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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f872423 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #60185 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60185) diff --git a/old/60185-0.txt b/old/60185-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 30ccb3c..0000000 --- a/old/60185-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9333 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Bedouin Love, by Arthur Edward Pearse Brome Weigall - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Bedouin Love - -Author: Arthur Edward Pearse Brome Weigall - -Release Date: August 26, 2019 [EBook #60185] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEDOUIN LOVE *** - - - - -Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive/American -Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - -BEDOUIN LOVE - -ARTHUR WEIGALL - - - - - BEDOUIN LOVE - - BY - ARTHUR WEIGALL - _Author of “Madeline of the Desert,” “The Dweller - in the Desert,” etc._ - - [Illustration] - - NEW YORK - GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY - - COPYRIGHT, 1922, - BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY - - [Illustration] - - BEDOUIN LOVE. I - - PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I CHOLERA 9 - - II THE CONVALESCENT 23 - - III MONIMÉ 35 - - IV BEDOUIN LOVE 46 - - V THE SQUIRE OF EVERSFIELD 58 - - VI SETTLING DOWN 73 - - VII THE GAME OF SURVIVAL 87 - - VIII MARRIAGE 103 - - IX IN THE WOODS 117 - - X THE END OF THE TETHER 133 - - XI THE DEPARTURE 148 - - XII THE ESCAPE 160 - - XIII FREEDOM 178 - - XIV THE ISLAND OF FORGETFULNESS 195 - - XV WOMAN REGNANT 206 - - XVI THE RETURN 224 - - XVII THE CATASTROPHE 240 - - XVIII DESTINY 251 - - XIX LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS 264 - - XX THE ARM OF THE LAW 276 - - XXI THE LAST KICK 289 - - XXII THE SHADOW OF DEATH 304 - - - - -BEDOUIN LOVE - - - - -Chapter I: CHOLERA - - -James Champernowne Tundering-West, or, as for the time being he preferred -to be called, Jim Easton, sat himself down on the camp-bedstead in the -middle of the one habitable room of a derelict rest-house, built on the -edge of the desert some distance behind the houses of the native town of -Kôm-es-Sultân. All day long he had been feeling an uneasiness of body; -and now, when the incinerating June sun was sinking towards the glaring -mirror of the Nile, this vague disquiet developed into a very tangible -malady. - -He knew precisely what was the matter with him, and his dark, angry -eyes rolled around the dirty pink-washed room, as would those of a -criminal around the place of execution. Yesterday he had arrived in -from the desert, tired out by a four-days’ journey on camel-back across -the furnace of rocks and sand which separated the gold-mines, where he -had been working, from the nearest bend of the Nile. There had been an -outbreak of cholera at the camp; and, being the only white man then -remaining at the works, which were in process of being shut down for the -summer, he had been obliged to stay at his post until, as he supposed, -the epidemic had been stamped out. Then, with a handful of natives he had -set out for the Nile Valley; but on the journey his personal servant had -contracted the dreaded sickness, and the man had died pitifully in his -arms, in the stifling shadow of a wayside rock. - -The little town of Kôm-es-Sultân was a mere jumble of mud-brick houses -surrounding a whitewashed mosque; and so great was the summer heat that -one might have expected the whole place suddenly to burst into flames -and utterly to be consumed. No Europeans lived there, with the exception -of a nondescript Greek, who kept a grocery store and lent money to the -indigent natives at outrageous interest; but at the village of El Aish, -on the other side of the Nile, there was a small sugar-factory, in charge -of an amplitudinous and bearded Welshman named Morgan, who, presumably, -was now at his post, since, but a few minutes ago, the siren announcing -the end of the day’s work had sounded across the water. Although six -hundred miles above Cairo, Kôm-es-Sultân was not so isolated as its -primitive appearance suggested; for it was no more than five miles -distant from a railway-station, where, once a day, the roasting little -narrow-gauge train halted in its long journey down to Luxor. - -Jim cursed his suddenly active conscience that it had not permitted him -to take this train as it passed in the morning, for already then he had -realized the probability that calamity was upon him; but he had been -constrained to remain where he was, alone in the ramshackle and parboiled -rest-house outside the town, for fear of spreading the sickness, and -he had determined to wait until an answer came from the Public Health -official at Luxor, to whom he had sent a telegram stating that his party -was infected, and that he was keeping the men together until instructions -were received. He seldom did the correct thing; but on this occasion, -when lives were at stake, he had felt that for once the freedom of the -individual had to be subordinated to the interests of the community, -repugnant though such a thought was to his independent nature. - -A dismal sort of place, he thought to himself, in which to fight for -one’s life! There were two doors in the room, one bolted and barred since -the Lord knows when, the other creaking on its hinges as the scorching -wind fluttered up against it through the outer hall. A window near the -floor, with cracked, cobwebbed panes of glass, stood half open, and a -towel hung loosely from a nail in the outside shutter to another in the -inside woodwork. In the morning it had served to keep out the early sun; -but now the last rays struck through the cracks of the opposite doorway -in dusty shafts. - -He had told his Egyptian overseer that he was tired, and that he did -not wish to be disturbed again until the morning; and he bade him keep -the men in the camp amongst the rocks a few hundred yards back in the -desert, and prevent them from entering the town. But in thus desiring to -be alone he had not been prompted merely by his regard for the safety of -others: he had followed also that primitive instinct which his wandering, -self-reliant manner of life had nurtured in him, that instinct which -leads a man to hide himself from, rather than to seek, his fellows when -illness is upon him. Like a sick animal he had slunk into this desolate -place of shelter; and he now prepared himself for the battle with a sense -almost of relief that he was unobserved. - -He went across to the door and bolted it; then to the window, and pulled -the shutters to: but the bolt was broken and the woodwork, eaten by -white-ants, was falling to pieces. He took from his medicine-box a large -flask of brandy, a bottle of carbolic, a little phial of chlorodyne, -and a thermometer. There was a tin jug in the corner of the room, full -of water; and into this he emptied the carbolic, shaking it viciously -thereafter. Then he saturated the towel with the liquid, and replaced it -across the window. - -As the first spasms attacked him and left him again, he gulped down a -stiff dose of brandy, stripped off most of his clothes, and rolled them -up in a bundle in the corner of the room; uncorked the chlorodyne, and -lay down on his mattress. His heart was beating fast, and for a while -he was shaken with fear. All his life he had smiled at death as at a -friend, and, like Marcus Aurelius, had called it but “a resting from -the vibrations of sensation and the swayings of desire, a stop upon the -rambling of thought, and a release from all the drudgery of the body.” -Yet now, when he was to do battle with it, he was afraid. - -He endeavoured to laugh, and as it were mentally to snap his fingers; -and presently, perhaps under the influence of the brandy, he got up from -the bed and fetched from the outer room his guitar, which had been his -solace on many a trying occasion. Some years ago, in South Africa, he had -set to a lilting tune the lines of Procter in praise of Death; and now, -sitting on the edge of the bed, a wild haggard figure with sallow face -and black hair tumbling over his forehead, he twanged the strings and -sang the crazy words with a sort of desperation. - - King Death was a rare old fellow; - He sat where no sun could shine, - And he lifted his hand so yellow, - And poured out his coal-black wine - Hurrah, for the coal-black wine! - - There came to him many a maiden - Whose eyes had forgot to shine, - And widows with grief o’erladen, - For draught of his coal-black wine. - Hurrah, for the coal-black wine! - -The heat of the room was abominable, and he mopped his forehead with his -handkerchief, and groaned aloud. Then, returning to his song, he skipped -a verse and proceeded. - - All came to the rare old fellow, - Who laughed till his eyes dropped brine, - And he gave them his hand so yellow, - And pledged them in Death’s black wine. - Hurrah, for the coal-black wine! - -The sun set and the stars came out. At length, overcome with sickness, he -thrust the guitar aside, and staggered across the room; and presently, -when he was somewhat recovered, he groped for a candle, lit it, stuck it -in an empty bottle, and lay down again with a gasp of pain. - -Now the battle began in earnest, and he made no further attempt to -laugh. Taut and racked, he stared up at the dim, cobwebbed ceiling, and -swore that no man should come near him so long as there was danger of -infection. He was, perhaps, a little pig-headed on this point; but such -was his nature. “Live, and let live” had ever been his motto; and now he -was putting into practice the second half of that maxim. - -The thought occurred to him that he ought to write a will, or some -general instructions, in case the “rare old fellow” were triumphant; -but, on consideration, he abandoned the idea for the good reason that he -had neither property worth mentioning to leave, nor relations to whom he -would care to address his last message. Moreover, in his momentary relief -from pain, he felt extraordinarily disinclined to bother himself. - -He had an uncle—Stephen—who was in possession of a little estate at -Eversfield, a small English village in the neighbourhood of Oxford, where -the Tundering-Wests had lived for many generations; but he had not seen -much of this correct and conventional personage during his childhood, and -nothing at all for the last ten years, since he had been a grown man and -a wanderer. This uncle had two sons, his cousins: one of them, Mark by -name, was, he believed, in India; the other, called James like himself, -lived at home. They were his sole relations, he being an only child, and -his father and mother having died two or three years ago, leaving him a -few hundred pounds, which he had quickly lost. - -There was nobody who would care very much if he pegged out, and in this -thought there was a sort of gloomy comfort. Moreover, he was known by his -few friends in Egypt and elsewhere as Jim Easton; for, many years ago, -at a time when he was reduced to utter penury, he had thought it best to -hide his identity, lest interfering persons should communicate with his -relations. In the name of Jim Easton he had wandered from place to place, -and in that name he had obtained this job at the gold mines; and if now -he were to die, the fate of James Tundering-West would remain a matter of -speculation. That was as it should be: ever since he left England he had -been a bird of passage, and is it not a rarity to see a dead bird? Nobody -knows where they all die, or how: with few exceptions, they seem, as it -were, to fade away; and thus he, too, would disappear. - -He rolled his eyes around his prison, and clapped his hand with pathetic -drama to his burning forehead. “Wretched bird!” he muttered, addressing -himself. “It was in you to soar to the heights, to go rushing up to the -sun and the planets, with strong, driving wings. But the winds were -always contrary, or the attractions of the lower air were too alluring; -and now you are sunk to the earth, and may be you will never make that -great assault upon the stars of which you had always dreamed.” - -He dismissed these useless ruminations. He was not going to die: life and -the lure of the unattained were still before him. - -Another and another spasm smote him, tore him asunder, and left him -shaking upon the bed. With a trembling hand he mixed the brandy and -chlorodyne, making little attempts to measure the dose. The candle -spluttered on the floor near by, and strange insects buzzed around it, -singed themselves, and fell kicking on their backs. - -He opened his eyes and watched them as he lay on his side, his knees -drawn up, and his hands gripping the edge of the bed. Their agonies, no -doubt, were as great as his, but, being small, they did not matter. He, -too, as Englishmen go, was not large; and it was very apparent that he -did not much matter. He was of the lean and medium-sized variety of the -race, and was of the swarthy type which is often to be found in the far -south-west of England, where his family had had its origin. Some people -might have termed him picturesque: others might have said, and most -certainly just now would have said, that he looked a bit mad. - -At length he slept for a few minutes; but his dreams were hideous, and -full of faces, which came close to him, growing bigger and bigger, -until, with strange and melancholy grimaces, they receded once more into -infinite distance. Somebody grey, ponderous, and very fearful, counted -endless numbers, now slowly and portentously, now with such increasing -rapidity that his brain reeled. - -In this manner the seemingly endless night passed on: a few moments of -sleep, a disjointed procession of horrible fantasies, convulsions of -pain, staggerings across the room, fallings back on the bed, brandy, and -exhausted sleep again. But all the while he knew that he was growing -weaker. - -Presently the candle went out, and the darkness closed over his agony. -The thought came to him that soon he would no longer have the power to -dose himself, and with it came that human desire for aid which no animal -instinct of segregation can wholly stifle in a heart weary with pain. It -was now long past midnight, and from this time till sunrise he fought a -terrible double battle, on the one hand with Death, on the other with -Self. It would not be impossible, he knew, to crawl from the room into -the silent desert outside, and a cry for help would possibly be heard by -his men. - -But what would happen? They would go into the town, doubtless carrying -the infection with them, and would engage a boat in which they would row -across the Nile to fetch Morgan, who had the reputation of being somewhat -of a doctor. But Morgan had a wife and child in Wales, who were dependent -on him: only last autumn that hairy giant had told him all about them as -they sat drinking warm lager in the dusty garden by the river, one hot -night, just before the mining party had set out for the distant works. - -Thus, when at long last the sun rose and glared into the room, above and -below the fluttering towel, he was still alone. - -At nine o’clock, as the day’s heat and the onslaught of the flies began -again to be intolerable, he gave up hope. Until that hour he had fought -his fight with decency; but now convulsion on convulsion had dragged -the strength out of him, and he was no longer able to crawl back on to -the bedstead. The last drops of brandy in a tumbler by his side, he lay -limply on the floor; and where he lay, there the spasms racked him, -and there he fainted. With the hope for life went also the desire, and -each time that he came to himself he prayed to God for the mercy of -unconsciousness. The dying words of Anne Boleyn, which he had read years -ago, recurred again and again to his mind: “O Death, rocke me aslepe; -bringe me on quiet rest.” He kept saying them over to himself, not with -his lips, for they were parched, but somewhere deep down in the nightmare -of his wandering brain. - -Presently a gust of blistering wind flicked the towel from its nail -in the window, and with that the creaking shutter slammed back on its -hinges, and the sun streamed full on to the white figure on the floor. -Jim opened his eyes, bloodshot and wild, and stared out on to the rocks -and sandy drifts. A few sparrows were hopping about languidly in the -shade of a ruinous wall, their beaks open as though they were panting -for breath. The sky was leaden, for the glare of the sun seemed to have -sucked out the colour from all things, even from the yellow sand, which -now had the neutral hue of Egyptian dust. - -This, then, was the end!—and he could shut up his life as a book that -has been read. At the age of nineteen he had abandoned the humdrum but -respectable City career towards which he was being headed by his father, -and, having nigh broken the parental heart, had gone out to Korea as -handyman to a gold-mining company. He had dreamed of riches; his mind had -been full of the thought of gold and its power. He had imagined himself -buying a kingdom for his own, as it were. - -Two years later, utterly disillusioned, he had taken ship to California, -and had earned his living in many capacities, until chance had carried -him to the Aroe Islands in the pearl trade, and later to the diamond -mines of South Africa. Incidentally, he had become, after three or four -years, something of an expert in estimating the value of diamonds, and -had made a few hundred pounds by barter; but with this sum in the bank -he had failed to resist the vagrancy of his nature and the enticement of -his dreams, and had returned to Europe to wander through Italy, France, -and Spain: not altogether in idleness, for being addicted to scribbling -his thoughts in rhyme, and twisting and turning his speculations into the -various shapes of recognized verse, he had filled many notebooks with -jottings and impressions which he believed to be more or less worthless. - -Then he had inherited his father’s small savings, and had been induced by -a persuasive friend to invest them in an expedition to Ceylon in search -of a mythical field of moonstones. Returning in absolute poverty, owning -nothing but his guitar and the threadbare clothes in which he stood, -he had landed at Port Said, and so had taken reluctant service in this -somewhat precarious gold-mining company at a salary which had now placed -a small sum to his credit on the company’s books. - -A roaming, dreaming, sun-baked, Bedouin life!—and this ending of it in -a stifling, tumbledown rest-house seemed to be the most natural wind-up -of the whole business. Often he had enjoyed himself; he had played with -romance; he had had his great moments; but at times he had suffered under -a sense of utter loneliness, and these last months at the mines in the -desert had been a miserable exile, only relieved by those silent hours -in his tent at night, when he had endeavoured to put into written words -the tremendous thoughts of his teeming brain. And now death and oblivion -appeared to him as something very eagerly to be desired—a great sleep, -where the horrible sun and the flies could not reach him, and an eternal -relief from all this agony, all this messiness. - -He fumbled for the last of the brandy, knocked the glass over and smashed -it. The liquid ran along the floor to his face, and he put out his dry -tongue and licked up a little. Then, as though remembering his manners, -he rolled away from it, and shut his eyes. - -When consciousness came again to him somebody was knocking at the outer -door in the hall beyond. A few minutes later there was a shuffling step, -and a rap upon the inner door. - -“Sir, are you awake?” It was the voice of his Egyptian overseer. - -Jim raised himself on his elbows, thereby disturbing the crowd of -crawling flies which had settled upon his face and body, and slowly -turned his head in the direction of the speaker. “Go away, you idiot!” he -husked. “I’ve got cholera. I’m dying.” - -“What you say?” came the voice from the other side. “I cannot hear you.” - -“I’ve got cholera,” he repeated, with an effort which seemed to be -bursting his heart. Then, with another purpose: “I’m nearly well now ... -all right in an hour ... keep away!” - -The footsteps shuffled off hurriedly, then stopped. “I go fetch Meester -Morgan: he is here this mornin’. I seen him comin’ ’cross the river,” the -man called out; and the footsteps passed out of hearing. - -Another convulsion: but this time there was no power of resistance -remaining, and long before the spasm ceased he had fainted. The next -thing of which he was aware was that the heavy footstep of Morgan was -coming towards the house. That frightened rat of an overseer had fetched -him, then, and the gigantic fool was going to take the risk! What use -was he now? There was easy Death already almost in possession: not the -laughing, rare old fellow of his song, but beautiful desirable Rest. - -He was powerless to stop the man. His voice failed to rise above a -whisper when he attempted to call out a warning. Suddenly his eye lighted -on the jug of carbolic a yard away. At least he could lessen the danger. -Slowly, and with infinite pain, he wormed himself over the floor, until -his limp arm touched the jug, and his fingers closed over the mouth. -A feeble pull, and the jug tottered; another, and it fell over with a -clatter, and the strong disinfectant ran in a stream around him, under -him, through his hair, through his scanty clothes, and away across the -room. - -The handle of the door rattled. “Are you there, Easton? Let me in!—I know -how to doctor you.” Another rattle. “Let me in, or I’ll come round by the -window.” - -But Jim did not answer. He lay still and deathlike as the hulking figure -of Morgan scrambled into the room through the window, and knelt down -by his side on the wet floor. The place reeked of carbolic: everything -was saturated with it. Morgan stepped through it to the door, and pulled -back the bolts. Then, slipping and sliding, he dragged the half-naked, -dishevelled body by the armpits into the outer room, and, propping it up -against his knees, felt for the pulse in the nerveless wrist. - -The morning sun poured in through the broken-down verandah, glistening on -the damp hair of the exhausted sufferer, and gleaming upon the bearded, -sweating face of the good Samaritan. - -Jim opened his eyes, and his cracked lips moved. “Don’t be a damned -fool,” he whispered. “Don’t take such a risk ... every man for -himself....” His head fell forward once more, and his eyes closed. - -“Oh, rot!” said Morgan. “You brave little chap!—I think you’ve got a -chance, please God.” - - - - -Chapter II: THE CONVALESCENT - - -A native doctor belonging to the Ministry of Public Health arrived at -Kôm-es-Sultân during the afternoon, having travelled up from Luxor -in response to the telegram reporting the infection; and to his care -the patient was handed over by Morgan, who had refused to budge until -proper arrangements could be made. When, a few days later, the sick -man was able to be moved, he was conveyed down to Luxor in a small -river-steamer belonging to the sugar factory; and, after ten days in -the local hospital, where, in spite of the great heat, he was very -tolerably comfortable, he was able to go north in the sleeping-car which, -on certain nights during the summer weeks, was attached to the Cairo -express, for the benefit of perspiring English officers coming down from -the Sudan, and weary officials whose work had called them out into these -sun-scorched districts of Upper Egypt. - -The doctor in Cairo advised him to move down to the sea as soon as -possible; and thus, one early evening at the end of June, as the glare -of the day was giving place to the long shadows of sunset, Jim found -himself driving through the streets of Alexandria towards the little -Hotel des Beaux-Esprits which stands at the edge of the Mediterranean, -not far outside the city, and which had been recommended to him as the -inexpensive resort of artists and men of letters. - -He leant back in the carriage luxuriously, and drank the cool air into -his lungs with a satisfaction which those alone may understand who have -known what it is to make this journey out of the inferno of an Upper -Egyptian summer into the comparatively temperate climate of the sea -coast. The streets of Alexandria are much like those of an Italian or -southern French city; and as he looked about him at the pleasant shops -and the crowds of pedestrians, for the most part European or Levantine, -he felt as though he had recovered from some sort of tortured madness, -and had suddenly come back to the comprehension and the relish of -intelligent life. - -For the present there was nothing to mar his happiness. The greater -part of a year’s salary lay awaiting him in the bank, for in the desert -there had been no means of spending money, and his losses had equalled -his winnings at those daily games of cards which had at length become so -tedious. The mines would remain idle in any event until the temperature -began to fall, in September; and thus for the two months of his summer -leave he could take his ease, and could postpone for some weeks yet his -decision as to whether he would return to that fiery exile, or would fare -forth again upon his nomadic travels. - -His recent experiences had been a severe shock to him, and for the time -being, at any rate, he felt that he never wished to see the desert again. -But perhaps when a few weeks of this cool sea air had set him on his -feet once more, the thought of his return to the mines would have lost -its terror. - -At the hotel he was received by the fat and motherly proprietress, who, -having diffidently asked for and enthusiastically received a week’s -payment in advance, led him to an airy room overlooking the sea, and left -him with many assurances that he would here speedily recover from the -indefinite stomachic disturbances which he told her had recently laid him -low. - -On his way through Cairo he had purchased quite a respectable suit of -white linen, and so soon as he was alone he set about the happy business -of arraying himself as a civilized personage. Although much exhausted by -his journey he was eager to go down and sit at one of the little tables -overlooking the sea, there to drink his _bouillon_, and to make himself -acquainted with his fellow guests; and he paid very little regard to -the shaking of his knees and the apparent swaying of the floor when a -struggle with his unruly hair had taxed his strength. Prudence suggested -that he should remain in his room and rest; but, having been in exile -so long, he could not resist the desire to be downstairs, enjoying -the coolness of the evening, looking at people and talking to them, -or listening to the music provided by the mandolines and guitars of a -company of Italians who, presumably, earned their living by going the -round of the smaller hotels, and the strains of whose romantic songs now -came to him, mingled with the gentle surge of the waves. - -Presently, therefore, he issued from his room, and, making for the -stairs, found himself walking behind a young woman similarly purposed. -He had not spoken to a female of any kind for nearly a year, and this -fact may have accounted for the quite surprising impression her back -view made upon him. It seemed to him that she had a wonderful pair of -shoulders, startling black hair, and an excellent figure excellently -garbed. He hoped devoutly that she was pretty; but, as she turned to -glance at him, he saw that her face was perhaps more interesting than -actually beautiful. It was like an ancient Egyptian bas-relief—an Isis or -a Hathor. It was sufficiently strange, indeed, with the high cheek-bones, -the raven-black hair, and the wise, smiling mouth, to arouse his -curiosity, and her dark-fringed grey eyes seemed frankly to invite his -admiration. - -At the foot of the stairs, when he was close behind her, he suddenly felt -giddy again, and swayed towards her; at which she stared at him in cold -surprise. - -“I beg your pardon,” he said, clutching at the banister, and wondering -why the light had become so dim. - -A moment later he pitched forward, grabbed at the hand she instantly held -out to him, and knew no more. - -When he recovered consciousness he was lying upon the bed in his own -room, and this black-haired woman whom he had seen upon the stairs was -leaning over him—like a mother, he thought—dabbing his forehead with -water. - -“That’s better,” he heard her say. “You’ll be all right now.” - -He sat up, at once fully aware of his situation. “I’m awfully sorry,” he -exclaimed. “Did I faint?” - -“Yes,” was the answer. “I caught you as you fell.” - -Jim swore under his breath. “I’ve been ill,” he said. “I didn’t realize I -was so weak. Did I make an awful ass of myself?” - -“No,” she smiled, “you did it quite gracefully; and there was nobody -about; they were all at dinner.” - -“Who brought me up here?” he asked. - -“I and the two native servants,” she laughed, and her laughter was -pleasant to hear. “Are you in the habit of fainting?” - -“I’ve never fainted before in my life,” said Jim, warmly, “until I had -this go of cholera.” - -“Cholera?” she ejaculated. “You’ve had _cholera_? How long ago?” - -“Oh, I’m not infectious,” he smiled. “It was quite a while ago.” He gave -her the facts with weary brevity: it was a picture that he wished to -banish from the gallery of his memory. - -“But, my dear friend,” she said, “when you’ve just come out of the jaws -of death like that, you must take things easy. You ought to be in bed, -toying with a spoonful of jelly and a grape. What’s your name?” - -“Jim,” he answered. “What’s yours?” - -“That is of no consequence,” she replied, smiling at him, as he thought -to himself, like a heathen idol. - -He was silent for a few moments. He was not quite sure whether it -would not now be as well to kill Mr. Easton and resuscitate Mr. -Tundering-West, for at the moment he was anxious to forget entirely -his Bedouin life and his exile at the mines, and he was no longer a -disreputable beggar. - -“I’ll call you ‘Sister,’” he said at length. “That’s what the patients at -the hospital call the nurse, isn’t it?” - -“I’m afraid I’m not much of a nurse,” she replied. “I’ve torn your collar -in getting it open, and I’ve dripped water all down your coat.” - -“I bumped into you when I fell, didn’t I?” he asked, trying to recollect -what had happened. - -“Yes,” she answered. “I thought you were drunk.” - -“Thanks awfully,” he said. - -“Have you any friends to look after you?” she enquired presently. - -“No, nobody, Sister,” he replied. “Have you?” - -She shook her head. “I hardly know anybody, either. I’m a painter. I’ve -just come over from Italy to do some work.” She fetched a towel from the -washing-stand. “Now, hold your head up, and let me dry your neck.” - -“I suppose you don’t happen to have a brandy and soda about you?” he -asked, when she had tidied him up. He was feeling very fairly well again, -but sorely in need of a stimulant. - -“I’ll go and get you one,” she replied; and before he could make any -polite protest she had left the room. - -He got up at once from the bed, went with shaking legs to the -dressing-table and stared at himself in the glass. “Good Lord!” he -muttered. “I look like an organ-grinder after a night out.” He combed -his damp hair back from his forehead, and sat himself down on the -sofa near the open window, a shaded candle by his side. The night was -soothingly windless and quiet, and a wonderful full moon was rising clear -of the haze above the sea; and so extraordinary was it to him to feel the -air about him temperate and kind that presently a mood of great content -descended upon him, and, after his startling experience, he was no longer -restless to join the company downstairs. - -In a short time his nurse returned, bringing him the brandy-and-soda; and -when this had been swallowed he began to think the world a very pleasant -place. - -She fetched two pillows from the bed, and in motherly fashion placed them -behind his head; then, sitting down on a small armchair which stood near -the sofa, she asked him whether he intended to stay long in Alexandria. - -“I have no plans,” he told her. “As long as I’ve got any money in the -bank I never do have any. When the money’s spent, then I shall begin to -think what to do next. I’m just one of the Bedouin of life.” - -“I am a wanderer, too,” she said. And therewith they began to talk to one -another as only wanderers can talk. There were many places in France and -Italy known to them both, and it appeared that they had been in Ceylon -at the same time, she in Colombo, and he up-country in search of his -moonstones. - -He felt very much at ease with her, coming soon, indeed, to regard her -as a potential confidant of his dreams. Her enigmatic face was curiously -attractive to him, particularly so, in fact, just now, with the screen of -the candle casting a soft shadow upon it, so that the grey eyes seemed to -be looking at him through a veil. He began to wonder, indeed, why it was -that at first sight he had not regarded her as beautiful. - -For half an hour or more they talked quietly but eagerly together, while -the moon rose over the sea until its pale light penetrated into the room, -and blanched the heavy shadows. - -“Well, I’m very glad I fainted,” he said, lightly, observing that she was -about to take her departure. - -“So am I,” she answered, smiling at him as though all the secrets of all -the world were in her wise keeping. - -“Tell me, Sister,” he asked. “Are you all alone in the world?” - -“Yes.” - -“Do you think it’s quite correct to be sitting in a strange man’s room?” - -“Perfectly.” - -“Tramp!” he said. - -“Vagrant!” she replied. - -She rose, and stood awhile gazing out of the open window—a mysterious -figure, looking like old gold in the light of the reading-lamp, set -against the sheen of the moon. - -“It’s a wonderful night,” he remarked. “You have no idea what it means to -me to feel cool and comfortable. The desert up-country is the very devil -in summer.” - -“Yes,” she replied, turning to him, “one can understand why Cleopatra and -her Ptolemy ancestors left the old cities of the south, and built their -palaces here beside the sea.” - -He smiled, knowingly. “If she had lived up there in Thebes where the old -Pharaohs sweated, there wouldn’t have been any affair with Antony. She -would have been too busy taking cold baths and whisking the flies away. -But down here—why, the sound of the sea in the night would have been -enough by itself to do the trick.” - -She looked at him curiously. “To me,” she said, “the sound of the sea on -a summer night is the most tragic and the most beautiful thing in the -world. If I ever gave up wandering and came to rest, it would be in a -little white villa somewhere on the shores of the Mediterranean.” - -“No, for my part, I want to go north just now,” he rejoined. “I’m tired -of the east and the south: I’ve got a longing for England.” - -“It won’t last,” she smiled. “You don’t fit in with England, somehow.” - -“Oh, I’m a typical Devon man,” he declared, recalling, with a sudden -feeling of pride, the original home of his family, previous to their -migration into Oxfordshire. - -She looked at him with a smile. “That accounts for it,” she said. “The -men of Devon so often have the wandering spirit.” She held out her hand. -“I must go now. Good night!—I’ll come and see how you are in the morning. -My room is next to yours, if you want anything.” - -“Good night, Sister!” he answered. “I’m most awfully obliged to you. -You’ve done me a power of good.” - -She smiled at him with the calm, mysterious expression of the old gods -and goddesses carved upon the temple walls, and went out of the room; -and thereafter he lay back on his pillows, musing on her attractive -personality, and wondering who she was. He was still wondering when, some -minutes later, the native servant entered with a tray upon which there -was a cup of soup, some jelly, and a bunch of grapes. - -“Madam she say you to drink it _all_ the soup,” said the man, “but only -eat three grapes, only _three_, she say, sir, please.” - -“Very well,” Jim answered, feeling rather pleased thus to receive orders -from her. - -That night he slept soundly, and awoke refreshed and almost vigorous. -After breakfast in bed he got up, and he had been dressed for some time -when his self-constituted nurse came to him. - -“Oh, I’m glad you’re up,” she said, giving his hand an honest shake. “I’m -going to take you out on the verandah downstairs. It’s beautifully cool -there.” - -Jim was delighted. She looked so very nice this morning, he thought, in -her pretty summer dress and wide-brimmed hat; and her smile was radiant. -He held an impression from the night before that she was a creature of -mystery, a woman out of a legend; and it was quite a relief to him to -find that now in the daylight she was a normal being. - -As they descended the stairs she put her hand under his elbow to aid him, -and, though the assistance was quite unnecessary, it pleased him so much -that he was conscious of an inclination to play the invalid with closer -similitude than actuality warranted. Nobody had ever looked after him -since he was a child, and, as in the case of all men who believe they -detest feminine aid, the experience was surprisingly gratifying. - -On the verandah they sat together in two basket chairs, and presently -she so directed their conversation that he found himself talking to her -as though she were his oldest friend. He told her tales of the desert, -described his life at the mines, and tried to explain the dread he felt -at the thought of returning to them. There was no complaint in his words: -he was something of a fatalist, and, being obliged to earn his bread and -butter, he supposed his lot to be no worse than that of hosts of other -men. After all, anything was better than sitting on an office stool. - -She listened to him, encouraging him to talk; and the morning was gone -before he suddenly became conscious that she and not he had played the -part of listener. - -“Good lord!” he exclaimed. “How I must be boring you! There goes the bell -for _déjeuner_. Why didn’t you stop me?” - -“I was interested,” she replied, turning her head aside. “You have shown -me a part of life I knew nothing about. My own wanderings have been so -much more sophisticated, so much more ordinary.” She looked round at him -quickly. “By the way, I am leaving you to-morrow. I have to go to Cairo -for a week or so.” - -Jim’s face fell. “Oh damn!” he said. His disappointment was intense. -“Why should you go to Cairo?” he asked gloomily. “It’s a beastly, hot, -unhealthy place at this time of year.” - -“I shan’t be gone long,” she answered. “I just have to paint one picture. -And when I come back I shall expect to find you strong and well once -more. Then we can do all sorts of wonderful things together.” She paused, -looking at him intently. “That is something for us to look forward to,” -she added, as though she were talking to herself. - - - - -Chapter III: MONIMÉ - - -Jim felt the absence of his new friend keenly. She had left for Cairo -quietly and unobtrusively, just driving away from the little hotel with a -wave of her hand to him, following a few words of good advice as to his -diet and behaviour. He had asked her where she was going to stay, hinting -that he would like to write to her; but she had evaded a definite reply, -saying merely that she was going to the house of some friends. A woman is -a figure behind a veil. It is her nature to elude, it is her happiness -to have something to conceal; and man, more direct, often finds in her -reticence upon some unimportant matter a cause of deep mystification. - -“I don’t even know your name,” he had almost wailed, and she had -answered, gravely, “Jemima Smith,” as though she expected him to believe -it. The hotel register, which he thereupon consulted, contained but three -pertinent words: “Mdlle. Smith, Londres,” written in the hand of the -French proprietress, and that fat personage laughed good-naturedly and -shrugged her shoulders when he questioned the accuracy of the entry. - -The first days seemed dull without her; but soon the brilliance of the -Alexandrian summer took hold of his mind, and dressed his thoughts in -bright colours. His strength returned to him rapidly, and within the -week he was once more a normal being, able to sprawl upon the beach -in the mornings in the shade of the rocks, staring out over the azure -seas, and able, in the cool of the late afternoons, to go to the Casino -to listen to the orchestra and watch the cosmopolitan crowd taking its -twilight promenade. - -And then, one evening, just before dinner, as he sat himself down in a -basket chair outside the long windows of his bedroom, high above the -surge of the breakers, he glanced into the room next door, which led -out on to the same balcony, and there stood his friend, unpacking a -dressing-case upon a table before her. - -She saw him at the same moment, and at once came forward, but Jim in his -enthusiasm was half-way into her room when their hands met. - -“Oh, I _am_ glad to see you!” he exclaimed, working her arm up and down -as though it were a pump-handle. “It’s just like seeing an old friend -again.” - -She smiled serenely. “Well, we’ve had a week to think each other over,” -she said. She turned to her dressing-case and produced a small parcel. -“Here, I’ve brought you something from Cairo.” - -It was only a box of cigarettes of a brand he had happened to mention in -commendation; but the gift, and her words, set his brain in a whirl, and -for some minutes he talked the wildest nonsense to her. He was flattered -that she had turned her thoughts to him while she was in Cairo; and now, -standing in her bedroom, he was possessed by a feeling of intimacy with -her. He wanted to put his arm round her, or place his hand upon her -shoulder, or kiss her fingers, or pull her hat off, or lift her from the -ground, or something of that kind. Yet he felt at the same time a kind -of dread lest he should offend her. He was perhaps a little bewildered -in her presence, for, in some indefinable way, she represented an aspect -of femininity which he had only known in imagination. There was nothing -of the coquette about her: there was a great deal of royalty. He was -inclined, indeed, to wait upon her favours, to accept her _largesse_, -rather than to ply her with pretty speeches and attentions; but he was by -no means certain that this was the correct method of pleasing her, and -he stood now before her, running his hands through his hair and talking -excitedly. - -Presently, however, she told him to go downstairs and to wait there for -her until she was ready to dine with him. He would readily have waited -all night for her, had she bid him; and when, after nearly an hour, she -joined him, dressed in a soft and seductive evening garment, he led her -to their table on the terrace under the stars like a bridegroom at the -first stage of his honeymoon. - -In all the world there is no conjunction of time and place more seemly -for romance than that of a night in June beside the Alexandrian surf. The -terrace whereon their table was set was built out upon a head of rocks -against the base of which the rolling waves of the Mediterranean surged -unseen in the darkness below, as they had surged in the days when Antony -lay dreaming here in the arms of Cleopatra. The whitewashed walls of the -little hotel, with the green-shuttered windows and open doorway throwing -forth a warm illumination, differed in appearance but little from those -of a Greek villa of that far-off age; and the stately palms around the -building seemed in their dignity conscious of their descent from the -palms of the Courts of the Pharaohs. - -Across the bay the lights of the city were reflected in the water, and -overhead the stars scintillated like a million diamonds spread upon blue -velvet. The night was warm and breathless, and the shaded candles upon -the table burnt with a steady flame, throwing a rosy glow upon the intent -faces of the two who sat here alone, the other guests having finished -their meal and gone to the far side of the hotel, where the guitars and -mandolines were thrumming. - -Their conversation wandered from subject to subject: it was as though -they were feeling their way with one another, each eagerly attempting -to discover the thoughts of the other, each anxious that no fundamental -disagreement should be revealed, and relieved as point after point of -accord was found. To Jim it seemed as though the gates of his heart -were being slowly rolled back, and as though the strange, wise face, so -close to his own, were peering into the sanctuary of his soul, demanding -admittance and possession. - -“Good Lord!” he exclaimed at length. “This is too ridiculous! Here am I -falling in love with a woman whose very name I don’t know.” - -She smiled serenely at him, as though his words were the most natural in -the world. “Why not call me Monimé?” she said. “Some people call me that. -Do you know the story of Monimé?” - -Jim shook his head. - -“She was a Grecian girl who lived in the city of Miletus on the banks -of Mæander, the wandering river of Phrygia, and there she might have -lived all her life, and might have married and had six children; but -Mithridates, King of Pontus, saw her one day and fell in love with her -and somehow managed to make her believe she loved him, too.” - -The mandolines in the distance were playing the haunting melody -“Sorrento,” and the soft refrain, blending with the sound of the sea, -formed a dreamy accompaniment to the story. - -“He carried her away and gave her a golden diadem, and made her his -queen; but the legions of Rome came and defeated Mithridates, and he sent -his eunuch, Bacchides, to her, here in Alexandria, where she had fled, -bidding her kill herself, as he was about to do, rather than endure the -disgrace of her adopted dynasty. She did not want to die, but, like an -obedient wife, she took the diadem from her head, and tried to strangle -herself by fastening the silken cords around her throat.” - -“I remember now,” said Jim. “It is one of the stories from Plutarch. Go -on.” - -“The cords broke, and thereupon she uttered that famous, bitter cry: ‘O -wretched diadem, unable to help me even in this little matter!’ And she -threw it from her, and ordered Bacchides to kill her with his sword....” - -She paused and stared with fixed gaze across the bay to the lights of -Ras-el-Tîn, and those of the houses which stood where once Cleopatra’s -palace of the Lochias had towered above the sea. - -The native waiter had removed the débris of their meal from the table, -and the candles had been extinguished. Her hands rested upon the arms of -her chair, and there was that in her attitude which in the dim light of -the waning moon, now rising over the sea, suggested a Pharaonic statue. - -“She died just over there across the water,” she said at length. “Poor -Monimé....” - -Jim put his hand upon hers. Very slowly she turned to him, looked him in -the eyes steadily, looked down at his hand, and then again looked into -his face. - -“Monimé,” he whispered, and presently, receiving no response, he added, -“What are you thinking about?” - -“The River Mæander,” she answered. “Our word ‘meander’ is derived from -that name, because of the river’s wanderings. I was thinking how I have -meandered through life, and now....” - -“I have no diadem to offer you,” he said fervently; “but all that I have -is yours to-night. I know nothing about you: I don’t know where you come -from; I don’t know your name. I know only that you have come to me out -of my dreams. It’s as though you were not real at all—just part of this -Alexandrian night; and I want to hold you close to me, so that you shall -not fade away from me.” - -She did not answer, and presently he asked her if she had nothing to say -to him. - -“No,” she replied, “there is nothing to be said, Jim. This thing has come -to us so quickly: it may pass away again so soon. It is better to say -little.” - -There came into his mind those lines of Shelley - - One word is too often profaned - For me to profane it.... - -Yet he must needs utter that word, though the past and the future rise up -to belittle it. - -“I love you,” he whispered. “Monimé, I love you.” - -“Men have said that to me before,” she answered, “and there was one man -whom I believed.... We built the house of our life upon that foundation, -but it fell to ruins all the same. Soon he ceased to tell me that he -loved me.” - -“You are a married woman then?” he asked. - -“Yes,” she said. - -“Tell me who you are,” he begged. - -She shook her head. “No,” she replied. “I have no name. I have left him.” - -“Why?” he asked. - -“Because we disliked one another. It seemed to me altogether wrong that a -man and a woman totally out of sympathy with one another should continue -to live together. So I made my exit. I live by selling my pictures.” - -“Were there any children?” he asked. - -“No,” she answered. “If there had been, I suppose I should have remained -with him. Like flowers, they hide many a sepulchre.” - -“It was brave of you to go,” he said. - -“I felt it to be a woman’s right,” she declared, spreading her hands in -a gesture of conviction. “Since then I have been a wanderer. I’ve had -some hours of happiness, some of loneliness, but always there has been -my independence to cheer me, and the knowledge that I have been faithful -to my sex, and have not misled others by the usual shams and pretences of -the disillusioned wife.” - -“And what about the future?” he asked. - -“My dear,” she smiled, “the future is a veil of fog that only lifts -for the passage of a soul. When I am about to die I will tell you of -my future. But now, while I am in the midst of life, only the present -counts.” - -For some time they talked; but at length when the little band of -musicians, whose songs had formed a distant accompaniment to their -thoughts, had gone their way, and the sound of the sea alone traversed -the silence, she suggested that he should bring down his guitar and play -to her. - -“The proprietress tells me she has heard you playing in your room,” she -smiled. “She described it as _très agréable mais un peu mélancolique_.” - -Jim was not very willing to comply, for he had been termed a howling -jackal at the mines, and, indeed, he had once been obliged to black a -man’s eye for throwing something at him. He had no wish to fight anybody -to-night. - -His companion, however, was so insistent that he was obliged to fetch -the instrument and to sing to her. The darkness aided him in overcoming -a feeling of shyness, and presently he passed into a mood which was -conducive to song. He sang at first in quiet tones, and his fingers -struck so lightly upon the strings that sometimes the rich chords were -lost in the murmur of the surf. From sad old negro melodies he passed -to curious chanties of the sea, and thence to the wistful music of -the Italian peasants; and as he sang his diffidence left him, and soon -his fine voice was strong enough to be heard in the hotel, so that -the proprietress and some of her guests came tip-toeing out and stood -listening near the open door, the light from the passage illuminating -their motionless figures and casting their black shadows across the -gravel and on to the encircling palms. - -“Listen,” said Jim, at length. “I’ll sing you some verses I made up when -I was in Ceylon.” - -It was a song which told of a silent, enchanted city built by ancient -kings upon the shores of an uncharted sea, where there were pavilions of -white marble whose pinnacles shot up to the stars, seeming to touch the -Milky Way, and whose domes were so lofty that at moonrise their silver -orbs were still tinged with the gold of the sunset. It told how here, -upon a bed of crystal, there slept a woman whose hair was as dark as the -wrath of heaven, whose breast was as white as the snowclad mountain-tops, -and whose lips were as red as sin; and how, upon a hot, still night there -came a lost mariner to these shores, who passed up through the deserted -streets of the city, and ascended a thousand stairs to the crystal couch, -and kissed the mouth of the sleeper.... - -When he had ended the song there was a moment of silence before Monimé -turned to him. “Do you mean to tell me,” she exclaimed, “that you have to -earn your living at the mines when you can write verses like that?” - -“Oh, it’s only doggerel,” he laughed, “and I cribbed most of the music -from things I’d heard.” - -“Have you got the poem written down?” she asked. - -“No, I’ve lost my only copy,” he answered. “I stuffed it into a hole -in the woodwork of my berth on a certain tramp steamer, to keep the -cockroaches from coming out. I never could get used to cockroaches.” - -“Jim,” she said, taking his hands in hers, “you are wasting your life.” - -“I am living for the first time to-night,” he replied. - -It was midnight when at length they ascended the stairs to their rooms, -but there was on his part a mere pretence of bidding good-night at their -doors. He knew well enough that presently he would attempt to renew their -wonderful romance upon the balcony which connected their two rooms; but -for the moment the serene inscrutability of her face baffled him. She -neither made advance towards him, nor retreat from him. She seemed, -mentally, to be standing her ground, undisturbed, unmoved. The wisdom of -the ages was in her eyes, and the smile of precognition was on her lips. - -In love, man is so simple, woman so wise. Man blunders along, taking -his chance as to whether he shall find favour or give offence; woman -alone knows when the great moment has come, that moment when the time -and the place and the person are plaited into the perfect pattern. Some -women betray that knowledge in their agitation; some are made shy by -the revelation; some, again, have the imperturbable confidence of their -intuition, and these last alone are the celestials, the daughters of -Aphrodite, the children of Isis and Hathor. - -In his room Jim sat for awhile upon the side of his bed, trying to fathom -the unfathomable meaning of her expression. His brain was full of her—her -hair black as the Egyptian darkness, her eyes grey as the twilight, -and her flesh like the alabaster of the Mokattam Hills. There was such -modesty, such reserve in her bearing, and yet with these qualities there -went a kind of confidence, a self-assurance, which he could not define. -In her presence he became aware of the shortcomings of his own sex, -rather than of his mastery; yet at the same time he was conscious of an -overwhelming intensification of his manhood. - -At last, a cigarette as his excuse, he stepped out on to the balcony, and -for some moments stood looking out to sea. When he took courage to turn -towards her window he found that though the light in the room was still -burning, the shutters were closed; and thus he remained, staring at the -green woodwork for what seemed an interminable time. - -He was about to go back disconsolately to his room when the light was -extinguished, and the shutters were quietly pushed open. Who shall say -whether she knew that Jim was standing in silence upon the balcony, or -whether, being prepared for her bed, she now merely opened the windows -that the cool of the night might bring her refreshing sleep? Woman is -wise: she knows if the hour be meet. - - - - -Chapter IV: BEDOUIN LOVE - - -Jim awoke next morning with the feeling that he had come back to earth -from heaven. The events of the night before seemed to belong to a world -of enchantment, and had no relation to the keen, practical sunlight which -now struck into his room through the open windows, nor to the cool sea -breeze which waved the curtains to and fro, nor yet to the vivid blue sea -and the clean-cut rocks which came into sight as he sat up in bed. - -“In the next room,” he mused to himself, “sleeps a woman who in the -darkness was to me the gateway of my dreams, but who in this bright -sunlight will be again only a capable, pretty creature and an amusing -companion. Night, after all, is woman’s kingdom, and in it she is -mistress of all the magic arts of enchantment, she becomes greater than -herself; but day belongs to man. How, then, shall I greet her?—for my -very soul seemed surrendered to her a few hours ago, yet now I find -myself still master of my destiny.” - -Like an artist who steps back to view his picture, or like a poet who -measures up his dream, he allowed his mind to take stock of his emotions. -When her head had been thrown back upon the pillows, and the white column -of her throat could be seen in the dim light of the moon against the -black confusion of her hair, it had seemed to him that the marks of the -chisel of the Divine Artist were impressed upon the alabaster of her -flesh. It was as though, gazing down at her beauty, his eyes had been -opened and he had beheld the handicraft of Paradise. - -And when, in his ardour, he had had the feeling of not knowing what next -to do nor what words to utter, her silencing loveliness had baffled him, -so it seemed, because her body was stamped with the seal of the Infinite -and fashioned in the likeness of God. True, she was but imperfect woman; -yet the art of the Lord of Arts had created her, and, by the magic of the -night, he had found her rich in the inimitable craftsmanship of heaven. - -He had seen the glory of heaven in her eyes. He had heard the voice of -all the ages in her voice. In the touch of her lips there had been the -rapture of the spheres, and the gods of the firmament had seemed to ride -out upon the tide of her breath. - -But was it she whom he had wanted when he held her pinioned in his arms? -He could not say. It seemed more reasonable to suppose that through her -he was looking towards the splendour which his soul sought. She was but -the necromancy by which he had carried earth up to heaven; she was the -magic by which he had brought heaven down to the earth. She had been the -door of his dreams, the portal of the sky; and through her he had made -his incursion into the kingdom beyond the stars. - -“It was only an illusion,” he said, as he stood at the window, -invigorated by the breeze. “We are actually almost strangers. I don’t -know anything about her, and she knows little of me. It was the magic of -the night employed by scheming Nature for her one unchanging purpose; and -all that happened in the darkness will be forgotten in the sunlight. We -shall meet as friends.” - -To some extent he was right, for when at mid-morning she came down to the -blazing beach and seated herself by his side in the shade of the rocks, -she greeted him quietly and serenely, with neither embarrassment nor -familiarity. - -“Are you going to bathe this morning?” he asked her, and on her replying -in the affirmative, he told her that he thought he was well enough to do -so, too. At this she showed some concern, but he reminded her that the -water, at any rate near the shore, was warm to the touch and was hardly -likely to do him harm. - -The little sandy bay, flanked by rocks which projected into the sea, was -the site of a number of bathing huts and tents used by the Europeans who -lived in the surrounding villas and bungalows. The breakers rolled in -upon this golden crescent, continuously driven forward by the prevalent -north-west wind; but at one side a barrier of low, shelving rocks formed -a small lagoon where the water was peaceful, and one might look down to -the bottom, ten or twelve feet below the surface, and see the brilliant -shells and seaweeds almost as clearly as though they were in the open -air. So strong was the summer sunlight that every object and every plant -at the bottom cast its shadow sharply upon the sparkling bed; and the -passage of little wandering fishes was marked by corresponding shadows -which moved over the fairyland below. - -It was not long before Jim and Monimé were swimming side by side across -this small lagoon to the encircling wall of rocks, and soon they had -clambered on to them and had seated themselves where the surf rushed -towards them from the open azure sea on the one side, drenching them with -cool spray, and on the other side the low cliffs and rocks, surmounted by -the clustered palms, were reflected in the still water. Here they sunned -themselves and talked; and from time to time, when the heat became too -great, they dived down together with open eyes into the cool, brilliant -depths, gliding amongst the coloured sea-plants, grimacing at one another -as they scrambled for some conspicuous pebble or shell, and rising again -to the surface in a cloud of bubbles. - -It was a joyous, exhilarating, agile occupation, far removed from the -enchantments of the darkness; and the glitter of sun and sea effectually -diminished the lure of the night’s witchery. - -“You know,” said Jim, suddenly looking at his companion, as they lay -basking upon the spray-splashed rocks, “I can hardly believe last night -was anything but a dream.” - -“Let us pretend that it was,” she answered. She pointed down into the -translucent water. “Life is like that,” she said. “We dive down into -those wonderful depths when the glare of actuality is too great, and we -see all the pretty shells down there; and then we have to come up to the -surface again, or we should drown.” - -“I see,” he replied; “I was just a passing fancy of yours.” - -She answered him gravely. “Women in that respect are not so different to -men. Judge me by yourself.” - -“Oh, but there’s a world of difference,” he said, chilled by her words. -“I am simply a vagabond, a wandering Bedouin, here to-day and over the -hills and far away to-morrow.” - -“I am also a wanderer,” she smiled. “We are both free beings who have -broken away from the beaten path. We both earn our living, and claim our -independence.” - -“Yet the difference is this,” he reminded her, “that the world will shrug -its shoulders at my actions, but will condemn yours.” - -She made an impatient gesture. “Oh, that threadbare truism!” she said. -“I have turned my back on the world, and I don’t care what it thinks. -I act according to my principles, and in this sort of thing the first -principle is very simple. If a woman is a thoughtful, responsible being, -earning her own living, and able to lead her own life without being in -the slightest degree dependent on the man of her choice, or on any other -living soul, she is entitled to respond to the call of nature at that -precious and rare moment when her heart tells her to do so. There should -be no such thing as a different law for the man and for the woman: there -should only be a different law for the self-supporting and the dependent. -The sin is when a woman is a parasite.” - -With that she took a header into the water, and he watched her gliding -amidst the swaying tendrils of the sea-plants, like a sinuous mermaiden. - -When she rose to the surface once more he dived in, and swam over to her, -his face emerging but a few inches from hers. “Do you love me?” he asked, -smiling amongst the bubbles. - -“No, I hate you,” she replied, striking out towards the shore. - -“Why?” he called after her. - -“Because you haven’t the sense to leave well alone,” she said, and -thereat she dived once more, nor came to the surface again until she had -reached shallow water. - -At luncheon she met him with an ambiguous smile upon her lips; but -finding that he was not eating his food with much appetite, she at once -became motherly and solicitous, refused to allow him to eat the salad, -offered to cut up the meat for him, and directed the waiter to bring some -toast in place of the over-fresh roll which he was about to break. At the -conclusion of the meal she ordered him to take a siesta in his room, and -in this he was glad enough to obey her, for he was certainly tired. - -When he woke up, an hour or so later, and presently went out on to the -balcony, he saw her standing in her room, contemplating her painting -materials. - -“May I come in?” he asked. - -She nodded. “Have you had a good sleep?” she inquired. “Sit down and talk -to me. I have a feeling of loneliness this afternoon. I’m not in a mood -to paint; yet I suppose I must, or I shall run short of money.” - -He went to her side and put his hands upon her shoulders, drawing her to -him; but she pushed him away from her, with averted face. - -“I said ‘sit down,’” she repeated. - -Jim was abashed. “You’re very difficult,” he told her. “I think that -under the circumstances I’d better go. I don’t know where I am with you.” - -“You haven’t tried to find out,” she answered. “You’re quite capable of -understanding me: I should never have let you come into my life at all if -I had not been certain that you had it in you to understand.” - -“Tact is not my strong point,” he said. “I’m just a man.” - -“Nonsense!” she replied. “Don’t belittle yourself.” - -He was puzzled. “Why, what’s wrong with men?” - -“Their refusal to study women,” she answered. - -She was not in a communicative mood, and would not be drawn into -argument. He was left, thus, with a disconcerting sense of frustration, -bordering on annoyance. It seemed evident to him that yesterday, by some -secret conjunction of the planets, so to speak, their destinies had met -together in one sentient hour of sympathy; but that now they had sprung -apart once more, and he knew not what stars in their courses would bring -back to him the ripe and mystic moment. - -An appalling loneliness descended like a cloud upon him, and he was -conscious that she too, was experiencing the same feeling. It was -the lot, he supposed, of all persons who were born with the Bedouin -temperament; and he accepted it with resignation. - -At length she conducted him—or did he lead her?—down to the verandah of -the hotel; and now she had her paints with her, and occupied herself in -making some colour-notes of the brilliant sea which stretched before -them, and of the golden rocks and vivid green palms. Jim, meanwhile, read -an English newspaper, some weeks old, which he had chanced upon in the -salon; but from time to time he sat back in his chair and watched her as -she worked, his admiration manifesting itself in his eyes. - -“What are you staring at?” she asked him, presently. - -“I was admiring the way you handle your paints,” he replied. “You’re a -real artist.” - -“The fact that a woman paints,” she remarked, “does not mean that she -is an artist, any more than the fact that she talks means that she is -a thinker. To be an artist requires two things, firstly, that you have -something to express, and, only secondly, that you know technically how -to express it. It is the point of view, the angle of vision, that counts; -and in fact one can say that primarily one must _live_ an art.” - -He nodded. He wondered whether the events of the previous night were -but the living of her art; and the thought engendered a kind of mild -bitterness which led him to give her measure for measure. “I know what -you mean so well,” he said, “because I happen to have the talent to put -things into nice metre and rhyme; but it is the subject matter that -really counts, and that’s where I feel my stuff is so flat. Sometimes I -am obliged to seek experience to help me.” - -“You must let me see some of these poems,” she said, pursuing the theme -no further. - -He shook his head. “They are only doggerel, like the one I sang last -night,” he laughed. “They are as shallow as my heart.” - -She resumed her painting and he his reading; but his mind was not -following the movement of his eyes. - -He was thinking how little he understood his companion. She was clearly a -woman of strong views, one who had taken her life into her own hands and -was facing the world with reliant courage. In fact, it might be said of -her that she was the sort of woman who would not be turned from what she -knew to be right by any qualms of guilty conscience. He smiled to himself -at the epigram, and again allowed his thoughts to speculate upon her -alluring personality. - -He found at length, however, that the matter was beyond him; and -presently he turned to his reading once more. - -It was while he was so engaged that suddenly he sat up in his chair, -gazing with amazement at the printed page before him. - -“Great Scott!” he whispered, pronouncing the words slowly and -capaciously. There was a crazy look of astonishment upon his face. - -“What’s the matter?” she asked, glancing at him, but unable to tell from -the whimsical expression of his mouth and eyes what manner of news had -taken his attention. - -He looked at her as though he did not see her. Then he read once more the -words, which seemed to dance before him, and again stared through her -into the distance of his breathless thoughts. - -“News that concerns you?” she asked. - -He nodded, holding his hand to his forehead. - -“Bad news?” - -“Yes,” he answered, as though speaking in a dream. “Very bad ... -wonderful!” - -She could not help smiling, and her intuition quickly jumped to the -truth. “Somebody has died and left you some money?” she suggested. - -He uttered an almost hysterical laugh. “I’m free!” he cried. “Free! I -shall never have to go back to the mines.” - -He sprang to his feet, folding the newspaper, and crushing it in his hand. - -“Don’t go and faint again,” she said, quietly. - -He laughed loudly, and a moment later was hastening into the hotel. -He snatched his hat from a peg in the hall, and hurried out through -the dusty little garden at the front of the building, and so into the -afternoon glare of the main road. Here he hailed a carriage, and, telling -the driver to take him to the Eastern Exchange Telegraph office, sat back -on the jolting seat, and directed his eyes once more to the Agony Column -of the newspaper. The incredible message read thus: - - JAMES CHAMPERNOWNE TUNDERING-WEST, heir to the late Stephen - Tundering-West, of the Manor, Eversfield, Oxon, is requested to - communicate with Messrs. Browne & Beadle, 135A, Lincoln’s Inn - Fields, London. - -His uncle was dead, then, and the two sons, his unknown cousins, must -have predeceased him or died with him! He had never for one moment -thought of himself as a possible heir to the little property; and heaven -knows how long it might have been before he would have had knowledge of -his good fortune had he not chanced upon this old newspaper. - -Arrived at his destination, he despatched a cablegram to the solicitors, -notifying them that he would come to England by the first possible boat. -Then he drove on to Cook’s office in the heart of the city, which he -reached not long before it closed; and here, after some anxious delay, -he was told that a berth, just returned by its prospective occupant, was -available on a French liner sailing for Marseilles that night at eleven -o’clock. This he secured without hesitation, and so went galloping back -towards the hotel as the sun went down. - -In the open road, between the city and the hotel another carriage passed -him in which Monimé was sitting, on her way to dine with some friends, of -whom she had spoken to him. He waved to her, and both she and he called -their drivers to a halt. Then, hastening across to her, he told her -excitedly that he was sailing for England that night. - -“You see, I’ve inherited some property,” be explained. “I must go and -claim it at once.” - -Her face was inscrutable, but there was no light of happiness in it. “I’m -sorry it has come to an end so soon,” she cried. - -“What?” he cried, and it was evident that he was not listening to her. -“You’ve been wonderful to me. We mustn’t lose sight of each other. This -thing has got to go on and on for ever.” - -He hardly knew what he was saying. An hour ago she had been almost the -main factor in his existence. Now she was but a fragment of a life he -was setting behind him. It was almost as though she were fading into a -memory before his very eyes. He was, as it were, looking through her at -an amazing picture which was unfolding itself beyond. The yellow walls of -the houses, the sea, the palms, the sunset, were dissolving; and in their -stead he was staring at the green fields of England, at the timbered -walls of an old manor-house last seen when he was a boy, at the grey -stone church amongst the ilex-trees and the moss-covered tombstones. - -“I must go on and pack at once,” he said, standing first on one leg and -then on the other. “You’re sure to be back before I leave. You can get -away by ten, can’t you?” - -He wrung her hand effusively, and hurried to his carriage, from which, -standing up, he waved his hat wildly to her as they drove off in opposite -directions. - -But when the clock struck ten there was no sign of Monimé and a few -minutes later the hotel porter, who was to accompany him to the harbour, -began to urge him to delay his departure no longer. Being somewhat -flurried, he thought to himself that he would write her a farewell letter -from the steamer, and give it to the porter to carry back with him. - -But by the time he had found his cabin and seen to his baggage, the siren -was blowing, and the porter in alarm was hurrying down the gangway. - -“I’ll write or cable from Marseilles,” he said to himself. “I don’t -suppose she cares a rap about me: the whole thing was due to our romantic -surroundings. But still one would be a fool to lose sight of a real woman -like that.... I wish I knew her name.” - - - - -Chapter V: THE SQUIRE OF EVERSFIELD - - -The art of life is very largely the art of burying bones. That is the -science of mental economy. When a man is confronted with a problem which -he cannot solve; when, so to speak, Fate presents him with a bone which -he cannot crack, sometimes, without intent, he slinks away with it and, -like a dog, buries it, in the undefined hope that at a later date he may -unearth it and find it then more manageable. - -Even so, during the sea voyage, Jim unconsciously buried the bewildering -thought of Monimé. He was a careless fellow, very reprehensible, having -no actual harm in him, yet bearing a record pock-marked, so to speak, -with the sins of omission. He was one of the world’s tramps by nature; -and now once more he was out upon the high road, and the lights of the -city wherein he had slept had faded behind him as he wandered onwards -into another sunrise. It is true that he wrote her a long and intense -letter upon the day after his departure, and that he posted this -upon his arrival at Marseilles; but his brain, by then full of other -things, conjured up no clear vision of her, and his heart sent forth no -impassioned message with the written word. He had been deeply stirred by -her, but also he had been baffled; and, as in the case of a dream, he -made no effort to retain the sweetness of the memory. - -On the morning of his arrival he called at the office of the solicitors -who had inserted the advertisement, and was not a little startled to find -himself greeted with that kind of obsequiousness which he had supposed to -have vanished from Lincoln’s Inn fifty years ago. - -The little pink-and-white man who was the senior partner, and whose name -was Beadle, rubbed his hands together as though he were washing them, and -actually walked backwards for some paces in front of his visitor, bowing -him into a shabby leather chair which stood beside the large, imposing -desk. - -“I hope,” he crooned, when Jim had established his identity, “that we may -still have the duty, and pleasure, of serving you, sir, as we have served -your uncle and your grandfather.” - -“I hope so,” replied Jim. “I suppose you know all the ins and outs of the -family affairs.” - -Mr. Beadle smilingly directed the young man’s attention to a number of -black tin boxes stacked in the corner of the room. “The Tundering-West -documents for the last two hundred years,” he declared, blowing his -breath through his teeth, an action which served him for laughter. - -Jim had a vision of legal formalities and lawyers’ rigmaroles—things -which he had always detested; and the passing thought contributed to the -growing dislike he felt for the harmless, but sycophantic, Mr. Beadle. - -“Well, first of all,” he said, “tell me what my inheritance consists of, -and what sort of income I’ve got.” - -Mr. Beadle explained that the little property comprised some two hundred -acres, most of which were rented; the score of houses and cottages -which constituted the tiny little village; the small but comfortable -manor-house; and twenty thousand pounds of invested capital. This was -better than Jim had expected, and his pleasure was manifest by the broad -smile upon his tanned face. - -“You see, you will have quite a comfortable income in a small way,” the -solicitor told him. “I do not think that your duties will embarrass -you. You will find your tenants very respectful and deferential -country-people, who will give you little bother; and your obligations as -landlord will be very easily discharged.” - -“They’re a bit behind the times, eh?” suggested Jim. - -“Ah, my dear sir,” said Mr. Beadle, “I am thankful to say that there are -still some parts of the English countryside where a gentleman may live in -comfort, and where the people keep their place.” - -Jim was astonished by the remark, for he had believed such sentiments to -be entombed in the novels of long ago. “Poor old England!” he murmured. -“We’re a comic race, aren’t we, Mr. Beetle?” - -“‘Beadle,’” the little old man corrected him; and “Sorry!” said Jim. - -They spoke later of the tragedies which had thus brought the inheritance -out of the direct line, and hereat came the conventional sighs from Mr. -Beadle, as forced as his laughter. Jim was told how his cousin, Mark, -had died in India of pneumonia, and how his uncle and the remaining son, -James, having gone to the Lakes that the old gentleman might recover -his equanimity, were both drowned in a sudden squall while sailing -at a considerable distance from the shore. The bodies were recovered -and brought to Eversfield for burial; and very solemnly the solicitor -produced a photograph of the memorial tablet which had been set up in the -church. - -“Some day, I trust a very long time hence, your own mural tablet will -be set up there,” he said, after Jim had handed back the photograph in -silence. “‘Nihil enim semper floret; ætas succedit ætati,’ as the good -Cicero says.” - -“Quite so,” said Jim. - -“It has all been a terrible blow to me,” sighed Mr. Beadle. “The late Mr. -Tundering-West treated me quite as a personal friend.” - -“Did he really?” Jim was going to be rude, but checked himself. He felt -an extraordinary hostility to this well-meaning but servile little -personage. “I shall go down there to-morrow,” he remarked, as he rose -to take his departure, “and I’ll probably have the house thoroughly -renovated before I go into it.” - -“I don’t think you will find much that requires alteration,” Mr. Beadle -assured him, his hand raised in a gesture of deprecation. “Hasty changes -are always undesirable; and, when you have grown into the spirit of the -place I think you will find that you have a duty to the past.” He checked -himself, and bowed. “I trust you will not mind an old man giving you -that advice,” he murmured, as they shook hands. He bowed so low that it -appeared to be a complete physical collapse. - -On the following day Jim motored to Eversfield in a hired open car. He -could with greater ease have gone by train to Oxford, and could have -driven over in a fly; but he wanted to have the pleasure of spending some -of his new money, and, moreover, a fifty-mile drive through the fair -lands of Berkshire and Oxfordshire in the radiance of a summer’s day -appealed to his imagination. Nor was he disappointed. He acknowledged the -beauties of the land of his birth with whole-hearted pleasure; and his -eyes, weary with long gazing upon leaden skies and burning sands, were -soothed in a manner beyond scope of words by the green fields, the soft -foliage of the trees, and grey skies of a hot, hazy morning. It is true -that the roads were extremely dusty, and that his face and clothes were -soon thickly powdered; but, as the chauffeur had provided him with a pair -of motoring glasses, he was not troubled in this respect. - -The little hamlet of Eversfield lay seemingly asleep in its hollow amidst -the richly timbered hills, as, at midday, he drove up to the grey stone -gates of his future home. Here was the narrow village green just as he -had last seen it when he was a boy: on one side of the lane which opened -on to it were these imposing gates; on the other side were the little -church and moss-covered gravestones leaning at all angles, as though the -dead were whispering together deferentially at the entrance of the manor. -Upon the green were the old stocks, and the stump and worn steps of the -ancient cross; and behind them stood the thatched cottages backed by the -stately elms. - -“I suppose in years to come,” he thought, “I shall be walking through -these gates to the church on Sundays, followed by the lady of my choice -and half-a-dozen children; and the villagers will nudge one another and -say ‘Here comes Squire and all his little squirrels.’ ... Good Lord!” - -The exclamation was due to the sudden feeling that he had walked into a -trap, that he had been caught by immemorial society, and would soon be -forced to conform to its ways; and, as the car passed in at the gates of -the manor, he had, for a moment, a desire to jump out and run for his -life. - -A short, straight drive, flanked by clipped box-trees, led to the main -door of the timbered Tudor house; and here the new owner, dusty, and -somewhat untidily dressed, was received by the gardener and his buxom -wife, who had both grown grey in his uncle’s service. The man held his -cap in his hand, and touched his wrinkled forehead with his finger -a number of times, painfully anxious to find favour; while his wife -curtseyed to him at least thrice. - -“Are you the gardener?—what is your name?” Jim asked briskly, feeling -almost as awkward as the man he addressed, but determined to go through -the ordeal with honour. - -“Peter, sir,” said the gardener. “Peter Longarm, sir. I rec’lect you, -sir, when you was no more’n so ’igh, I do.” - -“Why, of course,” Jim replied. “I remember you now. You’re the fellow who -told my uncle when I broke the glass of the forcing frame.” - -The old man looked sheepish. “I ’ad to do my dooty, sir,” he said. “I ask -your pardon.” - -“Duty,” Jim thought to himself. “I’m beginning to know that word. I -wonder what it really means.” He turned to the woman. “Now, please go and -open the doors of all the rooms, and then leave me to walk through the -house by myself.” He wanted to be alone to realize his new possession and -to dream his dream of future ease. Mrs. Longarm eyed him nervously for a -moment before obeying his instructions; she told her husband afterwards, -with tears in her eyes, that she felt as though she were surrendering the -house to a cut-throat foreigner. - -As he wandered, presently, from room to room he was at first overpowered -by the feeling that he was intruding upon the privacy of some sort of -family life which he did not understand. His uncle’s wife had been -dead for three or four years, but there were still many traces of her -influence: the drawing-room, for example, was furnished in a style which -called to his mind faded pictures of feminine tea-parties. Here was the -old piano upon which the good lady must have tinkled the songs of which -the music still lay in the cabinet near by—songs such as _My Mother Bids -Me Bind My Hair_, and _Ah, Welladay my Poor Heart_. And here was the -little sewing-table where had doubtless rested the silks and needles -for her embroidery. Perhaps it was she who had chosen the gilt-framed -engravings upon the walls—the depressed picture of “Hagar and Ishmael in -the Wilderness;” a youthful portrait of Alexandra, Princess of Wales; -“Jacob weeping over Joseph’s coat;” the sprightly “Hawking Party,” and -so forth. - -Looking around, he experienced a sensation of mingled mirth and awe, and -he hoped that the ghost of his aunt would not haunt him when he laid -sacrilegious and violent hands upon these things, as at first he intended -to do. The chintzes appeared to be of more recent date; but these, too, -would have to go, for, as a pattern, he detested sprays of red roses tied -with blue ribbons. - -The dining-room, hall and staircase, being panelled and hung with family -portraits, were impressive in their conveyance of a sense of many -generations; and the hereditary library, if sombre, was interesting. -Jim was very fond of old books, and he stood there for some time taking -the calf-bound volumes from the shelves, and turning over the ancient -pages. But, the morning-room, with its red-covered chairs, its mahogany -sideboard, and its sham Chinese vases, was distressing. Yet here, as in -the drawing-room, there was a chaste and awful solemnity, from which he -shrank, as a conscientious Don Juan might shrink at a lady’s _prie-Dieu_. - -The larger bedrooms upstairs, with their mahogany wardrobes and heavy -chests of drawers full of clothes, and cupboards full of boots and hats, -were startling in their association with their late tenants. On a table -beside his uncle’s bed there lay a recent novel, which Jim himself had -also just read: it constituted a gruesome link between the living and -the dead. He glanced about him and through the window, down the drive, -almost expecting to see the apparitions of his relatives stalking up from -the family vault in the churchyard to see what he was about. His uncle -would probably think him a dreadful scallawag, for the old gentleman had -been an accredited pillar of Church and State, with, so the cupboards -testified, a mania for collecting the top hats he had worn on Sundays or -when in town. He had been a model of propriety, and the monumental stone, -the photograph of which he had seen at the solicitors, stated that he had -“nobly upheld the traditions of his race.” - -Jim felt depressed, and presently went out into the garden which was -ablaze with flowers; and here, after a late meal of sandwiches, eaten -upon an ornamental stone bench, his spirits revived, for the manor and -its setting formed a very beautiful picture. If only he could get rid of -all those hats and clothes and old photographs! - -A sudden idea occurred to him: he would go and find the padre, and tell -him to take these things for the poor of the parish. They must be got rid -of at once, even though every man in the village be obliged to wear a top -hat. They must all be gone before he came here again, or he would never -bring himself to live in the house at all! He hurried down the drive, -asked Peter Longarm at the lodge to point out the vicarage to him, and -thereafter hastened on his errand. - -Near the church, however, and at a point where a gap in the trees -revealed a distant view of the dreaming, huddled spires of Oxford, -flanked by the lonely tower of Magdalen College, he met with a -white-bearded clergyman whom he presumed to be the vicar, and at once -accosted him. - -“Excuse me,” he said, ingratiatingly, barring his way. “Would you care -to have some old hats?—I mean of course, would your flock like to wear -them?—Top hats, you know, and old boots, too, if you want them.” - -The elderly gentleman was annoyed, and, with a curt “No thank you, not -to-day,” proceeded on his way. Jim, however, called after him, coaxingly: -“They are quite good hats really; they only want brushing.” - -At this the man of God stopped and turned, looking at Jim’s somewhat -dusty figure with wonderment. “Do I understand that you are selling old -hats?” he asked, endeavouring to speak politely. - -Jim rushed feverishly into explanation. “No, I want to get rid of -them,” he gabbled; “I want to get rid of all sorts of things—hats, -coats, trousers, dressing-gowns, shirts, vests, boots, slippers, old -photographs, umbrellas ...” He paused for breath, inwardly laughing. - -Very slowly and deliberately the clergyman adjusted his eyeglasses low -down upon his nose, and stared at Jim. “Young man,” he said, “is this a -jest at my expense?” - -“Good Lord, no!” Jim answered. “I’m in deadly earnest. I can’t possibly -live in the house with all these things. You _will_ help me, won’t you? -How would it be if you came over to-morrow and cleared them all out, and -then had a meeting or something, and gave them as prizes to the regular -church-goers?” - -“I don’t know what you are talking about,” the clergyman responded, -gently but firmly pushing him aside. “Good-day!” - -Jim stared at him as he walked. “You _are_ the vicar, aren’t you?” he -asked. - -“No, I’m not,” the other replied somewhat sharply, over his shoulder; -“I’m the President of Magdalen.” - -Jim uttered an exclamation of impatience, and hastened on to the Vicarage. - -The servant who appeared in response to his knock, was about to ask him -his name, when the vicar, an old man with a clean-shaven, kindly face, -and grey hair, happened to cross the hall. - -“Yes, what is it, what is it?” he asked, coming to the door, while the -maid retired. - -“Are you the vicar?” Jim asked, beginning more cautiously. - -“I am,” the other responded. - -“You really are? Well I want to ask you about some old clothes. I....” - -The vicar held up his hand. “No, I have none to sell you,” he said -smiling sadly. “I wear mine out.” - -Jim laughed aloud. “First I’m thought to be selling them, and now you -think I’m buying them,” he exclaimed. “We certainly are a nation of -shop-keepers.” - -The vicar was puzzled. “I don’t understand. What is it you want?” - -“I have a lot of hats and old clothes I want to get rid of. I thought you -might like them.” - -The clergyman bowed stiffly. “It is very kind of you,” he said frigidly. -“My stipend, I admit, is small, but I am not yet reduced to the -necessity of wearing a stranger’s cast-off clothing.” - -“Oh, I didn’t mean that,” Jim hastily explained. “And they’re not mine: -they belonged to my late relatives. I am just coming to live at the -manor, and I thought the poor of the parish would....” - -The vicar interrupted him. “I beg your pardon. Are you ...?” He -hesitated, incredulous. - -“Yes, I’m the new Tundering-West,” Jim told him. - -The other held out his hands. “Well, well!” he cried. “And I thought you -were....” He hesitated. - -“The old clothes man,” laughed Jim. - -“Oh, very droll!” the vicar smiled, shaking him warmly by the hand. “How -ridiculous of me! Do come in, my dear sir!” - -Jim followed him into the drawing-room, and here he found a little -old lady, who was introduced to him as Miss Proudfoote, and a florid, -middle-aged man with a waxed moustache, who looked like a sergeant-major, -and proved to be Dr. Spooner, the local medical man. They had evidently -been lunching at the Vicarage, and were now drinking the post-prandial -concoction which the English believe to be coffee. They both greeted him -with a sort of deference, which however, did not conceal their curiosity. - -During the next ten minutes Jim heard a great deal of his “poor dear -uncle” and his unfortunate cousins. The tragedy of their deaths, it -seemed, had cast the profoundest gloom over the village; but it was a -case of “the King is dead; long live the King!” and all three of his new -acquaintances appeared to be anxious to pay him every respect. - -Dr. Spooner asked him from what part of England he had just come, and the -news that he had been living abroad and had not visited the land of his -birth for many years caused a sensation. The thought occurred to him that -he ought not to mention Egypt, or any other land which had recently known -him as Jim Easton; for any such revelations might bring discredit upon -him, and he wished to start his life at Eversfield without any handicap. -He therefore spoke only of California, referring to it casually as a -country where he had resided. - -Miss Proudfoote turned to the vicar. “Is it not extraordinary,” she said, -“how many of our young men shoulder what Mr. Kipling calls ‘the white -man’s burden’ and go forth to live amongst the heathen?” Her geography -was evidently at fault, but out of consideration for her years and her -sex, no correction was forthcoming. “I suppose,” she proceeded, “you met -with our missionaries out there? It is wonderful what a great work the -Church Missionary Society is doing all over the world.” - -The Doctor here had the hardihood to interpose. “Oh, but California is a -part of the United States of America ...” he ventured. - -“How foolish of me!—of course,” smiled the old lady. “The Americans are -quite an educated people. I met an American traveller once in Oxford: a -pleasant spoken young man he seemed, so far as I could understand what he -said.” - -“Yes,” remarked the vicar, “America can no longer be called ‘the common -sewer of England,’ as it was when I was a boy.” - -Jim stared from one to the other in amazement. “But America is the -largest and most progressive part of the Anglo-Saxon race,” he protested. -“They are already ahead of us in many ways.” - -Miss Proudfoote was shocked, and she showed it. “It is evident that you -do not know England,” she replied, coldly. - -“I mean,” he emphasized, “it always seems to me a fine thought that -England can never die, because she will live again over there; and then -she’ll have another lease of life in Australia; and so on. This England -here may die, but the English will go on for ever and ever, it seems to -me. And wherever their home may be,” he added, laughing, “they’ll always -think it ‘God’s own country,’ and think themselves the chosen people.” - -Miss Proudfoote looked anxiously at him, hoping that there was some good -in him. “I trust,” she said, “that it is now your intention to settle -down?” - -“Yes,” he replied. “I fancy my wanderings are over.” - -“Heaven has placed you in a very responsible position,” she said, gazing -earnestly at him. “I am sure our best wishes will be with you in your -duties.” - -“Yes, indeed,” sighed the vicar, whose name, as Jim had just ascertained, -was Glenning. “Are you a married man, may I ask?” - -“Oh no,” Jim replied. - -Miss Proudfoote patted his arm. “We shall have to find you a wife,” she -smiled. - -Jim was aghast, and hastily changed the subject. “Now about the old -clothes,” he began. - -Mr. Glenning coloured, slightly. “What an absurd error for me to have -made,” he said. “Now, tell me, what is it you wish me to do?” - -“I’m going back to London to-day,” Jim explained, “and I want you, while -I am away, to go through all my uncle’s things, and give away to the poor -everything you think I shall not want. Just use your own judgment.” - -“It will be a melancholy duty,” he replied. - -“I’m sure it will,” the new Squire answered, “but, I tell you frankly, -anything useless I find here when I return I shall burn.” - -The vicar raised his hands; the doctor sniffed; and Miss Proudfoote -looked at the stranger indignantly. - -“That is rather hasty, is it not?” she asked, tremulously. - -Jim felt awkward. He had made a bad impression, and he knew it. “You -see,” he tried to explain, “my uncle died so suddenly and the place is -littered with his things. All I want to keep is the furniture, and the -silver, and the books, and that sort of thing, but I will see to that -myself.” - -Miss Proudfoote turned away suddenly and Jim, to his horror, saw her -raise a handkerchief to her eyes. He could have kicked himself. He wished -the floor would open and engulf him. He looked in despair at the two men. - -“You know I haven’t seen my uncle since I was a boy,” he stammered. “I am -a complete stranger.” - -“He was our very dear friend,” said Mr. Glenning. - - - - -Chapter VI: SETTLING DOWN - - -While the congregation in the little church at Eversfield was singing -the last hymn of the morning service the October sun passed from -behind an extensive bank of cloud, and its rays shot down through the -plain glass window upon the figure of a young woman, whose sudden and -surprising illumination instantly attracted many pairs of eyes to her. -She looked, and knew it, like a little angel as she stood in this shaft -of brilliance, hymn-book in hand, singing the well-known words in a voice -which enhanced their ancient sweetness; and the vicar, from his place at -the side of the small chancel, fixed his gaze upon her with an expression -of such saintly beatitude upon his face as to be almost idiotic. - -Her name was Dorothy Darling; but her mother, who here stood beside her -in the shadow under the wall, called her Dolly, and rightly congratulated -herself upon having chosen for her only baby, twenty-three years ago, a -name of which the diminutive was so appropriate to the now grown woman. - -In the sunshine the girl’s soft, fair hair looked like a puff of gold, -and her skin like coral; and the play of light and shade accentuated -the pretty lines of her figure, so that they were by no means lost -under the folds of her smart little frock. Her large, soft eyes were as -innocent as they were blue, and never a glance betrayed the fact that -she was singing for the direct benefit of the new Squire, whose head and -shoulders appeared above the carved wooden walls of the sort of loose-box -which was his family pew. - -The miniature church, though dating from the twelfth century, still -retained the features by which it had been transformed and modernized in -the obsequious days of Walpole and the first of the Georges. The pews for -the “gentry” were boxed in, and each was fitted with its door; but the -walls of Jim’s pew were higher than the others and its area bigger. At -the back of the church there were the open seats for the villagers and -persons of vulgar birth; but the woodwork here was not carved, save with -the occasional initials of lads long since passed out of memory. - -At the sides of the chancel were set the mural tablets which recorded -the genealogical lustres of dead Tundering-Wests, back to the day when -a certain Captain of Horse had obtained a grant of the manor from the -Commonwealth, in lieu of his devastated estate in Devon, and, with -admirable tact, had married the daughter of the exiled Royalist owner. -Around the whitewashed walls of the small nave large wooden boards were -hung, upon which were painted the arms and quarterings of the successive -Squires and their spouses; and above the chancel arch the royal Georgian -escutcheon was displayed in still vivid colours. - -The church, indeed, was a tiny monument to all that glory of caste -which its Divine Founder abhorred, and which the aforesaid Roundhead, -misapprehending the unalterable character of his fellow-countrymen, had -apparently fought in his own day to suppress. - -When the hymn was finished, the blessing spoken, and Mr. Glenning gone -into the vestry behind the organ, this traditional distinction between -the classes was emphasized by the behaviour of the little congregation. -Nobody of the meaner sort moved towards the sunlit doorway until Jim, -looking extraordinarily embarrassed, had marched down the aisle and had -passed out into the autumnal scurry of falling leaves, followed closely -by Mrs. and Miss Darling, Mr. Merrivall of Rose Cottage, Dr. and Mrs. -Spooner, and old Miss Proudfoote of the Grange; and, when these were -gone, way had still to be made for young Farmer Hopkins and his wife, -Farmer Cartwright and his idiot son, and the other families of local -standing. - -Outside, in the keen October air, Jim paused under the ancient ilex-tree, -and turned to bid good-morning to the Darlings. Dolly had interested and -attracted him during these three months since he took up his residence at -the manor; but he had been so much occupied in settling himself into his -new home that he had not given her all the attention he felt was her due, -now that the shaft of sunlight in the church had revealed her to him in -the palpable charm of her maidenhood. - -He greeted her, therefore, with cheery ardour, as though she were a new -discovery, and walked beside her and her mother down the path which wound -between the moss-covered gravestones, and out into the lane under the -rustling elms. A great change had come over him since he had returned -to England: he had become in some ways more normal, and the quiet, -simple life of an English village had, as it were, taken much of the -exotic colour out of his thoughts. In the romantic East he had looked -for romance, but here in the domestic West his mind had turned towards -domesticity. His poetic imagination was temporarily blunted; and whereas -in Alexandria he had responded eagerly to the enchantments of hour and -place, in Eversfield he was readily satisfied with a more rational aspect -of life. - -He turned to the mother. “What a little picture your daughter looked, -singing that hymn in the sunlight,” he remarked, with enthusiasm. - -Mrs. Darling sighed. Twenty years ago she, too, had been a little -picture; but, so she thought to herself, she had had more character in -her face than Dolly, and less softness. Outwardly her little girl took -after that scamp of a father of hers, whose innocent blue eyes and boyish -face had won him more frequent successes than his continence could handle. - -“Yes,” she replied, evasively, “that is Dolly’s favourite hymn.... She -has a nice little voice.” - -“Delightful!” said Jim. “I didn’t know hymns could sound so beautiful!” - -Dolly looked at him as our great-grandmothers must have looked when they -said, “Fie!” - -“Aren’t you a regular church-goer?” she asked, gazing up at him with -childlike eyes. - -“Can’t say I am,” he answered, with a quick laugh. “I’m new to all this, -you know. I’ve knocked about all over the world since I left school. -But, I say!—that family pew, and the respectful villagers!—they give me -the hump!” - -“Oh, I think it is charming, perfectly charming,” said Mrs. Darling. - -“Well,” he replied, “I expect I’ll get used to it. I suppose this sort of -life grows on one: in some ways I’m beginning to have a sort of settled -feeling already.” - -They were walking away from the gates of the Manor, which rose opposite -the ivy-covered church, and were approaching the picturesque little -cottage where the Darlings lived. Jim paused, and as he did so Dolly -experienced a sudden sense of disappointment. She had hoped that he -would accompany them to their door, and she had intended then to entice -him through it, and to show him over their pretty rooms and round the -flower-garden and the orchard. Until now they had only occasionally met, -and their exchanges of conversational trivialities had been carried on -in the lane, or at the door of the church, or outside the cottage which -served as the post-office. He seemed to be a difficult man to take -hold of; and during the last few weeks, since her mind had begun to be -so disastrously full of the thought of him, she had felt ridiculously -frustrated in her attempts to develop their friendship. Frustration, of -course, is woman’s destiny, which meets her at every turn; but in youth -it sometimes serves as her incentive. - -“Won’t you come in and see our little home?” she asked. “It’s rather a -treasure.” - -He shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t,” he replied. “I promised to go -round my place with the gardener this morning. He’ll be waiting for me -now. But, I say, what about dinner to-night? Won’t you both dine with -me?” He was feeling reckless. - -Dolly’s heart leapt, and, in a flash, she had selected the dress she -would put on, and had considered whether she should wear the little -diamond pendant or the sham pearls. - -“We shall be delighted,” murmured Mrs. Darling. “Eh, Dolly?” - -The girl looked doubtful. “I don’t know that we ought to to-night,” she -answered. “We had half promised to drive over to a sort of sacred concert -affair in Oxford.” - -“Oh, don’t disappoint me,” said Jim. “I’ve got the house almost shipshape -now; I’d like you to see it.” - -Dolly did not require really to be pressed; and soon the young man was -striding homewards down the lane, wondering why it had taken him three -months to realize that this girl was perfectly adorable; while she, on -her part, was pinching Mrs. Darling’s arm and saying: “Oh, mother dear, -doesn’t he look delightfully _wicked_!” - -“Yes, he seems a nice, sardonic fellow,” her mother remarked grimly, as -they entered their house. “Why did you begin by saying we were engaged -to-night? It’s the first I’ve heard of it.” - -Dolly smiled. “Oh, I made that up, because I thought you were too prompt -in accepting. He’ll want us all the more if we are stand-offish. Men are -like that.” - -Mrs. Darling sniffed. She was a lazy, plump, and rather languid little -woman; and sometimes she grew impatient at her daughter’s ingenious -method of dealing with these sorts of situations. She herself had grown -more direct in her Yea and Nay: perhaps at the age of forty-five she was -a little tired of dissimulation. The world had treated her scurvily; -and, having a settled grievance, she was inclined now to take whatever -pleasant things were to be had for the asking, without any subtle -manœuvering for position. - -Her husband had left her when Dolly was five years old, and, so far as -she knew, he was now dead. For several years she had bravely maintained -herself in a tiny Kensington flat by writing social and theatrical -articles for pretentious papers. She had been a purveyor of gossip, a -tattle-monger, a dealer in bibble-babble; and she had carried on her -trade with an increasing inclination to yawn over it, and a growing -consciousness of her daughter’s contempt, until the editors who had -supported her became aware that her heart was not in her work, and five -years ago gave her her _congé_. - -Then, with a temporary display of energy, she had followed Dolly’s -cultured advice, and had established a little business off Sloane Square, -which she called “The Purple Shop.” Here she sold purple cushions and -lamp-shades, poppy-heads dipped in purple paint, poetry-books in purple -covers, sketches by Bakst in purple frames, lengths of purple damask, and -so forth. But purple went out of fashion, and her once very considerable -profits sank to the vanishing point. She introduced other colours, and -softer shades of mauve and lilac. She sold a doll which had mauve hair -and naughty black eyes; she took in a stock of bottled new potatoes -tinged with a harmless purple liquid, and presented them to the jaded -world of fashion as _Pommes de terre pourpres de Tyr_; she even sold -brilliant bath-robes for bored bachelors, with coloured soap to match. - -A financial crash followed, and, after a few months spent in dodging -her creditors, she heard of this little cottage at Eversfield, and fled -to it with her daughter, leaving no address. She was in receipt of a -small annual allowance from the estate of a deceased brother, and this -she supplemented by writing the monthly fashion article in one of the -journals devoted to the world, the flesh and the devil. She wrote under -the nom-de-plume of “Countess X”; and her material was obtained by a -monthly visit to London and a tour of the leading modistes. - -For eighteen months now she had lain low in this nook of the Midlands -where Time stood still, and gradually she had ceased to dread the visit -of the postman, and had begun to take a languid interest in the cottage. -The colour purple no longer set her fat knees knocking together, and -lately she had been able even to look up some of her old friends in -London and to greet them with the sad, brave smile of a wronged woman. - -To Dolly, however, the enforced seclusion had been a sore trial, and -there were times when her pretty eyes were red with weeping. She had been -utterly bored by the purposeless existence she was called upon to lead; -but now the arrival of the new Squire at the manor, which had hardly -seen its previous owner during the last year of his life, had aroused -her from her sorrows and had set her heart in a flutter. She liked his -strange, swarthy face and his moody eyes, and thought he looked artistic -and even intellectual; and she liked his obvious embarrassment at the -deference paid to him in this little kingdom which he had inherited. - -She spent the afternoon, therefore, in a condition of pleasurable -excitement, stitching at the dress she was going to wear and making -certain alterations to the shape of the neck. - -While she plied her needle, Mrs. Darling sat at the low window -overlooking the orchard, and scribbled her monthly article upon a -writing-pad resting on her knee. “Here is a charming little conceit I -chanced upon in Bond Street t’other day,” she wrote. “It is really a -tub-time frock; but its success in the drawing-room is likely to be -immediate. Organdy ruchings of moonlight blue, and a _soupçon_ of jet -cabochons on the corsage. It is named ‘Hopes in turmoil.’” And again, -“I noticed, too, a crisp little _trotteur_ frock, with a nipped-in -waist-line hesitating behind a _moyenage_ girdle of beige velours -delaine. They have called it ‘Cupid’s Teeth.’ Oh, very snappy, I assure -you, my dears!” - -She smiled lazily as she wrote, but once she sighed so heavily that her -daughter asked her if anything were amiss. - -“No,” she replied. “I was only just wondering whether anybody in their -senses could understand the nonsense I am writing. The editor’s orders -are to make the thing sound French: I should lose my job if I wrote in -plain English.” - -“Oh dear,” sighed Dolly, “how tedious all that sort of thing seems! I -wonder that you can bother with it.” - -“I’ve got to,” her mother answered, with irritation. “I shan’t be able to -give it up till you are married and off my hands.” - -“Yes, so you are always telling me,” said Dolly; and therewith their -silence was renewed. - -Night had fallen when they set out for the manor, and the lane was -intensely dark. They were guided, however, by the light in the window -of the lodge at the gates; and from here to their destination they were -accompanied by the gardener, who carried a lantern which flung their -shadows, like great black monsters, across the high box-hedges flanking -the main approach. From the outside the timbered house looked ghostly and -forbidding; and by contrast, the front hall which they entered seemed -wonderfully well-lit, though only lamps and candles and the flames of the -log-fire served for illumination. - -Here Jim came to them as they were removing their wraps, and Dolly could -see by the expression on his face that her dress had his hearty approval. -He led them into the library, where his late uncle’s books, arranged upon -the high shelves, and the rather heavy furniture, presented a picture -of solid dignity; and presently they were ushered into the panelled -dining-room, where they sat down at a warmly lit table, under the silent -scrutiny of a gallery of dead Tundering-Wests and that of a gaping -village housemaid who appeared to be more or less moribund. - -The food provided by Jim’s thoroughly incompetent cook was not a -success, and when some rather tough mutton chops had followed a dish of -under-boiled cod, which had been preceded by a huge silver tureen of -lukewarm soup, their host felt that some words of apology were due to his -guests. - -“You must try to bear with the menu,” he laughed. “This is my cook’s -first situation. She was recommended to me by Mr. Glenning, the vicar, as -a girl who was willing to learn; but it only occurred to me afterwards -that that was not much good when there was nobody to teach her.” - -“You must let me give her a few lessons,” said Dolly, at which her mother -stared in astonishment, knowing that her daughter understood about as -much of cooking as a dumb-waiter. - -Yet the girl was not conscious of deception, nor was she aware that she -was acting a part, and acting it mainly for her own edification. She -pictured herself just now as a splendid little housewife, and she would -have been gravely insulted if her mother had told her that her dream -was devoid of reality. In her mind she saw herself as the lady of the -manor, quietly, unobtrusively, yet all-wisely, directing its affairs; a -sweet smiling Bunty pulling the strings; a little ray of sunshine in the -great, grey old house; a source of comfort to her lord which he would not -appreciate until she should go away to stay with her mother, whereon he -would write to her telling her that since her departure everything had -gone wrong. - -Throughout her life she had played such parts to herself, her rôles -varying according to circumstances. At the Purple Shop she had been the -dreamy little artist, destined for higher things, but forced by cruel -poverty to act as assistant saleswoman to a soulless mother, and to smile -bravely at the world, though her artist’s heart was breaking. When first -she had come to Eversfield and had fallen under the spell of the green -woods, she had had a severe bout of “Merrie England.” She had tripped -through the fields in a sun-bonnet, and had begged her mother to buy -a harpsichord. She had joined a society of ladies in Oxford who were -attempting to revive folk-dancing, and she had footed it nimbly on the -sward while the curate played “Hey-diddle-diddle” to them on his flute. - -Later she had gone through the nymph-and-fairy phase, and, in the depth -of the woods, had let her hair down so that it looked in the sunlight, -she supposed, like woven gold. She had danced her way barefooted from -tree to tree, sipping the dew from the dog-roses, and singing snatches of -strange, wild songs about the “little people,” and talking to the birds; -and when Farmer Cartwright had caught her at it, she had looked at him, -she believed, like a startled fawn. - -But now, since the new Squire, with his background of rich lands and -ancient tenure, had come into her life, she had played the little -helpmate, the goodwife in her dairy, the mistress in her kitchen with -whole-hearted enthusiasm. She thought of beginning to collect a book of -Simples, in which there would be much mention of Marjoram, Rosemary, Rue -and Thyme; soveraign Balsames for Woundes, and Cordiall Tinctures for -ye Collicke; receipts for the making of Quince-Wine, or Syllabubs of -Apricocks; and so forth. Phrases such as “The little mistress of the big -house,” “My lady in her pleasaunce,” or “—in her herbal garden,” had been -drifting through her head for some time past; and hence her offer to set -Jim’s cuisine to rights fell naturally from her lips. - -Nor was this the only show of interest she displayed in his domestic -affairs. After the meal was finished and they were sitting around the -fire in the library, she asked Jim to show her the drawing-room, which -was not yet in use; and when he was about to lead her to it she made -peremptory signs to her mother to refrain from accompanying them. - -As she tiptoed down the passage and across the hall at Jim’s side, -she laid her hand upon his proffered arm, and he was surprised at the -lightness of the touch of her fingers. He did not, perhaps, compare it -actually to thistledown, which, at the moment, was the description her -own mind was fondly giving it; but her painstaking effort to defeat the -Newtonian law resulted, as she desired, in an increased consciousness on -his part that she was a very fairy-like creature. - -The drawing-room was in darkness, and as they entered it she uttered a -little squeak of nervousness which went, as it was intended, straight to -his manly heart. He put his disengaged hand on her fingers and felt their -response: they seemed to be seeking his protection, and his senses were -thrilled at the contact. He could have kissed her as she stood. - -“Wait a minute,” he said, “I’ll light the candles.” - -“No, don’t,” she answered. “It looks so ghostly and wonderful.” - -She crept forward into the room, into which only the reflected light -from the hall penetrated, and presently she came to a stand upon the -hearth-rug. He followed her, and stood close at her side; one might have -harkened to both their hearts beating. Then, boldly, he put his arm in -hers and took hold of her hand. It was trembling. - -“Why,” he said, in surprise, “you’re shaking with fright.” - -“No, it isn’t fright,” she stammered.... - -The voice of worldly wisdom whispered to him: “Look out!