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diff --git a/old/55708-8.txt b/old/55708-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 8d307ec..0000000 --- a/old/55708-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3573 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Death the Knight and the Lady, by Henry De Vere Stacpoole - -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: Death the Knight and the Lady - A Ghost Story - -Author: Henry De Vere Stacpoole - -Release Date: October 9, 2017 [EBook #55708] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DEATH THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY *** - - - - -Produced by Roger Frank, David E. Brown and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - -DEATH THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY - - - - -_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_ - -PIERROT - -2s. net - - -'The story has an extraordinary charm, imagination, style. The -descriptions of the German soldiers passing the park gates on their -way to Paris, of the old Corporal of the Grand Army, drunken and -broken-hearted, of the gentle figure of the poor young count, these -belong to literature, and literature of a fine quality.'--_Academy._ - -'It is a fascinating romance.'--_Punch._ - -'Weird mystery and delicate fancy mingle in "Pierrot." Mr Stacpoole -writes gracefully and his manner suits his dainty theme.'--_Black and -White._ - -'Mr Stacpoole has achieved a distinct success. He has managed to create -just the atmosphere of poetic mystery that is required, and this it is -which gives the book its charm.'--_National Observer._ - -'If all the volumes of Mr John Lane's new "Pierrot Library" are to be -of the same genus as the first one, "Pierrot," let us have a volume -once a week and regularly as Sunday comes round.'--_Woman._ - -'On the whole "Pierrot" is both unusual and refreshing.'--_Literary -World._ - -'The story is peculiarly fascinating. The writer has a deft touch and a -rare command of apt language.'--_Dundee Advertiser._ - - JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD - LONDON & NEW YORK - - - - - DEATH THE KNIGHT - AND THE LADY - - A GHOST STORY - - BY - - H. DE VERE STACPOOLE - - [Illustration] - - JOHN LANE - THE BODLEY HEAD - LONDON & NEW YORK - - MDCCCXCVII - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - BALLAD OF THE ARRAS vii - - PROLOGUE 1 - - CHAP. - - I. I DESCRIBE MYSELF 11 - - II. JAMES WILDER 16 - - III. A SOUND WHICH REMINDS ME OF MY PAST 27 - - IV. INSTRUCTIONS PERFORMED 35 - - V. WE SAY GOOD-BYE 38 - - VI. --AND I START 42 - - VII. NORTH 44 - - VIII. THE DIMLY-PAINTED FACE 50 - - IX. GERALDINE 57 - - X. WE MEET 72 - - XI. THE LITTLE BLACK BOOK 78 - - XII. THE MORNING 89 - - XIII. "YOU WERE NOT DRESSED LIKE THIS" 102 - - XIV. THE BALLADE OF THE FALCON 109 - - XV. MY LETTER 112 - - XVI. THE BLACK HORSE AND THE WHITE 121 - - XVII. THE OLD OAK CHEST 126 - - XVIII. THE TRUMPETER 144 - - XIX. THE TRUMPETER 147 - - XX. THE RUBY WINE 151 - - XXI. "AND THEY LAID HIM TO HIS REST" 160 - - XXII. THE END 162 - - - - -BALLAD OF THE ARRAS - - - Lo! where are now these armoured hosts - Mailed for the tourney _cāp-a-pie_, - These dames and damozelles whose ghosts - Make of the past this pagentry? - - O sanguine book of History! - Romance with perfume cloaks thy must, - But he who shakes the page may see - --Dust. - - Stiff hangs the arras in the gloom; - I turn my head awhile to gaze: - Here lordly stallions fret and fume, - Here streams o'er briar and brake the chase. - - Here sounds a horn, here turns a face, - How filled with fires of life and lust! - Wind shakes the arras and betrays - --Dust. - - Ephemeral hand inditing this - Great hound that lolls against my knee, - Lips pursed in thought as if to kiss - Regret--full soon the time must be. - - When one shall search, but find not ye, - For that dim moth whose labours rust - All forms in time or tapestry - --Dust. - - Forth offspring to the perch and then - Clap wings--or fall, if find you must - This saddest fate of books or men - --Dust. - - - - -DEATH THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY - - - - -PROLOGUE - - -I had almost forgotten James Wilder's existence, when, one night in -June, I received an urgent message asking me to call upon him without -delay. - -An hour later I was sitting in his library, and in the arm-chair -opposite mine was sunk what seemed the spectre of my friend. During the -ten months that had elapsed since our last meeting he had passed from -middle life to premature old age. - -"I am glad you have come," he said, "I am in need of a friend, but do -not speak to me yet, that is, for a moment, I wish to think." - -His eyes fell from me to the carpet, he seemed watching something, and -his thin lips were curled in a ghostly smile. - -The room was hot and oppressive, flowers were heaped everywhere in -profusion, and the large wood fire burning in the grate mixed its faint -aromatic smell with the perfume of the roses and tube-roses lolling in -their porcelain bowls. - -I sat watching the burning logs and thinking. I had known Wilder for -some years, I had been his intimate friend, but how much did I know -really about him? Not much. I had dined with him, talked with him, -exchanged opinions; I knew that he was wealthy, that he owned a house -somewhere in the country, to which he never invited friends, and of -which I had heard rumours needless to set down here. That he was an -opium eater I knew, and that was the extent of my knowledge of the man. - -Of the being who existed behind that careworn, weary face, I knew -absolutely nothing, but I had always guessed it to be occupied with -some secret trouble, pressed upon by some sin or sorrow of which it -dared not speak; also, by some freak of imagination, I had always -coupled this imaginary sorrow of Wilder's with that house in the -country of which I had received so many mysterious hints. - -Suddenly I started from my reverie. Wilder was speaking. - -"Ah, my dear ----, I have been trying to brace myself for the effort, -but I cannot, I cannot; what I have to ask of you, you will do without -question if you are my friend, but to speak of it all, to go over that -terrible ground, oh! impossible, impossible, impossible." - -His voice died away into a whisper, and he struck with his thin hand on -the arm of his chair, as if beating time to some dreary tune heard by -him alone. - -"What I ask of you is this, to start as soon as possible for my place -in Yorkshire, and to see carried out after the fashion I desire, the -obsequies of a man--I mean, a woman--who is lying there dead." - -Again his voice sank to a whisper, his eyes turned from mine evasively, -and he covered them with one of his thin white hands. - -A man--I mean a woman--what _did_ he mean? - -"Will you do this?" - -"Yes, I will do as you ask; it seems strange, no matter, I will do it." - -"You take a load from me. Ah, my dear ----, if you could only guess -what I have suffered, the terrors, the tortures, the _nameless_ misery. -I ought to be at the grave side when this terrible burial--Oh, how my -head wanders, I have scarcely the power of thought, but say it once -again, you will do what I ask, promise me that again." - -"Yes, yes, I promise, set your mind at rest--I will do what you -require." - -"You will start, then, at once?" - -"To-morrow." - -"Yes, to-morrow early, to-morrow early; and now as to what you are to -do. Listen, at Ashworth, near my place, there lives a man who works in -granite, you will get him to cut a memorial tablet. These words are -to be upon it, they are written on this piece of paper, take it; the -body is to be buried in the vault of the little church in the park; -remember it is to be interred dressed exactly as I have ordered it to -be dressed, this is my chief reason for asking you to attend the last -ceremonies. I dare not leave this matter to the hands of servants, and -I--may not go myself, I am broken down with ill-health and sorrow, and -the journey would kill me, though, indeed, I am dying fast enough." - -His eyes were wandering again, as if following some imaginary spectre -about the room. I looked at the piece of paper, on it was written-- - - "SIR GERALD WILDER, Knt. - _Rest in Peace_." - -Sir Gerald Wilder! why, a moment ago he said "a woman." What mystery -was in this? And then, "Rest in Peace," it sounded like a command. - -"The coffin is ordered," broke out Wilder, suddenly seeming to return -to this world from the world of his imagination. "The coffin is made, -promise me again, you will go." - -"I will go." - -The next morning I started for Ashworth, in Yorkshire, to fulfil my -strange mission. I had asked no more of Wilder, content to act without -question, which is the first office of friendship. I started early, and -arrived at Ashworth shortly after three o'clock. A carriage was waiting -to take me to the Gables. The weather was exquisite, and the moors -over which the white road led us stretched on either side, far as the -eye could reach, like a rolling sea under the blue summer sky and hot -June sun. The rocking motion sent me to sleep. When I woke the wheels -were crashing on gravel, and the carriage was passing swiftly through a -long, dark avenue. - -This was, then, the Gables, this great old-fashioned gloomy house, with -a broad portico supported on fluted granite pillars, facing the broad -park dotted with clumps of trees, so broad and so far-reaching that the -deer in the furthermost parts were reduced to moving specks. - -The door was opened by an ill-looking servant-maid, whose sour and -crabbed face struck an unpleasant note against the old-fashioned and -romantic surroundings. - -The great hall, oak-panelled, and lit by stained glass windows, hid -amongst its other treasures an echo, whose dreamy voice repeated my -footsteps with a sound like the pattering of a ghost. I stood for a -moment, my heart absorbing the silence of this place, so far removed -from the spirit of to-day. The air held something, I know not what, it -seemed like an odour left from the perfumed robes of Romance. - -I heard a sound behind me, and turning, I saw an old servant man with -silvery white hair. He showed me to my room, and I kept him whilst I -explained fully my business. - -He listened respectfully, but like a person who had ceased to take any -interest in life. When I had finished, I asked him to take me to the -room where the dead person lay. - -He led the way down a corridor, opened a door, and stood aside whilst -I entered. I found myself in a bedroom hung with rose-coloured silk; -the window was open, and through it came the warm evening breeze and -the far-off cawing of rooks. - -On the bed I saw a form, but I could scarcely believe that what I saw -was real. Stretched upon the snow-white coverlet lay the body of a -cavalier, full-dressed in amber satin doublet and long buff-coloured -riding-boots, his hair long, curling, and black as night, surrounded a -face pale as marble and beautiful as a woman's. His white right hand, -peeping from its lace ruffle, grasped the hilt of a sword, his left -hand grasped a silver trumpet. Attached to the trumpet a crimson silk -cord streaked the coverlet like a thin and tortuous stream of blood. -He seemed to have stepped from the pages of romance, and to have laid -himself down here to rest. I trembled as I looked, feared to stir lest -he should wake, yet I well knew him to be dead. I might have fancied -myself in a dream but for the far-off clamour of the rooks coming -through the evening sky outside and the sound of my own heart beating. - -Was it a man? was it a woman? the face might have done for either, yet -it was the most beautiful face I had ever beheld, the most romantic, -the most pathetic. Then recollection woke up, and I shuddered. This, -then, was Sir Gerald Wilder. This form, more beautiful than a picture, -was the sorrow of James Wilder, the thing that had driven him to opium, -the thing that had broken his heart and crowned him with premature old -age. How? Why? I dared scarcely think. - -I stole from the room. In the passage I found the old man-servant -waiting for me; he shut the door softly, and I followed him back to my -own room. There I took his arm and looked in his face. - -"What is the meaning of this?" - -"I dursn't tell you, sir; oh, sir, my heart be gone with the sorrow -of it all, but if you wish, I will bring the book that he was always -a-writing in for these months past." - -"Yes, get the book, please, at once: no thank you, nothing to eat yet, -I wish to see the book first." - -He went, and returned with a large, old-fashioned common-place book, -the leaves of which were covered with writing. It was a woman's hand. - -I took it down stairs, and went with it into the garden. - -There, on a seat in the middle of an old Dutch garden, very prim, very -silent, where the sunlight fell upon the faces of the amber and purple -pansies, and the great white carnations shook their ruffles to the wind -with a dreamy and seventeenth century air, I sat and read this story, -written by the hand of a dead cavalier who craves, through me, your -sympathy for his deathless sorrow. - - - - -THE BOOK - - - - -CHAPTER I - -I DESCRIBE MYSELF - - -I cannot tell you my story unless I tell you who I am and what I am. -Oh, it is not for pleasure that I am writing all this down, but just -because I--must. - -My name is Beatrice Sinclair, and I am the last representative of an -old and ruined family. There were Sinclairs in the time of King Charles -who were great people at Court--you must accept the statement, for I -cannot write much about this family of mine, the very thought of it -fills me with a kind of horror. What would all those men with long -flowing hair, those women with patches on their faces,--what would they -say if they could see me, the last of their race, and could know what -I have been? - -Perhaps you guess what I mean, perhaps you are sneering at me; you can -do so if you please, for I am so very ill that I care for nothing now, -and they say I am dying. I know now, oh, I know well why an animal -crawls away and hides itself to die: though I am only twenty-three I -know more about death than those Egyptians who have been shut up in -pyramids alone with him for a thousand years. - -From the window where I am sitting now, wrapped up in shawls, I can see -the garden; the frost has gone, and I can see a yellow crocus that has -pushed its head up through the dark, stiff mould. If it knew what I -know of life, it would draw that head back. - -You must think me a very gloomy person, and indeed just now I am, for -I am thinking of a part of my history of which I shall not speak, but -only hint. - -Some time, no matter how long ago, I was living at the Bath Hotel. I -had plenty of clothes and money, and I thought I was in love. Well, -one day I found myself deserted, I found a letter on the breakfast -table enclosing a blue strip of paper--a cheque for two hundred pounds. -I did not scream and tear my hair as a girl I know said she did when -she was deserted, I believe I laughed. - -I went to the theatre that night alone, and everybody stared at me. I -was beautiful then, I am nearly as beautiful now, but it was only on -that night that I first fully recognised how beautiful I was, I could -see it in the faces of the men who looked at me, and in the manner of -the women,--how women hate one another! and yet some women have been -very good to me. - -Well, when I got home I found supper waiting for me, and after supper I -looked at myself again in the long pier glass opposite the fireplace; -then a strange feeling came over me that I had never felt before, I -felt a thirst to be admired, I say thirst, for it was so, it was really -in the back of my throat that this feeling came, but it was in my head -as well; it was not the admiration of ordinary people that I wanted; I -craved to see some being as lovely as myself turn its head to gaze at -me. - -Oh! my beautiful face, how I loved you, oh! the nights I have woken up -shivering to think of the dissecting rooms where they take the bodies -of the people who have no friends. - -At the end of six months my two hundred pounds were nearly gone. I -lived innocently, I lived in a kind of dream. Men filled me with a kind -of horror, when they looked at me in the streets I shuddered; I shudder -still, and I wonder why God ever made such a blind and cruel thing as -man. - -I moved into furnished rooms: all this is misty now in my mind. If I -had died then I might never have gone to heaven, but I would never have -seen hell. I got typhoid fever; my rings lay on the dressing table, -hoops of sapphires and emeralds; each fortnight a ring went to pay for -my rooms and the doctor, who seemed never able to cure me. - -I cannot tell you much after this, I can only say that I struggled, mad -with pride and mad with hatred. I starved, but why should I pain you, -and make more sad a story that is already sad enough? - - - - -CHAPTER II - -JAMES WILDER - - -It is about six months ago. I was in a very bad way. I was walking -along the south side of Russell Square one day--the 17th of September I -remember now--and thinking to myself how I should pay my landlady the -three weeks' rent owing to her. - -Deeply as I was trying to think I could not help noticing a man coming -towards me, striding along with his hat tilted back from his forehead, -his head in the air, and looking just like a person walking in his -sleep. I made way to let him pass, then suddenly I felt him grasp me by -the arm and I heard him say "Ah!" - -I knew at once--how shall I put it--that he only wanted to speak to me, -that he had mistaken me for someone he knew, and as I looked in his -face I did not feel a bit afraid, although his face was strange enough, -goodness knows. - -"What is your name?" he asked. - -"Jane Seymour," I replied, for it was my name, at least the name I went -under. - -"Ah!" he said, and his hand fell from my arm. I never saw a person look -so disappointed as he looked just then; I heard him muttering something -like "always the same, disappointment, death," then he turned to go, -and I broke into tears. - -I was hungry and I had no money; he had seemed almost friendly, and now -he was going--I could scarcely speak, I leaned up against the railings, -I remember trying to hide a hole in my glove, for I had determined on -telling him my real name. - -"Well?" he said, "Well?" - -"My name is Beatrice Sinclair," I answered; "that is my real name." - -Then I stopped crying, for I was absolutely frightened, _such_ a -change came over this strange man; two large tears ran down his face, -he clasped his hands together with the fingers across the backs of each -hand, and I thought for one moment that he was a lunatic, then somehow -I _knew_ that he was not. - -"Beatrice Sinclair," he muttered to me in a low voice, as if afraid of -someone else hearing him, "Beatrice Sinclair, oh, Beatrice! the time -I have been searching for you, the three weary years, the nights of -terror; but it is over now, thank God! thank God." - -I felt very strange as he said all this. I knew well that this man was -not in love with me; I had no relations, so he could not be a relation, -and yet I knew in a horribly certain kind of manner that he knew me, -that he had been searching for me, and--had found me. - -A hansom cab was passing, he hailed it and we both got in, then I heard -him giving directions to the driver, "No.