanse -of water, it found only the white sea-horses and -the white sea-birds. Those two had sunk together; out -of reach of humanity, out of reach of Rodmoor.</p> - -<p class="titlepage">THE END</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Rodmoor, by John Cowper Powys - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RODMOOR *** - -***** This file should be named 53339-h.htm or 53339-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/3/3/53339/ - -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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