—this is getting -precious close to the danger zone”; and, with a saner impulse, he removed -his hand from hers, struck a match, and lit the candle. - -“Oh, now you’ve spoilt it!” she exclaimed, not without irritation, and -then added quickly: “The ghosts have vanished.” - -He held the candle up, and told her to look round the room; but as she -did so his own eyes were fixed upon her averted face, and had she turned -she would have realized at once that her triumph was nigh. - - - - -Chapter VII: THE GAME OF SURVIVAL - - -Upon the following afternoon the vicar came to call at the manor. Jim -had handed over to him as the oldest friend of the late Squire all his -uncle’s letters, diaries, and other papers, and had asked him to look -through them; and, the task being accomplished, he was now bringing them -back, carefully docketed and tied up in a large parcel. - -As he entered the house there came to his venerable ears the sounds of -singing and the twanging of strings. - -“Dear me, what is that?” he asked the maid, pausing in the hall. - -“Oh, it’s only the master a-playing of ’is banjo,” the girl explained, -smiling at the vicar, who had been her friend since her earliest -childhood. “’E often gets took like that, sir. Cook says it’s ’is furrin -blood.” - -“But he has no foreign blood,” Mr. Glenning told her. - -“’E looks a furrin gentleman,” she replied, “and ’is ways....” She -paused, remembering her manners. - -The vicar was shown into the drawing-room, and here he found the Squire -seated upon the arm of the sofa, his guitar across his knees. - -“Hullo, padre!” said Jim. “Excuse the music.” He was somewhat abashed -at thus being taken unawares, for he had little idea that his singing -was anything but an infernal noise, intended by Nature to be a vent to -the feelings. And these feelings, just now, were of a somewhat violent -character, for, though he was not yet aware of his plight, he was in love. - -In the early part of the afternoon he had gone for a wandering walk in -the woods adjoining the manor, in order to escape a sense of depression -which had descended upon him. “It must be this old house,” he had said -to himself, “with its weight of years. It feels like a trap in which -I’ve been caught, a trap laid by the forefathers to catch the children -and teach them their manners.” And therewith he had rushed out into the -sunshine. - -Mr. Glenning smiled indulgently. “I shall have to make use of your voice -in church,” he said. - -“Oh, no, you don’t!” Jim laughed, pretending to edge away. “Your choir is -bad enough as it is.” - -The vicar was hurt, and Jim hastened to obliterate his thoughtless -words by remarking that he had, not long since, come in from a tour of -exploration in the woods, and had found them very pleasant. - -“Yes,” his visitor replied, “they have grown up nicely. In the Civil -War all the trees were felled by Cromwell’s men during the siege of -Oxford; but one of your ancestors replanted the devastated area after the -Restoration, and the place now looks, I dare say, just as it did before -that unfortunate quarrel.” - -The thought did not please Jim. Even the woods, then, which that -afternoon seemed to him to be a place of escape from the pall of history, -were but a part of the chain of ancient circumstances which bound the -whole estate. Even in their depths he would not be out of hearing of -the voice of his forefathers, which told him that they had sowed for -posterity and that he must do likewise. - -He dismissed the irksome reflection by asking the vicar the nature of the -parcel which he had deposited on the table. - -Mr. Glenning explained that it contained his uncle’s letters, and -therewith he unfastened the string, ceremoniously, and revealed a bundle -of small packets. “I have been through all these, except this one -package,” he said, holding up a small parcel, “and I certainly think they -are worth keeping, for they display your uncle’s noble character in a -variety of ways.” - -“He seems to have been a fine old fellow,” Jim remarked. - -“He was, indeed,” replied the vicar. “He represented all the best in our -English life.” And therewith he enlarged upon the dead man’s virtues, -while Jim listened attentively, feeling that the words were intended as -an admonition to himself. - -At length Mr. Glenning turned to the unopened package. “I have been much -exercised in my mind,” he said, “as to what to do in regard to this one -packet. It is marked, as you see, ‘To be destroyed at my death.’ Of -course, the words do not actually state that the contents are not to be -read; but I thought it would be best to consult you first.” - -“Thanks,” replied Jim. “I’ll have a look at it some time.” - -He opened the drawer in the bureau, and bundled the letters into it, -while the vicar watched him, feeling that he was sadly lacking in -reverence, and not a little disappointed, perhaps, that the young man had -not invited him to deal with the unopened packet. - -Later, when Jim was alone once more, he took this mysterious packet from -the drawer, and, seating himself upon the sofa beside the fire, cut the -string. - -The nature of the contents was at once apparent: they were the relics of -an affair of the heart, and a glance at the signature of two or three of -the letters revealed the fact that the writer was not Jim’s aunt. “Ah,” -said he, with satisfaction, “then the old paragon was human, like all the -rest of us.” - -A perusal of the badly-written pages, however, dispelled the atmosphere -of romance which the first short messages of twenty years ago had -promised. The story began well enough, so far as he could gather. -The lady, whose name was Emily, had evidently lost her heart to her -middle-aged lover, and was delighted with the little house he had -provided for her in a London suburb. Two or three years later she became -a mother, but the child had died, and there was a pathetic document -recording her grief. In more recent years the intrigue had developed into -an established union; and Emily, now grown complacent, and probably fat, -became a secondary spouse and mistress of the old gentleman’s alternative -home. The tale ended, however, with Emily’s marriage, two years ago, at -the age of forty, to a young city clerk; and the only romantic features -of the close of his uncle’s double life was the fact that he had -preserved a little handkerchief of hers and a dead rose. - -“Well, Emily,” said Jim, aloud, “I wish you luck, wherever you are”; and -with that he gently thrust the relics into the flames. - -For some time he lay back upon the sofa in the firelight, his arms -behind his head, and thought over the story which had been revealed. It -seemed, then, that the Eleventh Commandment, “Thou shalt not be found -out,” was the essential of respectable life. A man could do what he -liked, provided that his delinquencies were hidden from his neighbours. -Was this sheer hypocrisy?—or was there some principle behind the code? -Did not Plato once say: “Every man should exert himself never to appear -to any one to be of base metal?” He had read the quotation somewhere. -Ought a man’s epitaph, then, to be: “He lived nobly, in that he kept up -appearances”?—or would it be better frankly to write: “He tried to walk -delicately, but the old Adam tripped him up?” - -What would the vicar, what would Miss Proudfoote, have said had either of -them known of this double life? Where would then have been the beautiful -example of a goodly life which his uncle had left behind him as an -inspiration to the whole neighbourhood? Was it not better that the secret -was kept? - -He found no answer to the questions which he thus put to himself; and -all that was apparent to him was that decent society was based not upon -the truth, but upon the hiding of the truth, and that the more lofty -the pretence the more high-principled would be the community. “Truly,” -he muttered, “we Anglo-Saxons are called hypocrites; but it is our -hypocrisy that keeps us clean!” And with that he returned to his guitar. - -A few days later he took Dolly for a walk across the fields. It was an -autumnal afternoon, and although the sun shone down from a cloudless sky, -there was a chilly haze over the land, which presaged the coming of the -first frosts. - -“I don’t know how I’m going to stand an English winter,” he said to her, -as they sat to rest upon a stile, under an oak from which the leaves -were falling. “Just look at the branches up there. They are nearly bare -already.” He shuddered. - -She looked at him almost reproachfully. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear you say -that,” she replied. “I love the winter. I am a child of the North, you -know. To me the grey skies and the bare trees have a sort of meaning -I can’t quite explain. They are so ... so English. Think of the long, -dark evenings, when you sit over the hearth, and the firelight jumps and -dances about the walls. Think how cosy one feels when one is tucked up in -bed.” - -He glanced down at her, and she smiled up at him with innocent eyes. - -“Think of the snow on the ground,” she went on, “and the robins hopping -about. You should just see me scampering over the snow in my big country -boots, and sliding down the lane. Oh, it’s lovely!” - -“I shouldn’t think my house is very warm,” he mused. - -“It could be made awfully cosy, I’m sure,” she said. “You must have big -log fires; and if I were you I’d buy some screens to put behind the -sofas and armchairs around the fire, so that you can have little lamp-lit -corners where you can sit as warm as a toast.” - -“Yes, that’s a good idea,” he answered. - -“Have you got a woolly waistcoat?” she asked, and when he replied in the -negative she told him that she would knit one for him at once. “I love -knitting,” she said; and at the moment she believed that she did. - -As they walked on she enlarged upon the delights of winter; and such -pleasant pictures did she draw that Jim began to think the coming -experience might hold unexpected happiness for him. She managed, somehow, -to introduce herself into all the scenes which she sketched, now as a -smiling little figure, vibrating with healthy life in the open air, now -purring like a warm, sleepy kitten before the fire indoors. - -“From what I saw the other night,” she told him, “you seem to have -an excellent hot-water supply. You’ll be able to have beautiful hot -baths.... I simply love lying in a boiling bath before I go to bed, don’t -you?” - -“I can’t say I do,” he laughed. “It makes the sheets feel so cold.” - -“Oh, but you must have them warmed, with a hot-bottle or something,” she -explained. “When it’s very, very cold I sometimes creep into bed with -mother, and we cuddle up and warm each other.” - -Again he glanced down at her quickly, wondering.... But her eyes were -those of a child. - -Presently their path led them through a gate into a field in which a few -cows were grazing; and on seeing them Dolly hesitated. - -“You’ll think me awfully silly,” she faltered, swallowing nervously, “but -I’m rather frightened of cows.” - -He smiled down at her. “Take my arm,” he said; and without waiting for -her to do so, he linked his own arm in hers and laid his hand over her -fingers. - -She looked anxiously at a mild-eyed, motherly cow which, weighed down -by her full udder, moved towards them slowly. “Oh dear,” she whispered, -“d’you think that cow is a bull?” - -She tugged at his arm, hurrying him forward; and thereat he closed his -hand more tightly over hers and drew her close to him. He had always -regarded himself as a man of the world, and his intellect had ever poked -fun at his sentiments. Yet now, in a situation so blatantly commonplace -that he might have been expected to be totally unmoved by it, he was -intrigued like a novice. Protecting a maiden from the cows!—it was the -A.B.C. of the bumpkin’s lovelore; and yet that vulgar old lady, Nature, -had once more effectually employed her hackneyed device to his undoing, -and here was he rejoicing in his protective strength, thrilled by the -beating heart of a frightened girl, as all his ancestors for hundreds of -thousands of years had been thrilled before him in the heydays of their -adolescence and in the morning of life. - -The amiable cow breathed heavily at them from a discreet distance, and -then, suddenly hilarious, lowered her head, kicked out her hind legs, -and gambolled beside them for a few yards. - -“Oh, oh!” cried Dolly, grabbing at Jim’s coat with her disengaged hand. -“I’m sure he’s going to toss us! Oh, do let’s run!” - -Jim halted, and held out his hand to the matronly beast. At that moment -the jeering sprite which sits in the brain of every Anglo-Saxon, pointing -with the finger of mockery at his heroics, was pushed from its throne; -and for a brief spell the bravado of primitive, gasconading man—the young -Adam cock-a-hoop—was dominant. Jim stepped forward, dragging Dolly with -him, and hit the astonished cow sharply across her flank with his hand, -whereat she went off at her best speed across the turf. - -“Oh, how brave you are!” whispered Dolly; and with that the jesting -sprite climbed back upon its throne, and Jim was covered with shame. - -“Nonsense!” he said. “You don’t suppose cows are put into a field through -which there’s a right of way unless they are perfectly harmless, do you?” - -But pass it off as he might, Nature had played her old, old trick upon -him, and in some subtle manner his relationship to Dolly had become more -intimate, more alluring; so much so, indeed, that when he said “good-bye” -to her he asked to be allowed soon to see her again. - -“I want to go in to a lecture in Oxford to-morrow evening,” she replied; -“but mother has to go to London, and won’t be back in time to take me. -Would you like to come?” - -“What’s the lecture about?” he asked. - -“‘The Emotional Development of the Child,’” she replied. “I love -anything to do with children, and everybody says Professor Robarts is -wonderful. He believes that a child’s character is formed in the first -three or four years of its life, and he thinks all girls should learn -just what to do, so that when they have babies of their own....” She -paused, and a dreamy look came into her eyes: a speaking look which told -of what the psycho-analysts call “the mother-urge”; and it made precisely -that impression upon Jim’s excited senses which it was intended to make. - -Wise was the Buddha when, in answer to Ananda’s question as to how he -should behave in the presence of women, he made the laconic reply: “Keep -wide awake.” - -“Right!” said Jim. “I’ll order old Hook’s barouche, and drive you in.” - -She told him that the lecture was to begin at nine, and he left her with -the promise that he would call for her in good time. - -Alone once more in his house, he could not put the thought of her -from his mind. This, perhaps, is not to be wondered at, for he was a -hot-blooded gipsy in more than appearance, and she was as pretty and -soft a little picture of feminine charm as ever graced an English -village. He failed, at any rate, to follow her strategy, and permitted -himself to be flustered by it, although there was no deliberate method -in her movements, nor did she employ any but those wiles which came -almost instinctively to her. Jim, with his experience, ought to have -realized that a woman who talks to a man innocently on intimate matters, -such as those which had cropped up without apparent intent in their -recent conversation, is, either consciously or unconsciously, Nature’s -_agent-provocateur_. She is leading his thoughts in that direction which -is the goal of her life, according to the ruthless whisperings of Nature, -who does not care one snap of the fingers for any but the first member of -that blessed trinity, Body, Soul and Spirit. The deft art of suggestion, -in the hands of an unscrupulous woman, is dangerous; but in those of a -feather-brained little conglomerate of feminine charms and instincts, it -is deadly. - -These quiet summer and autumn months in the heart of the English -countryside had sobered Jim’s mind, and his exalted fancy, which had led -him at times as it were to hurl himself at the gates of heaven, was gone -from him. He told himself that, having inherited this ancient house, it -was his business to take to his bosom a wife and helpmate. His primitive -manhood had been stirred by her, and his civilized reason justified the -riot of his mere senses by the plea of practical advantage and domestic -necessity. She was a splendid little housewife, he mused, a quiet little -country girl who had learnt her lesson in the school of privation. She -was so dainty, so soft, so pretty; she would always be singing and -smiling about the house, arranging the flowers, drawing back the chintz -curtains to let the sunlight in, dusting and polishing things, and, in -the evenings, sitting curled up in an armchair knitting him waistcoats. -It would be a pleasure to adorn her in pretty dresses and jewels, to take -her up to London and show her the world, and to give her the keys of the -domestic store-cupboards. So often in his life he had been afflicted by -the sense of his loneliness; but with her at his side that mental malady -would be exorcized like a dreary ghost. - -With such trivialities, when there is no real love, Nature the -Unscrupulous disguises her crude designs, and hides the one thing that -interests her in a shower of rice. All men and maidens are pawns in the -murderous game of Survival; and whether they go to happiness or to their -doom is a matter of utter indifference to the Player. Fortunately, there -are souls as well as bodies, and of souls a greater than Nature is Master. - -The remarkable fact was that Jim, whose mind was now so full of the -conjugal idea, was in no way suited to a domestic life. He was a rover, -a self-constituted alien from society; but the original line of his -thoughts had been warped by his inheritance of the family property, -following as it did so closely upon his experience in the rest-house at -Kôm-es-Sultân and his consequent distaste for isolation. He was, as it -were, a wild Bedouin tribesman from the desert, sojourning in a village -caravanserai; and this little maiden who had sidled up to him had so -taken his fancy that the habitation of man had come to seem an agreeable -home, and the distant uplands were forgotten. - -The grey and dreamy spires of Oxford themselves had wrought a change -in him. No man can come under their influence and maintain his mental -liberty: they are like a drug, soothing him into quiescence; they are -like a poem that drones into the brain the vanity of vigorous action. -From the windows of the manor they could be seen rising out of an -almost perpetual haze, and sometimes the breeze carried to this ancient -house the ancient sound of their chimes and their tolling. They seemed -to preach the blessedness of a quiet, peaceful life—home, marriage, -children; the continuous reproduction of unchanging types and the mild -obedience to the law of nature. - -On the following evening Mr. Hook drove them into Oxford in the old -barouche. It was a chilly night, and as the carriage rumbled along the -dark lanes Jim and Dolly sat close to one another, with a fur rug spread -across their knees. - -“I don’t think I’ve ever been to a lecture before in my life,” said he, -when their destination was reached. - -“Nor had I,” she replied, “until we came to live at Eversfield. But it -seems to be the correct thing to do in Oxford.” She amended her words: “I -mean, the most interesting thing to do.” - -The lecture was delivered in the hall of one of the colleges, and the -Professor proved to be a dull, reasonable man of the family doctor -type, who nevertheless aroused his audience, mostly female, to stern -expressions of approval by his declaration that the hand that spanks -the baby rules the world, and that Waterloo was won across the British -mother’s lap. - -It was after ten o’clock when they entered the carriage for the return -journey; and before they had passed the outskirts of Oxford Dolly began -to yawn. - -“I went for a tremendous long ramble in the woods to-day,” she explained, -“and now I can hardly keep my eyes open.” - -He arranged the rug around her, and made her put her feet up on the -opposite seat; then, extending his arm so that it rested behind her back, -he told her to take off her hat, lean her head against him, and go to -sleep. She settled herself down in this manner, naturally and without any -hesitation: she was like a tired child. - -In the carriage there was only a glimmer of light from the two lamps -outside; and as he sat back somewhat stiffly upon the jolting seat he -could but dimly see the mop of her fair hair against his shoulder and -the tip of her nose. He felt extraordinarily happy, and there was a -tenderness in his attitude towards her which was overwhelming. She seemed -so innocent and so trustful; and when for a moment the thought entered -his head that there was perhaps some half-conscious artifice in her -behaviour, he dismissed the suggestion with resentment. - -The carriage rolled on, and in the darkness he dreamt his dream just as -all young men have dreamt it since the world began. It seemed clear to -him, now, that he had missed the best of life, because he had seldom had -an intimate comrade with whom to share his experiences; for, as Seneca -said, “the possession of no good thing is pleasant without a companion.” -In the days of his wanderings, of course, a companion had been out of the -question; but now his travels were done, and there were no hardships to -deter him from marriage. He recalled the words of the Caliph Omar which -an Egyptian had once quoted to him: “After the Faith, no blessing is -equal to a good wife”; and he remembered something in the Bible about -her price being far above rubies. - -Yet such thoughts as these were but the feeble efforts of the mind to -keep pace with the senses. He was like a drunken man who speaks slowly -and distinctly to prove that he is not drunk. Had his senses permitted -him to be honest with himself he would have admitted that consideration -of the advantages of marriage had little influence upon him just now: he -wanted Dolly for his own; he wanted to put his arms about her and to kiss -her here and now while she slept; he wanted to pull her hair down so that -it should tumble about his fingers; he wanted to feel her heart beating -under his hand, to hear the sigh of her breath close to his ear.... - -He bent his head down so that his lips came close to her forehead, and -as he did so she raised her face. He was too deeply bewitched to realize -that, far from being tired, she was at that moment a conquering woman, -working at high pressure, acutely aware of his every movement, her nerves -and senses strained to win that which she so greatly desired. - -For some minutes he remained abnormally still, a little shy perhaps, -perhaps desiring to linger upon the wonderful moment like a child agape -at the threshold of a circus. Presently she sat up. - -“Why, I’ve been asleep!” she exclaimed. “Are we nearly home?” - -“Yes,” he answered, without rousing himself from his dream. - -She raised her hands to her head; she did something with her fingers -which, in the dim light, he could not see; and a moment later he felt -her hair tumbling about his hand. - -“Oh dear, my hair’s fallen down,” she said. - -He drew in his breath sharply. “Don’t wake up!” he gasped. “Put your head -down again where it was.” - -With a sigh of contentment she did as she was told; but now his arms were -around her, and all his ten fingers were buried in her hair. He could -just discern her eyes looking up at him with a sort of dismay in them; he -could see her mouth a little open. He bent down and kissed her lips. - - - - -Chapter VIII: MARRIAGE - - -An old proverb says that marriages are made in heaven. It is one of those -ridiculous utterances born of primitive fatalism: it is akin to the -statement that afflictions are sent by God for His inscrutable purpose. -Actually, marriages in their material aspect are made by soulless Nature, -who plots and plans for nothing else, and who cares for nothing else -except the production of the next generation. - -One cannot blame Dolly for using the less worthy arts of her sex to -capture the man she wanted. One cannot think ill of Jim for having been -betrayed by his senses into an alliance wherein there was little hope of -happiness. Nature has strewn the whole world with her traps; she tricks -and inveigles all young men and women with these dreams and promises of -joy; she schemes and intrigues and conspires for one purpose, and one -purpose only; and in so doing she has no more thought of that spiritual -union, which is the only sort of marriage made in heaven, than she has -when she sends the pollen from one flower to the next upon the wings of -the bees. - -Human beings in the spring-time of life are the dupes of Nature’s -heedless _joie de vivre_, and fortunate are those who can take her animal -pranks in good part and avoid getting hurt. Her victims are swayed -and tossed about by yearnings and desires, passions and jealousies, -tremendous joys and desperate sorrows: because she is everywhere at -work upon the sole occupation which interests her—her scheme of racial -survival. - -The marvel is that so many marriages are happy, considering that youths -and maidens are flung together, haphazard, by mighty forces, upon the -irresistibility of which the whole existence of the race depends. Well -does Nature know that if once men and women mastered their yearnings, if -once men should fail to hunt and women to entice, the game would be lost, -and the human race would become extinct. - -During the following week Jim and Dolly saw each other every day; but, -though their intimacy developed, Jim made no definite proposal of -marriage. He was a lazy fellow. It was as though he preferred to drift -into that state without undergoing the ordeal of the social formalities. -He seemed to be carried along by circumstances, yet he dreaded what may -be termed the business side of the matter. - -At length Dolly brought matters to a point in her characteristic manner -of assumed ingenuousness. “I think, dear,” she said, “we had better tell -mother about it now, hadn’t we? She will be so hurt if she finds that -we’ve been leaving her out of our happiness.” - -Jim made no protest. He felt rather stupid, and the thought of going to -Mrs. Darling, hand-in-hand with Dolly, seemed to him to be positively -frightening in its crudity. It would be like walking straight into a -trap. He would have preferred to slip off to a registry-office, and to -see no friend or relative for a year afterwards. - -The ordeal, however, proved to be less painful than he had anticipated, -thanks to the tact displayed by Mrs. Darling. When Dolly came into the -room at the cottage, triumphantly leading in her captive, the elder woman -at once checked any utterance which was about to be made by declaring -that Jim had just arrived in time to advise her in the choice of a new -chintz for her chairs. - -“Dolly, dear,” she said, “run upstairs and fetch me that book of -patterns, will you?” And as soon as the girl had left the room she added: -“I wonder whether your taste will agree with Dolly’s?” - -“I expect so,” he replied, significantly. - -“I hope so, for your sake,” she smiled; and then, turning confidentially -to him, she whispered: “Tell me quickly, before she comes back: do you -seriously want to marry her, or shall I help you to get out of it?” - -Jim was completely startled, and stammered the beginning of an incoherent -reply. - -She interrupted him, putting a plump hand on his shoulder. “It has been -clear to me for some time that Dolly is desperately in love with you, and -I know she has brought you here to settle the thing. But I’m a woman of -the world, my dear boy: I don’t want to rush you into anything you don’t -intend; for the fact is, I like you very much indeed.” - -Jim made the only possible reply. “But,” he said with conviction, “I want -to marry her. I’ve come to ask you. May I?” - -Mrs. Darling looked at him intently. “You will have to manage her,” she -told him. “She is very young and rather full of absurdities, you know. -But you have knocked about the world: I should think you would be able -to get the best out of her, and, anyhow, I shall feel she is in good -hands.” - -When the girl returned, after a somewhat prolonged absence, her mother -looked almost casually at her. “Dolly,” she said, “I don’t know if you -are aware of it, but you are engaged to be married.” - -Thereat the three of them laughed happily, and the rest was plain sailing. - -Later that day Dolly strolled arm-in-arm with Jim around the grounds of -the manor, looking about her with an air of proprietorship which he found -very fascinating. The linking of their lives and their belongings seemed -to him like a delightful game. - -“I do like your mother,” he said. “She’s a real good sort.” - -Dolly looked up at him quickly. “Poor mother!” she replied. “I don’t know -what we can do with her. She won’t like leaving Eversfield.” - -“Oh, why should she go?” Jim asked. - -“It would never do for her to stay,” Dolly answered firmly. -“Mothers-in-law are always in the way, however nice they are. I’m not -going to risk her getting on your nerves.” She looked at him with an -expression like that of a wise child. - -“Well, we’ll rent a flat for her in London,” he suggested, “and I’ll give -her the cottage, too, so that she can come down to it sometimes.” - -Dolly shook her head. “No,” she said coldly, “she has enough money to -keep herself.” His sentiments in regard to her mother had perhaps ruffled -her somewhat, and an expression had passed over her face which she hoped -he had not seen. She endeavoured, therefore, to turn his thoughts to more -intimate matters. “I should hate mother to be a burden to you,” she went -on. “It’ll be bad enough for you to have to buy all my clothes.” - -“I shall love it,” he replied, with enthusiasm. - -“Ah, you don’t know how expensive they are,” she hesitated. “You see, -it isn’t only what shows on top”—her voice died down to a luscious -whisper—“it’s all the things underneath as well. Women’s clothes are -rather wonderful, you know.” - -She smiled shyly, and at that moment their marriage was to him a thing -most fervently to be desired. - -Events moved quickly, and it was decided that the engagement should not -be of long duration. The news of the coming wedding caused a great stir -in the village; and when the banns were read in the little church all -eyes were turned upon them as they sat, he in the Squire’s pew, and she -with her mother near by. They formed a curious contrast in type: she, -with her fair hair, her childlike face, and her dainty little figure; and -he with his swarthy complexion, his dark, restless eyes, and his rather -untidy clothes. People wondered whether they would be happy, and the -general opinion was that the little lamb had fallen into the power of a -wolf. The village, in fact, had not taken kindly to the new Squire and -his “foreign” ways; and Mrs. Spooner, the doctor’s wife, had voiced the -general opinion by nicknaming him “Black Rupert.” - -The weeks passed by rapidly, and soon Christmas was upon them. The -wedding was fixed for the end of January, and during that month Jim -caused various alterations to be made in the furnishing of the manor, -in accordance with Dolly’s wishes, for she held very decided views in -this regard, and did not agree with his retention of so many of the -mid-Victorian features in the drawing-room and the bedrooms. He himself -had intended at first to be rid of most of these things, but later he had -begun to feel, as Mr. Beadle had said he would, that he owed a certain -homage to the past. - -“Men don’t understand about these things,” Dolly said to him, patting his -face; “but, if you want to please me, you’ll let me make a list of the -pieces of furniture that ought to be got rid of and sell them.” - -The consequence was that a van-load left the manor a few days later, and -Miss Proudfoote and the vicar held one another’s hand as it passed, and -choked with every understandable emotion, while Mr. and Mrs. Longarm wept -openly at the gates. - -The wedding-day at length arrived, and the ceremony proved a very trying -ordeal to Jim; for Mr. Glenning had organized the village demonstrations -of goodwill, with the result that the school children, blue with cold, -were lined up at the church door, the pews inside were packed with -uncomfortably-dressed yokels with burnished faces and creaking boots, and -a great deal of rice was thrown as the happy couple left the building. - -Afterwards there was a reception at the Darling’s cottage; and Jim, -wearing a tail-coat and a stiff collar for the first time in his life, -suffered torments which were not entirely ended by a later change into a -brand-new suit of grey tweed. Throughout this trying time Mrs. Darling, -fat and flushed, proved to be his comforter and his stand-by; and it was -through her good offices that the hired car, which was to take them to -the railway station at Oxford, claimed them an hour too early. - -Dolly, who had looked like an angel of Zion in her wedding dress, -appeared, in her travelling costume, like a dryad of the Bois de -Boulogne, and Jim, who had seen something of her trousseau, turned to -Mrs. Darling in rapture. - -“I say!” he exclaimed. “You have rigged Dolly out wonderfully! I’ve never -seen such clothes.” - -Mrs. Darling smiled. “I believe in pretty dresses,” she said, with -fervent conviction. “They tend to virtue. I believe that when the -respectable women of England took to wearing what were called indecent -clothes, they struck their first effective blow at the power of -Piccadilly. Has it never occurred to you that young peers have almost -ceased to marry chorus girls now that peer’s daughters dress like leading -ladies?” - -The honeymoon was spent upon the Riviera, and here it was that Jim -realized for the first time the exactions of marriage. This exquisitely -costumed little wife of his could not be taken to the kind of inn -which he had been accustomed to patronize, and he was therefore -obliged to endure all the discomforts of fashionable hotel life, with -its nerve-racking corollaries—the jabbering crowds, the perspiring, -stiff-shirted diners, the clatter, bustle and perplexity, terminating in -each case in the dreaded crisis of gratuity-giving and escape. - -With all his Bedouin heart he loathed this sort of thing, and, had he not -been the slave of love, he would have rebelled against it at once. Dolly -saw his distress, but only added to it by her superior efforts to train -him in the way in which he should go; and it was with a sigh of profound -relief that at length he found himself in Eversfield once more, when the -first buds of spring were powdering the trees with green, and the early -daffodils were opening to the growing warmth of the sun. - -Jim’s work in connection with the estate was not onerous, but he very -soon found that various small matters had constantly to be seen to, -and often they were the cause of annoyance. Rents were not always paid -promptly, and if his agent pressed for them the tenants regarded Jim, -who knew nothing about it, as stern and exacting. Mr. Merrivall held his -lease of Rose Cottage on terms which provided that the tenant should -be responsible for all interior repairs; and now he announced that the -kitchen boiler was worn out, and the question had to be decided as to -whether a boiler was an interior or a structural fitting. Some eighty -acres were farmed by Mr. Hopkins on a sharing agreement, that is to -say, Jim took a part of the profits in lieu of rent; but this sort of -arrangement is always fruitful of disputes, and, in the case in question, -the fact that Jim instinctively mistrusted Farmer Hopkins, and Farmer -Hopkins mistrusted Jim, led at once to friction. - -Matters came to a head in the early summer. The farmer had decided to -remove the remains of a last year’s hayrick from the field where it stood -to a shed near his stable, and, during the process, he attempted to make -a short-cut by drawing his heavily-loaded wagon over a disused bridge -which spanned a ditch. The bridge, however, collapsed under the weight, -and the wagon was wrecked. - -The farmer thereupon demanded compensation from Jim, since the latter -was the owner of the bridge and therefore responsible for it. Jim, -however, replied that that road had been closed for many years to all but -pedestrians, and, if anything, the farmer ought to pay for the mending -of the bridge. Mr. Hopkins then declared that he was going to law, and, -in the meantime, he aired his grievances nightly at the “Green Man,” the -village public-house. - -The trouble simmered for a time, and then, one morning, the two men met -by chance at the scene of the disaster. A wordy argument followed, and -Farmer Hopkins, with a mouthful of oaths, repeated his determination to -go to law, whereupon Jim lost his temper. - -“Look here!” he said. “I don’t know anything about your blasted law, but -I do know when I’m being imposed upon. If you mention the word ‘law’ to -me again I’ll put my fist through your face.” - -“Two can play at that game,” exclaimed the farmer, red with anger. - -“Very well, then, come on!” cried Jim, impulsively, and, pulling off his -coat and tossing his hat aside, he began to roll up his shirt-sleeves. - -Mr. Hopkins was a bigger and heavier man than the Squire, but Jim had the -advantage of him in age, being some five years younger, and they were -therefore very well matched. The farmer however, did not wish to fight, -and, indeed, was so disconcerted at the prospect that he stood staring -at Jim’s lithe, wild figure like a puzzled bull. - -“Take your coat off!” Jim shouted. “We’ll have this matter out now. Put -up your fists!” - -The farmer thereupon dragged off his coat, and a moment later the two men -were at it hammer and tongs, Mr. Hopkins’ fists swinging like a windmill, -and Jim, with more skill, parrying the blows and sending right and left -to his opponent’s body with good effect. The first bout was ended by Jim -dodging a terrific right and returning his left to the farmer’s jaw, -thereby sending him to the ground. - -As he rose to his feet Jim shouted at him: “Well, will you now mend your -own damned cart and let me mend my bridge?—or do you want to go on?” - -For answer the infuriated Mr. Hopkins charged at him, and, breaking his -guard, sent his fist into Jim’s eye; but he omitted to follow up the -advantage with his idle left, and, in consequence, received an exactly -similar blow upon his own bloodshot optic. - -It was at this moment that a scream was heard, and Dolly appeared from -behind a hedge, a curious habit of hers, that of always wishing to know -what her husband was doing, having led her to follow him into the fields. - -“James!” she cried in horror—ever since their marriage she had called him -“James”—“What are you doing? Mr. Hopkins!—are you both mad?” - -“Pretty mad,” replied Jim. - -“Call yourself a gentleman!” roared the farmer, holding his hand to his -eye. - -“Oh, please, please!” Dolly entreated. “Go home, Mr. Hopkins, before he -kills you! James, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, fighting like a -common man. You have disgraced me!” - -Jim, who was recovering his coat, looked up at her out of his one -serviceable eye in astonishment. Then, turning to his opponent, he said: -“We’ll finish this some other time, if you want to.” - -He then walked off the field of battle, his coat slung across his -shoulder and his dark hair falling over his forehead, while Mr. Hopkins -sat down upon the stump of a tree and spat the blood out of his mouth. - -For many days thereafter Dolly would hardly speak to her disfigured -husband, except to tell him, when he walked abroad with his blackened -eye, that he had no shame. Farmer Hopkins, however, mended his wagon -in time, and Jim mended his bridge; and there, save for much village -head-shaking at the “Green Man” and melancholy talk at the vicarage, the -matter ended. It was a regrettable affair, and the general opinion in the -village was that “Black Rupert” was a man to be avoided. Miss Proudfoote, -in fact, would hardly bow to him when next she passed him in the lane; -and even Mr. Glenning, who quarrelled with no man, gazed at him, in -church on the following Sunday, with an expression of deep reproof upon -his venerable face. - -It was after this painful incident that Jim formed the habit of going -for long rambling walks by himself, or of wandering deep into the woods -near the manor. Sometimes he would sit for hours upon a stile in the -fields, sucking a straw and staring vacantly into the distance at the -misty towers and spires of the ancient University, or lie in the grass, -gazing up at the sky, listening to the far-off bells, his arms behind -his head. Sometimes he would take a book from his uncle’s library—some -eighteenth-century romance, or a volume of Elizabethan poetry—and go with -it into the woods, there to remain for a whole afternoon, reading in it -or in the book of Nature. - -These woods had a curious effect upon him, and entering them seemed to -be like finding sanctuary. It was not that his life, at this period, was -altogether unhappy: his heart was full of tenderness towards Dolly, and, -if her behaviour was beginning to disappoint him, his attitude was at -first but one of vague disquietude. Yet here amongst the understanding -trees he felt that he was taking refuge from some menace which he could -not define; and at times he wondered whether the sensation was due to -a mental throw-back to some outlawed ancestor who had roamed the merry -greenwood, in the manner of Adam Bell and Clim of the Clough and William -Cloudesley in the ancient ballads of the North of England. - -He was conscious of a decided sense of failure and he felt that he was a -useless individual. To a limited extent he used his brains and his pen in -writing the verses which always amused him, but he rarely finished any -such piece of work, and seldom composed a poem of any considerable length. - -His character was not of the kind which would be likely to appeal to the -stay-at-home Englishman. He did not play golf, and though as a youth he -had been fond of cricket and tennis, his wandering life had given him no -opportunities of maintaining his skill in these games, and now it was too -late to begin again. He was not particularly interested in horseflesh, -and he had no mechanical turn which might vent itself in motoring. -His habits were modest and temperate; he preferred pitch-and-toss or -“shove-ha’penny” to bridge; and he was a poor judge of port wine. He was -sociable where the company was to his taste, but neither his neighbours -at and around Eversfield, nor the professors at Oxford, were congenial -to him. When there were visitors to the manor he was generally not able -to be found; and when he was obliged to accompany his wife to the houses -of other people, he was conscious that her eyes were upon him anxiously, -lest he should show himself for what he was—a rebel and an outlaw. - -On one occasion the vicar persuaded him to sing and play his guitar at -a village concert; but the result was disastrous, and the invitation -was never repeated. He chose to sing them Kipling’s “Mandalay”; but the -pathos and the romance of the rough words were lost upon his stolid -audience, to whom there was no meaning in the picture of the mist on the -rice-fields and the sunshine on the palms, nor sense in the contrasting -description of the “blasted Henglish drizzle” and the housemaids with -beefy faces and grubby hands. - -He himself was carried away by the words, and he sang with fervour:— - - Ship me somewhere east of Suez, where the best is like the worst - Where there aren’t no Ten Commandments, an’ a man can raise a thirst; - For the temple-bells are callin’, an’ it’s there that I would be— - By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea. - -He did not see Dolly’s frowns, nor the pained expression upon the -vicar’s face, nor yet the smirks of the yokels; and when the song was -ended he came suddenly back to earth, as it were, and was abashed at the -feebleness of the applause. - -Later, as he left the hall, he was stopped outside the door by a -disreputable, red-haired creature, nicknamed “Smiley-face,” who was -often spoken of as the village idiot. He grinned at Jim and touched his -forelock. - -“Thank ’e, sir,” he said, “for that there song. My, you do sing -beautiful, sir!” - -“I’m glad you liked it,” Jim answered. - -“It was just like dreamin’,” Smiley-face muttered. - -Jim looked at him quickly, and felt almost as though he had found a -friend. He himself had been dreaming as he sang, and here, at any rate, -was one man who had dreamed with him—and they called him the village -idiot! - - - - -Chapter IX: IN THE WOODS - - -As in the case of so many unions in which mutual attraction of a quite -superficial nature has been mistaken for love, the marriage of Jim -and Dolly was a complete disaster. Disquietude began to make itself -felt within a few weeks, but many months elapsed before Jim faced the -situation without any further attempt at self-deception. The revelation -that he had nothing to say to his wife, no thought to exchange with her, -had come to him early. At first he had tried to believe that it was due -to some sort of natural reticence in both their natures; and one day, -chancing to open a volume of the poems of Matthew Arnold which Dolly had -placed upon an occasional table in the drawing-room (for the look of the -thing) he had found some consolation in the following lines:— - - Alas, is even Love too weak - To unlock the heart and let it speak? - Are even lovers powerless to reveal - To one another what indeed they feel? - I knew the mass of men conceal’d - Their thoughts.... - But we, my love—does a like spell benumb - Our hearts, our voices? Must we, too, be dumb? - -Other lovers, then, had experienced that blank-wall feeling: it was just -human nature. But soon he began to realize that in this case the trouble -was more serious. He had nothing to say to her. She did not understand -him, nor call forth his confidences. - -For months he had struggled against the consciousness that he had made -a fatal mistake; but at length the horror of his marriage, of his -inheritance, and of society in general as he saw it here in England, -became altogether too large a presence to hide itself in the dark -corners of his mind. It came out of the shadows and confronted him in -the daylight of his heart—an ugly, menacing figure, towering above him, -threatening him, arguing with him, whithersoever he went. He attributed -features to it, and visualized it so that it took definite shape. It had -a lewd eye which winked at him; it had a ponderous, fat body, straining -at the buttons of the black clothing of respectability; it had heavy, -flabby hands which stroked him as though urging him to accept its -companionship. It was his gaoler, and it wanted to be friends with him. - -At length one autumn day, while he was sitting in the woods among the -falling leaves, he turned his inward eyes with ferocious energy upon the -monster, and set his mind to a full study of the situation it personified. - -In the first place, Dolly held views in regard to the position and status -of wife which offended Jim’s every ideal. She was firmly convinced -that marriage was, first and foremost, designed by God for the purpose -of producing in the male creature a disinclination for romance. It -involved a mutual duty, a routine: the wife had functions to perform -with condescension, the husband had recurrent requirements to be -indulged in order that his life might pursue its way with the least -possible excitement. The whole thing was an ordained and prescriptive -business, like a soldier’s drill or a patient’s diet; nor did she seem to -realize that there was no room for real love in her conception of their -relationship, no sweet enchantment, no exaltation. - -Then, again, he was very much disappointed that Dolly had no wish to -have a child of her own. She had explained to him early in their married -life how her doctor had told her there would be the greatest possible -danger for her in motherhood; but it had not taken Jim long to see that a -combination of fear, selfishness and vanity were the true causes of her -disinclination to maternity. She was always afraid of pain and in dread -of death; she always thought first of her own comfort; and she was vain -of her youthful figure. - -These two facts, that she asserted herself as his wife and that she -shunned parenthood, combined to produce a condition of affairs which -offended Jim’s every instinct. In these matters men are so often more -fastidious than women, though the popular pretence is to the contrary; -and in the case of this unfortunate marriage there was an appalling -contrast between the crudity of the angel-faced little wife and the -delicacy of the hardy husband. - -A further trouble was that she regarded marriage as a duality -incompatible with solitude or with any but the most temporary separation. -One would have thought that she had based her interpretation of the -conjugal state upon some memory of the Siamese Twins. When Jim was -writing verses in the study—an occupation which, by the way, she -endeavoured to discourage—she would also want to write there; when he -was entertaining a male friend she would enter the room, and refuse -to budge—not because she liked the visitor, but because she must -needs assert her standing as wife and as partner of all her husband’s -amusements; when he went into Oxford or up to London she would insist -on going too; even when he was talking to the gardener she would come -up behind him, slip her arm through his, and immediately enter the -conversation. - -At first, when he used to tell her that he was going alone into Oxford -to have a drink and a chat in the public room at one of the hotels, she -would burst into tears, or take offence less liquid but more devastating. -Later she accused him of an intrigue with a barmaid, and went into -tantrums when in desperation he replied: “No such luck.” For the sake of -peace he found it necessary at last to give up all such excursions except -when they were unavoidable, and gradually his life had become that of a -prisoner. - -She carried this assertion of her wifely rights to galling and -intolerable lengths. She would look over his shoulder when he was writing -letters, and would be offended if he did not let her do so, or if he -withheld the letters he received. On two or three occasions she had come -to him, smiling innocently, and had handed him some opened envelope, and -had said: “I’m so sorry, dear; I opened this by mistake. I thought it was -for me.” - -He could keep nothing from her prying eyes; and yet, in contrast to this -curiosity, she showed no interest whatsoever in his life previous to his -marriage, a fact which indicated clearly enough that her concern was -solely in regard to _her_ relationship with him, and was not prompted by -any desire to enter into his personality. At first he had wanted to tell -her of his early wanderings; but she had been bored, or even shocked, by -his narrations, and had told him that his adventures did not sound very -“nice.” Thus, though now she watched his every movement, she had no idea -of his early travels, nor knew, except vaguely, what lands he had dwelt -in, nor was she aware that in those days he had passed under the name of -Easton. - -Now Jim enjoyed telling a story: he was, in fact, a very interesting -and vivacious raconteur; and he felt, at first, sad disappointment -that his roaming life should be regarded as a subject too dull or too -unrespectable for narration. “It’s a funny thing,” he once said to -himself, “but that girl, Monimé, at Alexandria knows far more about me -than my own wife, and I only knew her for a few hours!” - -And then her poses and affectations! He discovered early in their -married life that her offers to teach the cook her business, or to knit -him waistcoats, were entirely fraudulent. She had none of the domestic -virtues—a fact which only troubled him because she persisted in seeing -herself in the rôle of practical housewife: he had no wish for her to be -a cook or a sewing woman. She went through a phase in which she pictured -herself as a sun-bonneted poultry-farmer. She bought a number of Rhode -Island Reds and Buff Orpingtons; she caused elaborate hen-houses to be -set up; and she subscribed to various poultry fanciers’ journals. But -it was not many weeks before the pens were derelict and their occupants -gone. For some months she played the part of the Lady Bountiful to the -village, and might have been seen tripping down the lanes to visit the -aged cottagers, a basket on her arm. This occupation, however, soon began -to pall, and her apostacy was marked by a gradual abandonment of the job -to the servants. Later she had attached herself to the High Church party -in Oxford, and had added new horrors to the state of wedlock by regarding -it as a mystic sacrament.... - -The most recent of her phases had followed on from this. She had asked -Jim to allow her to bring to the house the orphaned children of a distant -relative of her mother’s: two little girls, aged four and five. “It will -be so sweet,” she had said, “to hear their merry laughter echoing about -this old house. It will be some compensation for my great sorrow in not -being allowed to have babies of my own.” - -Jim had readily consented, for he was very fond of children; and soon -the mites had arrived, very shy and tearful at first, but presently well -content with their lot. Dolly declared that no nurse would be necessary, -as she would delight in attending to them herself, and for two weeks she -had played the little mother with diminishing enthusiasm. But the day -speedily came when help was found to be necessary, and now a good-natured -nursery-governess was installed at the manor. - -Having thus regained her leisure, she bought a notebook, and labelling -it “The Tiny Tot’s Treasury,” spent several mornings in dividing the -pages into sections under elaborate headings written in a large round -hand. Jim chanced upon this book one day—it lay open upon a table—and two -section-headings caught his eye. They read:— - - _Hands, games with_ _Toes, games with_ - - “Can you keep a secret?” “This little pig went to market.” - “Pat-a-cake.” - -The book was abandoned within a week or two; but the recollection of its -futility, its pose, remained in Jim’s memory for many a day. - -The presence of these two little girls, while being a considerable -pleasure to Jim in itself, had been the means of irritating him still -further in regard to his wife. Sometimes, when she remembered it, she -would go up to the nursery to bid them “good-night” and to hear their -prayers; and when he accompanied her upon this mission his spontaneous -heart was shocked to notice how her attitude towards them was dictated -solely by the picture in her own mind which represented herself as -the ideal mother. There was a long mirror in the nursery, and, as she -caressed the two children, her eyes were fixed upon her own reflection as -though the vision pleased her profoundly. - -And then, only a few days ago, a significant occurrence had taken place -which had led to a painful scene between Dolly and himself. One morning -at breakfast the elder of the two little girls had told him that she had -had an “awfully awful” dream. - -“It was all about babies,” she had said, and then, pausing shyly, she had -added: “But I mustn’t tell you about it, because it’s very naughty.” - -He was alone in the room with them at the time, and he had questioned -the round-eyed little girl, and had eventually extracted from her the -startling information that on the previous evening Dolly had been telling -them “how babies grew,” but had warned them that it would be naughty to -talk about it. - -He was furious, and when his wife came downstairs at mid-morning—she -always had her breakfast in bed—he had caught hold of her arm and had -asked her what on earth she meant by talking in this manner to two -infants of four and five years of age. - -“It’s not your business,” was the reply. “You must trust a woman’s -instinct to know when to reveal things to little girls.” - -“Oh, rot” he had answered, angrily; and suddenly he had put into hot and -scornful words his interpretation of Dolly’s untimely action. “The fact -is, your motive is never disinterested. You are always picturing yourself -in one rôle or another. You didn’t even think what sort of impression you -were making on the minds of those little girls: you were only play-acting -for your own edification.” - -“I don’t understand you,” she had stammered, shocked and frightened. - -“You pictured yourself,” he went on, with bitter sarcasm, “as the sweet -and wise mother revealing to the wide-eyed little girls the great secrets -of Nature. I suppose some Oxford ass has been lecturing to a lot of you -silly women about the duties of motherhood, and you at once built up your -foolish picture, and thought it would make a charming scene—the gentle -mother, the two little babies at your knee, their lisping questions -and your pure, sweet answer, telling them the wonderful vocation of -womanhood. And then you went upstairs and forced it on the poor little -souls, just to gratify your vanity; but afterwards you were frightened at -what you had done, and told them they mustn’t speak about it, because it -was naughty. Naughty!—Good God!—That one word has already sown the seed -of corruption in their minds. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.” - -He had not waited for her reply, but had left the room, and had gone -with clenched fists into the woods, his usual refuge, sick at heart, and -appalled that his life was linked to such a sham thing as his wife had -proved herself to be. - -He had longed to get away from her, away from Eversfield, back to his -beloved high roads once more, out of this evil stagnation; and all the -while the ponderous, black-coated creature of his imagination had leered -at him and stroked him. - -When next he saw his wife he had found her in the rock-garden playing a -game with the two children, as though she were determined to make him -realize her ability to enter into their mental outlook. “We are playing a -game of fairies,” she had told him, evidently not desiring to keep up the -quarrel. “All the flowers are enchanted people, and the rockery there is -an ogre’s castle. We’re having a lovely time.” - -The two little girls actually were standing staring in front of them, -utterly bored; for the ability to play with children is a delicate art -in which few “grown-ups” are at ease. But Dolly, as she crouched upon -the ground, was not concerned with anybody save herself, and the game was -designed for the applause of her inward audience and for the eye of her -husband, and not at all for the entertainment of her charges. - -“Well, when you’ve finished I want you to come and help me tidy my -writing-table and tear things up,” he had said to the children; and -thereat they had asked Dolly whether they might please go now, and -had pranced into the house at his side, leaving her sighing in the -rock-garden. - -Thoughts and memories such as these paraded before his mind’s eye as he -sat upon a fallen tree trunk, deep in the woods. The afternoon was warm -and still, and the leaves which fell one by one from the surrounding -trees seemed to drop from the branches deliberately, as though each were -answering an individual call of the earth. Sometimes his heavy thoughts -were interrupted by the shrill note of a bird, and once there was a -startled scurry amongst the undergrowth as a rabbit observed him and went -bounding away. - -The wood was not very extensive, but, with the surrounding fields, it -afforded a certain amount of shooting; and one of Jim’s tenants, Pegett -by name, who lived in a cottage in a clearing at the far side, acted as a -sort of gamekeeper, his house being given to him free of rent in return -for his services. - -The sun had set, and the haze of a windless twilight had gathered in the -distant spaces between the trees when at length Jim rose to return to the -manor. His ruminations had led him to no very definite conclusion, save -only that he had made a horrible mistake, and that he must adjust his -life to this glaring fact, even though he offend Dolly’s dignity in the -process. - -As he stood for a moment in silence, stretching his arms like one awaking -from sleep, he was suddenly aware of the sound of cracking twigs and -rustling leaves, and, looking in the direction from which it came, he -caught sight of the red-faced Pegett, the gamekeeper, emerging, gun in -hand, from behind a group of tree-trunks. The man ran forward, and then, -recognizing him, paused and touched his cap. - -“Beg pardon, sir,” he said, breathing heavily, “I’m after that there -poaching thief, Smiley-face. ’E’s at it again: I seen ’im slip in with -’is tackle. I seen ’im from my window.” - -“He’s not been this way,” Jim assured him. “I’ve been sitting here a long -time.” - -“’E’s a clever ’un!” Pegett muttered, “but I’ll get ’im one ’o these -days, sir, I will; and I’ll put a barrel o’ shot into ’is legs.” - -“He’s not quite right in his head, is he?” Jim asked. - -“Oh, ’e’s wise enough,” the man replied; “wise enough to get ’is dinner -off of your rabbits, sir. That’s been ’is game since ’e were no more’n a -lad. And never done an honest day’s work in ’is life.” - -Smiley-face, as has been said, was generally considered to be -half-witted; but on the few occasions on which Jim had spoken to him he -had answered intelligently enough, not to say cheekily, though there -was something most uncanny about his continuous smile. Nobody seemed to -know exactly how he lived. He slept in a garret in a lonely cottage -belonging to an aged and witch-like woman known as old Jenny, and it was -to be presumed that he did odd jobs for her in return for his keep; but -she herself was a mysterious soul, not inclined to waste words on the -passer-by, and her cottage, which stood midway between Eversfield and the -neighbouring village of Bedley-Sutton, was superstitiously shunned by the -inhabitants of both places. - -Pegett was eager to track down the malefactor, and presently he -disappeared among the trees, moving like a burlesque of a Red Indian, and -actually making sufficient noise to rouse the woods for a hundred yards -around. Jim, meanwhile, made his way towards the manor, walking quietly -upon the moss-covered path, and pausing every now and then to listen -to the distant commotion caused by the gamekeeper’s efforts to break a -silent way through the brittle twigs and crisp, dead leaves. - -He had just sighted the gate which led from the wood to the lower part -of the garden of the manor when his eye was attracted by the swaying of -the upper branch of an oak a short distance from the path. He paused, -wondering what had caused the movement, which had sent a shower of -leaves to the ground, and to his surprise he presently discerned a man’s -foot resting upon it, the remainder of his body being hidden behind the -broad trunk. He guessed immediately that he had chanced upon, and treed, -Smiley-face, and, having a fellow feeling for the poacher, he called -out to him, quite good-naturedly, to come down. He received no answer, -however; and going therefore to the foot of the oak, he looked up at the -man, who was now hardly concealed, and again addressed him. - -“It’s no good pretending to be a woodpecker, Smiley-face,” he said. “Come -down at once, or I’ll shy a stone at you.” - -Smiley-face was a youngish man, with dirty red hair, puckered pink skin, -and a smile which extended from ear to ear. His nose was snub, and his -eyes were like two sparkling little blue beads, cunning and merry. He now -thrust this surprising countenance forward over the top of a branch, and -stared down at Jim with an expression of intense relief. - -“Lordee!—it’s the Squire,” he muttered. “You did give I a fright, sir: I -thought it was Mr. Pegett with ’is gun. Shoot I dead, ’e said he would. -’E said it to my face, up yonder at the Devil’s Crossroads: would you -believe it?” - -“Yes, he told me he’d let you have an ounce of small shot, but only in -the legs of course.” - -“Oo!” said Smiley-face. “And me that tender, what with thorn and nettle -and the midges.” - -“You’d better come down,” Jim advised. “He’s after you now; and you can -see I myself haven’t got my gun with me, or I’d pepper you too.” - -The man descended the tree, talking incoherently as he swung from branch -to branch. Presently he dropped to the ground from one of the lower -boughs, and stood grinning before Jim, a dirty, ragged creature without a -point to commend him. - -“Fairly cotched I am,” he declared. “But I knows a gen’l’man when I sees -un. I knows when it’s safe and when it baint. If I was to run now, d’you -reckon you could catch I, sir?” - -For answer Jim’s lean arm shot out, and his hand gripped hold of the -handkerchief knotted around the man’s neck. Smiley-face swung his fist -round, but the blow missed; and Jim, who had learnt a trick or two from a -little Jap in California, tripped him up with ease, and the next moment -was kneeling upon his chest. - -“What about that, Smiley-face?” he asked, laughing. - -“Wonderful!” replied the poacher. “I should never ha’ thought it.” - -Jim rose to his feet. “Get up,” he said, “and let me hear what you’ve got -to say for yourself.” Then, as the man did as he was bid, he added: “If -Pegett comes along, you can slip through that gate and across my garden. -Nobody will see you.” - -Smiley-face grinned. “Thank’ee kindly, sir,” he said, touching his -forelock. “I knew you was a kind gen’l’man.” - -“Oh, cut that out,” Jim replied sharply. “What d’you mean by going after -my rabbits?” - -“O Lordee! Be they yours?” Smiley-face scratched his red head. - -“You know very well they are. I own this place, don’t I?” - -“And the rabbits, too?” - -“Well, of course!” - -“I reckon _they_ don’t know it, sir,” Smiley-face muttered, still -grinning broadly. - -“Don’t be an idiot,” said Jim. - -The poacher held up his forefinger as though in reproach. “I’m a poor -man, me lord,” he murmured. - -“You’re a thief.” - -“Oh, no,” replied Smiley-face with assurance. “Poachers isn’t thieves, -your highness.” - -“Well they’re _my_ rabbits.” - -“But I’m a poor man,” the other repeated. - -“So you said,” Jim answered. “That’s no excuse.” - -Smiley-face shook his head. “You wouldn’t be like to understand a poor -man—not with a big ’ouse, and ’undreds o’ rabbits, you wouldn’t.” - -“Oh, wouldn’t I!” said Jim. “I’ve been poor myself. I’ve known what it is -not to have a cent in the world. I’ve slept in hedges; I’ve tramped the -roads....” - -“_You_ ’ave?” The poacher was incredulous, and thrust his head forward, -staring at his captor with cunning little eyes. - -“Yes, I have,” Jim declared. - -“Lordee!” exclaimed Smiley-face. “Then you know....” - -“Know what?” asked Jim. - -The man made a non-committal gesture. “It’s not for me to say what you -know, your worship. But you _do_ know.” - -Jim made an impatient movement. “Look here now, if I let you go this time -will you promise not to do it again?” - -Smiley-face shook his head, and again touched his forelock. “Oh, I -couldn’t do that, sir. It’s tremenjus sport; and old Jenny she do cook -rabbit fine, sir; _and_ eat un, too. Don’t be angry, your highness,” he -added quickly, as Jim turned threateningly upon him. - -“Don’t keep calling me ‘your highness’ and ‘my lord.’ I’m a plain man, -the same as you.” - -“So you be, sir,” the other smiled. “You’ve walked the roads; you’ve lain -out o’ nights. You _know_. And now you’re a-askin’ o’ I not to poach! -Oh, you can’t do that, sir....” - -“Well, supposing I give you permission to poach every now and then?” Jim -suggested. - -“What?—and tell Mr. Pegett not to shoot I dead? Oh, no; there wouldn’t be -no sport in that.” - -Jim held out his hand. “Look here, Smiley-face,” he said. “You seem to be -pulling my leg, but I rather like you. Let’s be friends.” - -The man drew back. “Well, I don’t ’xactly ’old with friends, sir. Friends -laughs at friends.” - -Nevertheless, he grasped the proffered hand. - -“Nonsense,” Jim replied. “Friends are people who stand by one another -through thick and thin. Friends are people who have something in common -which they both defend. You and I have something in common, Smiley-face.” - -“And what be that?” the man asked. - -“Why,” laughed Jim, “we’re both up against it. We’re both failures in -life, tramps by nature. As you say, we both _know_.” - -Smiley-face stared at him, not altogether understanding his words. - -“You’d better come across the garden with me now,” said Jim. - -The poacher shook his head. “No, sir, I reckon I’ll bide ’ere, and go -back through the woods.” - -“But Pegett’s there with his gun.” - -Smiley-face grinned. “’E’ll not get I, never you fear!” - -Jim turned and walked towards the gate; and presently his friend the -poacher moved stealthily away into the gathering dusk, and soon was lost -amongst the trees. - - - - -Chapter X: THE END OF THE TETHER - - -“It must be my laziness,” Jim muttered to himself, as he came meandering -down the lane after a long rambling walk around Ot Moor, and through the -woods on the far side. It was spring once more, and the third anniversary -of his marriage had gone by. - -His remark was made in answer to his reiterated question as to why he had -not sooner broken away. He heartily disliked any kind of “scene,” and, -being a fatalist, he had preferred to “let things rip,” as he termed it, -than to make a bid for that freedom which he had so recklessly abandoned. -It was true that he had gone up to London more frequently of late; but -any longer absences from home had caused such an intolerable display -either of temper or of feminine jobbery on Dolly’s part that Jim had -found the game hardly worth the candle. - -She had no great reason to be jealous of her husband, for he was not a -man who gave much thought to women. But she was violently jealous of -her position as his wife; and anything which suggested that Jim was not -dependent on her for companionship, or had any sort of existence in which -she played no part, aroused her pique and led her to assert herself -with a horrible sort of assurance. Men and women are capable of many -inelegances; but there is nothing within the masculine range so gross as -a silly woman’s view of wedlock. - -Jim, as he trudged home between the budding hedges of the lane, and heard -the call of the spring reverberating through his deadened heart, wished -fervently that he had never inherited his uncle’s estate. The afternoon -was warm, and the power of the sun, considering the time of the year, was -remarkable. It beat into his eyes, and its brilliance seemed to penetrate -into his brain, compelling him to rouse himself from his shadowed -inaction, and to look about him. - -He had been a total failure as a married man, and as a Squire his -success had been negligible. His only real friend was Smiley-face, -and, though they had little to say to one another, there was always an -unspoken understanding between them. Real friendship is occasioned by -a mutual sympathy which penetrates through that external skin whereon -the artificialities of civilization are stamped, and reaches the heart -within, where dwell the reason behind reason, the intelligence beyond -intellect, and the clear “Yes” which masters the brain’s insistent “No.” -Jim and the poacher understood one another; and on the part of the latter -this understanding was supplemented by gratitude, for it chanced that -Jim had saved him on one occasion from arrest and imprisonment. The -circumstances need not here be related, and indeed they would not be -pleasant to recall; for Smiley-face had thieved, and Jim had lied to save -him, and the whole affair was highly prejudicial to law and public safety. - -Often, when he was bored, he would go down into the woods and utter a -low whistle, like the hoot of an owl, which had become his recognized -signal for calling Smiley-face; and together they would prowl about, -sometimes even poaching on other property beyond the lane which curved -around the manor estate. This whistle had been heard more than once by -villagers walking in the lane, and the story had gone about that the -place was haunted, a rumour which Jim encouraged, since it deterred the -ever-nervous Dolly from following him into its shadowed depths. - -Besides this disreputable friendship, there was little comradeship -for him in Eversfield. A few of the villagers liked him he believed, -especially the children; but the majority of the inhabitants -misunderstood him, and there were those who regarded him with marked -hostility. The gipsies who camped on Ot Moor, however, found in him a -valuable friend; and the tramps and wandering beggars who visited these -parts never went empty from his door. - -Presently, as he rounded a corner, he encountered one of those who -disliked him in the person of Mrs. Spooner, the doctor’s wife, who was -riding towards him on her bicycle. Dazzled by the sun in his eyes, he -stepped to one side—the wrong side, to give her room, but unfortunately -she turned in the same direction and only avoided a collision by applying -her brakes with vigour and alighting awkwardly in the rough grass at the -roadside. - -“I’m awfully sorry,” said Jim, raising his hat. - -She was a fiery, sandy-haired little woman, who always reminded him of -an Irish terrier; and her weather-beaten face was wrinkled with anger as -she answered him. “_I_ was on my proper side,” she barked; “but I don’t -suppose it has ever occurred to you that there is such a thing as the -Rule of the Road.” - -Jim was taken aback. “I’m awfully sorry,” he repeated. “I’m afraid I’ve -made you angry.” - -“Angry!” she snapped. “It’s no good being angry with you; it makes no -impression. And, besides, a doctor’s wife has to learn to keep her -temper. And then, again, you’re my landlord, and one mustn’t quarrel with -one’s landlord.” - -“Am I a bad landlord?” he asked. - -“Well, you’re not exactly attentive,” she snarled, showing her teeth. -“But then you don’t seem to understand English ways. You haven’t much -idea of obligation, have you? When those little girls of yours were ill -you ignored my husband and sent for an Oxford doctor. That was hardly -polite, was it?” - -“Oh, _that’s_ the trouble, is it?” said Jim. “I say, I’m awfully -sorry....” - -She interrupted him with a gesture. “No, that’s only an example of the -sort of thing you do. It’s your behavior in general we all object to. You -haven’t got a friend in the place, except the village idiot.” - -“You mean Smiley-face?” he queried. - -“Yes,” she replied, still allowing her anger to give rein to her tongue. -“Smiley-face, the thief and poacher. _He_ loves you dearly: he nearly -knifed Ted Barnes the other day for saying what he thought of you. I -congratulate you on your champion!” - -“Now, what have I done to Ted Barnes?” Jim asked. Ted was the postman. - -“That wretched little Dachs of yours bit him,” she replied, “and you -didn’t so much as inquire.” - -“It’s the first I’ve heard of it,” said Jim. “And, anyway, it’s my wife’s -dog, not mine.” - -“Oh, blame it on to your wife,” she sniffed. “It seems to me that the -poor dear soul has to take the blame for everything. It’s very unfair on -her.” - -This was staggering, and Jim stared at her with mingled anger and -astonishment in his dark eyes. “What do you mean?” he asked. - -“Well, we can all guess what she suffers,” she said. “Only last week she -nearly cried in my house.... Oh, you needn’t think she gave away any -secrets, the poor little angel. She said herself ‘a wife must make no -complaints.’ She’s the soul of loyalty. But we’re not blind, Mr. West.” - -Jim scratched his head. “And all this because I nearly collided with your -bicycle!” he mused. - -Mrs. Spooner pulled herself together. “It’s the last straw that breaks -the camel’s back,” she growled. “But I suppose I’m putting my foot into -it as usual. I’ll say no more.” And therewith she mounted her bicycle and -rode off with her nose in the air. Had she possessed a tail it would have -appeared as an excited stump, sticking out from behind the saddle, and -vibrating with the thrill of battle. - -Jim walked homewards feeling as though he had been bitten in several -places. “What _is_ wrong with me?” he muttered aloud. He was, of -course, aware that he had not been sociable; for the rank and fashion -of Eversfield and its neighbourhood combined the dreary conservatism of -English country life with the intellectual affectations of Oxford; and -Oxford, as the Master of Balliol once said, represented “the despotism of -the superannuated, tempered by the epigrams of the very young.” But he -had always thought that he had something in common with Ted Barnes and -his friends; for he had overlooked the fact that village opinion is still -dictated in England by the “gentry.” - -The realization was presently borne in on him that Dolly, failing to -play with any success the part of the indispensable wife and helpmate, -had assumed the rôle of martyr, and had confided her fictitious sorrows -to her neighbours. It was a bitter thought; and he slashed at the hedges -with his stick as it took hold of his mind. - -He determined to tax her with this new delinquency at once; but when -he reached the manor he found her sitting in the drawing-room with Mr. -Merrivall, the tenant of Rose Cottage, who was lying back in an armchair, -smoking a fat cigar which Dolly had evidently fetched for him from the -cabinet in the study. - -George Merrivall was a mysterious bachelor of middle age, whom Jim could -not fathom. He had a heavy, grey face; a weak mouth; round, fish-like -eyes, which looked anywhere but at the person before him; and thin brown -hair, smoothed carefully across a central area of baldness. He had lived -at Rose Cottage for the last ten years or more, and was in receipt of a -monthly cheque, which might be interpreted as coming from some person or -persons who desired his continued rustication. - -There was nothing against him, however, save that after the receipt of -each of the cheques he was said to shut himself up in his cottage for -a few days, and the belief was general that at such times he was dead -drunk. This, however, might be merely gossip; and his housekeeper, Jane -Potts, was a woman of such extremely secretive habits that the truth was -not likely to be known. Some people thought that she was, or had been, -his mistress; but if this were true this secret, likewise, was well -kept. He appeared to be a man of studious habits, a judge of pictures, a -collector of rare books, and a regular church-goer. - -Dolly had made his acquaintance before she had met Jim, and, since their -marriage, he had been one of the few frequent visitors at the manor. Jim, -however, did not like him or trust him, thinking him, indeed, somewhat -uncanny; and he now greeted him with no enthusiasm. - -“Hullo, Squire,” drawled the visitor, without rising from his chair. -“Been out tramping as usual? You look as though you’d been sleeping under -a hedge!” - -“James, dear,” said Dolly, “you really do look very untidy. And you’re -all covered over with bits of twigs and things.” - -“Yes,” said Jim, wishing to shock. “I’ve been having a roll in the grass.” - -Merrivall laughed. “Who with, you young rascal?” he said, pointing at him -with the wet, chewed end of his cigar. - -Dolly drew in her breath quickly, and stared with round eyes at her -friend, and then with a suspicious frown at her husband. “Where have you -been?” she asked deliberately. - -“Oh, nowhere in particular,” he answered. “Have a drink, Merrivall?” - -“Thanks,” the other replied. “Whisky and water for me.” - -Jim rang the bell; and presently, excusing himself by saying that he must -change his clothes, left the room. - -Now, anyone who had seen him, five minutes later, as he walked across -the garden, would have thought him entirely mad; for he was carrying his -guitar across his shoulder, drum uppermost, and his stealthy step might -have suggested that he was about to use it as a weapon with which to bash -in the head of some lurking enemy. - -Actually, however, he was in the habit of strumming upon this instrument -when his nerves were on edge; and, indeed, there was a melancholy charm -in his playing, and a still greater in his singing. But to-day his desire -thus to relieve his feelings was accompanied by an anxiety not to be -overheard by his wife or Merrivall. Moreover, the twilight outside was as -warm and mellow as a summer evening, whereas the interior of the manor -was grey and dismal. He had therefore indulged an impulse, and was now -slinking off, like a sick dog, to his beloved woods to bay to the rising -moon. - -Passing through the gates at the end of the lower garden, where the -hedges of gorse in full flower formed a golden mass, he entered the -silent shadow of the trees; and for some distance he pushed forward -between the close-growing trunks until he had reached a favourite resort -of his, where there was a fallen oak spanning a little stream. Here, -through a cleft in the trees, he could see the moon, nearly at its full, -rising out of the violet haze of the evening; and as he sat down, with -his legs dangling above the murmuring water, he listened in silence to -the last notes of a thrush’s nesting-song that presently died away into -the hush of contented rest. - -Around him the silent oaks were arrayed, their boughs extending outwards -and upwards from the gnarled trunks in fantastic shapes, like huge claws -and fingers and probosces, feeling for the departed sunlight. Little -leaves were just beginning to appear upon the branches, and here and -there beneath them, where the ground was free of undergrowth, bluebells -and violets appeared amongst the dead bracken and foliage of last year, -and the small white wood-anemones like stars were scattered in profusion. -The primroses were nearly over, but bracken shoots, curled like young -ferns, were pushing up through the brown remnants of a former generation; -low-growing creepers and brambles were sprouting into greenness; and the -moss and grasses were tender with new life. - -Jim’s mood was melancholy, but not sorrowful. It seemed to him that his -heart was dead, crushed flat by the flabby hand of that leering figure -which personified domestic life, and responded not to the spring. He was -so appallingly lonely that if there had been tears within him they now -would have overflowed; but there were not. He had no self-pity, no desire -to confide his misery to another, no power, it seemed, either to laugh at -himself or to weep. - -For three long years he had carried his distress about with him all day -long, had gone for lonely walks with it, had sat at home with it, had -slept with it, had wakened with it. At first he had obtained relief from -within: he had fallen back on his own mind’s great reserves of inward -entertainment. But now he was no longer self-sufficient, self-supporting. -He was utterly barren: without emotion, without love, without the power -to write his beloved verses, without a heart, without even despair. He -had always been capable of feeling sorrow for, and sympathy with, the -griefs of others: he wished now to God that he could lament over his own; -but even lamentation was denied him. - -Presently, taking up his guitar, he began to sing the first song that -came to his head. It was an old Italian refrain to which he had set his -own words; and so softly did the strings vibrate under his practised -fingers, so sorrowful was his rich voice, that a listener might have -imagined him to be a lovelorn minstrel of Florence in the forests of -Fiesole. Yet there was no love in his heart. - -He sang next a melancholy negro dirge, and, after a long silence, -followed on with his own setting of those lines from Shelley’s _Ode to -the West Wind_, which tell of one who, looking down into the blue waters -of the bay of Baiæ, saw - - ... Old palaces and towers - Quivering within the wave’s intenser day, - All overgrown with azure moss, and flowers - So sweet, the sense faints picturing them. - -As he sang there rose before his inward eye a vision of the sun-bathed -lands through which he had wandered so happily in the past. He saw again -the white houses reflected in the still waters of Mediterranean, the -olive-groves passing up the hillsides, the hot roads leading through the -red-roofed villages, and the dark-skinned peasants driving their goats -along the mountain tracks. He saw the lights of the city of Alexandria -twinkling across the bay, and heard the surge of the breakers beating -on the rocks. And then, quietly and vaguely, out of the picture there -came the serene, mysterious face of a woman, a face he had thought -forgotten. Her black hair drifted back into his recollection, her grey -eyes seemed to gaze into his, and in his inward ear the one word “Monimé” -reverberated like an echo of a dream. And suddenly a door seemed to -open within him, and with an overwhelming onset, his captive emotions, -his feelings, his long-forgotten joys and sorrows, broke out from their -prison and surged through him. - -He laid his guitar aside, and for a while sat wrapt in a kind of ecstasy. -It was as though he had risen from the grave: it was as though his heart -had come back to life within him. - -He scrambled to his feet and stood for a moment, staring up at the moon, -his fists clenched and drumming upon his breast. Then, to his amazement, -he felt his eyes filled with tears—tears which he had not shed since he -was a small boy. He uttered a laugh of embarrassment, but it broke in his -throat, and all the cynic in him collapsed. - -Throwing himself upon the ground, he spread his arms out before him and -buried his face in the young violets. He did not care now how foolish nor -how unmanly his emotion might seem to be. Here, in the woods, he was -alone, and only the understanding earth should receive his tears. - -For some time he lay thus upon his face; but at length the paroxysms -passed. He raised his head, and as he did so he became aware, -intuitively, that he was being watched. - -“Who’s there?” he exclaimed, staring into the surrounding undergrowth. - -There was a crackling of twigs, and a moment later Smiley-face emerged -into the moonlight, and stood before him, touching his forelock. - -Jim clambered to his feet. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, -angrily. He was ashamed that he had been observed, and the colour mounted -threateningly into his face. - -The poacher grinned. “Beg pardon, sir,” he said. “I heerd you singin’, -and I came to listen. And then I saw you was in trouble, and....” He took -a crouched step forward, his face puckered up, and his hands twitching. -“Oh, sir, my dear, what be the matter? Tell I, sir, tell I!” His voice -was passionately insistent. “Tell I! Don’t keep it from your friend. -Friends stick to one another through thick and thin—you said it yourself, -sir: them’s your werry words, what you said when we shook ’ands. I’d -do anything in the world for you, sir, I would, so ’elp me God! I’m a -poacher, and maybe I’m a thief, too, like you said; but s’elp me, I -can’t see you a’weeping there with your face in the ground—I can’t see -that, and not say nothin’. Tell I, my dear!-tell your friend. If it’s -that you’ve lost all your money, I’ll work for you, sir. I don’t want no -wages. If it’s your enemies, say the word and I’ll kill ’em, I will. I’d -swing for you, and gladly, too.” - -Jim stared at him in amazement. The words poured from the man’s lips -in such a torrent that there could be no question of their boiling -sincerity. “Why, Smiley-face,” he said at length, “what makes you feel -like that about me? I don’t deserve it.” - -Smiley-face laughed aloud. “When I makes a friend,” he replied, “I makes -a friend. You done things for I what I can’t tell you of. You’re the -first man as ever treated I fair; and now you’re breaking your ’eart, and -you’re letting it break and not tellin’ nobody. Tell I, sir, tell I, my -dear, I’m askin’ you, please.” - -“There’s nothing to tell,” smiled Jim, putting his hand on his friend’s -tattered shoulder. “It’s only that people like you and me are failures in -life. We don’t seem to fit in with English ways. I suppose I got thinking -too much about other lands, about the old roads, and the sea, and the -desert, and all that sort of thing. But you wouldn’t understand: you’ve -never been far away from Eversfield, have you?” - -He sat down and motioned Smiley-face to do likewise. - -“Tell I about them places, sir,” said the poacher, “like what you sings -about.” Instinctively, and without reasoning, he knew that a long -talk was the best remedy for his friend; and gradually, by careful -questioning, he launched him forth upon distant seas, and led him to -speak of countries far away from the catalepsy of his present existence. - -Jim spoke of the winding roads which lead up to the hills of Ceylon, -where the ground is covered with little crimson blossoms of the -Laritana, and where the peacocks, sitting in rows by the wayside, utter -their wild cries as the bullock-bandies go lurching by, and the monkeys -swing from tree to tree, chattering at the travellers. He spoke of the -Aroe Islands, where, once a year, the pearl merchants are gathered; and -he pictured in words the scene at night on the still waters when every -kind of craft is afloat, and every kind of lantern sways under the stars -in the warm breath of the wind. - -Thence his memory leapt over the seas to the southern coasts of Italy, -where, upon a hot summer’s night, the little harbour of Brindisi was gay -with lanterns in like manner, and the sound of mandolins floated across -the water; while the narrow streets were thronged with townspeople taking -the air after the heat of the day. Later, he wandered to the slopes of -Lebanon, where clear rivulets rush down from the hills, through thickets -of oleander, and tumble at last into the blue Mediterranean. He spoke of -mulberry orchards, and open tracts covered with a bewildering maze of -flowers and flowering bushes: poppies, broom, speedwell, lupin, and many -another, so that the hillsides, overhanging the sea, are dazzling to the -eyes. - -And so he came to Egypt and the desert, and told of the jackal-tracks -which lead back from the Nile into the barren, mysterious hills, where -a man may lose himself and die of thirst within a mile or two of hidden -wells; where the mirage rises like a lake from the parched sand, and -lures the thirsty traveller to his doom; and where the vultures circle -in the blue heavens, waiting for the men and the camels who fall and lie -still. - -For a long time he sat talking thus, while the moon rose above the trees; -but at length the chill of the air reminded him that he ought to be -returning to the manor, and, picking up his guitar, he rose to his feet. -Smiley-face, however, did not move. He was staring in front of him, his -two hands thrust into the grass. - -“Come along,” said Jim. “I must go back to the house now.” - -The poacher looked up at him with a curious expression upon his face. -“Reckon you baint agoin’ to tell I what your trouble is, sir,” he smiled. - -Jim shook his head. “No,” he answered. “I can’t talk about it, somehow. -But I’ll tell you this, Smiley-face: if I ever do talk to anybody about -it all it’ll be to you.” - -When he reached the manor, Jim found that he was late for dinner; and at -the foot of the stairs he was confronted by Dolly, who was much annoyed -at seeing him still in his day clothes. - -“Oh, James!” she exclaimed, angrily. “Where _have_ you been? Dinner has -already been kept back a quarter of an hour for you.” - -“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m afraid I’m quite impossible. Don’t wait for -me: I’ll be down in a few minutes.” - -“Don’t hurry,” she replied, icily. “Mr. Merrivall is going to dine with -us. I shan’t be lonely.” - - - - -Chapter XI: THE DEPARTURE - - -For three years, for three interminable years, Jim had borne the -stagnation of his married life at Eversfield, the door of his heart -shut against the whispering voices which bade him turn his back on his -heritage and come out into the free world once more. But now matters -had reached a psychological crisis. Something had happened to him; -something had opened the door again. And as he sat in his room that night -these voices seemed to assail him from all sides, enticing him to leave -England, coaxing him, wheedling him, jeering at him for his lack of -enterprise, and persuading him with the pictured delights of other lands. - -“Give it up!” they murmured. “You were never meant for this sort of -thing: you can never find happiness here. Think of the sound of the -sea as it slaps the bow of the outbound liner; think of the throb of -the screw; think of the noisy boatloads surrounding the ship when the -anchor has rattled into the transparent water of a southern harbour; -the familiar sound and smells of hot little towns, sheltering under the -palms; the soft crunch of camels’ pads upon the desert sands; the far-off -cry of the jackals. Think of the unshackled life of the happy wanderer; -the freedom from the restraint of the Great Sham; the absence of these -posings and pretences of so-called respectability. Give it up, you fool; -and take your lazy body over the hills and far away: for your lost -content awaits you beyond the horizon, and it will never come back to you -in this stagnant valley.” - -Until late in the night he allowed his thoughts to wander in forbidden -places, and when at last he sought comfort in sleep, his dreams were full -of far-away things and alluring scenes. In the early morning he lay awake -for an hour before it was time to take his bath; and through the open -window the sound of the chimes from the distant spires of Oxford floated -into the room. - -“Confound those blasted bells!” he cried, suddenly springing from his -bed. “They have drugged me long enough. To-day I am awake: I shall sleep -no more!” - -Of a sudden he formed a resolution. He would go away alone for two or -three months, in spite of any protest which his wife might make. And not -only would he take this single holiday: he would lay his plans so that -there should be another scheme of existence to which, in the future, he -could retire whenever his home became unbearable. His uncle had led a -double life: he, too, would do so; not, however, in the company of any -Emily, but in the far more alluring society of that Lady called Liberty. -James Tundering-West, Squire of Eversfield, from henceforth should be -subject to perennial eclipses, and at such times Jim Easton, vagrant, -should be resuscitated. - -He would sell out a couple of thousand pounds’ worth of stock, and -generously place it as a first instalment to the credit of Jim Easton in -another part of the world; and nobody but himself should know about it. -For the last three years he had lived mainly on his rent-roll, and this -should remain the means of subsistence of his wife, and of himself so -long as he was in England. But the bulk of the remainder of his fortune -left of late almost untouched, should gradually be transferred, little by -little, to the credit of the wanderer. - -At breakfast he was so enthralled with his scheme that he paid no -attention whatsoever to Dolly’s offended silence. He told her that he was -going to London for a few days, and that very possibly he would there -make arrangements to go abroad for a holiday. - -“As you please,” she replied, coldly. “I, too, need a change; but I can’t -play the deserter. I must stay here, and try to do my duty.” - -Driving into Oxford he turned the matter over in his mind unceasingly, -and in the train he thought of little else, nor so much as glanced at -the newspapers he had brought. The difficulty was to think out a means -whereby he could now place this capital sum to the account of Jim Easton, -and later add to it, without using his cheque book or any bank notes -which could be traced; for all the salt would be gone out of the proposed -enterprise if his recurrent change of personality were open to detection. -He wanted to be able to say to Dolly each year: “I am going away, and I -shall be back about such-and-such a date, until then I shall not be able -to be found, nor troubled in any way by the exigencies of domestic life.” - -At length, as he reached the hotel where he was going to stay, the -simple solution came to him; and so eager was he to put the plan into -execution that he was off upon the business so soon as he had deposited -his dressing-case in the bedroom. In South Africa he had become an expert -in the valuation of diamonds, and now he proposed to put this knowledge -to use. He knew the addresses of two or three dealers who supplied the -trade with unset stones; and to these he made his way, with the result -that during the afternoon he had selected some twenty small diamonds -which were to be held for him until his cheques should be forthcoming. - -The business was resumed next day; and by the following evening he had -depleted his capital by two thousand pounds, and in its place he held -a little boxful of diamonds which, so far as he could tell, were worth -considerably more than he had paid for them. These stones he proposed to -sell again, practically one by one, in various foreign cities, depositing -the proceeds in the name of Jim Easton at some bank, say in Rome; and, as -all the jewels were of inconspicuous size and small value, his dealings -would not be able to be traced beyond the original purchases in London, -even if so far as that. - -Before returning to Oxford he decided to pay a call on Mrs. Darling -to invite her to go down to stay at Eversfield during his absence. He -regarded her as a capable, good-natured, and entirely unprincipled -woman; and she had invariably shown him that at any rate she liked him, -if she were not always proud of him. As a mother-in-law she had been -extraordinarily circumspect, and, in fact, she had effaced herself to -a quite unnecessary extent, seldom coming to stay at the manor, but -preferring to pass most of her time at her little flat in London. - -She was at home when he called, and greeted him with affection, -good-temperedly scolding him for not writing to her more often. - -“You might have peaceably passed away, for all I knew,” she said. - -Jim smiled. “Oh, I think Dolly would have mentioned it, if I had,” he -replied. He gazed around the room: it was always a source of profound -astonishment to him. The walls were silver-papered, the woodwork was -scarlet, the furniture was of red lacquer, the carpet was grey, and the -chairs and sofa were upholstered in grey silk, ornamented with much -silver fringe and many tassels of silver and scarlet. Upon the walls were -a dozen Bakst-like paintings of women displaying bits of their remarkable -anatomy through unnecessary apertures in their tawdry garments; and as -Jim stared at them he was devoutly thankful that Mrs. Darling had not -robed herself in like manner. - -She followed the direction of his gaze. “Hideous, aren’t they?” she said. - -“They are, rather,” he replied. “Why do you have them?” - -“Well, you see,” she answered, “so many milliners and dressmakers come to -see me in connection with my monthly fashion articles; and they would of -course think nothing of my taste if I had any really nice pictures on my -walls.” - -She dived behind the sofa and rose again with her hands full of a medley -of startling nightgowns. - -“Look at these!” she laughed. “They were left here for me to criticise -by a shop which calls itself ‘Frocks, Follies, and Fragrance.’ Horrible, -aren’t they? The only nice thing about them is their exquisite material. -I always say to all young married women: ‘Flannel nightgowns may keep -_you_ warm, but _crêpe-de-Chine_ will keep your husband.” - -Jim stared at the wildly coloured garments long and thoughtfully. “I -sometimes think,” he said at length, “that women have no sense of humour.” - -“No more has Nature,” she replied. “Look at the camel.” She changed the -conversation. “Tell me,” she said, “how is Dolly?” - -“Top hole, thanks,” he replied. - -“I notice,” Mrs. Darling remarked, as they sat down together on the big -sofa, “that you don’t bring her to Town with you nowadays. I hope you’re -not leading a double life?” - -“No,” he answered. - -“That’s right,” she said. “That’s a good boy! Have you taken to drink -yet?” - -Jim laughed. “No, why should I?” - -“Most married men do,” she told him. “My own husband did. He never really -showed it; but I’ve seen him get up the morning after, turn on a cold -bath, drink it, and go to bed again.” - -“Well, as a matter of fact,” said Jim, “I _am_ thinking of breaking loose -for a bit. That’s really what I’ve come to see you about. I want your -advice.” - -“Advice! Advice from _me_?” she exclaimed. “Why, my dear boy, my advice -on domestic affairs would be worth about as much as the figure 0 without -its circumference-line.” - -“Well, not your advice exactly, but your help. The fact is, I want to get -away. I’ve grown flat and stale down at Eversfield, and I think Dolly -finds me rather a bore sometimes. I have an idea that it would do us both -a lot of good if I were to go off for a bit by myself.” - -Mrs. Darling looked anxiously at him, and her jesting manner left her for -a moment. “I hope nothing has gone wrong between you?” she said earnestly. - -Jim hastened to assure her. “Oh, no, everything is quite all right.” - -“I’m sure I hope so,” she replied. “But I know Dolly is rather exacting.” - -“It’s my own fault,” he remarked, quickly. “I must be quite impossible as -a husband.” - -Mrs. Darling uttered an exclamation of distress. “Oh, then there _is_ -something wrong?” she said. “I thought so, from the tone of her letters.” - -Jim was embarrassed. “No, I only want to get away because I’m not very -well, and also because I want to polish up some old verses of mine.” - -She looked at him earnestly. “My dear boy,” she said, “if you’ve lost -your trousers, it’s no good putting on two coats. If you’re unhappy at -home, it’s no good kidding yourself with other reasons for getting away.” - -“I assure you ...” Jim began. - -She interrupted him. “Come on, now—what d’you want me to do? D’you want -me to persuade Dolly to let you go?” - -He shook his head. “No,” he answered. “I am going anyhow. What I want -you to do is to keep an eye on her while I’m gone. Take her away for a -holiday, if you like: I’ll gladly pay all expenses. Keep her amused.” - -“How long to you intend to be away?” she asked. - -“Oh, a couple of months or so,” he replied. “I don’t exactly know....” - -She turned to him, searchingly. “Is it another woman?” - -“No, no,” he laughed. “I dislike women intensely.” - -“Thank you!” she smiled. “On behalf of my daughter and myself, thank -you!” She was silent for a while. “I wonder why you ever married?” she -said, at length. - -“We all have our romances,” he answered. - -“Romances!” She uttered the word with bitterness. “What is romance? -Just Nature’s fig-leaf. It is something that Youth employs to disguise -something else. Youth is a calamity. I really sometimes thank Heaven -for middle age and old age: they bring one at any rate the blessing of -indifference. I’m thankful that I’m an old woman.” - -“You’re not old,” Jim replied. “You don’t look forty. And you’re in the -pink of health.” - -“Yes, my dear,” she said. “I’ve nothing much to complain of in that -respect. All I want is a new pair of legs and a clean heart....” - -“Oh, your heart’s all right,” he told her, putting his hand on hers. - -“No,” she answered. “I’m a bad old woman. I earn a living by writing -indecently about women’s clothes, and how to wear them so as to destroy -men’s virtue. I sit about in night-clubs; I play cards on Sundays; I’ll -dine with anybody on earth who’ll give me a good dinner and a bottle of -wine; and I never go to church. What d’you think Eversfield would say to -that?” - -“Oh, Eversfield be hanged,” he replied, with feeling. “You’re a good -sort, and you’re kind. That’s better than all the rotten respectability -of Eversfield.” - -“I’m not so sure,” she said. “Respectability has its merits. You go and -spend a few weeks with the sort of people I mix with, and you’ll find -Miss Proudfoote of the Grange like a breath of fresh air.” - -“I’m sure I shouldn’t,” Jim answered with conviction. - -She shrugged her shoulders, and presently their conversation turned in -other directions. - -When at length he rose to go, he startled her by remarking that he would -not see her again until his return from his travels; and to her surprised -question he replied that he was going down to Oxford next morning, and -that on the following day he would set out on his wanderings. - -She looked anxiously at him once more. “There isn’t any real quarrel -between you and Dolly, is there?” she asked again. - -He reassured her. “No, none at all. It’s only that I have a craving for -Italy....” - -“Well,” she said, “if you live in a thatched house, don’t start letting -off Roman candles.” - -“What d’you mean?” he laughed. - -“I mean,” she replied. “ ... Oh, never mind what I mean. Don’t go the -pace, and don’t stay away too long; or there’ll be trouble. Don’t forget -that you’ve got a tradition to keep going. Don’t forget your uncle’s -tombstone. What does it say?