--Berkeley Square," he said, -"and drive quick." - -"You look pale and sick," that was the only thing he said during our -drive. But the way in which he said it was very queer. He did not seem -in the least to care whether I was pale or sick, and yet he had seemed -so glad to find me, "Can he be mad after all?" thought I. - -The cab stopped at a large house in Berkeley Square, and we got out; he -gave the driver half-a-sovereign, and without waiting for the change -went up the steps, and opened the door with a latch-key; "Come on," he -said, beckoning to me, and I followed. - -We entered a great hall with a floor of polished oak; I saw jars of -flowers standing here and there, and idols half hidden by palms and -long feathery grasses. - -He opened a door and motioned me to enter a room, and I went in, -feeling horrible in my shabby clothes amongst all this splendour. - -It was a library. He told me to sit down, and I sat in a great -easy-chair, looking about me whilst he went to a window, and stood for -nearly a minute looking out, jingling money in his pocket, but not -speaking a word. - ---Oh, this writing makes my head ache so, and this cough, cough, cough, -that tears me from morning till night!-- - -Well, he stood at the window without speaking, and I kept trying to -hide my boots under my skirt; but I looked about me, and noticed -everything in the room at the same time. - -The books were all set in narrow bookcases, and between the bookcases -there were spaces occupied by pictures, and I never had seen such -strange pictures before. They were just like pictures of ghosts, -beautiful faces nearly all of them, but they seemed like faces made out -of mist, if you understand me. Over the mantelpiece stood a portrait of -an old man with grey hair, and on the gold frame of this picture was -written in black letters the name, "Swedenborg." - -At last my companion turned from the window, wheeled a chair close to -me, and sat down. - -"Now," he said, "I want you to tell me all you know about your family. -I want to make perfectly sure that you _are_ the person for whom I have -been seeking. Tell me unreservedly, it will be to your advantage." - -He had taken his gloves off now, and I saw that his hands, very white -and delicate-looking, were absolutely covered with the most exquisite -rings. - -"Mine is a very old family," I said. "We lived once in a castle in the -North of England, Castle Sinclair." - -"Yes, yes." - -"My father was an officer. He was very extravagant. He died in India. I -was sent to school in England, then I became a governess--then--then--" - -"You need not tell me the rest," he said, "I know it. Yes, you are -indeed Beatrice Sinclair." He looked at me in a gloomy manner. Then -"You have spoken frankly," he said, "and I shall do the same. My name -is James Wilder." - -He paused, and looked at me hard, but I said nothing. - -"Ah!" he continued, "you know nothing of the past, then? Perhaps it -is better so, but I must tell you some of it, so that you may do what -I require you to do. Listen. In the reign of King Charles the First a -terrible tragedy happened. A member of the Wilder family did a fearful -wrong upon a member of the Sinclair family. No family feud took place, -because Gerald Wilder, who had committed this wrong, expiated it by -suicide, but a blind, reasonless, unintentional feud has been going on -between the two houses ever since. The house of Sinclair has warred -with our family in a strange and fearful manner. All the eldest sons of -our house have been slain before the age of twenty by--a Sinclair. My -eldest brother was slain by your father's brother." - -"My father's brother?" - -"Yes, they were out shooting together. My brother was shot dead by -your uncle. It was an accident; no one was to blame, but fate. Now the -fortunes of the two families have been altering during all these years. -The house of Wilder is at its zenith. Speaking in a worldly sense, I -am worth at least fifty thousand a year, at _least_, and the house of -Sinclair?--you are its last representative, how much are you worth?" - -"Less than nothing." - -"Let us be friends then, let us be friends," said Wilder, in a voice -full of supplication. How strange it sounded to hear a man like this, -wealthy and great, asking for _my_ friendship. "Let us be friends,--the -two last representatives of these great houses must forgive each other. -Love can heal this awful wound, and the house of Wilder shall not be -extinct. Oh, God is great and good, he will sanction this love even -though you are what you are." - -He was walking up and down the room as he spoke. "Does he want me to -love _him_?" I thought. - -Then he stopped. - -"You have no money?" - -"None." - -He went to a desk and drew out a cheque-book, scribbled for a moment, -tore off a cheque, and brought it to me. - -I looked at it: it was a cheque on the British Linen Company's Bank for -five hundred pounds. I felt just as if I were drunk, the books in the -cases seemed to dance. - -"This can't be for me," I remember saying; "or do you want me to do -some dreadful thing, that you offer me all this money----" - -I stopped, for he was smiling at me such a melancholy, kind smile, -it told me at once that I had nothing to fear from him. He called me -"child," and took my hand and kissed it--I felt so ashamed of my glove, -but he did not seem to notice the holes in it, nor how old it was. - -"Yes," he said, "the money is for you; you must buy yourself beautiful -clothes and some jewellery. I am going to send you to the north of -England, to do what has to be done. You must start on the day after -to-morrow; have no fear, I wish you to do nothing sinful or wrong, but -rather the best work mortal ever did; you shall be provided for. I -will set aside a fund for you under trustees; it is an act of piety, -not charity, for in saving the last of the Sinclairs from want I am -doing an act which may expiate the sin our house committed. Beatrice -Sinclair, you shall never want again, never be cold or hungry." - -I was crying like a child. When I could cry no more he began speaking -again. - -"You must stay in this house until you start, that is, if you please. -My carriage shall take you to all the shops you require to visit; by -the way, spend _all_ that money on clothes. I will give you a note -to the jewellers with whom I deal in Bond Street, and you can supply -yourself with all the jewellery you require; don't think about the -expense. You are beautiful by nature, but I wish you to be as beautiful -as art can make you. Then, again, you will require dressing-bags and -portmanteaux, and such things. I will give you a note to the best firm -in London. I need not speak to you on matters of taste; you are a -lady--I only say this, spare no expense. Is that cheque sufficient?" - -"More than sufficient." I felt dazed and strange. Did he intend to -marry me? Why was he sending me to the north of England? But it was -delightful, I could not describe my feelings. - -"Now you must have some food," he said, getting up and moving to the -door as he spoke. "Come with me to the dining-room." - - - - -CHAPTER III - -A SOUND WHICH REMINDS ME OF MY PAST - - -The table was laid for luncheon in the dining-room, and as I took my -seat at a place he pointed out, he went to a speaking tube and whistled -down it. Then I heard him ordering the carriage to be ready in an hour. -"Will that suit you?" he asked, looking at me. - -"Yes," I replied. I was laughing now. Oh, life had turned so in a -moment from awfulness to loveliness. I never pinched myself to feel -if I were in a dream or not. I have read about that in stories, and -I think it's stupid, besides, I did not want to wake up if it was a -dream. I did not want to talk either, I was too happy. - -I thought of the dinner I had yesterday. I could not remember what it -was, then I remembered I had not dined yesterday at all; I had lent -my last shilling to Jessie, who lives in the room below mine; she had -sworn to pay me back in the evening if she was lucky, and then she came -back drunk at twelve o'clock, swearing like a soldier, poor Jessie---- - -Wilder ate very little and spoke scarcely at all, I think the -only thing he said in the way of conversation was "I never have -servants in the room when I am eating;" and I said to myself, "Thank -goodness." Just imagine how I would have felt if one of those dreadful -men-servants had been gliding about the room,--my wristbands all -frayed, my hands not very clean, for those cheap gloves dye one's -hands, and my collar crumpled. - -Wilder wanted to open me some champagne, but I said no. I thought he -looked pleased. He had a decanter before him, and he poured himself out -a glass from it. - -"I don't ask you to take this," he said in an apologetic sort of -manner; "because it would--well a glass of it would kill you, it's -opium, I am used to it--all the worry I have had----" His head sunk on -his breast, and I felt sorry for him, though he was so rich and lived -in such a beautiful house. After a moment he looked up--we had finished -eating. - -"Gerald," he said, "I want you to be happy; poor soul, you have -suffered too, but perhaps it is for the best." - -"Why do you call me Gerald?" I asked, staring at him. A dreamy look had -come over his strange face, perhaps it was the opium. - -"Did I call you Gerald?" he said, "well, you will know why soon, I want -you to be happy." - -He rose from the table. "Come," he said, "I will show you to your room." - -I followed him into the hall, then up a great broad staircase carpeted -with soft fleecy carpet; on the first landing he opened a door. - -"This is your room," he said, "you will find everything you require; -when you are ready come downstairs and you will find the carriage -waiting." - -He shut the door on me, and I found myself alone. - -It was a small, but beautifully furnished bedroom. A fire was burning -in the grate; on the bed lay a great sealskin cloak, perfectly new. -It was evidently intended for me, I tried it on before the glass, -it reached to my feet, hiding all my shabby clothes. Then I took it -off and laid it on the bed again. I looked at the floor beside the -fireplace. There, in a row, stood a number of ladies' boots and shoes, -different sizes; a wardrobe stood open, I looked in, dresses of dark -silk and satin, bonnets, hats; on the dressing-table great ivory hair -brushes, gloves, handkerchiefs, scent bottles of cut glass, a curling -tongs and spirit lamp which was lit, a little strip of paper on which -was written, "Help yourself to whatever you require." - -I could have cried again, but somehow I didn't. I looked all round, and -then I remember lifting up my arms to stretch myself, why I did so I -don't know. - -Then, as I began undressing, I laughed, I spoke to the things in the -room just like a child, I asked questions of the little silver clock on -the mantelpiece--oh, those hideous old boots I had worn so long, they -seemed to make faces at me as I took them off. I flung them in a corner. - -In an alcove stood a great bath; I turned the tap, shaped like a -dragon's head, and the water roared and foamed into the bath through -the dragon's mouth; I smelt the water, I tasted it, it was sea water; -in a minute the bath was full. - -The luxury of it! the warm briny water that let one's limbs float loose -like seaweed. I pretended to drown myself for fun, then I turned over -on my face, floating, and seized the dragon's head in both hands. - -Then, as I lay floating, I listened to the far away sound I knew so -well--the distant roar of carts and cabs in the streets. - -I sprang out of the bath in a fury. I had never thought of it before -like this, now I saw all the wretchedness that I had gone through, saw -it all a million times more clearly than I had ever done when I was in -it. Oh, the vile world, I could have eaten it, eaten it. - -Then I caught a glimpse of my naked figure in the long glass. I was -beautiful as ever, my limbs were white as snow. I whirled round, and -my long black hair flew out in a mist, scattering drops of water -everywhere. - -Yes, I was even more beautiful than before, my troubles had given -my face more expression; my teeth were perfect--Jessie's teeth were -broken--_Jessie_. I would be revenged yet. I leaned on my side before -the great glass, gazing at myself as gloomily as a thunder-cloud. I -would be revenged on this world. Why had God created such a place, and -the clergymen whining about heaven, and the doctors who took a poor -girl's rings, and--I smelt a subtle perfume, and turning, I saw a great -bunch of violets standing in a little bowl in the corner. - -I don't know why, but they made me feel choky, and I remember taking -them to me and kissing them, and putting them back. - -Then I dried myself in a huge towel, and dressed. I laughed at the -curling tongs, and blew the little lamp out--my hair did not want -curling tongs. I laughed to think of the frights of women going about -with their noses in the air, who had to curl their heads. - -One of the bonnets in the wardrobe fitted me perfectly. I could have -chosen a hat, but I preferred this bonnet. I put on the sealskin cloak. -Then, taking the bunch of violets with the stalks all dripping, I put -it in my breast. - -Wilder was standing in the hall as I came down the great staircase. He -smiled at the violets as if he were pleased. "You look very well," he -said, passing, as he spoke, into the library, where I followed him. -"Now, here are three letters I have written--one to the jewellers, this -one to the portmanteau people, and this to Coutts' bank. Drive first -to Coutts', give them this letter and my cheque on the British Linen -Company. They will open an account with you, small as the sum is, -because they know me very well; they will give you a cheque book, and -you can give cheques to your milliners and people--poor Beatrice, I -want you to be happy." I felt horrible for a moment as he said this. It -was said in such a supplicatory tone, as if he wanted to propitiate me, -as if I were some evil thing he feared, and he had said it before just -in the same voice, "Poor Beatrice, I want you to be happy." - -How this story is lengthening out. I thought I could have told it all -in three or four pages, and now look, thirty pages--and yet I want -to make it as long as possible. Can you guess what I say to the old -doctor who comes to see me every day? I ask him, does he know how long -I will live? and he shakes his head and says something about "the hands -of Providence." No, I answer, not the hands of Providence, but these -hands--when they have finished writing what they have to write I shall -die. I know it. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -INSTRUCTIONS PERFORMED - - -Then Wilder opened the hall door and I saw a splendid carriage and pair -drawn up, the horses champing and flinging white foam about from their -mouths. Wilder came down the steps and helped me in, the tall footman -shut the door, and I heard Wilder's voice saying to the coachman, -"Coutts'." - -Gracious! all the things I thought of as the carriage drove into Oxford -Street. It was an open landau, and I wondered that everyone did not -stop to stare at me. How strange all the people that were walking -seemed, just like mean things that had no business with life; how sweet -the violets smelt in my bosom. - -How nice Wilder was, not a bit good looking, but so different from the -men I had mostly known. He was a gentleman, one could tell that just -by his easy and languid voice; and what a hold I had upon him. And this -journey to the north, I had a presentiment that it was to be strange, -but how could I have told how strange, how beautiful it was to be? - -Then the carriage stopped at Coutts', and the tall footman opened the -door and touched his hat as I got out. I gave them Wilder's letter and -my cheque, and they gave me in return a cheque book. - -The next place we stopped at was the Bond Street jewellers. These are -the rings I bought, see, they are on my fingers now. I never cared for -diamonds. I love colour. My rings are mostly half hoops of sapphires, -emeralds, and rubies; they would be vulgar only they are so glorious, -and then my hands are so beautiful that you scarcely notice the rings: -that was what Geraldine said. Good God! these tears will choke me: if -I could only cry, but I can't, it all comes at the back of my throat, -like a dull, heavy pain. - -Then we drove to the other shop in Bond Street, where they sell -travelling bags. I chose the most expensive I could find, a hundred -and ten pounds I think it was. All the bottles had heavy gold tops, -and I ordered my initials to be put on them. I ordered portmanteaux as -well, and the man said everything would be ready next day by six in the -evening, initials and all. - -It was dark when we got to Redfern's, but that did not matter, for I -had no colours to choose; funny, wasn't it, everything I got was either -white or black or grey--mourning or half-mourning. I don't know that it -was so funny after all, for this kind of dress suits me. I only spent -two hundred pounds on dresses; some were to be made and sent after me -when I knew the address I was going to, the others were to be sent next -morning to Berkeley Square. I could have died laughing at the civility -of these people at Redfern's, they thought I was some great lady--and -so I was. - -It was eight o'clock before I got back to Berkeley Square that evening. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -WE SAY GOOD-BYE - - -All the next day I spent in the house, most of the time in the room -with Wilder. How that man depressed me. A great fire was lit in the -library, and he sat over it with his hands on his knees and his eyes -fixed on the burning coals; the decanter of opium was standing on the -mantelpiece, a wine glass beside it, and every now and then he would -pour himself out a thimbleful and sip it. - -That was a pleasant sight to have to sit and watch, but I didn't much -care. I sat in an armchair looking at my rings and the tips of my -beautiful new shoes; it was so delightful to have all these things -again; and sometimes I would look at Wilder's rounded back and his -shiny old coat, thinking how funny it was that he had given me all -these things. - -Sometimes I spoke to him and he always answered, speaking in a dreamy -sort of voice. I found out that he was a spiritualist, and all the -pictures about the room were "spirit faces,"--that is what he called -them, all except the picture with "Swedenborg" written on it. - -Then, after dinner, at about nine o'clock, he said that he must take -leave of me. He took me by the hand, and the whole time he was speaking -he held it, wringing it now and then till I could almost have cried out -with pain. This is what he said as well as I can remember-- - -"I must take leave of you now. I want you to start early in the morning -for Yorkshire; you will go to my country house at Ashworth,"--a long -pause, and I saw the drops of sweat stand out on his forehead. "'The -Gables,' that is the name of my house. You will change at Leeds and get -on a branch line; it's only an hour's journey from Leeds." - -He spoke with difficulty, and caught at his breath. - -"I have telegraphed for the carriage to meet you at the station." - -Another pause, then speaking like a maniac, he seized both my hands. - -"I am putting in your grasp the only thing I love, I am stealing a -march on Fate, boldly and desperately I commit this act, if the end is -mutual love all will be right. I shall pray without ceasing till we -meet again, good-bye, good-bye." - -He was devouring my hands with kisses; then he rushed from the room. -I was almost sure now that he was mad, those spirit faces and that -opium--oh, there could scarcely be a doubt. The thought pleased me -somehow, it made me less afraid of something--something, I don't -exactly know what, a kind of horror had been haunting me all day, a -foreboding of strange and terrible things to come. We old families have -these powers of second sight, at least the north country families have. -"We old families," perhaps you are laughing at those words from _my_ -mouth; well--laugh. - -I went up to my bedroom, and there I found the dressing bag and the -portmanteaux all standing open and waiting to be packed. I felt just -like a robber as I put my silks and satins, bonnets and hats, boots and -shoes, in their proper places. Then I undressed and sprang into bed. I -was almost tired already of my new life, my old dreams came back to me, -would I meet someone nice to-morrow? Then I thought of Wilder and his -spirit faces, and his round back, and his opium decanter, and I laughed -till the bed shook. - -And yet I liked him, this Wilder, with his strange, weary-looking face, -and his cheques and carriages and horses. - -I fell asleep. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - ---AND I START - - -I was wakened next morning by a knock at the door and a voice telling -me that it was eight o'clock. As I jumped out of bed the very first -thought that struck me was, "Shall I meet someone to-day?" It was what -I was thinking when I fell asleep. - -I was dressed in an hour. All my portmanteaux were packed, they only -wanted strapping; and I said to myself, "The butler can do that." I was -not going to spoil my hands strapping them. Then I came down stairs to -the breakfast room where the butler was waiting, a grave looking man of -whom I had caught a glimpse last night. - -When I had finished he said the carriage was in waiting, and I asked -him to have my things brought down; he said that was done already. And -behold, when I reached the hall door, a carriage stood there, closed, -with a basket arrangement on the top, and all my portmanteaux piled -upon it. My travelling bag was inside. The footman shut the door with a -snap, touched his hat again, jumped on the box, and we drove off. - -I began to think whether I was a fool or not to leave Wilder. I had -such a hold upon him, and now I was going I didn't know where. His -country house, "The Gables," that sounded very fine, but for all -that, I felt nervous at going off like this, away up to the north of -England--to do what? - -But it was too late to turn back now, for the carriage was entering St -Pancras station. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -NORTH! - - -The footman got all my luggage together, and bought me a first-class -ticket, and whilst he was getting me the ticket I went into the -refreshment room and bought half a dozen packets of cigarettes and a -little box of matches; smoking soothes my nerves. - -Then I walked to the B platform, if I remember right, where the -Leeds express was standing, the footman following with my dressing -bag. Gracious! how civil the guard was: he made me get into a saloon -carriage, and called me "my lady," and told me I could have a luncheon -basket or tea if I liked, he would telegraph on to Normanton about -it. I began wondering, was it my face or the footman that made him so -civil, perhaps it was both--heigh-ho. - -I write a fearful hand. I was never intended for an author. I'm so lazy -and so weak just now, that it's almost too much trouble to dip the pen -in the ink pot; however, on I must go. - -There was a great fat man and a great fat woman in the saloon carriage, -immensely rich, I suppose--cotton spinners or something of that sort. -How these idiots stared at me out of the corners of their eyes; they -had heard the old guard calling me "my lady." They would have licked my -boots, those people would. I spoke to them, asked them did they object -to smoking, and they said "no," both together, so I lit a cigarette. -That made them certain I was a duchess. They got out at Normanton, and -the guard brought me a luncheon basket, and a little tea tray, teapot -and all, which he said I could take on in the carriage to Leeds; so -I had luncheon, and then I had tea, and then I smoked cigarettes and -dreamed, whilst the train whirled away north, north, north. Oh this -north, why did I ever come here? - -It was late in the day when we reached Leeds, the air was chill; it -was like finding oneself in a new world. Women were standing about the -platform with their heads covered with shawls; they had clogs on their -feet, and one could hear them go click, clack. I gave the old guard -a sovereign. I felt sorry to part with him, he seemed the last thing -connecting me with the south. I felt like a lost dog. I had never felt -so all that horrible time in London: that is strange, is not it? Now, -when I was rich and bowed down to, I felt like a lost dog. - -I had to wait two hours for the branch train, and as it left Leeds I -looked out of the window. It was a vile place, all manufactories, long -chimneys, furnaces, smoke. - -Then, after a bit, I saw the country, all hills and twilight, dark -stone walls, desolate-looking fields, and then--a shiver ran through -me--I had seen this country before. Where? Never in this life. It was -the first time I had ever been north. - -We stopped at little tiny stations, and I felt tired as death when at -last we drew up at a station with "Ashworth" on the lamps. - -I put my head out of the window, and I saw a tall footman standing on -the platform amongst a lot of porters, and country women with their -heads covered with shawls. I beckoned to him, and he came at a run. - -"Are you Mr Wilder's footman?" - -"Yes, ma'am." - -"Oh, just see to my luggage, please," I said, getting out. I followed -him to the road beside the station where a carriage was waiting, a -closed carriage and pair, just like the one that had driven me to the -station in London. - -We passed four desolate-looking crossroads. The moon, which had risen, -was lighting all the scenery round about, and I pulled down the -left-hand window to get a glimpse of the view and a breath of the keen, -pure air. - -On a hill opposite I saw the ruins of a castle cut sharp against the -sky. I had seen that castle before. Was I positive? _Positive._ Look! -I said to myself. Look at that white zig-zag pathway down the hill, -look at the hill itself. Then, as I looked, an indescribable feeling -came over me, a delightful, far-away sort of feeling. It seemed dawn, -bright, clear, and cold. I thought I could catch the sound of a distant -horn, I thought I could feel the claws of a falcon on my wrist. I -seemed riding on a horse, not as a woman rides, but as a man. I felt -unutterably happy. It was the happiness of love. You understand me, I -was perfectly well awake, but this feeling, how can I describe it, so -dim, sweet, and far-away. - -Then the carriage stopped. It seems that I had put my finger through -the little ivory ring of the check-string, and had pulled it without -knowing. The footman came to the window, and touched his hat. - -"Can you tell me the name of that castle?" I asked. "That castle on the -hill." - -"Castle Sinclair, ma'am." - -"Oh! drive on, please." I think I said "Drive on, please," but I cannot -be sure; at all events we drove on. I was not terrified, I was dazed. - -Then, through the rumbling of the carriage wheels I thought I could -again catch the sound of the distant horn. I tried--how I tried--to -catch the feeling of early dawn, to feel again the tiny claws of the -falcon upon my wrist. - -What hunting morning was that, so dim and far away? To where was I -riding? With whom was I in love? And I was a man then, so it seemed to -me. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -THE DIMLY-PAINTED FACE - - -At last we stopped at a lodge. I heard someone cry "Gate," a creaking -noise, and then we bowled smoothly up a long avenue thick-set with -trees. - -We stopped before a huge portico. Oh, that portico set with pillars. I -almost sobbed. Was it to here that I had been riding with the falcon on -my wrist? Look at the dull grey stone, the fluted pillars, the great -oak door. Then the oaken door opened wide, a rush of lamplight filled -the portico, and I saw an old butler with white hair waiting for me. As -I entered the great hall set round with armour and galleries, the old -butler bowed before me--he looked scared. - -I did not notice him. How could I notice anything? An ordinary woman -might have shrieked aloud, but I--I neither shrieked nor swooned. - -I remember trying to take my gloves off, then I gave up the attempt, -and followed a maid-servant up the broad staircase I knew so well, -along the passage I knew so well, into a bedroom that had once been -mine. I suppose you will think I am telling lies. Well, you can think -so if you like, but people don't tell lies just for fun when they have -a churchyard cough like mine, spitting blood every now and then, and -knowing that every spot of blood is a seal on their death-warrant. - -I took off my bonnet and travelling cloak, looked at myself in the -cheval glass, and then came down stairs. - -Supper was laid for me in the dining-room; _this_ room I did not know, -not a bit. Perhaps, after all, thought I, the whole thing is a mistake, -a fancy. If I had been here before I ought to recognise the dining-room -of all rooms. Then a thought struck me, and I asked the maid servant -who was waiting-- - -"Has this room always formed part of the house; I mean, has it always -been used as a dining-room?" - -"Oh no, ma'am, it was built by Mr Arthur." - -"Added on to the house?" - -"Yes, ma'am." - -That sounded queer, didn't it? - -"How long ago was it built?" - -"About sixty years I believe, ma'am." - -Sixty years, oh, I was riding with that falcon on my wrist ages before -that. Do you know that the fact of my _not_ recognising this room -impressed me more than the fact of my having recognised all the other -things? - -After supper I was sitting at the table thinking, when I heard someone -softly entering the room behind me. I turned and saw the butler with -white hair; he held a book in his hand. - -"Please, ma'am, Mr Wilder asked me to give you this." - -"Mr Wilder?" - -"Yes, ma'am, he wrote from London." - -"Thanks." - -I took the book; it was bound in red morocco, and on the cover was -written in gold letters the word "Pictures." Pictures, a book of -pictures, just as if I were a little girl wanting amusement! Then I -opened it and saw that it was only a catalogue of pictures. - -Here were the dining-room pictures. - -"Gerard Dow, Portrait of himself. Poussin, Nymphs bathing, &c., &c." - -Here was the gallery. - -"Wilder, Wilder," nothing but Wilders. - -"Sir Geoffry Wilder, justice of appeal, in his robes." Stay. Here was -something round which a red pencil mark had been drawn, "Portrait of -Gerald Wilder and Beatrice Sinclair, No. 112." - -Beatrice Sinclair--that was _I_. I felt trembling with excitement, -all the strangeness of the last three days had got into a focus. This -picture of which the name was drawn round with red was what Wilder had -sent me down to see. I was going to see my own portrait, of that I felt -certain. But stay, there was something more to be read. - -"Gerald Wilder slew Beatrice Sinclair in a fit of passion. Why, it was -never discovered. They were engaged to be married. He destroyed himself -with the poisoned wine which he had given to her, drinking it from the -same cup." - -This was written in Wilder's scraggy hand-writing. - -"Ha!" thought I, "so Gerald Wilder slew me in some past life; well, -I don't bear him any grudge, he must have been a horribly wicked man -though, for all that. Now, I'll ring for the butler to show me this -picture." - -I rang, and the old fellow came. - -"Get a lamp, please. I wish to look at the picture gallery." - -"The picture gallery, ma'am." - -"Yes." - -"It's very dark, ma'am, at this hour. Hadn't you better wait till -morning?" - -"No, I wish to go now." - -"Very well, ma'am." - -He shuffled out, and returned in a minute or so with a lamp. Then I -followed him. - -As he opened the oak door of the picture gallery the lamp light rushed -in before us, and I saw two long walls covered with the stern faces of -the dead and gone Wilders; dim and faint they all looked in the faint -light, just like ghosts. We walked down the centre of the gallery. I -was looking for my face amongst all these strangers, but I could not -find it. - -I touched the old man on the arm, "Which is the picture of Beatrice -Sinclair?" He made no reply, but the lamp in his hand shook with a -noise like the chattering of teeth. Then he walked to a picture set in -a black ebony frame. - -"This is it," he said, "see." - -I noticed that he did not say ma'am, but I did not notice it much, I -was so engaged with the face of this Beatrice. - -At first I felt pleased, then disappointed. She was very pretty, but -not in the _least_ like _me_. Then, as I looked, I could scarcely -believe my eyes. A dimly-painted face began to grow out of the -background--a man's face, with long flowing hair; his eyes were turned -towards Beatrice, they seemed also turned towards me. It was myself. -This man's portrait was _my_ portrait, the face larger and more -masculine, but the same. - -Then the old butler dropped the lamp, and it smashed to pieces on the -floor. I thought I could hear him weeping in the darkness, but I am not -sure. I felt I was in the room with a ghost, and I remember catching -the old man's arm, and his leading me towards the light glimmering in -from the hall. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -GERALDINE - - -"Well, suppose I was once a man, suppose I was Gerald Wilder," I said -to myself as I went into the library and music room, where a fire was -lit, "Oh, bosh--and yet----" - -I shut the library door and looked round. Thousands of books, a grand -piano standing open, cigar boxes, cigarette boxes, easy chairs, turkey -carpet. I lit a cigarette, and turned to the piano. I play well, but I -am always too weak to play now. Here was Schuman, Chopin, everything in -a classical way. - -I like Chopin. - -As I played I sometimes stopped to think and knock the ashes from my -cigarette. The wind had risen and was blowing in gusts--oh that wind -of autumn, how melancholy it sounds. - -As I was playing I caught the sounds of horses' feet, then the crash -of wheels upon gravel. It stopped, a carriage had drawn up at the hall -door, "Could it be Wilder?" - -I listened. Someone was let in. I heard the sound of voices, then -everything was still. I rose from the piano and went to the door. I -opened the door softly about an inch, and peeped through the crack. I -saw a girl, but, as her back was towards me, I could not see her face. -She was unwinding herself from a huge cloak of furs. The sallow-faced -housemaid was standing waiting--I suppose for the cloak. Then I closed -the door as softly as I had opened it, and sat down in one of the -armchairs by the fire. I felt excited, why, I could not tell. - -I was staring into the fire point blank, just as an owl stares at the -sun, but I did not see the fire, I could only see the long slit-like -picture, the strip of shining oak floor, the figure of the girl with -her head thrown back, and her body, with its snake-like movement, -winding free of the cloak. - -Who was she? this girl. She had come in that carriage. She had been let -in out of the autumn night. I had seen her taking off her cloak. I knew -nothing more about her, so why--why did my heart become all of a sudden -so fussy and fluttering like a bird disturbed in its nest, why--ah, it -seemed to me that with her had been let in the far-off sound of that -ghostly horn, with her had been let in the unseen falcon whose claws -were now again resting upon my wrist--moving, moving, as the body they -supported balanced itself uneasily, tightening now as the balance was -nearly lost, loosening now as it was regained. - -I sat listening. Not a sound. These great oak doors were so thick that -a person might walk about in the hall and not be heard in the library. -The clock on the mantel gave the little hiccup it always makes at -five minutes to the hour; I looked up at the dial, it pointed to five -minutes to nine. - -Then a knock came to the door. I started and turned round. It was only -the old butler. I felt just as if a bucket of lukewarm water had been -emptied on me,--deep disappointment, why I felt so I can't tell. He -wanted to know if I required anything more to eat--supper. - -No, I required nothing to eat. - -He stood shuffling at the door as if he wanted to say something, his -dismal old face looked more troubled than ever. I thought for a moment -he was going to cry. Then suddenly he shut the door and came across the -room. He stood before me, twiddling a book that lay on a little table. -He looked at the carpet, then at the fire, then at me, then he spoke-- - -"I have been in the service of the family forty and nine years, ma'am." - -"Have you?" I answered, I didn't know what else to say. - -"Forty and nine years come next October. Oh, ma'am, I've seen strange -things in those years, and--the world's a strange place." - -"It is." - -"Ma'am, Miss Geraldine knows you are here, and she will come in to see -you presently." - -"Miss Geraldine--was--was that the young lady--I mean, was it she who -arrived in the carriage just now?" - -"It was, ma'am, and that's why I want to tell you. Mr James told me to -tell you; it's only beknownst to Mr James and I--God help me--God help -us all--Miss Geraldine--is a boy." - -"A boy," I said, half rising out of my chair; "what do you -say--how--how can a girl be a boy?" - -"Hush, ma'am, for the love of God don't speak above your breath. -People may be listening, and no one knows it, _not even Miss Geraldine -herself_." - -I was sitting now with my mouth hanging open like a trap; I must have -looked the picture of a fool. - -"Not even herself, God bless her sweet face, not even herself, and -that's not the worst, ma'am,--she _is_ a girl, though she's been born a -boy." - -The old fellow had suddenly collapsed into the easy chair opposite to -me; he had taken his face between his scraggy old hands, his head was -bent between his knees, the light of the lamp fell on the shiny black -back of his coat. I shall never forget him as he sat there, speaking -between his legs as if to someone under the chair. - -"She's Beatrice Sinclair, that's who she is, and they must be blind who -don't see it. Beatrice Sinclair, Beatrice Sinclair, she, the one that -was killed long and ages ago by Sir Gerald. Beatrice Sinclair, whose -picture is in the gallery, and that's who she is, that's who she is." - -He was rocking about and droning this out like a dirge. I can tell you -I felt shivering and fascinated. Then all at once he sat up and seemed -to remember himself. I saw tears on his poor old face. He seemed trying -to rise out of the arm chair. - -"Sit down, don't get up," I said. "Tell me, for I must know, tell me -exactly what you know, tell me all about it, and how it is that Miss -Geraldine is--what she is." - -"It was done to avoid the evil chance, ma'am." - -"What do you mean?" - -"You must know, ma'am, that the two houses of Sinclair and Wilder----" - -"Yes, I think I know what you are going to say; you mean that the -Sinclairs have always killed the eldest sons of the Wilders,--it's a -kind of fate. Mr James Wilder told me all about it." - -"Yes, mam, that's it. Well, when this child was born Mrs Wilder only -survived the birth some two hours, and Mr James, almost mad with grief -at her death, seemed like a thing gone silly; then, after some weeks, -he quieted down, and all the love he had for his wife seemed to settle -on this his only child. It was a boy, and that, mam, was the trouble; -if it had been a girl! but no, it was a boy, and the eldest and only -boy, and doomed, that was Mr James' word, I've heard him speaking it to -himself as he has stood looking out of the window at the park, the one -word, 'doomed--doomed.' He took me into his confidence, he said to me -once, 'The Sinclairs ride through my dreams, their ghosts are round -me, but they shall not have my child.' He would have gone mad, I do -believe he would, only that he thought of a plan. He took me into his -confidence, and between us we did it. The child's name was changed from -Gerald to Geraldine, and the child was brought up as a girl. No one in -the house knew; all the servants were dismissed but me, 'We are safe -now,' said Mr James. Ma'am, do you know that from the lodge gates this -park is surrounded by a stone wall, sixteen miles long and six feet -high? it cost a mine of money, but it was built. Do you know that Miss -Geraldine has never been beyond that wall? There are sixty and more -miles of drives all through the park, and there the horses that draw -her carriage can go at a gallop and go all day without crossing the -same ground twice over. There are lakes, and fountains, and imitation -rivers, and that's the world she's only known. It cost two hundred -thousand pounds a-doing, but it was done. Well, ma'am, things went -like a marriage bell till Miss Geraldine was past fourteen; then one -day Mr James came out of the picture gallery with his face like a -ghost, and he caught me by the arm so that I thought I'd have screeched -with the pain of it, and he says, 'James, James, the Sinclairs have -got us.' Those were his very words, and with that he led me into the -gallery, right to the ebony frame with Mr Gerald's picture and the -picture of Beatrice Sinclair, and there, sure enough, was the likeness. -Miss Geraldine had grown the living image of Miss Beatrice Sinclair; -we hadn't noticed the likeness before, but it was there, sure and -sorrowful. - -"After that Mr James fell away, like. He took to the opium, and took to -it awful. He followed Miss Geraldine like a dog. He had it in his head -that _he_ was doomed to kill her, till, it was three years ago now, -ma'am, Mr James, who had taken to spiritualism, got a message saying -that the last of the Sinclairs was alive and doomed to kill the last of -the Wilders, that the only chance was to bring them together and leave -them to fate. - -"Then Mr James began to search for this--this last of the Sinclairs. He -searched the world, that he did; his agents went to all foreign parts, -to India and everywhere, till a few days ago, and I got telegram after -telegram from him to prepare the house, that he had found the person -he wanted. Oh, I was glad, that I was, when I saw you, ma'am, I nearly -fell on the ground." - -"You think I am like Mr Gerald?" - -The old fellow made no answer for a moment, then he got up off his -chair to go. - -"Ma'am, you'll excuse my sitting in your presence, you'll excuse my -talking so free, but I am old, and I have grown to love that child as -if it was my own, it's that sweet and that innocent, and, saving your -presence, ma'am, doesn't know what a man is, or a woman is neither. -I've heard talk of angels, but there never was an angel more innocent, -no, nor more sweet; and to think of harm coming to it, it that is so -unharmful. It wrings my heart, the thought of it do; many's the night, -ma'am, I've woke in a sweat thinking I've heard the trumpeter, but it's -been only ringing in my ears----" - -"The trumpeter, what do you mean?" I asked. - -"The ghost, ma'am, Sir--Sir Gerald's ghost, it comes through the -passages at midnight blowing a trumpet always before the eldest son is -killed. Oh, ma'am, it's a fearful sound and a fearful sight." - -"When was it heard last?" - -"Twenty-three years ago, ma'am, the night before Mr Reginald was killed -by Mr Wilfred Sinclair." - -Twenty-three years, that was exactly my age. - -"It has not been heard since, not even at Mrs Wilder's death?" - -"No, ma'am, that trumpet never sounds for the death of women, not for -no one, only the eldest son who is about to die." - -"Did anyone hear or see this trumpeter the last time he came?" - -"I did, ma'am, see him, and hear him both." - -"Tell me about it. Did you see his face?" - -"No, ma'am." Somehow I knew the old fellow was telling a lie, and that -he _had_ seen the trumpeter's face, but I said nothing. - -"No, ma'am, not distinctly so to say. I was a young servant then, an -under-butler, and in the night, when I was sound asleep, I suddenly -woke and sat up to listen. The house was as still as death, and there -was nothing to hear, yet I sat listening and listening and straining my -ears, waiting to hear something that I knew would come. Oh, ma'am, I -needn't have strained my ears, for suddenly the most _awful_ blast of -a trumpet shook the house, I sickened, and thought I'd have died, for -though I knew nothing of the ghost, or the history of the house, I knew -that the sound of that trumpet was not right; it stopped for a moment -after the first blast, and then it came again, louder and louder. I -rushed out of my room into the dark passage, then, ma'am, I ran down -the passage and down the servants' staircase until I found the first -floor. I ran down the corridor till I came to the great staircase -overlooking the hall, and there I saw him. There was no light, but I -saw him, for there was light all round him. He was crossing the great -hall when I caught a glimpse of him. His long black hair was tossed -back, and he had to his mouth a great, glittering, silvern trumpet, and -I could see his cheeks puffed out as he blew. He was dressed like the -portrait of Sir Gerald." - -"You think it was Sir Gerald's ghost?" - -"Yes, ma'am, he has been recognised over and over again." - -"Did anyone else hear him?" - -"No, ma'am, only me. I told the master about it next day. No one had -heard it but me. Then the message came to say Mr Reginald was dead." - -I sat silent for a moment, listening to the wind as it sighed outside, -then I said-- - -"Do you expect to hear the trumpeter again?" - -"No, ma'am, not since you've come." - -"How is that?" - -The old fellow hung his head. - -"Come now," I said; "tell me this. Don't you think you see the ghost -in the flesh? I am exactly twenty-three, and it is twenty-three years -since the trumpeter has been. Do you not think that my coming is the -return of the trumpeter--without the trumpet?" - -I shall never forget the old man's face as I said this; it absolutely -became glorified with--what--I don't know, perhaps hope. - -"Oh, ma'am," said he, "I did see the trumpeter's face, despite the lie -I told you; it was your face, line for line. But you will never hurt -the child, that I know, for the good God has sent you into the flesh, -and it's as much as if He had said the trumpet shall never be heard -again, which is saying the eldest son will never be killed again by the -Sinclairs." - -Then the old fellow left the room and shut the door. - -And I sat brooding over the fire, half-pleased, half-frightened, -half-dazed. The old butler's manner all through his conversation had -been just like James Wilder's in London. They both seemed to consider -me as something to be feared and propitiated. - -And this Geraldine, this extraordinary being whose fate seemed wound -up in mine, why should they fear any hurt to this Geraldine from me? I -could not hurt a fly, much less this creature whom I had begun to like -instinctively already. - -Did anyone ever hear of such a thing as to bring up a boy as a girl? -Only that weird looking James Wilder, with his round back and his opium -decanter, could have thought of such a thing; she--he--she, what shall -I call him or her? She was going to pay me a visit to-night; when would -she come? What was she doing now? at supper perhaps, what was she -having for supper? - -A tap at the door. - -The handle turned, and the door opened. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -WE MEET - - -And this was Geraldine Wilder, or Gerald--Geraldine Wilder, if you -please. - -This half ghostly being, with brown rippling hair and a face like the -face of a wild rose. And the dress of wonderful black lace that seemed -draped round the slight figure by the fingers of the wind, and the milk -white neck, rising like the stem of some graceful flower to support the -small brown head, and the _elegance_ of the whole apparition. I love to -think of it even still. But it was Beatrice Sinclair. Oh, yes, beyond -any manner of doubt, it was Beatrice Sinclair, and as we gazed at each -other for one short second the claws of the falcon _tore_ at my wrist. - -Then this vision of the past came across the room and held up its -face to be kissed. And it was like two dead lovers kissing through -a veil--so it seemed to me. And yet I could have laughed as she sat -down in the great arm chair opposite mine, to see the subtle turn of -the body with which she arranged the train of her dress, the graceful -manner of sitting down, and then to remember that "Miss Geraldine was -a boy;" and then the glimpse of immaculate white petticoat! it seemed -like a witticism one could not laugh at because one was in church. - -I laugh now as I think of it, at least I smile, for I haven't strength -to get up a real laugh, and then somehow I cry, perhaps because I am so -weak. - -Geraldine sat down, and then we began to talk. I talked at random, for -I was so busy examining and admiring her I couldn't think of other -things. The little division at the end of the nose seemed somehow the -most delightful thing I had ever seen, except maybe the arched instep -of the tiny foot that peeped like a brown mouse from beneath the skirt. - -What a lout I felt beside her. I felt awkward, and stupid, and just as -a mole might feel if it were made to sit in the sun. I began to stutter -and stammer, and might have made a dreadful fool of myself, only that -the recollection shot up in my mind, "she's a boy"; as long as I kept -that in mind I was all right, but the instant I began to think of her -as a girl, my stupidity returned. - -We talked, mercy, what modest and innocent talk, the whole college of -Cardinals and the old Pope himself might have listened and been the -better for it, but they would not have been much the wiser. - -"Gerald--I mean Geraldine--how old are you?" - -"I am sixteen years." - -"You have never been away from home, you have never seen a city?" - -"What is a city?" - -"Oh, it's a place, a horrible place where it's all smoke, and houses, -and noise." - -Geraldine shook her head. She could not imagine what such a place as -this could be like. - -"Are there many more people in the world from where you come?" asked -Geraldine after a pause, resting her chin on her hand and gazing at me -with a deep, far-away look, as if she recognised me dimly but was not -quite sure. - -"Oh, yes; but has your father never told you about the world and the -people in it?" - -"No," said Geraldine, with a shake of the head; "he told me it was a -bad place, and I must never go there, that was all." - -"Have you never wished to go there?" - -"No, never, till--till now." - -"Why now?" - -"I would like to go there if it is the place you come from." - -Geraldine was gazing at me now intensely--I know no other word--with -eyes that seemed appealing to me to say something; never had I been -gazed at so before. - -I could only falter out, "Why?" - -"Because," said Geraldine, "I think I know where you come from, I -think I have seen you there, but it was in a dream, and we were not -dressed as we are, but I am not sure. _Who_ are you?" - -I have never heard anything so soft and yet so full of a kind of fire -as those words. - -"Has not your father told you, Geraldine?" - -"No--he said a lady was coming to see me, but that was all." - -"I am Beatrice Sinclair, Geraldine." - -"But that is only a name." - -A thought shot like a horrible zig-zag firework through my brain; it -was, "Geraldine, I was once your murderer." - -Then bang from tragedy to comedy. I began to laugh, for no earthly -reason, and Geraldine caught the laugh as it flew on her beautiful -lips, and we both laughed at each other like two children--at nothing. -Then we talked for an hour about--nothing. - -As Geraldine vanished that night to her own rooms I called her back, -and she came back from the dark corridor like a beautiful ghost. - -I only wanted to kiss her again, but she seemed to think that a -perfectly good reason for my calling her back. - -Then I went to bed and cried like a fool; then I got out of bed and -hunted round the room in the dark, guess what for--a match-box, guess -what to find--my cigarette box. I really think I must once have been a -man. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -THE LITTLE BLACK BOOK - - -I found it, and having lit the candle by my bedside I got back into -bed and began to smoke. The fumes of the tobacco, the utter silence -of the house broken only by the occasional sighing of the wind in the -trees outside, the exquisite room in which I was lying with its painted -ceiling and rose petal coloured hangings, the image of Geraldine, all -combined to produce in my mind a sort of delicious intoxication. - -I saw now vaguely the wonderful dream that was beginning to unfold -around me, the fairy tale of which I was to be the hero. I saw -once more the face that had come back from the dark corridor to be -kissed--ah me! - -My hands rested upon a little black covered book, I had found it upon -the mantelpiece, and had taken it into bed with me, thinking to put my -cigarette ashes upon it. Instead of that I had shaken them off, without -thinking, upon the floor. - -I opened it. The first thing I saw was the picture of a skull drawn in -faded ink upon the yellow title-page. Then, under the skull, written in -what, even in those old days, must have been a boy's scrawl, this-- - -"The blacke worke of deathe herein sette downe is bye y^e hande of -Geoffry Lely hys page." - -Whose page? I knew well. - -Then, on the next leaf, in the same handwriting, but smaller and more -cramped, I read the following. It was written in the old English style, -and the queer spelling of the words I cannot imitate, as I write only -from remembrance. - -"Before daylight of that dark and bloody day a week agone now, by -lantern light we left the court-yard and rode down the avenue, Sir -Gerald on his black horse Badminton, I on the bay mare Pimpernel. In -the black dark of the avenue nothing could I see, but followed, led by -the sound of Badminton's hoofs, the clink of Sir Gerald's scabbard, and -the tinkling bells of the little hawke that sat hooded and drowsing -upon his wrist. - -"Had I followed a common man I might have asked of him what place hath -a hawke on the wrist of a man with a sword by his side and pistols -at his holster, but Sir Gerald I have followed my life long without -question, and without question would have ridden behind him to death. - -"In the road beyond the darkness of the trees we paused, each at five -paces from the other; the clouds in the easternmost part of the sky -were all cracked where the day was breaking through; a dour and dark -morning was it, and no sound to hear but a plover crying weep, weep, -and the little tinkle ever and anon of the hawke's bells. - -"I watched the wind toss Sir Gerald's black hair and lift the plume of -his hat, and let it fall, and lift it again, and let it fall, light as -if 'twere the fingers of a woman at play with it. He was resting in his -saddle as if a-thinking, then touching Badminton with the spur, he led -the way from the road on to the moor, the two horses' hoofs striking as -one. - -"We passed the shoulder of the hill and down to the Gimmer side, and -there by the river we stopped again and Sir Gerald sat and seemed -a-listening to the mutter of the water and the wuther of the wind in -the reeds; but he was in sore trouble, that I knew by the way his head -was bent and by the sighs that broke from him ever and anon. - -"And where his trouble lay I knew, for I had but to look the way his -head was turned, and see Castle Sinclair, all towers and turrets, set -up against the morning which was breaking quickly out from under the -clouds. - -"As we sat I heard a horn sounding beyond the river bank and the yelp -of a hound blown on the wind thin and sharp, and in the distance, -crossing the ford of the Gimmer, I saw three horsemen; they were -Sinclairs, that I knew,--General James Sinclair rode first, I could -tell him by the great size of himself and his horse, and of the other -two I knew one to be Rupert and the other George, but which was which -no eye of mortal could tell in the dim light that was then. - -"They passed the ford and rode away, a huntsman following close on, -seeming to move in the midst of a waving furze bush, which was the -hounds in full pack, and the last of them we heard was the toot of the -horn sounding over the hillside. - -"Then Sir Gerald touched Badminton again with spur, and we rode along -the river bank to the ford, still warm from the crossing of the -Sinclairs; and the ford behind us, we set our horses' heads straight -for Castle Sinclair. - -"The morning was up now, and we could hear the cocks a-crowing from the -barnes lying to the thither side of the castle. In the courtyard we -drew bridle, and Sir Gerald dismounted and threw his reins to me. - -"At the open door above the stone steps stood Mistress Beatrice -Sinclair herself; she held in her hand a silver stirrup cup. Without -doubt she had lingered at the door from seeing the huntsmen off to -their hunt, held mayhap by the fineness of the morning. - -"I saw Sir Gerald advance to her, his plumed hat in hand, and they -passed into the great hall so that I could not see them more, and -there I sat to wait with no sound to save me from the stillness but -the cawing of the rooks in the elm tops below, and the grinding of -Badminton's teeth as they chawed on the bit. - -"The clock in the turret struck six, and I sat a-thinking of Mistress -Beatrice Sinclair, holding her beautiful face up to the eye of my -mind, and putting beside it for contrast the dark face of Sir Gerald. -Then the clock struck seven and Badminton he struck with his hind hoof -on the yard pavement and neighed as if calling after his master. - -"Then five minutes might have gone. I saw Sir Gerald's figure at the -door, his face white as the ashes of wood, and he stumbling like a -man far gone in drunkness. But drunkness it was none and that I knew, -but some calamity dire and fell, and I put Badminton up to the steps -in a trice, for I read the look in Sir Gerald's black eye which meant -'flight.' - -"As he rose into the saddle a window shot open above, and a woman's -voice cried, 'Stop them, stop them, my lady is dead, he has killed -her!' Then, reeling in my saddle with the horror of the thing, I put -the bridle rein to Sir Gerald's hands. He heard and saw nothing, that -I knew by his eyes and his face, so, leaving Pimpernel to care for -herself, I sprang on Badminton behind Sir Gerald, and taking the reins -with my hands stretched out, I put spurs deep into his sides. - -"The wind rushed in my ears and the cries of the woman grew faint; -down hill we tore, I heard the splashing of the Gimmer water round -Badminton's legs and the hoofs of him rattling on the pebbles of the -ford. Then I heard behind me the clashing of the alarum bell of the -castle. - -"Something in Sir Gerald's right hand, hanging loose, took my eye, and -I sickened at the sight, for it was the body of the little brown hawk -crushed to death. - -"I looked back, Castle Sinclair stood out against the blood red of the -sky. Up suddenly against us rose a great man on a black horse. It was -General James Sinclair spurring for the castle; he threw his horse on -his haunches. Badminton he reared, and Sir Gerald fell forward before -me on his neck, his dark hair all mixed with the mane. Then I drew -rein, I called to Sir Gerald, but no answer made he; his lips were -blue, dead he was as the little hawk crushed in his hand, dead as -Mistress Beatrice Sinclair, poisoned with the selfsame poison he always -carried in his ring; dead as I Geoffry Lely shall be, and that soon, -from the sorrow that has fallen on me since that dark and bloody day." - -There the writing stopped. I only quote from memory, but it is a good -memory, for that strange bit of writing burnt itself deeply into my -heart. It occupied six pages. The seventh was covered by Wilder's -handwriting. It was the beginning of a horrible list, the list of the -eldest sons of the Wilders. Each name stood there bracketed with the -name of a Sinclair. I knew what that meant. This was the way:-- - - _Beatrice Sinclair--Gerald Wilder._ - _John Wilder--Rupert Sinclair._ - _Adam Wilder--James Sinclair-Sinclair._ - _Athelstan Wilder--Arthur Reginald Sinclair_, - -and so on. - -That list horrified me, I could not go on with it. At the foot of all -these names so strangely coupled together James Wilder had written a -sort of prayer. - -"Oh, God! how long! how much longer shall this blood red hand be held -over us? I have but one little child, I implore your mercy for it. Have -pity upon me and it, _we_ have done no wrong." - -That made my eyes swim so that I could scarcely see. I shut the little -black book; it looked like a witch, and I determined to burn it. The -fire was still red in the grate, so I got up and put it on the live -coals. It burned quite cheerfully. I watched it as I lay in bed, and I -muttered to myself, "Let the past die like that." I watched the cover -all curling up, and little jets of blue flame spouting from the leather -binding. Oh, if it were only as easy to burn the past as it is to burn -a book! Then nothing was left but sullen-looking grey ashes, with -little red points running over them. - -Then I blew out my candle, and the room was in darkness. The wind -sighed outside in the tree tops. I saw all kinds of pictures painted -on the darkness, faces, and one angelic face, the last before I went to -sleep--Geraldine's. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -THE MORNING - - -A week ago I had been living in ---- Crescent, living in a room with an -old faded carpet on the floor, with one picture on the walls,--and such -a picture, I can see it still, it was a German oleograph representing -the Day of Judgment, and so badly done that the long trumpets seemed -sticking in the sides of the angels' cheeks, not out of their mouths, -and some of the devils, I remember, had their tails growing from the -middle of their backs. The looking-glass made one look horrible, and -the handles were off the chest of drawers, so one had to pull the -drawers out with a crooked hairpin. - -I minded the picture more than anything. Some girls would have grumbled -at the chest of drawers, and never thought of the picture, but I have -always loved beautiful things, so I suppose that is the reason why I -grumbled so much at the picture and so little at the other thing. - -You may think, then, how delightful it was next morning when I woke and -saw the light filtering in through the rose-coloured blinds. I sat up -in the bed and saw the glimmer of the great ivory hair brushes on the -dressing-table. I saw my rings lying in a heap--I would never have had -those rings only for Geraldine, I would never have been here, only for -Geraldine, I might have been in the Thames, floating with dead cats -and dogs by this, only for Geraldine. Then I fell back on the pillows, -smothered with a strange kind of horror; it was strange, because it had -no reason for being. It passed away slowly like a mist dissolving, and -I lay looking up at the blue ceiling, with rosy clouds painted on it, -and little Cupids peeping at each other from behind them. I pulled up -the blinds of my window to look out; then I opened the sash. - -It was an autumn morning, warm and dark, the wind of the night before -had blown half dead leaves about the garden on which my window looked; -it had rained in the night, and the air was full of the smell of -dampness and decay, and a faint perfume like the bitter perfume of -chrysanthemums; there was just enough wind to make the trees move -their leaves about, and make a noise as if they were sighing. I love -this autumn weather; I don't know why, perhaps it's just because I -don't know why that I love it. That seems rubbish, but I am too lazy -to scratch it out. It is just like autumn now as I sit writing this, -though it is early spring, and the trees are all covered with little -green buds, making ready for another autumn that I shall never see. - -Then I dressed. I put on three dresses, one after another, and they all -seemed not good enough; but I had no more fit for morning wear, so I -left on the third. - -Then I came down to breakfast, and I found only one place laid. I could -have broken my plate over the old butler's head, but I didn't, and I -can't for the life of me tell why I could have done it, or why I didn't -do it. Breakfast proceeded in solemn silence. - -"Would I have ham?" - -No, I would not have ham! where was Geraldine? - -Miss Geraldine breakfasted an hour ago alone in her wing of the house; -Miss Geraldine sent her compliments, and wanted to know if I would -visit her in her own rooms after I had finished breakfast. - -He might take Miss Geraldine my compliments, and say that I would have -much pleasure in doing so. He had better go at once. No, I required no -more coffee. - -He went. - -Her compliments, indeed, and her wing of the house, I wonder why -she didn't send her card. Yes, I would visit her just as often as I -pleased--yet I would not if my visits didn't please. No, in that case I -would drown myself in the moat, but there was no moat; well, in the big -bath upstairs. And the way the old butler said, "Miss Geraldine" quite -calmly, though he knows Miss Geraldine is a boy; and she is a boy, -and she ought to be smacked for being such a prig. But why smack her -when it's not her fault? No, it's James Wilder and the old butler that -require smacking, and still--and still, these two old fools between -them have produced, or helped to produce, this weird child, just as she -is; and in all God's earth she is the most beautiful thing, and the -most strange. She is like a thing made of mist, yet she is real; she is -a ghost, yet one can touch her. What is she--what is he--who am I--I -don't know--I don't want to know. Ha! I felt just then the claws of the -little falcon pinching my wrist. - -That was the jumbling kind of stuff that ran through my head as I -breakfasted; then, when I had finished, instead of going at once to -find Geraldine's wing of the house, I hung about the room looking at -the pictures, putting off my visit just as a person puts off a bite at -a peach. At last I came. - -I seemed to know the way by instinct; there was no placard with "To -Geraldine" on it, but I found Geraldine for all that. I crossed the -hall and passed the picture gallery scarcely looking at the door. Then -I lifted a heavy corded silk curtain, and found myself in a corridor. -Upon my word, I thought I was in the Arabian Nights. Each side of the -corridor was panelled, and on the cream white panels were painted -flowers,--it was a regular flower-garden of painting. The roof was -white, with coloured windows, each made in the shape of a fan. These -stained glass fans were the prettiest things in the way of windows I -had ever seen--so I thought. The corridor ended in a heavy curtain like -the one at the other end; two doors stood on each side of the curtain. -I chose the right hand door, for I guessed it belonged to the room she -was in. I was right. I knocked. A voice cried, "Come in," and in I came. - -Oh, this Geraldine! I must have seen her all askew last night, for now -she seemed eight times lovelier than she was then. Who had taught -this being the art of putting on dress? Surely not James Wilder or the -old butler. This dress she wore was made from a fabric intended to -represent the skin of some tropical lizard, scales of golden satin on a -body-ground of dull emerald-coloured silk. She rose from her chair like -a snake from a blanket. James Wilder, when he rose from a chair, always -reminded me of a flail in a fit. Yet she was his son. - -We said "Good morning," but we did not kiss. Something seemed to have -come between us; we seemed instinctively to hold aloof from each -other. The Geraldine who came up to me last night to be kissed, just -as a tame fawn might have done, was not exactly the Geraldine of this -morning. And yet I liked this something that had come between us. -Kisses are just like apples; if you can get as many as you want they -grow tasteless, and the more you pay for them the sweeter they seem, -and they are never so sweet as when you steal them. I never heard of a -farmer robbing his own orchard, have you? - -Then this fine lady sank back into the chair from which she had -arisen--it was not sitting down, it was sinking down--and with a -ghostly smile resumed her work. And guess the work--tapestry. Tapestry; -and she had done yards of it, when she ought to have been playing at -marbles and learning to swear. - -As for me, I sat down plump on a chair close by, crossed my legs, and -nursed my knee with my hands. I felt inclined to whistle. Remember, -I was thinking of her now as a boy in petticoats, and as long as I -thought of her as that I was in my right senses, that is, my everyday -senses. I felt perverse, just as I always feel, and would have liked to -tease--only I wouldn't have dared--this half-absurd, wholly delightful -production of old James Wilder. But when I thought of her as a girl -I felt--I felt the dim remembrance of a past life, and an infinite -sadness. - -I looked round at the room; it looked like the inside of a shell. -Fairies seemed to have furnished it. I never saw such exquisite things -before. There were cabinets inlaid with copper on ebony, and Venice -glass that seemed coloured with tints of the sea. A wood fire was -burning on the tiled hearth, and a great bowl of violets stood on a -table supported by carved dragons with jewels for eyes. The smell of -the violets made me feel faint every now and then, but the faintness -went away when I remembered this Geraldine was a boy. "Remember that," -I kept repeating to myself. And in the middle of the room sat Geraldine. - -The long French windows were open, and the garden, all damp and -sad-coloured, lay outside. Great chrysanthemums, potted out, were -nodding under the marble-coloured sky, and they all seemed nodding at -Geraldine. When a hitch came in the thread Geraldine's under lip would -pout out. I felt now and then as if I were acting in a play, and the -chrysanthemums' faces were the faces of the audience. Perhaps they -were. Anyhow, I had learnt my part very badly, so it seemed to me. - -The tapestry was a great blessing; one could speak or not as one -pleased, and I generally preferred--not. I fell to wondering does -_she_ remember anything of that hunting morning so long ago: does she -remember the poison, has she forgiven the poisoner, and has God? - -Then I began to talk to her again and she answered in a low measured -voice that sounded to me like a bell from the far past, yet in spite of -the ghostly kind of sadness with which her voice filled me, some of her -answers made me laugh. - -She didn't know how to read; that came out in the course of our scrappy -conversation. - -"But, _Geraldine_, why--you've never read your _Bible_, then?" - -One might have thought from my tone that I was a shocked Sunday-school -superintendent, and it really did seem shocking to me that a person -should never have read the Bible. - -"What is my Bible?" asked Geraldine, staring at me, half-frightened at -my astonishment. - -"Oh, it's a book. I'll tell you about it some other time, but--but you -can't know Geography. Do you know where Japan is, Geraldine, or India?" - -Geraldine's head shook. She looked dazed. - -"Do you know where England is?" - -Oh, yes, she knew where England was,--this house, this garden, all away -beyond there, was England--all over there. - -How proudly she waved the white hand. It was patriotism pure and -simple. She was proud of her park, not because it was her park, but -because it was her native land. Her--his--I cannot say "his," I must -always say "her;" besides, it doesn't matter now. It will never matter -again, nothing will ever matter again. What gibberish I am writing; -how those trees nod and nod their heads as if they were nodding at the -little graveyard "away over there," just as the chrysanthemums were -nodding that morning at Geraldine. - -She didn't know her Bible and she didn't know her Geography, and she -didn't know "nothing." What a lot of ignorance was stowed away in that -small head; but she knew something of natural history. The tapestry -work had stopped, and we were walking in the little garden where the -chrysanthemums were. I pointed to a snail on the path. - -"What is that, Geraldine?" - -"That," said Geraldine, "is a snail." - -How proud she seemed of her knowledge, and how tenderly she lifted the -snail on to a leaf. The clock in the clock-turret was striking noon. - -"Can you read the clock, Geraldine?" - -"Oh, yes, and my watch." - -A watch the size of my thumb-nail was produced. How learned she was, -really a kind of professor! - -We walked down an alley of cypress trees without speaking, then we -stopped, for the sound of a gong came roaring from the house. - -It was the luncheon gong, so said Geraldine, and I suddenly woke up -from a reverie to remember that I was not in the seventeenth but the -nineteenth century. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -"YOU WERE NOT DRESSED LIKE THIS" - - -The old clergyman who lives at Ashworth has just been. He comes twice -a week and eats a biscuit and drinks a glass of wine, and tells me we -should all think on the future life, or the life to come. He asked me -what I was writing, and I said--nothing. - -Well--that day I had luncheon all alone. Where that other strange being -had luncheon, or whether she had luncheon at all, I don't know; I had -luncheon alone, and I had chops for luncheon. - -What did James Wilder mean by sending me here to be driven mad? What -was driving me mad? Why, Geraldine was. I had sprung at one bound into -the most fabulous world of love. I could have eaten that snail she -lifted on to the leaf, just because she touched it. - -The old butler was meandering round the room with a dish of vegetables -in his hand. - -"James," I said. - -"Ma'am." - -"I have fallen in love with your Miss Geraldine." - -"May God be thanked, ma'am." - -"James," in a coaxing voice, "I want to go out for a drive with him--I -mean with her--with Miss Geraldine. Do you understand?" - -"Yes, ma'am, and so shall I tell the horses to be put in?" - -"Why, yes, after luncheon, that is, if Miss Geraldine likes; do you -think she would like?" - -"Ma'am," in a voice like the voice of a ghost, "Miss Geraldine has been -a-speaking of you to me; she comes to me, ma'am, to tell any little -trouble that may happen like as she was a boy, which she is, may God -in Heaven bless her; and she came to me last night after you'd a-gone -to bed, and she said, 'James, who is Beatrice Sinclair?' Lord, ma'am, -you might ha knocked me down with your finger. 'Why,' I says, Miss -Geraldine, 'she's the lady just come.' Then she says 'James,' and she -held down her head and all her little face grew red, 'Will she ever go -away again?' 'Why, Miss Geraldine?' said I. 'Because if she does,' said -she, 'I shall die; I've been waiting for her and thinking of her for -years, and if she leaves me now I shall die:' those were her words." - -A bucket of vitriol emptied into a furnace those words were to me. - -"The horses," I cried, rising from the table, "ring for the horses; -go and tell Miss Geraldine to dress, for I am going to take her -for a drive. Go." I stamped my foot, I was speaking like a man. I -was suddenly intoxicated. I felt hat, boots and belt upon me; the -falcon was on my wrist. I clapped my hand on my left hip and was -astonished to find--no sword. That, somehow, brought me to, and I sat -down at the table again feeling shrunk--shrunk? do you understand -that word?--shrunk like an apple that has been all winter in the -cellar--shrunk like a warrior who wakes to find himself a woman. "She -hung down her head and all her little face grew red," how exactly those -words brought her image before me. This little milksop. I was sitting -at the table; the old butler had gone to order the carriage; the light -of the autumn day came greyly through the great double windows, a spray -of withered wistaria was tapping at one of the panes like the hand of a -ghost. Before me, on the opposite wall, hung a convex Venetian mirror, -one of those strange mirrors that are made so perfectly and so truly -that they reflect everything just as it is, even the atmosphere, so -that a room reflected by them seems like a real room. I was staring -at my own reflection in the mirror, and wondering over again at my -own likeness to the portrait of Gerald Wilder--when--the door in the -mirror opened, a figure the size of my thumb entered the mirror room, -a figure lithe and more gorgeously clad than any caterpillar. I knew -quite well that it was only Geraldine who had opened the door behind -me, and was therefore reflected in the mirror. I knew that quite well, -yet I watched the mirror without moving: the little figure seemed to -hold me in a spell. It came up softly behind the woman seated at the -table--the woman with the face so like Gerald Wilder; it paused as if -undecided. I watched. - -Geraldine evidently was utterly ignorant of the mirror and its picture. -Geraldine the observed imagined herself unobserved: then, like a little -thief, she bent her lips to kiss the woman's hair without the woman -knowing. I threw my head back and caught the kiss upon my lips, I threw -my arms back and caught her round the neck; never was a thief so caught -in his own trap. - -Then I turned round, and let her go, and confronted her, all at the -same time. And there she stood, "with her head hung down and all her -little face grown red." - -Love has never been described properly: all that about roses and altars -is nonsense. Love is like being in a beautiful and mysterious room, -and you push a curtain aside and you find a more mysterious and more -beautiful room, and you see another curtain. How that comparison would -shock the people who write poetry. Imagine comparing love to a suite of -rooms. - -I shall never forget that drive; the horses were those Russian horses -that go as if they were mad; the air was all filled with the smell of -autumn, and the earth seemed as silent as the leaden-coloured sky. The -park lay all dull-coloured and damp, the great trees were standing with -their leaves hanging down. - -Miles and miles of park we passed through; there were sober and -sad-coloured hills in the distance that seemed to watch us with a -mournful air. The country had for me the aspect of fate as it lay -around us, silent as a dream, the trees dropped their withered leaves, -the clouds passed by, the wind blew, and clouds and wind and trees -all said to me in their own language, the past, the past, the past. -Once Geraldine said, "When I saw you before, so long ago, you were not -dressed as you are now." - -No, Geraldine, I said to myself, when you saw me before, so long ago, I -was dressed as a man. But I did not answer her in words. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -THE BALLADE OF THE FALCON - - -To the deep window of the library, where I am sitting now wrapped in -shawls and scribbling this, I came that day after our drive to sit and -think, and stare out of the double windows at the dusky garden, and -wait for tea. I had taken an old book from one of the library shelves. -It was "The whole art of Falconry," dedicated to his Majesty, King -Charles the First, by his liege servant--I forget whom. - -When I was tired with looking out of the window I turned over the -leaves of the book; they smelt of age. Between the cover and the last -leaf was a manuscript, the ink faded, the paper mildewed. I spelt it -out in the dusk. - -It was a ballad written in a curious, old-fashioned hand. It was about -a little falcon which a lady had given to her lover; he killed her in a -fit of passion, and he killed the little falcon, or "the little hawke," -as the ballad sometimes called it, and then he killed himself. As I -read it grew sadder and sadder, it seemed to moan to me like a living -thing, and my eyes became blind with tears so that I could scarcely -read it in the twilight. It was all about the little falcon, but I knew -that the pity was meant for the cavalier. Perhaps the writer dared not -express it openly, for was not the cavalier an assassin and a suicide? - -This is the last verse, as well as I remember-- - - "With the little falcon prest - To his cold and lifeless breast, - They laid him to his rest. - And the ballade humbly prays - The tribute of your sighs - For the hawke's blinde little eyes, - --And the cavalier who lies - By the four cross ways." - -Ah! the dead hand that wrote that long ago betrayed itself in the two -last lines, - - "And the cavalier who lies - By the four cross ways." - -I laid it down and cried as if my heart would break. I was crying, not -for the cavalier but for "the little hawke." - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -MY LETTER - - -That night I went up to my room early. I took pens, ink, and paper -with me--why I took them I had no notion--I took them. I lit all -the wax lights on the mantel, and the wax lights that stood on the -dressing-table. Then I stood before the dressing-table mirror looking -at myself. I can see the reflection of my face still, a pale face with -dark sombre eyes, and lips that curled in a sneer. That was how Gerald -Wilder looked when he was in a rage. I could see now Gerald Wilder, the -assassin and the suicide. I was Gerald Wilder. - -Geraldine and I were inextricably entangled--she in the body of a -boy, I in the body of a woman. Was this my punishment for that murder -and that suicide committed long, long ago, this blind maze of the -flesh into which I had been led? I could do one of two things. Leave -Geraldine to-morrow morning, never to see her again, or--stay. If I -left her she would break her heart, and die. I would break my heart, -and die. Then perhaps we might meet, and be happy for ever. Surely, if -all those stars were suns, and if there were worlds round them like our -world, God might give us some little place, some tiny garden out of all -His splendour. He was rich, and owned the whole of space, and He would -give something to two ghosts who had left the world for the love of -each other. That was what would happen if we left each other--we would -grow sick and die, but we would meet on the other side. If we remained -together, I knew that something would happen to separate us for ever, -how I knew this I cannot tell, perhaps it was by instinct. - -I turned from the mirror to the table, where I had placed the writing -things. Now I knew why I had brought them up: it seems to me that we -often think when we don't know we are thinking. - -I sat down, and took one of the thick sheets of paper stamped in red -with - - "THE GABLES, - "ASHWORTH, YORKS," - -and I wrote. This is what I wrote-- - - "DEAR JAMES,--I know now why you have sent me down here. I have seen - your Geraldine, and I love her, but I must leave her. It will kill - us both, but I have chosen to die. _Can_ you not see that I am your - kith and kin, that I am Gerald Wilder? You have no claim on Geraldine, - for she is a Sinclair, she is the dead Beatrice returned as a Wilder. - I think I see it all now, if one may see anything in such awful - darkness. I know, without knowing exactly _how_ I know it, that if we - part we shall dream of each other till we die, and that then we shall - meet never to be separated, but if we remain together some fearful - thing will happen and divide us, so that we may never meet again. - - If I loved your son all would be right, but it is not Gerald I love, - but Geraldine--Beatrice. - - I am leaving here early to-morrow morning, going, I don't know where. - I shall write to you. - - Signed, - - GERALD WILDER." - -Then I directed an envelope-- - - JAMES WILDER, ESQ., - NO. -- BERKELEY SQUARE, - LONDON. - -I put the letter in. I gummed it. Then I began to search for a stamp. -I felt that I must stamp it to add a kind of security to my purpose, -though the post did not leave until noon on the morrow. What a search I -had for that stamp. I rummaged all my dress pockets; at last I found my -purse,--there were two stamps in it. - -I stamped the letter carefully. I held it in my hands as I sat -over the fire. Then, without any apparent reason, I tore the letter -slowly up into four pieces, then into eight. Then I placed the pieces -carefully on the burning coals in the grate. I watched the stamp -burning and thought it was a pity to see it burn, for it was worth a -penny. I saw the d e r letters of Wilder stand out white on a bit of -the burnt envelope. - -Then I took the poker and poked at the bits of paper ash. - -I was thinking. - -All my life long I have loved everything beautiful: colours have a -strange fascination for me, you could make me sad quicker with a colour -than a story or a poem; scents and sounds have the same effect, the -smell of violets suddenly transports me to somewhere, I don't know -where, I only know it is elsewhere. I have heard things in music that -no one has ever heard, notes that come up again and again as the -harmony moves to the end of its story, sombre notes full of fate. -I have seen people listening to music and their faces had no more -expression than jugs; I have heard women talking of the opera, utterly -unconscious of the story the music they were listening to was telling -them. - -I was sitting by the fire thinking; the bits of burnt paper had flown -up the chimney in a hurry, perhaps the devil had called them. I was -thinking in pictures, and I felt unutterably happy and relieved now -that I had written my letter to James Wilder--and burnt it. - -I saw my room in ---- Crescent. The creature that had inhabited that -room was not _I_. I saw the room so distinctly that I saw on a shelf -an old tattered book--Dumas' "Three Musketeers." I used to read it -sometimes at nights, and I used to wonder how it was possible that -the Duke of Buckingham could have loved Anne of Austria in the insane -manner in which he did; now I saw at a glance that such love was quite -possible, and no fable. He loved her because she was unattainable, she -was a Queen; he could never have loved an ordinary woman like that. A -soap bubble is the most beautiful thing in the world because it is so -unattainable, you cannot put it in your pocket. - -Then Geraldine suddenly appeared before my mind. Not only Geraldine, -but the thousand and one things that made her up. I have told you -before that colour and scent and sound seem to act as food and drink -to me. This Geraldine had all these in their fullest perfection, like -some strange tropical fruit that no one could imagine till they had -seen. At no point was she imperfect; she was an utter little dunce, but -that was her last and crowning fascination: she could not spell A B ab, -and the problem of what twice thirteen was would have filled her small -brown head with distraction. She could not tell you where Asia was, nor -whether Japan was the capital of China; but neither could one of those -delightful things we read of in the old stories, things that come out -of a fountain and turn into a shower of spray when spoken to. - -I was going to stay, then. What on earth made me dream of leaving -_Geraldine_? Did that idea really occur to me? To leave here and get -into a _railway train_ and go back to a place called London--to turn -back out of the seventeenth century into the horrible nineteenth -century, with its railroads and smoke, and telegraphs, just because a -hideous old woman called Reason had told me to do so or it would be -wrong. - -I took another sheet of paper and wrote. - - DEAR JAMES,--I know now the reason why you sent me here. I have fallen - in love with your mysterious Gerald. Leave us together and have no - fear, lovers never hurt each other, except, perhaps, with kisses. I - shall write to you every other day.-- - - Yours affectionately, - - BEATRICE SINCLAIR. - - -This letter I gummed up in an envelope. I had no trouble to find a -stamp for it; my purse lay on the table and in it the other stamp. Then -I put the letter on the mantel, and went to bed. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -THE BLACK HORSE AND THE WHITE - - -I had such a strange dream. I dreamt that I was in man's clothes, and -that I was astride of a coal black horse: how I knew that the horse -was black I scarcely can tell, for the night around me was dark as -death, Geraldine was on the pommel before me, grasping me round the -loins with her arms; her head was on my breast, the horse was galloping -mad, mad he seemed; behind me galloped a man on a white horse, a man -in the dress of a cavalier. I turned my head now and then to look at -him. He was myself, and he was dead. He swayed and he reeled in the -saddle. His spurs were plunged and stuck in the white horse's sides, -and great flakes of bloody foam fell from them through the darkness -like red flowers; we tore through archways that seemed to roar at us, -down white roads, and through tiny hamlets with lights that winked -at us, and then we were in the darkness again, on a moor. A ghastly -moon broke through the clouds overhead. I looked back, he was still -following, swaying and reeling, now falling flat back on the back of -his horse, so that his long black hair mixed with the horse's tail, -now falling straight forward, his hair all thrown and mixing with the -horse's mane. I saw the nostrils of the white horse blown out thin as -paper, its staring, straining eyes. Then the darkness fell again and -I found Geraldine gone; and the moon broke through again, and I saw -that the white horse had overtaken me and passed me, and was far ahead, -and the cavalier, reeling and swaying in the saddle, held Geraldine in -his arms, and they were both dead. Then my horse faltered and stumbled -and fell. And I woke. All around me was in black darkness. I felt the -pillows to make sure I was in bed, then I felt for a match-box on the -little table by the bed-side, and I struck a light. The clock on the -mantelpiece pointed to quarter past five. I rose and lit a candle, and -put on a wrapper. I felt frightened. I wanted to go to Geraldine to see -if she were all right. You never love a person so much as just when you -wake from a dream of them, at least I quote from my own experience. I -opened my bedroom door, the passage was utterly dark, and the house -seemed strangely still. I came along the passage like a ghost--only I -had a candle in my hand, and you never hear of ghosts carrying candles. -I reached the top of the great hall stairs, and I saw the hall below, -with the men in armour standing round the oak-panelled walls and the -grey dawn glimmering down at them through the stained glass windows. I -came down the stairs, crossed the hall. My feet were bare, but I did -not feel the cold of the parquet. I pushed the curtain aside that led -to the corridor with its flower-pictured walls and fan-shaped windows. -The heavy curtain at the end concealed a bedroom, that I knew. I blew -out the candle and raised the curtain. A door half open; I pushed it -and entered. On a bed, white as snow, lay a little figure curled up -under the sheets. The window-blinds had not been drawn and the grey, -still light fell on a small face. Never seemed anything so fast asleep -as this form. As I stood watching it, it seemed to me that I could -still hear the galloping of the dream horses, I felt like a thief. -Geraldine was safe then; she knew nothing of that furious ride through -the night, heard none of the galloping of those horses. - -As I turned from taking a last look at the sleeping face I felt awed, -not exactly awed, but frightened. Do you know that perfect and absolute -purity frightens one to look at, as if it were a ghost? You may laugh, -but it does, though it is more rarely seen than any ghost. I have only -seen it once, and that was when I saw this child asleep with the dawn -on her face. - -When I had found my room again I drew up the window-blind and -opened the window. The trees in the garden stood all dripping with -dew in the grey light that came from the slate-coloured sky, and the -chrysanthemums looked like the ghosts of chrysanthemums. Not a breath -of wind. I looked up at the sky. Two crows were flying lazily in the -distance, their black wings winking dreamily as they flew. Not a sound. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -THE OLD OAK CHEST - - -I woke at nine o'clock. Someone had knocked at my door. It was only the -maid-servant with hot water. - -I had gone to sleep at six o'clock with the vision of that strange grey -dawn in my head, and now at nine--I can never account for my motives, -I seem built up of perversities--at nine o'clock I woke, and my first -sensation was one of irritation. I was irritated with myself, and I was -irritated with the thoughts of the old butler. I was irritated with the -window-blind which I had drawn down all crooked. I was in a sulk with -Geraldine. - -I looked at my face in the looking-glass. I was a fright. My eyes were -red. I dressed, and I actually did not care what dress I put on. It -did not matter; all my dresses were hideous, every woman's dress was -hideous, except Geraldine's, she alone knew how to dress. - -Really never before had I been in such a vile and senseless humour. It -seemed to take in the whole world. I passed in review all the men I had -ever known. They were all about equally detestable; they seemed all so -like one another, more or less hair on their faces, that was all, and -yet women fall in love with these creatures; but then, what were women? -I passed in review all the women I had ever known, and all the women -I had ever heard of--they all had to stand for inspection beside the -strange figure of Geraldine. Oh, what fools they looked, what dummies, -what empty-headed apes, tricked out in borrowed feathers, full of -spiteful tricks, and tricks to draw the attention of those other apes, -the ones with beards. - -I thought of the school-girls at the boarding-school,--those virgins -so full of suppressed vice, their finnikin manners, their whispers, -and their sniggers. I never thought that I too had been one of those -vicious virgins. - -I pricked myself with a pin, and that brought me back from my thoughts. -Then I went down to breakfast. One place as usual. Old James the butler -seemed grown ten years younger since that night so long ago when he let -me in first, that night so long ago, the night before last. He darted -about so quick that he upset a plate of muffins on the floor. Then -bang! my bad humour changed suddenly to good. - -What did this little wretch mean by breakfasting alone at unearthly -hours? Did she have strange people out of the garden to breakfast with -her? people with feet like roots, and faces like flowers. I had seen -this Geraldine looking at the chrysanthemums with an expression of face -as if she knew more about them than a mortal ought to know. Last night -a great moth flew in from the garden, and rested quite familiarly on -her hair, just above her ear. She treated the snails just as if they -were kinsfolk. I felt sure that to her breakfast-table guests came who -would have flown, or run, or crawled, from _my_ presence. - -Then, like a sombre note of music, came the recollection of my dream. -I heard the mad galloping of the horses, and my good humour turned to -sadness. You must think me a very changeable person, but that is just -what I am. I am jotting down all my feelings as they came, so you can -see that it takes very little to move me from sorrow to laughter. - -I have written seventy-three pages! almost a little book. To think that -I should ever have written a book, no matter how small! - -Well, when breakfast was over I sat for awhile making up my mind that -Geraldine might come to me before I came to her; then I got up and did -exactly what I had determined not to do. I came down the toy-house -corridor. I knocked at the right hand door; no answer. I pushed the -door open and peeped in; no one. I knocked at the bedroom door; no -answer, but I did not go in, I felt somehow afraid. Then I turned to -the left hand door. I opened it. It was a strangely pretty room, but -it did not contain Geraldine. It looked like an oratory; the roof was -arched, and at the far end the daylight through a stained glass window -shone glimmering down on the polished oak floor. A silver lamp swung -from the ceiling, and an oak table, plain and rather severe looking, -stood in the centre. This was where she probably dined, if she ever -dined, and breakfasted all alone. - -What a life this strange being must have led, just like a nun, and many -a morning she must have sat here all alone whilst _I_ was--where? - -Do you know that all the sermons ever preached would have had less -effect upon me than the sight of this room? I suddenly saw the -beastliness of the world we all live in, just as plainly as if it had -been some vile reptile crawling from under that oak table; but we never -see sights like that for long, just half a second or so, and then we -forget. I looked for a moment, then I turned away. Where had she gone -to? was she hiding? could she be in the garden? - -No, she was not in the garden; the chrysanthemums all looked as if they -knew but would not tell. Oh, those chrysanthemums, how they haunt my -dreams, actually haunt me; they are all dead and forgotten, but their -faces seem to haunt me. Geraldine made them human when she walked -amongst them, she touched their faces as if they were faces of brothers -and sisters. I saw her smile at one once, and once I saw her actually -frown at one of them, and now they come and haunt me as if to say, -"What have you done to Geraldine?" - -Then I began to feel uneasy. Where could this strange child be? had any -accident befallen her? I remembered my dream, and hurried back to the -house. Old James, the butler, was crossing the hall, a tray of glasses -in his hands. I asked him had he seen the child, did he know where she -was hiding? - -He answered that she had gone out for a drive; she went at eight. - -I could have boxed the old fellow's ears. - -Was she in the habit of going out for drives so early in the day? - -Oh, yes, several times a week the horses were ordered early. That -exasperated me. So it was a habit not to be broken through on my -account. Just because it was her habit, she had gone out and left me -all alone, knowing very well that I would be hunting for her. Then -I remembered the absurd fright I had been in about my dream, and I -remembered the strange and passionate parting of the night before, and -now this cold creature had gone out for a drive; no wonder she was so -fond of snails. - -Where was the use of loving a creature like this? it would build a -house for itself of your dreams and sighs and groans, and then crawl -off with its house on its back. All my waking irritation returned. -I told the old butler to bring me my luncheon to my room when -luncheon-time came, for I felt ill--so I did--and would not come down -again that day. - -Then I went upstairs to my bedroom utterly determined to give Geraldine -a lesson that she would never forget. She might wait for me, but I -would not come, not I. - -Up in my bedroom I fell into one of those stupid fits in which we--at -least I do--take a tremendous amount of interest in nothing. I looked -at my rings and at my hair brushes. I looked at myself in the glass. -I stood with my head against the pane, looking out at the garden. The -weather had not altered, still moist and warm and autumny; all these -three days seemed carven out of the same kind of weather so that they -might last for ever as one piece, all the same, beautiful, sorrowful, -and dark. "For ever" I say, for I am sure I shall see them even when -I am dead: perhaps they will be for me the only solatium through -eternity, given me to look at, like some gloomy but beautiful jewel to -a sick and sorry child. - -After a while I grew tired of taking an interest in nothing. I fell -to wondering what Geraldine would do or say if I killed myself or was -killed. She would go out for a drive very likely. Then I thought what a -fool I had been to prison myself up in my bedroom and give out to the -old butler that I was ill. I smoked a cigarette as I thought, and then -I determined on an expedition: I would go for a prowl. - -At the end of the corridor on which my bedroom opened there was a door. -Yesterday morning I had opened this door to see what was behind, and -had seen a staircase, a spiral staircase, that had somehow an elfish -look. I told you before, I think, that on my first arrival at this -house everything except the dining-room seemed familiar. Well, that -feeling had utterly vanished, yet _still_ everything remained familiar. -I don't exactly know how to explain my meaning fully, unless I can make -you understand that the ghostly part of the familiar feeling was gone. - -Well, the little staircase cropped up in my mind just as I finished my -cigarette, and I determined on exploring it. I looked out of my room to -see that no one was about, then I came along the corridor, softly. I -opened the door, and there was the little spiral staircase all covered -with dust. I shut the door behind me, and I can tell you it required -some courage to shut that door and remain alone in the dark with that -ugly little staircase. Then up the staircase I went, feeling my way by -the cold little bannister rail, till suddenly my head came bump against -something. I put my hand up and felt a trap door. I pushed it, and it -fell back. What a strange room I entered, perfectly square, and lit by -one dusty window. The walls were hung with arras, and the only piece of -furniture was a large black oak chest, carved all over with foliage and -figures. It stood opposite the window. - -Somehow this room had a strangely forlorn and melancholy appearance, it -had also a vague and musty smell. The arras looked ghostly. Perhaps it -was the perfect silence, but it appeared to me that here a horse and -there a stag seemed ready to jump from the canvas. - -I sat down on the oak chest, and began to observe the tapestry more -attentively. Beginning at the window, my eye ran along it. Here was -a hunting scene--a meet evidently--ever so many horsemen surrounding -a man on a white horse, he seemed the chief; he was dressed as a -cavalier, his hair was black and flowing. Beyond, in the distance, lay -a castle, a castle on a green hill, with a white pathway running down -it. I knew that castle was meant to represent Castle Sinclair. A little -further on another scene. The same cavalier, riding, and by his side a -lady on a brown horse; how proudly the horses stepped. A little further -on another scene, love this time, and the same man and the same woman; -they were kissing. - -Then I knew by a kind of intuition that this tapestry was meant to -represent the connection of the houses of Wilder and Sinclair, worked, -probably, through long generations by the pious hands of Wilder women. - -Suddenly I got up and looked at the tapestry just behind me. Yes, -the same man and the same woman--she on a couch, he on the floor, -perhaps dead, a broken glass beside him. Was that the poison running -on the tapestry-wrought floor?--perhaps. The next scene was a funeral -procession; black nodding plumes and bowed heads. - -I looked no more; that tapestry gave me the shivers. - -I turned to the oak chest and raised the lid; an odour of rosemary -filled the air. I peeped in. Down at the bottom lay some clothes, -carefully folded, on the clothes a sword, and on the sword a great -cavalier's hat with a magnificent black feather; I took out the hat and -sword, and laid them on the floor, then I took out a most exquisite -amber satin doublet, and the other parts of a man's dress. Down at the -bottom still there lay a pair of long buff-coloured boots, with silver -spurs, and a great glittering silver trumpet, to which was attached a -long crimson silk cord. - -I would have clapped my hands, only my arms were so full; here was -everything I wanted. That little Puritan with the pale face would -whimper no more for jingling spurs and a sword on her lover. Oh! the -good sword! I drew it from its sheath, and looked at its broad, strong -blade, all damascened near the hilt, then I popped it back in its -sheath, and kicked off my shoe. I wanted to see if the boots would -fit; I tried one on, it fitted to perfection. This cavalier, whoever -he was, must have had an amazingly small foot. Perhaps he was Gerald -Wilder. Nothing more likely, for this room seemed dedicated to him, and -these things were possibly his relics; any way, they were mine for the -present, and I promised myself a fine masquerade. - -_What_ would Geraldine say when she saw me? - -I took out the trumpet; it looked like a battle-trumpet; there was a -dint upon it as if from a blow. It was solid silver, and was marked -near the mouthpiece with a little tiger and a P surmounted by a tiny -star. It was evidently intended to be slung round the back by the -silken cord, so I slung it round my back, and taking all the other -things, I left the room, laden like an old clothes man. I had fearful -work shutting the trap door with all the things in my arms, but I -managed it at last, and got safely back to my bedroom without having -been seen. - -On the dressing-table stood a silver tray with some luncheon and a -decanter of sherry; so the old butler had been. I shut the door and -locked it, then I placed all my booty on the bed, and sat down to eat -what the old fellow had brought me. - -As I ate I thought how fortunate it was that there were so few -servants. The only ones I had seen indoors were the butler and the -sour-faced maid. There must have been a cook, and a very good one, -hidden down stairs somewhere, but she, or he, was never visible. How, -thought I, do these two manage to keep this great house in order? they -are always working like galley slaves, I suppose, and Wilder pays them -like princes; anyhow I am very glad, two are quite enough, almost two -too many. - -Then I rose and placed the luncheon things on the floor out of my way, -and then I took all the hairpins out of my hair and let it fall as it -always wants to fall, right round my shoulders in black, curling locks. -Then I undressed. I laughed as I put on the man's things, but my heart -was fluttering fearfully lest they shouldn't fit. I shall never forget -the perfume of rosemary from the amber satin doublet as I drew it on. -Then the boots, how the spurs jingled; but I would not look at myself -in the glass yet, I was not perfect, for the sword still lay on the -bed, and the trumpet. I buckled the sword-belt and swung the trumpet -behind me, then with one hand on the hilt of my sword and one hand -on my hip I whirled round on my heel to face my image in the cheval -glass. I can never tell you, nor could you ever imagine, the deep, the -_furious_ pride that filled me as I gazed at the glorious-looking man -who faced me in the mirror. Can you imagine an eagle condemned into -being a sparrow; can you imagine the feelings of that eagle should -it find itself once more an eagle royal and splendid? So great, so -overmastering was this feeling, that I utterly forgot Geraldine and the -whole world that held her. - -I was myself again, yet I was completely changed. All my waywardness -and woman's pettinesses seemed vanished and drowned. As I looked at -the cavalier with black flowing hair, I smiled, and he smiled. How -gloomy and stern was that smile. What a graceful, and strange, and -poetic-looking man he was; one could imagine him riding through a -battle with his face unmoved, one could imagine him terrible in love. - -And he was _I_. - -Then I turned and threw myself into an arm-chair. Geraldine had just -entered my mind, and the stern cavalier, who would have laughed in -the face of a battle, became like a child. Do men turn weak like this -before the image of their love? I veritably believe they do. - -"Geraldine," I thought, "she went out; ah, yes, this morning. I shall -go to her when it is dusk. Will she smile, or will she frown, and my -white rose will she wear it?" Then I found myself wondering what rose. -I could not remember actually that I had given her a rose, yet a vague -impression filled my mind that I had. Somewhere long ago I had given -her a rose, and my fate seemed to depend on whether she would wear this -rose, now, this evening. - -Oh, I tell you, on that afternoon, ay, and ever since I put on the -dress of the cavalier, I was not and am not--what I was. That dress -seemed to seal a compact, and I was, and am still, partly drunk with -the remembrance of a dim and shadowy past. - -I sat in the arm-chair thinking; time must have flown as it never flew -before. - -I would go to her with the dusk and behold it was dusk! - -And the wind had risen with the dusk and was sighing amidst the garden -trees like a ghost. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -THE TRUMPETER - - -I rose from the arm-chair, and I stood, I remember, sucking in my -underlip and staring at the floor. Then I turned to the wardrobe, and -took out my great sealskin cloak. I threw it round me and it reached to -my feet. I wished to conceal my clothes, why, I did not exactly know, -but it seemed to me that they ought to be hidden from everyone but -Geraldine. - -Then I opened the bedroom door softly and peeped into the passage. No -one--not a sound. I stole down the corridor to the head of the great -staircase, and peeped over into the hall, the lamps were not yet lit. -Then I came down the staircase so softly that you might have thought me -a shadow only for the faint, silvery jingle of the spurs. I entered -the corridor, and the heavy silk curtain fell behind me. Then I found -myself standing at the right hand door with my hand pressed to my -heart. No actor about to enter before his audience could have felt -the nervousness I felt. My heart seemed gone mad. Then I dropped my -sealskin cloak and my nervousness fell with it. I tossed my hair back, -felt the hilt of my sword, and without knocking, I turned the door -handle and entered. - -The figure of a girl stood at the open window; she was gazing out at -the dusk-stricken garden. Then she turned and saw me. I heard her -breath caught back, and I saw in her hand a white rose. - -Did I cross the room? I must have crossed it, but I have no -recollection of doing so. I knew nothing of the world or the things in -the world, save a face that was trying to hide itself on my shoulder, -and a voice that was whispering "You have come." Yes, one other thing I -knew. A beetle passed by out somewhere in the garden, and the dreamy -and mournful boom of his wings mixed sadly with my intoxication, -seeming like a voice from long ages ago. - -Oh, that meeting in the grey autumn dusk, that voice repeating over and -over again the words "You have come." When shall I hear those words -again? Never. There is no perhaps for me, I know in some strange way -that I shall hear those words again--never. And the fault is mine. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -THE TRUMPETER - - -The fault is mine, for I knew, and Geraldine knew nothing. - -I knew the past. I knew of my sin. I knew, by some instinct, that God -had brought the past to me. As a means of redeeming my crime He had -imposed renunciation upon me as a penance, and I had chosen instead of -renunciation this deathly masquerade. I would not be debased, I would -not be humbled. God help me--I am humble enough now. All that is what I -see now; just then I saw nothing and cared for nothing but Geraldine. - -We kissed only once, just like two frightened children, then we both -passed into the garden. Geraldine's arm I had drawn round my waist. We -wandered, locked together, through the dusk of the garden. We found -the dark yew tree walk by instinct; there was a seat and we sat down. -We could scarcely see each other, we were utterly dumb, confounded with -love. - -We heard the wind pass by: we heard the dew fall, and the crying of the -night-bird--a hooting sound. - -The rest of that evening I only remember in silhouettes, just as a -drunkard remembers his drunkenness. I remember the parting. I remember -it well, for I saw it reflected in a long mirror. Across the room where -we had been sitting, I can see the picture still--a cavalier standing -by a girl. - -Then I found myself in my bedroom all alone, the clock on the mantel -striking twelve. The window-sash was open: the clouds had all broken -up, and the moon was shining on the trees. I leaned on the sill, my -head supported on my right hand, my left hand on the hilt of my sword. -I listened. The wind was sighing amongst the trees, and on the wind -I heard something far away and strange. A confused noise, it seemed -like the noise of a battle in the distance. I tossed back my hair, -and my left hand worked at the hilt of my sword. Yes, it must be a -battle, a great battle in the distance. I caught the cry, "Sinclair, -Sinclair," and then a cry like the distant sound of a thousand voices, -"For the King." I heard the far-off tramp of horses, the vague cries, -the clash of steel. Then the imperious call of a trumpet, the call of -a battle-trumpet. I sprung to my feet from my stooping attitude. I -swung the trumpet from behind me, and seizing it, placed the silver -mouthpiece to my lips; then I blew. I blew till the rafters rang and -the ceiling shook. I paused, then again I blew. I was drunk, and mad, -mad--with the madness of battle. I left the room. The soul of the -trumpet seemed to have possessed me, the mad sound of the trumpet -beaten back from the walls drove me onwards. Through the corridor, -down the great staircase, across the hall, then back up the staircase, -along the corridor to my room I passed, the whole house ringing to the -sound of the silver trumpet. - -Then I found myself lying on my bedroom floor, sick, faint, and covered -with a cold perspiration. The trumpet lay beside me. Away upstairs -I thought I heard frightened cries, and the banging of a door, then -silence. I crawled to the bed. I could scarcely drag my body on to -it, my exhaustion was so great. Then I fell into a deep and dreamless -sleep. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -THE RUBY WINE - - -Oh, the dismal dawn that woke me, it came through the window that I -had left wide open. I sat up in bed. I was still dressed. My spurs had -torn the coverlet, the trumpet and its blood-red silken cord lay upon -the floor. The wind blew in, shaking the curtains mournfully. I saw it -all at a glance. I remembered everything--the trumpeter had returned. -Oh, it was awful, that moment of cringing terror. It seemed as if fate -had been crawling at me slowly during the last three days. It seemed as -if last night she had made a fearful bound, and now, like a tiger, was -crouching for the final spring. - -I had done it with my own lips, I had blown the death-trumpet for -Geraldine. And now that voice came back that I heard at first, saying, -"Remember, Geraldine is a boy." Ah, yes, I remembered it now, now that -I had heralded to Geraldine the fate to which all the eldest boys of -the Wilder family were doomed. - -I threw myself face down on the pillows, weeping as if my heart would -break; but of what use were tears? I had elected to play the part of -a man, tears were out of place. I stopped weeping and dried my eyes. -_What_ was to be done? how could I save this child? - -"Only one way," said a voice in my head, "leave her--you alone can kill -her, so leave her." - -I would,--I would leave her. I determined on that and rose from the -bed; but, oh God help me, I determined to go first to her to say -good-bye. Was it wrong? ask it of yourself. How--how could I leave this -child, whose life was dearer to me than my own, how could I leave her -without saying good-bye? Do you know what it means to leave a person -you love, to leave for ever without saying good-bye? Could a mother -leave her infant never to see it again without first kissing its tiny -hands, its lips, its eyes? I could have torn my heart out with my own -hands, but I could not have left Geraldine without saying good-bye. - -I came to the great pier-glass and I saw myself--the cavalier. I leaned -my head against it and against his, and I gazed out of the window at -the dull grey sky; still another day of the damp, dark, sorrowful -weather. The clock on the mantel pointed to the hour--quarter to six. - -"I shall kiss her once and say good-bye and leave her for ever," I -murmured to myself, but the words seemed to have little meaning. "I -shall go to her now," I said, standing upright and addressing my own -reflection in the glass, "for the sooner it is over the better." - -I left the room. The passage was dark, but I felt my way with my hand. -Down the stairs I came, across the hall, down the little corridor. I -lifted the curtain and knocked. "Come in," said a voice. - -She was not asleep, then. I opened the door. Geraldine was sitting -by the open window, dressed; she had not been to bed. The bed lay -white--Oh, God, if these tears would only choke me and not fill my -throat with this dull, heavy pain--white and uncrumpled. She stretched -out her arms to me feebly and as if against her will. And now I had -kissed her three times, and was kneeling by her side, I--who had -determined to kiss her once and leave her--and her head was upon my -shoulder, and she was telling me how she could not go to bed for -thinking of me, and how she loved me, loved me as no one had ever been -loved before. Oh the innocence and divine sweetness of this love, of -this voice, and the terror and anguish of the thought, "You are doomed -to kill her, doomed, doomed." - -How could I leave her? She had actually put her arm round my neck. I -laid my head behind hers, so that I might not see the dawn, and might -forget the world. My lips kept murmuring, "It is fate." As if in answer -to the muttering of my lips there came a sound, the turret clock was -striking six, six melancholy strokes; they brought back to my mind the -words of the little black book. - -"Geraldine," I cried, holding my face on her knees, "it was this hour, -long, long ago, when I killed you; tell me to go, tell me to leave you, -it will happen again, for Death is here, oh! _listen_ to the wind." I -ceased, and the wind sobbed and sighed in the garden, but no word came -from Geraldine, only a tear that fell and burned my hand. "Geraldine," -I whispered, "I have betrayed you, turn me away for your own sake." - -Then I felt two soft hands seize my hair on either side of my head, and -lift my face. I heard a voice whisper, "You are mine, and I will hold -you so." - -"Ah! then," I cried, "let the past be gone for ever; now, now with this -kiss--and this--and this--let us defy Death." But even as our lips -clung together, the wind moaned drearily in the trees. I heard Death, I -felt him, he was in the garden, his gray misty face was at the window. -We clung to each other like people drowning; we seemed to know that -the eternal parting was so near; speechless, with lips paralysed, but -still pressed together, we seemed listening for help, but no help came, -nor sound--only the sound of the wind mourning in the trees. - -Then drearily a little bird began to sing somewhere in the garden. Its -song pierced my wretched heart and drove me to madness, to passion. -I stood up, and, as my arms were round her, I lifted her in my arms. -For one moment I held that delightful burthen, so warm and supple and -perfumed, then growing dizzy, I laid her on the bed and leaned beside -her. She started and drew back from something she saw in my gaze. Her -lips grew pale. - -"Geraldine," I muttered, "what is the matter, _Geraldine_?" - -The pale lips moved, and a terror shot through me. She was going to -faint; no, she was not going to faint, she seemed recovered now, but -how weak she seemed. - -"Wait," I whispered to her, "wait till I come back." - -I left the room and hurried across the hall to the dining-room. Here, -on the sideboard was a lock-up case containing brandy and liqueurs, but -it was locked, of course; here was a decanter labelled "Roussillon." -That would do. - -I took a wine-glass and the decanter, and returned. - -Geraldine, when she saw the decanter, shook her head, just as children -shake their heads at the medicine bottle. But I was firm, and poured -out a glass of the ruby wine. I put my hand behind her head and told -her she must drink, drink it right off. She did as she was bid, and -made a face; she said it was, bitter, and I said "Nonsense." Then her -eyes became sleepy, and she lay with them fixed on mine; then her -eyelids began to droop with sleep. Oh, how jealous I felt of sleep. -And now I could not see her eyes at all. She was breathing deeply, and -her lips now and then gave a little twitch. I sat holding her hand -and stroking it. I sat for twenty minutes watching her. How light -her breathing had suddenly become, and now suddenly she caught her -breath and smiled as if she beheld some one in her dreams. I heard the -galloping of a horse from the avenue, but I did not heed. - -I waited for the next breath, but it never came. The smile had parted -her lips, but she did not breathe; the eyelids lifted a tiny bit, but -the eyes did not seem to see. - -I said "Geraldine." No answer. - -What was that furious ringing of bells, and that thundering as at a -door? I heard it, but never heeded. - -"Geraldine, Geraldine," I whispered. "Geraldine, wake, I am waiting for -you." No answer, but the sound of the wind wailing in the trees. - -She never moved, the smile on her face never changed. I sobbed. I -turned round. Wilder was entering the room, he had just arrived. When -he saw me dressed as I was he threw up his hands. He did not look at -the form on the bed; he looked at the decanter, he smelt the glass, -and he gave a little senile, dreary kind of laugh. He pointed to it and -made a motion as if drinking. I knew what he meant,--it was one of his -opium decanters mislabled Roussillon. - -Then he sat down by the form on the bed, with his hands on his knees -and his head bowed, and I heard him murmuring the words "My child." - -The turret clock struck seven; with the last stroke I heard the shrill -neigh of a horse, and the sound of a hoof striking sharply on granite. - -It was as if to say: the play is ended, the curtain has fallen, never, -never to rise again. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -"AND THEY LAID HIM TO HIS REST" - - -I remember next being in my own bedroom. I was taking off the -cavalier's dress, and I felt like a traveller who had returned from -some far and beautiful land. I never wept, nor even sighed. And I -remember the rest of that strange and ghostly day, the silence of -the house, and the room beyond the pretty corridor that held a thing -stranger than anything on earth or in the sea. It rained slightly -towards dusk. I was looking out of a window on to the garden, later--it -may have been midnight for aught I know, I came down the painted -corridor, and entered the bedroom. A lamp was burning, and on the bed -lay something small and straight, covered with a sheet. I drew away the -sheet, and saw the face I had known so well; just the same it looked, -only smaller and more helpless, and the smile had faded away into a -vague, beseeching look. - -Then I remember days that passed, and one day when Wilder said to me, -"You will not come?" "Where?" I asked. "To the graveyard." - -I was in the library when he spoke. I shook my head. - -He left the room; and a little later I heard heavy footsteps, and the -tolling of a bell in the distance. I counted, one, two, three--sixteen, -then the bell ceased. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -THE END - - "--And the ballade humbly prays, - The tribute of your sighs, - For the hawke's blinde little eyes, - --And the cavalier who lies - By the four cross ways." - - -The little falcon came back last night. It has been weeks away, but it -came back last night, and I feel it even now pinching at my wrist. It -seems to say, "Hurry, you have nearly finished." It seems anxious for -me to go with it. Where? I do not know. - -I can scarcely write. I am half-blind with what? God only knows. Not -tears, for I have no tears left. A darkness has stolen over my brain. -In writing this story I have drawn the past up to me like an unwilling -ghost: I have kissed it on the forehead, mouth, and eyes, and now that -my story is finished it has slipped back into the darkness, and I am -left alone. - -They have buried Geraldine. Not in the little church in the park, where -all the Wilders are buried; she has a grave of her own outside the -church, and on the marble headstone is the name "Beatrice Sinclair." - -But I shall be buried in the church, and I know that my tablet will -bear the inscription, "Sir Gerald Wilder, Kt." so that even our dust -may not meet,--what matter? - -I am not afraid to die; in fact, if I could be glad about anything, -I should now be glad. Death seems to me such a little withered, -contemptible figure, for ever jealous of Love--yet sometimes death -seems to me like a white marble portico, seen down an alley of cypress -trees, under a sky all dark with autumn. - - - - - Beneath the ocean spray - Strange things lie hid away; - And in the gloom - Of many a tomb - Lie stranger things than they. - But in the world, I wis, - Nought is more strange than this-- - The love of Death for May. - Nothing more strange above - The skies where eagles rove; - Nothing below the winter snow - Or flowers that spring winds move; - Nought in eternity - Or time, unless it be - The love of Death for Love. - - -TURNBULL AND SPEARS, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH. - - - - -TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES: - - - Page headers show the title as DEATH, THE KNIGHT, AND THE LADY; - however, commas are not used on the title pages in the book, - and that convention has been retained in this eBook. - - Text in italics is surrounded with underscores: _Punch_. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been retained from the original. - - Inconsistencies in spelling and punctuation have been standardized. - - Superscripted text immediately follows a carat character: y^e. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Death the Knight and the Lady, by -Henry De Vere Stacpoole - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DEATH THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY *** - -***** This file should be named 55708-8.txt or 55708-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/7/0/55708/ - -Produced by Roger Frank, David E. 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