—‘A man who nobly upheld the traditions of -his race....’” - -“Yes, isn’t it rot?” he answered. “Do you know I came across some of his -letters, and I can tell you his respectability was only skin-deep. All -his life he lived a lie, and now he lies in his grave, and his epitaph -lies above him.” - -She took his proffered hand in hers and held it for a moment. “Jim, -my boy,” she said, “I’m only a wicked old woman; but I’ve got a great -respect for virtue, even when it’s only skin-deep. It’s the people who -don’t care what their neighbours say who come to grief.” - -When Jim returned to Oxford and broke the news of his immediate departure -to Dolly, she received it with a calmness which he had not expected. He -had anticipated a painful scene, and he was even a little disappointed -that she fell in so readily with his plans. - -“Yes,” she said. “If you’ve made up your mind to go, it’s no good hanging -about here. You’ve been finding rather a lot of fault with me lately. -Perhaps when you are alone you will appreciate all I’ve done for you.” - -“Of course I shall, dear,” he replied. - -Quietly, and in a very business-like manner, she asked him what -arrangements he had made about the money she was to draw; and this being -settled to her satisfaction she approached, with apparent diffidence, a -more important subject. - -“I do hope you aren’t going to any dangerous places,” she said. “You -mustn’t take any risks.” - -He assured her that he had no intention of doing so. - -“But supposing anything happened to you,” she went on, “what would become -of me?” - -“I’ll make my will, if you like,” he laughed. - -She uttered a gasp of horror. “What a dreadful thought!” she murmured. -She was silent for a few moments, her eyes gazing out of the window, her -mouth a little open. Then, without looking at him, she said: “I suppose -just a line on a sheet of paper will do? You only have to say that you -leave everything to me ... at least I take it that there’s nobody else to -leave it to?” She turned to him with an innocent smile. - -“Oh, no, it’s all yours if I die,” he replied. - -“Well, you’d better do it now before you forget,” she said, smiling at -him and patting his hand. She pointed to the writing-bureau in the corner -of the room. “You just scribble it on a half-sheet, and seal it up, and -write on the envelope ‘to be opened in the event of my death,’ and post -it to your solicitors. That’s all.” - -“You seem to have thought it all out,” he laughed, going to the bureau. - -“Oh, James!” she exclaimed, reproachfully. “What dreadful things you do -say!” - -His departure on the following morning was unceremonious. In spite of -Dolly’s anxieties in regard to his safety, the fact remained that he -was only going away for a couple of months or thereabouts. He was to -take but a single portmanteau with him; his precious diamonds were to be -carried in a knotted handkerchief in his pocket; and in his hand he would -hold only a stout walking-stick. The only persons who appeared to be -concerned at his going were the two little girls; and even they—as is the -habit of children—returned to their play before the carriage had left the -door. - -Dolly had said she would drive with him into Oxford to see him off in the -train; but, as he was to depart at an early hour, she was not dressed -in time, and was therefore obliged to bid him “good-bye” at the foot -of the stairs. She looked a pretty little creature, standing there in -a pink dressing-gown, with the morning sunlight striking upon her fair -hair, which fell around her shoulders, as though she had been disturbed -in the act of combing it, and with a background of the dark portraits of -previous owners of the manor. In her hand she was carrying a large bunch -of apple-blossom, which she accounted for by saying that she had just -been picking it from outside her bedroom window at the moment when he -called out to her. Knowing her habit of studying effects, Jim felt sure -that she had thought out this charming picture, and had never had any -intention of accompanying him to the station; nor had he the heart to ask -her why, if she had but now plucked the blossom from the tree, the stems -should be dripping with water as though just lifted from a vase. - -“Every picture tells a story,” he muttered to himself as he drove away, -“and some tell downright lies.” - - - - -Chapter XII: THE ESCAPE - - -On his arrival in Paris, his sensations were not far removed from bliss; -but soon he was obliged to set about the tedious business of selling -his diamonds, one by one, in a manner so unobtrusive and anonymous -that no particular notice should be paid to the deals. He was somewhat -disappointed to find that, in spite of his expert knowledge both of -the stones and of the channels for their disposal, he failed to avoid -a slight loss on the various transactions; but he was in no mood to -bargain, and he was well content, at the end of the second day, to be -rid of a quarter of his collection, and to feel the notes, which were to -be the support of his future wanderings, pleasantly bulging out of his -pocket-book. - -From Paris he proceeded to Lyons, Marseilles, and Monte Carlo, in which -places he disposed of the remainder of his collection, this time at a -small profit. During these business transactions he felt that he was -generally regarded as a thief, and more than once his experiences were -unpleasant; but he was so full of the idea of hiding his tracks, and -of building up once more the old life of freedom beyond the range of -Dolly’s prying eyes, that he adopted, without any regard to his natural -sensitiveness, all manner of subterfuges and variations of name. - -At length, with quite an unwieldy packet of small notes, he made his way -along the coast, crossed the frontier, being still under his real name, -and stopped at Savona, Genoa, and Spezia, where he laboriously changed -the money, little by little, into Italian currency. He then proceeded -by way of Pisa to Rome, where, with a sense of almost schoolboyish -exultation, he deposited his vagrant’s fortune at a well-known bank, and -opened an account in the name of “James Easton.” This accomplished, he -felt that he had taken the first firm step in his emancipation; for in -future, whenever Eversfield became unbearable, he could speed over to -Rome, even for but a month at a time, and, moving eastwards or southwards -from this base, under the name by which he had formerly been known, -he would always find money at his disposal, and complete freedom from -domestic obligations. - -He had now been gone from England some fourteen days, but Rome was the -first place at which he had assumed this other name, for he intended -Italy to be the western frontier of the vagrant’s life. The change -of name meant far more to him than can easily be realized: it had a -psychological effect upon his mind, such as, in a lesser degree, can -sometimes be produced by a complete change of clothes. He almost hoped -that he would be recognized and hailed by some acquaintance from England -in order that he might look him deliberately in the face and say: “I am -afraid you have made a mistake. _My_ name is Easton: I come from Egypt.” - -Having assumed this alias his first object was to recapture the old -beloved sense of liberty by resuming his wandering existence, and by -turning his back upon the elegances of life. Under the name of Easton, -therefore, he at once selected a small inn in the democratic Trastevere -quarter, near the Ponte Sisto, which had been recommended to him as -the resort of commercial travellers and the like who desired a little -cleanliness in conjunction with moderate honesty and extreme low prices; -and having here deposited his portmanteau and engaged a room for a -fortnight hence, he went at once to the railway station with nothing but -a knapsack and a walking-stick in his hand and took the long journey back -to Pisa, his intention being to wander southwards from that point along -the beautiful coast, where the pine-woods came down to the seashore. - -During the years at Eversfield his emotions had dried up, and he had -become barren of all exalted thoughts. He was, as he expressed it to -himself, continuously “off the boil.” But now once more his brain was -galvanized, and all his actions were intensified, speeded up, and -ebullient. His power of enjoyment, lost so long, had come back to him, -and now not infrequently he was blessed with that fine frenzy which had -left his mind unvisited these many weary months. He was a different man -to-day: again hot-blooded, again eager to listen to the lure of the -unattained, again capable of soaring, as it were, to the sun and the -stars. - -Two days later there befell him an adventure which changed the whole -course of his life. - -He had been walking all day through the pines and along the beach, and -in the late afternoon he inquired of a passer-by whether there were any -village in the neighbourhood where he might spend the night. The man -replied that the path by which Jim was going led to a small fishermen’s -inn, where a room and a meal were generally to be obtained, but that if -he desired to reach the next little town he would have to retrace his -steps and make a considerable detour, for, although it stood upon the -seashore only three kilometres further along, it could not be approached -by the beach, owing to the presence of a wide estuary. The day having -been extremely hot, Jim was tired, and he therefore decided to try his -luck at this house, which, the man said, was distant but ten minutes’ -walk. - -He found it to be a high, square, drab-washed building, which like so -many poorer houses in Italy, gave the melancholy suggestion that it had -seen better days. The red-tiled roof was in need of repair, the green -shutters were falling to pieces, and there were innumerable cracks and -small dilapidations upon its extensive areas of blank wall. The only -indications that it was an inn were a long table and a bench upon one -side of the narrow doorway, and a number of crude drawings in charcoal -upon the lower part of the front wall. - -The house stood upon a mound facing the beach, and backed by the dark -pines; and at one side there was a patch of cultivated ground in which -a few vegetables were growing. A small rowing-boat, moored by a rope, -floated upon the smooth surface of the sea, and upon a group of rocks -near by two dark-skinned fishermen sat smoking cigarettes. One of -these, upon seeing Jim, put his hand to his mouth and called out to the -innkeeper, who replied from some empty-sounding part of the ground-floor, -and presently came with clamorous footsteps along the stone-flagged -passage to the door. - -He was a tall, stout man, with a two-days’ growth of grey stubble -covering the lower part of his tanned face, and an untidy mat of white -hair upon his head. His forehead was deeply wrinkled, and his eyes -were screwed up as though the light hurt him. Had he changed his loose -corduroy trousers and his collarless striped shirt for the garb of his -ancestors, one would have said that the marble Sulla of the Vatican -Museum had come to life. - -Jim was in two minds as to whether to spend the night in this somewhat -forbidding house, or to proceed upon his way; and he therefore asked -only for a bottle of wine, at the same time inviting his host to drink -a glass with him. The man accepted the invitation with alacrity, and, -disappearing into the echoing house, soon returned with the bottle. He -hesitated, however, before drawing the cork, and diffidently mentioned -the price, whereupon Jim put his hand in his pocket and drew forth his -loose change. The wrinkles deepened on the man’s forehead as he gazed -at the money, and an expression of disappointment passed over his face; -for the coins did not amount to the sum named. Jim, however, smilingly -reassured him, and produced his roll of notes, from which he selected -one, asking whether his host could change it. At this the man’s face -showed his satisfaction, and he hastened to uncork the bottle, thereafter -fetching the change and sitting down to enjoy the wine with every token -of brotherly love. - -For some time they talked, and it was very soon apparent that the -innkeeper was of the braggart type. He had once been in the army, and -he described with great gusto his gallant exploits and feats of arms, -relating also his affairs of the heart, and telling how once he fought -a duel and killed his man for the sake of a girl who was in no wise -worthy of him. Jim listened with amusement, and presently, in answer -to his host’s questions, he explained that he himself was merely a -mild Englishman, and that he was walking from village to village along -the coast by way of a holiday. This statement was received with frank -astonishment, and led to a further series of inquiries, to which Jim -replied with amused volubility, pointing out the delights of a wandering -life, and speaking of the pleasures of a state of incognito, when hearth -and home are temporarily abandoned, and nobody knows whither one has -disappeared. The innkeeper listened with evident interest, looking at -him searchingly from time to time as he talked, and forgetting to boast -or even drink his wine, as he sat with folded arms and wrinkled brow, -staring out to sea. - -The sun was setting when at length Jim rose to his feet to consider -whether he should proceed or should stay the night where he was. His legs -felt weary, however; and when his host presently made the suggestion that -he should inspect the guest-chamber upstairs, Jim was quickly persuaded -to do so, and, finding it quite habitable, at once decided to remain -until morning. - -The innkeeper thereupon retired into the back premises to prepare a -meal, and Jim sauntered down to the beach to enjoy the cool of the dusk. -Climbing over the promontory of smooth, rounded rocks, to one of which -the rowing-boat was moored, he pulled the little craft towards him by its -rope, and, scrambling into it, sat for some time handling the oars and -gazing down into the water. It was very pleasant to ride here upon the -gently moving swell, listening to the quiet surge of the waves upon the -shore, and watching the fading colours of the sky; and when, in the dim -light, he saw his host appear at the doorway of the house, looking about -him for his guest, he stepped back on to the rocks with lazy reluctance. - -The fare presently provided in the front room was rough but appetizing, -and when the meal was finished he returned once more to the table -outside, where he found his host seated with three other men, for whom, -after a ceremonious introduction, Jim called for another bottle of wine. -The appearance of these other guests, however, was not pleasant: they -looked, in fact, as disreputable a gang of cut-throats as ever sat round -a guttering candle; and once or twice he thought he observed upon the -innkeeper’s face an expression something like that of apology. - -Nevertheless, the party remained talking, and their host continued his -bragging, far into the night, for it seemed that all of them were to -sleep at the inn; and it was midnight before Jim made his salutations and -was lighted up to his room by the owner of the house. - -As soon as he was alone he went to the open window, and stared out into -the darkness. The sky was brilliant with stars which were reflected in -the sea, whose rhythmic sobbing came to his ears; but he could only -dimly discern the rocks and the little rowing-boat, and the line of the -beach was lost in the indigo of the night. For some time he stood deep in -thought; but at length, of a sudden, a feeling of apprehension entered -his mind, and, returning into the candlelight, he remained for a while -irresolute in the middle of the room. - -The sensation, however, presently passed; but in order to occupy his -thoughts he drew from his pocket an unused picture-postcard, which he -had purchased on the previous day, and performed the much postponed duty -of writing a line to his wife, telling her shortly that he was well. -He addressed the card to her and laid it aside, with the intention of -posting it at some obscure village whose name upon the postmark would -convey nothing to Dolly. Then, seating himself upon the side of the bed, -he prepared to undress. - -As he stooped to unlace his boots the tremor of apprehension returned to -him, and for some moments he sat perfectly still, looking at the candle, -and wondering at his unfamiliar nervousness. “I suppose,” he thought to -himself, “I have been too long in the shelter of Eversfield, and have -grown unaccustomed to the ordinary circumstances of the wanderer’s life.” - -Then, like a sudden flash, the recollection came to him that the -innkeeper had seen his roll of notes, and that the man knew him to be -an unattached wayfarer, and consequently fair game for robbery or even -murder. The thought set his heart beating in a manner which shamed him; -and, though he fought against it resolutely, he permitted himself, -nevertheless, to creep over to the door and to slide the clumsy bolt into -its socket. He then felt in his pocket to assure himself that his matches -were at hand; and, having placed the candle by his bedside, he blew out -the light and prepared himself for an uncomfortable night. - -For some time he lay quietly upon the bed, fully dressed, his eyes turned -to the open window, through which the brilliant stars were visible; but -at length sleep began to overcome his forebodings, so that he dozed, and -at last passed into unconsciousness. - -He awoke with an instant conviction that some sound had disturbed him; -and for a moment he felt his pulses hammering as he listened intently. -The stars had moved across the heavens during his slumbers, and their -position now suggested that dawn was not far off, a fact of which he was -profoundly glad, for his mind was filled with a very definite kind of -dread, and he was eager to be up and away. Something, he was convinced, -had been going on while he slept: he could feel it, as it were, in his -bones. - -He was about to light the candle when, to his extreme horror, he caught -sight of a man’s head slowly rising above the level of the window-sill -and blotting out the stars. Jim lay absolutely still, desperately -concentrating his brains to meet the situation; and as he did so the -figure outside the window, like a menacing black shadow, stealthily -raised itself until the arms and shoulders were visible, and he was able -to recognize the large proportions of the innkeeper. - -The room was in complete darkness, and, realizing that he himself could -not be seen, Jim silently extended his hand until his fingers clasped -themselves around the brass candlestick at his side. His agitation gave -place to the thrill of battle, and, with a bound like that of a wild -animal, he sprang to his feet and dashed at the intruder. At the same -moment the man clambered into the room; and, an instant later, the two -were in contact. - -A frenzied blow with the heavy candlestick struck the innkeeper’s -uplifted arm, and the knife which he had been carrying fell to the floor. -The man darted to recover it, whereat Jim aimed a second blow as he -stooped; but, before he could strike, the innkeeper’s left hand crashed -into his face, so that he staggered back across the room with the blood -pouring from his nose. Regaining his balance, he again rushed forward; -and before the other could raise his recovered knife the candlestick -descended upon his head, with a most satisfactory thud, and, without a -sound, the man fell in a heap upon the floor. - -For a moment Jim stood over him, his improvised weapon raised to strike -again. He felt the blood streaming from his nose, and, pulling his -handkerchief from his pocket, he attempted in vain to arrest the flow, -at the same time wondering what next he should do. He could just discern -the dark outline of the figure at his feet, but there was no sign of -movement, and he wondered whether the man were dead. At the moment he -certainly hoped so. - -Then, sniffing and panting, he felt for his matches and struck a light. -The candle, which had fallen from its socket, lay on the floor before -him; and this he now lit, replacing it in the brass holder which had -served him so well. Next, he glanced out of the window, and saw, as he -had expected, a ladder leaning against the wall; but, though he could now -hear voices in the house, there seemed to be no one at the foot of the -ladder, so far as the darkness permitted him to discern. - -This appeared, therefore, to be the best means of escape, and, snatching -up his hat and slinging his knapsack across his shoulder, he hastened -towards the window. As he did so the figure upon the floor showed signs -of returning life, and Jim hastily stooped and picked up the man’s -ugly-looking knife, while the blood from his nose steadily dripped upon -it, upon the clothes of his unconscious assailant, and upon the bare -boards. - -He was in the act of climbing over the sill when he heard voices at the -bedroom door, and saw the bolt rattle. At this he slid down the ladder -at break-neck speed, and raced through the darkness as fast as his legs -would carry him towards the beach. For a moment he hesitated upon the -soft sand, recollecting that in the one direction—the way he had come -yesterday—there was no habitation for many miles, while in the other the -estuary, of which he had been told, cut him off from the neighbouring -town. - -Behind him he heard a considerable commotion in the house, and at the -lighted window of his abandoned bedroom he saw a figure appear for a -moment. The other men, then, had burst into the room, and in a few -moments they would doubtless be after him. - -Suddenly he thought of the rowing-boat, and, with a gasp of relief, he -ran out on to the rocks. Here he slipped and fell, thereby losing the -innkeeper’s knife; but, with hands wet with the blood from his nose, he -clutched at the boulders, and clambered forward. A few minutes later he -had lifted the boat’s mooring-rope from the rock around which it was -fastened, and had pushed out to sea. - -For some minutes he rowed at his best speed away from the land, but -presently he rested on his oars to listen to the cries and curses which -came over the water to his ears out of the darkness. His mood was now -exultant, for he had observed on the previous evening that there was -no other craft of any kind within sight, and a pull of two or three -kilometres would bring him to the neighbouring town. He was now enjoying -the adventure, for he felt that it marked the breaking of the long -monotony of his days at Eversfield and the beginning of a new and more -vivid existence, far removed from the petty incidents of English village -life. He could not resist the temptation to shout out some bantering -remark to the men upon the beach whom he could not see, and soon his -voice was sounding across the dark water, bearing impolite messages to -the innkeeper and a few choice words for themselves. Their oaths returned -to him out of the night, and set him laughing; and presently he resumed -his rowing now with a less frenzied stroke, heading towards the three or -four solitary lights which marked his destination. - -And thus, as the first light of dawn appeared in the eastern sky, he -quietly beached the little boat upon the deserted shore in front of the -houses, and stepped out on to the sand. The current had been running -strongly against him, and the journey had taken him longer than he had -expected; but in the cool night air, under the glorious stars, he had -found himself thoroughly happy, and his excitement seemed but to have -added zest to his life. - -A troublesome question, however, now arose in his mind as to whether -he should go at once to the police, or whether it would be wiser to -keep silent in regard to his adventure. If he reported the matter and -subsequently had to appear in the courts, the pleasant secret of his -double identity would have to be revealed. That would be the end of James -Easton, for, in the limelight which would be turned upon him, he would -be obliged to admit to his real name. On the other hand, he would dearly -like to bring the innkeeper and his confederates to justice. - -He now, therefore, sat down upon the beach in the dim light of daybreak -and carefully thought the matter out in all its aspects; the result being -that at length he very reluctantly decided to hold his tongue, and, with -the first rays of the sun, to proceed upon his way. - -Taking off his boots and socks, and rolling up his trousers, he went back -to the boat, and, wading into the water, pushed it out to sea with all -his strength, thereafter watching it as it slowly floated back towards -the estuary, in which direction the current was travelling. He then went -over to a cluster of rocks, behind which he would be unobserved, and -there he opened his knapsack and made his toilet, washing the crusted -blood from his face and hands and the front of his coat. - -When he emerged at length, the sun had risen; and he walked into the -little town in an entirely inconspicuous manner. Here he presently -ascertained that there was a railway-station, and he observed that a -number of people were already making their way thither to catch the early -market-train. Nobody took any notice of him as he bought his ticket -and entered the compartment, for in appearance he differed little from -an ordinary Italian, and he was not called upon to speak at sufficient -length to reveal any faults in his accent. This was all to the good, -since his sole object now was to leave the neighbourhood of his adventure -in order to preserve the secret of his double life. Thus half an hour -later he was jogging along back to Pisa, and by mid-morning he was on his -way to Florence, none the worse for his adventure, and having suffered no -loss with the exception of his walking-stick, his handkerchief, a great -deal of blood, and much of his confidence in the Italian peasant. - -Arrived at Florence, he engaged a room, in the name of Easton, at a small -and quiet hotel, and here he decided to remain for the next few days, and -to forget his growing indignation against the murderous innkeeper, since -no redress was possible without exposure of his carefully laid plans. -His amazement and agitation may thus be imagined when, on the following -morning, he read in his newspaper that he was believed to have been -murdered. - -The account was circumstantial. A police patrol, riding along the beach -an hour before dawn, had come upon two men acting in what was described -as a suspicious manner outside the inn. Questions were being put to them -when the innkeeper appeared at a window and shouted out, asking whether -their victim had been “finished off.” This led to a search of the house, -and to the examination of the disordered and bloodstained bedroom, and -to the discovery of a walking-stick bearing the name “J. Tundering-West” -upon the silver band, a blood-soaked handkerchief marked J. T.-W., and -a postcard addressed by the victim to Mrs. Tundering-West. Thereupon -the dazed innkeeper and his friends were arrested, and it was observed -that there were spots of blood upon the clothes of the former. A further -search, after the sun had risen, had revealed bloodstains leading down to -and upon the rocks, whither the body had evidently been carried; while a -bloodstained knife, thrown aside at the edge of the water, and marks of a -struggle, indicated that the unfortunate man had here been “finished off” -before being dropped into the sea. - -The arrested men had confessed to being associated with an attempted act -of violence, but swore that the intended victim had escaped in the boat, -and that one of their number, who was the only guilty party, had fled. -This, however, was a palpable lie, for the boat was later found beached -at the mouth of the estuary a short distance away, and if it had been -used at all, which was not at all certain, it must have been utilized as -a means of escape by that one of their number who had bolted. - -Meanwhile, the police had ascertained that Mr. Tundering-West had been -staying at Genoa three days previously; and that an Englishman, whose -name did not appear in the hotel register, but was probably identical, -had stopped at the little Hotel Giovanni in Pisa on the nights previous -to the crime. During the day a police-launch had scoured the sea in the -neighbourhood, but the body had not been found. - -Jim was dazed as he read the amazing words, and for some time thereafter -he sat staring in front of him, lost in a maze of speculation. Two -thoughts, however, stood out clearly in the confusion of his mind. In the -first place he must not allow the innkeeper to suffer the extreme penalty -for a crime which fortunately had not been committed; and in the second -place he would have to notify Dolly that he was safe. - -Presently, therefore, he made his way towards a telegraph office, and -then, changing his mind, enquired his way to the police-station. He -was feverishly anxious to preserve the secret of his identity with Jim -Easton, for that name seemed to represent his freedom, and he was filled -with disappointment that all his schemes for his periodical liberty -should thus fall to pieces; yet he could not devise a means of preserving -his secret, and he hovered, irresolute, between the Scylla of the -telegram and the Charybdis of this devastating notification to the police. - -He was standing at a street corner, near the telegraph office, racking -his brains, when a newspaper boy passed him, selling an evening paper; -and he bought a copy in order to read the latest news in regard to -his own murder. Great developments, he found, had taken place during -the day. Acting upon an anonymous communication, the police had dug -up the flagstones of one of the basement rooms of the inn, and there -they had found the decomposing body of a certain Italian gentleman who -had disappeared some months previously; and, following upon this, the -innkeeper had made a dramatic confession. It was true, he declared, that -both murders were the work of his hands. In the case of the Italian, the -victim had insulted a woman of his acquaintance and a duel had followed; -and in the case of the Englishman, the motive had been revenge for an -insult to his beloved Italy. He had offered to fight this foreigner like -a gentleman, but the stranger had taken a mean advantage of him and had -struck him with a candlestick. Thereupon he had stabbed him deeply, as -the blood indicated, but not fatally, for there had followed a pretty -fight; and at last he had lifted his opponent from the ground and had -hurled him straight through the window. Then, contemptuously handing his -knife to that one of his friends who had cravenly fled, he had told him -to finish the work, and to throw the body to the fishes. - -At this Jim’s heart leapt within him, and he laughed aloud. It was now -totally unnecessary for him to save the braggart’s neck by revealing -the fact that he was alive and unhurt. Indeed, he smiled, he had not -the heart to spoil the man’s boastful story. The innkeeper was a proven -murderer or manslaughterer, and there was no need to speak up in his -defence. The finding of the first victim’s body, and the consequent -confession, had completely ended the matter; and now the law could take -its course. And upon the heels of this conclusion there came rushing -forward another thought—a thought which had been lurking in the back of -his mind ever since he had read the first news of the crime. - -“James Tundering-West is dead,” he muttered; “the Squire of Eversfield is -_dead_! But Jim Easton, the vagrant, is alive!” - -He struck his breast with his fist, and set off walking aimlessly along -the street, away from the telegraph office. Of a sudden, it seemed to -him, an incubus had been removed. That fat, leering figure in its tight -black coat, which, in his imagination, had come to represent domestic -life and village society, had collapsed like a pricked balloon. It had -leered at him for the last time, and, with a whistle of escaping air, had -shrunk into a little heap, over which he was even now leaping to freedom. - -“Jim Easton, the free man, is alive,” sang his heart, “but Dolly’s -husband is at the bottom of the sea!” - - - - -Chapter XIII: FREEDOM - - -It is not easy to convey in a few words the turmoil of Jim’s mind -during the following days. One cannot say that he was the prey of his -conscience, for he believed from the bottom of his heart that he was -doing the best thing for Dolly, as well as for himself, in thus allowing -the story of his murder to stand. His uncle had lived a double life, and -thus had maintained a reputation for virtue. In Jim’s case, he could not -long have hidden from the eyes of his neighbours the wretchedness of -his marriage, and there was no likelihood that he would have ever set a -shining example of nobility to the village; and therefore his supposed -extinction could be regarded as one of those pretences which are the -basis of society. - -Had there been any likelihood of his deception being found out, the case -would have been different; but his death had been accepted absolutely, -and he did not suppose that there would be any penetrating inquiries or -investigations by the police now that the innkeeper had made his lying -confession. He was completely “dead,” nor would he ever have to come back -to earth again, thereby upsetting any future arrangement of her life -which his “widow” might make; for even if he were one day recognized by -some English acquaintances he could always put any inquirer in the wrong -by showing that he had been none other than “Jim Easton” these many -years. - -Yet the fear of detection, and the indefinite sense that he was acting -in a manner violently opposed to those legalities which he did not -understand, but whose existence he realized, kept him in a state of -nervous tension and temporarily banished all peace from his mind. He was -convinced that Dolly would not grieve for him; yet the manner of his -death would be a shock to her, and there were two other persons—Mrs. -Darling and Smiley-face—who would feel his loss. They would soon forget -him, however. - -He recalled Mrs. Spooner’s angry words to him after that day when he had -inadvertently interrupted her bicycle-ride: “You haven’t much idea of -obligation, have you?” This irresponsibility, of which people complained, -was evidently growing upon him, he thought to himself; yet, viewing the -matter from another angle, was he not now deliberately acting for the -good of everybody concerned, in ending his unfortunate marriage and -abandoning his inheritance? - -His equanimity, however, gradually returned to him in some measure; -and when at length he went back to Rome, and there settled himself -comfortably in the obscure little hotel in the Trastevere quarter, he was -already beginning at moments to feel a tremendous joy in his recovered -liberty. - -He knew that he was a deserter, and he was well aware that so he would -be called by all nice-minded people. Yet that thought in itself did -not trouble him; for the mental standpoint of the wanderer commands an -outlook very different from that of the stout citizen. He saw clearly -that he had not in him the stuff of which a constitutional state or -a model household is made. He could not be a party to so many of the -hypocrisies of social life. He was not a good disciple of the Great Sham, -and was so often inclined to “give the show away” when most the illusion -ought to have been maintained. He was not a respectable member of the -community, nor was he gifted with those methodical and enduring qualities -which shape wedlock into a salubrious routine. Perhaps it was that he -had too much imagination to be a good citizen, too much finesse to be a -good husband. In any case he knew that he would never have been of use -to his country, except, perhaps, as a pioneer in a small way (for the -world-power of the Anglo-Saxon has been established by the rover and the -free lance); or possibly as a sort of intellectual bagman, unconsciously -exhibiting the lighter side of the race to foreign and critical eyes. - -As the days passed he gave ever less consideration to his attitude, and -soon his thoughts of Dolly and his English life had become sporadic and -fleeting. Once, as he loitered in the sunny Piazza di Spagna upon a -certain Sunday morning, and watched the good folk mounting the hot steps -to the church of the Trinita de’ Monti, he irritably argued the matter -to himself as though anxious to exorcise it by arriving at some sort of -finality. “Dolly will be far happier without me,” he mused. “If I had -left her, and was known to be alive, I should harm her by placing upon -her the stigma most hateful to her sex—that of the unsuccessful wife. -But since I am supposed to be dead, she will benefit trebly: she is rid -of a bad husband; she will have the pleasure, very real to her, of -wearing mourning and nursing a fictitious sorrow; and she may set about -the management of her life with a house and a comfortable fortune to add -to her attractions. And then, again, from a public point of view, I have -avoided the inevitable scandal of my married life by dying before I was -driven to drink and debauchery. My memorial tablet in the church will be -worth reading!” - -His cogitations did not carry him further than this on the present -occasion; for a number of white pigeons rose suddenly from the ground -near his feet, and circled round the Egyptian obelisk which stands in -front of the church, thereby directing his thoughts to the land of the -Nile and to the life which he had led before he inherited Eversfield. - -On another day, while he was seated in the shade of the trees in the -Pincian Gardens, the passing carriages, in which the polite families of -Rome were taking the air, led his thoughts back once more to these fading -arguments and memories. “Now that I am dead,” he reflected, “Dolly will -at last be able to have the carriage-and-pair I had always refused to -give her. She will be able to play the part of the little widow in the -big carriage: yes!—that will please her far more than the presence of an -untidy-looking husband.” - -It is to be understood, and perhaps it is to his credit, that he had -given the loss of his inheritance never a thought, nor had cared how -his money would be spent. He had nearly two thousand pounds in the -bank, which was sufficient to provide for his modest needs for three or -four years, and further than that he had no power to look. He did not -grudge Dolly the estate; and, indeed, so heartily had he come to dislike -Eversfield and all it meant, that he could have wished his worst enemy no -greater punishment than to be established there at the manor. - -He gazed out through the arch of the trees to the dome of St. Peter’s, -rising above the distant houses on the far side of an open space of -blazing sunlight; and he breathed a sigh of profound relief that a means -of escape had been found from the cage of matrimony and domesticity -in which he had been confined. “I used to think,” he mused, “that it -would be a wonderful thing to have a wife who would be my refuge and my -sanctuary; but I see now that that was a delusion and a weakness. It is -far better for a man to stand on his own two legs, and to make his own -heart his place of comfort, and what he looks out on through its windows -his entertainment.” Yet even so, he was aware that this statement of the -case did not cover the whole ground; for there certainly were times when -he suffered from a sense of tremendous loneliness. - -Then came the trial of the innkeeper, and for a short time he was -obliged to return to the past; yet now he viewed matters with complete -detachment: it was as though he were in no way identical with James -Tundering-West, nor ever had been. He read in the papers, without a -tremor, how his wife had identified the walking-stick, handkerchief, -and postcard, which had been sent to England for the purpose of that -formality. He was mildly relieved to find that his dealings with the -diamonds had not been traced, and that his movements in France, and -his subsequent visit to Genoa and Pisa, were but roughly sketched in as -having no bearing upon the actual crime. The innkeeper’s declarations -quite amused him, and he was hardly indignant to find that the man had -become a popular figure, and that his sentence was wholly inadequate. - -The close of the trial marked Jim’s complete emancipation. With a wide -mental gesture, which was very inadequately expressed by his twisted -smile and the shrug of his shoulders, he dismissed the tale of his -marriage from the history of his life, and turned his attention wholly -to that all-embracing present, which is the true wanderer’s domain. The -“I was” and the “I shall be” of the citizen’s domestic life was lost in -the great “I am” of the vagabond. He was no longer the lord of a compact -little estate, bounded by grey stone walls and green hedges. He was the -squire vagrant; he was enfeoffed of the whole wide world. - -In the first exultation of his final freedom he decided to leave Rome. -The true vagrant does not move from place to place in conscious search of -knowledge or experience: he has no purpose in his movements. He travels -onwards merely to satisfy an undefined appetite for life. The difference -between the real nomad and the ordinary traveller is this, that the -latter passes with definite intent from one stopping-place to the next, -and the intervening road is but the means of approach to a desired goal; -but the nomad has no goal, or it might be said that the road itself is -his goal. - -In Jim’s case—to use an illustrative exaggeration—if he were moving -south, and the dust were to blow in his face, he would turn and travel -north. Thus, when he made his departure from Rome he took his direction -almost at random. He had no ties, no duties, no cares. A knapsack upon -his shoulders, and some loose change jingling in his pocket, a roll of -notes stuffed into his wallet, and at least three languages ready to his -tongue, he set out to range over his new estate, the world, having the -feeling in his heart that he had come back to the freedom of youth from -a misty prison of premature age which was already fast fading from his -memory. - -His route would be difficult to record and puzzling to follow. For days -together he lingered at little inns where a few francs procured him -excellent fare; now he passed on by road or rail, by river or lake, to -new districts, and new settings for the comedy of his life; and now he -came to rest under the awnings of some small hotel in the heart of a -sun-bathed city. - -During a spell of particularly hot weather he went north to Lake -Maggiore, where, on the cool slopes of Mergozzolo, he spent a number of -dreamy days at a little whitewashed inn, from whose terrace he could look -down upon the lake and beyond it to the blue and hazy plains of Lombardy -and Piedmont. He worked here on the polishing of his verses, writing -also a longish poem upon the subject of freedom; and in the evenings he -sat for hours under the stars, talking to the proprietor and his wife, -or playing his guitar, and smoking the little cigarettes in which the -Italian Government so wisely specializes. - -One incident which occurred at this time may be recorded. He was -making a journey by train one piping-hot day, and was seated alone -in a smoking compartment, which was connected by a door with another -compartment where smoking was not permitted. During a long run between -two stations this door was opened and another traveller entered, carrying -a small portmanteau and a bundle of rugs. He was a stout, florid, -prosperous-looking business man, whose English nationality was entirely -obvious, and when he explained in very bad Italian that he was changing -his seat in order to smoke a pipe, Jim answered him in his mother tongue, -and soon they passed into casual conversation. - -“People on these Italian railways,” the stranger said, “seem to smoke -in any carriage; but I, personally, feel that one ought to stick to the -rules, and only do so in the compartments specially provided for the -purpose.” - -“Quite right, I’m sure,” Jim replied, having no pronounced views on the -subject, but wishing to be polite. - -“That is what these foreigners lack—a sense of neighborly duty,” the man -went on. “Don’t you think so? I always feel that England is what she is -because our people always consider the other fellow. We pull together and -help each other.” - -He enlarged upon this subject, and was still citing instances in support -of his argument, when the train pulled up at a small station, where a -halt of ten minutes or so was announced by an official upon the platform. -Thereupon a number of passengers alighted from the train and made their -way through the blazing sunlight to a refreshment stall which stood -in the cool shade of a dusty tree in the station yard, just beyond the -barriers. - -Jim was in lazy mood, and did not join this throng of thirsty humanity; -but his companion, who was feeling the heat, left his seat and followed -the hurrying crowd. - -At length the bell rang, and the guard blew his horn; and Jim, suddenly -awakening from a reverie, became aware that his fellow traveller had not -returned, and hastily leaned out of the window to see what had become of -him. The driver sounded his whistle, and set the engine in motion; and at -the same moment Jim saw a fat and frantic figure struggling to pass the -barrier, and being held back by excited officials, who, it seemed, were -refusing to allow him to attempt to board the moving train. - -Jim waved his arm and received some sort of answering signal of distress. -Instantly the thought flashed into his mind that here was an opportunity -to display that sense of obligation of which they had spoken, and to aid -a fellow creature in trouble. The man’s baggage! He must throw it out of -the train, so that, at any rate, the owner in his dilemma should not be -separated from his belongings. - -Snatching the portmanteau and the rugs from the seat where they rested, -he pushed them through the window, and had the satisfaction of seeing -them roll to safety upon the platform at the feet of a bewildered porter. -Again he waved to the struggling man, and pointed repeatedly to the -baggage with downward jabbing finger; then, having thus performed what he -considered to be a most neighbourly act of quick-witted succour, he sank -back into his corner seat and laughed to himself at the incident. - -A smile still suffused his face when, several minutes later, the door -from the next compartment opened and the portly Englishman made his -appearance. - -“Warm lemonade,” he remarked; “but it was better than nothing. A dam’ -pretty woman in the next carriage. I’ve been trying to talk to her, but -it was no good: we can’t understand each other.” - -Jim stared at him in horror, as at a ghost. “Then it wasn’t you at the -barrier?” he gasped in awe. - -“What d’you mean?” the other asked. “Hullo, where’s my baggage?” - -Jim blanched. “I threw it out of the window,” he said, swallowing -convulsively. - -“You did _what_?” the man exclaimed, staring at him in amazement. - -“I thought,” Jim stammered, “it was the most neighbourly thing to do; you -see, I....” But the remainder of the sentence failed upon his dry lips, -as the corpulent stranger rose up before him in the crimson fullness of -his fury. - -Never had Jim, in all his vicissitudes, been subjected to so overwhelming -a bombardment of abuse; and though he managed at length to explain -the mistake he had made, he failed thereby to check the passionate -maledictions which spluttered and burst about his devoted head like -fireworks. At last he could stand it no longer, and, rising slowly to his -feet, he smote the stranger a blow upon the jaw which sent him reeling -across the compartment, as the train came to a standstill at another -station. - -The man staggered to the door, and, tumbling out on to the platform, -shouted for help in a frenzied admixture of English, French, and Italian; -but while a crowd of uncomprehending passengers and officials gathered -around him, Jim opened the door at the opposite end of the carriage, and -descended on to the deserted track. A moment later he had disappeared -behind the wall of an adjacent shed, and soon was out on the high road, -heading for his destination, which was yet some ten miles distant. - -“That’s enough of neighbourly duty for one day,” he muttered, as he lit a -cigarette. - -A great part of August he spent amidst the woods of Monte Adamello, and -in the Val Camonica; but, suddenly feeling a little bored, and having a -desire for the sea, he made the long train-journey to Venice, and crossed -the water to the Lido, where he bought himself a mad red-and-white -bathing suit, and went daily into the sea with a crowd of merry Venetians. - -The delights of the Stabilimento dei Bagni, however, did not long hold -him in thrall. There was too much splashing and spitting; and, when the -bathing hours were over for the day, the concert-hall and the open-air -theatre offered a kind of entertainment which, owing to an unaccountable -mood of discontent, soon began to pall. He therefore took ship across the -Gulf of Venice to Trieste, and stayed for some days at a small hotel on -the hillside towards Boschetto. - -Here, one evening at dinner, he made the acquaintance of a ship’s -officer, who told him that on the morrow the steamer on which he was -employed was sailing for Cyprus; and, without a moment’s hesitation, -Jim decided to take passage by it to that island of romance. It was -September, and the weather was cooling fast. He had had some vague idea -of crossing the sea to the Levant; but now this new suggestion came to -him with a surprisingly definite appeal. - -“Of Course, Cyprus!” he exclaimed. “The very place I have always wanted -to visit. I had forgotten all about it.” - -He had read books, and had heard travellers’ tales, about this wonderful -land which rises from the blue waters of the eastern Mediterranean like -a phantom isle of enchantment. Here the remains of temples dedicated to -the old gods of Greece are to be seen: the mountain streams still resound -at noon with the pipes of Pan; at sunset upon the seashore one may -picture Aphrodite rising in her glory from the waves; and at midnight the -barking of the dogs of Diana may be heard over the hills. The Crusaders -endeavoured to establish a kingdom here on Frankish lines, and the -place is full of the ruins of their efforts. The headlands are crested -with crumbling baronial castles, and in the towns there still stand the -walls of Gothic churches, wherein, at dead of night, they say that the -ghostly chanting of hymns to the Blessed Virgin may be heard. Then came -the Moslems; and to this day the call to prayer in the name of Allah -synchronizes with the tolling of convent bells summoning the worshippers -in the name of the Mother of Jesus, while the peasants, inwardly heedless -of both, still make their little offerings at the traditional holy places -of the gods of Olympus. - -It is a land in which the movement of Time is forgotten, and in part -it is a living remnant of the dead ages; and as such it had for long -appealed to Jim’s imagination. Straightway, therefore, he wrote a letter -to his bankers in Rome telling them to forward him some money to the -Post Office at Nicosia, the capital city; and twenty hours later he was -standing on the deck of the small coasting steamer, watching the land -receding from sight in a haze of afternoon heat. - -On the sixth morning, as the sun was rising, the anchor rattled into the -blue waters of the roadstead before Larnaca, the chief port of Cyprus; -and, after an early breakfast, Jim was rowed in a small boat, manned -by a Greek and a negro, towards the little town which stood white and -resplendent in the sunshine, its cupolas, minarets, and flat-roofed -houses backed by the vivid green of the palms and the saffron of the -hills. He knew a few words of Greek, and a considerable amount of Arabic; -and, with the aid of his friend the ship’s officer, he had soon chartered -the two-horse carriage in which he was to make the thirty-mile journey to -Nicosia, the inland capital of the island. - -The road passed across the bare, sunburnt uplands, and was flanked by -scattered rocks, from which the basking lizards scampered as the carriage -approached. Occasionally they passed a cart drawn by two long-horned -bullocks, led by a scarlet-capped peasant; or a solitary shepherd driving -his flock; or some cloaked and bearded rider upon a mule, jingling down -to the coast. The glare of the road was great; but under the shelter of -the dusty awning of the carriage Jim was cool enough, and there was a -refreshing following-wind blowing up from the sea, which tempered the -autumn heat. - -The time passed quickly, and it did not seem long before they lurched, -with a great cracking of the driver’s whip, into the half-way village -of Dali. The second stage of the journey was more tedious, for now the -novelty of the rugged scenery was gone, and the jolting of the rickety -carriage was more noticeable. Jim was thankful, therefore, when, in -the late afternoon, Nicosia came suddenly into sight, and the carriage -presently rattled through the tunnelled gateway in the mediæval ramparts, -and passed into the narrow and echoing streets of the city. - -Here Greeks and Armenians, Arabs and Turks thronged the intricate -thoroughfares; and as the driver made his way towards the Greek hotel, -to which Jim had been recommended, there was much pulling at the mouths -of the weary horses and much hoarse shouting. Now their passage was -obstructed by an oxen-drawn cart, piled high with earthenware jars; now -they seemed to be about to unseat a turbaned Oriental from his white -steed; and now a group of Greek girls bearing pitchers upon their heads -was scattered to right and left as the carriage lumbered round a corner. -Here was a priest entering a Gothic doorway dating from the days of -Richard Cœur-de-Lion, and upon the wall above him were carved the arms of -some forgotten knight of Normandy; here a sheikh in flowing silks stood -kicking off his shoes before the tiled entrance of a mosque. Here were -noisy Turkish children playing before a building which recalled the age -of the Venetian Republic; and here wild-eyed Cypriot peasants wrangled -and argued as they had argued since those far-off days when Cleopatra’s -sister was queen of the island, and, ages earlier, when Phœnician seamen -and the warriors of ancient Greece had held them in subjection. - -At last the carriage pulled up in front of the white archway which led -through a high, blank wall into the hotel; and presently Jim found -himself in a quiet courtyard, where a tinkling fountain played amongst -the orange-trees. The building was erected around the four sides of this -secluded yard, the rooms leading off a red-tiled balcony, supported on a -series of whitewashed arches, and approached by a flight of worn stone -steps. - -Up to this covered balcony he was led by the genial proprietor, a man -with a fierce grey moustache which belied a fat and kindly face; and a -room was assigned to him, from the door of which he could look down upon -the fountain and the oranges, while from the window at the opposite end -he commanded a short view across a jumble of flat housetops to a group -of tall dark cypress trees, where the sparrows were chattering as they -gathered to roost. - -The walls of the room were whitewashed and were pleasantly devoid of -pictures. It might have been a chamber in an ancient palace, and as Jim -sat himself down upon the wooden bench he had the feeling that he had -passed from the twentieth century into some period of the far past. - -For some time there had been a vague kind of discontent in his mind. It -was as though his life were incomplete. He seemed to be seeking for -something, the nature of which he could not define. At times he had -thought that this was due to a desire for romance, a natural urge of sex; -but, on the other hand, his reason told him that he had had enough of -women, and that his present emancipation was in essence very largely a -freedom from them. - -Now, however, in the dusk of this quiet room, his heart seemed of a -sudden to be at rest; and when from a distant minaret there came to his -ears the evening call to prayer, a sense of inevitability, a kind of -acknowledgment of _Kismet_, or Fate, passed over him and soothed him into -a hopeful and expectant peacefulness. - -He was still in this tranquil mood when the summons to the evening meal -brought him down the stone steps and across the courtyard, where the -ripe oranges hung from the trees, and the fountain splashed. It was with -quiet, dawdling steps, too, that he strolled out, hatless, into the -narrow street after the meal was finished. The night was warm and close, -with the moon at full; and the pale deserted thoroughfare was hushed -as though it were concealing some secret. The barred windows and shut -doors of the houses seemed to hide unspoken things, and the two or three -passers-by, moving like shadows near to the wall, gave the impression -that they were bent upon some mysterious mission. - -Here and there between the houses on either side small gardens were -hidden away behind high whitewashed walls, above which the tops of the -trees could be seen. The door of one of these stood open, and Jim, -standing in the middle of the empty street, paused to gaze through the -white archway into the shadows and sprinkled moonlight beyond. - -Then, quietly into the frame of the doorway there came the figure of a -woman, peering out into the street, the moon shining upon her face and -upon her white hand, which held the door as though she were about to -shut it for the night. On the instant, and with a leap of his heart, Jim -recognized her. - -“Monimé!” he cried out in amazement, running forward to her. He saw her -raise her arm to her forehead and step back into the shadow: he could -hear her gasp of surprise. A moment later he had taken her hand in his, -and her startled eyes had met his own. - - - - -Chapter XIV: THE ISLAND OF FORGETFULNESS - - -“Monimé!” he repeated. “Don’t you know me? I’m Jim—Jim Easton.” - -For a moment yet she did not speak. He could feel her hand trembling a -little in his, and the movement of her breast revealed the haste of her -breathing. She leaned back against the jamb of the door, and her eyes -turned towards the garden behind her, as though she were contemplating -flight into its shadows. - -When at last she spoke, her words came rapidly. “Why have you come to -Cyprus?” she asked passionately; and the sound of her voice brought a -half-forgotten Alexandrian night racing back to his consciousness. “You -couldn’t have known I was here, and nobody knows who I am. How did you -find out where I lived?” She moved her head from side to side in a kind -of anguish which he did not understand. “I don’t know that there is any -need for you in the Villa Nasayan.” - -“Nasayan?” he repeated, in query. “Is that the name of this house?” She -nodded her head. “That’s the Arabic for ‘Forgetfulness,’” he said. “Why -did you give it such a name?” - -Her answer faltered. The serenity with which he associated her in -his memory had temporarily left her. “There was much to forget,” she -replied, “and much has been forgotten. Cyprus is called ‘The Island of -Forgetfulness.’ It is wonderful how bad one’s memory becomes here.” - -She laughed nervously, and again put her hand to her head. The fingers of -her other hand drummed upon the wall. “Why have you come?” she repeated. - -“There was no reason,” he said. “I just thought I’d like to see Cyprus. -I had no idea you were here. I only arrived to-day: I was just strolling -about after dinner....” - -“It’s more than four years,” she murmured. “Four years is a very long -time. It was all so long ago, Jim, wasn’t it? Nobody can remember things -as long ago as that, can they?” - -She withdrew her hand from his, and stood staring at him with a baffling -half-smile upon her lips. His heart sank, for it seemed to him that she -was not minded to revive that dream of the past which to him had suddenly -leapt once more into vivid reality. - -“I have never forgotten,” he whispered, though he knew that the words -needed qualification. “I knew it was you, almost before I saw your face.” -He hesitated. “May I come into your garden?” - -She allowed him to enter, and closed the door behind him. Together they -walked in silence to a stone bench which stood in the moonlight beneath a -dark cypress-tree; and here they seated themselves, side by side. - -For a while they talked; but it was a sort of fencing with words, he -thrusting and she parrying. He did not know what he said; for all his -actual consciousness went out to her, not through speech, but through a -kind of contact of their hidden hearts. - -Then, without further preliminaries, she turned on him. “You say you have -never forgotten,” she laughed. “But when you say that you are deceiving -yourself, or trying to deceive me. I don’t like to hear you making -conventional remarks, Jim: I have always thought of you as frank to the -point of rudeness. Be frank with me now, and admit that you regarded our -time together as a little episode in your wandering life, and that you -went on your way without another thought for me....” - -He interrupted her. “Was that how you felt about me?—you forgot me, too, -didn’t you?” - -“With a woman it is different,” she replied. “One is not always able to -forget so soon.” - -“But why didn’t you tell me your name, or give me some address?” he -asked. “I wrote to you from the ship: I posted the letter at Marseilles. -Didn’t you get it?” - -“No,” she answered. “I stayed on at the Beaux-Esprits for a week or so, -but nothing came. I left an address when I went away: I’m sure I did.” - -He laughed. “I think you must have forgotten to. We are both just -tramps....” - -She made a gesture of deprecation. “At first I wanted to find you again -very badly,” she said, turning her face from him. “I made inquiries, but -nobody seemed to know anything about you. I remembered you said you’d -inherited some property, and I even got a friend in England to look up -recent wills and bequests for the name of Easton, but no trace could be -found. Then, somehow, it didn’t seem to matter any more, and I told him -not to look for you further.” - -“Then you did care ...?” - -“Who can tell?” she smiled, and her words baffled him, as did also the -expression of her face in the moonlight. - -“Why didn’t you tell me your name?” he asked. “I don’t yet know it.” - -She looked at him in surprise. “My name is still ‘Smith,’” she laughed. - -“I don’t believe you,” he answered. - -She shrugged her shoulders. “They all know me as that in this place—just -‘Mrs. Smith.’” - -“It used to be _Miss_ Smith,” he said. - -“One causes less comment as a married woman,” she explained. “Such -friends as I have suppose that I am a widow who, being an artist, has -come to live here because of the picturesqueness of the place and its -cheapness.” - -“And what is the real reason?” he asked, looking intently into her eyes. - -Of a sudden she rose from the bench, and stood before him, her back to -the moon, the light of which made a shining aureole round her hair. Her -left hand was laid across her breast; the other was clenched at her side. - -“Jim, I beg you ...” she said. “This is the Island of Forgetfulness, and -you have strayed here, bringing Memory with you. There is no need for -you in Nasayan. For my sake, for your own sake, go, I beg you. There -is something here which we have in common, and yet which separates us: -something which to me is a garland of Paradise, and which to you might -be like the chains of hell. I beg you, I beg you: go away! Go back to -the open road and the Bedouin life. Leave me in Nasayan, in oblivion. I -don’t want you to know more than this. I swear to you there is no call -for you to stay. You have your wandering life: the hills and the valleys -and the cities of the whole world are before you. Don’t stay here, don’t -try to look into Nasayan....” - -Her voice faltered, her gestures were those of pleading, yet even so she -appeared to him to have that regal attitude which he remembered now so -well. - -The meaning of her words, the cause of their intensity, were obscure to -him. His mind was confused, and there was a quality of dream in their -situation. The black cypress trees which shot up around them into the -pale sky like monstrous sentinels; the little orange-trees fantastically -decked with their golden fruit; the tiled and moon-splashed pathways; -the white walls of the villa, clad with rich creepers; the heavy -scent of luxuriant flowers; the sparkling water in the marble basin -of the fountain—all these things seemed unreal to him. They were like -a legendary setting for the mysterious figure standing before him, a -figure, so it seemed to him, of a queen of some kingdom of the old world, -left solitary amongst the living long ages after her advisers and her -palaces had crumbled to dust in the grasp of Time. - -“I don’t understand,” he said, rising and confronting her. “What is the -secret about you?—there was always mystery around you.” - -“No,” she answered. “There was no mystery four years ago, except the -mystery of our dream. My secret then was only a small matter. I was -just a runaway. I had left my husband because I wanted my freedom, and -to follow my art in freedom. I had changed my name because I feared to -be called back. But now he is dead, and I have nothing to fear in that -direction.... No, there was no secret—then.” - -“But now?—please tell me, Monimé,” he urged. “I want to know, I _must_ -know.” - -Once more she fenced with him, and their words became useless. At length, -however, his questions brought a crisis near to them again. She clenched -and unclenched her hands. “I beg you, go away now,” she urged. “Forget -me; go back to your freedom. There is something here which will trap you -if you stay. Oh, can’t you understand? Don’t you see that I can’t tell -whether Fate has brought you here for your happiness, or even for my -happiness, or whether it is for our sorrow that you have been brought. I -can’t tell, I can’t tell! We are almost strangers to one another.” - -He put his arms about her and held her to him. She neither shrank from -him, nor responded to him. At that moment all else in time, all else in -life, was blotted from his mind, and he knew only that he had found again -the lost gateway of his dreams. - -“You must speak out,” he cried. “I must know all that there is to know -about you. You must explain what you mean.” - -She made a movement from him, and suddenly it seemed that her mind was -resolved. “Very well, then,” she said. “Come with me into the house.” - -She led the way in silence down the pathway, and through a doorway almost -hidden beneath the creepers. A dark passage, screened by a curtain, led -into a square hall, softly lit by candles; and at one side of this a -stone staircase passed up to a gallery from which two doors opened. - -To one of these doors she brought him, a shaded candle held in her hand. -Her face was turned from him as they entered the room, and he could not -tell what her expression might be; but her step was stealthy and her -finger was held up. - -Then, suddenly, as in a flash, he understood; and instantly he knew what -he was going to see in the little bed which stood against the wall. - -She held the candle aloft and motioned him silently to approach the bed. -It was only a mop of dark curls that he could see, and a chubby face half -buried in the pillows. - -He turned to her with a burning question on his lips, but the beating of -his heart seemed to deprive him of the power of speech. She nodded gently -to him, her face once more serene and calm, and now, too, very proud. - -“He is your son,” she said. - -With a quick eager movement he pulled the light blanket back, and -snatched up the sleeping little figure in his arms. Even though the eyes -were tight shut, the mouth absurdly open, and the head falling loosely -from side to side, he saw at once the likeness to himself, and to all the -Tundering-Wests at whose portraits he had gazed during those years at -Eversfield. His heart leapt within him. - -“Don’t wake him!” she exclaimed, hastening forward; and as she laid the -child upon the bed once more Jim saw her revealed in a new aspect—that -of a mother. Her attitude as she bent over the sleeping form, the -encircling, protecting arms, the crooning words—they were tokens of a -sort of universal motherhood. She was Isis, the mother-goddess of Egypt; -she was Hathor; she was Venus Genetrix; she was Mary. Upon her broad -bosom she nursed for ever the child of man; and her lips smiled eternally -with the pride of creation. - -Silently he watched her as she smoothed the pillows, and there came -to him the memory of that day at Alexandria when he had awakened from -unconsciousness to find her leaning over him, her hand upon his forehead; -and suddenly he seemed to understand the nature of one of the veils of -mystery which enwrapped her, and which, indeed, enwraps all women who are -true to their sex. It is the veil which hangs before the sanctuary of -motherhood aglow with the inner illumination of the everlasting wisdom of -maternity. - -An overwhelming emotion shook his life to its foundations: he could have -gone down on his knees and kissed the hem of her garment. He could not -trust himself to speak, but silently he took her hand in his and pressed -it to his dry lips. - -She led him out of the room and down the stairs; and presently they were -seated once more upon the bench in the moonlight. In answer to his eager -questions, she told him in a low voice how she had hidden herself in -Constantinople when her time was approaching, and how the baby was born -in a convent-hospital. She had found in the city an English nurse, the -widow of a soldier, and at length with her she had taken ship to Cyprus, -and had rented this house. - -“I want you to understand,” she said, “that there is no obligation of any -kind upon you. Here in Nicosia there are a few English people: they have -received me without question, and I am not lonely. I send my pictures to -London from time to time, and the money I receive for them is ample for -my needs. When my boy is a little older I will take him to some place in -Italy or France where he can be educated and I can paint. Don’t think -that there is any call upon you: don’t feel that here is a chain to bind -you....” - -He stopped her with an excited gesture. “You don’t understand. This is -the most wonderful thing that could possibly have happened to me. I -want you to let me stay on at the hotel, and come over to see you every -day.... May I come to-morrow morning?—I must see that boy when he’s -awake. My son! He’s my son! Good Lord!—I’ve never felt so all up in the -air before.” - -A sudden thought frenzied him. If only he had known her address, or she -had known his, his disastrous marriage would never have taken place. He -would have married Monimé, and ultimately this little son of theirs would -have been the Tundering-West of Eversfield Manor. But now, the boy was -nameless, and the inheritance was gone as the price of freedom. - -“Oh, Monimé,” he cried. “How can you ever forgive me? Oh, why, why didn’t -I cable to you after I left Egypt?—why didn’t we keep in touch?” - -He paced to and fro, running his fingers through his dark hair and -pulling at it so that it fell over his forehead. His eyes were wild, and -his face looked white and haggard in the moonlight. - -“The fault was as much mine as yours,” she declared. “It was just Bedouin -love, and we let it slip from us. We dreamed our dreams, and in the -morning we went our ways, like the tramps that we are. And then when I -found that I had need of you, it was too late....” - -“But now we must make up for it,” he said. “We must never lose each other -again. I love you, Monimé. I believe I have always loved you, somewhere -at the back of my mind.” - -She smiled the wise smile of the old gods. “It was four years ago,” she -said, “and our little dream was so short. In a way we are strangers to -one another.” - -Presently she rose, and told him that he must go. “The hotel keeps early -hours,” she said. - -She led him to the door of the garden, but to his fervent adieux she gave -no great response. The expression on her face was placid once more, and -his excited senses could make nothing of it. - -He walked down the silent, mediæval street oblivious to his surroundings. -Behind a shuttered window there were sounds of the rhythmic beating of -a tambourine and the twanging of some sort of stringed instrument; but -he heeded them not. A cloaked and hooded figure, leaning upon a staff, -passed him, and bade him “Good-night” in Arabic; but he did not respond. -He entered the hotel, and walked up the steps to his bedroom without any -real consciousness of his actions. - -His whole being was, as it were, in an uproar, and his emotions were -playing riot with his reason. He had chanced again upon the woman he -had loved and almost forgotten, the woman he ought to have married; -and suddenly the great miracle had been wrought within him, and he was -deeply, wildly, madly in love with her. She was the mother of his son—his -son, his son, his son! - -Over and over again, he repeated it to himself, and the words seemed to -go roaring like a tempest through the crowded halls of his thoughts. -But presently, as he sat upon the foot of his bed, new whirlwinds of -actuality came to the assault, and scattered the shouting multitude of -his dreams. - -If he married Monimé he would be a bigamist, and within the reach of -the law. If he told her that he was married he might lose her for ever. -Even if he kept his real identity a secret, and risked detection, the -fact remained that he had thrown away his home and his fortune, and had -nothing in prospect when his present means were exhausted. - -For the first time since the early days of his inheritance he realized -the value of the property to which he had succeeded, he realized the -merit of the name he had abandoned. In later years how could he ever look -his son in the face, and tell him of the home and income that had been -thrown away? Yet if he kept his secret, how could he endure to live daily -to Monimé a fundamental lie? - -Bitterly he reproached himself for his past actions. Bitterly he cursed -Dolly for her part in the dilemma. There seemed no way out of the mess; -and far into the night he sat with his head resting upon his hands, his -fingers deep in his hair. - - - - -Chapter XV: WOMAN REGNANT - - -To Jim the days which followed were chaotic. The whole movement of his -existence seemed to be stimulated and speeded up, and the pace of his -thoughts was increased out of all measure. It was as though some sort -of drag or break had been removed from the wheels of his being, so that -the fiery steeds of circumstance were able to leap forward after many a -mile of heavy going. From now henceforth he was conscious of a general -acceleration, a new vehemence, even a sort of frenzy in his progress -along the high road of life; and, in consequence, his impressions were -received with less observation of detail. - -In the high passion of love there is no peace of mind and little -satisfaction. The lover can never believe that he is loved, yet his -happiness seems to him to depend on that assurance. His anxiety haunts -him, fevers him, and lays siege as it were to his very soul. - -The true lover makes more abundant acquaintance with hell than with -heaven. So sensitive is his condition that every moment not rich with his -lady’s obvious adoration is a moment impoverished by doubts and fears. -She is not so interested in him as she was, he thinks; she is bored; she -is cold to-day; she is thinking of something else; she does not surrender -herself impetuously as she would if she really cared. So says the -wretched lover in his heart, and so he gives himself over to the legion -of ten thousand devils. - -Monimé maintained towards Jim a quiet and tantalizing reserve. Mentally -she seemed to be upon the mountain-top, and he in the valley below. When -he visited her at her house she kept him waiting before she made her -appearance: it was as though she were not eager to see him. Women have -this in common with the feline race: they seem so often to be intent -upon some hidden pursuit. They go their own way, bide their own time, -and no man may know the secret of their doings. No man may be initiated -into their mysteries; and that which occupies them upstairs before they -descend to greet him is beyond his ken. - -Like a number of men, Jim’s character was marked by a certain simplicity. -He made no secret of his love: it was apparent in his every gesture. The -only secret which he maintained was that of his marriage, lest he should -lose her, and in this regard he lied to an extent which brought misery to -his heart. He gave her to understand that the property he had inherited -had proved to be of no great value, and that the little money he now -possessed was all that remained of its proceeds. - -He desired to forget the years at Eversfield utterly, and to live only in -the present. To Monimé he had always been Jim Easton, and the fact that -she had not so much as heard the names Tundering-West or Eversfield aided -him in his deception. Yet in his own heart his marriage to Dolly and the -change of identity by which he had effected his escape were become the -two appalling mistakes which shut him off from Monimé and their son. - -The little boy proved to be all that he could wish. He was about three -and a-half years of age, and was in the midst of that first great phase -of inquiry which is the introduction to the school of life. He used the -word “why” a hundred times a day; his large eyes stared in wondering -contemplation at every object which newly came into his ken; and his -fingers were ever busy with experiment. - -It is a trying age for the “grown-up”; but Jim, not having too much of -it, enjoyed it, and enjoyed watching Monimé’s handling of the situation. - -Her attitude towards himself during the first days, however, was the -cause of many a heartache. There was a curious expression on her face as -she watched him playing with the boy: it was at first as though she did -not recognize his parental position, nor regard him as being in any way -essential to the domestic alliance. She seemed to be anxious as to his -influence upon the child, and when once he made the jesting assertion -that parents should not try to be a good example to their offspring, but -rather an awful warning, she did not laugh. - -The possession of a son was the source of the most intense satisfaction -to him; but Monimé seemed at first to be endeavouring to check his -belated enthusiasm. Sometimes she appeared to him, indeed, as a lioness -protecting her cub from an interfering lion, and cuffing the intruder -over the head with a not too gentle paw. She seemed to claim the boy -as her own exclusive property, and she allowed Jim no free access to -the nursery, nor indeed to the house. There were days upon which the -door was closed to him on one pretext or another; and at such times -he experienced a variety of emotions, all of which were violent and -passionate. - -“People will talk,” she would say, “if you come here so often, Jim. I am -not independent of the world as I used to be: I have the boy to consider.” - -She had called the child Ian, which, she said, was the name of her -father; and the fact that she had thus excluded him from a nomenclatural -identity with the boy was a source to him of recurrent mortification. -His son should have been James, or Stephen, or Mark, like his ancestors -before him: it filled his heart with bitter remorse that the little chap -should be merely “Ian Smith.” - -Gradually, however, Monimé became more accustomed to his association with -the boy; and at length there came a memorable occasion on which they sat -together beside his cot for the best part of the night and nursed him -through an alarming feverish attack. It was then that Jim saw in her -face an expression of tenderness towards him which was like water to the -thirsty. - -“You know,” he said to her, as they walked in the garden together in the -cool of the daybreak, “this is the first time you have let me feel that I -have anything to do with Ian. I have been very hurt.” - -She turned on him vehemently. “Oh, don’t you understand,” she said, “that -your coming back into my life like this is very hard for me to bear? -I don’t want you to feel yourself tied down. I am perfectly capable -of looking after myself and my boy without your help. You have set a -struggle going in my mind that is distracting me. There is one side of -me which resents your interference, because you are just a wanderer, -perfectly capable of walking off once more with hardly a farewell. -There is another side which finds a sort of sneaking comfort in your -presence, and endows you with virtues you probably don’t possess. I was -self-reliant until you came. Now I am swayed this way and that. At one -moment I think I was wrong, and that we ought to be married and ought to -go to some country where we are unknown, so that we can explain our child -by pretending our marriage took place secretly four years ago. At another -moment I remember that you have not suggested marriage to me, and that -therefore you probably realize as well as I do your unfittedness for the -rôle of husband. And then there’s the constant feeling of the unfairness -of making you share, at this stage, the responsibilities I undertook of -my own free will at Alexandria.” - -“It was my doing as much as yours,” he replied. - -“No,” she answered, with a smile. “Any woman worth her salt handles those -sorts of situations, and makes up her own mind. Man proposes, woman -disposes. The whole thing is in the woman’s hands: to think otherwise is -to insult my sex. Men and women are both pieces in Nature’s game; but -Nature is a woman, and she works out her plans through her own sex.” - -She sat down upon the stone bench, and, with hands folded, gazed up to -the dawning glory of the sunrise. It was as though she were a conscious -daughter of Hathor, Mother of all things, looking for guidance in her -perplexity. Jim seated himself by her side, and for some time there was -silence between them, though his brain seemed to him to be full of the -clamour of shackled words and incarcerated emotions. - -Her reference to their marriage had pierced his heart as with a sharp -sword. He desired to make her his wife more intensely than ever he had -desired anything in his life before; yet he was unable to do so. He -wanted to possess her, to have the right to protect her, to be able to -dedicate his whole entity to her service; yet he was tied hand and foot, -and could make no such proposal. - -He felt ashamed, exasperated, and thwarted; and suddenly springing to his -feet, he swung about on his heel, kicked viciously at the bushes, and -swore a round, hearty oath. - -“What’s the matter?” she asked in surprise. “Has something stung you?” - -He laughed crazily. “Yes, I’m stung all over,” he cried. “There are a -hundred serpents with all their flaming fangs in me. I think I’m going -mad.” - -He paced to and fro, tearing at his hair; and when at length he resumed -his seat he seized both her hands in his, and frenziedly kissed her every -finger. - -“I’m on fire,” he gasped. “I believe my heart is a roaring furnace. I -must be full of blazing light inside; and in a few minutes I think I -shall drop down dead with longing for you, Monimé. Then you’ll have to -bury me; but I tell you there’ll be a volcanic eruption above my grave, -and flames will issue forth from my bare bones. I don’t believe Death -itself could extinguish me: my love will burst out in fearful torrents of -lava, and the whole earth will tremble at my convulsions. I shall come to -you again in earthquakes and tidal waves and a falling rain of comets. -I shall blow the whole blasted world to smithereens before I go roaring -into hell.... That’s how I feel! That’s what you’ve done to me!” - -He took her in his arms, and, holding her crushed and powerless to -resist, poured out his love for her in wild desperate words, his face -close to hers. The sun was rising, and the first rays of golden light -were flung upon the tops of the surrounding houses and trees while yet -the garden was blue with the shadow of the vanishing night. - -“Don’t Jim,” she whispered. “For God’s sake, don’t! We’ve got to be -sensible. We’ve got to think what’s best for Ian. Give me a chance to -think.” - -“I want you,” he cried. “I want you more than any man has ever wanted -anything. You belong to me: you’re my wife in the eyes of God. I want you -to marry me....” - -He had said it!—he had uttered the impossible thing; and his heart stood -still with anguish. His arms loosened their hold upon her, and they -faced one another in silence, while a thousand sparrows in the tree-tops -chattered their merry morning salutation to the sun. - -“Cad! Cad! Cad!” said the voice of his outraged conscience to him. -“Bigamist and thief!” And his heart responded with the one reiterated -excuse: “I love her, I love her!” - -“You must give me time to think,” she said at length. “Go now, Jim. You -must have some sleep, and I must see to Ian.” - -For two days after this she would not see him, but on the third day, -at mid-morning, he found himself once more in her drawing-room. It was -a charming room, cool and airy; and it had a distinction which his own -drawing-room at Eversfield had lamentably lacked. Dolly had been a victim -of the nepotistic practice of loading the tables, piano-top, and shelves -with photographs of herself, her friends, and her relatives. Pictures -of this kind are well enough in a man’s study or a woman’s boudoir; but -in the more public rooms they are only to be tolerated, if at all, in -the smallest quantity. Monimé, however, whether by design or by force of -circumstances, was free of this habit; and the more subtle essence of her -personality was thus able to be enjoyed without distraction. - -The walls were whitewashed and panelled with old Persian textiles; -carpets of Karamania and Smyrna lay upon the stone-paved floors; the -light furniture was covered with fine fabrics of local manufacture; -and in Cyprian vases a mass of flowers greeted the eye with a hundred -chromatic gradations and scented the air with the fragrance of summer. - -Monimé, upon this occasion, had reverted to her accustomed serenity of -manner; and as she refreshed her distracted lover with sandwiches of -goat’s-milk cheese and the wine of the island poured from a Cyprian jug, -she talked to him quietly of practical things. - -She argued frankly for and against their marriage, and reviewed the -financial aspect of the question without embarrassment. She told him that -she had just received a proposal from her salesman in London that she -should go over to Egypt at once and paint him a dozen desert subjects, -there being a readier market for these than for pictures of little-known -Cyprus. This, therefore, she intended to do; and, in view of Ian’s -health, she proposed to send the boy and his nurse to England, there to -await her return in four or five months’ time. - -Jim moved restlessly in his chair as she spoke, for the thought of -revisiting England was terrifying to him; yet if she went there he could -hardly resist the temptation to follow. He knew that it was preposterous -enough to think of a bigamous marriage to her, even here in the East, but -in England such a union would be madness. - -“I thought,” he said gloomily, “that you did not want to risk meeting -your former friends.” - -“What does it matter now?” she replied. “The scandal of my leaving my -husband is forgotten, and he, poor man, is dead. I have never told you -his name, have I? He was Richard Furnice, the banker.” - -Jim glanced up quickly. “I know the name,” he said, with simplicity, for -who did not? “But I don’t remember ever reading of his domestic troubles.” - -“No,” she replied. “The scandal was kept out of the papers. He was as -successful in explaining away my absence as he had been in explaining -away the presence of his mistress. Yes,” she added, in answer to his look -of inquiry, “he led the usual double life.” - -“Very rich, wasn’t he?” Jim asked. - -“Yes, very,” she answered. “But I have never cared much about money. -I have always agreed with the man who said ‘Wealth is acquired by -over-reaching our neighbors, and is spent in insulting them.’” - -“I like money well enough,” said Jim, “but I’ve never been much good at -earning it.” - -She asked him why he did not send some of his verses to a publisher -in England, and talked to him so persuasively in this regard that he -promised to consider doing so. - -“But if you return to England,” he said, returning to the problem before -him, “are there none of your relations who will make it awkward for you -and Ian?” - -She shook her head. “My father died several years ago, and I was the only -child. We have no close relations. You now may as well know his name, -too. He was Sir Ian Valory, the African explorer.” - -Jim looked at her in surprise. “Why, he was one of my heroes as a -boy,” he declared. “I read his books over and over again. This is -wonderful!—tell me more.” - -But as she did so, there arose a new clamour in his brain. He longed to -be able to tell her that his own blood was fit to match with hers. The -Tundering-Wests stood high in the annals of exploration and adventure: -his ancestors had roamed the world, as Knights of the Cross, as King’s -Envoys, as Constables of frontier castles, as Admirals of England. He -himself was blood of their blood, and bone of their bone; and his son -combined this high heritage with that of Valory. - -Yet the secret must be kept. Bitter was his regret that so it must -be, thrice bitter his remorse that this son of his was a bastard. A -Tundering-West and a Valory!—and the issue of that illustrious union a -child without a name, hidden away in the Island of Forgetfulness!! - -He went back to the hotel that day cursing Fate for its irony, hating -himself for a fool. Then, of a sudden, there came a possible solution -into his bewildered thoughts. Monimé was going to Egypt for some months: -could he not return to England, reveal the fact of his existence to his -wife, and oblige her to divorce him? The proceedings could be conducted -quietly, and Monimé, unaware of his real name, would not identify him -with them. He could return to her a free man, able to marry her, and in -later years he could tell her the whole story. - -Yet how could he bear the long absence from her, how could he face the -terror that she might find out and reject him? “O God,” he cried in his -heart, “I am punished for my foolishness! You have belaboured me enough: -You, Whom they call merciful, have mercy!” - -During the next few days Jim made a final arrangement of his poems, and, -adding a title-page: _Songs of the Highroad, by James Easton_, posted -them off to a well-known publisher in London, giving his bank in Rome -as his address. While reading through these collected manuscripts he had -come to the conclusion that the poems were rather good. “There’s quite -a swing about some of the stuff,” he said to Monimé. “In fact I almost -believe I could have shown you one or two of them without feeling an ass. -But I suppose the thoughts in them, and the melancholy speculations about -what is one’s ‘duty’ and all that sort of thing, are rather rot.” - -As time passed, the idea of returning to England and obtaining a divorce -developed in his mind. He was reluctant, however, to make a final -decision, and his plans remained fluid long after those of Monimé had -crystallized. This was due mainly to the suspense he was experiencing in -regard to his relations with her. He avoided any pressing of the question -of their marriage, for he shunned the thought of involving her in a -possible bigamy case; yet he could see that so long as he maintained this -inconclusive attitude he gave her no cause for confidence in him. - -Matters came to a head one day at the end of October. Monimé had arranged -with him to make the excursion to the mountain castle of St. Hilarion; -and it is probable that both he and she had decided to talk things out -during the hours they would be together. So far as he was concerned, at -any rate, the situation as it stood was impossible. - -The carriage in which they were to make this fifteen-mile journey -resembled a barouche, but a kind of awning was stretched above it on four -iron rods, and from this depended some dusty-looking curtains looped back -by faded red cords and tassels, which might have been purloined from -old men’s dressing-gowns. Four lean and crazily harnessed horses were -attached to this vehicle, which looked somewhat like a four-poster bed -on wheels; and a red-capped and baggy-trousered driver, apparently of -Turkish nationality, sat high upon the box, Monimé’s man-servant being -perched beside him. - -Rattling down the narrow streets of the city and through the tunnel in -the ramparts, they soon passed out into the open country, and, with -loudly cracking whip, bowled along the sun-bathed road at a very fair -pace, the sparkling morning air seeming to put vigour even into the -emaciated horses. - -At length they came to the foot-hills, and saw far above them, against -the intense blue of the sky, the pass which leads through the mountains -to the port of Kyrenia and the sea. Here their pace grew slower, and from -time to time they walked beside the labouring vehicle as it crunched its -way through soft gravel and sand, or lurched over half-buried boulders. - -Reaching level ground once more they went with a fine flourish through -a village where the dogs barked at them and the children stared or ran -begging at their side. Now the slopes and ledges of rock were green with -young pines, whose aromatic scent filled the warm air; and, as they -slowly wound their way upwards, the size of these trees increased until -they attained truly majestic proportions. - -Towards noon they entered the pass, and Jim and Monimé were afoot once -more, whilst the tired horses rested. Behind them the gorges and valleys -carried the eye down into the hazy distances, and they could see -Nicosia lying like a white cameo upon the velvet of the plains. Before -them a cleft in the towering rocks revealed the azure expanse of the -Mediterranean, and beyond it the far-off coasts of Asia Minor, rising -like the vision of a dream from the placid ocean. - -Monimé shaded her eyes as she gazed over the sea. “There is Phrygia,” -she exclaimed, “where Monimé lived, and Cappadocia and Cilicia! And away -behind them is Pontus, the land her husband took her to....” - -“I have no home to take you to, Monimé,” he said, unable to eschew the -hazardous subject of their marriage. - -“That’s just as well,” she answered, “because in the story, you remember, -he involved her in his domestic troubles, which led to his suicide, and -her own death followed.” - -She smiled as she spoke, but to him her words were dark with portentous -meaning. He felt like a criminal. - -Entering the carriage once more, they descended from the pass for some -distance, as though making for Kyrenia, which they could see far below -them; but presently a rough track led them through the pines, and brought -them at last to the foot of a tremendous bluff of rock, upon the summit -of which stood the ruined walls and towers of the castle of St. Hilarion. -Here the carriage was abandoned, and hand-in-hand they clambered up the -track, the servant following with the luncheon basket. - -Soon they passed within the ruinous walls of the castle, and, having -rested in the shade and eaten their picnic meal, made their way amongst -fallen stones and a profusion of weeds and grasses towards the main -buildings, which mounted up the cliffs in front of them in a confused -array of walls and turrets, roofs and chimneys, battlements and bastions, -standing silent and withered in a blaze of sunlight. - -Through a crumbling door they went, and up a flight of broken steps; -through the ruined chapel, on the walls of which the faded frescoes could -still be seen; along a shadowed passage, and up again by a rock-hewn -stairway; until at last they reached a roofless chamber locally known as -the Queen’s Apartment. - -This side of the castle, which was built at the edge of an appalling -precipice, seemed to be clinging perilously to the summit of the -mountain; and through the broken tracery of the Gothic windows they -looked down in awe to the pine forests two thousand feet below. All about -them the bold mountain peaks rose up from the shadowed and mysterious -valleys near the coastline; and before them the purple and azure sea was -spread, divided from the cloudless sky by the hazy hills of Asia Minor. - -From these valleys there rose to their ears the frail and far-off tinkle -of goats’ bells, and sometimes the song of a shepherd was lifted up to -them upon the tender wings of the breeze. All visible things seemed to be -motionless in the warmth of the afternoon, with the exception only of two -vultures, which slowly circled in mid-air with tranquil pinions extended. -It was as though the crumbling stones of the castle, and the forests and -valleys they surmounted, were deep in an enchanted slumber, from which -they would never again awake. - -Here at these walls Richard Cœur de Lion, King of England, with trumpets -had summoned the garrison to surrender; but the walls remembered it no -more. Here the Kings and Queens of Cyprus, of the House of Lusignan, -had held their court in that strange admixture of Western chivalry and -Eastern splendour which had characterized the dynasty; but the glamour -of those days was passed into oblivion. Here the soldiers of Venice had -looted and plundered; but the ruin they left behind them had steeped its -wounds in the balm of forgetfulness. - -Only Monimé and her lover were awake in this place of dreams. Seated -here, as it were, upon a throne rising in the very centre of the ancient -world, she seemed to Jim to be one with all the dim, forgotten queens -of the past; all the romance of all the pages of history was focussed -and brought again to life in her person; and in her face there was the -mystery of regnant womanhood throughout the ages. - -Just as now she sat with her chin resting upon her hand, gazing over the -summer seas to the adventurous coasts of the ancient kingdoms of the -Mediterranean, so Arsinoe had gazed, perhaps upon this very mountain-top; -so Cleopatra, her sister, had gazed, over there in her Alexandrian -palace; so Helen had gazed yonder from the casements of Troy; so the -Queen of Sheba, camping upon Lebanon, had gazed as she travelled from -Jerusalem. The past was forgotten; but, all unknowing, it lived again in -Monimé, enticing him with her lips, looking tenderly upon him with her -eyes, beckoning him with her smiles, repulsing him with her indifference, -bewildering him with her serenity, maddening him with her unfathomable -heart. - -“Monimé, I can’t go on like this,” he said, taking her hands in his. “You -must tell me here and now that you love me, or that I am to go out of -your life.” - -“The future lies in your hands, Jim,” she answered, quietly and with deep -sincerity. “Surely you can understand my attitude. I will not bind myself -to a man who will not be bound, even though I were to love him with all -my soul.” - -“I have asked you to marry me,” he told her. - -“Your words carried no conviction,” she replied. - -“I ask you again,” he said, daring all. - -“You do not know what you are saying,” she answered. “Go away to England, -or to Italy, Jim, and think it over. Stay away from me for some months; -and if you find that your feelings do not change, if I remain a vital -thing in your life and do not fade into a memory, then you can come back -to me, knowing that I will not fail you. We have had enough of Bedouin -love. If I were to be honest with myself I would tell you that long ago -circumstances made me realize that we did wrong at Alexandria, because -we were unfair to the unborn generation. I set myself in opposition to -accepted custom, and I have been beaten by just one thing—my anxiety for -the welfare of the child my emancipation brought me, my terror in case -there should be a slur upon his name. There must be no more playing with -vital things.” - -Her suggestion that he should go away from her for some months, while -she worked in Egypt on her desert pictures, came to him like the voice -of Providence, offering to him the opportunity to carry out his plan for -ridding himself once and for all of Dolly by divorce; and his mind was -made up on the instant. - -“Very well,” he said. “I’ll go away—though not because I feel the -slightest doubt about my love for you. I’ll go to Larnaca to-morrow: some -people from the hotel are going then, so as to catch the steamer the day -after....” - -She interrupted him. “Oh Jim, must it be to-morrow?” - -He looked up quickly at her. “Do you care?” he asked, eagerly. - -She had begun to reply, and he was hanging upon her words, when the -native servant made his appearance. Jim clapped his hand to his head in a -frenzy of exasperation. “Confound you!—what do you want?” he shouted to -the man. - -“I suppose he’s come to tell us it’s high time to be going,” said Monimé, -laughing in his face. - -Jim picked up a stone and hurled it viciously over the wall into the void -beyond. He would willingly have leapt upon the inoffensive servant and -throttled him where he stood. - - - - -Chapter XVI: THE RETURN - - -Thus it came about that Jim took ship back to Trieste, leaving Monimé and -Ian to go the following week to Alexandria, whence the boy and his nurse -would Journey by a P. and O. liner direct to England. - -It was a blustering evening in early November when he arrived in London, -and to his sad heart the streets through which he passed and the small -hotel where he was to stay were dreary in the extreme. His brain was full -of the sunshine of the Mediterranean; and the burning passion of his love -for Monimé seemed to draw all his vitality inwards, and to leave frozen -and desolate that part of his entity which had to encounter the immediate -world of actuality. - -Upon the following morning it rained, and for some time he lay in bed, -staring out through the wet window-pane at the grey sky and the grimy -chimney pots, dreading to arise and meet his fate. His first object was -to find Mrs. Darling. She had always been understanding and sympathetic, -and now she would perhaps aid him in his predicament. The news that he -was still alive would then have to be broken gently to Dolly, and the -situation would have to be handled in such a way that she would find it -to her advantage to divorce him. His heart sank as the thought occurred -to him that very possibly she would welcome his return and refuse to -part from him. In that case the game would be lost and life would be -intolerable. - -At the outset, however, his plans met with a check. An early visit to the -flat where Mrs. Darling lived revealed the fact that she had rented it -furnished, and the only address known to the present tenant was that of -Eversfield. This did not necessarily mean that she was staying with her -daughter, and Jim was left on the doorstep wondering what was the best -way of getting hold of her quickly. - -A sudden resolve caused him to hail a taxi and to drive to Paddington -Station. He would catch the first train to Oxford, pay a surreptitious -visit to Eversfield, and try to get into touch with Smiley-face, his -one friend there. The poacher would give him all the news, and would -doubtless be of assistance to him in various ways; and his reliability in -regard to keeping the secret was unquestionable. Smiley was a master of -the art of secrecy. - -Jim was wearing a high-collared raincoat and a slouch hat, and, with -the one turned up and the other pulled down, he would easily avoid -recognition, even if, in the by-ways he proposed to follow, he were to -meet with anybody of his acquaintance. And after all, since he would be -obliged, in any event, to come back from the dead for the purpose of his -divorce, an indefinite rumour that he had been seen might be the gentlest -manner of breaking the news to Dolly. He wanted to spare her a sudden -shock. - -He had not long to wait for a train, and by noon he was setting out -across the muddy fields behind the houses of Oxford, munching some -railway sandwiches as he went. The rain had cleared off, but the sky -was still grey; and the mild, misty atmosphere of the Thames Valley -filled his heart with gloom and brought recollections of the days of his -captivity crowding back into his mind. He could hardly believe that he -had been absent not much more than six months. He had lived through an -eternity in that brief space. - -Nobody was encountered on the way, and when he mounted the last stile, -and stepped into the familiar pathway behind the church at Eversfield he -was still a solitary figure, moving like a ghost through the damp mist. - -It was his intention now to skirt the village, and to walk on to the -isolated cottage where Smiley-face lived with old Jenny; but the silence -of his surroundings, and the deathlike stillness of the little church, -induced him to creep across the graveyard and to slip through the door -into the building. - -In the aisle he stood for a while lost in thought; while the old clock in -the gallery ticked out the seconds. He felt as though he were a spirit -come back from the dead; and, indeed, the sight of the familiar pews, the -escutcheons, and the memorial tablets of his ancestors, produced in him a -sensation such as a midnight ghost might feel when called out of death’s -celestial dream to walk again amidst the scenes of his misdeeds. - -Suddenly a new and shining brass tablet at the side of the chancel caught -his eye; and he hastened forward, his heart beating with a kind of -dread of that which he would see written thereon for all to read. The -inscription was truly staggering:— - - IN GRATEFUL AND UNDYING MEMORY OF JAMES CHAMPERNOWNE - TUNDERING-WEST, ESQUIRE, OF EVERSFIELD MANOR, WHO, AFTER AN - UNASSUMING BUT EXEMPLARY LIFE, MARKED BY TRUE CHRISTIAN PIETY - AND AN UNSWERVING DEVOTION TO DUTY, MET AN UNTIMELY DEATH, IN - THE FLOWER OF HIS MANHOOD, AT THE HAND OF AN ASSASSIN, NEAR - PISA, ITALY, THIS STONE HAS BEEN SET UP BY HIS SORROWING WIDOW, - DOROTHY TUNDERING-WEST. - - _Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of - life._—Rev. ii. 10. - -“Good Lord!” Jim muttered, his sallow face for a moment red with shame. -“And in face of this, I have got to come back to life, so that this -‘sorrowing widow’ may divorce me, and thereby empower me to give the -name of Tundering-West to my son and leave him in my will the property I -abandoned! A pretty muddle!” - -He turned away, sick at heart. “O England, England!” he whispered. “Dear -nation of hypocrites!—at all costs keeping up the pretence so that the -traditional example may be set for coming generations.... Presently -they will remove this tablet, and instead they will scrawl across their -memories the words: ‘He failed in his duty, because he hid not his dirty -linen.’” - -He almost ran from the church. - -During the continuation of his walk he came upon two of the villagers, -but in each case he was able to turn to the hedge as though searching for -the last remaining blackberries, and so avoided a face-to-face encounter. -His road led him past the back of the woods of the Manor, those woods -whither he had so often fled for comfort; and it occurred to him that -before walking the further two miles to Jenny’s cottage he might whistle -the call which used to bring the poacher to him in the old days. It was -just the sort of misty afternoon on which Smiley was wont to slip in -amongst the trees. - -He therefore stepped into a gap in the encircling hedge of bramble and -thorn, the straight muddy road passing into the haze behind him, and the -brown, misty woods, carpeted with wet leaves, before him; and, curving -his hand around his mouth, he uttered that long low whistle which sounded -like the wail of a lost soul, and which more than once had struck terror -into the heart of some passing yokel. - -Thrice he repeated it, pausing between to listen for the answering call -and the familiar cracking of the twigs; and he was about to make a final -attempt when of a sudden he heard a slight sound upon the road some fifty -yards away. Turning quickly, he saw the ragged, well-remembered figure -dart out from the hedge into the middle of the road, eagerly running to -right and left like a dog that has lost the scent. He was hatless, and -his mop of dirty red hair was unmistakable. - -Jim stepped out into the roadway, and thereat Smiley-face came bounding -towards him, his arms stretched wide, his smile extending from ear to -ear, and his little blue eyes agleam. - -“Hullo, Smiley, old sport!” said Jim, holding out his hand; but he was -wholly unprepared for the scene which followed. - -Smiley’s knees seemed to give way under him, and, snatching at Jim’s -hand, he stumbled and fell forward upon the grass at the roadside, -panting, coughing, and laughing. “O God! O God! O God!” he gasped. “I -knew you was alive, sir: I knew it in me bones.” - -He pulled himself up on to his knees, and held Jim’s hand to his face, -hugging it in a sort of frenzy of animal delight. - -“Get up!” said Jim, sharply. “What’s the matter with you?” - -“I dunno,” Smiley answered, sheepishly, clambering to his feet. “I felt -sort o’ dizzy-dazzy like. I get took like that sometimes. I ’ad the -doctor to me once: he told old Jenny it was my ticket home. That’s what -’e said it was: I heerd ’im say it to ’er.” - -“Been ill, have you?” Jim asked, putting his hand on the poacher’s -shoulder, and observing now how haggard the face had grown. - -“I’ll be fit as a fiddle now you’ve come back,” he answered, laughing. -“I knew you wasn’t dead! Murdered, they said you was; but I says to old -Jenny: ‘I’ll not believe it,’ I says; ‘not with ’im able to floor I with -one twist of his ’and. ’E’s just gone off tramping,’ I says. ’E’s gone -back to the roads.... ’E never could abide a bedroom.’” - -“Well, you were right, Smiley,” Jim replied. “I couldn’t stick it any -longer, and so I quitted. But I mustn’t be seen, you understand. I’m -dead. I’ve only come down here to get into touch with you, and find out -how things are going on.” - -“Friends stick to friends,” the poacher crooned, intoning the words like -a chant. “I never ’ad no friend except you. It seems like I given you -everything I got inside my ’ead.” - -They entered the wood together, and sat down side by side upon a fallen -tree trunk. Jim questioned him about Dolly, and was told that she was -living quietly at the Manor, a little widow in a pretty black dress; and -that her mother sometimes came to stay with her, but was not at present -in Eversfield, so far as he knew. - -“Do you think she misses me?” Jim asked. - -Smiley wagged his head. “I wouldn’t like to say for sure,” he answered; -“but betwixt you and me, sir, that there Mr. Merrivall do spend a deal o’ -time at the Manor. Jane Potts, his ’ousekeeper, be terrible mad about it. -They do say her watches him like a ferret. It’s jealousy, seeing her’s -been as good as a wife to ’im, these many years. But he’s that took with -your lady, sir, he can’t see what’s brewing. Seems like as they’d make a -match of it when her mourning’s up.” - -“The devil they would!” Jim exclaimed, his face lighting up. “Why, then, -she’ll be very willing to divorce me.... That’s good news, Smiley!” - -The poacher looked perplexed. “Divorce you?” he asked. “Baint you staying -dead, then?” - -Jim put his hand on Smiley’s shoulder again. “Look here,” he said, “I -told you once that if ever I confided my troubles to anybody it would be -to you. Can I trust you to hold your tongue?” - -Smiley exposed all his yellow teeth in a wide grin. “You can trust I -through thick and thin, same as what you said once. They could tear my -liver out, but they’d not make I tell what you said I mustn’t tell; and -that’s gospel.” - -Thereupon Jim explained the whole situation to him, telling him how in a -far country he had found again the woman he ought to have married, and -how he hoped that Dolly would free him. - -“It’s life or death, Smiley,” he said earnestly. “If my wife welcomes me -back from the grave, and claims her rights, I shall put a bullet through -my head, for I could not be the husband of a sham thing now that I know -what it is to love a real woman. Oh, man, I’m devoured by love. I’m -burning to be back with her, and with the son she has borne me. Don’t you -see I’m in hell, and the fires of hell are consuming me?” - -The poacher scratched his towsled red hair. “Yes, I see,” he said. “And -I reckon her’s waiting for you over there in them furrin lands where the -sun’s shining and the birds are singing. When they told I you was dead -I says to old Jenny you’d only gone to those countries you used to talk -about, where the trees are green the year round, and you look down into -the water and see the trout a-sliding over mother-o’-pearl. ‘’E’s heard -the temple-bells a-calling,’ I says, ‘the same as ’e sang about that day -in the parish-room,’ I says, ‘and ’e’s just sitting lazy by the river, -and maybe the queen of them parts is a-kissing of ’is ’and.’” - -Jim laughed aloud. “Smiley, you’re a poet,” he said, “but you came pretty -near the truth, only it was I who was kissing _her_ hand.” - -For a while longer they talked, but at length Jim proposed that the -poacher should go at once to Ted Barnes, the postman, and find out -whether Mrs. Darling was at the Manor or not, and if not, perhaps Ted -could be induced to tell him the address to which her letters were -forwarded. “Say you want to send her a couple of rabbits,” Jim suggested, -with a laugh. He looked at his watch. “It will be dusk in two hours or -so. Meet me here at about that time, just before it is dark.” - -Smiley seemed eager to be of service, and, repeatedly touching his -forelock, went off on his mission in high spirits, turning round to wave -a dirty hand to his adored friend as he glided away amongst the tree -trunks into the haze. Thereupon Jim set off for a walk in the direction -of the neighbouring village of Bedley-Sutton, in order to pass the time; -and it was an hour later that he returned to the woods of the Manor. - -There was still another hour to wait before he might expect Smiley’s -return; and he therefore strolled through the silent woods, visiting -with gloomy curiosity the various well-remembered scenes of his days of -captivity. “How could I ever have stood it?” he questioned himself; yet -at the back of his mind there was the overwhelming consciousness that -here was the home of his forefathers, the home he wished to hand on to -his son, but that now it belonged to Dolly, a woman to whom he felt no -sense of relationship, and ultimately it would pass out of his family, -unless he laid claim to it anew. - -The turmoil in his mind was extreme, and his dilemma was made more -desperate by the thought that Monimé, whose instinctive wisdom and -practical sympathy might now be so helpful, must be shut out from these -events and kept in ignorance of his perplexity. He yearned to write to -her and make a clean breast of it, yet he feared the blighting effect of -such a confession of crude error and deception. With his whole heart he -detested himself. - -His wandering footsteps led him at length to a point not far distant -from the bottom of the Manor garden. He had been threading his way -unconsciously through undergrowth and brambles, carrying his coat over -his arm and his hat in his hand; and he was about to step out on to the -mossy pathway which led to the garden gate when suddenly he heard voices -at no great distance, and with beating heart, he stepped back into a -thicket and crouched there behind the tall-growing bracken. - -A moment later he was staring with flushed face at the approaching -figures of Dolly and George Merrivall, who were strolling towards him, -she gazing up at her middle-aged companion, and he, his arm about her, -looking down at her with his large fish-like eyes. The picture stamped -itself savagely upon his mind. - -Dolly was wearing a smart black coat and skirt, and a black-and-white -scarf was flung around her neck. A saucy little black felt hat, adorned -with a stiff feather, showed up her golden hair and the fair complexion -of her childlike face. Merrivall, in a new walking-suit of grey homespun, -a large cap to match, and grey stockings covering his thin legs, seemed -to be clothed to approximate to the grey haze of the afternoon; and even -his face appeared grey, like the dead ashes of a fire long burnt out. - -Soon they were close at hand, and Jim could hear their words. - -“O George,” Dolly was saying, “how frightening the woods are in the -half-light! I believe they really are haunted. Why did you dare me to -come here?” - -“It was you who proposed it,” he answered, shortly. - -“Did I?” she replied, looking up at him with innocent eyes. “Well, I’m -not really afraid when you are with me. You’re so strong, so protective. -I suppose there’s nothing in the world that could frighten you.” - -“Not many things,” he agreed, with a brave toss of his head. - -She pressed his arm. “You know, that’s what I always missed so much in -poor Jim. I could never look to him for protection; I could never lean on -him. And, you see, I’m such a little coward, really: you should see me -running sometimes from some silly thing that has startled me.” - -“My little fawn!” he murmured, lifting her hand to his lips. - -Jim’s eyes were wild. “The same old game!” he muttered to himself, as he -peered at them between the wet, brown leaves of the bracken. - -“You need a man to take care of you,” Merrivall continued. “How long must -we wait before we can announce our engagement?” - -“You are impatient, George,” she replied. “Even though I never really -loved Jim, I feel I ought to give his memory the tribute of the usual -year. People who don’t know how he forced me to marry him and how -brutally he ill-treated me, would say unkind things if I married you any -sooner than that.” - -Merrivall remained silent for a moment, standing still upon the mossy -pathway. “Nobody would know if we got married at once at a registry -office,” he said at length. “We could go abroad for some months.” - -She looked up at him archly. “A wife is a very expensive thing you -know,” she smiled. “Why, a woman’s clothes alone cost a fortune. You see -it isn’t only what shows on the outside—it’s all the wonderful things -underneath....” - -They passed on out of earshot, leaving Jim, who remembered so well -her tricks, consumed by fierce anger, and overwhelmed by his destiny. -If Dolly married this man, the final complication would be reached, -and the legal difficulties would be multiplied out of all reckoning. -Moreover, the thought that the home of the Tundering-Wests should pass -to a washed-out drunken remittance man enhanced the value of the estate -a hundredfold in his eyes. He felt inclined to reveal himself at once: -he was mad with rage at her misrepresentation of the facts of their -relationship. - -A few moments later Merrivall stopped short, looking at his watch; -and, as he turned, Jim could hear again his words. “Good gracious!” he -exclaimed. “I shall be late for the whist drive. What am I thinking of!” - -He took Dolly’s hand and ran back at a jog-trot towards the gate. As -soon as they had passed him and were hidden by the bend in the path, Jim -rose to his feet and hurried after them. He had no settled purpose: he -wished only to follow them. When he came within fifty yards of the border -of the woods, however, he paused behind a tree, and watched Merrivall -as he hastened across the garden, leaving Dolly panting at the gate. -She was perhaps a little annoyed at his precipitation, and thought it -more dignified to let him be, now that she was back in the safety of her -garden and the fearsome woods were behind her. - -After a lapse of a minute or two Jim observed that she was looking from -side to side as though she had lost something, and soon he could see that -she had dropped one of her gloves, and was trying to pluck up her courage -to enter the gloomy dimness of the haunted woods once more in order to -find it. His eye searched the pathway, and presently he discerned the -missing glove lying not more than a few yards from him, a little further -into the woods. - -He had no time to conceal himself before Dolly came running down the -pathway, looking furtively to right and left. She passed without seeing -him and retrieved the glove; but as she turned to retrace her steps she -caught sight of him and started back, uttering a cry of fright. - -Flight seemed useless to Jim: the crisis had come, and in his bitter -wrath he gladly faced it. Slowly and deliberately he stepped forward on -to the pathway and stood there barring her way. His raincoat and hat were -still amongst the bracken at his former place of hiding, and now he stood -silently in the grey and ghostly haze, wearing an old suit of clothes -which she knew well, his dark hair falling untidily about his forehead, -his face ashen white, his eyes burning with anger, his whole attitude -menacing and vindictive. - -Dolly’s terror was horrible to behold. Her right hand and arm beat at -the air conclusively; the knuckles of her left hand were thrust between -her chattering teeth; her eyes were dilated, and her eyebrows seemed to -have gone up into her hair. - -“I didn’t mean it, Jim!” she gasped. “I didn’t mean it! Go away! I’ll -tell him the truth; I’ll tell him you were good to me ... O God, take him -away!... Go back to your grave, Jim. O God, take him away, take him away -...!” - -Her voice rose to a shriek; and, falling upon her knees, she beat the -soft moss of the pathway with her fists in frenzy. - -“Get up, you little fool!” Jim snapped. “I’m not a ghost. I’m alive: look -at me.” - -She stared at him with her mouth open, crawled forward, and rose to her -feet. Suddenly, as the truth seemed to dawn upon her, the colour surged -into her cheeks, and there came an expression of hatred into her face -which Jim had not seen before, and which wholly surpassed the animosity -he himself felt. - -“You’re _alive_?” she gasped. “You weren’t murdered? You’ve just played a -trick on me?” - -“Yes,” he answered. “I didn’t mean to turn up again, only circumstances -have compelled me to.” - -“You can’t come back!” she cried, wringing her hands in such desperation -that a certain degree of pity was added to Jim’s tumult of emotions. -“You’re dead: you can’t come back to life again, you can’t, you can’t!... -Spoiling everything like this, you beast!—you devil! Oh, I might have -guessed it was all a dirty trick to spite me. You’ve been living with -some other woman, I suppose. Well, go back to her. I’ve done with you. -Nobody wants you here: we all thanked Heaven when you died. You were -always impossible.” - -She moved to and fro, now twisting her gloves in her hands, now pointing -at him with shaking fingers, and now clutching at her breast and throat. - -“Well, there it is,” Jim said, feeling himself to be in the wrong. “I’m -sorry about it all, but here I am, alive. I’m not going to bother you. -All I want is for you to divorce me for desertion, so that I can be quit -of you and Eversfield for the rest of my life.” - -“Divorce you?” she repeated, furiously. “Divorce a dead man? Make myself -a laughing stock? Why, I’ve only just paid for a memorial tablet for you -in the church; a lying tablet, too, in which I’ve called myself your -‘sorrowing widow.’ It isn’t true. I felt no sorrow: I think I always -detested you. I should never have married you if it hadn’t been for -mother saying you were such a good match. And now, just when I’ve found -a real man, a man who will look after me, you come sneaking home again, -prowling about like a tramp, or a burglar, or something. I wish to God -you _were_ dead!” - -Under her lashing tongue, Jim was nonplussed. He wanted to tell her -how she had made his life impossible by her shams and pretences, her -crude view of marriage, her intrinsic uselessness; but words were not -forthcoming. “As far as you are concerned,” he said lamely, “I shall be -dead as soon as you divorce me. It will mean postponing your marriage for -a few months: that’s all.” - -“What have you came back for?” she cried, at length. “Is it money you -want? I suppose it’s a sort of blackmail.” - -“No, I don’t want money,” he said. “I’ll leave you the bulk of the -estate. But I may as well tell you right away, you will only have a -life-interest in this place. On your death it will revert to me and my -successors. Those are my terms; and if you don’t agree to them, I’ll -claim the whole estate again and make you only an allowance.” - -“Oh, you fiend!” she cried, beside herself once more with fury. “The -utter cruelty and callousness of it! It’s just a practical joke you’ve -played on me, coming back like a cad when we all thought you were dead -and done with. I’ll tell everybody: I’ll make your name stink in the -nostrils of every man who is a gentleman.” - -Jim shrugged his shoulders; and, suddenly, to his amazement she leapt at -him and dug her nails into his face. He grabbed hold of her arms, and -for a dreadful moment they struggled like two savages. Then she broke -loose from him and dashed away amongst the misty trees at the side of the -pathway, stumbling through the bracken, and crying out to him disjointed -words of fury. For some moments Jim stood staring after her, listening -to the crackling of the twigs which marked her progress. She was working -round, it seemed, towards the gate of the manor, and presently the sounds -ceased, as though she had paused to get her breath. - -Thereat Jim walked back towards his rendezvous, recovering his coat and -hat on the way. His brain was confused and distracted, and a feeling of -nausea was upon him. Passionately he hated himself; and miserably he -asked himself what Monimé would think of the whole unsavoury business -were she ever to hear of it. - - - - -Chapter XVII: THE CATASTROPHE - - -Darkness was falling, and Jim, whose heart was in his boots, was -beginning to feel cold in spite of the mildness of the day, when -Smiley-face made his appearance, touching his forelock ingratiatingly. - -“I been a long time, sir,” he explained, “but you know what that there -Ted Barnes is. Slow to talk and wanting a power of persuading. But I got -the address from ’im: ’ere it is, wrote on this paper.” - -He handed Jim a slip of paper, upon which the address of a Kensington -hotel was written. He was grinning triumphantly, as though he had -performed some great service for his friend. - -“Good lad,” said Jim. “That’s very smart of you. I say, Smiley: I’ve had -the deuce of a time while you were in the village. I met my wife!” - -The poacher smiled from ear to ear. “O Lordee!” he chuckled. “I reckon -that ’ud give her a bit of a turn, like.” - -Jim told him something of what had occurred, but Smiley’s attitude of -frank amusement caused him to cut the story short; and it was not long -before he brought the interview to an end. - -As they shook hands at the edge of the wood, Smiley suddenly paused and -raised his finger. “Did you hear anything?” he asked. - -“No,” said Jim, after listening for a few moments. - -“Thought I heard a step,” the poacher went on. “There’s a heap o’ tramps -about these days. I seen ’em in the woods sometimes, but I don’t allow no -one to poach there except me....” - -He was in a loquacious mood, and Jim found it necessary to make a -resolute interruption of the flow of his words by shaking him warmly by -the hand once more and setting off down the dark lane in the direction of -Oxford. - -He reached London, somewhat dazed, in time for dinner, and by nine -o’clock he was driving out to Kensington to pay a visit to Mrs. Darling. -Now that Dolly knew that he was alive, it would be as well for him to -enlist the services of her mother as soon as possible. He could, perhaps, -make it worth her while to aid him in regard to the divorce. - -Upon arriving at the small private hotel where she was staying he was -shown into an unoccupied sitting-room. - -“What name, sir?” asked the page. - -“Mr. Tundering-West,” said Jim, apprehensive of the jolt the announcement -would cause, but feeling that since a shock could not be avoided, it -would be better for her to receive it before she entered the room. - -He had not long to wait: after a few minutes of uncomfortable fiddling -with his hat, Mrs. Darling suddenly bounced in, as though she had been -kicked from behind. Then, with astonished eyes fixed on Jim, she shut the -door and stood staring at him in complete silence. - -“Yes,” he said, nervously smiling, “it’s me, Mrs. Darling!” - -“Good gracious!” she gasped. “Jim! You—you—you lunatic! What on earth -are you doing in the land of the living? You’re supposed to be dead and -buried.” - -“No, not buried,” he corrected her. “I was knifed, you remember, and -dropped into the sea.” - -She passed her hand across her forehead. “You mean you swam back home?” -Her voice was awed. - -“Something like that,” he laughed. “Anyway, here I am; and I’ve come to -you to ask what I’m to do next. I’ve just had a talk with Dolly.” - -Mrs. Darling threw up her hands, and therewith she set about his -cross-examination, asking him a number of questions in regard to his -life, and receiving a number of evasive replies. “My good man,” she said -at length, “do you realize that Dolly is an established widow, on the -look out, in fact, for another husband? Do you realize that we’ve had a -solemn memorial service for you, and put a tablet up in the church?” - -“Yes, I’ve seen it,” he answered. “It made me blush for shame.” - -“I’m very glad to hear it,” she said. “You may well be ashamed that you -have fallen so far short of the virtues attributed to you. I always think -it is such a wonderful thing in nature that the only creatures who can -blush are the only creatures who have occasion to.” - -Considering that it was her daughter’s future which was at stake, Mrs. -Darling seemed to Jim to be treating matters very lightly. - -“Do you realize,” she went on, her voice rising, “that your will has been -read, and Dolly owns every penny you had, and gives me three hundred -pounds a year allowance?” - -“Only three hundred?” he remarked. “That’s mean. I’ll give you four.” - -“It’s not yours to give,” she answered. “You’re dead—dead as mutton. You -can’t play fast and loose with death like that, you know. When you’re -murdered, you’re murdered, and there’s an end of it. It would make things -absolutely impossible if people could go popping in and out of their -graves like you are doing. Surely you can see that. What did Dolly say?” - -“Oh, she was very upset,” he told her. “She stormed at me and called me -every name under the sun; said she had always hated me; told me she was -going to marry George Merrivall.” - -“Well, what else did you expect? She says you ill-treated her horribly.” - -“That’s a lie,” said Jim, sharply. - -“Yes, so I told her,” Mrs. Darling replied. “I know you. You’re perfectly -mad, but I always felt you were very decent to Dolly, considering what a -little fraud she is.” - -“Anyhow, I don’t mind her saying I ill-treated her,” he added, “if that’s -any use for the purpose of our divorce.” - -“Divorce?” cried Mrs. Darling. “Do you want her to divorce you? What for?” - -“So that I can be quit of her, and marry again if I find the right woman.” - -Mrs. Darling held up her hands. “What sublime courage! But you mustn’t -let marriage become a habit, for the divorce courts are very slow, you -know. I have a woman friend who is already three marriages ahead of her -divorces. I should have thought that a man like you, who is something of -a philosopher and thinker, would now shun marriage like the plague. But I -suppose even the cleverest men.... There is the famous case of Socrates, -who died of an overdose of wedlock.” - -“Hemlock,” he corrected her. - -“Ah, yes, to be sure. Perhaps it is simply your youth: you still look -very young, in spite of your recent death. I remember, in the days before -my bright future had resolved itself into a shady past, I, too, was an -optimist about marriage. But I was soon cured. So long as he liked me, -my husband was so terribly jealous of me. It was quite intolerable. -He would not even let my eyes wander from him. Why, I remember once -turning my head away from him for a moment because I had hiccups, and -being instantly cured by his seizing my throat in a consequent fit of -passion.... Were you ever jealous of Dolly?” - -“No,” said Jim; “and this afternoon I saw her making love to George -Merrivall without any feeling except annoyance with myself for ever -having believed in her.” - -“Poor Dolly,” sighed her mother. “I am devoted to her, as you know; but I -do realize her faults, and I know what you had to put up with.” - -For some time they discussed the possibilities of divorce, and Mrs. -Darling was frankly business-like in regard to the financial side of the -affair. - -“Of course,” she said, “it is very hard to do business with you, my dear -Jim, because you are an honest man. I prefer dealing with crooks. It is -so simple, because you always know that at some stage of the game they -are going to try to trip you up. But with honest men, you never know what -they’ll do next.” - -The upshot of their conversation was an understanding that Mrs. Darling -should go down next day to Eversfield and win her daughter over to the -idea of divorce; and, this being arranged, he rose to go. - -“Good-bye,” he said, warmly shaking her hand. “I can’t begin to thank you -for your kindness, and generosity of mind.” - -“Oh, nonsense!” she laughed. “I’m just a scheming old woman, Jim. As I’ve -often told you, I’d sell my soul for an income; and in this case it is -obvious that, since you are alive, you hold the family purse-strings. -That’s why I am nice to you.” - -“I don’t believe it,” he answered. - -“Well, anyway,” she said, “I wish you well, dead or alive. Good-bye, my -dear. May you be with the rich in this world and with the poor in the -world to come.” - -Jim arrived back at his hotel in a somewhat happier frame of mind, and -went at once to his bedroom, tired after the adventures of the day. When -he was in bed, however, he found that sleep had deserted him; and for -some time he lay on his back, vainly endeavouring to quell the turbulence -of the mob of his thoughts. The figure of Dolly kept presenting itself to -his mind, and his inward ears heard her voice continuously railing at him -and reproaching him. - -Her pretty, silly little face seemed to push in upon his thoughts -of Monimé; and suddenly he sat up, scared by the vividness of the -impression, and wondering whether it were some sort of portent of coming -calamity in regard to the new life for which he hoped so passionately. He -switched on the light, and, kicking off the bedclothes, went across to -the washstand and poured himself out a dose of whisky from his flask. The -radiator was too hot, and the room felt stuffy; but, throwing open the -window, a blast of cold air and wet sleet searched him to the skin, and -obliged him to shut it again. - -“Oh, what a God-forsaken country!” he muttered; and therewith fetched -his guitar from its case, and sitting cross-legged upon the bed in his -pyjamas, began twanging the strings and singing old songs in a minor key -which sounded like dirges for the dead. The music soothed him, and soon -he was pouring his whole heart into the melodies, oblivious to all around -him. They were songs of love now, and as he sang his thoughts went out -over the seas to Cairo where Monimé at this moment was probably lying -asleep in her bed, her black hair spread upon the pillow. - -There was a sharp knock upon the door. “Come in,” he called out, pausing -in his song, but remaining seated upon the bed, with his fingers upon the -strings of his guitar. - -A red-faced, grey-moustached man of military appearance stumped into the -room, clad in a brown dressing-gown. “Confound you, sir!” he roared. “If -you don’t put that damned banjo away and go to bed, I’ll ring for the -manager.” - -“What’s it to do with you?” Jim asked, twanging the strings dreamily. - -“It’s disturbing the whole hotel,” he answered. “Nobody can get a wink of -sleep with that blasted noise going on. Damn it, sir!—have you no sense -of duty to your neighbour?” - -The question hit home: once again he had been proved wanting in -consideration. “I’m most awfully sorry,” he said, with genuine -contrition. “I’d clean forgotten I was in a hotel. Please forgive me. -Have a whisky and soda? Have a cigar?” - -His visitor did not deign to reply. He stared at Jim with hot, scowling -eyes, and then, making a contemptuous gesture, left the room again, -slamming the door after him. - -“Well, that’s that,” Jim muttered, thereafter returning to bed, annoyed -with himself and distressed that he should have caused annoyance to -others. “What a swine I am,” he thought. - -Matthew Arnold’s lines:— - - Weary of myself, and sick of asking - What I am, and what I ought to be.... - -came into his brain, and gloomily he repeated them half aloud. Would -Monimé marry him? Or would she, too, find him impossible? What a mess he -had made of his life! Perhaps Dolly had been justified in her dislike of -him. - -With such thoughts as these he at last fell off to sleep. - -Next morning, after breakfast, he picked up a newspaper in the -smoking-room, and for some minutes read the foreign news without much -interest. Then suddenly a set of headlines caught his attention, and -caused him to sit up, aghast, in his chair. The printed words swayed -before his eyes as he read the appalling news. - -“Last night,” the story began, “the body of Mrs. Dorothy Tundering-West, -widow of the late James Tundering-West, of the Manor, Eversfield, near -Oxford, was found in a wood adjoining the grounds of the Manor. The back -of the skull was smashed in, probably by a blow from a large stone which -was found near by with bloodstains upon it. Mrs. West had been missing -since four o’clock in the afternoon, and medical evidence indicates that -death must have occurred at about that hour....” - -With desperate haste his eyes travelled down the column. There was -no doubt that she had been murdered, said the report, but the thick -carpeting of damp leaves upon the ground had retained no impression of -the offender’s footprints. She was lying on her face, and a second wound -upon her forehead was probably caused by her fall. The motive was not -apparent, for there had been no robbery, and there were no signs of a -struggle. - -The police, he read, attached some significance to the presence of a man -of foreign appearance who was seen in the early afternoon picking berries -from a hedge in the neighbourhood. In this connection it was recalled -that Mr. Tundering-West had died by the hand of an assassin in Italy only -a few months ago, and it was possible that the two crimes were both the -outcome of some secret vendetta. What had induced the unfortunate lady to -go into the woods was a mystery, and perhaps indicated that she had been -lured to her doom. - -Jim’s first emotions were those of extreme horror at the crime, and pity -for Dolly. The manner of her death appalled him; and though he was not -conscious of any binding relationship to her, the catastrophe of her -murder swept across his being like a fierce wind, as it were, uprooting -the plantations of his overstocked brain, or like a breaking wave -thundering on to the shingle of his multitudinous thoughts. - -It was fortunate that he was alone in the smoking-room, for his agitation -was such that his exclamations were uttered audibly, and soon he was -pacing the floor, the newspaper crumpled in his hand. It seemed to be -his fate that the crises of his life should be announced to him through -the columns of the daily Press. In this manner he had read of his -inheritance, of his supposed murder at Pisa, and now of the death of his -wife. It was as though roguish powers had selected him as a victim on -whom thus to spring surprises. - -Who could have committed the crime? The thought of Smiley-face came -immediately to his mind, but was as quickly dismissed again. The poacher, -he knew, had been busy in the village getting Mrs. Darling’s address from -the postman; and, moreover, his behaviour when they had met again clearly -proclaimed his innocence. Possibly some tramp had been lurking in the -woods, as Smiley had suspected, and Dolly had been assaulted by him as -she ran from Jim. He remembered now with awe the sudden silence which had -followed her loud flight through the crackling undergrowth. - -The wretched Merrivall, he realized, would have to keep his movements -well hidden; for if it were known that he had been in the woods with -Dolly he would most assuredly be suspected, motive or no motive. If -anybody had seen him running across the manor garden on his way to the -forgotten whist-drive it would go hard with him. - -Suddenly, following this thought, came the awful realization of his own -peril. He, Jim, was the last man to see her alive; and in his own case a -motive would not be lacking. Smiley-face would be certain to suspect him, -and by some mistake might give the secret away. - -And then—Mrs. Darling! She knew he had seen Dolly in the woods, she knew -they had quarrelled violently! Of course, she would accuse him! The -thought blared at him like a discordant trumpet, proclaiming his guilt to -the world, while his heart drummed a wild accompaniment. - -In bewilderment he ran blindly up the stairs to his bedroom and locked -the door behind him. - - - - -Chapter XVIII: DESTINY - - -For some time he sat in his bedroom, overwhelmed by horror and pity at -Dolly’s death, and by the terrible menace of his own situation. Mrs. -Darling would certainly denounce him to the police, for hardly could -she think otherwise than that he was the murderer of her daughter, even -though his open visit to her at her hotel would be difficult to reconcile -with his guilt. - -Fate seemed to be playing with him, torturing him, hitting him from all -sides. If only he had postponed his visit to Mrs. Darling he would now be -free to slip away as unnoticed as he had come, resuming his life in the -Near East as Jim Easton, and being in no way suspected of the crime, for -the silence of Smiley-face could be relied on. - -But now he was done for! True, he was to-day a widower, and was therefore -in a position to marry the woman whom he loved with a passion which -seemed only to grow stronger as the complications increased. But he would -be obliged to lie to her daily, throughout his life: there would always -be this pitiable barrier of deception between them. And, moreover, the -tragedy of Dolly’s death so filled his mind that any advantage it might -have to himself was hardly able to be realized. He was profoundly shocked -at her pitiable end, and its consequences were enveloped in gloom. - -Even though Mrs. Darling were to hold her tongue, the Eversfield estate -would none the less be wholly lost to him now, nor would his son ever -reign there as a Tundering-West; for were he to lay claim to the -property, or reveal the fact that he, James Tundering-West, was alive, -Monimé would think he had gone to England and had done Dolly to death so -as to be free to marry again. How could she think otherwise? - -And, again, though he were for the time being to escape from the arm of -the law, he could only marry Monimé at the risk of dragging her into a -possible scandal in the future. - -He paced his bedroom in his despair, now cursing himself for his actions, -now screwing up his eyes to shut out the pitiful picture of Dolly, now -laughing aloud, like a madman, at the nightmare of his own position. One -thing was certain: he must leave England this very morning and make his -way back to Cyprus or Egypt, or somewhere. Already Mrs. Darling might -have notified the police. Fortunately she did not know his address, nor -had she ever heard the name “Easton,” but doubtless the ports would be -watched, and were he to delay his departure he would be caught. - -In sudden haste which bordered on frenzy he packed his portmanteau and -rang for his bill; and soon he was driving to the station, a huddled -figure with hat pulled down over his eyes. He was far too early for the -train, and, during the long wait every pair of eyes which looked into his -set his heart beating with apprehension. - -He had always been an outlaw: he had never fully understood the basis -of society, nor were the habits of the community altogether intelligible -to him. He had gone his own ways, and had left organized humanity to -go theirs. They had not molested one another. But now the State had a -grievance against him, and soon it would be feeling out for him with its -millions of antennæ, searching over hill and dale, city and field, with -waving, creeping tentacles. He would have to duck and dodge continuously -to avoid being caught, and always there would be in his heart the terror -of that cruel, relentless mouth waiting to suck the life out of him. - -His relief was intense when at the end of the day he found himself, still -unmolested, in Paris. But he did not here stay his flight. All through -the night he journeyed southwards, sitting with lolling head in the -corner of a third-class compartment in a slow train—a mode of travelling -which he had deemed the least conspicuous. - -At length, upon the following evening, he reached Marseilles, where he -put up at a small hotel at which he had stayed more than once under the -name of Easton. He told the proprietor he had just come from Italy, a -remark which led him to a frenzied erasing of labels from his baggage in -his bedroom. - -The next morning he made inquiries as to the steamers sailing east, and -was relieved to find that a French liner was leaving for Alexandria in -a few hours. He obtained a berth without difficulty and, after a period -of horrible anxiety at the docks, found himself once more upon the high -seas, the menace of the western world fading into the distance behind -him, and the greater chances of the Orient ahead. - -Thus he arrived back one morning upon the soil of Egypt, a fugitive from -the terror of the law, all his nerves strained to breaking-point, his -face pallid, his dark eyes wild. With aching heart he yearned for the -serenity which Monimé exuded like the perfume of incense around her; -he longed to be able to go to her and to bare his soul of its secrets, -and to lay his heavy head upon her complacent breast; he craved for the -comfort of those caressing hands which seemed in their soothing touch to -be endowed with the mother-craft of all the ages. - -Never before in his independent life had he felt so profound a desire for -sympathy and companionship, yet now more than ever must he lock up his -troubles in his own heart. He would write to her at Mena House Hotel, -near Cairo, where she was staying, and tell her ... tell her what? That -he could not live without her, that he had come back to her after but a -couple of days in England, that she held for him the keys of heaven, that -away from her he was in outer darkness. He would await her answer here in -Alexandria, and by the time it arrived perhaps he would have recovered in -some degree his equilibrium. - -Feeling that his safety lay in the unbroken continuity of his life as Jim -Easton, he went to the little Hotel des Beaux-Esprits, vaguely telling -the proprietress that he had travelled over from Cyprus. Some London -papers had just arrived and these, having come by a faster route, carried -the news to the second morning after his departure from England. His hand -shook as he searched the columns for the “Eversfield Murder,” and his -excitement and relief were altogether beyond description when he read -that George Merrivall’s housekeeper, Jane Potts, had been arrested and -charged with the crime. - -Eagerly he turned to the recent copies of the local newspaper in which -the English telegrams were published daily, and here he read that the -evidence against the woman was of such damning character that she had -been committed for trial. He recalled how Smiley-face had spoken of this -woman’s jealousy of Dolly, and it seemed evident that she had followed -George Merrivall into the woods that day and had wreaked her vengeance on -her rival. - -Mrs. Darling, then, had not notified the police! Doubtless she had heard -of the guilt of Jane Potts in time to prevent the further scandal in -regard to himself. She must have realized at once that since he was not -the murderer there was no good purpose to be served in revealing the fact -that he was still alive. Possibly, indeed, she may have hoped to profit -by Dolly’s death—she was the next-of-kin—and had no wish to resuscitate -the rightful lord of the manor from his supposed grave beneath the waves -of Pisa. He could quite imagine the pleasant, unscrupulous soul saying to -him: “You remain dead, my lad, and make no claim to the estate, or I’ll -force you also to stand your trial for the murder, whether you did it or -not.” - -He was free, then! He wanted to shout the tidings to the four corners -of the world. He was free to go to Monimé, and to ask her to marry him. -For a short time longer he would have to hide his identity: he must wait -until Jane Potts had paid the penalty of her jealousy. Then he could -pension off Mrs. Darling, and, when all was settled and the estate once -more in his possession, the opportune moment would have arrived for his -clean breast to Monimé. She would understand; she would forgive! With -him she would rejoice that by bequest their son would be made heir to -a comfortable income and home, while they themselves would have the -means to procure that house of their dreams, somewhere beside the blue -Mediterranean, which should be their resting-place at desired intervals -in their untrammelled wanderings over the face of the earth. - -The sudden simplification of all his complexities, the disentangling of -the web in which he had been struggling, had an immediate and palpable -effect upon his appearance. His head was held high again, his eyes were -no longer furtive, his step was buoyant. Not for another hour could he -delay his reunion with Monimé, and to the astonished proprietress he -announced a sudden change of plans, and was gone from the hotel within -thirty minutes of his arrival. - -He reached Cairo at mid-afternoon upon one of those warm and brilliant -days which are the glory of early winter in Egypt, and was soon driving -out in the Mena House motor-omnibus along the straight avenue of majestic -acacia-trees leading from the city to the Pyramids, in the shadow of -which the hotel stands at the foot of the glaring plateau of rock on the -edge of the desert. - -At the hotel he was told that Monimé was probably to be found at a point -about half a mile to the north-west, where she had caused a tent to be -erected, and was engaged upon the painting of a desert subject. He was -in no mood to wait for her return at sundown; and, without visiting the -bedroom which was assigned to him, he set out at once on foot to find her. - -Through the dusty palm-grove behind the hotel he hastened, and up the -slope of the sandy hill beyond, from the summit of which he could see the -tent standing in the distance amongst the rolling dunes. Thereat he broke -into a run, and went leaping down into the little valleys and scrambling -up the low hills beyond, like a captive freed from the toils. - -A few minutes later, mounting another eminence, he found himself -immediately at the back of the tent, and here a native boy, who had been -lying drowsing upon the warm sand, rose to his feet, and, in answer to a -rapid question, told him that the lady was at work at the doorway of the -tent. - -Jim hurried forward, his heart beating, and the next moment he was face -to face with Monimé. - -“Jim!” she exclaimed in astonishment, throwing down her palette and -brushes. “My dear boy, I thought you were in England.” - -“So I was,” he laughed. “I was there just two days, and then ... I gave -it up.” - -He could restrain himself no further. “Oh, Monimé,” he cried, and flung -his arms about her, kissing her throat and her cheeks and her mouth. She -made a momentary show of protest, but her face was smiling; and soon he -felt that droop of the limbs and heard that inhalation of the breath, -and saw that closing of the eyes which, the world over, are the signs -of a woman’s capitulation. No further words then were spoken; but, each -enfolded in the arms of the other, with lips pressed to lips, they hung -as it were suspended between matter and spirit, while the sun tumbled -from the skies, the hills of the desert were shattered, the valleys were -cleft in twain, and there came into being for them a new earth and a new -heaven. - -When at length they stood back from one another, bewildered and -spellbound, their whole existence had undergone an irreparable change; -and each gazed at the other with unveiled eyes which revealed a naked -soul. Now at last, as by an instantaneous flash of the miraculous hand of -Nature, she was become blood of his blood, bone of his bone, and they two -were for ever merged into one flesh. - -Quietly, automatically, she put away her brushes and paints; then, coming -back to him as he stood staring at her with a dazed expression upon his -swarthy face, she put her arms about his neck and laid her lips upon his -mouth. - -“I never knew,” she whispered, “until you had gone that I belonged to you -body and soul.” - -He threw his head back and laughed in his exaltation. “To-morrow,” he -said, “I shall go to the Consulate, and notify them that we are going to -be married.” - -She nodded her head calmly. “Yes,” she smiled, “I suppose it’s too late -to do it to-day.” - -The sun was going down behind the Pyramids as they returned with linked -arms to the hotel; and for a moment that sense of foreboding which is so -often felt at sunset in the desert, intruded itself upon his dream of -happiness. There were banks of menacing cloud gathered upon the horizon; -and from the village of El Kafr, at the foot of the Great Pyramid, there -came the far-off throbbing of a drum, a sound which always has in it an -element of alarm. - -Jim turned to Monimé. “Tell me,” he urged, “that you have no doubts left -in your mind.” - -“No, I have no doubts,” she answered. “You and I and Ian—we are bound -together now right to the end. It is Destiny.” - -The period of three weeks which, by consular law, had to elapse before -the ceremony of their marriage could be performed, was a time of -blissful happiness to Jim. The open desert with its wind-swept spaces -of glistening sand, and its ranges of low hills which carried the eye -ever forward into its mysterious depths, enthralled him like an endless -tale of adventure, or like a native flute-song that rises and falls in -continuous changing melody. With Monimé he left the hotel each morning, -and, having conducted her to her tent, he would wander over the untrodden -wastes until the luncheon hour brought him back to her to share their -picnic meal. He would come to her again at sundown, and together they -would stroll back to civilization in time to see the last flush fade -from the domes and minarets of the distant city. Or, when the painter’s -inspiration failed her, they would mount their camels and go careering -into the wilderness, riding through silent valleys and over breezy hills, -talking eagerly as they went, and sending their laughter echoing amongst -the rocks. - -For him it was a lazy, sun-bathed existence, rich in the abundance of -their love, and unmarred by any cares. He read in the papers that the -trial of Jane Potts would not take place before March; and with that -assurance he returned to his earlier habit of detachment from the world’s -doings, and did not again trouble even to glance at the news. Life was a -new thing to him: it had begun again; and the tragic events of the past -were, for the present, able to be forgotten. - -Even a favourable letter from the publishers to whom he had sent his -poems hardly aroused his excitement, so deeply was he in love. It was -a somewhat patronizing letter, in which no great consideration for his -artistic sensibilities was manifest. The manuscript was accepted for -publication some time in the spring, on moderately satisfactory terms; -but it was stated that the firm’s discretion must be admitted, and, -owing to his inaccessibility, it might be necessary to rely on their own -“readers” in the correction of the proofs. He was told, in fact, to leave -the matter in their hands, and not to assert himself further than to -cable his consent to this agreement; and this he did, without giving two -thoughts to the matter. Some ten days later a contract arrived, which he -was requested to sign; and having done so, he mailed it back to London, -and went his joyous way. - -Monimé had been commissioned to paint some pictures of the great -rock-temple of Abu Simbel, in Lower Nubia, far up the Nile; and it was -therefore decided that they should go there immediately after their -marriage, by which time her work in the neighbourhood of the Pyramids -would be completed. To this Jim looked forward eagerly; for there was -something akin to rapture in the thought of faring forth, alone with his -beloved, into distant places, where they would be undisturbed by the -proximity of their entirely superfluous fellow-creatures. - -At length the great day arrived, and, driving into Cairo, they were -married in ten minutes at the Consulate, and thence they sped across to -the English church, where the religious ceremony was quietly performed. -That night, as in a dream, they travelled by sleeping-car to Luxor, and, -next day, continued their ecstatic way to the Nubian frontier. Here the -railroad terminates, and the remainder of the journey, therefore, had to -be made by river. - -The dahabiyeh which they had chartered awaited them at Shallâl, over -against Philæ, just above the First Cataract; and their settling in was -much simplified by the fact that the local police officer, sauntering -on the wharf, recognized Jim, and at once put himself at their service. -He had been in charge of the camel patrol which used to visit the gold -mines; and Jim had shown him some kindness, which now he endeavoured to -return by a noisy but effective show of his authority and patronage. - -The vessel was not large, the interior accommodation consisting of a -white-painted saloon, a narrow passage, from which a small cabin and a -bathroom led off, and a fair-sized bedroom at the stern. Above their -apartments was the deck, across which awnings of richly-coloured Arab -tenting were drawn when the ship was not under sail. In the prow were the -kitchen and quarters of the native sailors. - -Abu Simbel is a hundred and seventy miles up stream from Shallâl; and, -sailing from silver dawn to golden sunset, and mooring each night under -the jewelled indigo of the skies, the journey occupied some five -enchanted days. The beauty of the rugged country and their own hearts’ -happiness, caused the hours to pass with the rapidity of a dream. Even -the heat of the powerful sun seemed to be mitigated for them by the -prevalent north-west wind, which bellied out the great sail and drove the -heavy prow forward so that it divided the waters into two singing waves. - -Now they sailed past dense and silent groves of palms backed by -precipitous rocks; now they shattered the reflections of glacier-like -slopes of yellow sand marked by no footprints; and now they glided into -the shadow of dark and towering cliffs. Sometimes a ruined and lonely -temple of the days of the Pharaohs would drift across the theatre of -their vision; sometimes the huts of a village, built upon the shelving -sides of a hill, would pass before their eyes and slide away into the -distance; and sometimes across the water there would come to their ears -the dreamy creaking of a _sâkiyeh_, or water-wheel, and the song of the -naked boy who drove the blindfolded oxen round and round its rickety -platform. - -At length in the darkness of early night they moored under the terrace -of the great temple of Abu Simbel, and awoke at daybreak to see from the -window of their cabin the four colossal statues of Rameses gazing high -across their little vessel towards the dawn. - -These mighty figures, sixty feet and more in height, carved out of the -face of the cliff, sit in a solemn row, two on each side of the doorway -which leads into the vast halls excavated in the living rock. Their -serene eyes are fixed upon the eastern horizon, their lips are a little -smiling, their hands rest placidly upon their knees; and now, in the -first light of morning, they loomed out of the fading shadow like cold, -calm figures of destiny, knowing all that the day would bring forth and -finding in that knowledge no cause for vexation. - -With a simultaneous impulse Jim and Monimé rose from their bed, and, -quickly dressing, hastened up the sandy path to the terrace of the -temple, that they might see the first rays of the sun strike upon those -great, unblinking eyes. - -They had not long to wait. Suddenly a warm flush suffused the pale, rigid -faces, a flush that did not seem to be thrown from the sunrise. It was -as though some internal flame of vitality had transmuted the hard rock -into living flesh; it was as though the blood were coursing through the -solid stone, and miraculous, monstrous life were come into being at the -touch of the god of the sun. The eyes seemed to open wider, the lips to -be about to open, the nostrils to dilate.... - -Monimé clasped hold of Jim’s hand. “They are going to speak,” she -exclaimed. “They are going to rise up from their four thrones.” - -In awe they stood, a little Hop o’ my Thumb and his wife, staring up -out of the blue shadows of the terrace to the huge, flushed faces above -them. But the miracle was quickly ended. The sun ascended from behind the -eastern hills, and in its full radiance the colossal figures were once -more turned to inanimate stone, to wait until to-morrow’s recurrence of -that one supreme moment in which the pulse of life is vouchsafed to them. - - - - -Chapter XIX: LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS - - -During the day the dahabiyeh was towed a few yards to the south of the -great bluff of rock in which the temple is cut, and was moored in a -small, secluded bay, where it would be sheltered from the prying eyes -of tourists who would be coming ashore from the weekly steamer. Here, -on the one side, there were slopes of sand topped by palms and acacias, -behind which were precipitous cliffs; and, on the other, the wide river -stretched out to the opposite bank, where, amongst the trees at the foot -of the rocky hills, stood the brown huts of the village of Farêk. - -It was a hot little cove, and by day the sun beat down from cloudless -blue skies upon the white dahabiyeh; but the richly-coloured awnings -protected the deck, and a constant breeze brought a delectable coolness -through the open windows of the cabins below, fluttering the little green -silk curtains and gently swinging the hanging lamps. By night the moon -and the stars shone down from the amazing vault of the heavens, and were -reflected with such clarity in the still water of the bay that the vessel -seemed to be floating in mid-air with planets above and below. - -A scramble over the sand and the boulders around the foot of the headland -brought one to the terraced forecourt of the temple where sat the four -colossal statues; and at the side of this there was a mighty slope of -golden sand, sweeping down from the summit of the cliffs, as though in an -attempt to engulf the whole temple. A laborious climb up this drift led -to the flat, open desert, which extended away into the distance, until, -sharply defined against the intense blue of the sky, the far hills of the -horizon shut off the boundless and vacant spaces of the Sahara beyond. - -It was a place which, save at the coming of the tourist steamers, was -isolated from the modern world: a place of ancient memories, where -Hathor, goddess of love and local patroness of these hills, might be -supposed still to gaze out from the shadows of the rocks with languorous, -cow-like eyes, and to cast the spell of her influence upon all who -chanced to tread this holy ground. - -Of all the celestial beings worshipped by mankind this goddess must -surely make the fullest appeal to a man in love, for she is the -deification of the eternal feminine; and Jim, having lately studied -something of the old Egyptian religion, deemed it almost a predestined -fate that had brought him to this territory dedicated to a goddess who -personified those very qualities that he loved in Monimé. - -Hathor, the Ashtaroth and the Istar of Asia, was the patroness of all -women. Identified with Isis, her worship extended in time to Rome, where -she was at last absorbed into the Christian lore and became one with the -Madonna, so that even to this day, in another guise, she accepts the -adoration of countless millions. - -Here at Abu Simbel, in her aspect as Lady of the Western Hills, she -received into her divine arms each evening the descending sun, and -tended him, as a woman tends a man, at the end of his day’s journey. As -goddess of those who, like the sun, passed down in death to the nether -regions, she appeared as a mysterious saviour amidst the foliage of her -sacred sycamore, and gave water to their thirsty souls; while to the -living she was the mistress of love and laughter, she was the presiding -spirit at every marriage, she was the succouring midwife and the tender -nurse at the birth of every child, and upon her broad bosom every dying -creature laid its weary head. - -In this charmed region, where yellow rocks and golden sand, green trees -and blue waters, were met together under the azure sky, which again was -one of the aspects of Hathor, Jim passed his days in supreme happiness, -now working with tremendous mental energy at some poem which he was -composing, now tramping for miles over the high plateau of the desert, -whistling and singing as he went, and now basking in the sun upon the -terrace of the temple where Monimé was painting. The benign influence -of the great goddess seemed to act upon them, for daily their love grew -stronger, working at them, as it were, with pliant hands, until it -smoothed out their every thought and rounded their every action. - -Each week the post-boat on its way to Wady Halfa delivered to them a -letter from England in which Ian’s nurse gave them news of her charge; -but this was almost their only connection with the outside world, for -they usually avoided the temple when the weekly party of tourists were -ashore. Eagerly they read these letters, which told of the boy’s -boisterous health in the vigorous air of an English watering-place; -and afterwards they would sit hand-in-hand talking of him and of his -future. Jim was immensely proud of his son, and many were the plans that -developed in his head for the child’s happiness and good standing. It -would not be long now before he would be able to confess to Monimé his -true name and position, and to tell her that a home and an income were -assured to the boy. - -Love is a kind of interpreter of the beauties of nature; and in these -sun-bathed days Jim’s heart seemed to be opened to a greater appreciation -of the wonders of creation than he had ever known before. In the winter -season there is an amazing brilliancy of colour in a Nubian landscape, -and the air is so clear that to him it seemed as though he were ever -looking at some vast kaleidoscopic pattern of glittering jewels set -in green and blue and gold, to which his brain responded with radiant -scintillations of feeling. - -In whatever direction his eyes chanced to turn he found some sight -to charm him. Now it was a kingfisher hovering in mid-air beside the -dahabiyeh, or falling like a stone into the water; now it was a bronzed -goatherd, flute in hand, wandering with his flock under the acacias -beside the water; and now it was a desert hare, with its little white -tail, bounding away over the plateau at the summit of the cliffs. -Sometimes a great flight of red flamingos would pass slowly across the -blue sky; or in the darkness of the night the whirr of unseen wings -would tell of the migration of a flock of wild duck. Sometimes in his -rambles he would disturb the slumbers of a little jackal, which would go -scuttling off into the desert, while he waved his hand to it. Or again, a -lizard basking on a rock, or a pair of white butterflies dancing in the -sunlit air, would hold him for a moment enthralled. - -The grasses and creepers which grew amidst the tumbled boulders at the -edge of the Nile would now attract his attention; and again a great palm, -spreading its rustling branches to the sunlight and casting a liquid blue -shadow upon the ground, would hold his gaze. Here there was the ribbed -back of a sand-drift to delight him with its symmetry; there a distant -headland jutting out into the mirror of the water. Sometimes he would -lie face downwards upon the sand to admire the vari-coloured pebbles and -fragments of stone—gypsum, quartz, flint, cornelian, diorite, syenite, -hæmatite, serpentine, granite, and so forth; and sometimes he would go -racing over the desert, bewitched by the riotous north wind itself and -the sparkle of the air. - -But ever he came back at length to the woman who, like the presiding -Hathor, was the fount of this overflowing happiness of his heart. In the -glory of the day he watched her as she walked in the sunlight, the breeze -fluttering her pretty dress, or as she slid with him, laughing, down the -slope of the great sand-drift beside the temple; or again as she ran -hand-in-hand with him along the edge of the river after a morning swim, -her black hair let down and tossing about her shoulders. - -By night he watched her as she stood in the star-light, like a mysterious -spirit of this ancient land; or as she came out from the dark halls of -the temple, like the goddess herself, gliding towards him in a moonbeam -with divine white arms extended, and the smile of everlasting love -upon her shadowed lips. In the dim light of their cabin he saw her as -she lay by his side, her eyes reflecting the gleam of the stars, the -perfect curve of her breast scarcely apparent save to his touch, and her -whispered words coming to him out of the veil of the midnight. - -It is not easy to select from the nebulous narrative of these secluded -days any particular occurrence which may here be recorded; yet there -was no lack of incident, no dulness, no stagnation, such as he had -experienced in the seclusion of Eversfield. Towards sunset one afternoon -he and she were walking together upon the high desert at the summit of -the cliffs, and were traversing an area which in Pharaonic days was used -as a cemetery. Here there are a number of small square tomb-shafts cut -perpendicularly into the flat surface of the rock, at the bottom of which -the mummies of the Nubian princes of this district were interred. These -burials have all been ransacked in past ages by thieves in search of the -golden ornaments which were placed upon the bodies; and now the shafts -lie open, partially filled with blown sand. - -Presently Jim paused to throw a stone at a mark which chanced to present -itself; but, missing his aim, he picked up a handful of pebbles and threw -them one by one at his target until his idle purpose was accomplished. -Meanwhile Monimé had strolled ahead, and Jim now ran forward to overtake -her. The setting sun, however, dazzled his eyes, and suddenly he stumbled -at the brink of one of these open tombs. There was a confused moment in -which he clutched desperately at the edge of the rock, and then, falling -backwards, his head struck the side of the shaft, and he went crashing -to the bottom, twenty feet below, landing upon the soft sand with a thud -which seemed to shake the very teeth in his jaws. - -For some moments he sat dazed, while little points of light danced before -his eyes, and the blood slowly ran down his cheek from a wound amidst his -hair. Then he looked around him at the four solid walls which imprisoned -him, and up at the square of the blue sky above him, and swore aloud at -himself for a fool. - -A few seconds later the horrified face of Monimé came into view at the -top of the shaft, and, to reassure her, he broke into laughter, telling -her he was unhurt and describing how the accident had happened. - -“But your head’s bleeding,” she cried in anguish. “Where’s your -handkerchief?” - -“Haven’t got one,” he laughed. “Lend me yours.” - -She threw down to him an absurd little wisp of cambric, with which he -endeavoured vainly to staunch the red flow. - -“It’s nothing,” he said. “It’s only a little cut. How the devil am I to -get out of this?” - -She plied him with anxious questions; and presently, recklessly ripping -off the flounce of her muslin dress, she tossed it to him, telling him to -bandage the wound with it. - -“I’m afraid you’ll have to go back to the boat,” he said, “and get a rope -and a sailor to hold it. I’m most awfully sorry.” - -She would not go for help until she had satisfied herself that he was in -no danger; and when at last she left him it was with the assurance that -she would be back with all possible speed. - -“Try rolling down the big sand-drift,” he said, anxious to be jocular. -“It’s the quickest way. I did it yesterday, and was down in no time. It’s -a pity you haven’t a tea-tray about you: it makes a fine toboggan.” - -But when he was alone he leant heavily against the wall, feeling dizzy -from the loss of blood and suffering considerable pain. Presently his -attention was attracted by one of those hard, black desert beetles which -are to be seen so frequently in Egypt parading busily over the sand with -creaking armour: it was hurrying to and fro at the foot of the wall, -vainly seeking for a way of escape from the prison into which it had -evidently tumbled but a short time before. Upon the sand around him there -were the dried remains of others of its tribe which had fallen down the -shaft and had perished of starvation; and in one corner there was the -skeleton of a jerboa which had died in like manner. - -For a considerable time he sat staring stupidly at this beetle and -mopping his head with the muslin flounce; but at last Monimé returned -with two native sailors, who speedily lowered a rope to him. To climb the -twenty feet to the surface, however, was no easy matter in his stiff and -exhausted condition; and very laboriously he pulled himself up, barking -his shins and his knuckles painfully against the rock. - -He had nearly reached the top when suddenly he remembered the imprisoned -beetle; and his fertile imagination pictured, as in a flash, its -lingering death. “Wait a minute,” he said, “I’ve forgotten something.” -And down the rope he slid to the bottom, while Monimé wrung her hands -above. - -He picked up the beetle. “Come along, old sport,” he whispered. “Blessed -if I hadn’t forgotten all about you.” He placed the little creature in -the pocket of his coat, and once more began the painful ascent. The -exertion, however, had opened the wound again, and now the blood ran down -his face as he strained and swung on the rope. His strength seemed to -have deserted him, and had it not been for the two sailors who drew him -up bodily as he clung, and at last caught hold of him under the arms, he -would have fallen back into the shaft. - -No sooner had he reached the surface than he carefully took the beetle -from his pocket, and sent it on its way. Then turning to Monimé, who had -knelt on the ground, he obeyed her order to lie down and place his head -upon her knee, whereupon she began to bathe the wound with water from a -bottle she had brought with her. She had also remembered, even in her -haste, to bring scissors and bandages; and now with deft fingers she cut -away the hair from around the wound, and bound up his head with almost -professional skill. - -The two sailors were presently sent back to the dahabiyeh, and, as soon -as they were out of sight, she bent over his upturned face and kissed him -again and again. To his great surprise he felt her tears upon his cheek. - -“Why, what’s the matter?” he asked, tenderly passing the back of his hand -across her eyes. “Did I give you an awful fright?” - -“No, it isn’t that,” she answered, trying to smile. “I’m only being -sentimental. I was thinking about your beetle, and about the text in the -Bible that says, ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of -these....’” - -It was not many days before Jim had fully recovered from his hurts. The -bracing air of Lower Nubia at this season of the year is not conducive to -sickness. The vigorous north-west wind seems to sweep the mind clear of -all suggestion of ailment, and the sun to purge it of even the thought -of infirmity. Monimé, indeed, had difficulty in persuading him to submit -at all to her ministrations, dear though they were to him; for the heart -is here set upon the idea of physical well-being, and nature thus heals -herself. - -Sometimes, as Jim walked upon the cliffs in the splendour of the day, his -nerves tingling with the joy of life, his thoughts went back to those -long years at Eversfield, and he compared his present attitude of mind -with that he had known at the manor. There the grey steeples and towers -of Oxford, seen beyond the haze of the trees, were sedative and subduing. -There the passionate heart was tempered, the violent thought was sobered, -the emotions were quieted. - -But here the brilliant sunlight, the sparkling air, and the great open -spaces, induced a grand heedlessness, a fine improvidence, a riotous -prodigality of the forces of life. Here a man lived, and knew no more -than that he lived; nor did he care what things the future held in -store for him. During these weeks Jim gave no thought to his coming -movements, save in a very general way. His mind leapt across the abyss -of difficulties which lay in his path, and arrived at the fair places -beyond, where Monimé and Ian were to travel hand-in-hand with him. - -His attitude towards his little son was shaping itself in his mind -at this time into some sort of clear recognition of his parental -responsibilities, vague perhaps, but none the less sincere. As an -instance of this development in his character mention may be made of a -certain sunset hour in which he and Monimé were seated together upon the -high ground overlooking the vast expanse of the desert to westward of the -Nile. - -In this direction, behind the far horizon, lay the unexplored Sahara, -extending in awful solitude across the whole African continent to its -western shores, three thousand miles away. For a thousand miles and -more this vast and almost uninhabited land of silence is known as the -Libyan Desert. Behind this is the great Tuareg country, extending for -another fifteen hundred miles; and beyond this lies the ancient land of -Mauretania, where at last, in the region of Rio de Oro, there is again a -populated country. - -In no other part of the world can a man stand facing so huge a tract of -uncharted country, and nowhere does the call of the unknown come with -such insistence to the ears of the imagination. In this untenanted area -there is room for many an undiscovered kingdom, and hidden somewhere -amidst its barren hills and plains there may be cities and peoples cut -off from the outer world these many thousands of years. - -It is the largest of the world’s remaining areas of mystery; it is the -greatest of all the regions still to be explored; for the sterile and -waterless desert holds its secrets secure by the fear of hunger and the -terror of thirst. The inhabitants of the Nile Valley declare to a man -that somewhere in this wilderness there stands a city of gold, whose -shining cupolas and domes are as dazzling as the sun itself, and whose -streets are paved with precious stones. - -Jim had often talked to the natives in regard to this lost city, and all -had assured him that it truly existed, though no living eyes had seen it. - -On this particular occasion, as he watched the sun go down amidst the -distant hills which were the first outworks in the defences of these -impregnable secrets, he was overwhelmed with the desire to penetrate, if -only for a few hundred miles, into this mysterious territory, and eagerly -he spoke to Monimé in regard to the possibilities of such an expedition. - -She sighed. “I shouldn’t be able to come with you, Jim,” she said, -“however much I should long to do so. I have to consider Ian first.” - -“Yes,” he answered at once. “I was not really speaking seriously. The -thought of what may lie hidden over there sets one dreaming; but actually -I wouldn’t feel it right now to go hunting for fabulous cities.” - -He spoke with sincerity, and it was only after the words were uttered -that he realized the change which had taken place in his outlook. No -longer was he free to act as he chose: he had to consider the interests -of another, and, strange to relate, he was quite willing to do so. - - - - -Chapter XX: THE ARM OF THE LAW - - -At high noon upon a morning towards the end of January, Jim happened to -saunter across the hot sand to the terrace of the temple where Monimé was -painting, and there found her engaged in conversation with a benevolent, -grey-bearded clergyman and a stout, beaming woman who appeared to -be his wife, both of whom wore blue spectacles, carried large white -umbrellas lined with green, and wore pith helmets adorned with green -veiling—appurtenances which stamped them as tourists. Jim himself was -somewhat disreputably dressed, having a slouch hat pulled over his eyes, -a canvas shirt open at the neck, a pair of well-worn flannel trousers -held up by an old leather belt, and red native slippers upon his bare -feet, and he therefore hesitated to approach. - -Monimé, however, beckoned to him to come to her, and, when he had done -so, introduced him to her new friends, whose acquaintance, it was -explained, she had made an hour previously. The clergyman, it appeared, -whose name was Jones, was a man of some wealth who was now touring these -upper reaches of the Nile on a small private steamer, in search of the -good health of which his work in the underworld of London had deprived -him; and Monimé, in taking the trouble to show him and his wife around -the temple, perhaps had a woman’s eye to business, for a painter, after -all, has wares for sale, and is dependent on the conversion of all -colours into plain gold. - -Be this as it may, she now invited them to luncheon upon the dahabiyeh, -and Jim, not to be churlish, was obliged to support the suggestion with -every mark of assent. - -The meal was served under the awnings, and when coffee had been drunk -Monimé took Mrs. Jones down to the saloon, while the two men were left -to smoke on deck. Jim was in a communicative mood, and for some time -entertained his guest with narrations of his adventures in many lands, -being careful, however, to draw a veil over the years he had spent in -England. The clergyman responded, at length, with tales of his life in -the slums, expressing the opinion that, owing to the failure of the -Church to adapt itself to the exigencies of the present day, callousness -in regard to crime was on the increase. - -“Here’s an instance of what I mean,” he said. “I was walking late one -night along a well-known London street when I was accosted by a young -woman who, in spite of my cloth and my age, made certain suggestions to -me. I was so astounded that I stopped and spoke to her, and presently -she confessed to me that this was the first time she had ever done such -a thing, but that she was engaged to be married to a penniless man, and -somehow money had to be obtained. Now there’s callousness for you! Can -you imagine such a proceeding?” - -“Yes, that’s pretty low down,” Jim answered. “What did you do?” - -The clergyman smiled. “Ah, that is another story,” he said. “To test her -I told her to come to my house the next day and to bring her fiancé with -her; and to my surprise they turned up. Well, to cut the story short, I -agreed to set them up in business, and I gave them quite a large sum of -money for the purpose, hardly expecting, however, that it would prove -anything but a dead loss. You may imagine my gratification, therefore, -when I began to receive regular quarterly repayments, each accompanied by -a gracious little letter of thanks stating that things were prospering -splendidly. At last the whole debt was paid off, and the woman came to -see me, smartly dressed, and in the best of spirits. I congratulated her -on her honesty, and told her that her action had strengthened my belief -in the basic goodness of human nature.” - -“‘Well, you see,’ she said, ‘we felt we ought to pay our debt to you, as -we had made in the business ten times the original sum you gave us.’ - -“‘And what is the business?’ I asked. - -“‘Oh,’ she said, ‘we are running a brothel.’” - -Jim leant back in his chair and laughed. “That’s an instance of the evils -of indiscriminate charity,” he said. - -“It is a sign of the times,” his guest replied, seriously. “Look at the -callous crimes of which we read in the newspapers. Take, for instance, -the Eversfield case.” - -Jim’s heart seemed to stop beating. “I haven’t been reading the papers -lately,” he stammered. “I haven’t heard....” His voice failed him. - -“Oh, it’s a shocking case,” said Mr. Jones, but to Jim his words were as -though they came from a great distance or were heard above the noise of -a tempest. “A young woman, the lady of the manor, was found murdered in -her own woods, and at first the police thought that the crime had been -committed by a certain Jane Potts who was jealous of her. But she proved -her innocence, and then the mother of the murdered woman, a Mrs. Darling, -admitted that her daughter’s husband, who had been supposed to be dead, -was actually alive, and had visited his wife on the day of the crime. It -seems that he had wanted to rid himself of her by divorce, but something -happened which induced him to kill her instead.” - -Jim’s brain was seething. “But if he was guilty, why did he go to see -Mrs. Darling afterwards?” he asked. - -“Oh, then you have read about the case,” said his guest, glancing at him -quickly. - -Jim struggled inwardly to be calm and to rectify his mistake. “Yes,” he -answered, “I remember it now.” - -Mr. Jones bent forward in his chair and tapped his host’s knee. “Mark my -words,” he declared, “that man is an out-and-out villain. He had deserted -his wife, and had let it be thought that he was dead; and then, I suppose -because he was short of money, he came home, and murdered her when she -refused to give him any. My theory is that he believed he had been seen -by somebody, and therefore determined to brazen it out by calling on his -mother-in-law. He is evidently of the callous kind.” - -Jim had the feeling that he himself, his ego, had become detached from -his brain’s consciousness. Distantly, he could hear every word that -was being said, yet at the same time his mind was in confusion, in -pandemonium. He looked down from afar off at his body, and wondered -whether the trembling of his hand was noticeable. He could listen to -himself speaking, and desperately he struggled to control his words. - -“What d’you think will happen?” he asked, passing his fingers to and fro -across his lips. The sudden dryness of his mouth had produced a sort of -click in his words which he endeavoured thus to mitigate. - -“Oh, they’ll catch him in time,” Mr. Jones replied, “though Mrs. -Darling’s reprehensible conduct in keeping the facts to herself for so -long has helped him to get clear away. His description is in all the -papers—dark hair and eyes; clean-shaven; sallow complexion; athletic -build; five foot ten in height....” - -Jim smiled in a sickly manner. “That might describe me,” he said, and -laughed. - -“Yes,” Mr. Jones responded, “I’m afraid it’s not much to go on; but -they’ll get him, believe me. I expect they’ll publish a photograph soon.” - -Jim drew his breath between his teeth, and again his heart seemed to be -arrested in its beating. He wanted to rise from his chair and to run -from the dahabiyeh. It seemed to him that his agitation must be wholly -apparent to his guest: a man’s entire life could not be shattered and -fall to pieces in such utter ruin with no outward sign of the devastation. - -He was about to make a move of some sort to end the ordeal when Monimé -appeared upon the steps leading up from the saloon, and invited Mr. -Jones to come down to see some of her paintings. He rose at once to -comply; and thereupon Jim lurched from his chair, and, holding on to the -table before him, looked wildly towards the slopes of golden sand which -could be seen between the vari-coloured hangings. - -Monimé came over to him as the clergyman disappeared down the stairs. -“Hullo, Jim,” she said, “you look ill, dear. Is anything the matter?” - -He tried to laugh. “No,” he answered sharply. “Why should you think so? -I’m all right—only rather bored by your talkative friend.” - -She put her arm about him and kissed him: then, suddenly standing back -from him, she looked anxiously into his face. “You _are_ ill,” she said. -“Your forehead is burning hot. You’ve been out in the sun without your -hat. Oh, Jim, you are so careless!” - -For a moment his knees gave way under him, and he swayed visibly as he -stood. “I’m all right, I tell you,” he gasped. “Go and show them your -pictures.” - -Monimé’s consternation was not able to be concealed. “Oh, my darling,” -she cried, “you’re feverish! You must go and lie down. I’ll get rid of -these people presently: I’ll tell them you are not well....” - -Jim interrupted her. “No, no!—don’t say anything. I assure you it’s -nothing. I’ll be all right in a few minutes. I’ll just sit here quietly.” - -He pushed her from him, and obliged her, presently, to leave him; but -no sooner was she gone than he hastened to the _zir_, or large porous -earthenware vessel, which stood at the end of the deck and in which the -“drinks” were kept cool, and, selecting a bottle of whisky, poured a -stiff dose into a tumbler, swallowing the draught in two or three hasty -gulps. Thus fortified, he paced to and fro, staring before him with -unseeing eyes, until Monimé and their guests returned. - -His anxiety not to appear ill at ease in the presence of Mr. and Mrs. -Jones led him to talk rapidly upon a variety of disconnected subjects; -but his relief was great when, with umbrellas raised and blue spectacles -adjusted, they took their departure and walked away over the hot sand -towards their own vessel. Thereupon he hastened to assure Monimé that his -indisposition had passed; and soon he had the satisfaction of observing -that her anxieties were allayed. But when she had gone back to her -painting at the temple, he left the dahabiyeh, and, scrambling up the -sand-drift like one demented, went running over the vacant, sun-scorched -plateau at the summit of the cliffs, flinging himself at length upon the -ground, where no eyes save those of the circling vultures might see his -abject misery, and no ears might hear his groans. - -In the days which followed he so far mastered his emotions as to give his -wife no great cause for worry; but from time to time he could see in her -troubled face her consciousness that all was not well. On such occasions -the extremity of human wretchedness seemed to be reached, and the weight -upon his heart and mind was almost intolerable. - -It was not personal fear of the scaffold that spread this horror along -every nerve and through every vein of his body: it was the thought that -he would not be able to avoid involving Monimé and their son in the -catastrophe, and that not only would he disgrace them, but would alienate -them from him completely. He realized now the enormity of his offence -in holding back from Monimé the truth about his former marriage and in -shutting her out from his confidences. - -What would she do when she learnt the facts? Could she possibly -understand and forgive? Would the pain that he was to bring upon her turn -her love into hatred and contempt? Would she, the passionate mother, -forgive the wrong he had done to their son in placing this stigma upon -him? - -Thoughts such as these drove him to the brink of madness; and the need -of secrecy and of facing the situation by himself produced an unbearable -sense of loneliness in his mind. He recalled the verse in the Book of -Genesis which reads: “The Lord God said, ‘It is not good that man should -be alone; I will make him an help meet for him.’” If only he could tell -her now, pour out his heart to her, and see in her tender eyes the -overwhelming sweetness of her understanding.... But he dared not: he must -fight this battle alone. - -Gradually there developed in his brain the thought of suicide. Were he -now to destroy himself in some manner which would suggest an accident, -it would be Jim Easton who would be laid in the grave, without a stain -upon his public memory; and the lost James Tundering-West, the supposed -murderer, would not be connected in any way with Monimé or Ian. Without -question this was the only solution of the problem; this was the only -honourable course to follow, and follow it he must. - -He found In this resolution a means of steadying his mind and of -regaining to some extent his equilibrium. There was a fortnight yet -before their return to the lower reaches of the Nile would bring matters -towards their final phase. Monimé wished to go to Europe as soon as her -work was finished, in order to be with Ian again; and it would not be -necessary for Jim to put an end to himself, therefore, until he came -within reach of the arm of the law. Here at Abu Simbel he could easily -avoid seeing any of his fellow men who might visit the temple from the -tourist steamers; and, fortunately, his friend the police officer at -Shallâl who had helped him to embark on the dahabiyeh, knew him these -many years as Mr. Easton, presumably a resident in Egypt, and would -vouch for him if occasion arose. Very possibly he might reach Cairo or -even the homeward-bound liner without detection. Then, an accidental -fall at midnight from the deck into the sea—and his obligation would be -honourably fulfilled. - -Yes, that was it: that was his obligation. For the first time in his -life he understood thoroughly and wholly the meaning of the word. “It is -my duty,” he muttered over and over again. “It is my duty at all costs -to prevent any scandal which would hurt Monimé or Ian.” He had so often -asked himself the meaning of that strange term “duty,” and now he knew. -Love had taught him. - -Fortunately, Monimé was very hard at work on the completion of her -paintings, and he was therefore able to go away alone into the desert -for hours at a time, under the pretence of writing his verses, and thus -obtain a respite from the strain of appearing cheerful and normal. The -great untenanted spaces soothed the clamour of his brain; and, wandering -there alone over the golden sand or the shelving rocks, in the blazing -sunlight, between the vacancy of earth and the void of heaven, there -passed into his mind a kind of calmness which remained with him when -Monimé was again at his side. - -But the nights were made fearful to him lest in his sleep he should -reveal his secret. He would lie awake hour after hour in the darkness, -while Monimé slept peacefully, her head upon his encircling arm, her -black hair tumbled about his shoulder, her breast against his breast, and -he would not dare to shut his eyes. Sometimes, his weariness overcoming -his will, he would drop into oblivion, only to waken again with a start -which caused her to turn or to mutter in her slumbers. Once he woke up -thus, knowing that he had just uttered the words “Not guilty,” and in an -agony of fear he waited, propped on his elbow, to ascertain whether she -had heard him or not. She was asleep, however, and with beating pulse he -fell back at length upon the pillows, the cold sweat upon his face. - -During these days, which he recognized as his last upon earth, he allowed -himself to drown his sorrow in the full flood of his love; and, like the -waves of the sea, he overwhelmed Monimé in the tide of his adoration, -sweeping her along with him so that there were times when the breath of -life seemed to fail them, and the silent rapture of their hearts had -near kinship with the quiescence of death. There were times when it was -as though he were eager to die upon her lips, and so to pass in ecstasy -into the hollow acreage of heaven. There were times when by the might of -his passion he seemed to lift her, clasped in his arms, into the regions -beyond the planets, there to revolve in the exaltation of dream, round -and round the universe, until the sound of the last trump should hurl -their inseparable souls headlong into the abyss of time and space. - -But between these spells of enchantment there were periods of deep and -horrible gloom in which he cursed himself for his mistakes, and railed -against man and God. - -“How I hate myself!” he muttered. “Life is like a prison cell where you -and your deadly enemy are locked in together.” - -Standing at the summit of the cliffs above the temple, he would shake his -fists at the blue depths of the sky, or, with bronzed arms folded, would -stare down at the rippling waters of the Nile, and kick the pebbles over -the precipice. Occasionally, too, he turned for comfort to his guitar; -and at the river’s brink, or in the shade of an acacia tree, he would sit -twanging the strings and singing some outlandish song, his head bent over -the instrument and his dark hair falling over his face. - -As the day of their departure drew near these periods of gloom increased -in frequency, and he was often aware that the troubled eyes of his wife -were fixed upon him, while, more than once, she questioned him in regard -to his health. His mirror revealed to him the haggard appearance of his -face, and in order to prevent this becoming too apparent he was obliged -to manœuvre his position so that, when Monimé was facing him, his back -should be to the light. - -At length the dreaded hour arrived. Upon the glaring face of the waters -the little puffing steam-tug, which had been ordered by them for this -date, came into sight, bearing down upon them as they sat at breakfast on -deck; and soon it was heading northwards again, towing their dahabiyeh -in its wake towards the First Cataract which marks the frontier of Egypt -proper. For the greater part of the two days’ journey Jim sat listlessly -watching the banks of the river as they glided by; but when at last -Shallâl, their destination, was reached he pulled himself together to -meet the last crisis, and, by the exertion of the power of his will, -managed to appear as a normal being. - -They made no halt upon their way; but, after sleeping for the last time -upon their dahabiyeh, moored near the railway station, they transferred -themselves and their baggage to the morning train, and arrived at Luxor -as the sun went down. - -When they entered the large hotel where they were to spend the night Jim -hid his face as best he could from the little groups of tourists gathered -about the hall, and, telling Monimé that his head ached, hastened up the -stairs to the room which had been assigned to them. - -But as he was about to enter, his destiny descended upon him. A door -further along the passage opened, and a moment later, to his horror, -the fat, well-remembered figure of Mrs. Darling faced him in the bright -illumination of the electric light. He saw her start, he saw her eyes -open wide in surprise, and, with a gasp, he dashed forward into his room, -and slammed the door behind him. - -Monimé had preceded him, and her back was turned as he staggered forward -and fell into an armchair, his face as white as the whitewashed walls. -She was busying herself with the baggage, and did not look in his -direction for some moments. When at length she glanced at him he had -nearly recovered from the first force of the shock, and she saw only a -tired man mopping his forehead with his handkerchief. - - - - -Chapter XXI: THE LAST KICK - - -When the gong sounded for dinner, Jim protested to Monimé that he was -ill and did not wish to change his clothes and come down. For a while he -had hoped, in his madness, that when Mrs. Darling saw him again he would -be able to look straight at her and deny that he was her son-in-law. “I -evidently have a double,” he would say. “My name is Easton, madam; the -proprietor of the hotel will tell you that he has known me as such for -the last five years.” A fact, indeed, which was beyond dispute, for he -had stayed here before he went to the gold mines. - -But now that the time had come he realized that this was fantastic, and -his one idea was to get away, so that he might make an end of himself -in decent privacy. He was not a coward: he was not afraid of death -or physical suffering. But with all his soul he dreaded captivity or -enforcement of any kind. The possibility of being chased into a corner, -of being handcuffed and put behind bolts and bars, of being compelled and -constrained, and finally led, pinioned, to the gallows, filled him with -horrible terror. - -One of the most common forms in which a breakdown of the nervous system -shows itself is that known as claustrophobia, a fear of being shut up or -surrounded and fettered. It is a primitive and primeval dread to which -the disordered consciousness leaps back; it is a survival of the days, -æons ago, when man was both hunter and prey of man; it is, in essence, -the fear of the trap. - -Monimé, from whom his mental torture could not be altogether concealed, -looked at him with troubled, anxious eyes. “Oh, Jim,” she said, “what -_is_ the matter with you? There’s something dreadful on your mind; -there’s something worrying you, and you won’t tell me about it.” - -“No, there’s nothing, I assure you,” he answered, in quick denial. She -must never know, for knowledge of the whole miserable business might -bring contempt, and her love for him might be killed. Of all his terrors -the terror of losing her love was the most unbearable. - -“Come down to dinner, dear,” she persuaded. “It will do you good.” She -bent down and looked intently at him as he sat on the edge of the bed, -scraping the carpet with his feet and staring at the floor, his eyes wild -with alarm. “It isn’t that you are afraid of meeting somebody you don’t -want to see, is it?” - -His heart seemed to stop beating for a moment as he denied the -suggestion. She was beginning to guess, she was beginning to suspect. - -“Oh, very well, then,” he said, unable to meet her gaze. “I’ll come down. -Perhaps, as you say, it’ll do me good.” - -There was the black murk of damnation now in his soul, lit only by the -glow of his fighting instinct. The crisis of terror was passing, and now -he was determined not to be caught. “Go on down, darling,” he said. “I’ll -follow you in a moment.” - -She put her arms about him and kissed him, smoothing his forehead with -her cool hand. “Whatever it is that is troubling you,” she whispered, -“remember always that I love you, and shall go to my grave loving you and -you only.” - -He closed his eyes, and for a while his head lay upon her breast, like -that of an exhausted child. All the brawn of life had been knocked out of -him. Every hope, every dream, every vestige of content had gone from him; -and in these pitiable straits he desired only to shut out the world, and -to obtain, if but for a moment, a respite from the horror of actuality. - -As soon as he was alone he went to his portmanteau, and took from it -his revolver, which he loaded and placed in his pocket. His intention -had been to appear to meet with an accidental death, but if he had left -it now till too late, he would have to blow his brains out. A Bedouin -wanderer such as he, he muttered to himself, must, at any rate, never be -taken alive: a son of the open road must never be led captive. - -For a moment he stood irresolute at the open door of his room, and the -sweat gleamed upon his forehead. Then he braced himself, and walked down -the stairs. Monimé was not far ahead of him, and, as he turned the corner -to descend the last flight which led down into the front hall, she paused -at the foot of the steps to wait for him. - -He saw her standing there in the light of a large electric globe, her -black hair as vivid as a strong colour, her skin white like marble, her -eyes occult in their serenity, her lips smiling encouragement to him; -but in the same glance he saw also a group of persons standing before the -cashier’s office in the otherwise empty hall, and instantly he knew that -the crisis of his life was upon him. - -There, fat but alert, stood Mrs. Darling, still wearing day-dress and -hat; beside her was a quiet-looking Englishman who was the British -Consul, and with whom Jim had had dealings in his gold-mining days; on -her other hand was an Egyptian police-officer; and next to him was the -proprietor of the hotel, whose face was turned in contemplation of the -native policeman standing at the main entrance. It was evident on the -instant that as soon as Mrs. Darling had caught sight of him on his -arrival she had communicated with the police, who, in their turn, had -fetched the Consul. - -As Jim appeared at the head of the stairs Mrs. Darling clutched at -the Consul’s arm. “There he is!” she exclaimed excitedly, pointing an -accusing finger at him. “That’s the man!” - -He saw Monimé swing round and face them; he saw the policeman put his -hand to his hip-pocket, and turn to the Consul for instructions; and, -as though a flame had been set to straw, his anger blazed up into -unreasoning, passionate hate of all that these people stood for. - -Instantly he whipped out his revolver and shouted to them: “Put up your -hands, or I shoot!” at the same time running downstairs and straight -at them across the hall—a wild, grey-flannelled figure, his dark hair -tumbling over his pallid face, and his eyes burning like coals of fire. -All the hands in the group went up together, and he saw Mrs. Darling’s -face grow livid with alarm. - -Monimé ran forward. “Jim! Oh, Jim!” she cried, trying to seize his arm. - -“I’m innocent!” he gasped. “But I won’t be taken alive by a damned set of -bungling parasites.” - -Still covering them with his revolver he backed towards the garden -entrance, and the next moment was out in the chill night air and running -like a madman down the path between the palms and shrubs. The darkness -was intense, and more than once he fell into the flower-beds, kicking the -soft earth in all directions. He heard shouts and cries behind, but the -thunder of his own brain rendered these meaningless as he dashed onwards -under the stars. - -Soon he came to the back wall of the garden, and this he scaled like -a cat, dropping into the narrow lane on the other side and continuing -his flight between the walls of the silent native huts and enclosures. -At length he emerged, breathless, into the open space not far from the -railway-station, where, under a flickering street-lamp, a two-horsed -carriage was standing awaiting hire. - -He hailed the red-fezzed driver with as much composure as he could -command, and told him to drive “like the wind” to the temple of Karnak. -This, at any rate, would take him clear of the town, and near the open -fields; and to the driver he would seem to be but a somewhat impatient -Cook’s tourist, anxious to see the ruins by night. Perhaps there was no -need to kill himself: he might go into hiding and ultimately fly to the -uttermost ends of the earth. - -As the carriage lurched and swayed along the embanked road, he turned -in his seat to watch for his pursuers; but there was no sign of them. -Yet this fact now brought no comfort to him. With returning sanity he -realized clearly enough that escape was impossible. Were he to hide in -the desert, the Ababdeh trackers, always employed by the police in these -districts, would soon hunt him down. Were he to take refuge amongst the -natives, his hiding-place would be revealed in a few hours in response to -the official offer of a reward. And, anyway, to abandon Monimé, and to -have no likely means of communicating with her, would make the smart of -life unbearable. - -There was no way out, and his present flight resolved itself into a wild -attempt to obtain breathing space in which to prepare himself for the -end, and, if possible, to see Monimé once again to bid her farewell. The -jury at home would be bound to find him guilty: the evidence was too -damning. Some tramp had murdered Dolly, and was now lost forever; or -else, and more probably, Merrivall’s housekeeper had actually done it, -but was now unalterably acquitted. It was certain that he would be hanged -in the end, and it would therefore be far better to finish it this very -night. - -In these moments he drank the cup of bitterness to the dregs; and the -comparative calmness which now succeeded his frenzy was the calmness of -utter despair. Thus, when the driver pulled up his horses in the darkness -before the towering pylons of the main gateway of the temple of Karnak, -Jim paid him off and approached the ancient courts of Ammon, determined -only to keep his pursuers at bay until he could make his confession to -Monimé and die in the peace of her forgiveness. - -The watchman at the gateway, being used to the eccentric ways of the -foreigner, admitted him without comment, and left him to wander alone -amongst the vast black ruins, which were massed around him in a silence -broken only by the distant yelping of the jackals and the nearer hooting -of the owls. Through the roofless Hypostyle Hall he went, a desolate -little figure, dwarfed into insignificance by the stupendous pillars -which mounted up about him into the stars; and here, presently, he stood -for a while with arms outstretched and face upturned, in an agony of -supplication. - -“O Almighty You,” he prayed, “Who, under this name or under that, have -ever been the God of the wretched, and the Father of the broken-hearted, -look down upon this miserable little grub whom You have created, and -whose brain You had filled with all those splendid dreams which now You -have shattered and swept aside. Before I come to You, grant me this last -request: give me a little time with the woman I love, so that I may make -my peace with her and hear her words of forgiveness.” - -He walked onwards, past the huge obelisk of Hatshepsut, and in amongst -the mass of fallen blocks of stone which lie heaped before the Sanctuary; -but now frenzy seized him again, and, furiously resolving to meet his -fate, he swung round and retraced his steps back to the first court, -breathing imprecations as he went. Somehow, by some means, he must see -Monimé before the final production of the handcuffs gave him the signal -for his suicide, which it was now too late to disguise as an accident. - -“Blast them!” he muttered. “Blast them! Blast them! I’ll show them that -they can’t go chasing innocent men across the world. I’ll shoot the lot -of them, and then I’ll shoot myself.” He stumbled over a fallen column. -“Damnation!” he cried. “Who the devil left that thing lying about?—the -silly idiots!” - -Suddenly voices at the gateway came to his ears, and, with hammering -heart, he realized that he had been tracked and that his hour was come. -Thereupon he ran headlong through the dark forecourt of the small -temple of Rameses the Third which stands at the south side of the main -courtyard, and concealed himself, panting, in the sanctuary at its far -end, a place to which there was but the one entrance. - -Here he stood in the darkness, fingering his revolver, while the -squeaking bats darted in and out of the doorway like little flying -goblins. Presently he could see figures lit by lanterns coming towards -him, and could plainly hear their voices. - -“Here I am, you fools!” he called out loudly and defiantly; and the -searchers came to an immediate halt, holding up their lanterns and -peering through the darkness. “I have my revolver covering you,” he -shouted, “so don’t come close, unless you want to be killed. Do any of -you know where my wife is?” - -“I’m here, Jim,” came her quiet voice in the darkness. “Let me come to -you.” - -“It’s no good,” said the Consul. “You’d better surrender at once. You -can’t escape. Will you let me come and speak to you?” - -“No,” Jim answered. “I’ll shoot anybody who tries to get in here, except -my wife. Let me have a talk to her privately, and then you can come and -take me and I won’t resist.” He might have added that by then he would be -beyond resistance. - -The night air was chilly, and the Consul did not relish the thought of -waiting about while the criminal exchanged confidences with his wife. -He therefore sharply ordered him to submit, and took two or three paces -forward to emphasize his words. He came to a sudden standstill, however, -when Jim’s voice from the sanctuary told him in unmistakable tones that -one further step would mean instant death. - -“Oh, very well,” he replied, with irritation. “I’ll give you a quarter of -an hour.” He pulled his pipe and pouch from his pocket, and prepared to -smoke. He prided himself on his heartlessness. He had once been a Custom -House official. - -“You’ll give me as long as I choose to take,” said Jim, again flaring up, -“unless you prefer bloodshed. Come, Monimé, I have a lot to say to you.” - -She turned to her companions. “Have I your word of honour that you will -leave him unmolested while we talk?” - -“All right,” the Consul replied, setting his lantern down on the -ground, and casually lighting his pipe. His shadow was thrown across -the forecourt and up the side wall like some monstrous and menacing -apparition. - -Thereat Monimé ran forward into the sanctuary, and a moment later her -arms were about her husband, and her lips were whispering words of -encouragement and love. - -“Oh, Jim, Jim!” she murmured at last. “Tell me what it’s all about. They -say you were married and that you killed your wife. Tell me the truth, I -beg you.” - -“That is why I wanted to talk to you,” he panted, putting his hand upon -her throat as though he would throttle her. “You must know the truth. -Ever since I met you again in Cyprus, I’ve been aching to tell you all -about it; but I was a coward. I so dreaded the possibility of losing -you.” He threw out his arms and then clapped his hands to his head. - -She seated herself on a fallen block of stone, and he slid to the ground -at her feet. She was wearing an evening cloak, heavy with fur, and -against this his face rested, while her mothering arms encircled him, and -her hands were clasped upon his. The distant flicker of the lanterns made -it possible for him dimly to discern the outline of her pale face; and in -this uncertain light she seemed to become a celestial figure gazing down -at him with such infinite tenderness that the ferment of his brain abated. - -At first in halting phrases, but presently with increasing fluency, -he told her of his inheritance of Eversfield Manor, of his marriage -to Dolly, and of the three dreary years which followed. Then briefly -he described his escape, his supposed death, and his wanderings which -brought him to Cyprus. - -“When I went back to England,” he said, “it was with the idea of -obtaining a divorce, so that you and I might be married. I had come to -love you with every fibre of my being, and life without you seemed -unthinkable.” - -He told her of Smiley-face, of his meeting with Dolly in the woods, and -how next day he had read of her murder. “I swear to you, as God sees me,” -he declared, “that I had nothing to do with her death. But who is going -to believe me? I was the last person to be with her: my supposed motive -is clear!” - -He went on to relate how he had fled back to Egypt, and how, finding that -the crime was placed at the door of another, he had felt himself free -to ask her to marry him. Then had come the devastating news that he was -wanted by the police, and his worst fears had been substantiated when he -had caught sight of Mrs. Darling on his arrival at the hotel. - -“The rest you know,” he said. “I ran away just now in a frenzy of fear -and rage; but that has left me and I am prepared. Feel my hand: it -doesn’t shake, you see. I am quite cool, now. They shall never take me to -the scaffold, Monimé. They shall never make our story a public scandal. -In a few minutes I am going to shoot myself....” - -She uttered a low cry of anguish. “Jim, Jim! What are you saying? We’ll -fight the case. We’ll get the best lawyers in England to defend you. -They’ll have to realize that you are innocent.” - -“Do you believe I am innocent?” he asked. - -“Yes, yes!” she cried. “I believe every word you have told me. My -intuition is never wrong: and I know what you have told me is the truth.” - -The relief he felt at her belief in him was immediate, and yet he was -not able to grasp at once its full significance. - -“The jury won’t believe me,” he said. “I meant to die by what would -appear an accident; but things reached the crisis too quickly. I lost my -head. If I don’t end things here and now, our son will be branded as the -son of a man who was hanged. Once I’m arrested I shall be watched night -and day: there will not be another chance to die honourably.” - -“You mustn’t speak of dying, my beloved,” she murmured. “If you were to -go, do you think I could live without you? I have got to bring up our son -and watch over him until he can fend for himself. Do you think I shall be -able to live long enough to do so if you have left me? If you die, Jim, -my life will be so smashed that even the power of motherhood will fail to -keep the breath in my body. If we had no child it might be different; we -would go together now, into the valley of the shadows, and side by side -we would find our way to the City of God, if at all it may be found. But -as it is, I can’t come with you; and you can’t have the heart to leave me -behind while there’s still a chance that you need not have gone.” - -“Monimé,” he answered, “listen to me. There is no hope. You are asking me -to submit to imprisonment, a thing unthinkable to a wanderer like myself. -You are asking me to submit to a trial in which your name will be dragged -through the dirt as well as mine. You will be called the ‘woman in the -case’; my passion for you will be recorded as my motive. The story of our -love will be travestied and brought up against you and our son all your -lives. Whereas, if I end it now, most of the tale will never be told in -open court, and the whole thing will soon be forgotten.” - -She laughed. “Do you think I weigh gossip against the chance, however -remote, of the trial going in your favour? Do you think I care what they -say against me in the court if there is any hope of your acquittal? My -darling, I shall fight for your life and your good name, which is mine -and Ian’s, too, to my last ounce of strength and my last penny; and in -the end there will be victory, because you are innocent, and innocence -shows its face as surely as guilt.” - -“You really do believe what I say—that I had absolutely nothing to do -with her death?” he asked, still hardly daring to credit her trust. His -experiences with Dolly had left him with so profound a scepticism in -regard to female mentality that even his adoration of Monimé was not -wholly proof against it. - -She looked down at him, and he seemed to detect an expression upon her -face which was almost defiant. “My dear,” she said, “as far as I am -concerned, even if you were guilty it would make no difference.” - -He stared at her incredulously, for man does not know woman, nor can he -penetrate to the source of her deepest convictions. It was not Monimé, it -was no individual, who had spoken: it was eternal woman. - -“Nothing can alter love,” she explained. “Can’t a man understand that?” - -“No,” he answered, “only woman and God love in that way.” - -Suddenly he seemed to realize to the full the glory of her sympathy and -understanding. It was as though their love in this moment of bitter trial -had passed the greatest of all tests, and stood now triumphant, the -conqueror of life and death. - -All the years of misery were blotted out in the wonder of this revelation -of womanhood, and on the instant his desire for life in unity with her -came surging back into his heart. - -“Monimé,” he said, “this is the biggest moment of all. Whatever I may -suffer will be worth while, because it will have brought me the knowledge -that our love transcends the ways of man. By God!—I’ll stand my trial; -I’ll make a fight for my life, even though the chances of success are -small. I didn’t know that such love existed.” - -She laughed. “You didn’t know,” she whispered, “because, as I once told -you, men don’t bother to study women.” - -He looked up at her in the dim light, and of a sudden it seemed to his -overwrought fancy that the sanctuary was filled with her presence, as -though she were one with the women of all the ages, pressing forward from -every side to tend him, to bind up his wounds, to stand by him in his -adversity, to forgive his sins. He saw her revealed to him as the eternal -woman, the everlasting companion, wife and mother, for ever watching over -his welfare, for ever acting upon a code of principles other than that -of man, for ever drawing knowledge from sources unattainable to man. -Of no account were the little shams of the sex, such as Dolly; they -were swamped amidst the hosts of the good and the true. It had been his -misfortune to encounter one of the former; but his disillusionment was -forgotten in the all-pervading sympathy which now enfolded him like the -tender wings of Hathor. - -He scrambled to his feet and stood before her, gazing into her shadowy -face. “Come,” he said, “the night air is too chilly for you. You must -go back to the hotel, and I must go with these confounded little tin -soldiers.” His voice was cheery and his head was held high once more. - -They came out of the black sanctuary hand-in-hand, and stood in the -columned portico before the entrance, in the dimly reflected light of the -lanterns. - -“Well, have you finished?” the Consul asked, knocking out the ashes from -his pipe against the uplifted heel of his boot. - -“Yes, I am ready now,” Jim replied very quietly. - -He unloaded his revolver, shaking the cartridges into his hand, -thereafter holding out the empty weapon to the native policeman, who, -being a Soudani, was the first to take the risk of approach. - -“Give me the handcuffs,” said the Consul to the police officer. - -Jim extended his wrists, and as he did so his face was averted and his -eyes were fixed upon Monimé. On her lips was the smile of Hathor and of -Isis—serene, confident, inscrutable, all-wise. - - - - -Chapter XXII: THE SHADOW OF DEATH - - -Jim spent the night at the police-station, where a military camp-bed was -provided for him in an empty whitewashed room. Late in the evening his -overcoat, guitar-case and kit-bag were brought to him from the hotel, -the latter containing a few clothes and necessaries; and, pinned to his -pyjamas, was a sheet of notepaper upon which, in Monimé’s handwriting, -were the pencilled words: “Keep up your spirits. I shall come to England -with you, my beloved.” - -A surprising languor had descended upon him after the excitements of -the evening, and it was not long before he fell into a profound sleep, -from which he was aroused before daybreak by the entrance of a native -policeman, who deposited a candle upon the cement floor and informed him -that he was to be taken down to Cairo by the day train due to depart at -dawn. A cup of native coffee was presently brought in, together with a -pile of stale sandwiches, which, he was told, had been sent from the -hotel on the previous evening; but, having no appetite, he placed these -in the pocket of his coat. - -After the lapse of a dreary and bitterly cold half hour, the Consul -entered the cell, bluntly bidding him good morning. “I have orders,” he -said, “to bring you down to Cairo myself.” - -“That _will_ be jolly,” Jim answered gloomily. - -The Consul adjusted his eyeglasses and stared at him coldly. “I must -warn you,” he mumbled, “that anything you say may be taken down in -evidence against you.” - -“That’ll make the journey jollier still,” said Jim. Now that Monimé -knew all, and had declared that she loved and trusted him, he was in -much happier mood, and could face the shadow of death with sufficient -equanimity to permit him to jest with his captors. But exasperation -returned to his mind when in answer to his inquiry he was told that -his wife had not been informed of his immediate departure, nor had the -authorities any concern with her or her movements. - -“‘The sin ye do by two and two ye must pay for one by one,’” quoted the -Consul, to whom Kipling was as the Bible. - -“Oh, shut up!” said Jim. “Get out your notebook and write down that I -declare I’m innocent and that the police are bungling fools.” - -On the journey down to Cairo he and the Consul occupied a compartment -which had been reserved for them. A policeman was stationed in the -corridor, and the windows on the opposite side were screened by the -wooden shutters which serve as blinds in Egyptian railway trains. There -was nothing to do except smoke the cigarettes he had been permitted -to buy at the station, or doze in his corner, while his companion -complacently read a novel and smoked his pipe on the opposite seat, -occasionally glancing at him over the top of his eyeglasses. - -Fourteen hours of this sort of thing was enough to reduce him to a -condition of complete desperation, and when at last the train jolted over -the points into the terminus at Cairo, he had almost made up his mind -to bolt and to attempt to return to England on his own account. He was -well guarded, however, and soon he was deposited for the night at the -Consulate. Next day he was taken, handcuffed, to the station, where he -was pushed into the train for Port Said under the eyes of a gaping crowd. -He was now in the charge of a Scotch ex-sergeant serving in the Egyptian -Police, who had been lent for the purpose; and on the following morning -this man, assisted by native policemen, conveyed him to the liner which -was to carry him to England. - -Here an interior cabin had been assigned to him, a small glass panel -in the door having been removed so that he might be at all times under -observation; and here for the twelve weary days of the journey he was -confined, with nothing to relieve the tedium except an occasional visit -from the kindly captain, a nightly breath of fresh air on the deserted -deck, the reading of the novels which were considerately sent down to him -from the ship’s library, and the playing of his guitar, which by favour -of the Cairene authorities he had been allowed to retain. - -His depression was deepened by his inability to obtain any news of -Monimé, but he presumed that she would know his whereabouts, and she had -said that she would follow him to England. At any rate there would be no -lack of money for her journey and the ultimate expenses of the trial; for -he was now, of course, once more owner of the Eversfield property, and -Tundering-West was again his name. - -During these days his mind dwelt for hours together upon the problems of -life as they presented themselves to a man of his Bedouin temperament, -and clearly he began to see that it was not enough merely to live and let -live. As he lay sprawling upon his berth, staring at the white-painted -walls and at the locked door of the cabin, or as he paced the narrow area -of flooring or sat listening to the rhythmic throbbing of the engines, it -became apparent to him that the recognition of some sort of obligation to -society at large was essential, if only for the sake of his son. - -He had always been an outlaw, hating organized society, and naming it, -like the wise Giacomo Leopardi, “that extoller and enjoiner of all false -virtues; that detractor and persecutor of all true ones; that opponent -of all essential greatness which can become a man, and derider of every -lofty sentiment unless it be spurious; that slave of the strong and -tyrant of the weak.” - -Yet he saw now that to some extent it was necessary to conform to its -ways. The art of life, in fact, was to conform without being consumed, -to submit without being submerged. But in his case he had, by his -inconsideration, managed to put people’s backs up on all sides, and now, -when he needed their friendship, for his wife and his child if not for -himself, he was friendless. - -He had contributed nothing, he felt, to his fellow men. He had carried -his dreams locked in his head, and only occasionally had he troubled to -write them down in the form of verse. He had squandered the gifts with -which he was endowed; he had wasted the years; and now, in his desperate -plight, there was no one to come forward to say a word in his defence. -Public opinion would declare him guilty, and he would have to fight for -his life not only against an absence of sympathy, but against a bias in -his disfavour. - -Monimé, too, had gone her own way, ignoring the conventions, following -with him the law of nature and not respecting that law in the form -into which man has had to twist and limit it to meet the conditions of -civilized society. And now they and their son would be the sufferers. -They were a pair of outcasts; and yet she, as individually he understood -her, was a personification of the glory of womanhood. They were vagrants; -their love, at the outset, had been Bedouin love; and how they must pay -the price. - -The troubles by which he was surrounded had had a salutary effect upon -his character, and had aroused him to his shortcomings. Before he had -inherited the family property his life had been of an indefinite and -dreamy character; at Eversfield he had been suppressed and rendered -ineffectual; but since he had come to love Monimé he had emerged from -this stagnation, and in the strongly contrasted turmoil of his subsequent -life he had, as the saying is, found himself. - -As the vessel passed up the Thames and approached its moorings at -Tilbury, he had the feeling that, grasped in the relentless tentacles, -he was being drawn in towards the cold, fat body of the octopus against -which he had always fought. Perhaps he would be devoured, perhaps he -would be vomited forth unharmed; but, whatever the issue, he had no power -to resist, and must assuredly be sucked into that horrible mouth. There -had been times during the voyage when he lay in his berth, sick with the -dread of it; but now that his destination was nearly reached he felt an -eager desire to be up and fighting for his life and liberty. - -There had been times, too, when he had turned with aching heart to his -guitar, and had sat for hours on the edge of his berth, playing and -singing melancholy ditties and songs of love. He was ever unaware of the -beauty of his voice, and he would have been surprised had he been able to -see the wrapt faces of the stewards and others who used to gather at the -door to listen, and who would sometimes peep at the wild figure bending -over the strings. - -At Tilbury he had to face an army of cameramen who ran before him -snapping him as he came down the gangway in charge of two policemen. -A motor police-van conveyed him thence to the prison where he was to -await the formal proceedings in the magistrate’s court; and here at last -he experienced the full rigour of the criminal’s lot. Until now he had -been confined in rooms not intended for imprisonment; but here he found -himself in an actual cell, designed and built to cage the arbitrary and -the recalcitrant. The iron bars, the ingenious mechanism of the lock -and bolt, the inaccessible window, the uniformed warder in the passage -outside—these were all instruments of the great octopus, and obedient to -its word: “Thou shalt have none other gods but me.” - -In the late afternoon he lay upon his bed in a comatose state, due to his -nervous exhaustion; but whenever sleep came upon him his active brain -created a picture of his coming trial, so dreadful that he had to fight -his way, so it seemed, back to consciousness to avoid it. He saw the -crowded court, and the hundreds of eyes that watched him as he stood -in the dock, and it appeared to him that the judge was none other than -the fat, leering spectre which at Eversfield had come to represent his -married life and its respectable surroundings. But now the creature no -longer coaxed and wheedled; it was impelled only by malice and revenge, -and the flabby hand was pointed at him in cold accusation, or raised -with a sweeping gesture to indicate the all-embracing power of the great -octopus. - -In momentary dreams and in half-conscious thought his fevered brain -gradually formed into words this monstrous judge’s summary of his -actions, so that he seemed to be listening to the story of his life -as interpreted by his fellow men. “Vile creature,” the voice droned, -“coward, bully, and assassin, let me recount to you the steps which have -led you to the scaffold. As a young man you deserted the post at which -your good father had placed you, and, unable to do an honest day’s work, -you fled over the seas and attached yourself to the world’s riff-raff, -thereby breaking the parental heart. Having squandered your patrimony, -you came at last to some low haunt in the city of Alexandria, and there, -meeting a woman of loose morals, you cohabited with her, but deserted her -when she was with child.” - -“It’s a lie!” he heard himself screaming, as he struggled to loose -himself from the grip of the attendant policemen. - -“The facts speak for themselves,” the accusing voice continued. “You -deserted her because you had inherited your uncle’s money, and were -lured back to England by the love of gold. In your own ancestral village -you used your position to bully your tenants; you assaulted one of your -honest farmers, you insulted the saintly vicar, and the local medical -officer; you incurred the mistrust of the simple villagers. Your only -friend was a filthy poacher and thief. You pursued the most comely maiden -in the neighbourhood, and did not desist until you had encompassed her -downfall. But, having married her, you treated her like a bully, and at -length you deserted her, too, as you had deserted your former mistress.” - -“Lies! Lies!” he shouted. “I will not listen!” - -“Returning to your disreputable life in low haunts, you were involved in -a cut-throat affray in Italy; and, escaping from this, you pretended to -have been murdered, and allowed your assailant to stand his trial on that -charge. Thus you thought to escape from the bonds of wedlock, and with a -lie upon your lips you returned to the arms of your mistress, proposing -to her a bigamous marriage. But, fearing detection, and needing money, -you sneaked home; lured into the woods the sorrowing woman who, deeming -herself a widow, mourned your memory; and there did her to death.” - -“I am innocent!” he gasped, looking about him in desperation at the hard -faces which surrounded him and hemmed him in. “Of her death at any rate I -am innocent.” - -“You fled, then, back to your lover,” the voice went on, “and ruthlessly -involved her in your coming débâcle. When the officers of the law had -hunted you down you threatened them with death; but presently, running -from them like a coward, and being too craven to take your own life, -you were ignominiously captured, and brought trembling to this place of -justice. Enemy of society, lazy and useless member of the community, -wretched victim of your own lusts, have you anything to say why sentence -of death should not be passed upon you?” - -Wildly he struggled to free himself, and so awoke, bathed in perspiration -and shaking in every limb. “O God!” he cried, beating his fists upon the -bed, “take away from me this vision of myself as others see me. Because I -have turned in contempt from the Great Sham, because I have dared to be -independent, must I pay the penalty with my life, and go accursed to my -grave? Must Monimé, must Ian suffer for my mistakes, and bear the burden -of my sins?” - -For an hour and more he paced his cell in torment; but at last the door -was opened and a clergyman entered, announcing himself as the prison -chaplain, and politely asking whether he might be of service. - -“Yes,” said Jim without hesitation, looking at him with bloodshot eyes, -“go away and pray for me.” - -But his visitor was too accustomed to the bitterness of the prisoner’s -heart to accept this rebuff, and held his ground. “I am one of those who -believe in your innocence,” he said, “and that being so, I should like to -say that I am proud to meet you.” - -Jim pushed the hair back from his damp forehead and glanced quickly at -him. “Is that a figure of speech?” he asked, menacingly. - -“Why, of course not: I mean it,” the chaplain replied. “The whole -English-speaking world is under the deepest debt to you.” - -Jim stared at him in astonishment. “I don’t understand,” he muttered. - -“Well, you are the James Easton who wrote _Songs of the Highroad_, are -you not?” - -“Oh, _that_!” Jim smiled. “The book is out, is it? I thought they were -going to publish late in the spring.” - -“My dear sir,” the visitor exclaimed, “do you mean to say you haven’t -seen the reviews?” - -“No, I don’t know anything about it,” Jim answered. - -“But every man of letters in the country is talking about it. We have all -hailed you as the greatest poet of modern times. Why, the one poem, ‘The -Nile,’ is enough to bring you immortality. My dear sir, do you really -mean that this is news to you?” - -“Of course it is,” said Jim. “I haven’t read the papers for weeks.” He -sat down suddenly upon his bed, his knees refusing their office. - -The chaplain spread out his hands in wonder. “But don’t you know that -your arrest has caused the biggest sensation ever known in recent years? -First comes the book, and you are hailed as a public benefactor, the -friend and interpreter of struggling humanity, the genius of the age, the -uncrowned laureate of England; and then the discovery is made that you -are one with the James Tundering-West, alias James Easton, wanted on the -charge of murder. Why, it has been dumbfounding to us all. Nobody can -believe that you are guilty.” - -“I’m not, padre,” said Jim quietly. “But the evidence is pretty damning, -you know. I _was_ there in the woods with my wife.” - -“Well, you will have public opinion on your side,” the chaplain -continued. “A man like you, who has given so much to the world, will -certainly receive the maximum of consideration.” - -“But ... but,” Jim stammered, a lump in his throat, “I’ve given nothing. -I’ve been a selfish beast, going my own way, ignoring my obligation to -society. Why, all the way home in the steamer I’ve been telling myself -that my life has been useless. And just now the judge said.... Oh, padre, -the things he said!... No, that was only a dream; but the fact remains, -I’ve been useless.” - -“Useless!” his visitor laughed. “Why, man, you will be beloved and -thanked for generations to come. How little do we realize when we are -being of use!” - -Long after his visitor had gone Jim sat dazed and overawed. He cared -nothing for his actual triumph, but there were no bounds to his -thankfulness that at last he might appear worthy of the love of Monimé. -He slept little that night. He was alternately miserable and exultant, -and there were moments when he could with difficulty refrain from -battering at the door with his fists, in a frenzy to be out and away over -the hills. - -Daylight brought no relief to the confusion of his mind; and by -mid-morning, as he sat waiting for something to happen, hovering between -hope and dread, his head seemed nigh to bursting. - -But suddenly all things were changed. The door of his cell was opened and -a warder entered. Jim did not look up: his face was buried in his hands -in a vain effort to collect his thoughts. - -“There’s your wife to see you, sir,” said the warder, tapping his -shoulder. “You are to come with me.” - -Jim sprang to his feet, his eyes blinking, his hair tossed about his -forehead. Down the corridor he was led, and up a flight of stairs. The -door of the visitor’s room was opened, and a moment later the beloved -arms were about his neck, and the warder had stepped back into the -passage. - -“It’s all right, my darling!” she cried. “We’ve found the murderer. The -order for your release will come through at once: you’ll be out of this -in an hour or so. Oh, Jim, Jim, Jim, my darling, my darling!” - -He was incredulous, and in breathless haste she told him what had -happened. She had come back to England by the quick route, and, -travelling across country, had arrived some days before his ship had -completed the long sea route by way of the Peninsula. - -“Mrs. Darling came with me,” she said. “Oh, Jim, she’s been splendid.” - -“What d’you mean?” he asked in astonishment. “She is my accuser.” - -“Oh, that was only natural,” Monimé explained. “That was a mother’s -instinctive feeling. But we talked all through that terrible night -at Luxor, and long before we left Egypt I think she realized she had -made a mistake. You see, as soon as the police were able to prove that -Merrivall’s housekeeper was not guilty she at once thought it must have -been you after all, and she swore she’d hunt you down. She came to Egypt -with the concurrence of the police, who had an unconfirmed report about -your having been seen at Abu Simbel.” - -“Never mind about all that,” Jim interrupted. “Tell me who did it.... Oh, -for God’s sake tell me they’ve really got the man!” - -Monimé reassured him. “Listen,” she went on. “As soon as we arrived in -England I made Mrs. Darling take me down to Eversfield, and we started -our own inquiries. You had spoken of having sent your poacher friend -off to get Mrs. Darling’s address from the postman; so of course we -went first to the post-office, and Mr. Barnes was quite emphatic that -Smiley-face was only with him for a few minutes early in the afternoon.” - -Jim’s face fell. “I feared as much,” he groaned. “You’re on the wrong -scent. You’re suggesting that Smiley did it.” - -“I’m not suggesting,” she answered with triumph. “He _did_ do it. He has -confessed.” - -He stared at her in dismay. “Good Lord!” he exclaimed, and, turning away, -stood lost in thought. He had not believed it possible that the poacher -was in any way connected with the crime, for his errand in the village -had seemed to account for his time, and later in the afternoon he had -returned with perfect composure. - -“Has the poor chap been arrested?” he asked at length. - -Monimé shook her head. “No,” she said, “he is in the infirmary at Oxford. -They hardly expected him to live yesterday, after all the strain of -making his confession to us and then to the police.” It was his heart, -it seemed, that had given out, a fact at which Jim was not surprised, for -when he had met him on that memorable day it was evident that he was very -ill. - -“Poor old Smiley!” he murmured. “He did it for my sake.” - -Monimé’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Jim,” she said. “I’m so cross with -you. To think that you never let me know you were a great poet. You said -you only scribbled doggerel. When I read this book of your poems I cried -my eyes out, with pride and temper and love and fear. Didn’t you realize -you were writing things that would live?” - -“Good Lord, no!” he answered. “I thought you’d think them awful rot.” - -The order from the Home Secretary for Jim’s release was not long delayed, -and soon after midday he was a free man once more, enjoying a bath and a -change of clothes at the hotel where his wife was staying. Here, when his -toilet was complete, Mrs. Darling came to see him, and he was surprised -to observe the affectionate relationship which seemed to exist between -her and Monimé. - -“Jim, my dear,” she said, when the somewhat difficult greetings were -exchanged. “I am a wicked old woman to have brought such unhappiness -upon you; but you will know what I felt about my Dolly’s cruel end.” She -passed her plump hand over her eyes. “I can’t yet bear to think of it.” - -“Yes, I know,” he answered. “But you might have realized that I would not -have done such a thing.” - -“I see that now,” she said. “This dear girl has explained you to me, so -that I see you as clear as crystal. She has pointed out that you will -neither let anybody interfere with your life nor will you interfere with -theirs. You just live and let live. I hadn’t quite understood that, but -I see it now, and your poems, too, have helped me to understand. Isn’t -it true that if you once remove understanding from life you get every -kind of complication! It is our business as women to make a study of -the workings of men’s minds; but in this case I made a miserable hash -of it.... Oh dear, oh dear!” she muttered, and suddenly, sitting down -heavily upon a chair, she wept loudly, rocking her fat little body to and -fro. - -Jim was not able to remain long to comfort her. He had determined to -catch an afternoon express to Oxford to try to see the dying Smiley-face -before the end; and he had arranged to return by the late evening train, -so that he and Monimé might go down next morning to join their little son -on the south coast. - -He evaded a mob of journalists at the door of the hotel, and reached -Oxford after the winter sun had set, driving to the infirmary in a scurry -of snow. In an ante-room he explained his mission to the matron, who -seemed much relieved that he had come. - -“He’s been asking about you all day, and begging us to tell him if you -had been released,” she said. “It’s almost as though he were clinging on -to life until he knew you were safe. He’s a poor, half-witted creature. -It’s a mercy he is dying.” - -Jim was taken into a small room leading from one of the large wards; and -here, in the dim light of a green-shaded electric globe, he saw a nurse -leaning over the sick man’s bed. He saw the poacher’s red hair, now less -towsled than he had known it in the open, and of a more pronounced colour -by reason of its washing and combing; he saw the drawn features, and -the shut eyes; he saw the rough, hairy hands lying inert upon the white -quilt: and for a moment he thought he had arrived too late. - -The matron, however, exchanged a whispered word with the nurse; and -presently a sign was made to him to approach. He thereupon seated himself -at the bedside, and laid his hand upon Smiley’s arm. - -For some moments there was silence in the room; but at length the little -pig-like eyes opened, and Jim could see the sudden expression of relief -and happiness which at once lit up the whole face. - -“Forgive me, forgive me,” the dying man whispered. “I didn’t know they’d -taken you. If I’d ha’ known that, I’d ha’ told them at once. I thought -you was safe in them furrin lands; and when your lady come yesterday and -said they’d cotched you and put you in the lock-up, I thought I’d go -clean off it, I did.” - -Jim pressed his hand. “Smiley,” he said, “why did you do it?” - -“Seemed like it was the only way,” he replied. “When I come back into the -woods to wait for you, I heerd you and her talking, and I listened; and -then I heerd her say as ’ow she’d make your name stink in the nostrils -of every gen’l’man, and I knew you couldn’t never be rid o’ she. Then -her come running past where I was a-hiding, and her tripped up and fell. -Fair stunned, her was. I thought her was dead, her lay that still. So I -reckoned I’d make sure. I did it quick, with a stone. Her made no sound.” - -“But why did you do it?” Jim repeated. - -Smiley-face grinned. “Because you was my friend, and her was your enemy. -Because I remembered your face that day when you was a-weeping down there -in the woods, and a-longing to be free again.” - -He closed his eyes and for some moments he did not speak. At length, -however, he looked at Jim once more, and his lips moved. “Parson do say -God be werry merciful,” he whispered. “Maybe He’ll understand why I done -it. But I don’t care if He send I into hell fire, now I know you’re -happy. Tell me, sir, what be you going to do?” - -“I’m going away, Smiley,” replied Jim. “I’ve got a lot of work to do. We -are going to find a little house overlooking the Mediterranean, and in -the years to come, when all this is forgotten, we shall come back here, -perhaps, and get the place ready for my son. You’d like my son, Smiley: -he’s a fine little lad.” - -The poacher nodded. “When you come back here,” he said, “go down into the -woods and whistle to me the same as you used to do. I shall hear. I shall -say: ‘There’s my dear a-calling of me. Friends sticks to friends through -thick and thin.’ And maybe they’ll let me answer you....” - -His voice trailed off, but his lips smiled. “Oh, them little rabbits,” he -chuckled. - - -THE END - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Bedouin Love, by Arthur Edward Pearse Brome Weigall - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEDOUIN LOVE *** - -***** This file should be named 60185-0.txt or 60185-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/1/8/60185/ - -Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive/American -Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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/license - - -Title: Bedouin Love - -Author: Arthur Edward Pearse Brome Weigall - -Release Date: August 26, 2019 [EBook #60185] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEDOUIN LOVE *** - - - - -Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive/American -Libraries.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> - -<p class="titlepage">BEDOUIN LOVE</p> - -<p class="center">ARTHUR WEIGALL</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> - -<p class="titlepage larger">BEDOUIN LOVE</p> - -<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller">BY</span><br /> -ARTHUR WEIGALL<br /> -<span class="smaller"><i>Author of “Madeline of the Desert,” “The Dweller<br /> -in the Desert,” etc.</i></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/ghd1.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="titlepage">NEW YORK<br /> -GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p> - -<p class="titlepage smaller">COPYRIGHT, 1922,<br /> -BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/ghd2.jpg" width="100" height="80" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="titlepage smaller">BEDOUIN LOVE. I</p> - -<p class="center smaller">PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table summary="Contents"> - <tr> - <td class="tdr smaller">CHAPTER</td> - <td></td> - <td class="tdpg smaller">PAGE</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">I</td> - <td>CHOLERA</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">9</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">II</td> - <td>THE CONVALESCENT</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">23</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">III</td> - <td>MONIMÉ</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">35</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">IV</td> - <td>BEDOUIN LOVE</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">46</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">V</td> - <td>THE SQUIRE OF EVERSFIELD</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">58</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">VI</td> - <td>SETTLING DOWN</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">73</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">VII</td> - <td>THE GAME OF SURVIVAL</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">87</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">VIII</td> - <td>MARRIAGE</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">103</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">IX</td> - <td>IN THE WOODS</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">117</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">X</td> - <td>THE END OF THE TETHER</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">133</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XI</td> - <td>THE DEPARTURE</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">148</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XII</td> - <td>THE ESCAPE</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">160</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XIII</td> - <td>FREEDOM</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">178</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XIV</td> - <td>THE ISLAND OF FORGETFULNESS</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">195</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XV</td> - <td>WOMAN REGNANT</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">206</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XVI</td> - <td>THE RETURN</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">224</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XVII</td> - <td>THE CATASTROPHE</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">240</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XVIII</td> - <td>DESTINY</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">251</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XIX</td> - <td>LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">264</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XX</td> - <td>THE ARM OF THE LAW</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">276</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXI</td> - <td>THE LAST KICK</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">289</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXII</td> - <td>THE SHADOW OF DEATH</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">304</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p> - -<h1>BEDOUIN LOVE</h1> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_I">Chapter I: CHOLERA</h2> - -<p>James Champernowne Tundering-West, or, as -for the time being he preferred to be called, -Jim Easton, sat himself down on the camp-bedstead -in the middle of the one habitable room -of a derelict rest-house, built on the edge of the -desert some distance behind the houses of the native -town of Kôm-es-Sultân. All day long he had been -feeling an uneasiness of body; and now, when the -incinerating June sun was sinking towards the glaring -mirror of the Nile, this vague disquiet developed -into a very tangible malady.</p> - -<p>He knew precisely what was the matter with -him, and his dark, angry eyes rolled around the -dirty pink-washed room, as would those of a -criminal around the place of execution. Yesterday -he had arrived in from the desert, tired out by a -four-days’ journey on camel-back across the furnace -of rocks and sand which separated the gold-mines, -where he had been working, from the nearest -bend of the Nile. There had been an outbreak -of cholera at the camp; and, being the only white -man then remaining at the works, which were in -process of being shut down for the summer, he had -been obliged to stay at his post until, as he supposed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> -the epidemic had been stamped out. Then, -with a handful of natives he had set out for the -Nile Valley; but on the journey his personal servant -had contracted the dreaded sickness, and the man -had died pitifully in his arms, in the stifling shadow -of a wayside rock.</p> - -<p>The little town of Kôm-es-Sultân was a mere -jumble of mud-brick houses surrounding a whitewashed -mosque; and so great was the summer heat -that one might have expected the whole place suddenly -to burst into flames and utterly to be consumed. -No Europeans lived there, with the exception -of a nondescript Greek, who kept a grocery -store and lent money to the indigent natives at outrageous -interest; but at the village of El Aish, on the -other side of the Nile, there was a small sugar-factory, -in charge of an amplitudinous and bearded -Welshman named Morgan, who, presumably, was -now at his post, since, but a few minutes ago, the -siren announcing the end of the day’s work had -sounded across the water. Although six hundred -miles above Cairo, Kôm-es-Sultân was not so isolated -as its primitive appearance suggested; for it -was no more than five miles distant from a railway-station, -where, once a day, the roasting little -narrow-gauge train halted in its long journey down -to Luxor.</p> - -<p>Jim cursed his suddenly active conscience that it -had not permitted him to take this train as it passed -in the morning, for already then he had realized -the probability that calamity was upon him; but he -had been constrained to remain where he was, alone -in the ramshackle and parboiled rest-house outside<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> -the town, for fear of spreading the sickness, and -he had determined to wait until an answer came -from the Public Health official at Luxor, to whom -he had sent a telegram stating that his party was -infected, and that he was keeping the men together -until instructions were received. He seldom did the -correct thing; but on this occasion, when lives were -at stake, he had felt that for once the freedom of -the individual had to be subordinated to the interests -of the community, repugnant though such a -thought was to his independent nature.</p> - -<p>A dismal sort of place, he thought to himself, in -which to fight for one’s life! There were two -doors in the room, one bolted and barred since the -Lord knows when, the other creaking on its hinges -as the scorching wind fluttered up against it through -the outer hall. A window near the floor, with -cracked, cobwebbed panes of glass, stood half open, -and a towel hung loosely from a nail in the outside -shutter to another in the inside woodwork. In the -morning it had served to keep out the early sun; but -now the last rays struck through the cracks of the -opposite doorway in dusty shafts.</p> - -<p>He had told his Egyptian overseer that he was -tired, and that he did not wish to be disturbed -again until the morning; and he bade him keep -the men in the camp amongst the rocks a few hundred -yards back in the desert, and prevent them -from entering the town. But in thus desiring to be -alone he had not been prompted merely by his regard -for the safety of others: he had followed also that -primitive instinct which his wandering, self-reliant -manner of life had nurtured in him, that instinct<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> -which leads a man to hide himself from, rather than -to seek, his fellows when illness is upon him. Like -a sick animal he had slunk into this desolate place -of shelter; and he now prepared himself for the -battle with a sense almost of relief that he was unobserved.</p> - -<p>He went across to the door and bolted it; then -to the window, and pulled the shutters to: but the -bolt was broken and the woodwork, eaten by white-ants, -was falling to pieces. He took from his medicine-box -a large flask of brandy, a bottle of carbolic, -a little phial of chlorodyne, and a thermometer. -There was a tin jug in the corner of the room, full -of water; and into this he emptied the carbolic, -shaking it viciously thereafter. Then he saturated -the towel with the liquid, and replaced it across the -window.</p> - -<p>As the first spasms attacked him and left him -again, he gulped down a stiff dose of brandy, -stripped off most of his clothes, and rolled them -up in a bundle in the corner of the room; uncorked -the chlorodyne, and lay down on his mattress. His -heart was beating fast, and for a while he was -shaken with fear. All his life he had smiled at -death as at a friend, and, like Marcus Aurelius, had -called it but “a resting from the vibrations of sensation -and the swayings of desire, a stop upon the -rambling of thought, and a release from all the -drudgery of the body.” Yet now, when he was to -do battle with it, he was afraid.</p> - -<p>He endeavoured to laugh, and as it were mentally -to snap his fingers; and presently, perhaps under the -influence of the brandy, he got up from the bed and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> -fetched from the outer room his guitar, which had -been his solace on many a trying occasion. Some -years ago, in South Africa, he had set to a lilting -tune the lines of Procter in praise of Death; and -now, sitting on the edge of the bed, a wild haggard -figure with sallow face and black hair tumbling over -his forehead, he twanged the strings and sang the -crazy words with a sort of desperation.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">King Death was a rare old fellow;</div> -<div class="verse indent1">He sat where no sun could shine,</div> -<div class="verse">And he lifted his hand so yellow,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And poured out his coal-black wine</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Hurrah, for the coal-black wine!</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">There came to him many a maiden</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Whose eyes had forgot to shine,</div> -<div class="verse">And widows with grief o’erladen,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">For draught of his coal-black wine.</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Hurrah, for the coal-black wine!</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The heat of the room was abominable, and he -mopped his forehead with his handkerchief, and -groaned aloud. Then, returning to his song, he -skipped a verse and proceeded.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">All came to the rare old fellow,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Who laughed till his eyes dropped brine,</div> -<div class="verse">And he gave them his hand so yellow,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And pledged them in Death’s black wine.</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Hurrah, for the coal-black wine!</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The sun set and the stars came out. At length, -overcome with sickness, he thrust the guitar aside, -and staggered across the room; and presently, when -he was somewhat recovered, he groped for a candle, -lit it, stuck it in an empty bottle, and lay down again -with a gasp of pain.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p> - -<p>Now the battle began in earnest, and he made -no further attempt to laugh. Taut and racked, he -stared up at the dim, cobwebbed ceiling, and swore -that no man should come near him so long as there -was danger of infection. He was, perhaps, a little -pig-headed on this point; but such was his nature. -“Live, and let live” had ever been his motto; and -now he was putting into practice the second half -of that maxim.</p> - -<p>The thought occurred to him that he ought to -write a will, or some general instructions, in case -the “rare old fellow” were triumphant; but, on consideration, -he abandoned the idea for the good reason -that he had neither property worth mentioning -to leave, nor relations to whom he would care to -address his last message. Moreover, in his momentary -relief from pain, he felt extraordinarily disinclined -to bother himself.</p> - -<p>He had an uncle—Stephen—who was in possession -of a little estate at Eversfield, a small English -village in the neighbourhood of Oxford, where the -Tundering-Wests had lived for many generations; -but he had not seen much of this correct and conventional -personage during his childhood, and nothing -at all for the last ten years, since he had been -a grown man and a wanderer. This uncle had two -sons, his cousins: one of them, Mark by name, was, -he believed, in India; the other, called James like -himself, lived at home. They were his sole -relations, he being an only child, and his father and -mother having died two or three years ago, leaving -him a few hundred pounds, which he had quickly -lost.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p> - -<p>There was nobody who would care very much -if he pegged out, and in this thought there was a -sort of gloomy comfort. Moreover, he was known -by his few friends in Egypt and elsewhere as Jim -Easton; for, many years ago, at a time when he -was reduced to utter penury, he had thought it -best to hide his identity, lest interfering persons -should communicate with his relations. In the name -of Jim Easton he had wandered from place to -place, and in that name he had obtained this job -at the gold mines; and if now he were to die, the -fate of James Tundering-West would remain a matter -of speculation. That was as it should be: ever -since he left England he had been a bird of passage, -and is it not a rarity to see a dead bird? Nobody -knows where they all die, or how: with few exceptions, -they seem, as it were, to fade away; and -thus he, too, would disappear.</p> - -<p>He rolled his eyes around his prison, and clapped -his hand with pathetic drama to his burning forehead. -“Wretched bird!” he muttered, addressing -himself. “It was in you to soar to the heights, to -go rushing up to the sun and the planets, with strong, -driving wings. But the winds were always contrary, -or the attractions of the lower air were too -alluring; and now you are sunk to the earth, and -may be you will never make that great assault upon -the stars of which you had always dreamed.”</p> - -<p>He dismissed these useless ruminations. He was -not going to die: life and the lure of the unattained -were still before him.</p> - -<p>Another and another spasm smote him, tore him -asunder, and left him shaking upon the bed. With<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> -a trembling hand he mixed the brandy and chlorodyne, -making little attempts to measure the dose. -The candle spluttered on the floor near by, and -strange insects buzzed around it, singed themselves, -and fell kicking on their backs.</p> - -<p>He opened his eyes and watched them as he lay -on his side, his knees drawn up, and his hands gripping -the edge of the bed. Their agonies, no doubt, -were as great as his, but, being small, they did not -matter. He, too, as Englishmen go, was not large; -and it was very apparent that he did not much matter. -He was of the lean and medium-sized variety -of the race, and was of the swarthy type which is -often to be found in the far south-west of England, -where his family had had its origin. Some people -might have termed him picturesque: others might -have said, and most certainly just now would have -said, that he looked a bit mad.</p> - -<p>At length he slept for a few minutes; but his -dreams were hideous, and full of faces, which came -close to him, growing bigger and bigger, until, with -strange and melancholy grimaces, they receded once -more into infinite distance. Somebody grey, ponderous, -and very fearful, counted endless numbers, now -slowly and portentously, now with such increasing -rapidity that his brain reeled.</p> - -<p>In this manner the seemingly endless night passed -on: a few moments of sleep, a disjointed procession -of horrible fantasies, convulsions of pain, staggerings -across the room, fallings back on the bed, -brandy, and exhausted sleep again. But all the while -he knew that he was growing weaker.</p> - -<p>Presently the candle went out, and the darkness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> -closed over his agony. The thought came to him -that soon he would no longer have the power to -dose himself, and with it came that human desire -for aid which no animal instinct of segregation can -wholly stifle in a heart weary with pain. It was now -long past midnight, and from this time till sunrise -he fought a terrible double battle, on the one hand -with Death, on the other with Self. It would not -be impossible, he knew, to crawl from the room -into the silent desert outside, and a cry for help -would possibly be heard by his men.</p> - -<p>But what would happen? They would go into -the town, doubtless carrying the infection with them, -and would engage a boat in which they would row -across the Nile to fetch Morgan, who had the reputation -of being somewhat of a doctor. But Morgan -had a wife and child in Wales, who were dependent -on him: only last autumn that hairy giant -had told him all about them as they sat drinking -warm lager in the dusty garden by the river, one -hot night, just before the mining party had set out -for the distant works.</p> - -<p>Thus, when at long last the sun rose and glared -into the room, above and below the fluttering towel, -he was still alone.</p> - -<p>At nine o’clock, as the day’s heat and the onslaught -of the flies began again to be intolerable, he -gave up hope. Until that hour he had fought his -fight with decency; but now convulsion on convulsion -had dragged the strength out of him, and he -was no longer able to crawl back on to the bedstead. -The last drops of brandy in a tumbler by his side, he -lay limply on the floor; and where he lay, there the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> -spasms racked him, and there he fainted. With the -hope for life went also the desire, and each time that -he came to himself he prayed to God for the mercy -of unconsciousness. The dying words of Anne -Boleyn, which he had read years ago, recurred again -and again to his mind: “O Death, rocke me aslepe; -bringe me on quiet rest.” He kept saying them -over to himself, not with his lips, for they were -parched, but somewhere deep down in the nightmare -of his wandering brain.</p> - -<p>Presently a gust of blistering wind flicked the -towel from its nail in the window, and with that -the creaking shutter slammed back on its hinges, -and the sun streamed full on to the white figure -on the floor. Jim opened his eyes, bloodshot and -wild, and stared out on to the rocks and sandy drifts. -A few sparrows were hopping about languidly in -the shade of a ruinous wall, their beaks open as -though they were panting for breath. The sky was -leaden, for the glare of the sun seemed to have -sucked out the colour from all things, even from the -yellow sand, which now had the neutral hue of -Egyptian dust.</p> - -<p>This, then, was the end!—and he could shut up -his life as a book that has been read. At the age -of nineteen he had abandoned the humdrum but -respectable City career towards which he was being -headed by his father, and, having nigh broken the -parental heart, had gone out to Korea as handyman -to a gold-mining company. He had dreamed -of riches; his mind had been full of the thought of -gold and its power. He had imagined himself buying -a kingdom for his own, as it were.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p> - -<p>Two years later, utterly disillusioned, he had -taken ship to California, and had earned his living -in many capacities, until chance had carried him to -the Aroe Islands in the pearl trade, and later to the -diamond mines of South Africa. Incidentally, he -had become, after three or four years, something -of an expert in estimating the value of diamonds, -and had made a few hundred pounds by barter; but -with this sum in the bank he had failed to resist the -vagrancy of his nature and the enticement of his -dreams, and had returned to Europe to wander -through Italy, France, and Spain: not altogether in -idleness, for being addicted to scribbling his thoughts -in rhyme, and twisting and turning his speculations -into the various shapes of recognized verse, he had -filled many notebooks with jottings and impressions -which he believed to be more or less worthless.</p> - -<p>Then he had inherited his father’s small savings, -and had been induced by a persuasive friend to invest -them in an expedition to Ceylon in search of a -mythical field of moonstones. Returning in absolute -poverty, owning nothing but his guitar and the -threadbare clothes in which he stood, he had landed -at Port Said, and so had taken reluctant service in -this somewhat precarious gold-mining company at a -salary which had now placed a small sum to his -credit on the company’s books.</p> - -<p>A roaming, dreaming, sun-baked, Bedouin life!—and -this ending of it in a stifling, tumbledown -rest-house seemed to be the most natural wind-up -of the whole business. Often he had enjoyed himself; -he had played with romance; he had had his -great moments; but at times he had suffered under a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> -sense of utter loneliness, and these last months at -the mines in the desert had been a miserable exile, -only relieved by those silent hours in his tent at -night, when he had endeavoured to put into written -words the tremendous thoughts of his teeming brain. -And now death and oblivion appeared to him as -something very eagerly to be desired—a great sleep, -where the horrible sun and the flies could not reach -him, and an eternal relief from all this agony, all -this messiness.</p> - -<p>He fumbled for the last of the brandy, knocked -the glass over and smashed it. The liquid ran -along the floor to his face, and he put out his dry -tongue and licked up a little. Then, as though remembering -his manners, he rolled away from it, and -shut his eyes.</p> - -<p>When consciousness came again to him somebody -was knocking at the outer door in the hall beyond. -A few minutes later there was a shuffling step, and -a rap upon the inner door.</p> - -<p>“Sir, are you awake?” It was the voice of his -Egyptian overseer.</p> - -<p>Jim raised himself on his elbows, thereby disturbing -the crowd of crawling flies which had settled -upon his face and body, and slowly turned his head -in the direction of the speaker. “Go away, you -idiot!” he husked. “I’ve got cholera. I’m dying.”</p> - -<p>“What you say?” came the voice from the other -side. “I cannot hear you.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve got cholera,” he repeated, with an effort -which seemed to be bursting his heart. Then, with -another purpose: “I’m nearly well now ... all -right in an hour ... keep away!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> - -<p>The footsteps shuffled off hurriedly, then stopped. -“I go fetch Meester Morgan: he is here this -mornin’. I seen him comin’ ’cross the river,” the -man called out; and the footsteps passed out of -hearing.</p> - -<p>Another convulsion: but this time there was no -power of resistance remaining, and long before the -spasm ceased he had fainted. The next thing of -which he was aware was that the heavy footstep -of Morgan was coming towards the house. That -frightened rat of an overseer had fetched him, then, -and the gigantic fool was going to take the risk! -What use was he now? There was easy Death already -almost in possession: not the laughing, rare -old fellow of his song, but beautiful desirable Rest.</p> - -<p>He was powerless to stop the man. His voice -failed to rise above a whisper when he attempted -to call out a warning. Suddenly his eye lighted -on the jug of carbolic a yard away. At least he -could lessen the danger. Slowly, and with infinite -pain, he wormed himself over the floor, until his -limp arm touched the jug, and his fingers closed -over the mouth. A feeble pull, and the jug tottered; -another, and it fell over with a clatter, and the -strong disinfectant ran in a stream around him, -under him, through his hair, through his scanty -clothes, and away across the room.</p> - -<p>The handle of the door rattled. “Are you there, -Easton? Let me in!—I know how to doctor you.” -Another rattle. “Let me in, or I’ll come round by -the window.”</p> - -<p>But Jim did not answer. He lay still and deathlike -as the hulking figure of Morgan scrambled into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> -the room through the window, and knelt down by -his side on the wet floor. The place reeked of carbolic: -everything was saturated with it. Morgan -stepped through it to the door, and pulled back the -bolts. Then, slipping and sliding, he dragged the -half-naked, dishevelled body by the armpits into the -outer room, and, propping it up against his knees, -felt for the pulse in the nerveless wrist.</p> - -<p>The morning sun poured in through the broken-down -verandah, glistening on the damp hair of the -exhausted sufferer, and gleaming upon the bearded, -sweating face of the good Samaritan.</p> - -<p>Jim opened his eyes, and his cracked lips moved. -“Don’t be a damned fool,” he whispered. “Don’t -take such a risk ... every man for himself....” -His head fell forward once more, and his eyes -closed.</p> - -<p>“Oh, rot!” said Morgan. “You brave little -chap!—I think you’ve got a chance, please God.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_II">Chapter II: THE CONVALESCENT</h2> - -<p>A native doctor belonging to the Ministry -of Public Health arrived at Kôm-es-Sultân -during the afternoon, having travelled up -from Luxor in response to the telegram reporting -the infection; and to his care the patient was handed -over by Morgan, who had refused to budge until -proper arrangements could be made. When, a few -days later, the sick man was able to be moved, he -was conveyed down to Luxor in a small river-steamer -belonging to the sugar factory; and, after -ten days in the local hospital, where, in spite of -the great heat, he was very tolerably comfortable, he -was able to go north in the sleeping-car which, on -certain nights during the summer weeks, was attached -to the Cairo express, for the benefit of perspiring -English officers coming down from the Sudan, -and weary officials whose work had called them -out into these sun-scorched districts of Upper -Egypt.</p> - -<p>The doctor in Cairo advised him to move down to -the sea as soon as possible; and thus, one early -evening at the end of June, as the glare of the day -was giving place to the long shadows of sunset, Jim -found himself driving through the streets of Alexandria -towards the little Hotel des Beaux-Esprits -which stands at the edge of the Mediterranean, not -far outside the city, and which had been recommended<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> -to him as the inexpensive resort of artists -and men of letters.</p> - -<p>He leant back in the carriage luxuriously, and -drank the cool air into his lungs with a satisfaction -which those alone may understand who have known -what it is to make this journey out of the inferno -of an Upper Egyptian summer into the comparatively -temperate climate of the sea coast. The -streets of Alexandria are much like those of an Italian -or southern French city; and as he looked about -him at the pleasant shops and the crowds of pedestrians, -for the most part European or Levantine, he -felt as though he had recovered from some sort of -tortured madness, and had suddenly come back to -the comprehension and the relish of intelligent life.</p> - -<p>For the present there was nothing to mar his happiness. -The greater part of a year’s salary lay -awaiting him in the bank, for in the desert there -had been no means of spending money, and his losses -had equalled his winnings at those daily games of -cards which had at length become so tedious. The -mines would remain idle in any event until the temperature -began to fall, in September; and thus for -the two months of his summer leave he could take -his ease, and could postpone for some weeks yet -his decision as to whether he would return to that -fiery exile, or would fare forth again upon his nomadic -travels.</p> - -<p>His recent experiences had been a severe shock -to him, and for the time being, at any rate, he felt -that he never wished to see the desert again. But -perhaps when a few weeks of this cool sea air had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> -set him on his feet once more, the thought of his return -to the mines would have lost its terror.</p> - -<p>At the hotel he was received by the fat and motherly -proprietress, who, having diffidently asked for -and enthusiastically received a week’s payment in -advance, led him to an airy room overlooking the -sea, and left him with many assurances that he -would here speedily recover from the indefinite -stomachic disturbances which he told her had recently -laid him low.</p> - -<p>On his way through Cairo he had purchased quite -a respectable suit of white linen, and so soon as he -was alone he set about the happy business of arraying -himself as a civilized personage. Although much -exhausted by his journey he was eager to go down -and sit at one of the little tables overlooking the -sea, there to drink his <i lang="fr">bouillon</i>, and to make himself -acquainted with his fellow guests; and he paid very -little regard to the shaking of his knees and the apparent -swaying of the floor when a struggle with -his unruly hair had taxed his strength. Prudence -suggested that he should remain in his room and -rest; but, having been in exile so long, he could -not resist the desire to be downstairs, enjoying the -coolness of the evening, looking at people and talking -to them, or listening to the music provided by -the mandolines and guitars of a company of Italians -who, presumably, earned their living by going the -round of the smaller hotels, and the strains of -whose romantic songs now came to him, mingled -with the gentle surge of the waves.</p> - -<p>Presently, therefore, he issued from his room, -and, making for the stairs, found himself walking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> -behind a young woman similarly purposed. He -had not spoken to a female of any kind for nearly -a year, and this fact may have accounted for the -quite surprising impression her back view made -upon him. It seemed to him that she had a wonderful -pair of shoulders, startling black hair, and -an excellent figure excellently garbed. He hoped -devoutly that she was pretty; but, as she turned -to glance at him, he saw that her face was perhaps -more interesting than actually beautiful. It -was like an ancient Egyptian bas-relief—an Isis or -a Hathor. It was sufficiently strange, indeed, with -the high cheek-bones, the raven-black hair, and the -wise, smiling mouth, to arouse his curiosity, and her -dark-fringed grey eyes seemed frankly to invite his -admiration.</p> - -<p>At the foot of the stairs, when he was close behind -her, he suddenly felt giddy again, and swayed -towards her; at which she stared at him in cold -surprise.</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon,” he said, clutching at the -banister, and wondering why the light had become -so dim.</p> - -<p>A moment later he pitched forward, grabbed at -the hand she instantly held out to him, and knew -no more.</p> - -<p>When he recovered consciousness he was lying -upon the bed in his own room, and this black-haired -woman whom he had seen upon the stairs was leaning -over him—like a mother, he thought—dabbing -his forehead with water.</p> - -<p>“That’s better,” he heard her say. “You’ll be -all right now.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p> - -<p>He sat up, at once fully aware of his situation. -“I’m awfully sorry,” he exclaimed. “Did I faint?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” was the answer. “I caught you as you -fell.”</p> - -<p>Jim swore under his breath. “I’ve been ill,” he -said. “I didn’t realize I was so weak. Did I make -an awful ass of myself?”</p> - -<p>“No,” she smiled, “you did it quite gracefully; -and there was nobody about; they were all at dinner.”</p> - -<p>“Who brought me up here?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“I and the two native servants,” she laughed, -and her laughter was pleasant to hear. “Are you -in the habit of fainting?”</p> - -<p>“I’ve never fainted before in my life,” said Jim, -warmly, “until I had this go of cholera.”</p> - -<p>“Cholera?” she ejaculated. “You’ve had <em>cholera</em>? -How long ago?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’m not infectious,” he smiled. “It was -quite a while ago.” He gave her the facts with -weary brevity: it was a picture that he wished to -banish from the gallery of his memory.</p> - -<p>“But, my dear friend,” she said, “when you’ve -just come out of the jaws of death like that, you -must take things easy. You ought to be in bed, -toying with a spoonful of jelly and a grape. What’s -your name?”</p> - -<p>“Jim,” he answered. “What’s yours?”</p> - -<p>“That is of no consequence,” she replied, smiling -at him, as he thought to himself, like a heathen -idol.</p> - -<p>He was silent for a few moments. He was not -quite sure whether it would not now be as well to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> -kill Mr. Easton and resuscitate Mr. Tundering-West, -for at the moment he was anxious to forget -entirely his Bedouin life and his exile at the mines, -and he was no longer a disreputable beggar.</p> - -<p>“I’ll call you ‘Sister,’” he said at length. “That’s -what the patients at the hospital call the nurse, -isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid I’m not much of a nurse,” she replied. -“I’ve torn your collar in getting it open, and -I’ve dripped water all down your coat.”</p> - -<p>“I bumped into you when I fell, didn’t I?” he -asked, trying to recollect what had happened.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she answered. “I thought you were -drunk.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks awfully,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Have you any friends to look after you?” she -enquired presently.</p> - -<p>“No, nobody, Sister,” he replied. “Have you?”</p> - -<p>She shook her head. “I hardly know anybody, -either. I’m a painter. I’ve just come over from -Italy to do some work.” She fetched a towel from -the washing-stand. “Now, hold your head up, and -let me dry your neck.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose you don’t happen to have a brandy -and soda about you?” he asked, when she had tidied -him up. He was feeling very fairly well again, but -sorely in need of a stimulant.</p> - -<p>“I’ll go and get you one,” she replied; and before -he could make any polite protest she had left the -room.</p> - -<p>He got up at once from the bed, went with shaking -legs to the dressing-table and stared at himself -in the glass. “Good Lord!” he muttered. “I look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> -like an organ-grinder after a night out.” He -combed his damp hair back from his forehead, and -sat himself down on the sofa near the open window, -a shaded candle by his side. The night was soothingly -windless and quiet, and a wonderful full moon -was rising clear of the haze above the sea; and so -extraordinary was it to him to feel the air about -him temperate and kind that presently a mood of -great content descended upon him, and, after his -startling experience, he was no longer restless to -join the company downstairs.</p> - -<p>In a short time his nurse returned, bringing him -the brandy-and-soda; and when this had been swallowed -he began to think the world a very pleasant -place.</p> - -<p>She fetched two pillows from the bed, and in -motherly fashion placed them behind his head; then, -sitting down on a small armchair which stood near -the sofa, she asked him whether he intended to stay -long in Alexandria.</p> - -<p>“I have no plans,” he told her. “As long as -I’ve got any money in the bank I never do have -any. When the money’s spent, then I shall begin -to think what to do next. I’m just one of the -Bedouin of life.”</p> - -<p>“I am a wanderer, too,” she said. And therewith -they began to talk to one another as only wanderers -can talk. There were many places in France -and Italy known to them both, and it appeared that -they had been in Ceylon at the same time, she in -Colombo, and he up-country in search of his moonstones.</p> - -<p>He felt very much at ease with her, coming soon,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> -indeed, to regard her as a potential confidant of his -dreams. Her enigmatic face was curiously attractive -to him, particularly so, in fact, just now, with -the screen of the candle casting a soft shadow upon -it, so that the grey eyes seemed to be looking at -him through a veil. He began to wonder, indeed, -why it was that at first sight he had not regarded -her as beautiful.</p> - -<p>For half an hour or more they talked quietly but -eagerly together, while the moon rose over the sea -until its pale light penetrated into the room, and -blanched the heavy shadows.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m very glad I fainted,” he said, lightly, -observing that she was about to take her departure.</p> - -<p>“So am I,” she answered, smiling at him as -though all the secrets of all the world were in her -wise keeping.</p> - -<p>“Tell me, Sister,” he asked. “Are you all alone -in the world?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think it’s quite correct to be sitting in a -strange man’s room?”</p> - -<p>“Perfectly.”</p> - -<p>“Tramp!” he said.</p> - -<p>“Vagrant!” she replied.</p> - -<p>She rose, and stood awhile gazing out of the open -window—a mysterious figure, looking like old gold -in the light of the reading-lamp, set against the -sheen of the moon.</p> - -<p>“It’s a wonderful night,” he remarked. “You -have no idea what it means to me to feel cool and -comfortable. The desert up-country is the very -devil in summer.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes,” she replied, turning to him, “one can understand -why Cleopatra and her Ptolemy ancestors -left the old cities of the south, and built their -palaces here beside the sea.”</p> - -<p>He smiled, knowingly. “If she had lived up there -in Thebes where the old Pharaohs sweated, there -wouldn’t have been any affair with Antony. She -would have been too busy taking cold baths and -whisking the flies away. But down here—why, the -sound of the sea in the night would have been -enough by itself to do the trick.”</p> - -<p>She looked at him curiously. “To me,” she said, -“the sound of the sea on a summer night is the -most tragic and the most beautiful thing in the -world. If I ever gave up wandering and came to -rest, it would be in a little white villa somewhere -on the shores of the Mediterranean.”</p> - -<p>“No, for my part, I want to go north just now,” -he rejoined. “I’m tired of the east and the south: -I’ve got a longing for England.”</p> - -<p>“It won’t last,” she smiled. “You don’t fit in -with England, somehow.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’m a typical Devon man,” he declared, -recalling, with a sudden feeling of pride, the original -home of his family, previous to their migration -into Oxfordshire.</p> - -<p>She looked at him with a smile. “That accounts -for it,” she said. “The men of Devon so often -have the wandering spirit.” She held out her hand. -“I must go now. Good night!—I’ll come and see -how you are in the morning. My room is next to -yours, if you want anything.”</p> - -<p>“Good night, Sister!” he answered. “I’m most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> -awfully obliged to you. You’ve done me a power -of good.”</p> - -<p>She smiled at him with the calm, mysterious expression -of the old gods and goddesses carved upon -the temple walls, and went out of the room; and -thereafter he lay back on his pillows, musing on -her attractive personality, and wondering who she -was. He was still wondering when, some minutes -later, the native servant entered with a tray upon -which there was a cup of soup, some jelly, and a -bunch of grapes.</p> - -<p>“Madam she say you to drink it <em>all</em> the soup,” -said the man, “but only eat three grapes, only <em>three</em>, -she say, sir, please.”</p> - -<p>“Very well,” Jim answered, feeling rather pleased -thus to receive orders from her.</p> - -<p>That night he slept soundly, and awoke refreshed -and almost vigorous. After breakfast in bed he got -up, and he had been dressed for some time when -his self-constituted nurse came to him.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’m glad you’re up,” she said, giving his -hand an honest shake. “I’m going to take you out -on the verandah downstairs. It’s beautifully cool -there.”</p> - -<p>Jim was delighted. She looked so very nice this -morning, he thought, in her pretty summer dress -and wide-brimmed hat; and her smile was radiant. -He held an impression from the night before that -she was a creature of mystery, a woman out of a -legend; and it was quite a relief to him to find that -now in the daylight she was a normal being.</p> - -<p>As they descended the stairs she put her hand -under his elbow to aid him, and, though the assistance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> -was quite unnecessary, it pleased him so much -that he was conscious of an inclination to play the -invalid with closer similitude than actuality warranted. -Nobody had ever looked after him since -he was a child, and, as in the case of all men who -believe they detest feminine aid, the experience was -surprisingly gratifying.</p> - -<p>On the verandah they sat together in two basket -chairs, and presently she so directed their conversation -that he found himself talking to her as though -she were his oldest friend. He told her tales of the -desert, described his life at the mines, and tried to -explain the dread he felt at the thought of returning -to them. There was no complaint in his words: he -was something of a fatalist, and, being obliged to -earn his bread and butter, he supposed his lot to be -no worse than that of hosts of other men. After -all, anything was better than sitting on an office -stool.</p> - -<p>She listened to him, encouraging him to talk; and -the morning was gone before he suddenly became -conscious that she and not he had played the part of -listener.</p> - -<p>“Good lord!” he exclaimed. “How I must be -boring you! There goes the bell for <i lang="fr">déjeuner</i>. -Why didn’t you stop me?”</p> - -<p>“I was interested,” she replied, turning her head -aside. “You have shown me a part of life I knew -nothing about. My own wanderings have been so -much more sophisticated, so much more ordinary.” -She looked round at him quickly. “By the way, I -am leaving you to-morrow. I have to go to Cairo -for a week or so.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> - -<p>Jim’s face fell. “Oh damn!” he said. His disappointment -was intense. “Why should you go to -Cairo?” he asked gloomily. “It’s a beastly, hot, -unhealthy place at this time of year.”</p> - -<p>“I shan’t be gone long,” she answered. “I just -have to paint one picture. And when I come back -I shall expect to find you strong and well once more. -Then we can do all sorts of wonderful things together.” -She paused, looking at him intently. -“That is something for us to look forward to,” she -added, as though she were talking to herself.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_III">Chapter III: MONIMÉ</h2> - -<p>Jim felt the absence of his new friend keenly. -She had left for Cairo quietly and unobtrusively, -just driving away from the little hotel -with a wave of her hand to him, following a few -words of good advice as to his diet and behaviour. -He had asked her where she was going -to stay, hinting that he would like to write to her; -but she had evaded a definite reply, saying merely -that she was going to the house of some friends. -A woman is a figure behind a veil. It is her nature -to elude, it is her happiness to have something to -conceal; and man, more direct, often finds in her -reticence upon some unimportant matter a cause of -deep mystification.</p> - -<p>“I don’t even know your name,” he had almost -wailed, and she had answered, gravely, “Jemima -Smith,” as though she expected him to believe it. -The hotel register, which he thereupon consulted, -contained but three pertinent words: “Mdlle. -Smith, Londres,” written in the hand of the French -proprietress, and that fat personage laughed good-naturedly -and shrugged her shoulders when he questioned -the accuracy of the entry.</p> - -<p>The first days seemed dull without her; but soon -the brilliance of the Alexandrian summer took hold -of his mind, and dressed his thoughts in bright colours. -His strength returned to him rapidly, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> -within the week he was once more a normal being, -able to sprawl upon the beach in the mornings in -the shade of the rocks, staring out over the azure -seas, and able, in the cool of the late afternoons, -to go to the Casino to listen to the orchestra and -watch the cosmopolitan crowd taking its twilight -promenade.</p> - -<p>And then, one evening, just before dinner, as -he sat himself down in a basket chair outside the -long windows of his bedroom, high above the surge -of the breakers, he glanced into the room next door, -which led out on to the same balcony, and there -stood his friend, unpacking a dressing-case upon a -table before her.</p> - -<p>She saw him at the same moment, and at once -came forward, but Jim in his enthusiasm was half-way -into her room when their hands met.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I <em>am</em> glad to see you!” he exclaimed, working -her arm up and down as though it were a pump-handle. -“It’s just like seeing an old friend again.”</p> - -<p>She smiled serenely. “Well, we’ve had a week -to think each other over,” she said. She turned -to her dressing-case and produced a small parcel. -“Here, I’ve brought you something from Cairo.”</p> - -<p>It was only a box of cigarettes of a brand he had -happened to mention in commendation; but the gift, -and her words, set his brain in a whirl, and for some -minutes he talked the wildest nonsense to her. He -was flattered that she had turned her thoughts to -him while she was in Cairo; and now, standing in -her bedroom, he was possessed by a feeling of intimacy -with her. He wanted to put his arm round -her, or place his hand upon her shoulder, or kiss<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> -her fingers, or pull her hat off, or lift her from the -ground, or something of that kind. Yet he felt at -the same time a kind of dread lest he should offend -her. He was perhaps a little bewildered in her -presence, for, in some indefinable way, she represented -an aspect of femininity which he had only -known in imagination. There was nothing of the -coquette about her: there was a great deal of royalty. -He was inclined, indeed, to wait upon her -favours, to accept her <i lang="fr">largesse</i>, rather than to ply -her with pretty speeches and attentions; but he was -by no means certain that this was the correct method -of pleasing her, and he stood now before her, running -his hands through his hair and talking excitedly.</p> - -<p>Presently, however, she told him to go downstairs -and to wait there for her until she was ready -to dine with him. He would readily have waited -all night for her, had she bid him; and when, after -nearly an hour, she joined him, dressed in a soft -and seductive evening garment, he led her to their -table on the terrace under the stars like a bridegroom -at the first stage of his honeymoon.</p> - -<p>In all the world there is no conjunction of time -and place more seemly for romance than that of a -night in June beside the Alexandrian surf. The terrace -whereon their table was set was built out upon -a head of rocks against the base of which the rolling -waves of the Mediterranean surged unseen in the -darkness below, as they had surged in the days when -Antony lay dreaming here in the arms of Cleopatra. -The whitewashed walls of the little hotel, with the -green-shuttered windows and open doorway throwing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> -forth a warm illumination, differed in appearance -but little from those of a Greek villa of that -far-off age; and the stately palms around the building -seemed in their dignity conscious of their descent -from the palms of the Courts of the Pharaohs.</p> - -<p>Across the bay the lights of the city were reflected -in the water, and overhead the stars scintillated like -a million diamonds spread upon blue velvet. The -night was warm and breathless, and the shaded -candles upon the table burnt with a steady flame, -throwing a rosy glow upon the intent faces of the -two who sat here alone, the other guests having -finished their meal and gone to the far side of the -hotel, where the guitars and mandolines were thrumming.</p> - -<p>Their conversation wandered from subject to subject: -it was as though they were feeling their way -with one another, each eagerly attempting to discover -the thoughts of the other, each anxious that no -fundamental disagreement should be revealed, and -relieved as point after point of accord was found. -To Jim it seemed as though the gates of his heart -were being slowly rolled back, and as though the -strange, wise face, so close to his own, were peering -into the sanctuary of his soul, demanding admittance -and possession.</p> - -<p>“Good Lord!” he exclaimed at length. “This -is too ridiculous! Here am I falling in love with a -woman whose very name I don’t know.”</p> - -<p>She smiled serenely at him, as though his words -were the most natural in the world. “Why not call -me Monimé?” she said. “Some people call me that. -Do you know the story of Monimé?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p> - -<p>Jim shook his head.</p> - -<p>“She was a Grecian girl who lived in the city -of Miletus on the banks of Mæander, the wandering -river of Phrygia, and there she might have lived -all her life, and might have married and had six -children; but Mithridates, King of Pontus, saw her -one day and fell in love with her and somehow managed -to make her believe she loved him, too.”</p> - -<p>The mandolines in the distance were playing the -haunting melody “Sorrento,” and the soft refrain, -blending with the sound of the sea, formed a dreamy -accompaniment to the story.</p> - -<p>“He carried her away and gave her a golden -diadem, and made her his queen; but the legions -of Rome came and defeated Mithridates, and he -sent his eunuch, Bacchides, to her, here in Alexandria, -where she had fled, bidding her kill herself, -as he was about to do, rather than endure the -disgrace of her adopted dynasty. She did not want -to die, but, like an obedient wife, she took the -diadem from her head, and tried to strangle herself -by fastening the silken cords around her throat.”</p> - -<p>“I remember now,” said Jim. “It is one of the -stories from Plutarch. Go on.”</p> - -<p>“The cords broke, and thereupon she uttered that -famous, bitter cry: ‘O wretched diadem, unable to -help me even in this little matter!’ And she threw -it from her, and ordered Bacchides to kill her with -his sword....”</p> - -<p>She paused and stared with fixed gaze across the -bay to the lights of Ras-el-Tîn, and those of the -houses which stood where once Cleopatra’s palace -of the Lochias had towered above the sea.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p> - -<p>The native waiter had removed the débris of their -meal from the table, and the candles had been extinguished. -Her hands rested upon the arms of her -chair, and there was that in her attitude which in -the dim light of the waning moon, now rising over -the sea, suggested a Pharaonic statue.</p> - -<p>“She died just over there across the water,” she -said at length. “Poor Monimé....”</p> - -<p>Jim put his hand upon hers. Very slowly she -turned to him, looked him in the eyes steadily, -looked down at his hand, and then again looked -into his face.</p> - -<p>“Monimé,” he whispered, and presently, receiving -no response, he added, “What are you thinking -about?”</p> - -<p>“The River Mæander,” she answered. “Our -word ‘meander’ is derived from that name, because -of the river’s wanderings. I was thinking how I -have meandered through life, and now....”</p> - -<p>“I have no diadem to offer you,” he said fervently; -“but all that I have is yours to-night. I -know nothing about you: I don’t know where you -come from; I don’t know your name. I know only -that you have come to me out of my dreams. It’s -as though you were not real at all—just part of this -Alexandrian night; and I want to hold you close to -me, so that you shall not fade away from me.”</p> - -<p>She did not answer, and presently he asked her -if she had nothing to say to him.</p> - -<p>“No,” she replied, “there is nothing to be said, -Jim. This thing has come to us so quickly: it may -pass away again so soon. It is better to say little.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p> - -<p>There came into his mind those lines of Shelley</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">One word is too often profaned</div> -<div class="verse indent1">For me to profane it....</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">Yet he must needs utter that word, though the past -and the future rise up to belittle it.</p> - -<p>“I love you,” he whispered. “Monimé, I love -you.”</p> - -<p>“Men have said that to me before,” she answered, -“and there was one man whom I believed.... -We built the house of our life upon that foundation, -but it fell to ruins all the same. Soon he -ceased to tell me that he loved me.”</p> - -<p>“You are a married woman then?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Tell me who you are,” he begged.</p> - -<p>She shook her head. “No,” she replied. “I have -no name. I have left him.”</p> - -<p>“Why?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Because we disliked one another. It seemed to -me altogether wrong that a man and a woman totally -out of sympathy with one another should continue -to live together. So I made my exit. I live -by selling my pictures.”</p> - -<p>“Were there any children?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“No,” she answered. “If there had been, I suppose -I should have remained with him. Like -flowers, they hide many a sepulchre.”</p> - -<p>“It was brave of you to go,” he said.</p> - -<p>“I felt it to be a woman’s right,” she declared, -spreading her hands in a gesture of conviction. -“Since then I have been a wanderer. I’ve had -some hours of happiness, some of loneliness, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> -always there has been my independence to cheer -me, and the knowledge that I have been faithful -to my sex, and have not misled others by the usual -shams and pretences of the disillusioned wife.”</p> - -<p>“And what about the future?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“My dear,” she smiled, “the future is a veil of -fog that only lifts for the passage of a soul. When -I am about to die I will tell you of my future. But -now, while I am in the midst of life, only the present -counts.”</p> - -<p>For some time they talked; but at length when -the little band of musicians, whose songs had formed -a distant accompaniment to their thoughts, had -gone their way, and the sound of the sea alone traversed -the silence, she suggested that he should bring -down his guitar and play to her.</p> - -<p>“The proprietress tells me she has heard you -playing in your room,” she smiled. “She described -it as <i lang="fr">très agréable mais un peu mélancolique</i>.”</p> - -<p>Jim was not very willing to comply, for he had -been termed a howling jackal at the mines, and, -indeed, he had once been obliged to black a man’s -eye for throwing something at him. He had no -wish to fight anybody to-night.</p> - -<p>His companion, however, was so insistent that -he was obliged to fetch the instrument and to sing -to her. The darkness aided him in overcoming a -feeling of shyness, and presently he passed into a -mood which was conducive to song. He sang at -first in quiet tones, and his fingers struck so lightly -upon the strings that sometimes the rich chords -were lost in the murmur of the surf. From sad -old negro melodies he passed to curious chanties of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> -the sea, and thence to the wistful music of the Italian -peasants; and as he sang his diffidence left him, -and soon his fine voice was strong enough to be -heard in the hotel, so that the proprietress and some -of her guests came tip-toeing out and stood listening -near the open door, the light from the passage -illuminating their motionless figures and casting -their black shadows across the gravel and on to the -encircling palms.</p> - -<p>“Listen,” said Jim, at length. “I’ll sing you -some verses I made up when I was in Ceylon.”</p> - -<p>It was a song which told of a silent, enchanted -city built by ancient kings upon the shores of an -uncharted sea, where there were pavilions of white -marble whose pinnacles shot up to the stars, seeming -to touch the Milky Way, and whose domes -were so lofty that at moonrise their silver orbs -were still tinged with the gold of the sunset. It -told how here, upon a bed of crystal, there slept a -woman whose hair was as dark as the wrath of -heaven, whose breast was as white as the snowclad -mountain-tops, and whose lips were as red as sin; -and how, upon a hot, still night there came a lost -mariner to these shores, who passed up through the -deserted streets of the city, and ascended a thousand -stairs to the crystal couch, and kissed the -mouth of the sleeper....</p> - -<p>When he had ended the song there was a moment -of silence before Monimé turned to him. “Do you -mean to tell me,” she exclaimed, “that you have to -earn your living at the mines when you can write -verses like that?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it’s only doggerel,” he laughed, “and I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> -cribbed most of the music from things I’d heard.”</p> - -<p>“Have you got the poem written down?” she -asked.</p> - -<p>“No, I’ve lost my only copy,” he answered. “I -stuffed it into a hole in the woodwork of my berth -on a certain tramp steamer, to keep the cockroaches -from coming out. I never could get used to cockroaches.”</p> - -<p>“Jim,” she said, taking his hands in hers, “you -are wasting your life.”</p> - -<p>“I am living for the first time to-night,” he replied.</p> - -<p>It was midnight when at length they ascended -the stairs to their rooms, but there was on his -part a mere pretence of bidding good-night at their -doors. He knew well enough that presently he -would attempt to renew their wonderful romance -upon the balcony which connected their two rooms; -but for the moment the serene inscrutability of her -face baffled him. She neither made advance towards -him, nor retreat from him. She seemed, mentally, -to be standing her ground, undisturbed, unmoved. -The wisdom of the ages was in her eyes, and the -smile of precognition was on her lips.</p> - -<p>In love, man is so simple, woman so wise. Man -blunders along, taking his chance as to whether he -shall find favour or give offence; woman alone knows -when the great moment has come, that moment -when the time and the place and the person are -plaited into the perfect pattern. Some women betray -that knowledge in their agitation; some are -made shy by the revelation; some, again, have the -imperturbable confidence of their intuition, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> -these last alone are the celestials, the daughters of -Aphrodite, the children of Isis and Hathor.</p> - -<p>In his room Jim sat for awhile upon the side of -his bed, trying to fathom the unfathomable meaning -of her expression. His brain was full of her—her -hair black as the Egyptian darkness, her eyes -grey as the twilight, and her flesh like the alabaster -of the Mokattam Hills. There was such modesty, -such reserve in her bearing, and yet with these -qualities there went a kind of confidence, a self-assurance, -which he could not define. In her presence -he became aware of the shortcomings of his -own sex, rather than of his mastery; yet at the -same time he was conscious of an overwhelming intensification -of his manhood.</p> - -<p>At last, a cigarette as his excuse, he stepped out -on to the balcony, and for some moments stood looking -out to sea. When he took courage to turn -towards her window he found that though the light -in the room was still burning, the shutters were -closed; and thus he remained, staring at the green -woodwork for what seemed an interminable time.</p> - -<p>He was about to go back disconsolately to his -room when the light was extinguished, and the shutters -were quietly pushed open. Who shall say -whether she knew that Jim was standing in silence -upon the balcony, or whether, being prepared for -her bed, she now merely opened the windows that -the cool of the night might bring her refreshing -sleep? Woman is wise: she knows if the hour -be meet.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_IV">Chapter IV: BEDOUIN LOVE</h2> - -<p>Jim awoke next morning with the feeling that -he had come back to earth from heaven. The -events of the night before seemed to belong -to a world of enchantment, and had no relation to -the keen, practical sunlight which now struck into -his room through the open windows, nor to the cool -sea breeze which waved the curtains to and fro, -nor yet to the vivid blue sea and the clean-cut rocks -which came into sight as he sat up in bed.</p> - -<p>“In the next room,” he mused to himself, “sleeps -a woman who in the darkness was to me the gateway -of my dreams, but who in this bright sunlight -will be again only a capable, pretty creature and an -amusing companion. Night, after all, is woman’s -kingdom, and in it she is mistress of all the magic -arts of enchantment, she becomes greater than herself; -but day belongs to man. How, then, shall I -greet her?—for my very soul seemed surrendered -to her a few hours ago, yet now I find myself still -master of my destiny.”</p> - -<p>Like an artist who steps back to view his picture, -or like a poet who measures up his dream, he allowed -his mind to take stock of his emotions. When -her head had been thrown back upon the pillows, -and the white column of her throat could be seen -in the dim light of the moon against the black confusion -of her hair, it had seemed to him that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> -marks of the chisel of the Divine Artist were impressed -upon the alabaster of her flesh. It was as -though, gazing down at her beauty, his eyes had -been opened and he had beheld the handicraft of -Paradise.</p> - -<p>And when, in his ardour, he had had the feeling -of not knowing what next to do nor what words -to utter, her silencing loveliness had baffled him, so -it seemed, because her body was stamped with the -seal of the Infinite and fashioned in the likeness of -God. True, she was but imperfect woman; yet -the art of the Lord of Arts had created her, and, -by the magic of the night, he had found her rich in -the inimitable craftsmanship of heaven.</p> - -<p>He had seen the glory of heaven in her eyes. -He had heard the voice of all the ages in her voice. -In the touch of her lips there had been the rapture -of the spheres, and the gods of the firmament had -seemed to ride out upon the tide of her breath.</p> - -<p>But was it she whom he had wanted when he -held her pinioned in his arms? He could not say. -It seemed more reasonable to suppose that through -her he was looking towards the splendour which his -soul sought. She was but the necromancy by which -he had carried earth up to heaven; she was the -magic by which he had brought heaven down to the -earth. She had been the door of his dreams, the -portal of the sky; and through her he had made -his incursion into the kingdom beyond the stars.</p> - -<p>“It was only an illusion,” he said, as he stood -at the window, invigorated by the breeze. “We -are actually almost strangers. I don’t know anything -about her, and she knows little of me. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> -was the magic of the night employed by scheming -Nature for her one unchanging purpose; and all -that happened in the darkness will be forgotten -in the sunlight. We shall meet as friends.”</p> - -<p>To some extent he was right, for when at mid-morning -she came down to the blazing beach and -seated herself by his side in the shade of the rocks, -she greeted him quietly and serenely, with neither -embarrassment nor familiarity.</p> - -<p>“Are you going to bathe this morning?” he asked -her, and on her replying in the affirmative, he told -her that he thought he was well enough to do so, -too. At this she showed some concern, but he reminded -her that the water, at any rate near the -shore, was warm to the touch and was hardly likely -to do him harm.</p> - -<p>The little sandy bay, flanked by rocks which projected -into the sea, was the site of a number of -bathing huts and tents used by the Europeans who -lived in the surrounding villas and bungalows. The -breakers rolled in upon this golden crescent, continuously -driven forward by the prevalent north-west -wind; but at one side a barrier of low, shelving -rocks formed a small lagoon where the water was -peaceful, and one might look down to the bottom, -ten or twelve feet below the surface, and see the -brilliant shells and seaweeds almost as clearly as -though they were in the open air. So strong was -the summer sunlight that every object and every -plant at the bottom cast its shadow sharply upon -the sparkling bed; and the passage of little wandering -fishes was marked by corresponding shadows -which moved over the fairyland below.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p> - -<p>It was not long before Jim and Monimé were -swimming side by side across this small lagoon to -the encircling wall of rocks, and soon they had clambered -on to them and had seated themselves where -the surf rushed towards them from the open azure -sea on the one side, drenching them with cool spray, -and on the other side the low cliffs and rocks, surmounted -by the clustered palms, were reflected in -the still water. Here they sunned themselves and -talked; and from time to time, when the heat became -too great, they dived down together with open -eyes into the cool, brilliant depths, gliding amongst -the coloured sea-plants, grimacing at one another -as they scrambled for some conspicuous pebble or -shell, and rising again to the surface in a cloud of -bubbles.</p> - -<p>It was a joyous, exhilarating, agile occupation, -far removed from the enchantments of the darkness; -and the glitter of sun and sea effectually diminished -the lure of the night’s witchery.</p> - -<p>“You know,” said Jim, suddenly looking at his -companion, as they lay basking upon the spray-splashed -rocks, “I can hardly believe last night was -anything but a dream.”</p> - -<p>“Let us pretend that it was,” she answered. She -pointed down into the translucent water. “Life is -like that,” she said. “We dive down into those wonderful -depths when the glare of actuality is too -great, and we see all the pretty shells down there; -and then we have to come up to the surface again, -or we should drown.”</p> - -<p>“I see,” he replied; “I was just a passing fancy -of yours.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> - -<p>She answered him gravely. “Women in that respect -are not so different to men. Judge me by -yourself.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, but there’s a world of difference,” he said, -chilled by her words. “I am simply a vagabond, -a wandering Bedouin, here to-day and over the hills -and far away to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>“I am also a wanderer,” she smiled. “We are -both free beings who have broken away from the -beaten path. We both earn our living, and claim -our independence.”</p> - -<p>“Yet the difference is this,” he reminded her, -“that the world will shrug its shoulders at my actions, -but will condemn yours.”</p> - -<p>She made an impatient gesture. “Oh, that -threadbare truism!” she said. “I have turned my -back on the world, and I don’t care what it thinks. -I act according to my principles, and in this sort -of thing the first principle is very simple. If a -woman is a thoughtful, responsible being, earning -her own living, and able to lead her own life without -being in the slightest degree dependent on the -man of her choice, or on any other living soul, she -is entitled to respond to the call of nature at that -precious and rare moment when her heart tells her -to do so. There should be no such thing as a different -law for the man and for the woman: there -should only be a different law for the self-supporting -and the dependent. The sin is when a woman is a -parasite.”</p> - -<p>With that she took a header into the water, and -he watched her gliding amidst the swaying tendrils -of the sea-plants, like a sinuous mermaiden.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> - -<p>When she rose to the surface once more he dived -in, and swam over to her, his face emerging but a -few inches from hers. “Do you love me?” he asked, -smiling amongst the bubbles.</p> - -<p>“No, I hate you,” she replied, striking out towards -the shore.</p> - -<p>“Why?” he called after her.</p> - -<p>“Because you haven’t the sense to leave well -alone,” she said, and thereat she dived once more, -nor came to the surface again until she had reached -shallow water.</p> - -<p>At luncheon she met him with an ambiguous -smile upon her lips; but finding that he was not -eating his food with much appetite, she at once became -motherly and solicitous, refused to allow him -to eat the salad, offered to cut up the meat for him, -and directed the waiter to bring some toast in place -of the over-fresh roll which he was about to break. -At the conclusion of the meal she ordered him to -take a siesta in his room, and in this he was glad -enough to obey her, for he was certainly tired.</p> - -<p>When he woke up, an hour or so later, and presently -went out on to the balcony, he saw her standing -in her room, contemplating her painting materials.</p> - -<p>“May I come in?” he asked.</p> - -<p>She nodded. “Have you had a good sleep?” she -inquired. “Sit down and talk to me. I have a -feeling of loneliness this afternoon. I’m not in a -mood to paint; yet I suppose I must, or I shall run -short of money.”</p> - -<p>He went to her side and put his hands upon her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> -shoulders, drawing her to him; but she pushed him -away from her, with averted face.</p> - -<p>“I said ‘sit down,’” she repeated.</p> - -<p>Jim was abashed. “You’re very difficult,” he told -her. “I think that under the circumstances I’d better -go. I don’t know where I am with you.”</p> - -<p>“You haven’t tried to find out,” she answered. -“You’re quite capable of understanding me: I should -never have let you come into my life at all if I -had not been certain that you had it in you to understand.”</p> - -<p>“Tact is not my strong point,” he said. “I’m -just a man.”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense!” she replied. “Don’t belittle yourself.”</p> - -<p>He was puzzled. “Why, what’s wrong with -men?”</p> - -<p>“Their refusal to study women,” she answered.</p> - -<p>She was not in a communicative mood, and -would not be drawn into argument. He was left, -thus, with a disconcerting sense of frustration, bordering -on annoyance. It seemed evident to him -that yesterday, by some secret conjunction of the -planets, so to speak, their destinies had met together -in one sentient hour of sympathy; but that -now they had sprung apart once more, and he knew -not what stars in their courses would bring back to -him the ripe and mystic moment.</p> - -<p>An appalling loneliness descended like a cloud -upon him, and he was conscious that she too, was -experiencing the same feeling. It was the lot, he -supposed, of all persons who were born with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> -Bedouin temperament; and he accepted it with resignation.</p> - -<p>At length she conducted him—or did he lead her?—down -to the verandah of the hotel; and now she -had her paints with her, and occupied herself in -making some colour-notes of the brilliant sea which -stretched before them, and of the golden rocks and -vivid green palms. Jim, meanwhile, read an English -newspaper, some weeks old, which he had -chanced upon in the salon; but from time to time -he sat back in his chair and watched her as she -worked, his admiration manifesting itself in his eyes.</p> - -<p>“What are you staring at?” she asked him, presently.</p> - -<p>“I was admiring the way you handle your paints,” -he replied. “You’re a real artist.”</p> - -<p>“The fact that a woman paints,” she remarked, -“does not mean that she is an artist, any more -than the fact that she talks means that she is a -thinker. To be an artist requires two things, firstly, -that you have something to express, and, only secondly, -that you know technically how to express it. -It is the point of view, the angle of vision, that -counts; and in fact one can say that primarily one -must <em>live</em> an art.”</p> - -<p>He nodded. He wondered whether the events -of the previous night were but the living of her art; -and the thought engendered a kind of mild bitterness -which led him to give her measure for measure. -“I know what you mean so well,” he said, -“because I happen to have the talent to put things -into nice metre and rhyme; but it is the subject matter -that really counts, and that’s where I feel my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> -stuff is so flat. Sometimes I am obliged to seek experience -to help me.”</p> - -<p>“You must let me see some of these poems,” she -said, pursuing the theme no further.</p> - -<p>He shook his head. “They are only doggerel, -like the one I sang last night,” he laughed. “They -are as shallow as my heart.”</p> - -<p>She resumed her painting and he his reading; but -his mind was not following the movement of his eyes.</p> - -<p>He was thinking how little he understood his -companion. She was clearly a woman of strong -views, one who had taken her life into her own -hands and was facing the world with reliant courage. -In fact, it might be said of her that she was -the sort of woman who would not be turned from -what she knew to be right by any qualms of guilty -conscience. He smiled to himself at the epigram, -and again allowed his thoughts to speculate upon -her alluring personality.</p> - -<p>He found at length, however, that the matter -was beyond him; and presently he turned to his -reading once more.</p> - -<p>It was while he was so engaged that suddenly -he sat up in his chair, gazing with amazement at -the printed page before him.</p> - -<p>“Great Scott!” he whispered, pronouncing the -words slowly and capaciously. There was a crazy -look of astonishment upon his face.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter?” she asked, glancing at him, -but unable to tell from the whimsical expression of -his mouth and eyes what manner of news had taken -his attention.</p> - -<p>He looked at her as though he did not see her. -Then he read once more the words, which seemed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> -to dance before him, and again stared through her -into the distance of his breathless thoughts.</p> - -<p>“News that concerns you?” she asked.</p> - -<p>He nodded, holding his hand to his forehead.</p> - -<p>“Bad news?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he answered, as though speaking in a -dream. “Very bad ... wonderful!”</p> - -<p>She could not help smiling, and her intuition -quickly jumped to the truth. “Somebody has died -and left you some money?” she suggested.</p> - -<p>He uttered an almost hysterical laugh. “I’m -free!” he cried. “Free! I shall never have to go -back to the mines.”</p> - -<p>He sprang to his feet, folding the newspaper, -and crushing it in his hand.</p> - -<p>“Don’t go and faint again,” she said, quietly.</p> - -<p>He laughed loudly, and a moment later was -hastening into the hotel. He snatched his hat from -a peg in the hall, and hurried out through the dusty -little garden at the front of the building, and so -into the afternoon glare of the main road. Here -he hailed a carriage, and, telling the driver to take -him to the Eastern Exchange Telegraph office, sat -back on the jolting seat, and directed his eyes once -more to the Agony Column of the newspaper. The -incredible message read thus:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p><span class="smcap">James Champernowne Tundering-West</span>, heir to -the late Stephen Tundering-West, of the Manor, Eversfield, -Oxon, is requested to communicate with Messrs. -Browne & Beadle, 135<span class="smcap">a</span>, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, London.</p> - -</div> - -<p>His uncle was dead, then, and the two sons, his -unknown cousins, must have predeceased him or died -with him! He had never for one moment thought -of himself as a possible heir to the little property;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> -and heaven knows how long it might have been before -he would have had knowledge of his good fortune -had he not chanced upon this old newspaper.</p> - -<p>Arrived at his destination, he despatched a cablegram -to the solicitors, notifying them that he would -come to England by the first possible boat. Then he -drove on to Cook’s office in the heart of the city, -which he reached not long before it closed; and here, -after some anxious delay, he was told that a berth, -just returned by its prospective occupant, was available -on a French liner sailing for Marseilles that -night at eleven o’clock. This he secured without -hesitation, and so went galloping back towards the -hotel as the sun went down.</p> - -<p>In the open road, between the city and the hotel -another carriage passed him in which Monimé was -sitting, on her way to dine with some friends, of -whom she had spoken to him. He waved to her, -and both she and he called their drivers to a halt. -Then, hastening across to her, he told her excitedly -that he was sailing for England that night.</p> - -<p>“You see, I’ve inherited some property,” be explained. -“I must go and claim it at once.”</p> - -<p>Her face was inscrutable, but there was no light -of happiness in it. “I’m sorry it has come to an -end so soon,” she cried.</p> - -<p>“What?” he cried, and it was evident that he -was not listening to her. “You’ve been wonderful -to me. We mustn’t lose sight of each other. This -thing has got to go on and on for ever.”</p> - -<p>He hardly knew what he was saying. An hour -ago she had been almost the main factor in his existence. -Now she was but a fragment of a life he -was setting behind him. It was almost as though<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> -she were fading into a memory before his very eyes. -He was, as it were, looking through her at an -amazing picture which was unfolding itself beyond. -The yellow walls of the houses, the sea, the palms, -the sunset, were dissolving; and in their stead he -was staring at the green fields of England, at the -timbered walls of an old manor-house last seen -when he was a boy, at the grey stone church amongst -the ilex-trees and the moss-covered tombstones.</p> - -<p>“I must go on and pack at once,” he said, standing -first on one leg and then on the other. “You’re -sure to be back before I leave. You can get away -by ten, can’t you?”</p> - -<p>He wrung her hand effusively, and hurried to his -carriage, from which, standing up, he waved his -hat wildly to her as they drove off in opposite directions.</p> - -<p>But when the clock struck ten there was no sign -of Monimé and a few minutes later the hotel porter, -who was to accompany him to the harbour, -began to urge him to delay his departure no longer. -Being somewhat flurried, he thought to himself that -he would write her a farewell letter from the -steamer, and give it to the porter to carry back -with him.</p> - -<p>But by the time he had found his cabin and seen -to his baggage, the siren was blowing, and the -porter in alarm was hurrying down the gangway.</p> - -<p>“I’ll write or cable from Marseilles,” he said to -himself. “I don’t suppose she cares a rap about -me: the whole thing was due to our romantic surroundings. -But still one would be a fool to lose -sight of a real woman like that.... I wish I knew -her name.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_V">Chapter V: THE SQUIRE OF EVERSFIELD</h2> - -<p>The art of life is very largely the art of burying -bones. That is the science of mental -economy. When a man is confronted with -a problem which he cannot solve; when, so to speak, -Fate presents him with a bone which he cannot crack, -sometimes, without intent, he slinks away with it -and, like a dog, buries it, in the undefined hope that -at a later date he may unearth it and find it then -more manageable.</p> - -<p>Even so, during the sea voyage, Jim unconsciously -buried the bewildering thought of Monimé. -He was a careless fellow, very reprehensible, having -no actual harm in him, yet bearing a record -pock-marked, so to speak, with the sins of omission. -He was one of the world’s tramps by nature; -and now once more he was out upon the high road, -and the lights of the city wherein he had slept had -faded behind him as he wandered onwards into another -sunrise. It is true that he wrote her a long -and intense letter upon the day after his departure, -and that he posted this upon his arrival at Marseilles; -but his brain, by then full of other things, -conjured up no clear vision of her, and his heart -sent forth no impassioned message with the written -word. He had been deeply stirred by her, but -also he had been baffled; and, as in the case of a -dream, he made no effort to retain the sweetness -of the memory.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> - -<p>On the morning of his arrival he called at the -office of the solicitors who had inserted the advertisement, -and was not a little startled to find himself -greeted with that kind of obsequiousness which he -had supposed to have vanished from Lincoln’s Inn -fifty years ago.</p> - -<p>The little pink-and-white man who was the senior -partner, and whose name was Beadle, rubbed his -hands together as though he were washing them, -and actually walked backwards for some paces in -front of his visitor, bowing him into a shabby leather -chair which stood beside the large, imposing desk.</p> - -<p>“I hope,” he crooned, when Jim had established -his identity, “that we may still have the duty, and -pleasure, of serving you, sir, as we have served your -uncle and your grandfather.”</p> - -<p>“I hope so,” replied Jim. “I suppose you know -all the ins and outs of the family affairs.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Beadle smilingly directed the young man’s -attention to a number of black tin boxes stacked -in the corner of the room. “The Tundering-West -documents for the last two hundred years,” he declared, -blowing his breath through his teeth, an action -which served him for laughter.</p> - -<p>Jim had a vision of legal formalities and lawyers’ -rigmaroles—things which he had always detested; -and the passing thought contributed to the -growing dislike he felt for the harmless, but sycophantic, -Mr. Beadle.</p> - -<p>“Well, first of all,” he said, “tell me what my -inheritance consists of, and what sort of income -I’ve got.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Beadle explained that the little property<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> -comprised some two hundred acres, most of which -were rented; the score of houses and cottages which -constituted the tiny little village; the small but comfortable -manor-house; and twenty thousand pounds -of invested capital. This was better than Jim had -expected, and his pleasure was manifest by the broad -smile upon his tanned face.</p> - -<p>“You see, you will have quite a comfortable income -in a small way,” the solicitor told him. “I -do not think that your duties will embarrass you. -You will find your tenants very respectful and deferential -country-people, who will give you little -bother; and your obligations as landlord will be -very easily discharged.”</p> - -<p>“They’re a bit behind the times, eh?” suggested -Jim.</p> - -<p>“Ah, my dear sir,” said Mr. Beadle, “I am thankful -to say that there are still some parts of the -English countryside where a gentleman may live in -comfort, and where the people keep their place.”</p> - -<p>Jim was astonished by the remark, for he had believed -such sentiments to be entombed in the novels -of long ago. “Poor old England!” he murmured. -“We’re a comic race, aren’t we, Mr. Beetle?”</p> - -<p>“‘Beadle,’” the little old man corrected him; and -“Sorry!” said Jim.</p> - -<p>They spoke later of the tragedies which had thus -brought the inheritance out of the direct line, and -hereat came the conventional sighs from Mr. -Beadle, as forced as his laughter. Jim was told -how his cousin, Mark, had died in India of pneumonia, -and how his uncle and the remaining son, -James, having gone to the Lakes that the old gentleman<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> -might recover his equanimity, were both -drowned in a sudden squall while sailing at a considerable -distance from the shore. The bodies were -recovered and brought to Eversfield for burial; and -very solemnly the solicitor produced a photograph -of the memorial tablet which had been set up in the -church.</p> - -<p>“Some day, I trust a very long time hence, your -own mural tablet will be set up there,” he said, -after Jim had handed back the photograph in silence. -“‘Nihil enim semper floret; ætas succedit -ætati,’ as the good Cicero says.”</p> - -<p>“Quite so,” said Jim.</p> - -<p>“It has all been a terrible blow to me,” sighed -Mr. Beadle. “The late Mr. Tundering-West -treated me quite as a personal friend.”</p> - -<p>“Did he really?” Jim was going to be rude, but -checked himself. He felt an extraordinary hostility -to this well-meaning but servile little personage. “I -shall go down there to-morrow,” he remarked, as -he rose to take his departure, “and I’ll probably -have the house thoroughly renovated before I go -into it.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think you will find much that requires -alteration,” Mr. Beadle assured him, his hand -raised in a gesture of deprecation. “Hasty changes -are always undesirable; and, when you have grown -into the spirit of the place I think you will find -that you have a duty to the past.” He checked -himself, and bowed. “I trust you will not mind an -old man giving you that advice,” he murmured, as -they shook hands. He bowed so low that it appeared -to be a complete physical collapse.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p> - -<p>On the following day Jim motored to Eversfield -in a hired open car. He could with greater ease -have gone by train to Oxford, and could have driven -over in a fly; but he wanted to have the pleasure of -spending some of his new money, and, moreover, a -fifty-mile drive through the fair lands of Berkshire -and Oxfordshire in the radiance of a summer’s day -appealed to his imagination. Nor was he disappointed. -He acknowledged the beauties of the land -of his birth with whole-hearted pleasure; and his -eyes, weary with long gazing upon leaden skies and -burning sands, were soothed in a manner beyond -scope of words by the green fields, the soft foliage -of the trees, and grey skies of a hot, hazy morning. -It is true that the roads were extremely dusty, and -that his face and clothes were soon thickly powdered; -but, as the chauffeur had provided him with a pair -of motoring glasses, he was not troubled in this respect.</p> - -<p>The little hamlet of Eversfield lay seemingly -asleep in its hollow amidst the richly timbered hills, -as, at midday, he drove up to the grey stone gates -of his future home. Here was the narrow village -green just as he had last seen it when he was a boy: -on one side of the lane which opened on to it were -these imposing gates; on the other side were the -little church and moss-covered gravestones leaning -at all angles, as though the dead were whispering -together deferentially at the entrance of the manor. -Upon the green were the old stocks, and the stump -and worn steps of the ancient cross; and behind them -stood the thatched cottages backed by the stately -elms.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I suppose in years to come,” he thought, “I shall -be walking through these gates to the church on -Sundays, followed by the lady of my choice and -half-a-dozen children; and the villagers will nudge -one another and say ‘Here comes Squire and all his -little squirrels.’ ... Good Lord!”</p> - -<p>The exclamation was due to the sudden feeling -that he had walked into a trap, that he had been -caught by immemorial society, and would soon be -forced to conform to its ways; and, as the car passed -in at the gates of the manor, he had, for a moment, -a desire to jump out and run for his life.</p> - -<p>A short, straight drive, flanked by clipped box-trees, -led to the main door of the timbered Tudor -house; and here the new owner, dusty, and somewhat -untidily dressed, was received by the gardener -and his buxom wife, who had both grown grey in -his uncle’s service. The man held his cap in his -hand, and touched his wrinkled forehead with his -finger a number of times, painfully anxious to find -favour; while his wife curtseyed to him at least -thrice.</p> - -<p>“Are you the gardener?—what is your name?” -Jim asked briskly, feeling almost as awkward as the -man he addressed, but determined to go through the -ordeal with honour.</p> - -<p>“Peter, sir,” said the gardener. “Peter Longarm, -sir. I rec’lect you, sir, when you was no more’n -so ’igh, I do.”</p> - -<p>“Why, of course,” Jim replied. “I remember -you now. You’re the fellow who told my uncle when -I broke the glass of the forcing frame.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p> - -<p>The old man looked sheepish. “I ’ad to do my -dooty, sir,” he said. “I ask your pardon.”</p> - -<p>“Duty,” Jim thought to himself. “I’m beginning -to know that word. I wonder what it really means.” -He turned to the woman. “Now, please go and -open the doors of all the rooms, and then leave me -to walk through the house by myself.” He wanted -to be alone to realize his new possession and to -dream his dream of future ease. Mrs. Longarm -eyed him nervously for a moment before obeying -his instructions; she told her husband afterwards, -with tears in her eyes, that she felt as though she -were surrendering the house to a cut-throat -foreigner.</p> - -<p>As he wandered, presently, from room to room -he was at first overpowered by the feeling that he -was intruding upon the privacy of some sort of -family life which he did not understand. His uncle’s -wife had been dead for three or four years, but -there were still many traces of her influence: the -drawing-room, for example, was furnished in a style -which called to his mind faded pictures of feminine -tea-parties. Here was the old piano upon which -the good lady must have tinkled the songs of which -the music still lay in the cabinet near by—songs such -as <cite>My Mother Bids Me Bind My Hair</cite>, and <cite>Ah, -Welladay my Poor Heart</cite>. And here was the little -sewing-table where had doubtless rested the silks -and needles for her embroidery. Perhaps it was she -who had chosen the gilt-framed engravings upon -the walls—the depressed picture of “Hagar and -Ishmael in the Wilderness;” a youthful portrait of -Alexandra, Princess of Wales; “Jacob weeping<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> -over Joseph’s coat;” the sprightly “Hawking -Party,” and so forth.</p> - -<p>Looking around, he experienced a sensation of -mingled mirth and awe, and he hoped that the -ghost of his aunt would not haunt him when he -laid sacrilegious and violent hands upon these -things, as at first he intended to do. The chintzes -appeared to be of more recent date; but these, too, -would have to go, for, as a pattern, he detested -sprays of red roses tied with blue ribbons.</p> - -<p>The dining-room, hall and staircase, being -panelled and hung with family portraits, were impressive -in their conveyance of a sense of many generations; -and the hereditary library, if sombre, was -interesting. Jim was very fond of old books, and he -stood there for some time taking the calf-bound -volumes from the shelves, and turning over the -ancient pages. But, the morning-room, with its red-covered -chairs, its mahogany sideboard, and its -sham Chinese vases, was distressing. Yet here, as -in the drawing-room, there was a chaste and awful -solemnity, from which he shrank, as a conscientious -Don Juan might shrink at a lady’s <i lang="fr">prie-Dieu</i>.</p> - -<p>The larger bedrooms upstairs, with their -mahogany wardrobes and heavy chests of drawers -full of clothes, and cupboards full of boots and hats, -were startling in their association with their late -tenants. On a table beside his uncle’s bed there lay -a recent novel, which Jim himself had also just read: -it constituted a gruesome link between the living and -the dead. He glanced about him and through the -window, down the drive, almost expecting to see -the apparitions of his relatives stalking up from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> -family vault in the churchyard to see what he was -about. His uncle would probably think him a dreadful -scallawag, for the old gentleman had been an accredited -pillar of Church and State, with, so the cupboards -testified, a mania for collecting the top hats -he had worn on Sundays or when in town. He had -been a model of propriety, and the monumental -stone, the photograph of which he had seen at the -solicitors, stated that he had “nobly upheld the traditions -of his race.”</p> - -<p>Jim felt depressed, and presently went out into -the garden which was ablaze with flowers; and here, -after a late meal of sandwiches, eaten upon an ornamental -stone bench, his spirits revived, for the -manor and its setting formed a very beautiful picture. -If only he could get rid of all those hats and -clothes and old photographs!</p> - -<p>A sudden idea occurred to him: he would go and -find the padre, and tell him to take these things -for the poor of the parish. They must be got rid -of at once, even though every man in the village be -obliged to wear a top hat. They must all be gone -before he came here again, or he would never bring -himself to live in the house at all! He hurried down -the drive, asked Peter Longarm at the lodge to -point out the vicarage to him, and thereafter hastened -on his errand.</p> - -<p>Near the church, however, and at a point where -a gap in the trees revealed a distant view of the -dreaming, huddled spires of Oxford, flanked by the -lonely tower of Magdalen College, he met with a -white-bearded clergyman whom he presumed to be -the vicar, and at once accosted him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Excuse me,” he said, ingratiatingly, barring his -way. “Would you care to have some old hats?—I -mean of course, would your flock like to wear them?—Top -hats, you know, and old boots, too, if you -want them.”</p> - -<p>The elderly gentleman was annoyed, and, with a -curt “No thank you, not to-day,” proceeded on his -way. Jim, however, called after him, coaxingly: -“They are quite good hats really; they only want -brushing.”</p> - -<p>At this the man of God stopped and turned, -looking at Jim’s somewhat dusty figure with wonderment. -“Do I understand that you are selling old -hats?” he asked, endeavouring to speak politely.</p> - -<p>Jim rushed feverishly into explanation. “No, I -want to get rid of them,” he gabbled; “I want to get -rid of all sorts of things—hats, coats, trousers, -dressing-gowns, shirts, vests, boots, slippers, old -photographs, umbrellas ...” He paused for -breath, inwardly laughing.</p> - -<p>Very slowly and deliberately the clergyman adjusted -his eyeglasses low down upon his nose, and -stared at Jim. “Young man,” he said, “is this a -jest at my expense?”</p> - -<p>“Good Lord, no!” Jim answered. “I’m in deadly -earnest. I can’t possibly live in the house with all -these things. You <em>will</em> help me, won’t you? How -would it be if you came over to-morrow and cleared -them all out, and then had a meeting or something, -and gave them as prizes to the regular church-goers?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what you are talking about,” the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> -clergyman responded, gently but firmly pushing him -aside. “Good-day!”</p> - -<p>Jim stared at him as he walked. “You <em>are</em> the -vicar, aren’t you?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“No, I’m not,” the other replied somewhat -sharply, over his shoulder; “I’m the President of -Magdalen.”</p> - -<p>Jim uttered an exclamation of impatience, and -hastened on to the Vicarage.</p> - -<p>The servant who appeared in response to his -knock, was about to ask him his name, when the -vicar, an old man with a clean-shaven, kindly face, -and grey hair, happened to cross the hall.</p> - -<p>“Yes, what is it, what is it?” he asked, coming -to the door, while the maid retired.</p> - -<p>“Are you the vicar?” Jim asked, beginning more -cautiously.</p> - -<p>“I am,” the other responded.</p> - -<p>“You really are? Well I want to ask you about -some old clothes. I....”</p> - -<p>The vicar held up his hand. “No, I have none -to sell you,” he said smiling sadly. “I wear mine -out.”</p> - -<p>Jim laughed aloud. “First I’m thought to be -selling them, and now you think I’m buying them,” -he exclaimed. “We certainly are a nation of shop-keepers.”</p> - -<p>The vicar was puzzled. “I don’t understand. -What is it you want?”</p> - -<p>“I have a lot of hats and old clothes I want to -get rid of. I thought you might like them.”</p> - -<p>The clergyman bowed stiffly. “It is very kind of -you,” he said frigidly. “My stipend, I admit, is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> -small, but I am not yet reduced to the necessity of -wearing a stranger’s cast-off clothing.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I didn’t mean that,” Jim hastily explained. -“And they’re not mine: they belonged to my late -relatives. I am just coming to live at the manor, -and I thought the poor of the parish would....”</p> - -<p>The vicar interrupted him. “I beg your pardon. -Are you ...?” He hesitated, incredulous.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I’m the new Tundering-West,” Jim told -him.</p> - -<p>The other held out his hands. “Well, well!” -he cried. “And I thought you were....” He -hesitated.</p> - -<p>“The old clothes man,” laughed Jim.</p> - -<p>“Oh, very droll!” the vicar smiled, shaking him -warmly by the hand. “How ridiculous of me! Do -come in, my dear sir!”</p> - -<p>Jim followed him into the drawing-room, and -here he found a little old lady, who was introduced -to him as Miss Proudfoote, and a florid, middle-aged -man with a waxed moustache, who looked like -a sergeant-major, and proved to be Dr. Spooner, -the local medical man. They had evidently been -lunching at the Vicarage, and were now drinking the -post-prandial concoction which the English believe -to be coffee. They both greeted him with a sort of -deference, which however, did not conceal their -curiosity.</p> - -<p>During the next ten minutes Jim heard a great -deal of his “poor dear uncle” and his unfortunate -cousins. The tragedy of their deaths, it seemed, -had cast the profoundest gloom over the village; -but it was a case of “the King is dead; long live<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> -the King!” and all three of his new acquaintances -appeared to be anxious to pay him every respect.</p> - -<p>Dr. Spooner asked him from what part of England -he had just come, and the news that he had -been living abroad and had not visited the land of -his birth for many years caused a sensation. The -thought occurred to him that he ought not to mention -Egypt, or any other land which had recently -known him as Jim Easton; for any such revelations -might bring discredit upon him, and he wished to -start his life at Eversfield without any handicap. -He therefore spoke only of California, referring to -it casually as a country where he had resided.</p> - -<p>Miss Proudfoote turned to the vicar. “Is it not -extraordinary,” she said, “how many of our young -men shoulder what Mr. Kipling calls ‘the white -man’s burden’ and go forth to live amongst the -heathen?” Her geography was evidently at fault, -but out of consideration for her years and her sex, -no correction was forthcoming. “I suppose,” she -proceeded, “you met with our missionaries out there? -It is wonderful what a great work the Church -Missionary Society is doing all over the world.”</p> - -<p>The Doctor here had the hardihood to interpose. -“Oh, but California is a part of the United -States of America ...” he ventured.</p> - -<p>“How foolish of me!—of course,” smiled the -old lady. “The Americans are quite an educated -people. I met an American traveller once in -Oxford: a pleasant spoken young man he seemed, so -far as I could understand what he said.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” remarked the vicar, “America can no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> -longer be called ‘the common sewer of England,’ -as it was when I was a boy.”</p> - -<p>Jim stared from one to the other in amazement. -“But America is the largest and most progressive -part of the Anglo-Saxon race,” he protested. “They -are already ahead of us in many ways.”</p> - -<p>Miss Proudfoote was shocked, and she showed -it. “It is evident that you do not know England,” -she replied, coldly.</p> - -<p>“I mean,” he emphasized, “it always seems to -me a fine thought that England can never die, because -she will live again over there; and then she’ll -have another lease of life in Australia; and so on. -This England here may die, but the English will go -on for ever and ever, it seems to me. And wherever -their home may be,” he added, laughing, “they’ll always -think it ‘God’s own country,’ and think themselves -the chosen people.”</p> - -<p>Miss Proudfoote looked anxiously at him, hoping -that there was some good in him. “I trust,” she -said, “that it is now your intention to settle down?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he replied. “I fancy my wanderings are -over.”</p> - -<p>“Heaven has placed you in a very responsible -position,” she said, gazing earnestly at him. “I am -sure our best wishes will be with you in your duties.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, indeed,” sighed the vicar, whose name, as -Jim had just ascertained, was Glenning. “Are you a -married man, may I ask?”</p> - -<p>“Oh no,” Jim replied.</p> - -<p>Miss Proudfoote patted his arm. “We shall have -to find you a wife,” she smiled.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p> - -<p>Jim was aghast, and hastily changed the subject. -“Now about the old clothes,” he began.</p> - -<p>Mr. Glenning coloured, slightly. “What an absurd -error for me to have made,” he said. “Now, -tell me, what is it you wish me to do?”</p> - -<p>“I’m going back to London to-day,” Jim explained, -“and I want you, while I am away, to -go through all my uncle’s things, and give away to -the poor everything you think I shall not want. -Just use your own judgment.”</p> - -<p>“It will be a melancholy duty,” he replied.</p> - -<p>“I’m sure it will,” the new Squire answered, “but, -I tell you frankly, anything useless I find here when -I return I shall burn.”</p> - -<p>The vicar raised his hands; the doctor sniffed; and -Miss Proudfoote looked at the stranger indignantly.</p> - -<p>“That is rather hasty, is it not?” she asked, -tremulously.</p> - -<p>Jim felt awkward. He had made a bad impression, -and he knew it. “You see,” he tried to explain, -“my uncle died so suddenly and the place -is littered with his things. All I want to keep is the -furniture, and the silver, and the books, and that -sort of thing, but I will see to that myself.”</p> - -<p>Miss Proudfoote turned away suddenly and Jim, -to his horror, saw her raise a handkerchief to her -eyes. He could have kicked himself. He wished -the floor would open and engulf him. He looked -in despair at the two men.</p> - -<p>“You know I haven’t seen my uncle since I was a -boy,” he stammered. “I am a complete stranger.”</p> - -<p>“He was our very dear friend,” said Mr. Glenning.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VI">Chapter VI: SETTLING DOWN</h2> - -<p>While the congregation in the little church -at Eversfield was singing the last hymn -of the morning service the October sun -passed from behind an extensive bank of cloud, and -its rays shot down through the plain glass window -upon the figure of a young woman, whose sudden -and surprising illumination instantly attracted many -pairs of eyes to her. She looked, and knew it, like -a little angel as she stood in this shaft of brilliance, -hymn-book in hand, singing the well-known words -in a voice which enhanced their ancient sweetness; -and the vicar, from his place at the side of the small -chancel, fixed his gaze upon her with an expression -of such saintly beatitude upon his face as to be almost -idiotic.</p> - -<p>Her name was Dorothy Darling; but her mother, -who here stood beside her in the shadow under the -wall, called her Dolly, and rightly congratulated -herself upon having chosen for her only baby, -twenty-three years ago, a name of which the diminutive -was so appropriate to the now grown woman.</p> - -<p>In the sunshine the girl’s soft, fair hair looked -like a puff of gold, and her skin like coral; and the -play of light and shade accentuated the pretty lines -of her figure, so that they were by no means lost -under the folds of her smart little frock. Her -large, soft eyes were as innocent as they were blue,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> -and never a glance betrayed the fact that she was -singing for the direct benefit of the new Squire, -whose head and shoulders appeared above the -carved wooden walls of the sort of loose-box which -was his family pew.</p> - -<p>The miniature church, though dating from the -twelfth century, still retained the features by which -it had been transformed and modernized in the obsequious -days of Walpole and the first of the -Georges. The pews for the “gentry” were boxed -in, and each was fitted with its door; but the walls -of Jim’s pew were higher than the others and its -area bigger. At the back of the church there were -the open seats for the villagers and persons of vulgar -birth; but the woodwork here was not carved, -save with the occasional initials of lads long since -passed out of memory.</p> - -<p>At the sides of the chancel were set the mural -tablets which recorded the genealogical lustres of -dead Tundering-Wests, back to the day when a certain -Captain of Horse had obtained a grant of the -manor from the Commonwealth, in lieu of his devastated -estate in Devon, and, with admirable tact, had -married the daughter of the exiled Royalist owner. -Around the whitewashed walls of the small nave -large wooden boards were hung, upon which were -painted the arms and quarterings of the successive -Squires and their spouses; and above the chancel -arch the royal Georgian escutcheon was displayed in -still vivid colours.</p> - -<p>The church, indeed, was a tiny monument to all -that glory of caste which its Divine Founder abhorred, -and which the aforesaid Roundhead, misapprehending<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> -the unalterable character of his fellow-countrymen, -had apparently fought in his own -day to suppress.</p> - -<p>When the hymn was finished, the blessing spoken, -and Mr. Glenning gone into the vestry behind the -organ, this traditional distinction between the classes -was emphasized by the behaviour of the little congregation. -Nobody of the meaner sort moved towards -the sunlit doorway until Jim, looking extraordinarily -embarrassed, had marched down the aisle -and had passed out into the autumnal scurry of falling -leaves, followed closely by Mrs. and Miss Darling, -Mr. Merrivall of Rose Cottage, Dr. and Mrs. -Spooner, and old Miss Proudfoote of the Grange; -and, when these were gone, way had still to be made -for young Farmer Hopkins and his wife, Farmer -Cartwright and his idiot son, and the other families -of local standing.</p> - -<p>Outside, in the keen October air, Jim paused under -the ancient ilex-tree, and turned to bid good-morning -to the Darlings. Dolly had interested and -attracted him during these three months since he -took up his residence at the manor; but he had been -so much occupied in settling himself into his new -home that he had not given her all the attention he -felt was her due, now that the shaft of sunlight -in the church had revealed her to him in the palpable -charm of her maidenhood.</p> - -<p>He greeted her, therefore, with cheery ardour, as -though she were a new discovery, and walked beside -her and her mother down the path which wound -between the moss-covered gravestones, and out into -the lane under the rustling elms. A great change<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> -had come over him since he had returned to England: -he had become in some ways more normal, and -the quiet, simple life of an English village had, as -it were, taken much of the exotic colour out of his -thoughts. In the romantic East he had looked for -romance, but here in the domestic West his mind -had turned towards domesticity. His poetic imagination -was temporarily blunted; and whereas in -Alexandria he had responded eagerly to the enchantments -of hour and place, in Eversfield he was readily -satisfied with a more rational aspect of life.</p> - -<p>He turned to the mother. “What a little picture -your daughter looked, singing that hymn in the sunlight,” -he remarked, with enthusiasm.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Darling sighed. Twenty years ago she, -too, had been a little picture; but, so she thought -to herself, she had had more character in her face -than Dolly, and less softness. Outwardly her little -girl took after that scamp of a father of hers, whose -innocent blue eyes and boyish face had won him -more frequent successes than his continence could -handle.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she replied, evasively, “that is Dolly’s -favourite hymn.... She has a nice little voice.”</p> - -<p>“Delightful!” said Jim. “I didn’t know hymns -could sound so beautiful!”</p> - -<p>Dolly looked at him as our great-grandmothers -must have looked when they said, “Fie!”</p> - -<p>“Aren’t you a regular church-goer?” she asked, -gazing up at him with childlike eyes.</p> - -<p>“Can’t say I am,” he answered, with a quick -laugh. “I’m new to all this, you know. I’ve -knocked about all over the world since I left school.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> -But, I say!—that family pew, and the respectful -villagers!—they give me the hump!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I think it is charming, perfectly charming,” -said Mrs. Darling.</p> - -<p>“Well,” he replied, “I expect I’ll get used to it. -I suppose this sort of life grows on one: in some -ways I’m beginning to have a sort of settled feeling -already.”</p> - -<p>They were walking away from the gates of the -Manor, which rose opposite the ivy-covered church, -and were approaching the picturesque little cottage -where the Darlings lived. Jim paused, and as he -did so Dolly experienced a sudden sense of disappointment. -She had hoped that he would accompany -them to their door, and she had intended then -to entice him through it, and to show him over their -pretty rooms and round the flower-garden and the -orchard. Until now they had only occasionally met, -and their exchanges of conversational trivialities -had been carried on in the lane, or at the door of -the church, or outside the cottage which served as -the post-office. He seemed to be a difficult man to -take hold of; and during the last few weeks, since -her mind had begun to be so disastrously full of the -thought of him, she had felt ridiculously frustrated -in her attempts to develop their friendship. Frustration, -of course, is woman’s destiny, which meets -her at every turn; but in youth it sometimes serves -as her incentive.</p> - -<p>“Won’t you come in and see our little home?” -she asked. “It’s rather a treasure.”</p> - -<p>He shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t,” he replied. -“I promised to go round my place with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> -gardener this morning. He’ll be waiting for me -now. But, I say, what about dinner to-night? -Won’t you both dine with me?” He was feeling -reckless.</p> - -<p>Dolly’s heart leapt, and, in a flash, she had selected -the dress she would put on, and had considered -whether she should wear the little diamond -pendant or the sham pearls.</p> - -<p>“We shall be delighted,” murmured Mrs. Darling. -“Eh, Dolly?”</p> - -<p>The girl looked doubtful. “I don’t know that -we ought to to-night,” she answered. “We had -half promised to drive over to a sort of sacred -concert affair in Oxford.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t disappoint me,” said Jim. “I’ve got -the house almost shipshape now; I’d like you to -see it.”</p> - -<p>Dolly did not require really to be pressed; and -soon the young man was striding homewards down -the lane, wondering why it had taken him three -months to realize that this girl was perfectly adorable; -while she, on her part, was pinching Mrs. -Darling’s arm and saying: “Oh, mother dear, -doesn’t he look delightfully <em>wicked</em>!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, he seems a nice, sardonic fellow,” her -mother remarked grimly, as they entered their -house. “Why did you begin by saying we were -engaged to-night? It’s the first I’ve heard of it.”</p> - -<p>Dolly smiled. “Oh, I made that up, because I -thought you were too prompt in accepting. He’ll -want us all the more if we are stand-offish. Men -are like that.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Darling sniffed. She was a lazy, plump,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> -and rather languid little woman; and sometimes she -grew impatient at her daughter’s ingenious method -of dealing with these sorts of situations. She herself -had grown more direct in her Yea and Nay: -perhaps at the age of forty-five she was a little tired -of dissimulation. The world had treated her -scurvily; and, having a settled grievance, she was -inclined now to take whatever pleasant things were -to be had for the asking, without any subtle manœuvering -for position.</p> - -<p>Her husband had left her when Dolly was five -years old, and, so far as she knew, he was now dead. -For several years she had bravely maintained herself -in a tiny Kensington flat by writing social and -theatrical articles for pretentious papers. She had -been a purveyor of gossip, a tattle-monger, a dealer -in bibble-babble; and she had carried on her trade -with an increasing inclination to yawn over it, and a -growing consciousness of her daughter’s contempt, -until the editors who had supported her became -aware that her heart was not in her work, and five -years ago gave her her <i lang="fr">congé</i>.</p> - -<p>Then, with a temporary display of energy, she -had followed Dolly’s cultured advice, and had established -a little business off Sloane Square, which -she called “The Purple Shop.” Here she sold purple -cushions and lamp-shades, poppy-heads dipped in -purple paint, poetry-books in purple covers, sketches -by Bakst in purple frames, lengths of purple damask, -and so forth. But purple went out of fashion, and -her once very considerable profits sank to the vanishing -point. She introduced other colours, and -softer shades of mauve and lilac. She sold a doll<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> -which had mauve hair and naughty black eyes; she -took in a stock of bottled new potatoes tinged with -a harmless purple liquid, and presented them to the -jaded world of fashion as <i lang="fr">Pommes de terre pourpres -de Tyr</i>; she even sold brilliant bath-robes for bored -bachelors, with coloured soap to match.</p> - -<p>A financial crash followed, and, after a few -months spent in dodging her creditors, she heard of -this little cottage at Eversfield, and fled to it with -her daughter, leaving no address. She was in receipt -of a small annual allowance from the estate of -a deceased brother, and this she supplemented by -writing the monthly fashion article in one of the -journals devoted to the world, the flesh and the devil. -She wrote under the nom-de-plume of “Countess -X”; and her material was obtained by a monthly -visit to London and a tour of the leading modistes.</p> - -<p>For eighteen months now she had lain low in this -nook of the Midlands where Time stood still, and -gradually she had ceased to dread the visit of the -postman, and had begun to take a languid interest -in the cottage. The colour purple no longer set her -fat knees knocking together, and lately she had -been able even to look up some of her old friends -in London and to greet them with the sad, brave -smile of a wronged woman.</p> - -<p>To Dolly, however, the enforced seclusion had -been a sore trial, and there were times when her -pretty eyes were red with weeping. She had been -utterly bored by the purposeless existence she was -called upon to lead; but now the arrival of the new -Squire at the manor, which had hardly seen its -previous owner during the last year of his life,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> -had aroused her from her sorrows and had set -her heart in a flutter. She liked his strange, -swarthy face and his moody eyes, and thought he -looked artistic and even intellectual; and she liked -his obvious embarrassment at the deference paid -to him in this little kingdom which he had inherited.</p> - -<p>She spent the afternoon, therefore, in a condition -of pleasurable excitement, stitching at the dress -she was going to wear and making certain alterations -to the shape of the neck.</p> - -<p>While she plied her needle, Mrs. Darling sat at -the low window overlooking the orchard, and -scribbled her monthly article upon a writing-pad -resting on her knee. “Here is a charming little -conceit I chanced upon in Bond Street t’other day,” -she wrote. “It is really a tub-time frock; but its -success in the drawing-room is likely to be immediate. -Organdy ruchings of moonlight blue, and -a <i lang="fr">soupçon</i> of jet cabochons on the corsage. It is -named ‘Hopes in turmoil.’” And again, “I noticed, -too, a crisp little <i lang="fr">trotteur</i> frock, with a nipped-in -waist-line hesitating behind a <i lang="fr">moyenage</i> girdle of -beige velours delaine. They have called it ‘Cupid’s -Teeth.’ Oh, very snappy, I assure you, my dears!”</p> - -<p>She smiled lazily as she wrote, but once she sighed -so heavily that her daughter asked her if anything -were amiss.</p> - -<p>“No,” she replied. “I was only just wondering -whether anybody in their senses could understand -the nonsense I am writing. The editor’s orders -are to make the thing sound French: I should lose -my job if I wrote in plain English.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh dear,” sighed Dolly, “how tedious all that -sort of thing seems! I wonder that you can bother -with it.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve got to,” her mother answered, with irritation. -“I shan’t be able to give it up till you are -married and off my hands.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, so you are always telling me,” said Dolly; -and therewith their silence was renewed.</p> - -<p>Night had fallen when they set out for the manor, -and the lane was intensely dark. They were guided, -however, by the light in the window of the lodge -at the gates; and from here to their destination -they were accompanied by the gardener, who carried -a lantern which flung their shadows, like great -black monsters, across the high box-hedges flanking -the main approach. From the outside the timbered -house looked ghostly and forbidding; and by contrast, -the front hall which they entered seemed -wonderfully well-lit, though only lamps and candles -and the flames of the log-fire served for illumination.</p> - -<p>Here Jim came to them as they were removing -their wraps, and Dolly could see by the expression -on his face that her dress had his hearty approval. -He led them into the library, where his late uncle’s -books, arranged upon the high shelves, and the -rather heavy furniture, presented a picture of solid -dignity; and presently they were ushered into the -panelled dining-room, where they sat down at a -warmly lit table, under the silent scrutiny of a -gallery of dead Tundering-Wests and that of a -gaping village housemaid who appeared to be more -or less moribund.</p> - -<p>The food provided by Jim’s thoroughly incompetent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> -cook was not a success, and when some rather -tough mutton chops had followed a dish of under-boiled -cod, which had been preceded by a huge -silver tureen of lukewarm soup, their host felt that -some words of apology were due to his guests.</p> - -<p>“You must try to bear with the menu,” he -laughed. “This is my cook’s first situation. She -was recommended to me by Mr. Glenning, the vicar, -as a girl who was willing to learn; but it only occurred -to me afterwards that that was not much -good when there was nobody to teach her.”</p> - -<p>“You must let me give her a few lessons,” said -Dolly, at which her mother stared in astonishment, -knowing that her daughter understood about as -much of cooking as a dumb-waiter.</p> - -<p>Yet the girl was not conscious of deception, nor -was she aware that she was acting a part, and acting -it mainly for her own edification. She pictured -herself just now as a splendid little housewife, and -she would have been gravely insulted if her mother -had told her that her dream was devoid of reality. -In her mind she saw herself as the lady of the manor, -quietly, unobtrusively, yet all-wisely, directing its -affairs; a sweet smiling Bunty pulling the strings; -a little ray of sunshine in the great, grey old house; -a source of comfort to her lord which he would not -appreciate until she should go away to stay with her -mother, whereon he would write to her telling her -that since her departure everything had gone wrong.</p> - -<p>Throughout her life she had played such parts -to herself, her rôles varying according to circumstances. -At the Purple Shop she had been the dreamy -little artist, destined for higher things, but forced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> -by cruel poverty to act as assistant saleswoman to -a soulless mother, and to smile bravely at the world, -though her artist’s heart was breaking. When first -she had come to Eversfield and had fallen under the -spell of the green woods, she had had a severe bout -of “Merrie England.” She had tripped through -the fields in a sun-bonnet, and had begged her mother -to buy a harpsichord. She had joined a society of -ladies in Oxford who were attempting to revive -folk-dancing, and she had footed it nimbly on the -sward while the curate played “Hey-diddle-diddle” -to them on his flute.</p> - -<p>Later she had gone through the nymph-and-fairy -phase, and, in the depth of the woods, had let her -hair down so that it looked in the sunlight, she supposed, -like woven gold. She had danced her way -barefooted from tree to tree, sipping the dew from -the dog-roses, and singing snatches of strange, wild -songs about the “little people,” and talking to the -birds; and when Farmer Cartwright had caught -her at it, she had looked at him, she believed, like -a startled fawn.</p> - -<p>But now, since the new Squire, with his background -of rich lands and ancient tenure, had come -into her life, she had played the little helpmate, -the goodwife in her dairy, the mistress in her kitchen -with whole-hearted enthusiasm. She thought of beginning -to collect a book of Simples, in which there -would be much mention of Marjoram, Rosemary, -Rue and Thyme; soveraign Balsames for Woundes, -and Cordiall Tinctures for ye Collicke; receipts for -the making of Quince-Wine, or Syllabubs of Apricocks; -and so forth. Phrases such as “The little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> -mistress of the big house,” “My lady in her pleasaunce,” -or “—in her herbal garden,” had been drifting -through her head for some time past; and hence -her offer to set Jim’s cuisine to rights fell naturally -from her lips.</p> - -<p>Nor was this the only show of interest she displayed -in his domestic affairs. After the meal was -finished and they were sitting around the fire in the -library, she asked Jim to show her the drawing-room, -which was not yet in use; and when he was about to -lead her to it she made peremptory signs to her -mother to refrain from accompanying them.</p> - -<p>As she tiptoed down the passage and across the -hall at Jim’s side, she laid her hand upon his -proffered arm, and he was surprised at the lightness -of the touch of her fingers. He did not, perhaps, -compare it actually to thistledown, which, at the -moment, was the description her own mind was -fondly giving it; but her painstaking effort to defeat -the Newtonian law resulted, as she desired, in -an increased consciousness on his part that she was -a very fairy-like creature.</p> - -<p>The drawing-room was in darkness, and as they -entered it she uttered a little squeak of nervousness -which went, as it was intended, straight to his manly -heart. He put his disengaged hand on her fingers -and felt their response: they seemed to be seeking -his protection, and his senses were thrilled at the -contact. He could have kissed her as she stood.</p> - -<p>“Wait a minute,” he said, “I’ll light the candles.”</p> - -<p>“No, don’t,” she answered. “It looks so ghostly -and wonderful.”</p> - -<p>She crept forward into the room, into which only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> -the reflected light from the hall penetrated, and -presently she came to a stand upon the hearth-rug. -He followed her, and stood close at her side; one -might have harkened to both their hearts beating. -Then, boldly, he put his arm in hers and took hold -of her hand. It was trembling.</p> - -<p>“Why,” he said, in surprise, “you’re shaking with -fright.”</p> - -<p>“No, it isn’t fright,” she stammered....</p> - -<p>The voice of worldly wisdom whispered to him: -“Look out!—this is getting precious close to the -danger zone”; and, with a saner impulse, he removed -his hand from hers, struck a match, and lit -the candle.</p> - -<p>“Oh, now you’ve spoilt it!” she exclaimed, not -without irritation, and then added quickly: “The -ghosts have vanished.”</p> - -<p>He held the candle up, and told her to look round -the room; but as she did so his own eyes were fixed -upon her averted face, and had she turned she -would have realized at once that her triumph was -nigh.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VII">Chapter VII: THE GAME OF SURVIVAL</h2> - -<p>Upon the following afternoon the vicar came -to call at the manor. Jim had handed over -to him as the oldest friend of the late Squire -all his uncle’s letters, diaries, and other papers, and -had asked him to look through them; and, the task -being accomplished, he was now bringing them back, -carefully docketed and tied up in a large parcel.</p> - -<p>As he entered the house there came to his venerable -ears the sounds of singing and the twanging -of strings.</p> - -<p>“Dear me, what is that?” he asked the maid, -pausing in the hall.</p> - -<p>“Oh, it’s only the master a-playing of ’is banjo,” -the girl explained, smiling at the vicar, who had -been her friend since her earliest childhood. “’E -often gets took like that, sir. Cook says it’s ’is -furrin blood.”</p> - -<p>“But he has no foreign blood,” Mr. Glenning -told her.</p> - -<p>“’E looks a furrin gentleman,” she replied, “and -’is ways....” She paused, remembering her manners.</p> - -<p>The vicar was shown into the drawing-room, and -here he found the Squire seated upon the arm of -the sofa, his guitar across his knees.</p> - -<p>“Hullo, padre!” said Jim. “Excuse the music.” -He was somewhat abashed at thus being taken unawares,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> -for he had little idea that his singing was -anything but an infernal noise, intended by Nature -to be a vent to the feelings. And these feelings, -just now, were of a somewhat violent character, -for, though he was not yet aware of his plight, he -was in love.</p> - -<p>In the early part of the afternoon he had gone -for a wandering walk in the woods adjoining the -manor, in order to escape a sense of depression -which had descended upon him. “It must be this old -house,” he had said to himself, “with its weight of -years. It feels like a trap in which I’ve been caught, -a trap laid by the forefathers to catch the children -and teach them their manners.” And therewith he -had rushed out into the sunshine.</p> - -<p>Mr. Glenning smiled indulgently. “I shall have -to make use of your voice in church,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, you don’t!” Jim laughed, pretending to -edge away. “Your choir is bad enough as it is.”</p> - -<p>The vicar was hurt, and Jim hastened to obliterate -his thoughtless words by remarking that he had, not -long since, come in from a tour of exploration in -the woods, and had found them very pleasant.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” his visitor replied, “they have grown up -nicely. In the Civil War all the trees were felled -by Cromwell’s men during the siege of Oxford; -but one of your ancestors replanted the devastated -area after the Restoration, and the place now looks, -I dare say, just as it did before that unfortunate -quarrel.”</p> - -<p>The thought did not please Jim. Even the woods, -then, which that afternoon seemed to him to be a -place of escape from the pall of history, were but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> -a part of the chain of ancient circumstances which -bound the whole estate. Even in their depths he -would not be out of hearing of the voice of his -forefathers, which told him that they had sowed for -posterity and that he must do likewise.</p> - -<p>He dismissed the irksome reflection by asking -the vicar the nature of the parcel which he had deposited -on the table.</p> - -<p>Mr. Glenning explained that it contained his -uncle’s letters, and therewith he unfastened the -string, ceremoniously, and revealed a bundle of small -packets. “I have been through all these, except this -one package,” he said, holding up a small parcel, -“and I certainly think they are worth keeping, for -they display your uncle’s noble character in a variety -of ways.”</p> - -<p>“He seems to have been a fine old fellow,” Jim -remarked.</p> - -<p>“He was, indeed,” replied the vicar. “He represented -all the best in our English life.” And -therewith he enlarged upon the dead man’s virtues, -while Jim listened attentively, feeling that the words -were intended as an admonition to himself.</p> - -<p>At length Mr. Glenning turned to the unopened -package. “I have been much exercised in my mind,” -he said, “as to what to do in regard to this one -packet. It is marked, as you see, ‘To be destroyed -at my death.’ Of course, the words do not actually -state that the contents are not to be read; but I -thought it would be best to consult you first.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks,” replied Jim. “I’ll have a look at it -some time.”</p> - -<p>He opened the drawer in the bureau, and bundled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> -the letters into it, while the vicar watched him, feeling -that he was sadly lacking in reverence, and -not a little disappointed, perhaps, that the young -man had not invited him to deal with the unopened -packet.</p> - -<p>Later, when Jim was alone once more, he took this -mysterious packet from the drawer, and, seating -himself upon the sofa beside the fire, cut the string.</p> - -<p>The nature of the contents was at once apparent: -they were the relics of an affair of the heart, and -a glance at the signature of two or three of the -letters revealed the fact that the writer was not -Jim’s aunt. “Ah,” said he, with satisfaction, “then -the old paragon was human, like all the rest of us.”</p> - -<p>A perusal of the badly-written pages, however, -dispelled the atmosphere of romance which the first -short messages of twenty years ago had promised. -The story began well enough, so far as he could -gather. The lady, whose name was Emily, had -evidently lost her heart to her middle-aged lover, -and was delighted with the little house he had provided -for her in a London suburb. Two or three -years later she became a mother, but the child had -died, and there was a pathetic document recording -her grief. In more recent years the intrigue had -developed into an established union; and Emily, now -grown complacent, and probably fat, became a secondary -spouse and mistress of the old gentleman’s -alternative home. The tale ended, however, with -Emily’s marriage, two years ago, at the age of forty, -to a young city clerk; and the only romantic features -of the close of his uncle’s double life was the fact that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> -he had preserved a little handkerchief of hers and -a dead rose.</p> - -<p>“Well, Emily,” said Jim, aloud, “I wish you -luck, wherever you are”; and with that he gently -thrust the relics into the flames.</p> - -<p>For some time he lay back upon the sofa in the -firelight, his arms behind his head, and thought -over the story which had been revealed. It seemed, -then, that the Eleventh Commandment, “Thou -shalt not be found out,” was the essential of respectable -life. A man could do what he liked, -provided that his delinquencies were hidden from -his neighbours. Was this sheer hypocrisy?—or was -there some principle behind the code? Did not -Plato once say: “Every man should exert himself -never to appear to any one to be of base metal?” -He had read the quotation somewhere. Ought a -man’s epitaph, then, to be: “He lived nobly, in that -he kept up appearances”?—or would it be better -frankly to write: “He tried to walk delicately, but -the old Adam tripped him up?”</p> - -<p>What would the vicar, what would Miss Proudfoote, -have said had either of them known of this -double life? Where would then have been the beautiful -example of a goodly life which his uncle had left -behind him as an inspiration to the whole neighbourhood? -Was it not better that the secret was kept?</p> - -<p>He found no answer to the questions which he -thus put to himself; and all that was apparent to -him was that decent society was based not upon the -truth, but upon the hiding of the truth, and that the -more lofty the pretence the more high-principled -would be the community. “Truly,” he muttered,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> -“we Anglo-Saxons are called hypocrites; but it is -our hypocrisy that keeps us clean!” And with that -he returned to his guitar.</p> - -<p>A few days later he took Dolly for a walk across -the fields. It was an autumnal afternoon, and although -the sun shone down from a cloudless sky, -there was a chilly haze over the land, which presaged -the coming of the first frosts.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know how I’m going to stand an English -winter,” he said to her, as they sat to rest upon a -stile, under an oak from which the leaves were falling. -“Just look at the branches up there. They -are nearly bare already.” He shuddered.</p> - -<p>She looked at him almost reproachfully. “Oh, -I’m sorry to hear you say that,” she replied. “I -love the winter. I am a child of the North, you -know. To me the grey skies and the bare trees -have a sort of meaning I can’t quite explain. They -are so ... so English. Think of the long, dark -evenings, when you sit over the hearth, and the firelight -jumps and dances about the walls. Think how -cosy one feels when one is tucked up in bed.”</p> - -<p>He glanced down at her, and she smiled up at -him with innocent eyes.</p> - -<p>“Think of the snow on the ground,” she went -on, “and the robins hopping about. You should -just see me scampering over the snow in my big -country boots, and sliding down the lane. Oh, it’s -lovely!”</p> - -<p>“I shouldn’t think my house is very warm,” he -mused.</p> - -<p>“It could be made awfully cosy, I’m sure,” she -said. “You must have big log fires; and if I were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> -you I’d buy some screens to put behind the sofas and -armchairs around the fire, so that you can have little -lamp-lit corners where you can sit as warm as a -toast.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, that’s a good idea,” he answered.</p> - -<p>“Have you got a woolly waistcoat?” she asked, -and when he replied in the negative she told him -that she would knit one for him at once. “I love -knitting,” she said; and at the moment she believed -that she did.</p> - -<p>As they walked on she enlarged upon the delights -of winter; and such pleasant pictures did she draw -that Jim began to think the coming experience might -hold unexpected happiness for him. She managed, -somehow, to introduce herself into all the scenes -which she sketched, now as a smiling little figure, -vibrating with healthy life in the open air, now purring -like a warm, sleepy kitten before the fire indoors.</p> - -<p>“From what I saw the other night,” she told him, -“you seem to have an excellent hot-water supply. -You’ll be able to have beautiful hot baths.... I -simply love lying in a boiling bath before I go to -bed, don’t you?”</p> - -<p>“I can’t say I do,” he laughed. “It makes the -sheets feel so cold.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, but you must have them warmed, with a -hot-bottle or something,” she explained. “When it’s -very, very cold I sometimes creep into bed with -mother, and we cuddle up and warm each other.”</p> - -<p>Again he glanced down at her quickly, wondering.... -But her eyes were those of a child.</p> - -<p>Presently their path led them through a gate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> -into a field in which a few cows were grazing; and -on seeing them Dolly hesitated.</p> - -<p>“You’ll think me awfully silly,” she faltered, -swallowing nervously, “but I’m rather frightened -of cows.”</p> - -<p>He smiled down at her. “Take my arm,” he -said; and without waiting for her to do so, he -linked his own arm in hers and laid his hand over -her fingers.</p> - -<p>She looked anxiously at a mild-eyed, motherly -cow which, weighed down by her full udder, moved -towards them slowly. “Oh dear,” she whispered, -“d’you think that cow is a bull?”</p> - -<p>She tugged at his arm, hurrying him forward; -and thereat he closed his hand more tightly over -hers and drew her close to him. He had always -regarded himself as a man of the world, and his -intellect had ever poked fun at his sentiments. Yet -now, in a situation so blatantly commonplace that -he might have been expected to be totally unmoved -by it, he was intrigued like a novice. Protecting a -maiden from the cows!—it was the A.B.C. of the -bumpkin’s lovelore; and yet that vulgar old lady, -Nature, had once more effectually employed her -hackneyed device to his undoing, and here was he -rejoicing in his protective strength, thrilled by the -beating heart of a frightened girl, as all his ancestors -for hundreds of thousands of years had been thrilled -before him in the heydays of their adolescence and -in the morning of life.</p> - -<p>The amiable cow breathed heavily at them from -a discreet distance, and then, suddenly hilarious,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> -lowered her head, kicked out her hind legs, and -gambolled beside them for a few yards.</p> - -<p>“Oh, oh!” cried Dolly, grabbing at Jim’s coat -with her disengaged hand. “I’m sure he’s going to -toss us! Oh, do let’s run!”</p> - -<p>Jim halted, and held out his hand to the matronly -beast. At that moment the jeering sprite which -sits in the brain of every Anglo-Saxon, pointing -with the finger of mockery at his heroics, was pushed -from its throne; and for a brief spell the bravado -of primitive, gasconading man—the young Adam -cock-a-hoop—was dominant. Jim stepped forward, -dragging Dolly with him, and hit the astonished cow -sharply across her flank with his hand, whereat she -went off at her best speed across the turf.</p> - -<p>“Oh, how brave you are!” whispered Dolly; and -with that the jesting sprite climbed back upon its -throne, and Jim was covered with shame.</p> - -<p>“Nonsense!” he said. “You don’t suppose cows -are put into a field through which there’s a right -of way unless they are perfectly harmless, do you?”</p> - -<p>But pass it off as he might, Nature had played her -old, old trick upon him, and in some subtle manner -his relationship to Dolly had become more intimate, -more alluring; so much so, indeed, that when he said -“good-bye” to her he asked to be allowed soon to -see her again.</p> - -<p>“I want to go in to a lecture in Oxford to-morrow -evening,” she replied; “but mother has to go to -London, and won’t be back in time to take me. -Would you like to come?”</p> - -<p>“What’s the lecture about?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“‘The Emotional Development of the Child,’”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> -she replied. “I love anything to do with children, -and everybody says Professor Robarts is wonderful. -He believes that a child’s character is formed in -the first three or four years of its life, and he thinks -all girls should learn just what to do, so that when -they have babies of their own....” She paused, -and a dreamy look came into her eyes: a speaking -look which told of what the psycho-analysts call -“the mother-urge”; and it made precisely that impression -upon Jim’s excited senses which it was intended -to make.</p> - -<p>Wise was the Buddha when, in answer to Ananda’s -question as to how he should behave in the -presence of women, he made the laconic reply: -“Keep wide awake.”</p> - -<p>“Right!” said Jim. “I’ll order old Hook’s -barouche, and drive you in.”</p> - -<p>She told him that the lecture was to begin at -nine, and he left her with the promise that he would -call for her in good time.</p> - -<p>Alone once more in his house, he could not put -the thought of her from his mind. This, perhaps, -is not to be wondered at, for he was a hot-blooded -gipsy in more than appearance, and she was as pretty -and soft a little picture of feminine charm as ever -graced an English village. He failed, at any rate, -to follow her strategy, and permitted himself to be -flustered by it, although there was no deliberate -method in her movements, nor did she employ any -but those wiles which came almost instinctively to -her. Jim, with his experience, ought to have realized -that a woman who talks to a man innocently on -intimate matters, such as those which had cropped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> -up without apparent intent in their recent conversation, -is, either consciously or unconsciously, Nature’s -<i lang="fr">agent-provocateur</i>. She is leading his thoughts in -that direction which is the goal of her life, according -to the ruthless whisperings of Nature, who does -not care one snap of the fingers for any but the first -member of that blessed trinity, Body, Soul and -Spirit. The deft art of suggestion, in the hands -of an unscrupulous woman, is dangerous; but in -those of a feather-brained little conglomerate of -feminine charms and instincts, it is deadly.</p> - -<p>These quiet summer and autumn months in the -heart of the English countryside had sobered Jim’s -mind, and his exalted fancy, which had led him at -times as it were to hurl himself at the gates of -heaven, was gone from him. He told himself that, -having inherited this ancient house, it was his business -to take to his bosom a wife and helpmate. His -primitive manhood had been stirred by her, and his -civilized reason justified the riot of his mere senses -by the plea of practical advantage and domestic -necessity. She was a splendid little housewife, he -mused, a quiet little country girl who had learnt -her lesson in the school of privation. She was -so dainty, so soft, so pretty; she would always be -singing and smiling about the house, arranging the -flowers, drawing back the chintz curtains to let the -sunlight in, dusting and polishing things, and, in -the evenings, sitting curled up in an armchair knitting -him waistcoats. It would be a pleasure to adorn -her in pretty dresses and jewels, to take her up to -London and show her the world, and to give her the -keys of the domestic store-cupboards. So often in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> -his life he had been afflicted by the sense of his -loneliness; but with her at his side that mental -malady would be exorcized like a dreary ghost.</p> - -<p>With such trivialities, when there is no real love, -Nature the Unscrupulous disguises her crude designs, -and hides the one thing that interests her in a shower -of rice. All men and maidens are pawns in the -murderous game of Survival; and whether they go -to happiness or to their doom is a matter of utter -indifference to the Player. Fortunately, there are -souls as well as bodies, and of souls a greater than -Nature is Master.</p> - -<p>The remarkable fact was that Jim, whose mind -was now so full of the conjugal idea, was in no -way suited to a domestic life. He was a rover, a -self-constituted alien from society; but the original -line of his thoughts had been warped by his inheritance -of the family property, following as it did so -closely upon his experience in the rest-house at Kôm-es-Sultân -and his consequent distaste for isolation. -He was, as it were, a wild Bedouin tribesman from -the desert, sojourning in a village caravanserai; -and this little maiden who had sidled up to him -had so taken his fancy that the habitation of man -had come to seem an agreeable home, and the distant -uplands were forgotten.</p> - -<p>The grey and dreamy spires of Oxford themselves -had wrought a change in him. No man can come -under their influence and maintain his mental liberty: -they are like a drug, soothing him into quiescence; -they are like a poem that drones into the -brain the vanity of vigorous action. From the windows -of the manor they could be seen rising out of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> -an almost perpetual haze, and sometimes the breeze -carried to this ancient house the ancient sound of -their chimes and their tolling. They seemed to -preach the blessedness of a quiet, peaceful life—home, -marriage, children; the continuous reproduction -of unchanging types and the mild obedience -to the law of nature.</p> - -<p>On the following evening Mr. Hook drove them -into Oxford in the old barouche. It was a chilly -night, and as the carriage rumbled along the dark -lanes Jim and Dolly sat close to one another, with -a fur rug spread across their knees.</p> - -<p>“I don’t think I’ve ever been to a lecture before -in my life,” said he, when their destination was -reached.</p> - -<p>“Nor had I,” she replied, “until we came to live -at Eversfield. But it seems to be the correct thing -to do in Oxford.” She amended her words: “I -mean, the most interesting thing to do.”</p> - -<p>The lecture was delivered in the hall of one of -the colleges, and the Professor proved to be a dull, -reasonable man of the family doctor type, who nevertheless -aroused his audience, mostly female, to -stern expressions of approval by his declaration that -the hand that spanks the baby rules the world, and -that Waterloo was won across the British mother’s -lap.</p> - -<p>It was after ten o’clock when they entered the -carriage for the return journey; and before they had -passed the outskirts of Oxford Dolly began to yawn.</p> - -<p>“I went for a tremendous long ramble in the -woods to-day,” she explained, “and now I can hardly -keep my eyes open.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p> - -<p>He arranged the rug around her, and made her -put her feet up on the opposite seat; then, extending -his arm so that it rested behind her back, he -told her to take off her hat, lean her head against -him, and go to sleep. She settled herself down in -this manner, naturally and without any hesitation: -she was like a tired child.</p> - -<p>In the carriage there was only a glimmer of light -from the two lamps outside; and as he sat back -somewhat stiffly upon the jolting seat he could but -dimly see the mop of her fair hair against his -shoulder and the tip of her nose. He felt extraordinarily -happy, and there was a tenderness in his -attitude towards her which was overwhelming. She -seemed so innocent and so trustful; and when for -a moment the thought entered his head that there -was perhaps some half-conscious artifice in her behaviour, -he dismissed the suggestion with resentment.</p> - -<p>The carriage rolled on, and in the darkness he -dreamt his dream just as all young men have dreamt -it since the world began. It seemed clear to him, -now, that he had missed the best of life, because -he had seldom had an intimate comrade with whom -to share his experiences; for, as Seneca said, “the -possession of no good thing is pleasant without a -companion.” In the days of his wanderings, of -course, a companion had been out of the question; -but now his travels were done, and there were no -hardships to deter him from marriage. He recalled -the words of the Caliph Omar which an Egyptian -had once quoted to him: “After the Faith, no blessing -is equal to a good wife”; and he remembered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> -something in the Bible about her price being far -above rubies.</p> - -<p>Yet such thoughts as these were but the feeble -efforts of the mind to keep pace with the senses. -He was like a drunken man who speaks slowly and -distinctly to prove that he is not drunk. Had his -senses permitted him to be honest with himself he -would have admitted that consideration of the advantages -of marriage had little influence upon him -just now: he wanted Dolly for his own; he wanted -to put his arms about her and to kiss her here and -now while she slept; he wanted to pull her hair down -so that it should tumble about his fingers; he wanted -to feel her heart beating under his hand, to hear -the sigh of her breath close to his ear....</p> - -<p>He bent his head down so that his lips came close -to her forehead, and as he did so she raised her -face. He was too deeply bewitched to realize that, -far from being tired, she was at that moment a -conquering woman, working at high pressure, acutely -aware of his every movement, her nerves and senses -strained to win that which she so greatly desired.</p> - -<p>For some minutes he remained abnormally still, -a little shy perhaps, perhaps desiring to linger upon -the wonderful moment like a child agape at the -threshold of a circus. Presently she sat up.</p> - -<p>“Why, I’ve been asleep!” she exclaimed. “Are -we nearly home?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he answered, without rousing himself from -his dream.</p> - -<p>She raised her hands to her head; she did something -with her fingers which, in the dim light, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> -could not see; and a moment later he felt her hair -tumbling about his hand.</p> - -<p>“Oh dear, my hair’s fallen down,” she said.</p> - -<p>He drew in his breath sharply. “Don’t wake up!” -he gasped. “Put your head down again where it -was.”</p> - -<p>With a sigh of contentment she did as she was -told; but now his arms were around her, and all his -ten fingers were buried in her hair. He could just -discern her eyes looking up at him with a sort of dismay -in them; he could see her mouth a little open. -He bent down and kissed her lips.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VIII">Chapter VIII: MARRIAGE</h2> - -<p>An old proverb says that marriages are made -in heaven. It is one of those ridiculous -utterances born of primitive fatalism: it is -akin to the statement that afflictions are sent by God -for His inscrutable purpose. Actually, marriages in -their material aspect are made by soulless Nature, -who plots and plans for nothing else, and who cares -for nothing else except the production of the next -generation.</p> - -<p>One cannot blame Dolly for using the less worthy -arts of her sex to capture the man she wanted. One -cannot think ill of Jim for having been betrayed -by his senses into an alliance wherein there was little -hope of happiness. Nature has strewn the whole -world with her traps; she tricks and inveigles all -young men and women with these dreams and promises -of joy; she schemes and intrigues and conspires -for one purpose, and one purpose only; and in so -doing she has no more thought of that spiritual -union, which is the only sort of marriage made in -heaven, than she has when she sends the pollen from -one flower to the next upon the wings of the bees.</p> - -<p>Human beings in the spring-time of life are the -dupes of Nature’s heedless <i lang="fr">joie de vivre</i>, and fortunate -are those who can take her animal pranks -in good part and avoid getting hurt. Her victims -are swayed and tossed about by yearnings and desires, -passions and jealousies, tremendous joys and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> -desperate sorrows: because she is everywhere at -work upon the sole occupation which interests her—her -scheme of racial survival.</p> - -<p>The marvel is that so many marriages are happy, -considering that youths and maidens are flung together, -haphazard, by mighty forces, upon the irresistibility -of which the whole existence of the race -depends. Well does Nature know that if once men -and women mastered their yearnings, if once men -should fail to hunt and women to entice, the game -would be lost, and the human race would become -extinct.</p> - -<p>During the following week Jim and Dolly saw -each other every day; but, though their intimacy -developed, Jim made no definite proposal of marriage. -He was a lazy fellow. It was as though -he preferred to drift into that state without undergoing -the ordeal of the social formalities. He seemed -to be carried along by circumstances, yet he dreaded -what may be termed the business side of the matter.</p> - -<p>At length Dolly brought matters to a point in -her characteristic manner of assumed ingenuousness. -“I think, dear,” she said, “we had better tell mother -about it now, hadn’t we? She will be so hurt if she -finds that we’ve been leaving her out of our happiness.”</p> - -<p>Jim made no protest. He felt rather stupid, and -the thought of going to Mrs. Darling, hand-in-hand -with Dolly, seemed to him to be positively frightening -in its crudity. It would be like walking straight -into a trap. He would have preferred to slip off -to a registry-office, and to see no friend or relative -for a year afterwards.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> - -<p>The ordeal, however, proved to be less painful -than he had anticipated, thanks to the tact displayed -by Mrs. Darling. When Dolly came into the room -at the cottage, triumphantly leading in her captive, -the elder woman at once checked any utterance -which was about to be made by declaring that Jim -had just arrived in time to advise her in the choice -of a new chintz for her chairs.</p> - -<p>“Dolly, dear,” she said, “run upstairs and fetch -me that book of patterns, will you?” And as soon -as the girl had left the room she added: “I wonder -whether your taste will agree with Dolly’s?”</p> - -<p>“I expect so,” he replied, significantly.</p> - -<p>“I hope so, for your sake,” she smiled; and then, -turning confidentially to him, she whispered: “Tell -me quickly, before she comes back: do you seriously -want to marry her, or shall I help you to get out -of it?”</p> - -<p>Jim was completely startled, and stammered the -beginning of an incoherent reply.</p> - -<p>She interrupted him, putting a plump hand on his -shoulder. “It has been clear to me for some time -that Dolly is desperately in love with you, and I -know she has brought you here to settle the thing. -But I’m a woman of the world, my dear boy: I don’t -want to rush you into anything you don’t intend; -for the fact is, I like you very much indeed.”</p> - -<p>Jim made the only possible reply. “But,” he said -with conviction, “I want to marry her. I’ve come -to ask you. May I?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Darling looked at him intently. “You will -have to manage her,” she told him. “She is very -young and rather full of absurdities, you know. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> -you have knocked about the world: I should think -you would be able to get the best out of her, and, -anyhow, I shall feel she is in good hands.”</p> - -<p>When the girl returned, after a somewhat prolonged -absence, her mother looked almost casually -at her. “Dolly,” she said, “I don’t know if you are -aware of it, but you are engaged to be married.”</p> - -<p>Thereat the three of them laughed happily, and -the rest was plain sailing.</p> - -<p>Later that day Dolly strolled arm-in-arm with Jim -around the grounds of the manor, looking about -her with an air of proprietorship which he found -very fascinating. The linking of their lives and -their belongings seemed to him like a delightful -game.</p> - -<p>“I do like your mother,” he said. “She’s a real -good sort.”</p> - -<p>Dolly looked up at him quickly. “Poor mother!” -she replied. “I don’t know what we can do with -her. She won’t like leaving Eversfield.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, why should she go?” Jim asked.</p> - -<p>“It would never do for her to stay,” Dolly answered -firmly. “Mothers-in-law are always in the -way, however nice they are. I’m not going to risk -her getting on your nerves.” She looked at him -with an expression like that of a wise child.</p> - -<p>“Well, we’ll rent a flat for her in London,” he -suggested, “and I’ll give her the cottage, too, so -that she can come down to it sometimes.”</p> - -<p>Dolly shook her head. “No,” she said coldly, -“she has enough money to keep herself.” His sentiments -in regard to her mother had perhaps ruffled -her somewhat, and an expression had passed over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> -her face which she hoped he had not seen. She -endeavoured, therefore, to turn his thoughts to -more intimate matters. “I should hate mother to -be a burden to you,” she went on. “It’ll be bad -enough for you to have to buy all my clothes.”</p> - -<p>“I shall love it,” he replied, with enthusiasm.</p> - -<p>“Ah, you don’t know how expensive they are,” -she hesitated. “You see, it isn’t only what shows -on top”—her voice died down to a luscious whisper—“it’s -all the things underneath as well. Women’s -clothes are rather wonderful, you know.”</p> - -<p>She smiled shyly, and at that moment their marriage -was to him a thing most fervently to be desired.</p> - -<p>Events moved quickly, and it was decided that -the engagement should not be of long duration. The -news of the coming wedding caused a great stir in -the village; and when the banns were read in the -little church all eyes were turned upon them as they -sat, he in the Squire’s pew, and she with her mother -near by. They formed a curious contrast in type: -she, with her fair hair, her childlike face, and her -dainty little figure; and he with his swarthy complexion, -his dark, restless eyes, and his rather untidy -clothes. People wondered whether they would -be happy, and the general opinion was that the little -lamb had fallen into the power of a wolf. The village, -in fact, had not taken kindly to the new Squire -and his “foreign” ways; and Mrs. Spooner, the -doctor’s wife, had voiced the general opinion by -nicknaming him “Black Rupert.”</p> - -<p>The weeks passed by rapidly, and soon Christmas -was upon them. The wedding was fixed for the -end of January, and during that month Jim caused<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> -various alterations to be made in the furnishing of -the manor, in accordance with Dolly’s wishes, for she -held very decided views in this regard, and did not -agree with his retention of so many of the mid-Victorian -features in the drawing-room and the bedrooms. -He himself had intended at first to be rid of -most of these things, but later he had begun to feel, -as Mr. Beadle had said he would, that he owed a -certain homage to the past.</p> - -<p>“Men don’t understand about these things,” Dolly -said to him, patting his face; “but, if you want to -please me, you’ll let me make a list of the pieces of -furniture that ought to be got rid of and sell them.”</p> - -<p>The consequence was that a van-load left the -manor a few days later, and Miss Proudfoote and -the vicar held one another’s hand as it passed, and -choked with every understandable emotion, while -Mr. and Mrs. Longarm wept openly at the gates.</p> - -<p>The wedding-day at length arrived, and the ceremony -proved a very trying ordeal to Jim; for Mr. -Glenning had organized the village demonstrations -of goodwill, with the result that the school children, -blue with cold, were lined up at the church door, -the pews inside were packed with uncomfortably-dressed -yokels with burnished faces and creaking -boots, and a great deal of rice was thrown as the -happy couple left the building.</p> - -<p>Afterwards there was a reception at the Darling’s -cottage; and Jim, wearing a tail-coat and a stiff -collar for the first time in his life, suffered torments -which were not entirely ended by a later change -into a brand-new suit of grey tweed. Throughout -this trying time Mrs. Darling, fat and flushed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> -proved to be his comforter and his stand-by; and -it was through her good offices that the hired car, -which was to take them to the railway station at -Oxford, claimed them an hour too early.</p> - -<p>Dolly, who had looked like an angel of Zion in -her wedding dress, appeared, in her travelling costume, -like a dryad of the Bois de Boulogne, and Jim, -who had seen something of her trousseau, turned to -Mrs. Darling in rapture.</p> - -<p>“I say!” he exclaimed. “You have rigged Dolly -out wonderfully! I’ve never seen such clothes.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Darling smiled. “I believe in pretty -dresses,” she said, with fervent conviction. “They -tend to virtue. I believe that when the respectable -women of England took to wearing what were called -indecent clothes, they struck their first effective blow -at the power of Piccadilly. Has it never occurred -to you that young peers have almost ceased to marry -chorus girls now that peer’s daughters dress like -leading ladies?”</p> - -<p>The honeymoon was spent upon the Riviera, and -here it was that Jim realized for the first time the -exactions of marriage. This exquisitely costumed -little wife of his could not be taken to the kind of -inn which he had been accustomed to patronize, and -he was therefore obliged to endure all the discomforts -of fashionable hotel life, with its nerve-racking -corollaries—the jabbering crowds, the perspiring, -stiff-shirted diners, the clatter, bustle and perplexity, -terminating in each case in the dreaded crisis of -gratuity-giving and escape.</p> - -<p>With all his Bedouin heart he loathed this sort -of thing, and, had he not been the slave of love,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> -he would have rebelled against it at once. Dolly -saw his distress, but only added to it by her superior -efforts to train him in the way in which he should -go; and it was with a sigh of profound relief that -at length he found himself in Eversfield once more, -when the first buds of spring were powdering the -trees with green, and the early daffodils were opening -to the growing warmth of the sun.</p> - -<p>Jim’s work in connection with the estate was not -onerous, but he very soon found that various small -matters had constantly to be seen to, and often they -were the cause of annoyance. Rents were not always -paid promptly, and if his agent pressed for -them the tenants regarded Jim, who knew nothing -about it, as stern and exacting. Mr. Merrivall held -his lease of Rose Cottage on terms which provided -that the tenant should be responsible for all interior -repairs; and now he announced that the kitchen -boiler was worn out, and the question had to be -decided as to whether a boiler was an interior or a -structural fitting. Some eighty acres were farmed by -Mr. Hopkins on a sharing agreement, that is to -say, Jim took a part of the profits in lieu of rent; -but this sort of arrangement is always fruitful of disputes, -and, in the case in question, the fact that Jim -instinctively mistrusted Farmer Hopkins, and -Farmer Hopkins mistrusted Jim, led at once to -friction.</p> - -<p>Matters came to a head in the early summer. -The farmer had decided to remove the remains of -a last year’s hayrick from the field where it stood -to a shed near his stable, and, during the process, -he attempted to make a short-cut by drawing his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> -heavily-loaded wagon over a disused bridge which -spanned a ditch. The bridge, however, collapsed -under the weight, and the wagon was wrecked.</p> - -<p>The farmer thereupon demanded compensation -from Jim, since the latter was the owner of the -bridge and therefore responsible for it. Jim, however, -replied that that road had been closed for -many years to all but pedestrians, and, if anything, -the farmer ought to pay for the mending of the -bridge. Mr. Hopkins then declared that he was -going to law, and, in the meantime, he aired his -grievances nightly at the “Green Man,” the village -public-house.</p> - -<p>The trouble simmered for a time, and then, one -morning, the two men met by chance at the scene -of the disaster. A wordy argument followed, and -Farmer Hopkins, with a mouthful of oaths, repeated -his determination to go to law, whereupon Jim lost -his temper.</p> - -<p>“Look here!” he said. “I don’t know anything -about your blasted law, but I do know when I’m -being imposed upon. If you mention the word -‘law’ to me again I’ll put my fist through your face.”</p> - -<p>“Two can play at that game,” exclaimed the -farmer, red with anger.</p> - -<p>“Very well, then, come on!” cried Jim, impulsively, -and, pulling off his coat and tossing his hat -aside, he began to roll up his shirt-sleeves.</p> - -<p>Mr. Hopkins was a bigger and heavier man than -the Squire, but Jim had the advantage of him in -age, being some five years younger, and they were -therefore very well matched. The farmer however, -did not wish to fight, and, indeed, was so disconcerted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> -at the prospect that he stood staring at -Jim’s lithe, wild figure like a puzzled bull.</p> - -<p>“Take your coat off!” Jim shouted. “We’ll -have this matter out now. Put up your fists!”</p> - -<p>The farmer thereupon dragged off his coat, and a -moment later the two men were at it hammer and -tongs, Mr. Hopkins’ fists swinging like a windmill, -and Jim, with more skill, parrying the blows and -sending right and left to his opponent’s body with -good effect. The first bout was ended by Jim dodging -a terrific right and returning his left to the farmer’s -jaw, thereby sending him to the ground.</p> - -<p>As he rose to his feet Jim shouted at him: “Well, -will you now mend your own damned cart and let me -mend my bridge?—or do you want to go on?”</p> - -<p>For answer the infuriated Mr. Hopkins charged -at him, and, breaking his guard, sent his fist into -Jim’s eye; but he omitted to follow up the advantage -with his idle left, and, in consequence, received an -exactly similar blow upon his own bloodshot optic.</p> - -<p>It was at this moment that a scream was heard, -and Dolly appeared from behind a hedge, a curious -habit of hers, that of always wishing to know what -her husband was doing, having led her to follow -him into the fields.</p> - -<p>“James!” she cried in horror—ever since their -marriage she had called him “James”—“What are -you doing? Mr. Hopkins!—are you both mad?”</p> - -<p>“Pretty mad,” replied Jim.</p> - -<p>“Call yourself a gentleman!” roared the farmer, -holding his hand to his eye.</p> - -<p>“Oh, please, please!” Dolly entreated. “Go -home, Mr. Hopkins, before he kills you! James,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> -you ought to be ashamed of yourself, fighting like -a common man. You have disgraced me!”</p> - -<p>Jim, who was recovering his coat, looked up at -her out of his one serviceable eye in astonishment. -Then, turning to his opponent, he said: “We’ll finish -this some other time, if you want to.”</p> - -<p>He then walked off the field of battle, his coat -slung across his shoulder and his dark hair falling -over his forehead, while Mr. Hopkins sat down -upon the stump of a tree and spat the blood out -of his mouth.</p> - -<p>For many days thereafter Dolly would hardly -speak to her disfigured husband, except to tell him, -when he walked abroad with his blackened eye, that -he had no shame. Farmer Hopkins, however, -mended his wagon in time, and Jim mended his -bridge; and there, save for much village head-shaking -at the “Green Man” and melancholy talk at -the vicarage, the matter ended. It was a regrettable -affair, and the general opinion in the village was -that “Black Rupert” was a man to be avoided. Miss -Proudfoote, in fact, would hardly bow to him when -next she passed him in the lane; and even Mr. Glenning, -who quarrelled with no man, gazed at him, in -church on the following Sunday, with an expression -of deep reproof upon his venerable face.</p> - -<p>It was after this painful incident that Jim formed -the habit of going for long rambling walks by himself, -or of wandering deep into the woods near the -manor. Sometimes he would sit for hours upon a -stile in the fields, sucking a straw and staring vacantly -into the distance at the misty towers and spires -of the ancient University, or lie in the grass, gazing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> -up at the sky, listening to the far-off bells, his arms -behind his head. Sometimes he would take a book -from his uncle’s library—some eighteenth-century -romance, or a volume of Elizabethan poetry—and go -with it into the woods, there to remain for a whole -afternoon, reading in it or in the book of Nature.</p> - -<p>These woods had a curious effect upon him, and -entering them seemed to be like finding sanctuary. -It was not that his life, at this period, was altogether -unhappy: his heart was full of tenderness -towards Dolly, and, if her behaviour was beginning -to disappoint him, his attitude was at first but one -of vague disquietude. Yet here amongst the understanding -trees he felt that he was taking refuge -from some menace which he could not define; and -at times he wondered whether the sensation was due -to a mental throw-back to some outlawed ancestor -who had roamed the merry greenwood, in the manner -of Adam Bell and Clim of the Clough and William -Cloudesley in the ancient ballads of the North -of England.</p> - -<p>He was conscious of a decided sense of failure -and he felt that he was a useless individual. To -a limited extent he used his brains and his pen in -writing the verses which always amused him, but -he rarely finished any such piece of work, and seldom -composed a poem of any considerable length.</p> - -<p>His character was not of the kind which would -be likely to appeal to the stay-at-home Englishman. -He did not play golf, and though as a youth he -had been fond of cricket and tennis, his wandering -life had given him no opportunities of maintaining -his skill in these games, and now it was too late to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> -begin again. He was not particularly interested in -horseflesh, and he had no mechanical turn which -might vent itself in motoring. His habits were modest -and temperate; he preferred pitch-and-toss or -“shove-ha’penny” to bridge; and he was a poor judge -of port wine. He was sociable where the company -was to his taste, but neither his neighbours at and -around Eversfield, nor the professors at Oxford, -were congenial to him. When there were visitors to -the manor he was generally not able to be found; and -when he was obliged to accompany his wife to the -houses of other people, he was conscious that her -eyes were upon him anxiously, lest he should show -himself for what he was—a rebel and an outlaw.</p> - -<p>On one occasion the vicar persuaded him to sing -and play his guitar at a village concert; but the result -was disastrous, and the invitation was never -repeated. He chose to sing them Kipling’s “Mandalay”; -but the pathos and the romance of the rough -words were lost upon his stolid audience, to whom -there was no meaning in the picture of the mist -on the rice-fields and the sunshine on the palms, nor -sense in the contrasting description of the “blasted -Henglish drizzle” and the housemaids with beefy -faces and grubby hands.</p> - -<p>He himself was carried away by the words, and -he sang with fervour:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Ship me somewhere east of Suez, where the best is like the worst</div> -<div class="verse">Where there aren’t no Ten Commandments, an’ a man can raise a thirst;</div> -<div class="verse">For the temple-bells are callin’, an’ it’s there that I would be—</div> -<div class="verse">By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> - -<p>He did not see Dolly’s frowns, nor the pained -expression upon the vicar’s face, nor yet the smirks -of the yokels; and when the song was ended he -came suddenly back to earth, as it were, and was -abashed at the feebleness of the applause.</p> - -<p>Later, as he left the hall, he was stopped outside -the door by a disreputable, red-haired creature, -nicknamed “Smiley-face,” who was often spoken of -as the village idiot. He grinned at Jim and touched -his forelock.</p> - -<p>“Thank ’e, sir,” he said, “for that there song. -My, you do sing beautiful, sir!”</p> - -<p>“I’m glad you liked it,” Jim answered.</p> - -<p>“It was just like dreamin’,” Smiley-face muttered.</p> - -<p>Jim looked at him quickly, and felt almost as -though he had found a friend. He himself had -been dreaming as he sang, and here, at any rate, -was one man who had dreamed with him—and they -called him the village idiot!</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_IX">Chapter IX: IN THE WOODS</h2> - -<p>As in the case of so many unions in which -mutual attraction of a quite superficial nature -has been mistaken for love, the marriage -of Jim and Dolly was a complete disaster. -Disquietude began to make itself felt within a few -weeks, but many months elapsed before Jim faced -the situation without any further attempt at self-deception. -The revelation that he had nothing to -say to his wife, no thought to exchange with her, -had come to him early. At first he had tried to believe -that it was due to some sort of natural reticence -in both their natures; and one day, chancing to open -a volume of the poems of Matthew Arnold which -Dolly had placed upon an occasional table in the -drawing-room (for the look of the thing) he had -found some consolation in the following lines:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Alas, is even Love too weak</div> -<div class="verse">To unlock the heart and let it speak?</div> -<div class="verse">Are even lovers powerless to reveal</div> -<div class="verse">To one another what indeed they feel?</div> -<div class="verse">I knew the mass of men conceal’d</div> -<div class="verse">Their thoughts....</div> -<div class="verse">But we, my love—does a like spell benumb</div> -<div class="verse">Our hearts, our voices? Must we, too, be dumb?</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Other lovers, then, had experienced that blank-wall -feeling: it was just human nature. -But soon he began to realize that in this case -the trouble was more serious. He had nothing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> -to say to her. She did not understand him, nor -call forth his confidences.</p> - -<p>For months he had struggled against the consciousness -that he had made a fatal mistake; but -at length the horror of his marriage, of his inheritance, -and of society in general as he saw it here -in England, became altogether too large a presence -to hide itself in the dark corners of his mind. It -came out of the shadows and confronted him in the -daylight of his heart—an ugly, menacing figure, -towering above him, threatening him, arguing with -him, whithersoever he went. He attributed features -to it, and visualized it so that it took definite -shape. It had a lewd eye which winked at him; -it had a ponderous, fat body, straining at the -buttons of the black clothing of respectability; it -had heavy, flabby hands which stroked him as though -urging him to accept its companionship. It was -his gaoler, and it wanted to be friends with him.</p> - -<p>At length one autumn day, while he was sitting -in the woods among the falling leaves, he turned -his inward eyes with ferocious energy upon the -monster, and set his mind to a full study of the situation -it personified.</p> - -<p>In the first place, Dolly held views in regard to -the position and status of wife which offended Jim’s -every ideal. She was firmly convinced that marriage -was, first and foremost, designed by God for the -purpose of producing in the male creature a disinclination -for romance. It involved a mutual duty, a -routine: the wife had functions to perform with condescension, -the husband had recurrent requirements -to be indulged in order that his life might pursue its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> -way with the least possible excitement. The whole -thing was an ordained and prescriptive business, like -a soldier’s drill or a patient’s diet; nor did she seem -to realize that there was no room for real love in her -conception of their relationship, no sweet enchantment, -no exaltation.</p> - -<p>Then, again, he was very much disappointed that -Dolly had no wish to have a child of her own. She -had explained to him early in their married life how -her doctor had told her there would be the greatest -possible danger for her in motherhood; but it had -not taken Jim long to see that a combination of fear, -selfishness and vanity were the true causes of her -disinclination to maternity. She was always afraid -of pain and in dread of death; she always thought -first of her own comfort; and she was vain of her -youthful figure.</p> - -<p>These two facts, that she asserted herself as his -wife and that she shunned parenthood, combined -to produce a condition of affairs which offended -Jim’s every instinct. In these matters men are so -often more fastidious than women, though the popular -pretence is to the contrary; and in the case of -this unfortunate marriage there was an appalling -contrast between the crudity of the angel-faced little -wife and the delicacy of the hardy husband.</p> - -<p>A further trouble was that she regarded marriage -as a duality incompatible with solitude or with any -but the most temporary separation. One would -have thought that she had based her interpretation -of the conjugal state upon some memory of the -Siamese Twins. When Jim was writing verses in -the study—an occupation which, by the way, she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> -endeavoured to discourage—she would also want -to write there; when he was entertaining a male -friend she would enter the room, and refuse to -budge—not because she liked the visitor, but because -she must needs assert her standing as wife and as -partner of all her husband’s amusements; when he -went into Oxford or up to London she would insist -on going too; even when he was talking to the gardener -she would come up behind him, slip her arm -through his, and immediately enter the conversation.</p> - -<p>At first, when he used to tell her that he was -going alone into Oxford to have a drink and a chat -in the public room at one of the hotels, she would -burst into tears, or take offence less liquid but more -devastating. Later she accused him of an intrigue -with a barmaid, and went into tantrums when in -desperation he replied: “No such luck.” For the -sake of peace he found it necessary at last to give up -all such excursions except when they were unavoidable, -and gradually his life had become that of a -prisoner.</p> - -<p>She carried this assertion of her wifely rights -to galling and intolerable lengths. She would look -over his shoulder when he was writing letters, and -would be offended if he did not let her do so, or if -he withheld the letters he received. On two or -three occasions she had come to him, smiling innocently, -and had handed him some opened envelope, -and had said: “I’m so sorry, dear; I opened this -by mistake. I thought it was for me.”</p> - -<p>He could keep nothing from her prying eyes; -and yet, in contrast to this curiosity, she showed -no interest whatsoever in his life previous to his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> -marriage, a fact which indicated clearly enough that -her concern was solely in regard to <em>her</em> relationship -with him, and was not prompted by any desire to -enter into his personality. At first he had wanted -to tell her of his early wanderings; but she had -been bored, or even shocked, by his narrations, and -had told him that his adventures did not sound very -“nice.” Thus, though now she watched his every -movement, she had no idea of his early travels, -nor knew, except vaguely, what lands he had dwelt -in, nor was she aware that in those days he had -passed under the name of Easton.</p> - -<p>Now Jim enjoyed telling a story: he was, in fact, -a very interesting and vivacious raconteur; and he -felt, at first, sad disappointment that his roaming -life should be regarded as a subject too dull or too -unrespectable for narration. “It’s a funny thing,” -he once said to himself, “but that girl, Monimé, at -Alexandria knows far more about me than my own -wife, and I only knew her for a few hours!”</p> - -<p>And then her poses and affectations! He discovered -early in their married life that her offers -to teach the cook her business, or to knit him waistcoats, -were entirely fraudulent. She had none of -the domestic virtues—a fact which only troubled -him because she persisted in seeing herself in the -rôle of practical housewife: he had no wish for her -to be a cook or a sewing woman. She went through -a phase in which she pictured herself as a sun-bonneted -poultry-farmer. She bought a number -of Rhode Island Reds and Buff Orpingtons; she -caused elaborate hen-houses to be set up; and she -subscribed to various poultry fanciers’ journals. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> -it was not many weeks before the pens were derelict -and their occupants gone. For some months she -played the part of the Lady Bountiful to the village, -and might have been seen tripping down the lanes -to visit the aged cottagers, a basket on her arm. -This occupation, however, soon began to pall, and -her apostacy was marked by a gradual abandonment -of the job to the servants. Later she had -attached herself to the High Church party in Oxford, -and had added new horrors to the state of -wedlock by regarding it as a mystic sacrament....</p> - -<p>The most recent of her phases had followed on -from this. She had asked Jim to allow her to bring -to the house the orphaned children of a distant -relative of her mother’s: two little girls, aged four -and five. “It will be so sweet,” she had said, “to -hear their merry laughter echoing about this old -house. It will be some compensation for my great -sorrow in not being allowed to have babies of my -own.”</p> - -<p>Jim had readily consented, for he was very fond -of children; and soon the mites had arrived, very -shy and tearful at first, but presently well content -with their lot. Dolly declared that no nurse would -be necessary, as she would delight in attending to -them herself, and for two weeks she had played the -little mother with diminishing enthusiasm. But -the day speedily came when help was found to be -necessary, and now a good-natured nursery-governess -was installed at the manor.</p> - -<p>Having thus regained her leisure, she bought a -notebook, and labelling it “The Tiny Tot’s Treasury,” -spent several mornings in dividing the pages<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> -into sections under elaborate headings written in -a large round hand. Jim chanced upon this book -one day—it lay open upon a table—and two section-headings -caught his eye. They read:—</p> - -<table summary="Extract from “The Tiny Tot’s Treasury”"> - <tr> - <th><i>Hands, games with</i></th> - <th><i>Toes, games with</i></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>“Can you keep a secret?”</td> - <td>“This little pig went to market.”</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>“Pat-a-cake.”</td> - <td></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<p>The book was abandoned within a week or two; -but the recollection of its futility, its pose, remained -in Jim’s memory for many a day.</p> - -<p>The presence of these two little girls, while being -a considerable pleasure to Jim in itself, had been -the means of irritating him still further in regard to -his wife. Sometimes, when she remembered it, she -would go up to the nursery to bid them “good-night” -and to hear their prayers; and when he accompanied -her upon this mission his spontaneous -heart was shocked to notice how her attitude towards -them was dictated solely by the picture in her -own mind which represented herself as the ideal -mother. There was a long mirror in the nursery, -and, as she caressed the two children, her eyes -were fixed upon her own reflection as though the -vision pleased her profoundly.</p> - -<p>And then, only a few days ago, a significant occurrence -had taken place which had led to a painful -scene between Dolly and himself. One morning -at breakfast the elder of the two little girls had -told him that she had had an “awfully awful” -dream.</p> - -<p>“It was all about babies,” she had said, and then, -pausing shyly, she had added: “But I mustn’t tell -you about it, because it’s very naughty.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> - -<p>He was alone in the room with them at the time, -and he had questioned the round-eyed little girl, -and had eventually extracted from her the startling -information that on the previous evening Dolly -had been telling them “how babies grew,” but had -warned them that it would be naughty to talk about -it.</p> - -<p>He was furious, and when his wife came downstairs -at mid-morning—she always had her breakfast -in bed—he had caught hold of her arm and -had asked her what on earth she meant by talking -in this manner to two infants of four and five years -of age.</p> - -<p>“It’s not your business,” was the reply. “You -must trust a woman’s instinct to know when to -reveal things to little girls.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, rot” he had answered, angrily; and suddenly -he had put into hot and scornful words his -interpretation of Dolly’s untimely action. “The fact -is, your motive is never disinterested. You are always -picturing yourself in one rôle or another. You -didn’t even think what sort of impression you were -making on the minds of those little girls: you were -only play-acting for your own edification.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t understand you,” she had stammered, -shocked and frightened.</p> - -<p>“You pictured yourself,” he went on, with bitter -sarcasm, “as the sweet and wise mother revealing -to the wide-eyed little girls the great secrets of Nature. -I suppose some Oxford ass has been lecturing -to a lot of you silly women about the duties of -motherhood, and you at once built up your foolish -picture, and thought it would make a charming scene—the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> -gentle mother, the two little babies at your -knee, their lisping questions and your pure, sweet answer, -telling them the wonderful vocation of womanhood. -And then you went upstairs and forced it on -the poor little souls, just to gratify your vanity; -but afterwards you were frightened at what you -had done, and told them they mustn’t speak about -it, because it was naughty. Naughty!—Good God!—That -one word has already sown the seed of corruption -in their minds. You ought to be ashamed -of yourself.”</p> - -<p>He had not waited for her reply, but had left -the room, and had gone with clenched fists into -the woods, his usual refuge, sick at heart, and appalled -that his life was linked to such a sham thing -as his wife had proved herself to be.</p> - -<p>He had longed to get away from her, away from -Eversfield, back to his beloved high roads once -more, out of this evil stagnation; and all the while -the ponderous, black-coated creature of his imagination -had leered at him and stroked him.</p> - -<p>When next he saw his wife he had found her -in the rock-garden playing a game with the two -children, as though she were determined to make -him realize her ability to enter into their mental -outlook. “We are playing a game of fairies,” she -had told him, evidently not desiring to keep up the -quarrel. “All the flowers are enchanted people, and -the rockery there is an ogre’s castle. We’re having -a lovely time.”</p> - -<p>The two little girls actually were standing staring -in front of them, utterly bored; for the ability to -play with children is a delicate art in which few<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> -“grown-ups” are at ease. But Dolly, as she -crouched upon the ground, was not concerned with -anybody save herself, and the game was designed -for the applause of her inward audience and for -the eye of her husband, and not at all for the entertainment -of her charges.</p> - -<p>“Well, when you’ve finished I want you to come -and help me tidy my writing-table and tear things -up,” he had said to the children; and thereat they -had asked Dolly whether they might please go now, -and had pranced into the house at his side, leaving -her sighing in the rock-garden.</p> - -<p>Thoughts and memories such as these paraded -before his mind’s eye as he sat upon a fallen tree -trunk, deep in the woods. The afternoon was warm -and still, and the leaves which fell one by one from -the surrounding trees seemed to drop from the -branches deliberately, as though each were answering -an individual call of the earth. Sometimes his -heavy thoughts were interrupted by the shrill note -of a bird, and once there was a startled scurry -amongst the undergrowth as a rabbit observed him -and went bounding away.</p> - -<p>The wood was not very extensive, but, with the -surrounding fields, it afforded a certain amount of -shooting; and one of Jim’s tenants, Pegett by name, -who lived in a cottage in a clearing at the far side, -acted as a sort of gamekeeper, his house being given -to him free of rent in return for his services.</p> - -<p>The sun had set, and the haze of a windless -twilight had gathered in the distant spaces between -the trees when at length Jim rose to return to the -manor. His ruminations had led him to no very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> -definite conclusion, save only that he had made a -horrible mistake, and that he must adjust his life to -this glaring fact, even though he offend Dolly’s -dignity in the process.</p> - -<p>As he stood for a moment in silence, stretching -his arms like one awaking from sleep, he was suddenly -aware of the sound of cracking twigs and rustling -leaves, and, looking in the direction from which -it came, he caught sight of the red-faced Pegett, -the gamekeeper, emerging, gun in hand, from behind -a group of tree-trunks. The man ran forward, and -then, recognizing him, paused and touched his cap.</p> - -<p>“Beg pardon, sir,” he said, breathing heavily, -“I’m after that there poaching thief, Smiley-face. -’E’s at it again: I seen ’im slip in with ’is tackle. -I seen ’im from my window.”</p> - -<p>“He’s not been this way,” Jim assured him. “I’ve -been sitting here a long time.”</p> - -<p>“’E’s a clever ’un!” Pegett muttered, “but I’ll -get ’im one ’o these days, sir, I will; and I’ll put a -barrel o’ shot into ’is legs.”</p> - -<p>“He’s not quite right in his head, is he?” Jim -asked.</p> - -<p>“Oh, ’e’s wise enough,” the man replied; “wise -enough to get ’is dinner off of your rabbits, sir. -That’s been ’is game since ’e were no more’n a lad. -And never done an honest day’s work in ’is life.”</p> - -<p>Smiley-face, as has been said, was generally considered -to be half-witted; but on the few occasions -on which Jim had spoken to him he had answered -intelligently enough, not to say cheekily, though -there was something most uncanny about his continuous -smile. Nobody seemed to know exactly how<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> -he lived. He slept in a garret in a lonely cottage belonging -to an aged and witch-like woman known as -old Jenny, and it was to be presumed that he did -odd jobs for her in return for his keep; but she -herself was a mysterious soul, not inclined to waste -words on the passer-by, and her cottage, which stood -midway between Eversfield and the neighbouring village -of Bedley-Sutton, was superstitiously shunned -by the inhabitants of both places.</p> - -<p>Pegett was eager to track down the malefactor, -and presently he disappeared among the trees, moving -like a burlesque of a Red Indian, and actually -making sufficient noise to rouse the woods for a -hundred yards around. Jim, meanwhile, made his -way towards the manor, walking quietly upon the -moss-covered path, and pausing every now and then -to listen to the distant commotion caused by the -gamekeeper’s efforts to break a silent way through -the brittle twigs and crisp, dead leaves.</p> - -<p>He had just sighted the gate which led from the -wood to the lower part of the garden of the manor -when his eye was attracted by the swaying of the -upper branch of an oak a short distance from the -path. He paused, wondering what had caused the -movement, which had sent a shower of leaves to -the ground, and to his surprise he presently discerned -a man’s foot resting upon it, the remainder -of his body being hidden behind the broad trunk. -He guessed immediately that he had chanced upon, -and treed, Smiley-face, and, having a fellow feeling -for the poacher, he called out to him, quite good-naturedly, -to come down. He received no answer, -however; and going therefore to the foot of the oak,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> -he looked up at the man, who was now hardly concealed, -and again addressed him.</p> - -<p>“It’s no good pretending to be a woodpecker, -Smiley-face,” he said. “Come down at once, or -I’ll shy a stone at you.”</p> - -<p>Smiley-face was a youngish man, with dirty red -hair, puckered pink skin, and a smile which extended -from ear to ear. His nose was snub, and his eyes -were like two sparkling little blue beads, cunning -and merry. He now thrust this surprising countenance -forward over the top of a branch, and stared -down at Jim with an expression of intense relief.</p> - -<p>“Lordee!—it’s the Squire,” he muttered. “You -did give I a fright, sir: I thought it was Mr. Pegett -with ’is gun. Shoot I dead, ’e said he would. ’E -said it to my face, up yonder at the Devil’s Crossroads: -would you believe it?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, he told me he’d let you have an ounce of -small shot, but only in the legs of course.”</p> - -<p>“Oo!” said Smiley-face. “And me that tender, -what with thorn and nettle and the midges.”</p> - -<p>“You’d better come down,” Jim advised. “He’s -after you now; and you can see I myself haven’t -got my gun with me, or I’d pepper you too.”</p> - -<p>The man descended the tree, talking incoherently -as he swung from branch to branch. Presently he -dropped to the ground from one of the lower -boughs, and stood grinning before Jim, a dirty, -ragged creature without a point to commend him.</p> - -<p>“Fairly cotched I am,” he declared. “But I knows -a gen’l’man when I sees un. I knows when it’s safe -and when it baint. If I was to run now, d’you -reckon you could catch I, sir?”</p> - -<p>For answer Jim’s lean arm shot out, and his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> -hand gripped hold of the handkerchief knotted -around the man’s neck. Smiley-face swung his fist -round, but the blow missed; and Jim, who had learnt -a trick or two from a little Jap in California, tripped -him up with ease, and the next moment was kneeling -upon his chest.</p> - -<p>“What about that, Smiley-face?” he asked, laughing.</p> - -<p>“Wonderful!” replied the poacher. “I should -never ha’ thought it.”</p> - -<p>Jim rose to his feet. “Get up,” he said, “and -let me hear what you’ve got to say for yourself.” -Then, as the man did as he was bid, he added: “If -Pegett comes along, you can slip through that gate -and across my garden. Nobody will see you.”</p> - -<p>Smiley-face grinned. “Thank’ee kindly, sir,” he -said, touching his forelock. “I knew you was a kind -gen’l’man.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, cut that out,” Jim replied sharply. “What -d’you mean by going after my rabbits?”</p> - -<p>“O Lordee! Be they yours?” Smiley-face -scratched his red head.</p> - -<p>“You know very well they are. I own this place, -don’t I?”</p> - -<p>“And the rabbits, too?”</p> - -<p>“Well, of course!”</p> - -<p>“I reckon <em>they</em> don’t know it, sir,” Smiley-face -muttered, still grinning broadly.</p> - -<p>“Don’t be an idiot,” said Jim.</p> - -<p>The poacher held up his forefinger as though in -reproach. “I’m a poor man, me lord,” he murmured.</p> - -<p>“You’re a thief.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no,” replied Smiley-face with assurance. -“Poachers isn’t thieves, your highness.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well they’re <em>my</em> rabbits.”</p> - -<p>“But I’m a poor man,” the other repeated.</p> - -<p>“So you said,” Jim answered. “That’s no excuse.”</p> - -<p>Smiley-face shook his head. “You wouldn’t be -like to understand a poor man—not with a big ’ouse, -and ’undreds o’ rabbits, you wouldn’t.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, wouldn’t I!” said Jim. “I’ve been poor -myself. I’ve known what it is not to have a cent in -the world. I’ve slept in hedges; I’ve tramped the -roads....”</p> - -<p>“<em>You</em> ’ave?” The poacher was incredulous, and -thrust his head forward, staring at his captor with -cunning little eyes.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I have,” Jim declared.</p> - -<p>“Lordee!” exclaimed Smiley-face. “Then you -know....”</p> - -<p>“Know what?” asked Jim.</p> - -<p>The man made a non-committal gesture. “It’s -not for me to say what you know, your worship. -But you <em>do</em> know.”</p> - -<p>Jim made an impatient movement. “Look here -now, if I let you go this time will you promise not -to do it again?”</p> - -<p>Smiley-face shook his head, and again touched his -forelock. “Oh, I couldn’t do that, sir. It’s tremenjus -sport; and old Jenny she do cook rabbit fine, -sir; <em>and</em> eat un, too. Don’t be angry, your highness,” -he added quickly, as Jim turned threateningly -upon him.</p> - -<p>“Don’t keep calling me ‘your highness’ and ‘my -lord.’ I’m a plain man, the same as you.”</p> - -<p>“So you be, sir,” the other smiled. “You’ve -walked the roads; you’ve lain out o’ nights. You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> -<em>know</em>. And now you’re a-askin’ o’ I not to poach! -Oh, you can’t do that, sir....”</p> - -<p>“Well, supposing I give you permission to poach -every now and then?” Jim suggested.</p> - -<p>“What?—and tell Mr. Pegett not to shoot I -dead? Oh, no; there wouldn’t be no sport in that.”</p> - -<p>Jim held out his hand. “Look here, Smiley-face,” -he said. “You seem to be pulling my leg, but I -rather like you. Let’s be friends.”</p> - -<p>The man drew back. “Well, I don’t ’xactly ’old -with friends, sir. Friends laughs at friends.”</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, he grasped the proffered hand.</p> - -<p>“Nonsense,” Jim replied. “Friends are people -who stand by one another through thick and thin. -Friends are people who have something in common -which they both defend. You and I have something -in common, Smiley-face.”</p> - -<p>“And what be that?” the man asked.</p> - -<p>“Why,” laughed Jim, “we’re both up against it. -We’re both failures in life, tramps by nature. As -you say, we both <em>know</em>.”</p> - -<p>Smiley-face stared at him, not altogether understanding -his words.</p> - -<p>“You’d better come across the garden with me -now,” said Jim.</p> - -<p>The poacher shook his head. “No, sir, I reckon -I’ll bide ’ere, and go back through the woods.”</p> - -<p>“But Pegett’s there with his gun.”</p> - -<p>Smiley-face grinned. “’E’ll not get I, never you -fear!”</p> - -<p>Jim turned and walked towards the gate; and -presently his friend the poacher moved stealthily -away into the gathering dusk, and soon was lost -amongst the trees.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_X">Chapter X: THE END OF THE TETHER</h2> - -<p>“It must be my laziness,” Jim muttered to himself, -as he came meandering down the lane after -a long rambling walk around Ot Moor, and -through the woods on the far side. It was spring -once more, and the third anniversary of his marriage -had gone by.</p> - -<p>His remark was made in answer to his reiterated -question as to why he had not sooner broken away. -He heartily disliked any kind of “scene,” and, being -a fatalist, he had preferred to “let things rip,” as he -termed it, than to make a bid for that freedom which -he had so recklessly abandoned. It was true that -he had gone up to London more frequently of late; -but any longer absences from home had caused such -an intolerable display either of temper or of feminine -jobbery on Dolly’s part that Jim had found -the game hardly worth the candle.</p> - -<p>She had no great reason to be jealous of her -husband, for he was not a man who gave much -thought to women. But she was violently jealous -of her position as his wife; and anything which suggested -that Jim was not dependent on her for companionship, -or had any sort of existence in which -she played no part, aroused her pique and led her -to assert herself with a horrible sort of assurance. -Men and women are capable of many inelegances; -but there is nothing within the masculine range so -gross as a silly woman’s view of wedlock.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p> - -<p>Jim, as he trudged home between the budding -hedges of the lane, and heard the call of the spring -reverberating through his deadened heart, wished -fervently that he had never inherited his uncle’s -estate. The afternoon was warm, and the power -of the sun, considering the time of the year, was -remarkable. It beat into his eyes, and its brilliance -seemed to penetrate into his brain, compelling -him to rouse himself from his shadowed inaction, -and to look about him.</p> - -<p>He had been a total failure as a married man, -and as a Squire his success had been negligible. His -only real friend was Smiley-face, and, though they -had little to say to one another, there was always -an unspoken understanding between them. Real -friendship is occasioned by a mutual sympathy which -penetrates through that external skin whereon the -artificialities of civilization are stamped, and reaches -the heart within, where dwell the reason behind -reason, the intelligence beyond intellect, and the -clear “Yes” which masters the brain’s insistent -“No.” Jim and the poacher understood one another; -and on the part of the latter this understanding -was supplemented by gratitude, for it chanced -that Jim had saved him on one occasion from arrest -and imprisonment. The circumstances need not here -be related, and indeed they would not be pleasant to -recall; for Smiley-face had thieved, and Jim had lied -to save him, and the whole affair was highly prejudicial -to law and public safety.</p> - -<p>Often, when he was bored, he would go down -into the woods and utter a low whistle, like the hoot -of an owl, which had become his recognized signal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> -for calling Smiley-face; and together they would -prowl about, sometimes even poaching on other -property beyond the lane which curved around the -manor estate. This whistle had been heard more -than once by villagers walking in the lane, and the -story had gone about that the place was haunted, a -rumour which Jim encouraged, since it deterred the -ever-nervous Dolly from following him into its -shadowed depths.</p> - -<p>Besides this disreputable friendship, there was -little comradeship for him in Eversfield. A few of -the villagers liked him he believed, especially the -children; but the majority of the inhabitants misunderstood -him, and there were those who regarded -him with marked hostility. The gipsies who camped -on Ot Moor, however, found in him a valuable -friend; and the tramps and wandering beggars who -visited these parts never went empty from his door.</p> - -<p>Presently, as he rounded a corner, he encountered -one of those who disliked him in the person of Mrs. -Spooner, the doctor’s wife, who was riding towards -him on her bicycle. Dazzled by the sun in his eyes, -he stepped to one side—the wrong side, to give her -room, but unfortunately she turned in the same direction -and only avoided a collision by applying her -brakes with vigour and alighting awkwardly in the -rough grass at the roadside.</p> - -<p>“I’m awfully sorry,” said Jim, raising his hat.</p> - -<p>She was a fiery, sandy-haired little woman, who -always reminded him of an Irish terrier; and her -weather-beaten face was wrinkled with anger as -she answered him. “<em>I</em> was on my proper side,” she -barked; “but I don’t suppose it has ever occurred to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> -you that there is such a thing as the Rule of the -Road.”</p> - -<p>Jim was taken aback. “I’m awfully sorry,” he -repeated. “I’m afraid I’ve made you angry.”</p> - -<p>“Angry!” she snapped. “It’s no good being angry -with you; it makes no impression. And, besides, a -doctor’s wife has to learn to keep her temper. And -then, again, you’re my landlord, and one mustn’t -quarrel with one’s landlord.”</p> - -<p>“Am I a bad landlord?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Well, you’re not exactly attentive,” she snarled, -showing her teeth. “But then you don’t seem to -understand English ways. You haven’t much idea -of obligation, have you? When those little girls -of yours were ill you ignored my husband and sent -for an Oxford doctor. That was hardly polite, was -it?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, <em>that’s</em> the trouble, is it?” said Jim. “I say, -I’m awfully sorry....”</p> - -<p>She interrupted him with a gesture. “No, that’s -only an example of the sort of thing you do. It’s -your behavior in general we all object to. You -haven’t got a friend in the place, except the village -idiot.”</p> - -<p>“You mean Smiley-face?” he queried.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she replied, still allowing her anger to give -rein to her tongue. “Smiley-face, the thief and -poacher. <em>He</em> loves you dearly: he nearly knifed Ted -Barnes the other day for saying what he thought of -you. I congratulate you on your champion!”</p> - -<p>“Now, what have I done to Ted Barnes?” Jim -asked. Ted was the postman.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p> - -<p>“That wretched little Dachs of yours bit him,” -she replied, “and you didn’t so much as inquire.”</p> - -<p>“It’s the first I’ve heard of it,” said Jim. “And, -anyway, it’s my wife’s dog, not mine.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, blame it on to your wife,” she sniffed. “It -seems to me that the poor dear soul has to take -the blame for everything. It’s very unfair on her.”</p> - -<p>This was staggering, and Jim stared at her with -mingled anger and astonishment in his dark eyes. -“What do you mean?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Well, we can all guess what she suffers,” she -said. “Only last week she nearly cried in my -house.... Oh, you needn’t think she gave away -any secrets, the poor little angel. She said herself -‘a wife must make no complaints.’ She’s the soul -of loyalty. But we’re not blind, Mr. West.”</p> - -<p>Jim scratched his head. “And all this because I -nearly collided with your bicycle!” he mused.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Spooner pulled herself together. “It’s the -last straw that breaks the camel’s back,” she growled. -“But I suppose I’m putting my foot into it as usual. -I’ll say no more.” And therewith she mounted her -bicycle and rode off with her nose in the air. Had -she possessed a tail it would have appeared as an -excited stump, sticking out from behind the saddle, -and vibrating with the thrill of battle.</p> - -<p>Jim walked homewards feeling as though he had -been bitten in several places. “What <em>is</em> wrong with -me?” he muttered aloud. He was, of course, aware -that he had not been sociable; for the rank and -fashion of Eversfield and its neighbourhood combined -the dreary conservatism of English country -life with the intellectual affectations of Oxford; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> -Oxford, as the Master of Balliol once said, represented -“the despotism of the superannuated, tempered -by the epigrams of the very young.” But he -had always thought that he had something in common -with Ted Barnes and his friends; for he had -overlooked the fact that village opinion is still dictated -in England by the “gentry.”</p> - -<p>The realization was presently borne in on him -that Dolly, failing to play with any success the part -of the indispensable wife and helpmate, had assumed -the rôle of martyr, and had confided her fictitious -sorrows to her neighbours. It was a bitter -thought; and he slashed at the hedges with his stick -as it took hold of his mind.</p> - -<p>He determined to tax her with this new delinquency -at once; but when he reached the manor he -found her sitting in the drawing-room with Mr. -Merrivall, the tenant of Rose Cottage, who was -lying back in an armchair, smoking a fat cigar which -Dolly had evidently fetched for him from the cabinet -in the study.</p> - -<p>George Merrivall was a mysterious bachelor of -middle age, whom Jim could not fathom. He had -a heavy, grey face; a weak mouth; round, fish-like -eyes, which looked anywhere but at the person before -him; and thin brown hair, smoothed carefully -across a central area of baldness. He had lived at -Rose Cottage for the last ten years or more, and -was in receipt of a monthly cheque, which might -be interpreted as coming from some person or persons -who desired his continued rustication.</p> - -<p>There was nothing against him, however, save -that after the receipt of each of the cheques he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> -said to shut himself up in his cottage for a few days, -and the belief was general that at such times he -was dead drunk. This, however, might be merely -gossip; and his housekeeper, Jane Potts, was a -woman of such extremely secretive habits that the -truth was not likely to be known. Some people -thought that she was, or had been, his mistress; but -if this were true this secret, likewise, was well kept. -He appeared to be a man of studious habits, a judge -of pictures, a collector of rare books, and a regular -church-goer.</p> - -<p>Dolly had made his acquaintance before she had -met Jim, and, since their marriage, he had been -one of the few frequent visitors at the manor. Jim, -however, did not like him or trust him, thinking -him, indeed, somewhat uncanny; and he now -greeted him with no enthusiasm.</p> - -<p>“Hullo, Squire,” drawled the visitor, without rising -from his chair. “Been out tramping as usual? -You look as though you’d been sleeping under a -hedge!”</p> - -<p>“James, dear,” said Dolly, “you really do look -very untidy. And you’re all covered over with bits -of twigs and things.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Jim, wishing to shock. “I’ve been -having a roll in the grass.”</p> - -<p>Merrivall laughed. “Who with, you young -rascal?” he said, pointing at him with the wet, -chewed end of his cigar.</p> - -<p>Dolly drew in her breath quickly, and stared -with round eyes at her friend, and then with a suspicious -frown at her husband. “Where have you -been?” she asked deliberately.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, nowhere in particular,” he answered. -“Have a drink, Merrivall?”</p> - -<p>“Thanks,” the other replied. “Whisky and -water for me.”</p> - -<p>Jim rang the bell; and presently, excusing himself -by saying that he must change his clothes, left -the room.</p> - -<p>Now, anyone who had seen him, five minutes -later, as he walked across the garden, would have -thought him entirely mad; for he was carrying his -guitar across his shoulder, drum uppermost, and -his stealthy step might have suggested that he was -about to use it as a weapon with which to bash in -the head of some lurking enemy.</p> - -<p>Actually, however, he was in the habit of strumming -upon this instrument when his nerves were on -edge; and, indeed, there was a melancholy charm -in his playing, and a still greater in his singing. But -to-day his desire thus to relieve his feelings was -accompanied by an anxiety not to be overheard by -his wife or Merrivall. Moreover, the twilight outside -was as warm and mellow as a summer evening, -whereas the interior of the manor was grey and -dismal. He had therefore indulged an impulse, and -was now slinking off, like a sick dog, to his beloved -woods to bay to the rising moon.</p> - -<p>Passing through the gates at the end of the lower -garden, where the hedges of gorse in full flower -formed a golden mass, he entered the silent shadow -of the trees; and for some distance he pushed forward -between the close-growing trunks until he had -reached a favourite resort of his, where there was -a fallen oak spanning a little stream. Here, through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> -a cleft in the trees, he could see the moon, nearly -at its full, rising out of the violet haze of the evening; -and as he sat down, with his legs dangling -above the murmuring water, he listened in silence to -the last notes of a thrush’s nesting-song that presently -died away into the hush of contented rest.</p> - -<p>Around him the silent oaks were arrayed, their -boughs extending outwards and upwards from the -gnarled trunks in fantastic shapes, like huge claws -and fingers and probosces, feeling for the departed -sunlight. Little leaves were just beginning to appear -upon the branches, and here and there beneath -them, where the ground was free of undergrowth, -bluebells and violets appeared amongst the dead -bracken and foliage of last year, and the small white -wood-anemones like stars were scattered in profusion. -The primroses were nearly over, but bracken -shoots, curled like young ferns, were pushing up -through the brown remnants of a former generation; -low-growing creepers and brambles were -sprouting into greenness; and the moss and grasses -were tender with new life.</p> - -<p>Jim’s mood was melancholy, but not sorrowful. -It seemed to him that his heart was dead, crushed -flat by the flabby hand of that leering figure which -personified domestic life, and responded not to the -spring. He was so appallingly lonely that if there -had been tears within him they now would have -overflowed; but there were not. He had no self-pity, -no desire to confide his misery to another, no -power, it seemed, either to laugh at himself or -to weep.</p> - -<p>For three long years he had carried his distress<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> -about with him all day long, had gone for lonely -walks with it, had sat at home with it, had slept -with it, had wakened with it. At first he had obtained -relief from within: he had fallen back on -his own mind’s great reserves of inward entertainment. -But now he was no longer self-sufficient, -self-supporting. He was utterly barren: without -emotion, without love, without the power to write -his beloved verses, without a heart, without even -despair. He had always been capable of feeling -sorrow for, and sympathy with, the griefs of others: -he wished now to God that he could lament over -his own; but even lamentation was denied him.</p> - -<p>Presently, taking up his guitar, he began to sing -the first song that came to his head. It was an old -Italian refrain to which he had set his own words; -and so softly did the strings vibrate under his practised -fingers, so sorrowful was his rich voice, that -a listener might have imagined him to be a lovelorn -minstrel of Florence in the forests of Fiesole. -Yet there was no love in his heart.</p> - -<p>He sang next a melancholy negro dirge, and, -after a long silence, followed on with his own -setting of those lines from Shelley’s <cite>Ode to the West -Wind</cite>, which tell of one who, looking down into -the blue waters of the bay of Baiæ, saw</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent1">... Old palaces and towers</div> -<div class="verse">Quivering within the wave’s intenser day,</div> -<div class="verse">All overgrown with azure moss, and flowers</div> -<div class="verse">So sweet, the sense faints picturing them.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>As he sang there rose before his inward eye a -vision of the sun-bathed lands through which he -had wandered so happily in the past. He saw again<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> -the white houses reflected in the still waters of -Mediterranean, the olive-groves passing up the hillsides, -the hot roads leading through the red-roofed -villages, and the dark-skinned peasants driving their -goats along the mountain tracks. He saw the lights -of the city of Alexandria twinkling across the bay, -and heard the surge of the breakers beating on the -rocks. And then, quietly and vaguely, out of the -picture there came the serene, mysterious face of -a woman, a face he had thought forgotten. Her -black hair drifted back into his recollection, her grey -eyes seemed to gaze into his, and in his inward ear -the one word “Monimé” reverberated like an echo -of a dream. And suddenly a door seemed to open -within him, and with an overwhelming onset, his -captive emotions, his feelings, his long-forgotten -joys and sorrows, broke out from their prison and -surged through him.</p> - -<p>He laid his guitar aside, and for a while sat -wrapt in a kind of ecstasy. It was as though he -had risen from the grave: it was as though his -heart had come back to life within him.</p> - -<p>He scrambled to his feet and stood for a moment, -staring up at the moon, his fists clenched and drumming -upon his breast. Then, to his amazement, he -felt his eyes filled with tears—tears which he had -not shed since he was a small boy. He uttered a -laugh of embarrassment, but it broke in his throat, -and all the cynic in him collapsed.</p> - -<p>Throwing himself upon the ground, he spread -his arms out before him and buried his face in the -young violets. He did not care now how foolish -nor how unmanly his emotion might seem to be.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> -Here, in the woods, he was alone, and only the understanding -earth should receive his tears.</p> - -<p>For some time he lay thus upon his face; but at -length the paroxysms passed. He raised his head, -and as he did so he became aware, intuitively, that -he was being watched.</p> - -<p>“Who’s there?” he exclaimed, staring into the -surrounding undergrowth.</p> - -<p>There was a crackling of twigs, and a moment -later Smiley-face emerged into the moonlight, and -stood before him, touching his forelock.</p> - -<p>Jim clambered to his feet. “What the hell are -you doing here?” he asked, angrily. He was -ashamed that he had been observed, and the colour -mounted threateningly into his face.</p> - -<p>The poacher grinned. “Beg pardon, sir,” he said. -“I heerd you singin’, and I came to listen. And -then I saw you was in trouble, and....” He took -a crouched step forward, his face puckered up, -and his hands twitching. “Oh, sir, my dear, what -be the matter? Tell I, sir, tell I!” His voice was -passionately insistent. “Tell I! Don’t keep it from -your friend. Friends stick to one another through -thick and thin—you said it yourself, sir: them’s your -werry words, what you said when we shook ’ands. -I’d do anything in the world for you, sir, I would, -so ’elp me God! I’m a poacher, and maybe I’m a -thief, too, like you said; but s’elp me, I can’t see you -a’weeping there with your face in the ground—I -can’t see that, and not say nothin’. Tell I, my -dear!-tell your friend. If it’s that you’ve lost all -your money, I’ll work for you, sir. I don’t want no -wages. If it’s your enemies, say the word and I’ll<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> -kill ’em, I will. I’d swing for you, and gladly, too.”</p> - -<p>Jim stared at him in amazement. The words -poured from the man’s lips in such a torrent that -there could be no question of their boiling sincerity. -“Why, Smiley-face,” he said at length, “what makes -you feel like that about me? I don’t deserve it.”</p> - -<p>Smiley-face laughed aloud. “When I makes a -friend,” he replied, “I makes a friend. You done -things for I what I can’t tell you of. You’re the -first man as ever treated I fair; and now you’re -breaking your ’eart, and you’re letting it break and -not tellin’ nobody. Tell I, sir, tell I, my dear, I’m -askin’ you, please.”</p> - -<p>“There’s nothing to tell,” smiled Jim, putting his -hand on his friend’s tattered shoulder. “It’s only -that people like you and me are failures in life. We -don’t seem to fit in with English ways. I suppose -I got thinking too much about other lands, about -the old roads, and the sea, and the desert, and all -that sort of thing. But you wouldn’t understand: -you’ve never been far away from Eversfield, have -you?”</p> - -<p>He sat down and motioned Smiley-face to do likewise.</p> - -<p>“Tell I about them places, sir,” said the poacher, -“like what you sings about.” Instinctively, and -without reasoning, he knew that a long talk was the -best remedy for his friend; and gradually, by careful -questioning, he launched him forth upon distant -seas, and led him to speak of countries far away -from the catalepsy of his present existence.</p> - -<p>Jim spoke of the winding roads which lead up to -the hills of Ceylon, where the ground is covered with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> -little crimson blossoms of the Laritana, and where -the peacocks, sitting in rows by the wayside, utter -their wild cries as the bullock-bandies go lurching by, -and the monkeys swing from tree to tree, chattering -at the travellers. He spoke of the Aroe Islands, -where, once a year, the pearl merchants are gathered; -and he pictured in words the scene at night on -the still waters when every kind of craft is afloat, -and every kind of lantern sways under the stars in -the warm breath of the wind.</p> - -<p>Thence his memory leapt over the seas to the -southern coasts of Italy, where, upon a hot summer’s -night, the little harbour of Brindisi was gay with -lanterns in like manner, and the sound of mandolins -floated across the water; while the narrow streets -were thronged with townspeople taking the air after -the heat of the day. Later, he wandered to the -slopes of Lebanon, where clear rivulets rush down -from the hills, through thickets of oleander, and -tumble at last into the blue Mediterranean. He -spoke of mulberry orchards, and open tracts covered -with a bewildering maze of flowers and flowering -bushes: poppies, broom, speedwell, lupin, and many -another, so that the hillsides, overhanging the sea, -are dazzling to the eyes.</p> - -<p>And so he came to Egypt and the desert, and told -of the jackal-tracks which lead back from the Nile -into the barren, mysterious hills, where a man may -lose himself and die of thirst within a mile or two -of hidden wells; where the mirage rises like a lake -from the parched sand, and lures the thirsty -traveller to his doom; and where the vultures circle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> -in the blue heavens, waiting for the men and the -camels who fall and lie still.</p> - -<p>For a long time he sat talking thus, while the -moon rose above the trees; but at length the chill of -the air reminded him that he ought to be returning to -the manor, and, picking up his guitar, he rose to his -feet. Smiley-face, however, did not move. He was -staring in front of him, his two hands thrust into -the grass.</p> - -<p>“Come along,” said Jim. “I must go back to the -house now.”</p> - -<p>The poacher looked up at him with a curious expression -upon his face. “Reckon you baint agoin’ -to tell I what your trouble is, sir,” he smiled.</p> - -<p>Jim shook his head. “No,” he answered. “I -can’t talk about it, somehow. But I’ll tell you this, -Smiley-face: if I ever do talk to anybody about it -all it’ll be to you.”</p> - -<p>When he reached the manor, Jim found that he -was late for dinner; and at the foot of the stairs -he was confronted by Dolly, who was much annoyed -at seeing him still in his day clothes.</p> - -<p>“Oh, James!” she exclaimed, angrily. “Where -<em>have</em> you been? Dinner has already been kept back -a quarter of an hour for you.”</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m afraid I’m quite impossible. -Don’t wait for me: I’ll be down in a few -minutes.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t hurry,” she replied, icily. “Mr. Merrivall -is going to dine with us. I shan’t be lonely.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XI">Chapter XI: THE DEPARTURE</h2> - -<p>For three years, for three interminable years, -Jim had borne the stagnation of his married -life at Eversfield, the door of his heart shut -against the whispering voices which bade him turn -his back on his heritage and come out into the free -world once more. But now matters had reached a -psychological crisis. Something had happened to -him; something had opened the door again. And as -he sat in his room that night these voices seemed to -assail him from all sides, enticing him to leave -England, coaxing him, wheedling him, jeering at him -for his lack of enterprise, and persuading him with -the pictured delights of other lands.</p> - -<p>“Give it up!” they murmured. “You were never -meant for this sort of thing: you can never find happiness -here. Think of the sound of the sea as it -slaps the bow of the outbound liner; think of the -throb of the screw; think of the noisy boatloads surrounding -the ship when the anchor has rattled into -the transparent water of a southern harbour; the -familiar sound and smells of hot little towns, sheltering -under the palms; the soft crunch of camels’ pads -upon the desert sands; the far-off cry of the jackals. -Think of the unshackled life of the happy wanderer; -the freedom from the restraint of the Great Sham; -the absence of these posings and pretences of so-called -respectability. Give it up, you fool; and take<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> -your lazy body over the hills and far away: for your -lost content awaits you beyond the horizon, and -it will never come back to you in this stagnant valley.”</p> - -<p>Until late in the night he allowed his thoughts to -wander in forbidden places, and when at last he -sought comfort in sleep, his dreams were full of -far-away things and alluring scenes. In the early -morning he lay awake for an hour before it was -time to take his bath; and through the open window -the sound of the chimes from the distant spires of -Oxford floated into the room.</p> - -<p>“Confound those blasted bells!” he cried, suddenly -springing from his bed. “They have drugged -me long enough. To-day I am awake: I shall sleep -no more!”</p> - -<p>Of a sudden he formed a resolution. He would -go away alone for two or three months, in spite of -any protest which his wife might make. And not -only would he take this single holiday: he would lay -his plans so that there should be another scheme of -existence to which, in the future, he could retire -whenever his home became unbearable. His uncle -had led a double life: he, too, would do so; not, -however, in the company of any Emily, but in the far -more alluring society of that Lady called Liberty. -James Tundering-West, Squire of Eversfield, from -henceforth should be subject to perennial eclipses, -and at such times Jim Easton, vagrant, should be -resuscitated.</p> - -<p>He would sell out a couple of thousand pounds’ -worth of stock, and generously place it as a first -instalment to the credit of Jim Easton in another<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> -part of the world; and nobody but himself should -know about it. For the last three years he had lived -mainly on his rent-roll, and this should remain the -means of subsistence of his wife, and of himself so -long as he was in England. But the bulk of the remainder -of his fortune left of late almost untouched, -should gradually be transferred, little by little, to -the credit of the wanderer.</p> - -<p>At breakfast he was so enthralled with his scheme -that he paid no attention whatsoever to Dolly’s offended -silence. He told her that he was going to -London for a few days, and that very possibly he -would there make arrangements to go abroad for a -holiday.</p> - -<p>“As you please,” she replied, coldly. “I, too, -need a change; but I can’t play the deserter. I -must stay here, and try to do my duty.”</p> - -<p>Driving into Oxford he turned the matter over -in his mind unceasingly, and in the train he thought -of little else, nor so much as glanced at the newspapers -he had brought. The difficulty was to think -out a means whereby he could now place this capital -sum to the account of Jim Easton, and later add to -it, without using his cheque book or any bank notes -which could be traced; for all the salt would be gone -out of the proposed enterprise if his recurrent -change of personality were open to detection. He -wanted to be able to say to Dolly each year: “I am -going away, and I shall be back about such-and-such -a date, until then I shall not be able to be found, -nor troubled in any way by the exigencies of domestic -life.”</p> - -<p>At length, as he reached the hotel where he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> -going to stay, the simple solution came to him; and -so eager was he to put the plan into execution that -he was off upon the business so soon as he had deposited -his dressing-case in the bedroom. In South -Africa he had become an expert in the valuation of -diamonds, and now he proposed to put this knowledge -to use. He knew the addresses of two or three -dealers who supplied the trade with unset stones; -and to these he made his way, with the result that -during the afternoon he had selected some twenty -small diamonds which were to be held for him until -his cheques should be forthcoming.</p> - -<p>The business was resumed next day; and by the -following evening he had depleted his capital by -two thousand pounds, and in its place he held a little -boxful of diamonds which, so far as he could tell, -were worth considerably more than he had paid for -them. These stones he proposed to sell again, practically -one by one, in various foreign cities, depositing -the proceeds in the name of Jim Easton at some -bank, say in Rome; and, as all the jewels were of -inconspicuous size and small value, his dealings -would not be able to be traced beyond the original -purchases in London, even if so far as that.</p> - -<p>Before returning to Oxford he decided to pay -a call on Mrs. Darling to invite her to go down to -stay at Eversfield during his absence. He regarded -her as a capable, good-natured, and entirely unprincipled -woman; and she had invariably shown him -that at any rate she liked him, if she were not always -proud of him. As a mother-in-law she had been -extraordinarily circumspect, and, in fact, she had -effaced herself to a quite unnecessary extent, seldom<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> -coming to stay at the manor, but preferring to pass -most of her time at her little flat in London.</p> - -<p>She was at home when he called, and greeted him -with affection, good-temperedly scolding him for -not writing to her more often.</p> - -<p>“You might have peaceably passed away, for all -I knew,” she said.</p> - -<p>Jim smiled. “Oh, I think Dolly would have mentioned -it, if I had,” he replied. He gazed around -the room: it was always a source of profound astonishment -to him. The walls were silver-papered, the -woodwork was scarlet, the furniture was of red -lacquer, the carpet was grey, and the chairs and sofa -were upholstered in grey silk, ornamented with much -silver fringe and many tassels of silver and scarlet. -Upon the walls were a dozen Bakst-like paintings of -women displaying bits of their remarkable anatomy -through unnecessary apertures in their tawdry garments; -and as Jim stared at them he was devoutly -thankful that Mrs. Darling had not robed herself in -like manner.</p> - -<p>She followed the direction of his gaze. “Hideous, -aren’t they?” she said.</p> - -<p>“They are, rather,” he replied. “Why do you -have them?”</p> - -<p>“Well, you see,” she answered, “so many milliners -and dressmakers come to see me in connection -with my monthly fashion articles; and they would of -course think nothing of my taste if I had any really -nice pictures on my walls.”</p> - -<p>She dived behind the sofa and rose again with -her hands full of a medley of startling nightgowns.</p> - -<p>“Look at these!” she laughed. “They were left<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> -here for me to criticise by a shop which calls itself -‘Frocks, Follies, and Fragrance.’ Horrible, aren’t -they? The only nice thing about them is their exquisite -material. I always say to all young married -women: ‘Flannel nightgowns may keep <em>you</em> warm, -but <i lang="fr">crêpe-de-Chine</i> will keep your husband.”</p> - -<p>Jim stared at the wildly coloured garments long -and thoughtfully. “I sometimes think,” he said at -length, “that women have no sense of humour.”</p> - -<p>“No more has Nature,” she replied. “Look at -the camel.” She changed the conversation. “Tell -me,” she said, “how is Dolly?”</p> - -<p>“Top hole, thanks,” he replied.</p> - -<p>“I notice,” Mrs. Darling remarked, as they sat -down together on the big sofa, “that you don’t -bring her to Town with you nowadays. I hope -you’re not leading a double life?”</p> - -<p>“No,” he answered.</p> - -<p>“That’s right,” she said. “That’s a good boy! -Have you taken to drink yet?”</p> - -<p>Jim laughed. “No, why should I?”</p> - -<p>“Most married men do,” she told him. “My own -husband did. He never really showed it; but I’ve -seen him get up the morning after, turn on a cold -bath, drink it, and go to bed again.”</p> - -<p>“Well, as a matter of fact,” said Jim, “I <em>am</em> -thinking of breaking loose for a bit. That’s really -what I’ve come to see you about. I want your -advice.”</p> - -<p>“Advice! Advice from <em>me</em>?” she exclaimed. -“Why, my dear boy, my advice on domestic affairs -would be worth about as much as the figure 0 without -its circumference-line.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well, not your advice exactly, but your help. -The fact is, I want to get away. I’ve grown flat -and stale down at Eversfield, and I think Dolly finds -me rather a bore sometimes. I have an idea that it -would do us both a lot of good if I were to go off -for a bit by myself.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Darling looked anxiously at him, and her -jesting manner left her for a moment. “I hope -nothing has gone wrong between you?” she said -earnestly.</p> - -<p>Jim hastened to assure her. “Oh, no, everything -is quite all right.”</p> - -<p>“I’m sure I hope so,” she replied. “But I know -Dolly is rather exacting.”</p> - -<p>“It’s my own fault,” he remarked, quickly. “I -must be quite impossible as a husband.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Darling uttered an exclamation of distress. -“Oh, then there <em>is</em> something wrong?” she said. “I -thought so, from the tone of her letters.”</p> - -<p>Jim was embarrassed. “No, I only want to get -away because I’m not very well, and also because -I want to polish up some old verses of mine.”</p> - -<p>She looked at him earnestly. “My dear boy,” -she said, “if you’ve lost your trousers, it’s no good -putting on two coats. If you’re unhappy at home, -it’s no good kidding yourself with other reasons for -getting away.”</p> - -<p>“I assure you ...” Jim began.</p> - -<p>She interrupted him. “Come on, now—what -d’you want me to do? D’you want me to persuade -Dolly to let you go?”</p> - -<p>He shook his head. “No,” he answered. “I am -going anyhow. What I want you to do is to keep<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> -an eye on her while I’m gone. Take her away for -a holiday, if you like: I’ll gladly pay all expenses. -Keep her amused.”</p> - -<p>“How long to you intend to be away?” she -asked.</p> - -<p>“Oh, a couple of months or so,” he replied. “I -don’t exactly know....”</p> - -<p>She turned to him, searchingly. “Is it another -woman?”</p> - -<p>“No, no,” he laughed. “I dislike women intensely.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you!” she smiled. “On behalf of my -daughter and myself, thank you!” She was silent -for a while. “I wonder why you ever married?” -she said, at length.</p> - -<p>“We all have our romances,” he answered.</p> - -<p>“Romances!” She uttered the word with bitterness. -“What is romance? Just Nature’s fig-leaf. -It is something that Youth employs to disguise -something else. Youth is a calamity. I really -sometimes thank Heaven for middle age and old -age: they bring one at any rate the blessing of indifference. -I’m thankful that I’m an old woman.”</p> - -<p>“You’re not old,” Jim replied. “You don’t look -forty. And you’re in the pink of health.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, my dear,” she said. “I’ve nothing much to -complain of in that respect. All I want is a new -pair of legs and a clean heart....”</p> - -<p>“Oh, your heart’s all right,” he told her, putting -his hand on hers.</p> - -<p>“No,” she answered. “I’m a bad old woman. I -earn a living by writing indecently about women’s -clothes, and how to wear them so as to destroy men’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> -virtue. I sit about in night-clubs; I play cards on -Sundays; I’ll dine with anybody on earth who’ll give -me a good dinner and a bottle of wine; and I never -go to church. What d’you think Eversfield would -say to that?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Eversfield be hanged,” he replied, with feeling. -“You’re a good sort, and you’re kind. That’s -better than all the rotten respectability of Eversfield.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not so sure,” she said. “Respectability has -its merits. You go and spend a few weeks with the -sort of people I mix with, and you’ll find Miss -Proudfoote of the Grange like a breath of fresh -air.”</p> - -<p>“I’m sure I shouldn’t,” Jim answered with conviction.</p> - -<p>She shrugged her shoulders, and presently their -conversation turned in other directions.</p> - -<p>When at length he rose to go, he startled her -by remarking that he would not see her again until -his return from his travels; and to her surprised -question he replied that he was going down to Oxford -next morning, and that on the following day -he would set out on his wanderings.</p> - -<p>She looked anxiously at him once more. “There -isn’t any real quarrel between you and Dolly, is -there?” she asked again.</p> - -<p>He reassured her. “No, none at all. It’s only -that I have a craving for Italy....”</p> - -<p>“Well,” she said, “if you live in a thatched house, -don’t start letting off Roman candles.”</p> - -<p>“What d’you mean?” he laughed.</p> - -<p>“I mean,” she replied. “ ... Oh, never mind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> -what I mean. Don’t go the pace, and don’t stay -away too long; or there’ll be trouble. Don’t forget -that you’ve got a tradition to keep going. Don’t -forget your uncle’s tombstone. What does it say?—‘A -man who nobly upheld the traditions of his -race....’”</p> - -<p>“Yes, isn’t it rot?” he answered. “Do you know -I came across some of his letters, and I can tell you -his respectability was only skin-deep. All his life -he lived a lie, and now he lies in his grave, and his -epitaph lies above him.”</p> - -<p>She took his proffered hand in hers and held it -for a moment. “Jim, my boy,” she said, “I’m only -a wicked old woman; but I’ve got a great respect for -virtue, even when it’s only skin-deep. It’s the people -who don’t care what their neighbours say who -come to grief.”</p> - -<p>When Jim returned to Oxford and broke the news -of his immediate departure to Dolly, she received it -with a calmness which he had not expected. He -had anticipated a painful scene, and he was even a -little disappointed that she fell in so readily with -his plans.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she said. “If you’ve made up your mind -to go, it’s no good hanging about here. You’ve -been finding rather a lot of fault with me lately. -Perhaps when you are alone you will appreciate all -I’ve done for you.”</p> - -<p>“Of course I shall, dear,” he replied.</p> - -<p>Quietly, and in a very business-like manner, she -asked him what arrangements he had made about -the money she was to draw; and this being settled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> -to her satisfaction she approached, with apparent -diffidence, a more important subject.</p> - -<p>“I do hope you aren’t going to any dangerous -places,” she said. “You mustn’t take any risks.”</p> - -<p>He assured her that he had no intention of doing -so.</p> - -<p>“But supposing anything happened to you,” she -went on, “what would become of me?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll make my will, if you like,” he laughed.</p> - -<p>She uttered a gasp of horror. “What a dreadful -thought!” she murmured. She was silent for a few -moments, her eyes gazing out of the window, her -mouth a little open. Then, without looking at him, -she said: “I suppose just a line on a sheet of -paper will do? You only have to say that you leave -everything to me ... at least I take it that there’s -nobody else to leave it to?” She turned to him with -an innocent smile.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, it’s all yours if I die,” he replied.</p> - -<p>“Well, you’d better do it now before you forget,” -she said, smiling at him and patting his hand. She -pointed to the writing-bureau in the corner of the -room. “You just scribble it on a half-sheet, and -seal it up, and write on the envelope ‘to be opened -in the event of my death,’ and post it to your solicitors. -That’s all.”</p> - -<p>“You seem to have thought it all out,” he laughed, -going to the bureau.</p> - -<p>“Oh, James!” she exclaimed, reproachfully. -“What dreadful things you do say!”</p> - -<p>His departure on the following morning was unceremonious. -In spite of Dolly’s anxieties in regard -to his safety, the fact remained that he was only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> -going away for a couple of months or thereabouts. -He was to take but a single portmanteau with him; -his precious diamonds were to be carried in a knotted -handkerchief in his pocket; and in his hand he -would hold only a stout walking-stick. The only -persons who appeared to be concerned at his going -were the two little girls; and even they—as is the -habit of children—returned to their play before the -carriage had left the door.</p> - -<p>Dolly had said she would drive with him into -Oxford to see him off in the train; but, as he was -to depart at an early hour, she was not dressed in -time, and was therefore obliged to bid him “good-bye” -at the foot of the stairs. She looked a pretty -little creature, standing there in a pink dressing-gown, -with the morning sunlight striking upon her -fair hair, which fell around her shoulders, as -though she had been disturbed in the act of combing -it, and with a background of the dark portraits -of previous owners of the manor. In her hand she -was carrying a large bunch of apple-blossom, which -she accounted for by saying that she had just been -picking it from outside her bedroom window at the -moment when he called out to her. Knowing her -habit of studying effects, Jim felt sure that she had -thought out this charming picture, and had never -had any intention of accompanying him to the station; -nor had he the heart to ask her why, if she -had but now plucked the blossom from the tree, -the stems should be dripping with water as though -just lifted from a vase.</p> - -<p>“Every picture tells a story,” he muttered to himself -as he drove away, “and some tell downright lies.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XII">Chapter XII: THE ESCAPE</h2> - -<p>On his arrival in Paris, his sensations were -not far removed from bliss; but soon he -was obliged to set about the tedious business -of selling his diamonds, one by one, in a manner -so unobtrusive and anonymous that no particular -notice should be paid to the deals. He was somewhat -disappointed to find that, in spite of his expert -knowledge both of the stones and of the channels -for their disposal, he failed to avoid a slight loss on -the various transactions; but he was in no mood to -bargain, and he was well content, at the end of the -second day, to be rid of a quarter of his collection, -and to feel the notes, which were to be the support -of his future wanderings, pleasantly bulging out of -his pocket-book.</p> - -<p>From Paris he proceeded to Lyons, Marseilles, -and Monte Carlo, in which places he disposed of the -remainder of his collection, this time at a small -profit. During these business transactions he felt -that he was generally regarded as a thief, and more -than once his experiences were unpleasant; but he -was so full of the idea of hiding his tracks, and of -building up once more the old life of freedom beyond -the range of Dolly’s prying eyes, that he adopted, -without any regard to his natural sensitiveness, all -manner of subterfuges and variations of name.</p> - -<p>At length, with quite an unwieldy packet of small<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> -notes, he made his way along the coast, crossed the -frontier, being still under his real name, and stopped -at Savona, Genoa, and Spezia, where he laboriously -changed the money, little by little, into Italian currency. -He then proceeded by way of Pisa to Rome, -where, with a sense of almost schoolboyish exultation, -he deposited his vagrant’s fortune at a well-known -bank, and opened an account in the name of -“James Easton.” This accomplished, he felt that -he had taken the first firm step in his emancipation; -for in future, whenever Eversfield became unbearable, -he could speed over to Rome, even for but a -month at a time, and, moving eastwards or southwards -from this base, under the name by which he -had formerly been known, he would always find -money at his disposal, and complete freedom from -domestic obligations.</p> - -<p>He had now been gone from England some fourteen -days, but Rome was the first place at which -he had assumed this other name, for he intended -Italy to be the western frontier of the vagrant’s life. -The change of name meant far more to him than -can easily be realized: it had a psychological effect -upon his mind, such as, in a lesser degree, can sometimes -be produced by a complete change of clothes. -He almost hoped that he would be recognized and -hailed by some acquaintance from England in order -that he might look him deliberately in the face and -say: “I am afraid you have made a mistake. <em>My</em> -name is Easton: I come from Egypt.”</p> - -<p>Having assumed this alias his first object was -to recapture the old beloved sense of liberty by -resuming his wandering existence, and by turning his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> -back upon the elegances of life. Under the name -of Easton, therefore, he at once selected a small inn -in the democratic Trastevere quarter, near the Ponte -Sisto, which had been recommended to him as the -resort of commercial travellers and the like who -desired a little cleanliness in conjunction with moderate -honesty and extreme low prices; and having here -deposited his portmanteau and engaged a room for a -fortnight hence, he went at once to the railway station -with nothing but a knapsack and a walking-stick -in his hand and took the long journey back to Pisa, -his intention being to wander southwards from that -point along the beautiful coast, where the pine-woods -came down to the seashore.</p> - -<p>During the years at Eversfield his emotions had -dried up, and he had become barren of all exalted -thoughts. He was, as he expressed it to himself, -continuously “off the boil.” But now once more -his brain was galvanized, and all his actions were -intensified, speeded up, and ebullient. His power -of enjoyment, lost so long, had come back to him, -and now not infrequently he was blessed with that -fine frenzy which had left his mind unvisited these -many weary months. He was a different man to-day: -again hot-blooded, again eager to listen to the -lure of the unattained, again capable of soaring, as it -were, to the sun and the stars.</p> - -<p>Two days later there befell him an adventure -which changed the whole course of his life.</p> - -<p>He had been walking all day through the pines -and along the beach, and in the late afternoon he -inquired of a passer-by whether there were any village -in the neighbourhood where he might spend the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> -night. The man replied that the path by which Jim -was going led to a small fishermen’s inn, where a -room and a meal were generally to be obtained, but -that if he desired to reach the next little town he -would have to retrace his steps and make a considerable -detour, for, although it stood upon the -seashore only three kilometres further along, it could -not be approached by the beach, owing to the presence -of a wide estuary. The day having been extremely -hot, Jim was tired, and he therefore decided -to try his luck at this house, which, the man said, was -distant but ten minutes’ walk.</p> - -<p>He found it to be a high, square, drab-washed -building, which like so many poorer houses in Italy, -gave the melancholy suggestion that it had seen better -days. The red-tiled roof was in need of repair, -the green shutters were falling to pieces, and there -were innumerable cracks and small dilapidations -upon its extensive areas of blank wall. The only indications -that it was an inn were a long table and a -bench upon one side of the narrow doorway, and a -number of crude drawings in charcoal upon the lower -part of the front wall.</p> - -<p>The house stood upon a mound facing the beach, -and backed by the dark pines; and at one side there -was a patch of cultivated ground in which a few -vegetables were growing. A small rowing-boat, -moored by a rope, floated upon the smooth surface -of the sea, and upon a group of rocks near by two -dark-skinned fishermen sat smoking cigarettes. One -of these, upon seeing Jim, put his hand to his mouth -and called out to the innkeeper, who replied from -some empty-sounding part of the ground-floor, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> -presently came with clamorous footsteps along the -stone-flagged passage to the door.</p> - -<p>He was a tall, stout man, with a two-days’ growth -of grey stubble covering the lower part of his -tanned face, and an untidy mat of white hair upon -his head. His forehead was deeply wrinkled, and -his eyes were screwed up as though the light hurt -him. Had he changed his loose corduroy trousers -and his collarless striped shirt for the garb of his -ancestors, one would have said that the marble Sulla -of the Vatican Museum had come to life.</p> - -<p>Jim was in two minds as to whether to spend the -night in this somewhat forbidding house, or to proceed -upon his way; and he therefore asked only for -a bottle of wine, at the same time inviting his host -to drink a glass with him. The man accepted the -invitation with alacrity, and, disappearing into the -echoing house, soon returned with the bottle. He -hesitated, however, before drawing the cork, and -diffidently mentioned the price, whereupon Jim put -his hand in his pocket and drew forth his loose -change. The wrinkles deepened on the man’s forehead -as he gazed at the money, and an expression -of disappointment passed over his face; for the coins -did not amount to the sum named. Jim, however, -smilingly reassured him, and produced his roll of -notes, from which he selected one, asking whether -his host could change it. At this the man’s face -showed his satisfaction, and he hastened to uncork -the bottle, thereafter fetching the change and sitting -down to enjoy the wine with every token of brotherly love.</p> - -<p>For some time they talked, and it was very soon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> -apparent that the innkeeper was of the braggart -type. He had once been in the army, and he described -with great gusto his gallant exploits and -feats of arms, relating also his affairs of the heart, -and telling how once he fought a duel and killed his -man for the sake of a girl who was in no wise worthy -of him. Jim listened with amusement, and presently, -in answer to his host’s questions, he explained -that he himself was merely a mild Englishman, and -that he was walking from village to village along -the coast by way of a holiday. This statement was -received with frank astonishment, and led to a further -series of inquiries, to which Jim replied with -amused volubility, pointing out the delights of a -wandering life, and speaking of the pleasures of a -state of incognito, when hearth and home are temporarily -abandoned, and nobody knows whither one -has disappeared. The innkeeper listened with evident -interest, looking at him searchingly from time -to time as he talked, and forgetting to boast or even -drink his wine, as he sat with folded arms and -wrinkled brow, staring out to sea.</p> - -<p>The sun was setting when at length Jim rose to his -feet to consider whether he should proceed or -should stay the night where he was. His legs felt -weary, however; and when his host presently made -the suggestion that he should inspect the guest-chamber -upstairs, Jim was quickly persuaded to do -so, and, finding it quite habitable, at once decided to -remain until morning.</p> - -<p>The innkeeper thereupon retired into the back -premises to prepare a meal, and Jim sauntered down -to the beach to enjoy the cool of the dusk. Climbing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> -over the promontory of smooth, rounded rocks, -to one of which the rowing-boat was moored, he -pulled the little craft towards him by its rope, and, -scrambling into it, sat for some time handling the -oars and gazing down into the water. It was very -pleasant to ride here upon the gently moving swell, -listening to the quiet surge of the waves upon the -shore, and watching the fading colours of the sky; -and when, in the dim light, he saw his host appear -at the doorway of the house, looking about him for -his guest, he stepped back on to the rocks with lazy -reluctance.</p> - -<p>The fare presently provided in the front room was -rough but appetizing, and when the meal was finished -he returned once more to the table outside, -where he found his host seated with three other men, -for whom, after a ceremonious introduction, Jim -called for another bottle of wine. The appearance -of these other guests, however, was not pleasant: -they looked, in fact, as disreputable a gang of cut-throats -as ever sat round a guttering candle; and once -or twice he thought he observed upon the innkeeper’s -face an expression something like that of apology.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, the party remained talking, and -their host continued his bragging, far into the night, -for it seemed that all of them were to sleep at the -inn; and it was midnight before Jim made his salutations -and was lighted up to his room by the owner -of the house.</p> - -<p>As soon as he was alone he went to the open -window, and stared out into the darkness. The sky -was brilliant with stars which were reflected in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> -sea, whose rhythmic sobbing came to his ears; but -he could only dimly discern the rocks and the little -rowing-boat, and the line of the beach was lost in the -indigo of the night. For some time he stood deep -in thought; but at length, of a sudden, a feeling of -apprehension entered his mind, and, returning into -the candlelight, he remained for a while irresolute -in the middle of the room.</p> - -<p>The sensation, however, presently passed; but in -order to occupy his thoughts he drew from his -pocket an unused picture-postcard, which he had -purchased on the previous day, and performed the -much postponed duty of writing a line to his wife, -telling her shortly that he was well. He addressed -the card to her and laid it aside, with the intention -of posting it at some obscure village whose name -upon the postmark would convey nothing to Dolly. -Then, seating himself upon the side of the bed, he -prepared to undress.</p> - -<p>As he stooped to unlace his boots the tremor of -apprehension returned to him, and for some moments -he sat perfectly still, looking at the candle, -and wondering at his unfamiliar nervousness. “I -suppose,” he thought to himself, “I have been too -long in the shelter of Eversfield, and have grown -unaccustomed to the ordinary circumstances of the -wanderer’s life.”</p> - -<p>Then, like a sudden flash, the recollection came -to him that the innkeeper had seen his roll of notes, -and that the man knew him to be an unattached -wayfarer, and consequently fair game for robbery -or even murder. The thought set his heart beating -in a manner which shamed him; and, though he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> -fought against it resolutely, he permitted himself, -nevertheless, to creep over to the door and to slide -the clumsy bolt into its socket. He then felt in his -pocket to assure himself that his matches were at -hand; and, having placed the candle by his bedside, -he blew out the light and prepared himself for an -uncomfortable night.</p> - -<p>For some time he lay quietly upon the bed, fully -dressed, his eyes turned to the open window, through -which the brilliant stars were visible; but at length -sleep began to overcome his forebodings, so that he -dozed, and at last passed into unconsciousness.</p> - -<p>He awoke with an instant conviction that some -sound had disturbed him; and for a moment he felt -his pulses hammering as he listened intently. The -stars had moved across the heavens during his slumbers, -and their position now suggested that dawn -was not far off, a fact of which he was profoundly -glad, for his mind was filled with a very definite -kind of dread, and he was eager to be up and away. -Something, he was convinced, had been going on -while he slept: he could feel it, as it were, in his -bones.</p> - -<p>He was about to light the candle when, to his -extreme horror, he caught sight of a man’s head -slowly rising above the level of the window-sill and -blotting out the stars. Jim lay absolutely still, desperately -concentrating his brains to meet the situation; -and as he did so the figure outside the window, -like a menacing black shadow, stealthily raised itself -until the arms and shoulders were visible, and he -was able to recognize the large proportions of the -innkeeper.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p> - -<p>The room was in complete darkness, and, realizing -that he himself could not be seen, Jim silently -extended his hand until his fingers clasped themselves -around the brass candlestick at his side. His agitation -gave place to the thrill of battle, and, with a -bound like that of a wild animal, he sprang to his -feet and dashed at the intruder. At the same moment -the man clambered into the room; and, an instant -later, the two were in contact.</p> - -<p>A frenzied blow with the heavy candlestick -struck the innkeeper’s uplifted arm, and the knife -which he had been carrying fell to the floor. The -man darted to recover it, whereat Jim aimed a second -blow as he stooped; but, before he could strike, -the innkeeper’s left hand crashed into his face, so -that he staggered back across the room with the -blood pouring from his nose. Regaining his balance, -he again rushed forward; and before the other -could raise his recovered knife the candlestick descended -upon his head, with a most satisfactory thud, -and, without a sound, the man fell in a heap upon -the floor.</p> - -<p>For a moment Jim stood over him, his improvised -weapon raised to strike again. He felt the -blood streaming from his nose, and, pulling his -handkerchief from his pocket, he attempted in vain -to arrest the flow, at the same time wondering what -next he should do. He could just discern the dark -outline of the figure at his feet, but there was no -sign of movement, and he wondered whether the -man were dead. At the moment he certainly hoped -so.</p> - -<p>Then, sniffing and panting, he felt for his matches<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> -and struck a light. The candle, which had fallen -from its socket, lay on the floor before him; and -this he now lit, replacing it in the brass holder which -had served him so well. Next, he glanced out of the -window, and saw, as he had expected, a ladder leaning -against the wall; but, though he could now hear -voices in the house, there seemed to be no one at the -foot of the ladder, so far as the darkness permitted -him to discern.</p> - -<p>This appeared, therefore, to be the best means -of escape, and, snatching up his hat and slinging his -knapsack across his shoulder, he hastened towards -the window. As he did so the figure upon the floor -showed signs of returning life, and Jim hastily -stooped and picked up the man’s ugly-looking knife, -while the blood from his nose steadily dripped upon -it, upon the clothes of his unconscious assailant, and -upon the bare boards.</p> - -<p>He was in the act of climbing over the sill when -he heard voices at the bedroom door, and saw the -bolt rattle. At this he slid down the ladder at break-neck -speed, and raced through the darkness as fast -as his legs would carry him towards the beach. For -a moment he hesitated upon the soft sand, recollecting -that in the one direction—the way he had come -yesterday—there was no habitation for many miles, -while in the other the estuary, of which he had -been told, cut him off from the neighbouring town.</p> - -<p>Behind him he heard a considerable commotion -in the house, and at the lighted window of his abandoned -bedroom he saw a figure appear for a moment. -The other men, then, had burst into the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> -room, and in a few moments they would doubtless -be after him.</p> - -<p>Suddenly he thought of the rowing-boat, and, with -a gasp of relief, he ran out on to the rocks. Here -he slipped and fell, thereby losing the innkeeper’s -knife; but, with hands wet with the blood from his -nose, he clutched at the boulders, and clambered forward. -A few minutes later he had lifted the boat’s -mooring-rope from the rock around which it was -fastened, and had pushed out to sea.</p> - -<p>For some minutes he rowed at his best speed -away from the land, but presently he rested on his -oars to listen to the cries and curses which came over -the water to his ears out of the darkness. His -mood was now exultant, for he had observed on the -previous evening that there was no other craft of any -kind within sight, and a pull of two or three kilometres -would bring him to the neighbouring town. -He was now enjoying the adventure, for he felt that -it marked the breaking of the long monotony of -his days at Eversfield and the beginning of a new and -more vivid existence, far removed from the petty -incidents of English village life. He could not resist -the temptation to shout out some bantering remark -to the men upon the beach whom he could not see, -and soon his voice was sounding across the dark -water, bearing impolite messages to the innkeeper -and a few choice words for themselves. Their oaths -returned to him out of the night, and set him laughing; -and presently he resumed his rowing now with -a less frenzied stroke, heading towards the three or -four solitary lights which marked his destination.</p> - -<p>And thus, as the first light of dawn appeared<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> -in the eastern sky, he quietly beached the little boat -upon the deserted shore in front of the houses, and -stepped out on to the sand. The current had been -running strongly against him, and the journey had -taken him longer than he had expected; but in the -cool night air, under the glorious stars, he had found -himself thoroughly happy, and his excitement -seemed but to have added zest to his life.</p> - -<p>A troublesome question, however, now arose in -his mind as to whether he should go at once to the -police, or whether it would be wiser to keep silent -in regard to his adventure. If he reported the matter -and subsequently had to appear in the courts, the -pleasant secret of his double identity would have to -be revealed. That would be the end of James -Easton, for, in the limelight which would be turned -upon him, he would be obliged to admit to his real -name. On the other hand, he would dearly like to -bring the innkeeper and his confederates to justice.</p> - -<p>He now, therefore, sat down upon the beach in -the dim light of daybreak and carefully thought the -matter out in all its aspects; the result being that -at length he very reluctantly decided to hold his -tongue, and, with the first rays of the sun, to proceed -upon his way.</p> - -<p>Taking off his boots and socks, and rolling up his -trousers, he went back to the boat, and, wading -into the water, pushed it out to sea with all his -strength, thereafter watching it as it slowly floated -back towards the estuary, in which direction the current -was travelling. He then went over to a cluster -of rocks, behind which he would be unobserved, and -there he opened his knapsack and made his toilet,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> -washing the crusted blood from his face and hands -and the front of his coat.</p> - -<p>When he emerged at length, the sun had risen; -and he walked into the little town in an entirely inconspicuous -manner. Here he presently ascertained -that there was a railway-station, and he observed -that a number of people were already making their -way thither to catch the early market-train. Nobody -took any notice of him as he bought his ticket -and entered the compartment, for in appearance he -differed little from an ordinary Italian, and he was -not called upon to speak at sufficient length to reveal -any faults in his accent. This was all to the good, -since his sole object now was to leave the neighbourhood -of his adventure in order to preserve the secret -of his double life. Thus half an hour later he was -jogging along back to Pisa, and by mid-morning he -was on his way to Florence, none the worse for his -adventure, and having suffered no loss with the exception -of his walking-stick, his handkerchief, a -great deal of blood, and much of his confidence in -the Italian peasant.</p> - -<p>Arrived at Florence, he engaged a room, in the -name of Easton, at a small and quiet hotel, and here -he decided to remain for the next few days, and to -forget his growing indignation against the murderous -innkeeper, since no redress was possible without -exposure of his carefully laid plans. His amazement -and agitation may thus be imagined when, on -the following morning, he read in his newspaper that -he was believed to have been murdered.</p> - -<p>The account was circumstantial. A police patrol, -riding along the beach an hour before dawn, had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> -come upon two men acting in what was described -as a suspicious manner outside the inn. Questions -were being put to them when the innkeeper appeared -at a window and shouted out, asking whether -their victim had been “finished off.” This led to a -search of the house, and to the examination of the -disordered and bloodstained bedroom, and to the -discovery of a walking-stick bearing the name “J. -Tundering-West” upon the silver band, a blood-soaked -handkerchief marked J. T.-W., and a postcard -addressed by the victim to Mrs. Tundering-West. -Thereupon the dazed innkeeper and his -friends were arrested, and it was observed that there -were spots of blood upon the clothes of the former. -A further search, after the sun had risen, had revealed -bloodstains leading down to and upon the -rocks, whither the body had evidently been carried; -while a bloodstained knife, thrown aside at the edge -of the water, and marks of a struggle, indicated that -the unfortunate man had here been “finished off” -before being dropped into the sea.</p> - -<p>The arrested men had confessed to being associated -with an attempted act of violence, but swore -that the intended victim had escaped in the boat, -and that one of their number, who was the only -guilty party, had fled. This, however, was a palpable -lie, for the boat was later found beached at the -mouth of the estuary a short distance away, and if -it had been used at all, which was not at all certain, -it must have been utilized as a means of escape by -that one of their number who had bolted.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, the police had ascertained that Mr. -Tundering-West had been staying at Genoa three<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> -days previously; and that an Englishman, whose -name did not appear in the hotel register, but was -probably identical, had stopped at the little Hotel -Giovanni in Pisa on the nights previous to the crime. -During the day a police-launch had scoured the sea -in the neighbourhood, but the body had not been -found.</p> - -<p>Jim was dazed as he read the amazing words, and -for some time thereafter he sat staring in front of -him, lost in a maze of speculation. Two thoughts, -however, stood out clearly in the confusion of his -mind. In the first place he must not allow the innkeeper -to suffer the extreme penalty for a crime -which fortunately had not been committed; and in -the second place he would have to notify Dolly that -he was safe.</p> - -<p>Presently, therefore, he made his way towards a -telegraph office, and then, changing his mind, enquired -his way to the police-station. He was feverishly -anxious to preserve the secret of his identity -with Jim Easton, for that name seemed to represent -his freedom, and he was filled with disappointment -that all his schemes for his periodical liberty should -thus fall to pieces; yet he could not devise a means -of preserving his secret, and he hovered, irresolute, -between the Scylla of the telegram and the Charybdis -of this devastating notification to the police.</p> - -<p>He was standing at a street corner, near the telegraph -office, racking his brains, when a newspaper -boy passed him, selling an evening paper; and he -bought a copy in order to read the latest news in -regard to his own murder. Great developments, he -found, had taken place during the day. Acting upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> -an anonymous communication, the police had dug up -the flagstones of one of the basement rooms of the -inn, and there they had found the decomposing body -of a certain Italian gentleman who had disappeared -some months previously; and, following upon this, -the innkeeper had made a dramatic confession. It -was true, he declared, that both murders were the -work of his hands. In the case of the Italian, the -victim had insulted a woman of his acquaintance and -a duel had followed; and in the case of the Englishman, -the motive had been revenge for an insult to -his beloved Italy. He had offered to fight this foreigner -like a gentleman, but the stranger had taken -a mean advantage of him and had struck him with -a candlestick. Thereupon he had stabbed him -deeply, as the blood indicated, but not fatally, for -there had followed a pretty fight; and at last he had -lifted his opponent from the ground and had hurled -him straight through the window. Then, contemptuously -handing his knife to that one of his friends -who had cravenly fled, he had told him to finish the -work, and to throw the body to the fishes.</p> - -<p>At this Jim’s heart leapt within him, and he -laughed aloud. It was now totally unnecessary for -him to save the braggart’s neck by revealing the -fact that he was alive and unhurt. Indeed, he -smiled, he had not the heart to spoil the man’s -boastful story. The innkeeper was a proven murderer -or manslaughterer, and there was no need to -speak up in his defence. The finding of the first -victim’s body, and the consequent confession, had -completely ended the matter; and now the law could -take its course. And upon the heels of this conclusion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> -there came rushing forward another thought—a -thought which had been lurking in the back of -his mind ever since he had read the first news of the -crime.</p> - -<p>“James Tundering-West is dead,” he muttered; -“the Squire of Eversfield is <em>dead</em>! But Jim Easton, -the vagrant, is alive!”</p> - -<p>He struck his breast with his fist, and set off walking -aimlessly along the street, away from the telegraph -office. Of a sudden, it seemed to him, an -incubus had been removed. That fat, leering figure -in its tight black coat, which, in his imagination, -had come to represent domestic life and village society, -had collapsed like a pricked balloon. It had -leered at him for the last time, and, with a whistle -of escaping air, had shrunk into a little heap, over -which he was even now leaping to freedom.</p> - -<p>“Jim Easton, the free man, is alive,” sang his -heart, “but Dolly’s husband is at the bottom of the -sea!”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIII">Chapter XIII: FREEDOM</h2> - -<p>It is not easy to convey in a few words the -turmoil of Jim’s mind during the following -days. One cannot say that he was the prey -of his conscience, for he believed from the bottom -of his heart that he was doing the best thing for -Dolly, as well as for himself, in thus allowing the -story of his murder to stand. His uncle had lived -a double life, and thus had maintained a reputation -for virtue. In Jim’s case, he could not long have -hidden from the eyes of his neighbours the wretchedness -of his marriage, and there was no likelihood -that he would have ever set a shining example of -nobility to the village; and therefore his supposed -extinction could be regarded as one of those pretences -which are the basis of society.</p> - -<p>Had there been any likelihood of his deception -being found out, the case would have been different; -but his death had been accepted absolutely, and he -did not suppose that there would be any penetrating -inquiries or investigations by the police now that the -innkeeper had made his lying confession. He was -completely “dead,” nor would he ever have to come -back to earth again, thereby upsetting any future -arrangement of her life which his “widow” might -make; for even if he were one day recognized by -some English acquaintances he could always put any -inquirer in the wrong by showing that he had been -none other than “Jim Easton” these many years.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p> - -<p>Yet the fear of detection, and the indefinite sense -that he was acting in a manner violently opposed to -those legalities which he did not understand, but -whose existence he realized, kept him in a state of -nervous tension and temporarily banished all peace -from his mind. He was convinced that Dolly would -not grieve for him; yet the manner of his death -would be a shock to her, and there were two other -persons—Mrs. Darling and Smiley-face—who -would feel his loss. They would soon forget him, -however.</p> - -<p>He recalled Mrs. Spooner’s angry words to him -after that day when he had inadvertently interrupted -her bicycle-ride: “You haven’t much idea of -obligation, have you?” This irresponsibility, of -which people complained, was evidently growing -upon him, he thought to himself; yet, viewing the -matter from another angle, was he not now deliberately -acting for the good of everybody concerned, -in ending his unfortunate marriage and abandoning -his inheritance?</p> - -<p>His equanimity, however, gradually returned to -him in some measure; and when at length he went -back to Rome, and there settled himself comfortably -in the obscure little hotel in the Trastevere quarter, -he was already beginning at moments to feel a tremendous -joy in his recovered liberty.</p> - -<p>He knew that he was a deserter, and he was well -aware that so he would be called by all nice-minded -people. Yet that thought in itself did not trouble -him; for the mental standpoint of the wanderer commands -an outlook very different from that of the -stout citizen. He saw clearly that he had not in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> -him the stuff of which a constitutional state or a -model household is made. He could not be a party -to so many of the hypocrisies of social life. He was -not a good disciple of the Great Sham, and was so -often inclined to “give the show away” when most -the illusion ought to have been maintained. He -was not a respectable member of the community, -nor was he gifted with those methodical and enduring -qualities which shape wedlock into a salubrious -routine. Perhaps it was that he had too much -imagination to be a good citizen, too much finesse to -be a good husband. In any case he knew that he -would never have been of use to his country, except, -perhaps, as a pioneer in a small way (for the world-power -of the Anglo-Saxon has been established by -the rover and the free lance); or possibly as a sort of -intellectual bagman, unconsciously exhibiting the -lighter side of the race to foreign and critical eyes.</p> - -<p>As the days passed he gave ever less consideration -to his attitude, and soon his thoughts of Dolly -and his English life had become sporadic and fleeting. -Once, as he loitered in the sunny Piazza di -Spagna upon a certain Sunday morning, and watched -the good folk mounting the hot steps to the church -of the Trinita de’ Monti, he irritably argued the -matter to himself as though anxious to exorcise it -by arriving at some sort of finality. “Dolly will be -far happier without me,” he mused. “If I had left -her, and was known to be alive, I should harm her -by placing upon her the stigma most hateful to her -sex—that of the unsuccessful wife. But since I am -supposed to be dead, she will benefit trebly: she is -rid of a bad husband; she will have the pleasure, very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> -real to her, of wearing mourning and nursing a -fictitious sorrow; and she may set about the management -of her life with a house and a comfortable -fortune to add to her attractions. And then, again, -from a public point of view, I have avoided the inevitable -scandal of my married life by dying before -I was driven to drink and debauchery. My memorial -tablet in the church will be worth reading!”</p> - -<p>His cogitations did not carry him further than this -on the present occasion; for a number of white -pigeons rose suddenly from the ground near his feet, -and circled round the Egyptian obelisk which stands -in front of the church, thereby directing his thoughts -to the land of the Nile and to the life which he had -led before he inherited Eversfield.</p> - -<p>On another day, while he was seated in the shade -of the trees in the Pincian Gardens, the passing carriages, -in which the polite families of Rome were -taking the air, led his thoughts back once more to -these fading arguments and memories. “Now that -I am dead,” he reflected, “Dolly will at last be able -to have the carriage-and-pair I had always refused -to give her. She will be able to play the part of the -little widow in the big carriage: yes!—that will -please her far more than the presence of an untidy-looking -husband.”</p> - -<p>It is to be understood, and perhaps it is to his -credit, that he had given the loss of his inheritance -never a thought, nor had cared how his money would -be spent. He had nearly two thousand pounds in -the bank, which was sufficient to provide for his -modest needs for three or four years, and further -than that he had no power to look. He did not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> -grudge Dolly the estate; and, indeed, so heartily had -he come to dislike Eversfield and all it meant, that -he could have wished his worst enemy no greater -punishment than to be established there at the -manor.</p> - -<p>He gazed out through the arch of the trees to the -dome of St. Peter’s, rising above the distant houses -on the far side of an open space of blazing sunlight; -and he breathed a sigh of profound relief that a -means of escape had been found from the cage of -matrimony and domesticity in which he had been -confined. “I used to think,” he mused, “that it -would be a wonderful thing to have a wife who -would be my refuge and my sanctuary; but I see now -that that was a delusion and a weakness. It is far -better for a man to stand on his own two legs, and -to make his own heart his place of comfort, and -what he looks out on through its windows his entertainment.” -Yet even so, he was aware that this -statement of the case did not cover the whole -ground; for there certainly were times when he suffered -from a sense of tremendous loneliness.</p> - -<p>Then came the trial of the innkeeper, and for a -short time he was obliged to return to the past; yet -now he viewed matters with complete detachment: -it was as though he were in no way identical with -James Tundering-West, nor ever had been. He -read in the papers, without a tremor, how his wife -had identified the walking-stick, handkerchief, and -postcard, which had been sent to England for the -purpose of that formality. He was mildly relieved -to find that his dealings with the diamonds had not -been traced, and that his movements in France, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> -his subsequent visit to Genoa and Pisa, were but -roughly sketched in as having no bearing upon the -actual crime. The innkeeper’s declarations quite -amused him, and he was hardly indignant to find that -the man had become a popular figure, and that his -sentence was wholly inadequate.</p> - -<p>The close of the trial marked Jim’s complete -emancipation. With a wide mental gesture, which -was very inadequately expressed by his twisted smile -and the shrug of his shoulders, he dismissed the tale -of his marriage from the history of his life, and -turned his attention wholly to that all-embracing -present, which is the true wanderer’s domain. The -“I was” and the “I shall be” of the citizen’s domestic -life was lost in the great “I am” of the vagabond. -He was no longer the lord of a compact little estate, -bounded by grey stone walls and green hedges. He -was the squire vagrant; he was enfeoffed of the -whole wide world.</p> - -<p>In the first exultation of his final freedom he -decided to leave Rome. The true vagrant does not -move from place to place in conscious search of -knowledge or experience: he has no purpose in his -movements. He travels onwards merely to satisfy -an undefined appetite for life. The difference between -the real nomad and the ordinary traveller is -this, that the latter passes with definite intent from -one stopping-place to the next, and the intervening -road is but the means of approach to a desired goal; -but the nomad has no goal, or it might be said that -the road itself is his goal.</p> - -<p>In Jim’s case—to use an illustrative exaggeration—if -he were moving south, and the dust were to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> -blow in his face, he would turn and travel north. -Thus, when he made his departure from Rome he -took his direction almost at random. He had no -ties, no duties, no cares. A knapsack upon his -shoulders, and some loose change jingling in his -pocket, a roll of notes stuffed into his wallet, and at -least three languages ready to his tongue, he set out -to range over his new estate, the world, having the -feeling in his heart that he had come back to the -freedom of youth from a misty prison of premature -age which was already fast fading from his -memory.</p> - -<p>His route would be difficult to record and puzzling -to follow. For days together he lingered at little -inns where a few francs procured him excellent fare; -now he passed on by road or rail, by river or lake, to -new districts, and new settings for the comedy of -his life; and now he came to rest under the awnings -of some small hotel in the heart of a sun-bathed city.</p> - -<p>During a spell of particularly hot weather he -went north to Lake Maggiore, where, on the cool -slopes of Mergozzolo, he spent a number of dreamy -days at a little whitewashed inn, from whose terrace -he could look down upon the lake and beyond it to -the blue and hazy plains of Lombardy and Piedmont. -He worked here on the polishing of his -verses, writing also a longish poem upon the subject -of freedom; and in the evenings he sat for hours -under the stars, talking to the proprietor and his -wife, or playing his guitar, and smoking the little -cigarettes in which the Italian Government so wisely -specializes.</p> - -<p>One incident which occurred at this time may be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> -recorded. He was making a journey by train one -piping-hot day, and was seated alone in a smoking -compartment, which was connected by a door with -another compartment where smoking was not permitted. -During a long run between two stations this -door was opened and another traveller entered, -carrying a small portmanteau and a bundle of rugs. -He was a stout, florid, prosperous-looking business -man, whose English nationality was entirely obvious, -and when he explained in very bad Italian that he -was changing his seat in order to smoke a pipe, Jim -answered him in his mother tongue, and soon they -passed into casual conversation.</p> - -<p>“People on these Italian railways,” the stranger -said, “seem to smoke in any carriage; but I, personally, -feel that one ought to stick to the rules, and -only do so in the compartments specially provided -for the purpose.”</p> - -<p>“Quite right, I’m sure,” Jim replied, having no -pronounced views on the subject, but wishing to be -polite.</p> - -<p>“That is what these foreigners lack—a sense of -neighborly duty,” the man went on. “Don’t you -think so? I always feel that England is what she is -because our people always consider the other fellow. -We pull together and help each other.”</p> - -<p>He enlarged upon this subject, and was still citing -instances in support of his argument, when the train -pulled up at a small station, where a halt of ten -minutes or so was announced by an official upon the -platform. Thereupon a number of passengers -alighted from the train and made their way through -the blazing sunlight to a refreshment stall which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> -stood in the cool shade of a dusty tree in the station -yard, just beyond the barriers.</p> - -<p>Jim was in lazy mood, and did not join this throng -of thirsty humanity; but his companion, who was -feeling the heat, left his seat and followed the -hurrying crowd.</p> - -<p>At length the bell rang, and the guard blew his -horn; and Jim, suddenly awakening from a reverie, -became aware that his fellow traveller had not returned, -and hastily leaned out of the window to see -what had become of him. The driver sounded his -whistle, and set the engine in motion; and at the -same moment Jim saw a fat and frantic figure struggling -to pass the barrier, and being held back by -excited officials, who, it seemed, were refusing to -allow him to attempt to board the moving train.</p> - -<p>Jim waved his arm and received some sort of -answering signal of distress. Instantly the thought -flashed into his mind that here was an opportunity -to display that sense of obligation of which they -had spoken, and to aid a fellow creature in trouble. -The man’s baggage! He must throw it out of the -train, so that, at any rate, the owner in his dilemma -should not be separated from his belongings.</p> - -<p>Snatching the portmanteau and the rugs from the -seat where they rested, he pushed them through the -window, and had the satisfaction of seeing them roll -to safety upon the platform at the feet of a bewildered -porter. Again he waved to the struggling -man, and pointed repeatedly to the baggage with -downward jabbing finger; then, having thus performed -what he considered to be a most neighbourly -act of quick-witted succour, he sank back into his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> -corner seat and laughed to himself at the incident.</p> - -<p>A smile still suffused his face when, several -minutes later, the door from the next compartment -opened and the portly Englishman made his -appearance.</p> - -<p>“Warm lemonade,” he remarked; “but it was -better than nothing. A dam’ pretty woman in the -next carriage. I’ve been trying to talk to her, but -it was no good: we can’t understand each other.”</p> - -<p>Jim stared at him in horror, as at a ghost. “Then -it wasn’t you at the barrier?” he gasped in awe.</p> - -<p>“What d’you mean?” the other asked. “Hullo, -where’s my baggage?”</p> - -<p>Jim blanched. “I threw it out of the window,” -he said, swallowing convulsively.</p> - -<p>“You did <em>what</em>?” the man exclaimed, staring at -him in amazement.</p> - -<p>“I thought,” Jim stammered, “it was the most -neighbourly thing to do; you see, I....” But the -remainder of the sentence failed upon his dry lips, -as the corpulent stranger rose up before him in the -crimson fullness of his fury.</p> - -<p>Never had Jim, in all his vicissitudes, been subjected -to so overwhelming a bombardment of abuse; -and though he managed at length to explain the -mistake he had made, he failed thereby to check the -passionate maledictions which spluttered and burst -about his devoted head like fireworks. At last he -could stand it no longer, and, rising slowly to his -feet, he smote the stranger a blow upon the jaw -which sent him reeling across the compartment, as -the train came to a standstill at another station.</p> - -<p>The man staggered to the door, and, tumbling out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> -on to the platform, shouted for help in a frenzied -admixture of English, French, and Italian; but while -a crowd of uncomprehending passengers and officials -gathered around him, Jim opened the door at the -opposite end of the carriage, and descended on to -the deserted track. A moment later he had disappeared -behind the wall of an adjacent shed, and soon -was out on the high road, heading for his destination, -which was yet some ten miles distant.</p> - -<p>“That’s enough of neighbourly duty for one day,” -he muttered, as he lit a cigarette.</p> - -<p>A great part of August he spent amidst the woods -of Monte Adamello, and in the Val Camonica; but, -suddenly feeling a little bored, and having a desire -for the sea, he made the long train-journey to -Venice, and crossed the water to the Lido, where he -bought himself a mad red-and-white bathing suit, -and went daily into the sea with a crowd of merry -Venetians.</p> - -<p>The delights of the Stabilimento dei Bagni, however, -did not long hold him in thrall. There was -too much splashing and spitting; and, when the bathing -hours were over for the day, the concert-hall -and the open-air theatre offered a kind of entertainment -which, owing to an unaccountable mood of -discontent, soon began to pall. He therefore took -ship across the Gulf of Venice to Trieste, and stayed -for some days at a small hotel on the hillside towards -Boschetto.</p> - -<p>Here, one evening at dinner, he made the -acquaintance of a ship’s officer, who told him that -on the morrow the steamer on which he was employed -was sailing for Cyprus; and, without a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> -moment’s hesitation, Jim decided to take passage by -it to that island of romance. It was September, and -the weather was cooling fast. He had had some -vague idea of crossing the sea to the Levant; but -now this new suggestion came to him with a surprisingly -definite appeal.</p> - -<p>“Of Course, Cyprus!” he exclaimed. “The very -place I have always wanted to visit. I had forgotten -all about it.”</p> - -<p>He had read books, and had heard travellers’ -tales, about this wonderful land which rises from -the blue waters of the eastern Mediterranean like -a phantom isle of enchantment. Here the remains -of temples dedicated to the old gods of Greece are -to be seen: the mountain streams still resound at -noon with the pipes of Pan; at sunset upon the seashore -one may picture Aphrodite rising in her glory -from the waves; and at midnight the barking of the -dogs of Diana may be heard over the hills. The -Crusaders endeavoured to establish a kingdom here -on Frankish lines, and the place is full of the ruins -of their efforts. The headlands are crested with -crumbling baronial castles, and in the towns there -still stand the walls of Gothic churches, wherein, at -dead of night, they say that the ghostly chanting of -hymns to the Blessed Virgin may be heard. Then -came the Moslems; and to this day the call to -prayer in the name of Allah synchronizes with the -tolling of convent bells summoning the worshippers -in the name of the Mother of Jesus, while the peasants, -inwardly heedless of both, still make their little -offerings at the traditional holy places of the gods -of Olympus.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span></p> - -<p>It is a land in which the movement of Time is -forgotten, and in part it is a living remnant of the -dead ages; and as such it had for long appealed to -Jim’s imagination. Straightway, therefore, he wrote -a letter to his bankers in Rome telling them to forward -him some money to the Post Office at Nicosia, -the capital city; and twenty hours later he was -standing on the deck of the small coasting steamer, -watching the land receding from sight in a haze of -afternoon heat.</p> - -<p>On the sixth morning, as the sun was rising, the -anchor rattled into the blue waters of the roadstead -before Larnaca, the chief port of Cyprus; and, after -an early breakfast, Jim was rowed in a small boat, -manned by a Greek and a negro, towards the little -town which stood white and resplendent in the sunshine, -its cupolas, minarets, and flat-roofed houses -backed by the vivid green of the palms and the -saffron of the hills. He knew a few words of Greek, -and a considerable amount of Arabic; and, with the -aid of his friend the ship’s officer, he had soon -chartered the two-horse carriage in which he was to -make the thirty-mile journey to Nicosia, the inland -capital of the island.</p> - -<p>The road passed across the bare, sunburnt uplands, -and was flanked by scattered rocks, from -which the basking lizards scampered as the carriage -approached. Occasionally they passed a cart drawn -by two long-horned bullocks, led by a scarlet-capped -peasant; or a solitary shepherd driving his flock; or -some cloaked and bearded rider upon a mule, jingling -down to the coast. The glare of the road was -great; but under the shelter of the dusty awning of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> -the carriage Jim was cool enough, and there was a -refreshing following-wind blowing up from the sea, -which tempered the autumn heat.</p> - -<p>The time passed quickly, and it did not seem -long before they lurched, with a great cracking of the -driver’s whip, into the half-way village of Dali. The -second stage of the journey was more tedious, for -now the novelty of the rugged scenery was gone, and -the jolting of the rickety carriage was more noticeable. -Jim was thankful, therefore, when, in the -late afternoon, Nicosia came suddenly into sight, -and the carriage presently rattled through the tunnelled -gateway in the mediæval ramparts, and passed -into the narrow and echoing streets of the city.</p> - -<p>Here Greeks and Armenians, Arabs and Turks -thronged the intricate thoroughfares; and as the -driver made his way towards the Greek hotel, to -which Jim had been recommended, there was much -pulling at the mouths of the weary horses and much -hoarse shouting. Now their passage was obstructed -by an oxen-drawn cart, piled high with earthenware -jars; now they seemed to be about to unseat a turbaned -Oriental from his white steed; and now a -group of Greek girls bearing pitchers upon their -heads was scattered to right and left as the carriage -lumbered round a corner. Here was a priest entering -a Gothic doorway dating from the days of Richard -Cœur-de-Lion, and upon the wall above him were -carved the arms of some forgotten knight of Normandy; -here a sheikh in flowing silks stood kicking -off his shoes before the tiled entrance of a mosque. -Here were noisy Turkish children playing before a -building which recalled the age of the Venetian Republic;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> -and here wild-eyed Cypriot peasants wrangled -and argued as they had argued since those far-off -days when Cleopatra’s sister was queen of the island, -and, ages earlier, when Phœnician seamen and the -warriors of ancient Greece had held them in subjection.</p> - -<p>At last the carriage pulled up in front of the white -archway which led through a high, blank wall into -the hotel; and presently Jim found himself in a -quiet courtyard, where a tinkling fountain played -amongst the orange-trees. The building was erected -around the four sides of this secluded yard, the -rooms leading off a red-tiled balcony, supported on -a series of whitewashed arches, and approached by -a flight of worn stone steps.</p> - -<p>Up to this covered balcony he was led by the -genial proprietor, a man with a fierce grey moustache -which belied a fat and kindly face; and a room was -assigned to him, from the door of which he could -look down upon the fountain and the oranges, while -from the window at the opposite end he commanded -a short view across a jumble of flat housetops to a -group of tall dark cypress trees, where the sparrows -were chattering as they gathered to roost.</p> - -<p>The walls of the room were whitewashed and -were pleasantly devoid of pictures. It might have -been a chamber in an ancient palace, and as Jim sat -himself down upon the wooden bench he had the -feeling that he had passed from the twentieth century -into some period of the far past.</p> - -<p>For some time there had been a vague kind of -discontent in his mind. It was as though his life -were incomplete. He seemed to be seeking for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> -something, the nature of which he could not define. -At times he had thought that this was due to a -desire for romance, a natural urge of sex; but, on -the other hand, his reason told him that he had had -enough of women, and that his present emancipation -was in essence very largely a freedom from -them.</p> - -<p>Now, however, in the dusk of this quiet room, his -heart seemed of a sudden to be at rest; and when -from a distant minaret there came to his ears the -evening call to prayer, a sense of inevitability, a -kind of acknowledgment of <i>Kismet</i>, or Fate, passed -over him and soothed him into a hopeful and expectant -peacefulness.</p> - -<p>He was still in this tranquil mood when the summons -to the evening meal brought him down the -stone steps and across the courtyard, where the -ripe oranges hung from the trees, and the fountain -splashed. It was with quiet, dawdling steps, too, -that he strolled out, hatless, into the narrow street -after the meal was finished. The night was warm -and close, with the moon at full; and the pale -deserted thoroughfare was hushed as though it were -concealing some secret. The barred windows and -shut doors of the houses seemed to hide unspoken -things, and the two or three passers-by, moving like -shadows near to the wall, gave the impression that -they were bent upon some mysterious mission.</p> - -<p>Here and there between the houses on either side -small gardens were hidden away behind high whitewashed -walls, above which the tops of the trees -could be seen. The door of one of these stood open, -and Jim, standing in the middle of the empty street,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> -paused to gaze through the white archway into the -shadows and sprinkled moonlight beyond.</p> - -<p>Then, quietly into the frame of the doorway there -came the figure of a woman, peering out into the -street, the moon shining upon her face and upon her -white hand, which held the door as though she were -about to shut it for the night. On the instant, and -with a leap of his heart, Jim recognized her.</p> - -<p>“Monimé!” he cried out in amazement, running -forward to her. He saw her raise her arm to her -forehead and step back into the shadow: he could -hear her gasp of surprise. A moment later he had -taken her hand in his, and her startled eyes had -met his own.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIV">Chapter XIV: THE ISLAND OF FORGETFULNESS</h2> - -<p>“Monimé!” he repeated. “Don’t you -know me? I’m Jim—Jim Easton.”</p> - -<p>For a moment yet she did not speak. -He could feel her hand trembling a little in his, and -the movement of her breast revealed the haste of -her breathing. She leaned back against the jamb of -the door, and her eyes turned towards the garden -behind her, as though she were contemplating flight -into its shadows.</p> - -<p>When at last she spoke, her words came rapidly. -“Why have you come to Cyprus?” she asked passionately; -and the sound of her voice brought a -half-forgotten Alexandrian night racing back to his -consciousness. “You couldn’t have known I was -here, and nobody knows who I am. How did you -find out where I lived?” She moved her head from -side to side in a kind of anguish which he did not -understand. “I don’t know that there is any need -for you in the Villa Nasayan.”</p> - -<p>“Nasayan?” he repeated, in query. “Is that the -name of this house?” She nodded her head. “That’s -the Arabic for ‘Forgetfulness,’” he said. “Why did -you give it such a name?”</p> - -<p>Her answer faltered. The serenity with which -he associated her in his memory had temporarily left -her. “There was much to forget,” she replied, “and -much has been forgotten. Cyprus is called ‘The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> -Island of Forgetfulness.’ It is wonderful how bad -one’s memory becomes here.”</p> - -<p>She laughed nervously, and again put her hand to -her head. The fingers of her other hand drummed -upon the wall. “Why have you come?” she repeated.</p> - -<p>“There was no reason,” he said. “I just thought -I’d like to see Cyprus. I had no idea you were here. -I only arrived to-day: I was just strolling about -after dinner....”</p> - -<p>“It’s more than four years,” she murmured. -“Four years is a very long time. It was all so long -ago, Jim, wasn’t it? Nobody can remember things -as long ago as that, can they?”</p> - -<p>She withdrew her hand from his, and stood -staring at him with a baffling half-smile upon her -lips. His heart sank, for it seemed to him that she -was not minded to revive that dream of the past -which to him had suddenly leapt once more into -vivid reality.</p> - -<p>“I have never forgotten,” he whispered, though -he knew that the words needed qualification. “I -knew it was you, almost before I saw your face.” -He hesitated. “May I come into your garden?”</p> - -<p>She allowed him to enter, and closed the door -behind him. Together they walked in silence to a -stone bench which stood in the moonlight beneath a -dark cypress-tree; and here they seated themselves, -side by side.</p> - -<p>For a while they talked; but it was a sort of fencing -with words, he thrusting and she parrying. He -did not know what he said; for all his actual consciousness -went out to her, not through speech, but -through a kind of contact of their hidden hearts.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p> - -<p>Then, without further preliminaries, she turned -on him. “You say you have never forgotten,” she -laughed. “But when you say that you are deceiving -yourself, or trying to deceive me. I don’t like to -hear you making conventional remarks, Jim: I have -always thought of you as frank to the point of rudeness. -Be frank with me now, and admit that you -regarded our time together as a little episode in -your wandering life, and that you went on your way -without another thought for me....”</p> - -<p>He interrupted her. “Was that how you felt -about me?—you forgot me, too, didn’t you?”</p> - -<p>“With a woman it is different,” she replied. -“One is not always able to forget so soon.”</p> - -<p>“But why didn’t you tell me your name, or give -me some address?” he asked. “I wrote to you -from the ship: I posted the letter at Marseilles. -Didn’t you get it?”</p> - -<p>“No,” she answered. “I stayed on at the Beaux-Esprits -for a week or so, but nothing came. I left -an address when I went away: I’m sure I did.”</p> - -<p>He laughed. “I think you must have forgotten -to. We are both just tramps....”</p> - -<p>She made a gesture of deprecation. “At first I -wanted to find you again very badly,” she said, -turning her face from him. “I made inquiries, but -nobody seemed to know anything about you. I remembered -you said you’d inherited some property, -and I even got a friend in England to look up recent -wills and bequests for the name of Easton, but no -trace could be found. Then, somehow, it didn’t -seem to matter any more, and I told him not to look -for you further.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Then you did care ...?”</p> - -<p>“Who can tell?” she smiled, and her words baffled -him, as did also the expression of her face in the -moonlight.</p> - -<p>“Why didn’t you tell me your name?” he asked. -“I don’t yet know it.”</p> - -<p>She looked at him in surprise. “My name is still -‘Smith,’” she laughed.</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe you,” he answered.</p> - -<p>She shrugged her shoulders. “They all know me -as that in this place—just ‘Mrs. Smith.’”</p> - -<p>“It used to be <em>Miss</em> Smith,” he said.</p> - -<p>“One causes less comment as a married woman,” -she explained. “Such friends as I have suppose -that I am a widow who, being an artist, has come -to live here because of the picturesqueness of the -place and its cheapness.”</p> - -<p>“And what is the real reason?” he asked, looking -intently into her eyes.</p> - -<p>Of a sudden she rose from the bench, and stood -before him, her back to the moon, the light of which -made a shining aureole round her hair. Her left -hand was laid across her breast; the other was -clenched at her side.</p> - -<p>“Jim, I beg you ...” she said. “This is the -Island of Forgetfulness, and you have strayed here, -bringing Memory with you. There is no need for -you in Nasayan. For my sake, for your own sake, -go, I beg you. There is something here which we -have in common, and yet which separates us: something -which to me is a garland of Paradise, and -which to you might be like the chains of hell. I beg -you, I beg you: go away! Go back to the open road<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> -and the Bedouin life. Leave me in Nasayan, in -oblivion. I don’t want you to know more than this. -I swear to you there is no call for you to stay. You -have your wandering life: the hills and the valleys -and the cities of the whole world are before you. -Don’t stay here, don’t try to look into Nasayan....”</p> - -<p>Her voice faltered, her gestures were those of -pleading, yet even so she appeared to him to have -that regal attitude which he remembered now so well.</p> - -<p>The meaning of her words, the cause of their -intensity, were obscure to him. His mind was confused, -and there was a quality of dream in their -situation. The black cypress trees which shot up -around them into the pale sky like monstrous sentinels; -the little orange-trees fantastically decked with -their golden fruit; the tiled and moon-splashed pathways; -the white walls of the villa, clad with rich -creepers; the heavy scent of luxuriant flowers; the -sparkling water in the marble basin of the fountain—all -these things seemed unreal to him. They were -like a legendary setting for the mysterious figure -standing before him, a figure, so it seemed to him, -of a queen of some kingdom of the old world, left -solitary amongst the living long ages after her advisers -and her palaces had crumbled to dust in the -grasp of Time.</p> - -<p>“I don’t understand,” he said, rising and confronting -her. “What is the secret about you?—there -was always mystery around you.”</p> - -<p>“No,” she answered. “There was no mystery -four years ago, except the mystery of our dream. -My secret then was only a small matter. I was just -a runaway. I had left my husband because I wanted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> -my freedom, and to follow my art in freedom. I -had changed my name because I feared to be called -back. But now he is dead, and I have nothing to -fear in that direction.... No, there was no secret—then.”</p> - -<p>“But now?—please tell me, Monimé,” he urged. -“I want to know, I <em>must</em> know.”</p> - -<p>Once more she fenced with him, and their words -became useless. At length, however, his questions -brought a crisis near to them again. She clenched -and unclenched her hands. “I beg you, go away -now,” she urged. “Forget me; go back to your -freedom. There is something here which will trap -you if you stay. Oh, can’t you understand? Don’t -you see that I can’t tell whether Fate has brought -you here for your happiness, or even for my happiness, -or whether it is for our sorrow that you have -been brought. I can’t tell, I can’t tell! We are -almost strangers to one another.”</p> - -<p>He put his arms about her and held her to him. -She neither shrank from him, nor responded to -him. At that moment all else in time, all else in -life, was blotted from his mind, and he knew only -that he had found again the lost gateway of his -dreams.</p> - -<p>“You must speak out,” he cried. “I must know -all that there is to know about you. You must -explain what you mean.”</p> - -<p>She made a movement from him, and suddenly -it seemed that her mind was resolved. “Very well, -then,” she said. “Come with me into the house.”</p> - -<p>She led the way in silence down the pathway, and -through a doorway almost hidden beneath the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> -creepers. A dark passage, screened by a curtain, -led into a square hall, softly lit by candles; and at -one side of this a stone staircase passed up to a -gallery from which two doors opened.</p> - -<p>To one of these doors she brought him, a shaded -candle held in her hand. Her face was turned from -him as they entered the room, and he could not tell -what her expression might be; but her step was -stealthy and her finger was held up.</p> - -<p>Then, suddenly, as in a flash, he understood; and -instantly he knew what he was going to see in the -little bed which stood against the wall.</p> - -<p>She held the candle aloft and motioned him -silently to approach the bed. It was only a mop of -dark curls that he could see, and a chubby face half -buried in the pillows.</p> - -<p>He turned to her with a burning question on his -lips, but the beating of his heart seemed to deprive -him of the power of speech. She nodded gently to -him, her face once more serene and calm, and now, -too, very proud.</p> - -<p>“He is your son,” she said.</p> - -<p>With a quick eager movement he pulled the light -blanket back, and snatched up the sleeping little -figure in his arms. Even though the eyes were tight -shut, the mouth absurdly open, and the head falling -loosely from side to side, he saw at once the likeness -to himself, and to all the Tundering-Wests at whose -portraits he had gazed during those years at Eversfield. -His heart leapt within him.</p> - -<p>“Don’t wake him!” she exclaimed, hastening forward; -and as she laid the child upon the bed once -more Jim saw her revealed in a new aspect—that of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> -a mother. Her attitude as she bent over the sleeping -form, the encircling, protecting arms, the crooning -words—they were tokens of a sort of universal -motherhood. She was Isis, the mother-goddess of -Egypt; she was Hathor; she was Venus Genetrix; -she was Mary. Upon her broad bosom she nursed -for ever the child of man; and her lips smiled -eternally with the pride of creation.</p> - -<p>Silently he watched her as she smoothed the pillows, -and there came to him the memory of that day -at Alexandria when he had awakened from unconsciousness -to find her leaning over him, her hand -upon his forehead; and suddenly he seemed to understand -the nature of one of the veils of mystery -which enwrapped her, and which, indeed, enwraps all -women who are true to their sex. It is the veil which -hangs before the sanctuary of motherhood aglow -with the inner illumination of the everlasting wisdom -of maternity.</p> - -<p>An overwhelming emotion shook his life to its -foundations: he could have gone down on his knees -and kissed the hem of her garment. He could not -trust himself to speak, but silently he took her hand -in his and pressed it to his dry lips.</p> - -<p>She led him out of the room and down the stairs; -and presently they were seated once more upon the -bench in the moonlight. In answer to his eager -questions, she told him in a low voice how she had -hidden herself in Constantinople when her time was -approaching, and how the baby was born in a convent-hospital. -She had found in the city an English -nurse, the widow of a soldier, and at length with her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> -she had taken ship to Cyprus, and had rented this -house.</p> - -<p>“I want you to understand,” she said, “that there -is no obligation of any kind upon you. Here in -Nicosia there are a few English people: they have -received me without question, and I am not lonely. -I send my pictures to London from time to time, -and the money I receive for them is ample for my -needs. When my boy is a little older I will take -him to some place in Italy or France where he can -be educated and I can paint. Don’t think that there -is any call upon you: don’t feel that here is a chain -to bind you....”</p> - -<p>He stopped her with an excited gesture. “You -don’t understand. This is the most wonderful thing -that could possibly have happened to me. I want -you to let me stay on at the hotel, and come over to -see you every day.... May I come to-morrow -morning?—I must see that boy when he’s awake. -My son! He’s my son! Good Lord!—I’ve never -felt so all up in the air before.”</p> - -<p>A sudden thought frenzied him. If only he had -known her address, or she had known his, his disastrous -marriage would never have taken place. He -would have married Monimé, and ultimately this -little son of theirs would have been the Tundering-West -of Eversfield Manor. But now, the boy was -nameless, and the inheritance was gone as the price -of freedom.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Monimé,” he cried. “How can you ever -forgive me? Oh, why, why didn’t I cable to you -after I left Egypt?—why didn’t we keep in touch?”</p> - -<p>He paced to and fro, running his fingers through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> -his dark hair and pulling at it so that it fell over -his forehead. His eyes were wild, and his face -looked white and haggard in the moonlight.</p> - -<p>“The fault was as much mine as yours,” she declared. -“It was just Bedouin love, and we let it -slip from us. We dreamed our dreams, and in the -morning we went our ways, like the tramps that we -are. And then when I found that I had need of you, -it was too late....”</p> - -<p>“But now we must make up for it,” he said. “We -must never lose each other again. I love you, -Monimé. I believe I have always loved you, somewhere -at the back of my mind.”</p> - -<p>She smiled the wise smile of the old gods. “It was -four years ago,” she said, “and our little dream was -so short. In a way we are strangers to one another.”</p> - -<p>Presently she rose, and told him that he must -go. “The hotel keeps early hours,” she said.</p> - -<p>She led him to the door of the garden, but to -his fervent adieux she gave no great response. The -expression on her face was placid once more, and his -excited senses could make nothing of it.</p> - -<p>He walked down the silent, mediæval street oblivious -to his surroundings. Behind a shuttered window -there were sounds of the rhythmic beating of a -tambourine and the twanging of some sort of -stringed instrument; but he heeded them not. A -cloaked and hooded figure, leaning upon a staff, -passed him, and bade him “Good-night” in Arabic; -but he did not respond. He entered the hotel, and -walked up the steps to his bedroom without any -real consciousness of his actions.</p> - -<p>His whole being was, as it were, in an uproar, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> -his emotions were playing riot with his reason. He -had chanced again upon the woman he had loved -and almost forgotten, the woman he ought to have -married; and suddenly the great miracle had been -wrought within him, and he was deeply, wildly, -madly in love with her. She was the mother of his -son—his son, his son, his son!</p> - -<p>Over and over again, he repeated it to himself, -and the words seemed to go roaring like a tempest -through the crowded halls of his thoughts. But -presently, as he sat upon the foot of his bed, new -whirlwinds of actuality came to the assault, and -scattered the shouting multitude of his dreams.</p> - -<p>If he married Monimé he would be a bigamist, -and within the reach of the law. If he told her that -he was married he might lose her for ever. Even -if he kept his real identity a secret, and risked detection, -the fact remained that he had thrown away -his home and his fortune, and had nothing in prospect -when his present means were exhausted.</p> - -<p>For the first time since the early days of his -inheritance he realized the value of the property to -which he had succeeded, he realized the merit of -the name he had abandoned. In later years how -could he ever look his son in the face, and tell him -of the home and income that had been thrown away? -Yet if he kept his secret, how could he endure to -live daily to Monimé a fundamental lie?</p> - -<p>Bitterly he reproached himself for his past actions. -Bitterly he cursed Dolly for her part in the dilemma. -There seemed no way out of the mess; and far into -the night he sat with his head resting upon his -hands, his fingers deep in his hair.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XV">Chapter XV: WOMAN REGNANT</h2> - -<p>To Jim the days which followed were chaotic. -The whole movement of his existence -seemed to be stimulated and speeded up, -and the pace of his thoughts was increased out of all -measure. It was as though some sort of drag or -break had been removed from the wheels of his -being, so that the fiery steeds of circumstance were -able to leap forward after many a mile of heavy -going. From now henceforth he was conscious of -a general acceleration, a new vehemence, even a sort -of frenzy in his progress along the high road of -life; and, in consequence, his impressions were received -with less observation of detail.</p> - -<p>In the high passion of love there is no peace of -mind and little satisfaction. The lover can never -believe that he is loved, yet his happiness seems to -him to depend on that assurance. His anxiety haunts -him, fevers him, and lays siege as it were to his -very soul.</p> - -<p>The true lover makes more abundant acquaintance -with hell than with heaven. So sensitive is his condition -that every moment not rich with his lady’s -obvious adoration is a moment impoverished by -doubts and fears. She is not so interested in him as -she was, he thinks; she is bored; she is cold to-day; -she is thinking of something else; she does not surrender -herself impetuously as she would if she really<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> -cared. So says the wretched lover in his heart, and -so he gives himself over to the legion of ten thousand -devils.</p> - -<p>Monimé maintained towards Jim a quiet and -tantalizing reserve. Mentally she seemed to be -upon the mountain-top, and he in the valley below. -When he visited her at her house she kept him -waiting before she made her appearance: it was as -though she were not eager to see him. Women have -this in common with the feline race: they seem so -often to be intent upon some hidden pursuit. They -go their own way, bide their own time, and no man -may know the secret of their doings. No man may -be initiated into their mysteries; and that which -occupies them upstairs before they descend to greet -him is beyond his ken.</p> - -<p>Like a number of men, Jim’s character was -marked by a certain simplicity. He made no secret -of his love: it was apparent in his every gesture. -The only secret which he maintained was that of his -marriage, lest he should lose her, and in this regard -he lied to an extent which brought misery to his -heart. He gave her to understand that the property -he had inherited had proved to be of no great value, -and that the little money he now possessed was all -that remained of its proceeds.</p> - -<p>He desired to forget the years at Eversfield -utterly, and to live only in the present. To Monimé -he had always been Jim Easton, and the fact that -she had not so much as heard the names Tundering-West -or Eversfield aided him in his deception. Yet -in his own heart his marriage to Dolly and the -change of identity by which he had effected his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> -escape were become the two appalling mistakes -which shut him off from Monimé and their son.</p> - -<p>The little boy proved to be all that he could wish. -He was about three and a-half years of age, and was -in the midst of that first great phase of inquiry which -is the introduction to the school of life. He used -the word “why” a hundred times a day; his large -eyes stared in wondering contemplation at every -object which newly came into his ken; and his -fingers were ever busy with experiment.</p> - -<p>It is a trying age for the “grown-up”; but Jim, -not having too much of it, enjoyed it, and enjoyed -watching Monimé’s handling of the situation.</p> - -<p>Her attitude towards himself during the first -days, however, was the cause of many a heartache. -There was a curious expression on her face as she -watched him playing with the boy: it was at first as -though she did not recognize his parental position, -nor regard him as being in any way essential to the -domestic alliance. She seemed to be anxious as to -his influence upon the child, and when once he made -the jesting assertion that parents should not try to -be a good example to their offspring, but rather an -awful warning, she did not laugh.</p> - -<p>The possession of a son was the source of the -most intense satisfaction to him; but Monimé -seemed at first to be endeavouring to check his belated -enthusiasm. Sometimes she appeared to him, -indeed, as a lioness protecting her cub from an -interfering lion, and cuffing the intruder over the -head with a not too gentle paw. She seemed to -claim the boy as her own exclusive property, and -she allowed Jim no free access to the nursery, nor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> -indeed to the house. There were days upon which -the door was closed to him on one pretext or -another; and at such times he experienced a variety -of emotions, all of which were violent and passionate.</p> - -<p>“People will talk,” she would say, “if you come -here so often, Jim. I am not independent of the -world as I used to be: I have the boy to consider.”</p> - -<p>She had called the child Ian, which, she said, was -the name of her father; and the fact that she had -thus excluded him from a nomenclatural identity with -the boy was a source to him of recurrent mortification. -His son should have been James, or Stephen, -or Mark, like his ancestors before him: it filled his -heart with bitter remorse that the little chap should -be merely “Ian Smith.”</p> - -<p>Gradually, however, Monimé became more accustomed -to his association with the boy; and at -length there came a memorable occasion on which -they sat together beside his cot for the best part -of the night and nursed him through an alarming -feverish attack. It was then that Jim saw in her -face an expression of tenderness towards him which -was like water to the thirsty.</p> - -<p>“You know,” he said to her, as they walked in -the garden together in the cool of the daybreak, -“this is the first time you have let me feel that I -have anything to do with Ian. I have been very -hurt.”</p> - -<p>She turned on him vehemently. “Oh, don’t you -understand,” she said, “that your coming back into -my life like this is very hard for me to bear? I -don’t want you to feel yourself tied down. I am -perfectly capable of looking after myself and my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> -boy without your help. You have set a struggle -going in my mind that is distracting me. There -is one side of me which resents your interference, -because you are just a wanderer, perfectly capable -of walking off once more with hardly a farewell. -There is another side which finds a sort of sneaking -comfort in your presence, and endows you with -virtues you probably don’t possess. I was self-reliant -until you came. Now I am swayed this way -and that. At one moment I think I was wrong, and -that we ought to be married and ought to go to -some country where we are unknown, so that we can -explain our child by pretending our marriage took -place secretly four years ago. At another moment -I remember that you have not suggested marriage -to me, and that therefore you probably realize as -well as I do your unfittedness for the rôle of husband. -And then there’s the constant feeling of the -unfairness of making you share, at this stage, the -responsibilities I undertook of my own free will -at Alexandria.”</p> - -<p>“It was my doing as much as yours,” he replied.</p> - -<p>“No,” she answered, with a smile. “Any woman -worth her salt handles those sorts of situations, and -makes up her own mind. Man proposes, woman -disposes. The whole thing is in the woman’s -hands: to think otherwise is to insult my sex. Men -and women are both pieces in Nature’s game; but -Nature is a woman, and she works out her plans -through her own sex.”</p> - -<p>She sat down upon the stone bench, and, with -hands folded, gazed up to the dawning glory of the -sunrise. It was as though she were a conscious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> -daughter of Hathor, Mother of all things, looking -for guidance in her perplexity. Jim seated himself -by her side, and for some time there was silence -between them, though his brain seemed to him to be -full of the clamour of shackled words and incarcerated -emotions.</p> - -<p>Her reference to their marriage had pierced his -heart as with a sharp sword. He desired to make -her his wife more intensely than ever he had desired -anything in his life before; yet he was unable to do -so. He wanted to possess her, to have the right to -protect her, to be able to dedicate his whole entity -to her service; yet he was tied hand and foot, and -could make no such proposal.</p> - -<p>He felt ashamed, exasperated, and thwarted; and -suddenly springing to his feet, he swung about on his -heel, kicked viciously at the bushes, and swore a -round, hearty oath.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter?” she asked in surprise. -“Has something stung you?”</p> - -<p>He laughed crazily. “Yes, I’m stung all over,” -he cried. “There are a hundred serpents with all -their flaming fangs in me. I think I’m going mad.”</p> - -<p>He paced to and fro, tearing at his hair; and -when at length he resumed his seat he seized both -her hands in his, and frenziedly kissed her every -finger.</p> - -<p>“I’m on fire,” he gasped. “I believe my heart is -a roaring furnace. I must be full of blazing light -inside; and in a few minutes I think I shall drop -down dead with longing for you, Monimé. Then -you’ll have to bury me; but I tell you there’ll be a -volcanic eruption above my grave, and flames will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> -issue forth from my bare bones. I don’t believe -Death itself could extinguish me: my love will burst -out in fearful torrents of lava, and the whole earth -will tremble at my convulsions. I shall come to -you again in earthquakes and tidal waves and a -falling rain of comets. I shall blow the whole blasted -world to smithereens before I go roaring into -hell.... That’s how I feel! That’s what you’ve -done to me!”</p> - -<p>He took her in his arms, and, holding her crushed -and powerless to resist, poured out his love for her -in wild desperate words, his face close to hers. The -sun was rising, and the first rays of golden light were -flung upon the tops of the surrounding houses and -trees while yet the garden was blue with the shadow -of the vanishing night.</p> - -<p>“Don’t Jim,” she whispered. “For God’s sake, -don’t! We’ve got to be sensible. We’ve got to -think what’s best for Ian. Give me a chance to -think.”</p> - -<p>“I want you,” he cried. “I want you more than -any man has ever wanted anything. You belong to -me: you’re my wife in the eyes of God. I want you -to marry me....”</p> - -<p>He had said it!—he had uttered the impossible -thing; and his heart stood still with anguish. His -arms loosened their hold upon her, and they faced -one another in silence, while a thousand sparrows -in the tree-tops chattered their merry morning salutation -to the sun.</p> - -<p>“Cad! Cad! Cad!” said the voice of his outraged -conscience to him. “Bigamist and thief!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> -And his heart responded with the one reiterated -excuse: “I love her, I love her!”</p> - -<p>“You must give me time to think,” she said at -length. “Go now, Jim. You must have some -sleep, and I must see to Ian.”</p> - -<p>For two days after this she would not see him, -but on the third day, at mid-morning, he found -himself once more in her drawing-room. It was -a charming room, cool and airy; and it had a distinction -which his own drawing-room at Eversfield -had lamentably lacked. Dolly had been a victim -of the nepotistic practice of loading the tables, -piano-top, and shelves with photographs of herself, -her friends, and her relatives. Pictures of this kind -are well enough in a man’s study or a woman’s -boudoir; but in the more public rooms they are only -to be tolerated, if at all, in the smallest quantity. -Monimé, however, whether by design or by force -of circumstances, was free of this habit; and the -more subtle essence of her personality was thus able -to be enjoyed without distraction.</p> - -<p>The walls were whitewashed and panelled with -old Persian textiles; carpets of Karamania and -Smyrna lay upon the stone-paved floors; the light -furniture was covered with fine fabrics of local -manufacture; and in Cyprian vases a mass of flowers -greeted the eye with a hundred chromatic gradations -and scented the air with the fragrance of summer.</p> - -<p>Monimé, upon this occasion, had reverted to her -accustomed serenity of manner; and as she refreshed -her distracted lover with sandwiches of -goat’s-milk cheese and the wine of the island poured<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> -from a Cyprian jug, she talked to him quietly of -practical things.</p> - -<p>She argued frankly for and against their marriage, -and reviewed the financial aspect of the question -without embarrassment. She told him that she had -just received a proposal from her salesman in London -that she should go over to Egypt at once and -paint him a dozen desert subjects, there being a -readier market for these than for pictures of little-known -Cyprus. This, therefore, she intended to do; -and, in view of Ian’s health, she proposed to send -the boy and his nurse to England, there to await -her return in four or five months’ time.</p> - -<p>Jim moved restlessly in his chair as she spoke, for -the thought of revisiting England was terrifying to -him; yet if she went there he could hardly resist the -temptation to follow. He knew that it was preposterous -enough to think of a bigamous marriage -to her, even here in the East, but in England such a -union would be madness.</p> - -<p>“I thought,” he said gloomily, “that you did not -want to risk meeting your former friends.”</p> - -<p>“What does it matter now?” she replied. “The -scandal of my leaving my husband is forgotten, and -he, poor man, is dead. I have never told you his -name, have I? He was Richard Furnice, the -banker.”</p> - -<p>Jim glanced up quickly. “I know the name,” he -said, with simplicity, for who did not? “But I -don’t remember ever reading of his domestic -troubles.”</p> - -<p>“No,” she replied. “The scandal was kept out -of the papers. He was as successful in explaining<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> -away my absence as he had been in explaining away -the presence of his mistress. Yes,” she added, in -answer to his look of inquiry, “he led the usual -double life.”</p> - -<p>“Very rich, wasn’t he?” Jim asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes, very,” she answered. “But I have never -cared much about money. I have always agreed -with the man who said ‘Wealth is acquired by over-reaching -our neighbors, and is spent in insulting -them.’”</p> - -<p>“I like money well enough,” said Jim, “but I’ve -never been much good at earning it.”</p> - -<p>She asked him why he did not send some of his -verses to a publisher in England, and talked to him -so persuasively in this regard that he promised to -consider doing so.</p> - -<p>“But if you return to England,” he said, returning -to the problem before him, “are there none of -your relations who will make it awkward for you -and Ian?”</p> - -<p>She shook her head. “My father died several -years ago, and I was the only child. We have no -close relations. You now may as well know his -name, too. He was Sir Ian Valory, the African -explorer.”</p> - -<p>Jim looked at her in surprise. “Why, he was one -of my heroes as a boy,” he declared. “I read his -books over and over again. This is wonderful!—tell -me more.”</p> - -<p>But as she did so, there arose a new clamour in -his brain. He longed to be able to tell her that his -own blood was fit to match with hers. The Tundering-Wests -stood high in the annals of exploration<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> -and adventure: his ancestors had roamed the world, -as Knights of the Cross, as King’s Envoys, as -Constables of frontier castles, as Admirals of England. -He himself was blood of their blood, and -bone of their bone; and his son combined this high -heritage with that of Valory.</p> - -<p>Yet the secret must be kept. Bitter was his regret -that so it must be, thrice bitter his remorse that this -son of his was a bastard. A Tundering-West and -a Valory!—and the issue of that illustrious union a -child without a name, hidden away in the Island of -Forgetfulness!!</p> - -<p>He went back to the hotel that day cursing Fate -for its irony, hating himself for a fool. Then, of a -sudden, there came a possible solution into his bewildered -thoughts. Monimé was going to Egypt for -some months: could he not return to England, reveal -the fact of his existence to his wife, and oblige her -to divorce him? The proceedings could be conducted -quietly, and Monimé, unaware of his real -name, would not identify him with them. He could -return to her a free man, able to marry her, and in -later years he could tell her the whole story.</p> - -<p>Yet how could he bear the long absence from her, -how could he face the terror that she might find out -and reject him? “O God,” he cried in his heart, -“I am punished for my foolishness! You have -belaboured me enough: You, Whom they call merciful, -have mercy!”</p> - -<p>During the next few days Jim made a final arrangement -of his poems, and, adding a title-page: -<cite>Songs of the Highroad, by James Easton</cite>, posted -them off to a well-known publisher in London, giving<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> -his bank in Rome as his address. While reading -through these collected manuscripts he had come to -the conclusion that the poems were rather good. -“There’s quite a swing about some of the stuff,” he -said to Monimé. “In fact I almost believe I could -have shown you one or two of them without feeling -an ass. But I suppose the thoughts in them, and -the melancholy speculations about what is one’s ‘duty’ -and all that sort of thing, are rather rot.”</p> - -<p>As time passed, the idea of returning to England -and obtaining a divorce developed in his mind. -He was reluctant, however, to make a final decision, -and his plans remained fluid long after those of -Monimé had crystallized. This was due mainly to -the suspense he was experiencing in regard to his -relations with her. He avoided any pressing of the -question of their marriage, for he shunned the -thought of involving her in a possible bigamy case; -yet he could see that so long as he maintained this -inconclusive attitude he gave her no cause for confidence -in him.</p> - -<p>Matters came to a head one day at the end of -October. Monimé had arranged with him to make -the excursion to the mountain castle of St. Hilarion; -and it is probable that both he and she had decided -to talk things out during the hours they would be -together. So far as he was concerned, at any rate, -the situation as it stood was impossible.</p> - -<p>The carriage in which they were to make this -fifteen-mile journey resembled a barouche, but a -kind of awning was stretched above it on four iron -rods, and from this depended some dusty-looking -curtains looped back by faded red cords and tassels,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> -which might have been purloined from old men’s -dressing-gowns. Four lean and crazily harnessed -horses were attached to this vehicle, which looked -somewhat like a four-poster bed on wheels; and a -red-capped and baggy-trousered driver, apparently -of Turkish nationality, sat high upon the box, -Monimé’s man-servant being perched beside him.</p> - -<p>Rattling down the narrow streets of the city and -through the tunnel in the ramparts, they soon passed -out into the open country, and, with loudly cracking -whip, bowled along the sun-bathed road at a very -fair pace, the sparkling morning air seeming to put -vigour even into the emaciated horses.</p> - -<p>At length they came to the foot-hills, and saw far -above them, against the intense blue of the sky, the -pass which leads through the mountains to the port -of Kyrenia and the sea. Here their pace grew -slower, and from time to time they walked beside -the labouring vehicle as it crunched its way through -soft gravel and sand, or lurched over half-buried -boulders.</p> - -<p>Reaching level ground once more they went with -a fine flourish through a village where the dogs -barked at them and the children stared or ran begging -at their side. Now the slopes and ledges of -rock were green with young pines, whose aromatic -scent filled the warm air; and, as they slowly wound -their way upwards, the size of these trees increased -until they attained truly majestic proportions.</p> - -<p>Towards noon they entered the pass, and Jim and -Monimé were afoot once more, whilst the tired -horses rested. Behind them the gorges and valleys -carried the eye down into the hazy distances, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> -they could see Nicosia lying like a white cameo upon -the velvet of the plains. Before them a cleft in the -towering rocks revealed the azure expanse of the -Mediterranean, and beyond it the far-off coasts of -Asia Minor, rising like the vision of a dream from -the placid ocean.</p> - -<p>Monimé shaded her eyes as she gazed over the -sea. “There is Phrygia,” she exclaimed, “where -Monimé lived, and Cappadocia and Cilicia! And -away behind them is Pontus, the land her husband -took her to....”</p> - -<p>“I have no home to take you to, Monimé,” he -said, unable to eschew the hazardous subject of their -marriage.</p> - -<p>“That’s just as well,” she answered, “because in -the story, you remember, he involved her in his -domestic troubles, which led to his suicide, and her -own death followed.”</p> - -<p>She smiled as she spoke, but to him her words -were dark with portentous meaning. He felt like -a criminal.</p> - -<p>Entering the carriage once more, they descended -from the pass for some distance, as though making -for Kyrenia, which they could see far below them; -but presently a rough track led them through the -pines, and brought them at last to the foot of a -tremendous bluff of rock, upon the summit of which -stood the ruined walls and towers of the castle of -St. Hilarion. Here the carriage was abandoned, -and hand-in-hand they clambered up the track, the -servant following with the luncheon basket.</p> - -<p>Soon they passed within the ruinous walls of the -castle, and, having rested in the shade and eaten<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> -their picnic meal, made their way amongst fallen -stones and a profusion of weeds and grasses towards -the main buildings, which mounted up the cliffs in -front of them in a confused array of walls and -turrets, roofs and chimneys, battlements and -bastions, standing silent and withered in a blaze of -sunlight.</p> - -<p>Through a crumbling door they went, and up a -flight of broken steps; through the ruined chapel, on -the walls of which the faded frescoes could still be -seen; along a shadowed passage, and up again by a -rock-hewn stairway; until at last they reached a -roofless chamber locally known as the Queen’s -Apartment.</p> - -<p>This side of the castle, which was built at the edge -of an appalling precipice, seemed to be clinging -perilously to the summit of the mountain; and -through the broken tracery of the Gothic windows -they looked down in awe to the pine forests two -thousand feet below. All about them the bold -mountain peaks rose up from the shadowed and -mysterious valleys near the coastline; and before -them the purple and azure sea was spread, divided -from the cloudless sky by the hazy hills of Asia -Minor.</p> - -<p>From these valleys there rose to their ears the -frail and far-off tinkle of goats’ bells, and sometimes -the song of a shepherd was lifted up to them -upon the tender wings of the breeze. All visible -things seemed to be motionless in the warmth of -the afternoon, with the exception only of two vultures, -which slowly circled in mid-air with tranquil -pinions extended. It was as though the crumbling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> -stones of the castle, and the forests and valleys they -surmounted, were deep in an enchanted slumber, -from which they would never again awake.</p> - -<p>Here at these walls Richard Cœur de Lion, King -of England, with trumpets had summoned the garrison -to surrender; but the walls remembered it no -more. Here the Kings and Queens of Cyprus, of the -House of Lusignan, had held their court in that -strange admixture of Western chivalry and Eastern -splendour which had characterized the dynasty; but -the glamour of those days was passed into oblivion. -Here the soldiers of Venice had looted and plundered; -but the ruin they left behind them had steeped -its wounds in the balm of forgetfulness.</p> - -<p>Only Monimé and her lover were awake in this -place of dreams. Seated here, as it were, upon a -throne rising in the very centre of the ancient world, -she seemed to Jim to be one with all the dim, forgotten -queens of the past; all the romance of all the -pages of history was focussed and brought again to -life in her person; and in her face there was the -mystery of regnant womanhood throughout the ages.</p> - -<p>Just as now she sat with her chin resting upon her -hand, gazing over the summer seas to the adventurous -coasts of the ancient kingdoms of the Mediterranean, -so Arsinoe had gazed, perhaps upon this -very mountain-top; so Cleopatra, her sister, had -gazed, over there in her Alexandrian palace; so -Helen had gazed yonder from the casements of -Troy; so the Queen of Sheba, camping upon Lebanon, -had gazed as she travelled from Jerusalem. -The past was forgotten; but, all unknowing, it lived -again in Monimé, enticing him with her lips, looking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> -tenderly upon him with her eyes, beckoning him with -her smiles, repulsing him with her indifference, bewildering -him with her serenity, maddening him -with her unfathomable heart.</p> - -<p>“Monimé, I can’t go on like this,” he said, taking -her hands in his. “You must tell me here and now -that you love me, or that I am to go out of your -life.”</p> - -<p>“The future lies in your hands, Jim,” she answered, -quietly and with deep sincerity. “Surely -you can understand my attitude. I will not bind -myself to a man who will not be bound, even though -I were to love him with all my soul.”</p> - -<p>“I have asked you to marry me,” he told her.</p> - -<p>“Your words carried no conviction,” she replied.</p> - -<p>“I ask you again,” he said, daring all.</p> - -<p>“You do not know what you are saying,” she -answered. “Go away to England, or to Italy, Jim, -and think it over. Stay away from me for some -months; and if you find that your feelings do not -change, if I remain a vital thing in your life and do -not fade into a memory, then you can come back to -me, knowing that I will not fail you. We have -had enough of Bedouin love. If I were to be honest -with myself I would tell you that long ago circumstances -made me realize that we did wrong at -Alexandria, because we were unfair to the unborn -generation. I set myself in opposition to accepted -custom, and I have been beaten by just one thing—my -anxiety for the welfare of the child my emancipation -brought me, my terror in case there should -be a slur upon his name. There must be no more -playing with vital things.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span></p> - -<p>Her suggestion that he should go away from her -for some months, while she worked in Egypt on her -desert pictures, came to him like the voice of Providence, -offering to him the opportunity to carry out -his plan for ridding himself once and for all of -Dolly by divorce; and his mind was made up on -the instant.</p> - -<p>“Very well,” he said. “I’ll go away—though not -because I feel the slightest doubt about my love for -you. I’ll go to Larnaca to-morrow: some people -from the hotel are going then, so as to catch the -steamer the day after....”</p> - -<p>She interrupted him. “Oh Jim, must it be to-morrow?”</p> - -<p>He looked up quickly at her. “Do you care?” -he asked, eagerly.</p> - -<p>She had begun to reply, and he was hanging upon -her words, when the native servant made his appearance. -Jim clapped his hand to his head in a frenzy -of exasperation. “Confound you!—what do you -want?” he shouted to the man.</p> - -<p>“I suppose he’s come to tell us it’s high time to -be going,” said Monimé, laughing in his face.</p> - -<p>Jim picked up a stone and hurled it viciously over -the wall into the void beyond. He would willingly -have leapt upon the inoffensive servant and throttled -him where he stood.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVI">Chapter XVI: THE RETURN</h2> - -<p>Thus it came about that Jim took ship back -to Trieste, leaving Monimé and Ian to go -the following week to Alexandria, whence -the boy and his nurse would Journey by a P. and O. -liner direct to England.</p> - -<p>It was a blustering evening in early November -when he arrived in London, and to his sad heart -the streets through which he passed and the small -hotel where he was to stay were dreary in the extreme. -His brain was full of the sunshine of the -Mediterranean; and the burning passion of his love -for Monimé seemed to draw all his vitality inwards, -and to leave frozen and desolate that part of his -entity which had to encounter the immediate world -of actuality.</p> - -<p>Upon the following morning it rained, and for -some time he lay in bed, staring out through the -wet window-pane at the grey sky and the grimy -chimney pots, dreading to arise and meet his fate. -His first object was to find Mrs. Darling. She had -always been understanding and sympathetic, and -now she would perhaps aid him in his predicament. -The news that he was still alive would then have to -be broken gently to Dolly, and the situation would -have to be handled in such a way that she would find -it to her advantage to divorce him. His heart sank -as the thought occurred to him that very possibly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> -she would welcome his return and refuse to part -from him. In that case the game would be lost and -life would be intolerable.</p> - -<p>At the outset, however, his plans met with a -check. An early visit to the flat where Mrs. Darling -lived revealed the fact that she had rented it furnished, -and the only address known to the present -tenant was that of Eversfield. This did not necessarily -mean that she was staying with her daughter, -and Jim was left on the doorstep wondering what -was the best way of getting hold of her quickly.</p> - -<p>A sudden resolve caused him to hail a taxi and to -drive to Paddington Station. He would catch the -first train to Oxford, pay a surreptitious visit to -Eversfield, and try to get into touch with Smiley-face, -his one friend there. The poacher would give -him all the news, and would doubtless be of assistance -to him in various ways; and his reliability in -regard to keeping the secret was unquestionable. -Smiley was a master of the art of secrecy.</p> - -<p>Jim was wearing a high-collared raincoat and -a slouch hat, and, with the one turned up and the -other pulled down, he would easily avoid recognition, -even if, in the by-ways he proposed to follow, -he were to meet with anybody of his acquaintance. -And after all, since he would be obliged, in any -event, to come back from the dead for the purpose -of his divorce, an indefinite rumour that he had -been seen might be the gentlest manner of breaking -the news to Dolly. He wanted to spare her a -sudden shock.</p> - -<p>He had not long to wait for a train, and by noon -he was setting out across the muddy fields behind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> -the houses of Oxford, munching some railway sandwiches -as he went. The rain had cleared off, but the -sky was still grey; and the mild, misty atmosphere -of the Thames Valley filled his heart with gloom -and brought recollections of the days of his captivity -crowding back into his mind. He could hardly believe -that he had been absent not much more than -six months. He had lived through an eternity in -that brief space.</p> - -<p>Nobody was encountered on the way, and when -he mounted the last stile, and stepped into the -familiar pathway behind the church at Eversfield -he was still a solitary figure, moving like a ghost -through the damp mist.</p> - -<p>It was his intention now to skirt the village, and -to walk on to the isolated cottage where Smiley-face -lived with old Jenny; but the silence of his surroundings, -and the deathlike stillness of the little -church, induced him to creep across the graveyard -and to slip through the door into the building.</p> - -<p>In the aisle he stood for a while lost in thought; -while the old clock in the gallery ticked out the -seconds. He felt as though he were a spirit come -back from the dead; and, indeed, the sight of the -familiar pews, the escutcheons, and the memorial -tablets of his ancestors, produced in him a sensation -such as a midnight ghost might feel when called -out of death’s celestial dream to walk again amidst -the scenes of his misdeeds.</p> - -<p>Suddenly a new and shining brass tablet at the -side of the chancel caught his eye; and he hastened -forward, his heart beating with a kind of dread of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> -that which he would see written thereon for all to -read. The inscription was truly staggering:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p><span class="smcap">In grateful and undying memory of James -Champernowne Tundering-West, Esquire, -of Eversfield Manor, who, after an unassuming -but exemplary life, marked by true -christian piety and an unswerving devotion -to duty, met an untimely death, in the -flower of his manhood, at the hand of an -assassin, near Pisa, Italy, this stone has -been set up by his sorrowing widow, Dorothy -Tundering-West.</span></p> - -<p><i>Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee -a crown of life.</i>—Rev. ii. 10.</p> - -</div> - -<p>“Good Lord!” Jim muttered, his sallow face for -a moment red with shame. “And in face of this, -I have got to come back to life, so that this ‘sorrowing -widow’ may divorce me, and thereby empower -me to give the name of Tundering-West to my son -and leave him in my will the property I abandoned! -A pretty muddle!”</p> - -<p>He turned away, sick at heart. “O England, -England!” he whispered. “Dear nation of hypocrites!—at -all costs keeping up the pretence so that -the traditional example may be set for coming generations.... -Presently they will remove this tablet, -and instead they will scrawl across their memories -the words: ‘He failed in his duty, because he -hid not his dirty linen.’”</p> - -<p>He almost ran from the church.</p> - -<p>During the continuation of his walk he came -upon two of the villagers, but in each case he was -able to turn to the hedge as though searching for -the last remaining blackberries, and so avoided a -face-to-face encounter. His road led him past the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> -back of the woods of the Manor, those woods -whither he had so often fled for comfort; and it -occurred to him that before walking the further two -miles to Jenny’s cottage he might whistle the call -which used to bring the poacher to him in the old -days. It was just the sort of misty afternoon on -which Smiley was wont to slip in amongst the trees.</p> - -<p>He therefore stepped into a gap in the encircling -hedge of bramble and thorn, the straight muddy -road passing into the haze behind him, and the -brown, misty woods, carpeted with wet leaves, before -him; and, curving his hand around his mouth, -he uttered that long low whistle which sounded -like the wail of a lost soul, and which more than -once had struck terror into the heart of some passing -yokel.</p> - -<p>Thrice he repeated it, pausing between to listen -for the answering call and the familiar cracking -of the twigs; and he was about to make a final attempt -when of a sudden he heard a slight sound -upon the road some fifty yards away. Turning -quickly, he saw the ragged, well-remembered figure -dart out from the hedge into the middle of the road, -eagerly running to right and left like a dog that -has lost the scent. He was hatless, and his mop of -dirty red hair was unmistakable.</p> - -<p>Jim stepped out into the roadway, and thereat -Smiley-face came bounding towards him, his arms -stretched wide, his smile extending from ear to ear, -and his little blue eyes agleam.</p> - -<p>“Hullo, Smiley, old sport!” said Jim, holding out -his hand; but he was wholly unprepared for the -scene which followed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p> - -<p>Smiley’s knees seemed to give way under him, -and, snatching at Jim’s hand, he stumbled and fell -forward upon the grass at the roadside, panting, -coughing, and laughing. “O God! O God! O -God!” he gasped. “I knew you was alive, sir: I -knew it in me bones.”</p> - -<p>He pulled himself up on to his knees, and held -Jim’s hand to his face, hugging it in a sort of frenzy -of animal delight.</p> - -<p>“Get up!” said Jim, sharply. “What’s the matter -with you?”</p> - -<p>“I dunno,” Smiley answered, sheepishly, clambering -to his feet. “I felt sort o’ dizzy-dazzy like. I -get took like that sometimes. I ’ad the doctor to me -once: he told old Jenny it was my ticket home. -That’s what ’e said it was: I heerd ’im say it to ’er.”</p> - -<p>“Been ill, have you?” Jim asked, putting his hand -on the poacher’s shoulder, and observing now how -haggard the face had grown.</p> - -<p>“I’ll be fit as a fiddle now you’ve come back,” -he answered, laughing. “I knew you wasn’t dead! -Murdered, they said you was; but I says to old -Jenny: ‘I’ll not believe it,’ I says; ‘not with ’im able -to floor I with one twist of his ’and. ’E’s just gone -off tramping,’ I says. ’E’s gone back to the -roads.... ’E never could abide a bedroom.’”</p> - -<p>“Well, you were right, Smiley,” Jim replied. “I -couldn’t stick it any longer, and so I quitted. But -I mustn’t be seen, you understand. I’m dead. I’ve -only come down here to get into touch with you, and -find out how things are going on.”</p> - -<p>“Friends stick to friends,” the poacher crooned, -intoning the words like a chant. “I never ’ad no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> -friend except you. It seems like I given you everything -I got inside my ’ead.”</p> - -<p>They entered the wood together, and sat down -side by side upon a fallen tree trunk. Jim questioned -him about Dolly, and was told that she was living -quietly at the Manor, a little widow in a pretty black -dress; and that her mother sometimes came to stay -with her, but was not at present in Eversfield, so -far as he knew.</p> - -<p>“Do you think she misses me?” Jim asked.</p> - -<p>Smiley wagged his head. “I wouldn’t like to say -for sure,” he answered; “but betwixt you and me, -sir, that there Mr. Merrivall do spend a deal o’ time -at the Manor. Jane Potts, his ’ousekeeper, be terrible -mad about it. They do say her watches him -like a ferret. It’s jealousy, seeing her’s been as -good as a wife to ’im, these many years. But he’s -that took with your lady, sir, he can’t see what’s -brewing. Seems like as they’d make a match of -it when her mourning’s up.”</p> - -<p>“The devil they would!” Jim exclaimed, his face -lighting up. “Why, then, she’ll be very willing to -divorce me.... That’s good news, Smiley!”</p> - -<p>The poacher looked perplexed. “Divorce you?” -he asked. “Baint you staying dead, then?”</p> - -<p>Jim put his hand on Smiley’s shoulder again. -“Look here,” he said, “I told you once that if ever I -confided my troubles to anybody it would be to you. -Can I trust you to hold your tongue?”</p> - -<p>Smiley exposed all his yellow teeth in a wide -grin. “You can trust I through thick and thin, -same as what you said once. They could tear my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> -liver out, but they’d not make I tell what you said -I mustn’t tell; and that’s gospel.”</p> - -<p>Thereupon Jim explained the whole situation to -him, telling him how in a far country he had found -again the woman he ought to have married, and how -he hoped that Dolly would free him.</p> - -<p>“It’s life or death, Smiley,” he said earnestly. “If -my wife welcomes me back from the grave, and -claims her rights, I shall put a bullet through my -head, for I could not be the husband of a sham thing -now that I know what it is to love a real woman. -Oh, man, I’m devoured by love. I’m burning to -be back with her, and with the son she has borne me. -Don’t you see I’m in hell, and the fires of hell are -consuming me?”</p> - -<p>The poacher scratched his towsled red hair. -“Yes, I see,” he said. “And I reckon her’s -waiting for you over there in them furrin lands -where the sun’s shining and the birds are singing. -When they told I you was dead I says to old Jenny -you’d only gone to those countries you used to -talk about, where the trees are green the year round, -and you look down into the water and see the trout -a-sliding over mother-o’-pearl. ‘’E’s heard the temple-bells -a-calling,’ I says, ‘the same as ’e sang about -that day in the parish-room,’ I says, ‘and ’e’s just -sitting lazy by the river, and maybe the queen of -them parts is a-kissing of ’is ’and.’”</p> - -<p>Jim laughed aloud. “Smiley, you’re a poet,” he -said, “but you came pretty near the truth, only it was -I who was kissing <em>her</em> hand.”</p> - -<p>For a while longer they talked, but at length Jim -proposed that the poacher should go at once to Ted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> -Barnes, the postman, and find out whether Mrs. -Darling was at the Manor or not, and if not, perhaps -Ted could be induced to tell him the address to -which her letters were forwarded. “Say you want -to send her a couple of rabbits,” Jim suggested, with -a laugh. He looked at his watch. “It will be dusk -in two hours or so. Meet me here at about that -time, just before it is dark.”</p> - -<p>Smiley seemed eager to be of service, and, repeatedly -touching his forelock, went off on his mission -in high spirits, turning round to wave a dirty -hand to his adored friend as he glided away amongst -the tree trunks into the haze. Thereupon Jim set -off for a walk in the direction of the neighbouring -village of Bedley-Sutton, in order to pass the time; -and it was an hour later that he returned to the -woods of the Manor.</p> - -<p>There was still another hour to wait before he -might expect Smiley’s return; and he therefore -strolled through the silent woods, visiting with -gloomy curiosity the various well-remembered scenes -of his days of captivity. “How could I ever have -stood it?” he questioned himself; yet at the back of -his mind there was the overwhelming consciousness -that here was the home of his forefathers, the home -he wished to hand on to his son, but that now it -belonged to Dolly, a woman to whom he felt no -sense of relationship, and ultimately it would pass -out of his family, unless he laid claim to it anew.</p> - -<p>The turmoil in his mind was extreme, and his -dilemma was made more desperate by the thought -that Monimé, whose instinctive wisdom and practical -sympathy might now be so helpful, must be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> -shut out from these events and kept in ignorance -of his perplexity. He yearned to write to her and -make a clean breast of it, yet he feared the blighting -effect of such a confession of crude error and deception. -With his whole heart he detested himself.</p> - -<p>His wandering footsteps led him at length to a -point not far distant from the bottom of the Manor -garden. He had been threading his way unconsciously -through undergrowth and brambles, carrying -his coat over his arm and his hat in his hand; and -he was about to step out on to the mossy pathway -which led to the garden gate when suddenly he heard -voices at no great distance, and with beating heart, -he stepped back into a thicket and crouched there behind -the tall-growing bracken.</p> - -<p>A moment later he was staring with flushed face -at the approaching figures of Dolly and George -Merrivall, who were strolling towards him, she gazing -up at her middle-aged companion, and he, his -arm about her, looking down at her with his large -fish-like eyes. The picture stamped itself savagely -upon his mind.</p> - -<p>Dolly was wearing a smart black coat and skirt, -and a black-and-white scarf was flung around her -neck. A saucy little black felt hat, adorned with -a stiff feather, showed up her golden hair and the -fair complexion of her childlike face. Merrivall, in -a new walking-suit of grey homespun, a large cap -to match, and grey stockings covering his thin legs, -seemed to be clothed to approximate to the grey -haze of the afternoon; and even his face appeared -grey, like the dead ashes of a fire long burnt out.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span></p> - -<p>Soon they were close at hand, and Jim could hear -their words.</p> - -<p>“O George,” Dolly was saying, “how frightening -the woods are in the half-light! I believe they really -are haunted. Why did you dare me to come here?”</p> - -<p>“It was you who proposed it,” he answered, -shortly.</p> - -<p>“Did I?” she replied, looking up at him with -innocent eyes. “Well, I’m not really afraid when -you are with me. You’re so strong, so protective. -I suppose there’s nothing in the world that could -frighten you.”</p> - -<p>“Not many things,” he agreed, with a brave toss -of his head.</p> - -<p>She pressed his arm. “You know, that’s what -I always missed so much in poor Jim. I could -never look to him for protection; I could never -lean on him. And, you see, I’m such a little coward, -really: you should see me running sometimes from -some silly thing that has startled me.”</p> - -<p>“My little fawn!” he murmured, lifting her hand -to his lips.</p> - -<p>Jim’s eyes were wild. “The same old game!” -he muttered to himself, as he peered at them between -the wet, brown leaves of the bracken.</p> - -<p>“You need a man to take care of you,” Merrivall -continued. “How long must we wait before we -can announce our engagement?”</p> - -<p>“You are impatient, George,” she replied. “Even -though I never really loved Jim, I feel I ought to -give his memory the tribute of the usual year. People -who don’t know how he forced me to marry him -and how brutally he ill-treated me, would say unkind -things if I married you any sooner than that.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span></p> - -<p>Merrivall remained silent for a moment, standing -still upon the mossy pathway. “Nobody would know -if we got married at once at a registry office,” he -said at length. “We could go abroad for some -months.”</p> - -<p>She looked up at him archly. “A wife is a very -expensive thing you know,” she smiled. “Why, -a woman’s clothes alone cost a fortune. You see -it isn’t only what shows on the outside—it’s all the -wonderful things underneath....”</p> - -<p>They passed on out of earshot, leaving Jim, who -remembered so well her tricks, consumed by fierce -anger, and overwhelmed by his destiny. If Dolly -married this man, the final complication would be -reached, and the legal difficulties would be multiplied -out of all reckoning. Moreover, the thought -that the home of the Tundering-Wests should pass -to a washed-out drunken remittance man enhanced -the value of the estate a hundredfold in his eyes. -He felt inclined to reveal himself at once: he was -mad with rage at her misrepresentation of the facts -of their relationship.</p> - -<p>A few moments later Merrivall stopped short, -looking at his watch; and, as he turned, Jim could -hear again his words. “Good gracious!” he exclaimed. -“I shall be late for the whist drive. What -am I thinking of!”</p> - -<p>He took Dolly’s hand and ran back at a jog-trot -towards the gate. As soon as they had passed him -and were hidden by the bend in the path, Jim rose -to his feet and hurried after them. He had no -settled purpose: he wished only to follow them. -When he came within fifty yards of the border of -the woods, however, he paused behind a tree, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> -watched Merrivall as he hastened across the garden, -leaving Dolly panting at the gate. She was perhaps -a little annoyed at his precipitation, and thought -it more dignified to let him be, now that she was -back in the safety of her garden and the fearsome -woods were behind her.</p> - -<p>After a lapse of a minute or two Jim observed -that she was looking from side to side as though -she had lost something, and soon he could see -that she had dropped one of her gloves, and was -trying to pluck up her courage to enter the gloomy -dimness of the haunted woods once more in order -to find it. His eye searched the pathway, and presently -he discerned the missing glove lying not more -than a few yards from him, a little further into the -woods.</p> - -<p>He had no time to conceal himself before Dolly -came running down the pathway, looking furtively -to right and left. She passed without seeing him -and retrieved the glove; but as she turned to retrace -her steps she caught sight of him and started -back, uttering a cry of fright.</p> - -<p>Flight seemed useless to Jim: the crisis had come, -and in his bitter wrath he gladly faced it. Slowly -and deliberately he stepped forward on to the pathway -and stood there barring her way. His raincoat -and hat were still amongst the bracken at his former -place of hiding, and now he stood silently in the grey -and ghostly haze, wearing an old suit of clothes -which she knew well, his dark hair falling untidily -about his forehead, his face ashen white, his eyes -burning with anger, his whole attitude menacing and -vindictive.</p> - -<p>Dolly’s terror was horrible to behold. Her right<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> -hand and arm beat at the air conclusively; the -knuckles of her left hand were thrust between her -chattering teeth; her eyes were dilated, and her eyebrows -seemed to have gone up into her hair.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t mean it, Jim!” she gasped. “I didn’t -mean it! Go away! I’ll tell him the truth; I’ll tell -him you were good to me ... O God, take him -away!... Go back to your grave, Jim. O God, take -him away, take him away ...!”</p> - -<p>Her voice rose to a shriek; and, falling upon her -knees, she beat the soft moss of the pathway with -her fists in frenzy.</p> - -<p>“Get up, you little fool!” Jim snapped. “I’m -not a ghost. I’m alive: look at me.”</p> - -<p>She stared at him with her mouth open, crawled -forward, and rose to her feet. Suddenly, as the -truth seemed to dawn upon her, the colour surged -into her cheeks, and there came an expression of -hatred into her face which Jim had not seen before, -and which wholly surpassed the animosity he himself -felt.</p> - -<p>“You’re <em>alive</em>?” she gasped. “You weren’t murdered? -You’ve just played a trick on me?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he answered. “I didn’t mean to turn up -again, only circumstances have compelled me to.”</p> - -<p>“You can’t come back!” she cried, wringing her -hands in such desperation that a certain degree of -pity was added to Jim’s tumult of emotions. “You’re -dead: you can’t come back to life again, you can’t, -you can’t!... Spoiling everything like this, you -beast!—you devil! Oh, I might have guessed it -was all a dirty trick to spite me. You’ve been living -with some other woman, I suppose. Well, go back -to her. I’ve done with you. Nobody wants you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> -here: we all thanked Heaven when you died. You -were always impossible.”</p> - -<p>She moved to and fro, now twisting her gloves -in her hands, now pointing at him with shaking -fingers, and now clutching at her breast and throat.</p> - -<p>“Well, there it is,” Jim said, feeling himself to -be in the wrong. “I’m sorry about it all, but here -I am, alive. I’m not going to bother you. All I -want is for you to divorce me for desertion, so that I -can be quit of you and Eversfield for the rest of -my life.”</p> - -<p>“Divorce you?” she repeated, furiously. “Divorce -a dead man? Make myself a laughing stock? -Why, I’ve only just paid for a memorial tablet for -you in the church; a lying tablet, too, in which I’ve -called myself your ‘sorrowing widow.’ It isn’t true. -I felt no sorrow: I think I always detested you. I -should never have married you if it hadn’t been for -mother saying you were such a good match. And -now, just when I’ve found a real man, a man who -will look after me, you come sneaking home again, -prowling about like a tramp, or a burglar, or something. -I wish to God you <em>were</em> dead!”</p> - -<p>Under her lashing tongue, Jim was nonplussed. -He wanted to tell her how she had made his life -impossible by her shams and pretences, her crude -view of marriage, her intrinsic uselessness; but words -were not forthcoming. “As far as you are concerned,” -he said lamely, “I shall be dead as soon as -you divorce me. It will mean postponing your marriage -for a few months: that’s all.”</p> - -<p>“What have you came back for?” she cried, at -length. “Is it money you want? I suppose it’s a -sort of blackmail.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No, I don’t want money,” he said. “I’ll leave -you the bulk of the estate. But I may as well tell -you right away, you will only have a life-interest in -this place. On your death it will revert to me and -my successors. Those are my terms; and if you -don’t agree to them, I’ll claim the whole estate -again and make you only an allowance.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you fiend!” she cried, beside herself once -more with fury. “The utter cruelty and callousness -of it! It’s just a practical joke you’ve played on me, -coming back like a cad when we all thought you were -dead and done with. I’ll tell everybody: I’ll make -your name stink in the nostrils of every man who -is a gentleman.”</p> - -<p>Jim shrugged his shoulders; and, suddenly, to his -amazement she leapt at him and dug her nails into -his face. He grabbed hold of her arms, and for a -dreadful moment they struggled like two savages. -Then she broke loose from him and dashed away -amongst the misty trees at the side of the pathway, -stumbling through the bracken, and crying out to him -disjointed words of fury. For some moments Jim -stood staring after her, listening to the crackling of -the twigs which marked her progress. She was -working round, it seemed, towards the gate of the -manor, and presently the sounds ceased, as though -she had paused to get her breath.</p> - -<p>Thereat Jim walked back towards his rendezvous, -recovering his coat and hat on the way. His brain -was confused and distracted, and a feeling of nausea -was upon him. Passionately he hated himself; and -miserably he asked himself what Monimé would -think of the whole unsavoury business were she ever -to hear of it.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVII">Chapter XVII: THE CATASTROPHE</h2> - -<p>Darkness was falling, and Jim, whose -heart was in his boots, was beginning to -feel cold in spite of the mildness of the day, -when Smiley-face made his appearance, touching his -forelock ingratiatingly.</p> - -<p>“I been a long time, sir,” he explained, “but you -know what that there Ted Barnes is. Slow to talk -and wanting a power of persuading. But I got the -address from ’im: ’ere it is, wrote on this paper.”</p> - -<p>He handed Jim a slip of paper, upon which the address -of a Kensington hotel was written. He was -grinning triumphantly, as though he had performed -some great service for his friend.</p> - -<p>“Good lad,” said Jim. “That’s very smart of -you. I say, Smiley: I’ve had the deuce of a time -while you were in the village. I met my wife!”</p> - -<p>The poacher smiled from ear to ear. “O -Lordee!” he chuckled. “I reckon that ’ud give her -a bit of a turn, like.”</p> - -<p>Jim told him something of what had occurred, but -Smiley’s attitude of frank amusement caused him -to cut the story short; and it was not long before -he brought the interview to an end.</p> - -<p>As they shook hands at the edge of the wood, -Smiley suddenly paused and raised his finger. “Did -you hear anything?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“No,” said Jim, after listening for a few moments.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Thought I heard a step,” the poacher went on. -“There’s a heap o’ tramps about these days. I seen -’em in the woods sometimes, but I don’t allow no -one to poach there except me....”</p> - -<p>He was in a loquacious mood, and Jim found it -necessary to make a resolute interruption of the -flow of his words by shaking him warmly by the hand -once more and setting off down the dark lane in the -direction of Oxford.</p> - -<p>He reached London, somewhat dazed, in time for -dinner, and by nine o’clock he was driving out to -Kensington to pay a visit to Mrs. Darling. Now -that Dolly knew that he was alive, it would be as -well for him to enlist the services of her mother as -soon as possible. He could, perhaps, make it worth -her while to aid him in regard to the divorce.</p> - -<p>Upon arriving at the small private hotel where -she was staying he was shown into an unoccupied -sitting-room.</p> - -<p>“What name, sir?” asked the page.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Tundering-West,” said Jim, apprehensive -of the jolt the announcement would cause, but feeling -that since a shock could not be avoided, it would -be better for her to receive it before she entered -the room.</p> - -<p>He had not long to wait: after a few minutes of -uncomfortable fiddling with his hat, Mrs. Darling -suddenly bounced in, as though she had been kicked -from behind. Then, with astonished eyes fixed on -Jim, she shut the door and stood staring at him in -complete silence.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said, nervously smiling, “it’s me, Mrs. -Darling!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Good gracious!” she gasped. “Jim! You—you—you -lunatic! What on earth are you doing in the -land of the living? You’re supposed to be dead and -buried.”</p> - -<p>“No, not buried,” he corrected her. “I was -knifed, you remember, and dropped into the sea.”</p> - -<p>She passed her hand across her forehead. “You -mean you swam back home?” Her voice was awed.</p> - -<p>“Something like that,” he laughed. “Anyway, -here I am; and I’ve come to you to ask what I’m -to do next. I’ve just had a talk with Dolly.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Darling threw up her hands, and therewith -she set about his cross-examination, asking him a -number of questions in regard to his life, and receiving -a number of evasive replies. “My good man,” -she said at length, “do you realize that Dolly is an -established widow, on the look out, in fact, for another -husband? Do you realize that we’ve had a -solemn memorial service for you, and put a tablet up -in the church?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I’ve seen it,” he answered. “It made me -blush for shame.”</p> - -<p>“I’m very glad to hear it,” she said. “You may -well be ashamed that you have fallen so far short -of the virtues attributed to you. I always think it is -such a wonderful thing in nature that the only creatures -who can blush are the only creatures who have -occasion to.”</p> - -<p>Considering that it was her daughter’s future -which was at stake, Mrs. Darling seemed to Jim to -be treating matters very lightly.</p> - -<p>“Do you realize,” she went on, her voice rising, -“that your will has been read, and Dolly owns every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> -penny you had, and gives me three hundred pounds -a year allowance?”</p> - -<p>“Only three hundred?” he remarked. “That’s -mean. I’ll give you four.”</p> - -<p>“It’s not yours to give,” she answered. “You’re -dead—dead as mutton. You can’t play fast and -loose with death like that, you know. When you’re -murdered, you’re murdered, and there’s an end of -it. It would make things absolutely impossible if -people could go popping in and out of their graves -like you are doing. Surely you can see that. What -did Dolly say?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, she was very upset,” he told her. “She -stormed at me and called me every name under the -sun; said she had always hated me; told me she was -going to marry George Merrivall.”</p> - -<p>“Well, what else did you expect? She says you ill-treated -her horribly.”</p> - -<p>“That’s a lie,” said Jim, sharply.</p> - -<p>“Yes, so I told her,” Mrs. Darling replied. “I -know you. You’re perfectly mad, but I always felt -you were very decent to Dolly, considering what a -little fraud she is.”</p> - -<p>“Anyhow, I don’t mind her saying I ill-treated -her,” he added, “if that’s any use for the purpose -of our divorce.”</p> - -<p>“Divorce?” cried Mrs. Darling. “Do you want -her to divorce you? What for?”</p> - -<p>“So that I can be quit of her, and marry again if -I find the right woman.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Darling held up her hands. “What sublime -courage! But you mustn’t let marriage become a -habit, for the divorce courts are very slow, you know.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> -I have a woman friend who is already three marriages -ahead of her divorces. I should have thought -that a man like you, who is something of a philosopher -and thinker, would now shun marriage like the -plague. But I suppose even the cleverest men.... -There is the famous case of Socrates, who died of -an overdose of wedlock.”</p> - -<p>“Hemlock,” he corrected her.</p> - -<p>“Ah, yes, to be sure. Perhaps it is simply your -youth: you still look very young, in spite of your recent -death. I remember, in the days before my bright -future had resolved itself into a shady past, I, too, -was an optimist about marriage. But I was soon -cured. So long as he liked me, my husband was so -terribly jealous of me. It was quite intolerable. He -would not even let my eyes wander from him. Why, -I remember once turning my head away from him -for a moment because I had hiccups, and being instantly -cured by his seizing my throat in a consequent -fit of passion.... Were you ever jealous of -Dolly?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Jim; “and this afternoon I saw her -making love to George Merrivall without any feeling -except annoyance with myself for ever having -believed in her.”</p> - -<p>“Poor Dolly,” sighed her mother. “I am devoted -to her, as you know; but I do realize her -faults, and I know what you had to put up with.”</p> - -<p>For some time they discussed the possibilities of -divorce, and Mrs. Darling was frankly business-like -in regard to the financial side of the affair.</p> - -<p>“Of course,” she said, “it is very hard to do business -with you, my dear Jim, because you are an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> -honest man. I prefer dealing with crooks. It is -so simple, because you always know that at some -stage of the game they are going to try to trip -you up. But with honest men, you never know what -they’ll do next.”</p> - -<p>The upshot of their conversation was an understanding -that Mrs. Darling should go down next -day to Eversfield and win her daughter over to the -idea of divorce; and, this being arranged, he rose -to go.</p> - -<p>“Good-bye,” he said, warmly shaking her hand. -“I can’t begin to thank you for your kindness, and -generosity of mind.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, nonsense!” she laughed. “I’m just a scheming -old woman, Jim. As I’ve often told you, I’d -sell my soul for an income; and in this case it is -obvious that, since you are alive, you hold the family -purse-strings. That’s why I am nice to you.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe it,” he answered.</p> - -<p>“Well, anyway,” she said, “I wish you well, dead -or alive. Good-bye, my dear. May you be with the -rich in this world and with the poor in the world to -come.”</p> - -<p>Jim arrived back at his hotel in a somewhat -happier frame of mind, and went at once to his -bedroom, tired after the adventures of the day. -When he was in bed, however, he found that sleep -had deserted him; and for some time he lay on his -back, vainly endeavouring to quell the turbulence of -the mob of his thoughts. The figure of Dolly kept -presenting itself to his mind, and his inward ears -heard her voice continuously railing at him and reproaching -him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span></p> - -<p>Her pretty, silly little face seemed to push in -upon his thoughts of Monimé; and suddenly he sat -up, scared by the vividness of the impression, and -wondering whether it were some sort of portent of -coming calamity in regard to the new life for which -he hoped so passionately. He switched on the light, -and, kicking off the bedclothes, went across to the -washstand and poured himself out a dose of whisky -from his flask. The radiator was too hot, and the -room felt stuffy; but, throwing open the window, a -blast of cold air and wet sleet searched him to the -skin, and obliged him to shut it again.</p> - -<p>“Oh, what a God-forsaken country!” he muttered; -and therewith fetched his guitar from its case, and -sitting cross-legged upon the bed in his pyjamas, -began twanging the strings and singing old songs -in a minor key which sounded like dirges for the -dead. The music soothed him, and soon he was -pouring his whole heart into the melodies, oblivious -to all around him. They were songs of love now, -and as he sang his thoughts went out over the seas to -Cairo where Monimé at this moment was probably -lying asleep in her bed, her black hair spread upon -the pillow.</p> - -<p>There was a sharp knock upon the door. “Come -in,” he called out, pausing in his song, but remaining -seated upon the bed, with his fingers upon the strings -of his guitar.</p> - -<p>A red-faced, grey-moustached man of military appearance -stumped into the room, clad in a brown -dressing-gown. “Confound you, sir!” he roared. -“If you don’t put that damned banjo away and go to -bed, I’ll ring for the manager.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p> - -<p>“What’s it to do with you?” Jim asked, twanging -the strings dreamily.</p> - -<p>“It’s disturbing the whole hotel,” he answered. -“Nobody can get a wink of sleep with that blasted -noise going on. Damn it, sir!—have you no sense -of duty to your neighbour?”</p> - -<p>The question hit home: once again he had been -proved wanting in consideration. “I’m most awfully -sorry,” he said, with genuine contrition. “I’d clean -forgotten I was in a hotel. Please forgive me. -Have a whisky and soda? Have a cigar?”</p> - -<p>His visitor did not deign to reply. He stared -at Jim with hot, scowling eyes, and then, making a -contemptuous gesture, left the room again, slamming -the door after him.</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s that,” Jim muttered, thereafter returning -to bed, annoyed with himself and distressed -that he should have caused annoyance to others. -“What a swine I am,” he thought.</p> - -<p>Matthew Arnold’s lines:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Weary of myself, and sick of asking</div> -<div class="verse">What I am, and what I ought to be....</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">came into his brain, and gloomily he repeated them -half aloud. Would Monimé marry him? Or would -she, too, find him impossible? What a mess he had -made of his life! Perhaps Dolly had been justified -in her dislike of him.</p> - -<p>With such thoughts as these he at last fell off to -sleep.</p> - -<p>Next morning, after breakfast, he picked up a -newspaper in the smoking-room, and for some minutes -read the foreign news without much interest.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> -Then suddenly a set of headlines caught his attention, -and caused him to sit up, aghast, in his chair. -The printed words swayed before his eyes as he -read the appalling news.</p> - -<p>“Last night,” the story began, “the body of Mrs. -Dorothy Tundering-West, widow of the late James -Tundering-West, of the Manor, Eversfield, near Oxford, -was found in a wood adjoining the grounds of -the Manor. The back of the skull was smashed in, -probably by a blow from a large stone which was -found near by with bloodstains upon it. Mrs. West -had been missing since four o’clock in the afternoon, -and medical evidence indicates that death must have -occurred at about that hour....”</p> - -<p>With desperate haste his eyes travelled down the -column. There was no doubt that she had been -murdered, said the report, but the thick carpeting of -damp leaves upon the ground had retained no impression -of the offender’s footprints. She was lying -on her face, and a second wound upon her forehead -was probably caused by her fall. The motive was -not apparent, for there had been no robbery, and -there were no signs of a struggle.</p> - -<p>The police, he read, attached some significance -to the presence of a man of foreign appearance -who was seen in the early afternoon picking berries -from a hedge in the neighbourhood. In this connection -it was recalled that Mr. Tundering-West had -died by the hand of an assassin in Italy only a few -months ago, and it was possible that the two crimes -were both the outcome of some secret vendetta. -What had induced the unfortunate lady to go into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> -the woods was a mystery, and perhaps indicated that -she had been lured to her doom.</p> - -<p>Jim’s first emotions were those of extreme horror -at the crime, and pity for Dolly. The manner of -her death appalled him; and though he was not conscious -of any binding relationship to her, the catastrophe -of her murder swept across his being like a -fierce wind, as it were, uprooting the plantations of -his overstocked brain, or like a breaking wave -thundering on to the shingle of his multitudinous -thoughts.</p> - -<p>It was fortunate that he was alone in the smoking-room, -for his agitation was such that his exclamations -were uttered audibly, and soon he was pacing -the floor, the newspaper crumpled in his hand. It -seemed to be his fate that the crises of his life should -be announced to him through the columns of the -daily Press. In this manner he had read of his inheritance, -of his supposed murder at Pisa, and now -of the death of his wife. It was as though roguish -powers had selected him as a victim on whom thus to -spring surprises.</p> - -<p>Who could have committed the crime? The -thought of Smiley-face came immediately to his -mind, but was as quickly dismissed again. The -poacher, he knew, had been busy in the village -getting Mrs. Darling’s address from the postman; -and, moreover, his behaviour when they had met -again clearly proclaimed his innocence. Possibly -some tramp had been lurking in the woods, as -Smiley had suspected, and Dolly had been assaulted -by him as she ran from Jim. He remembered now -with awe the sudden silence which had followed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> -her loud flight through the crackling undergrowth.</p> - -<p>The wretched Merrivall, he realized, would have -to keep his movements well hidden; for if it were -known that he had been in the woods with Dolly -he would most assuredly be suspected, motive or no -motive. If anybody had seen him running across -the manor garden on his way to the forgotten whist-drive -it would go hard with him.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, following this thought, came the awful -realization of his own peril. He, Jim, was the last -man to see her alive; and in his own case a motive -would not be lacking. Smiley-face would be certain -to suspect him, and by some mistake might give the -secret away.</p> - -<p>And then—Mrs. Darling! She knew he had seen -Dolly in the woods, she knew they had quarrelled -violently! Of course, she would accuse him! The -thought blared at him like a discordant trumpet, proclaiming -his guilt to the world, while his heart -drummed a wild accompaniment.</p> - -<p>In bewilderment he ran blindly up the stairs to his -bedroom and locked the door behind him.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVIII">Chapter XVIII: DESTINY</h2> - -<p>For some time he sat in his bedroom, overwhelmed -by horror and pity at Dolly’s death, -and by the terrible menace of his own situation. -Mrs. Darling would certainly denounce him -to the police, for hardly could she think otherwise -than that he was the murderer of her daughter, even -though his open visit to her at her hotel would be -difficult to reconcile with his guilt.</p> - -<p>Fate seemed to be playing with him, torturing -him, hitting him from all sides. If only he had postponed -his visit to Mrs. Darling he would now be free -to slip away as unnoticed as he had come, resuming -his life in the Near East as Jim Easton, and being -in no way suspected of the crime, for the silence of -Smiley-face could be relied on.</p> - -<p>But now he was done for! True, he was to-day -a widower, and was therefore in a position to marry -the woman whom he loved with a passion which -seemed only to grow stronger as the complications -increased. But he would be obliged to lie to her -daily, throughout his life: there would always be this -pitiable barrier of deception between them. And, -moreover, the tragedy of Dolly’s death so filled his -mind that any advantage it might have to himself -was hardly able to be realized. He was profoundly -shocked at her pitiable end, and its consequences -were enveloped in gloom.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span></p> - -<p>Even though Mrs. Darling were to hold her -tongue, the Eversfield estate would none the less -be wholly lost to him now, nor would his son ever -reign there as a Tundering-West; for were he to -lay claim to the property, or reveal the fact that he, -James Tundering-West, was alive, Monimé would -think he had gone to England and had done Dolly -to death so as to be free to marry again. How could -she think otherwise?</p> - -<p>And, again, though he were for the time being -to escape from the arm of the law, he could only -marry Monimé at the risk of dragging her into a -possible scandal in the future.</p> - -<p>He paced his bedroom in his despair, now cursing -himself for his actions, now screwing up his eyes to -shut out the pitiful picture of Dolly, now laughing -aloud, like a madman, at the nightmare of his own -position. One thing was certain: he must leave -England this very morning and make his way back -to Cyprus or Egypt, or somewhere. Already Mrs. -Darling might have notified the police. Fortunately -she did not know his address, nor had she ever -heard the name “Easton,” but doubtless the ports -would be watched, and were he to delay his departure -he would be caught.</p> - -<p>In sudden haste which bordered on frenzy he -packed his portmanteau and rang for his bill; and -soon he was driving to the station, a huddled figure -with hat pulled down over his eyes. He was far -too early for the train, and, during the long wait -every pair of eyes which looked into his set his heart -beating with apprehension.</p> - -<p>He had always been an outlaw: he had never fully<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> -understood the basis of society, nor were the habits -of the community altogether intelligible to him. He -had gone his own ways, and had left organized humanity -to go theirs. They had not molested one -another. But now the State had a grievance against -him, and soon it would be feeling out for him with its -millions of antennæ, searching over hill and dale, -city and field, with waving, creeping tentacles. He -would have to duck and dodge continuously to avoid -being caught, and always there would be in his heart -the terror of that cruel, relentless mouth waiting to -suck the life out of him.</p> - -<p>His relief was intense when at the end of the day -he found himself, still unmolested, in Paris. But -he did not here stay his flight. All through the night -he journeyed southwards, sitting with lolling head -in the corner of a third-class compartment in a slow -train—a mode of travelling which he had deemed -the least conspicuous.</p> - -<p>At length, upon the following evening, he reached -Marseilles, where he put up at a small hotel at which -he had stayed more than once under the name of -Easton. He told the proprietor he had just come -from Italy, a remark which led him to a frenzied -erasing of labels from his baggage in his bedroom.</p> - -<p>The next morning he made inquiries as to the -steamers sailing east, and was relieved to find that a -French liner was leaving for Alexandria in a few -hours. He obtained a berth without difficulty and, -after a period of horrible anxiety at the docks, found -himself once more upon the high seas, the menace of -the western world fading into the distance behind -him, and the greater chances of the Orient ahead.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span></p> - -<p>Thus he arrived back one morning upon the soil -of Egypt, a fugitive from the terror of the law, all -his nerves strained to breaking-point, his face pallid, -his dark eyes wild. With aching heart he yearned -for the serenity which Monimé exuded like the perfume -of incense around her; he longed to be able to -go to her and to bare his soul of its secrets, and to -lay his heavy head upon her complacent breast; he -craved for the comfort of those caressing hands -which seemed in their soothing touch to be endowed -with the mother-craft of all the ages.</p> - -<p>Never before in his independent life had he felt -so profound a desire for sympathy and companionship, -yet now more than ever must he lock up his -troubles in his own heart. He would write to her -at Mena House Hotel, near Cairo, where she was -staying, and tell her ... tell her what? That he -could not live without her, that he had come back -to her after but a couple of days in England, that -she held for him the keys of heaven, that away from -her he was in outer darkness. He would await her -answer here in Alexandria, and by the time it arrived -perhaps he would have recovered in some degree his -equilibrium.</p> - -<p>Feeling that his safety lay in the unbroken continuity -of his life as Jim Easton, he went to the little -Hotel des Beaux-Esprits, vaguely telling the proprietress -that he had travelled over from Cyprus. -Some London papers had just arrived and these, having -come by a faster route, carried the news to the -second morning after his departure from England. -His hand shook as he searched the columns for the -“Eversfield Murder,” and his excitement and relief<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> -were altogether beyond description when he read -that George Merrivall’s housekeeper, Jane Potts, -had been arrested and charged with the crime.</p> - -<p>Eagerly he turned to the recent copies of the local -newspaper in which the English telegrams were published -daily, and here he read that the evidence -against the woman was of such damning character -that she had been committed for trial. He recalled -how Smiley-face had spoken of this woman’s jealousy -of Dolly, and it seemed evident that she had followed -George Merrivall into the woods that day and had -wreaked her vengeance on her rival.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Darling, then, had not notified the police! -Doubtless she had heard of the guilt of Jane Potts -in time to prevent the further scandal in regard to -himself. She must have realized at once that since -he was not the murderer there was no good purpose -to be served in revealing the fact that he was still -alive. Possibly, indeed, she may have hoped to profit -by Dolly’s death—she was the next-of-kin—and had -no wish to resuscitate the rightful lord of the manor -from his supposed grave beneath the waves of Pisa. -He could quite imagine the pleasant, unscrupulous -soul saying to him: “You remain dead, my lad, and -make no claim to the estate, or I’ll force you also -to stand your trial for the murder, whether you did -it or not.”</p> - -<p>He was free, then! He wanted to shout the tidings -to the four corners of the world. He was free -to go to Monimé, and to ask her to marry him. -For a short time longer he would have to hide his -identity: he must wait until Jane Potts had paid the -penalty of her jealousy. Then he could pension off<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> -Mrs. Darling, and, when all was settled and the estate -once more in his possession, the opportune moment -would have arrived for his clean breast to Monimé. -She would understand; she would forgive! -With him she would rejoice that by bequest their son -would be made heir to a comfortable income and -home, while they themselves would have the means -to procure that house of their dreams, somewhere -beside the blue Mediterranean, which should be their -resting-place at desired intervals in their untrammelled -wanderings over the face of the earth.</p> - -<p>The sudden simplification of all his complexities, -the disentangling of the web in which he had been -struggling, had an immediate and palpable effect -upon his appearance. His head was held high again, -his eyes were no longer furtive, his step was buoyant. -Not for another hour could he delay his reunion with -Monimé, and to the astonished proprietress he announced -a sudden change of plans, and was gone -from the hotel within thirty minutes of his arrival.</p> - -<p>He reached Cairo at mid-afternoon upon one of -those warm and brilliant days which are the glory -of early winter in Egypt, and was soon driving -out in the Mena House motor-omnibus along the -straight avenue of majestic acacia-trees leading from -the city to the Pyramids, in the shadow of which -the hotel stands at the foot of the glaring plateau of -rock on the edge of the desert.</p> - -<p>At the hotel he was told that Monimé was probably -to be found at a point about half a mile to the -north-west, where she had caused a tent to be erected, -and was engaged upon the painting of a desert subject. -He was in no mood to wait for her return at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> -sundown; and, without visiting the bedroom which -was assigned to him, he set out at once on foot to -find her.</p> - -<p>Through the dusty palm-grove behind the hotel -he hastened, and up the slope of the sandy hill beyond, -from the summit of which he could see the tent -standing in the distance amongst the rolling dunes. -Thereat he broke into a run, and went leaping down -into the little valleys and scrambling up the low -hills beyond, like a captive freed from the toils.</p> - -<p>A few minutes later, mounting another eminence, -he found himself immediately at the back of the -tent, and here a native boy, who had been lying -drowsing upon the warm sand, rose to his feet, and, -in answer to a rapid question, told him that the -lady was at work at the doorway of the tent.</p> - -<p>Jim hurried forward, his heart beating, and the -next moment he was face to face with Monimé.</p> - -<p>“Jim!” she exclaimed in astonishment, throwing -down her palette and brushes. “My dear boy, I -thought you were in England.”</p> - -<p>“So I was,” he laughed. “I was there just two -days, and then ... I gave it up.”</p> - -<p>He could restrain himself no further. “Oh, -Monimé,” he cried, and flung his arms about her, -kissing her throat and her cheeks and her mouth. -She made a momentary show of protest, but her face -was smiling; and soon he felt that droop of the limbs -and heard that inhalation of the breath, and saw -that closing of the eyes which, the world over, are -the signs of a woman’s capitulation. No further -words then were spoken; but, each enfolded in the -arms of the other, with lips pressed to lips, they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> -hung as it were suspended between matter and spirit, -while the sun tumbled from the skies, the hills of the -desert were shattered, the valleys were cleft in -twain, and there came into being for them a new -earth and a new heaven.</p> - -<p>When at length they stood back from one another, -bewildered and spellbound, their whole existence -had undergone an irreparable change; and each -gazed at the other with unveiled eyes which revealed -a naked soul. Now at last, as by an instantaneous -flash of the miraculous hand of Nature, she was become -blood of his blood, bone of his bone, and they -two were for ever merged into one flesh.</p> - -<p>Quietly, automatically, she put away her brushes -and paints; then, coming back to him as he stood staring -at her with a dazed expression upon his swarthy -face, she put her arms about his neck and laid her -lips upon his mouth.</p> - -<p>“I never knew,” she whispered, “until you had -gone that I belonged to you body and soul.”</p> - -<p>He threw his head back and laughed in his exaltation. -“To-morrow,” he said, “I shall go to the -Consulate, and notify them that we are going to -be married.”</p> - -<p>She nodded her head calmly. “Yes,” she smiled, -“I suppose it’s too late to do it to-day.”</p> - -<p>The sun was going down behind the Pyramids -as they returned with linked arms to the hotel; -and for a moment that sense of foreboding which is -so often felt at sunset in the desert, intruded itself -upon his dream of happiness. There were banks -of menacing cloud gathered upon the horizon; and -from the village of El Kafr, at the foot of the Great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> -Pyramid, there came the far-off throbbing of a drum, -a sound which always has in it an element of alarm.</p> - -<p>Jim turned to Monimé. “Tell me,” he urged, -“that you have no doubts left in your mind.”</p> - -<p>“No, I have no doubts,” she answered. “You and -I and Ian—we are bound together now right to -the end. It is Destiny.”</p> - -<p>The period of three weeks which, by consular -law, had to elapse before the ceremony of their -marriage could be performed, was a time of blissful -happiness to Jim. The open desert with its wind-swept -spaces of glistening sand, and its ranges of -low hills which carried the eye ever forward into -its mysterious depths, enthralled him like an endless -tale of adventure, or like a native flute-song that -rises and falls in continuous changing melody. With -Monimé he left the hotel each morning, and, having -conducted her to her tent, he would wander over -the untrodden wastes until the luncheon hour brought -him back to her to share their picnic meal. He -would come to her again at sundown, and together -they would stroll back to civilization in time to see -the last flush fade from the domes and minarets -of the distant city. Or, when the painter’s inspiration -failed her, they would mount their camels and go -careering into the wilderness, riding through silent -valleys and over breezy hills, talking eagerly as -they went, and sending their laughter echoing -amongst the rocks.</p> - -<p>For him it was a lazy, sun-bathed existence, rich -in the abundance of their love, and unmarred by any -cares. He read in the papers that the trial of Jane -Potts would not take place before March; and with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> -that assurance he returned to his earlier habit of -detachment from the world’s doings, and did not -again trouble even to glance at the news. Life was -a new thing to him: it had begun again; and the -tragic events of the past were, for the present, able -to be forgotten.</p> - -<p>Even a favourable letter from the publishers to -whom he had sent his poems hardly aroused his -excitement, so deeply was he in love. It was a -somewhat patronizing letter, in which no great consideration -for his artistic sensibilities was manifest. -The manuscript was accepted for publication -some time in the spring, on moderately satisfactory -terms; but it was stated that the firm’s discretion -must be admitted, and, owing to his inaccessibility, -it might be necessary to rely on their own “readers” -in the correction of the proofs. He was told, in -fact, to leave the matter in their hands, and not to -assert himself further than to cable his consent to -this agreement; and this he did, without giving two -thoughts to the matter. Some ten days later a contract -arrived, which he was requested to sign; and -having done so, he mailed it back to London, and -went his joyous way.</p> - -<p>Monimé had been commissioned to paint some -pictures of the great rock-temple of Abu Simbel, -in Lower Nubia, far up the Nile; and it was therefore -decided that they should go there immediately -after their marriage, by which time her work in the -neighbourhood of the Pyramids would be completed. -To this Jim looked forward eagerly; for there was -something akin to rapture in the thought of faring -forth, alone with his beloved, into distant places,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> -where they would be undisturbed by the proximity -of their entirely superfluous fellow-creatures.</p> - -<p>At length the great day arrived, and, driving -into Cairo, they were married in ten minutes at -the Consulate, and thence they sped across to the -English church, where the religious ceremony was -quietly performed. That night, as in a dream, they -travelled by sleeping-car to Luxor, and, next day, -continued their ecstatic way to the Nubian frontier. -Here the railroad terminates, and the remainder of -the journey, therefore, had to be made by river.</p> - -<p>The dahabiyeh which they had chartered awaited -them at Shallâl, over against Philæ, just above the -First Cataract; and their settling in was much simplified -by the fact that the local police officer, sauntering -on the wharf, recognized Jim, and at once put -himself at their service. He had been in charge of -the camel patrol which used to visit the gold mines; -and Jim had shown him some kindness, which now -he endeavoured to return by a noisy but effective -show of his authority and patronage.</p> - -<p>The vessel was not large, the interior accommodation -consisting of a white-painted saloon, a narrow -passage, from which a small cabin and a bathroom -led off, and a fair-sized bedroom at the stern. Above -their apartments was the deck, across which awnings -of richly-coloured Arab tenting were drawn -when the ship was not under sail. In the prow were -the kitchen and quarters of the native sailors.</p> - -<p>Abu Simbel is a hundred and seventy miles up -stream from Shallâl; and, sailing from silver dawn -to golden sunset, and mooring each night under the -jewelled indigo of the skies, the journey occupied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> -some five enchanted days. The beauty of the rugged -country and their own hearts’ happiness, caused the -hours to pass with the rapidity of a dream. Even -the heat of the powerful sun seemed to be mitigated -for them by the prevalent north-west wind, which -bellied out the great sail and drove the heavy prow -forward so that it divided the waters into two singing -waves.</p> - -<p>Now they sailed past dense and silent groves of -palms backed by precipitous rocks; now they shattered -the reflections of glacier-like slopes of yellow -sand marked by no footprints; and now they glided -into the shadow of dark and towering cliffs. Sometimes -a ruined and lonely temple of the days of the -Pharaohs would drift across the theatre of their -vision; sometimes the huts of a village, built upon -the shelving sides of a hill, would pass before their -eyes and slide away into the distance; and sometimes -across the water there would come to their ears the -dreamy creaking of a <i>sâkiyeh</i>, or water-wheel, and -the song of the naked boy who drove the blindfolded -oxen round and round its rickety platform.</p> - -<p>At length in the darkness of early night they -moored under the terrace of the great temple of -Abu Simbel, and awoke at daybreak to see from -the window of their cabin the four colossal statues of -Rameses gazing high across their little vessel -towards the dawn.</p> - -<p>These mighty figures, sixty feet and more in -height, carved out of the face of the cliff, sit in a -solemn row, two on each side of the doorway which -leads into the vast halls excavated in the living rock. -Their serene eyes are fixed upon the eastern horizon,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> -their lips are a little smiling, their hands rest placidly -upon their knees; and now, in the first light of morning, -they loomed out of the fading shadow like cold, -calm figures of destiny, knowing all that the day -would bring forth and finding in that knowledge no -cause for vexation.</p> - -<p>With a simultaneous impulse Jim and Monimé -rose from their bed, and, quickly dressing, hastened -up the sandy path to the terrace of the temple, that -they might see the first rays of the sun strike upon -those great, unblinking eyes.</p> - -<p>They had not long to wait. Suddenly a warm -flush suffused the pale, rigid faces, a flush that did -not seem to be thrown from the sunrise. It was as -though some internal flame of vitality had transmuted -the hard rock into living flesh; it was as -though the blood were coursing through the solid -stone, and miraculous, monstrous life were come -into being at the touch of the god of the sun. The -eyes seemed to open wider, the lips to be about to -open, the nostrils to dilate....</p> - -<p>Monimé clasped hold of Jim’s hand. “They are -going to speak,” she exclaimed. “They are going -to rise up from their four thrones.”</p> - -<p>In awe they stood, a little Hop o’ my Thumb and -his wife, staring up out of the blue shadows of the -terrace to the huge, flushed faces above them. But -the miracle was quickly ended. The sun ascended -from behind the eastern hills, and in its full radiance -the colossal figures were once more turned to -inanimate stone, to wait until to-morrow’s recurrence -of that one supreme moment in which the -pulse of life is vouchsafed to them.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIX">Chapter XIX: LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS</h2> - -<p>During the day the dahabiyeh was towed -a few yards to the south of the great bluff -of rock in which the temple is cut, and was -moored in a small, secluded bay, where it would be -sheltered from the prying eyes of tourists who would -be coming ashore from the weekly steamer. Here, -on the one side, there were slopes of sand topped -by palms and acacias, behind which were precipitous -cliffs; and, on the other, the wide river stretched out -to the opposite bank, where, amongst the trees at -the foot of the rocky hills, stood the brown huts of -the village of Farêk.</p> - -<p>It was a hot little cove, and by day the sun beat -down from cloudless blue skies upon the white -dahabiyeh; but the richly-coloured awnings protected -the deck, and a constant breeze brought a -delectable coolness through the open windows of the -cabins below, fluttering the little green silk curtains -and gently swinging the hanging lamps. By night -the moon and the stars shone down from the amazing -vault of the heavens, and were reflected with -such clarity in the still water of the bay that the -vessel seemed to be floating in mid-air with planets -above and below.</p> - -<p>A scramble over the sand and the boulders around -the foot of the headland brought one to the terraced -forecourt of the temple where sat the four colossal -statues; and at the side of this there was a mighty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> -slope of golden sand, sweeping down from the summit -of the cliffs, as though in an attempt to engulf -the whole temple. A laborious climb up this drift -led to the flat, open desert, which extended away -into the distance, until, sharply defined against the -intense blue of the sky, the far hills of the horizon -shut off the boundless and vacant spaces of the -Sahara beyond.</p> - -<p>It was a place which, save at the coming of the -tourist steamers, was isolated from the modern -world: a place of ancient memories, where Hathor, -goddess of love and local patroness of these hills, -might be supposed still to gaze out from the shadows -of the rocks with languorous, cow-like eyes, and to -cast the spell of her influence upon all who chanced -to tread this holy ground.</p> - -<p>Of all the celestial beings worshipped by mankind -this goddess must surely make the fullest appeal -to a man in love, for she is the deification of the -eternal feminine; and Jim, having lately studied -something of the old Egyptian religion, deemed it -almost a predestined fate that had brought him to -this territory dedicated to a goddess who personified -those very qualities that he loved in Monimé.</p> - -<p>Hathor, the Ashtaroth and the Istar of Asia, was -the patroness of all women. Identified with Isis, -her worship extended in time to Rome, where she -was at last absorbed into the Christian lore and -became one with the Madonna, so that even to this -day, in another guise, she accepts the adoration of -countless millions.</p> - -<p>Here at Abu Simbel, in her aspect as Lady of -the Western Hills, she received into her divine arms<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> -each evening the descending sun, and tended him, -as a woman tends a man, at the end of his day’s -journey. As goddess of those who, like the sun, -passed down in death to the nether regions, she -appeared as a mysterious saviour amidst the foliage -of her sacred sycamore, and gave water to their -thirsty souls; while to the living she was the mistress -of love and laughter, she was the presiding spirit at -every marriage, she was the succouring midwife and -the tender nurse at the birth of every child, and -upon her broad bosom every dying creature laid its -weary head.</p> - -<p>In this charmed region, where yellow rocks and -golden sand, green trees and blue waters, were met -together under the azure sky, which again was one -of the aspects of Hathor, Jim passed his days in -supreme happiness, now working with tremendous -mental energy at some poem which he was composing, -now tramping for miles over the high plateau -of the desert, whistling and singing as he went, and -now basking in the sun upon the terrace of the temple -where Monimé was painting. The benign influence -of the great goddess seemed to act upon them, for -daily their love grew stronger, working at them, as -it were, with pliant hands, until it smoothed out -their every thought and rounded their every action.</p> - -<p>Each week the post-boat on its way to Wady -Halfa delivered to them a letter from England in -which Ian’s nurse gave them news of her charge; -but this was almost their only connection with the -outside world, for they usually avoided the temple -when the weekly party of tourists were ashore. -Eagerly they read these letters, which told of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> -boy’s boisterous health in the vigorous air of an -English watering-place; and afterwards they would -sit hand-in-hand talking of him and of his future. -Jim was immensely proud of his son, and many -were the plans that developed in his head for the -child’s happiness and good standing. It would not -be long now before he would be able to confess to -Monimé his true name and position, and to tell her -that a home and an income were assured to the boy.</p> - -<p>Love is a kind of interpreter of the beauties of -nature; and in these sun-bathed days Jim’s heart -seemed to be opened to a greater appreciation of the -wonders of creation than he had ever known before. -In the winter season there is an amazing brilliancy -of colour in a Nubian landscape, and the air is so -clear that to him it seemed as though he were ever -looking at some vast kaleidoscopic pattern of glittering -jewels set in green and blue and gold, to -which his brain responded with radiant scintillations -of feeling.</p> - -<p>In whatever direction his eyes chanced to turn he -found some sight to charm him. Now it was a -kingfisher hovering in mid-air beside the dahabiyeh, -or falling like a stone into the water; now it was a -bronzed goatherd, flute in hand, wandering with -his flock under the acacias beside the water; and -now it was a desert hare, with its little white tail, -bounding away over the plateau at the summit of -the cliffs. Sometimes a great flight of red flamingos -would pass slowly across the blue sky; or in the -darkness of the night the whirr of unseen wings -would tell of the migration of a flock of wild duck. -Sometimes in his rambles he would disturb the slumbers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> -of a little jackal, which would go scuttling off -into the desert, while he waved his hand to it. Or -again, a lizard basking on a rock, or a pair of white -butterflies dancing in the sunlit air, would hold him -for a moment enthralled.</p> - -<p>The grasses and creepers which grew amidst the -tumbled boulders at the edge of the Nile would now -attract his attention; and again a great palm, -spreading its rustling branches to the sunlight and -casting a liquid blue shadow upon the ground, would -hold his gaze. Here there was the ribbed back of a -sand-drift to delight him with its symmetry; there a -distant headland jutting out into the mirror of the -water. Sometimes he would lie face downwards -upon the sand to admire the vari-coloured pebbles -and fragments of stone—gypsum, quartz, flint, cornelian, -diorite, syenite, hæmatite, serpentine, granite, -and so forth; and sometimes he would go racing over -the desert, bewitched by the riotous north wind itself -and the sparkle of the air.</p> - -<p>But ever he came back at length to the woman -who, like the presiding Hathor, was the fount of -this overflowing happiness of his heart. In the glory -of the day he watched her as she walked in the sunlight, -the breeze fluttering her pretty dress, or as she -slid with him, laughing, down the slope of the great -sand-drift beside the temple; or again as she ran -hand-in-hand with him along the edge of the river -after a morning swim, her black hair let down and -tossing about her shoulders.</p> - -<p>By night he watched her as she stood in the star-light, -like a mysterious spirit of this ancient land; or -as she came out from the dark halls of the temple,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> -like the goddess herself, gliding towards him in a -moonbeam with divine white arms extended, and -the smile of everlasting love upon her shadowed lips. -In the dim light of their cabin he saw her as she lay -by his side, her eyes reflecting the gleam of the -stars, the perfect curve of her breast scarcely apparent -save to his touch, and her whispered words -coming to him out of the veil of the midnight.</p> - -<p>It is not easy to select from the nebulous narrative -of these secluded days any particular occurrence -which may here be recorded; yet there was no lack -of incident, no dulness, no stagnation, such as he -had experienced in the seclusion of Eversfield. Towards -sunset one afternoon he and she were walking -together upon the high desert at the summit of the -cliffs, and were traversing an area which in Pharaonic -days was used as a cemetery. Here there are -a number of small square tomb-shafts cut perpendicularly -into the flat surface of the rock, at the -bottom of which the mummies of the Nubian princes -of this district were interred. These burials have -all been ransacked in past ages by thieves in search -of the golden ornaments which were placed upon -the bodies; and now the shafts lie open, partially -filled with blown sand.</p> - -<p>Presently Jim paused to throw a stone at a mark -which chanced to present itself; but, missing his -aim, he picked up a handful of pebbles and threw -them one by one at his target until his idle purpose -was accomplished. Meanwhile Monimé had strolled -ahead, and Jim now ran forward to overtake her. -The setting sun, however, dazzled his eyes, and -suddenly he stumbled at the brink of one of these -open tombs. There was a confused moment in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> -which he clutched desperately at the edge of the -rock, and then, falling backwards, his head struck -the side of the shaft, and he went crashing to the -bottom, twenty feet below, landing upon the soft -sand with a thud which seemed to shake the very -teeth in his jaws.</p> - -<p>For some moments he sat dazed, while little points -of light danced before his eyes, and the blood slowly -ran down his cheek from a wound amidst his hair. -Then he looked around him at the four solid walls -which imprisoned him, and up at the square of the -blue sky above him, and swore aloud at himself -for a fool.</p> - -<p>A few seconds later the horrified face of Monimé -came into view at the top of the shaft, and, to reassure -her, he broke into laughter, telling her he -was unhurt and describing how the accident had -happened.</p> - -<p>“But your head’s bleeding,” she cried in anguish. -“Where’s your handkerchief?”</p> - -<p>“Haven’t got one,” he laughed. “Lend me yours.”</p> - -<p>She threw down to him an absurd little wisp of -cambric, with which he endeavoured vainly to -staunch the red flow.</p> - -<p>“It’s nothing,” he said. “It’s only a little cut. -How the devil am I to get out of this?”</p> - -<p>She plied him with anxious questions; and presently, -recklessly ripping off the flounce of her muslin -dress, she tossed it to him, telling him to bandage -the wound with it.</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid you’ll have to go back to the boat,” -he said, “and get a rope and a sailor to hold it. -I’m most awfully sorry.”</p> - -<p>She would not go for help until she had satisfied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> -herself that he was in no danger; and when at last -she left him it was with the assurance that she would -be back with all possible speed.</p> - -<p>“Try rolling down the big sand-drift,” he said, -anxious to be jocular. “It’s the quickest way. I did -it yesterday, and was down in no time. It’s a pity -you haven’t a tea-tray about you: it makes a fine -toboggan.”</p> - -<p>But when he was alone he leant heavily against -the wall, feeling dizzy from the loss of blood and -suffering considerable pain. Presently his attention -was attracted by one of those hard, black desert -beetles which are to be seen so frequently in Egypt -parading busily over the sand with creaking armour: -it was hurrying to and fro at the foot of the wall, -vainly seeking for a way of escape from the prison -into which it had evidently tumbled but a short time -before. Upon the sand around him there were the -dried remains of others of its tribe which had fallen -down the shaft and had perished of starvation; and -in one corner there was the skeleton of a jerboa -which had died in like manner.</p> - -<p>For a considerable time he sat staring stupidly at -this beetle and mopping his head with the muslin -flounce; but at last Monimé returned with two native -sailors, who speedily lowered a rope to him. To -climb the twenty feet to the surface, however, was -no easy matter in his stiff and exhausted condition; -and very laboriously he pulled himself up, barking -his shins and his knuckles painfully against the rock.</p> - -<p>He had nearly reached the top when suddenly he -remembered the imprisoned beetle; and his fertile -imagination pictured, as in a flash, its lingering death. -“Wait a minute,” he said, “I’ve forgotten something.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> -And down the rope he slid to the bottom, -while Monimé wrung her hands above.</p> - -<p>He picked up the beetle. “Come along, old -sport,” he whispered. “Blessed if I hadn’t forgotten -all about you.” He placed the little creature in the -pocket of his coat, and once more began the painful -ascent. The exertion, however, had opened the -wound again, and now the blood ran down his face -as he strained and swung on the rope. His strength -seemed to have deserted him, and had it not been -for the two sailors who drew him up bodily as he -clung, and at last caught hold of him under the -arms, he would have fallen back into the shaft.</p> - -<p>No sooner had he reached the surface than he -carefully took the beetle from his pocket, and sent -it on its way. Then turning to Monimé, who had -knelt on the ground, he obeyed her order to lie down -and place his head upon her knee, whereupon she -began to bathe the wound with water from a bottle -she had brought with her. She had also remembered, -even in her haste, to bring scissors and bandages; -and now with deft fingers she cut away the -hair from around the wound, and bound up his -head with almost professional skill.</p> - -<p>The two sailors were presently sent back to the -dahabiyeh, and, as soon as they were out of sight, -she bent over his upturned face and kissed him again -and again. To his great surprise he felt her tears -upon his cheek.</p> - -<p>“Why, what’s the matter?” he asked, tenderly -passing the back of his hand across her eyes. “Did -I give you an awful fright?”</p> - -<p>“No, it isn’t that,” she answered, trying to smile. -“I’m only being sentimental. I was thinking about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> -your beetle, and about the text in the Bible that -says, ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the -least of these....’”</p> - -<p>It was not many days before Jim had fully recovered -from his hurts. The bracing air of Lower -Nubia at this season of the year is not conducive to -sickness. The vigorous north-west wind seems to -sweep the mind clear of all suggestion of ailment, -and the sun to purge it of even the thought of infirmity. -Monimé, indeed, had difficulty in persuading -him to submit at all to her ministrations, dear -though they were to him; for the heart is here set -upon the idea of physical well-being, and nature -thus heals herself.</p> - -<p>Sometimes, as Jim walked upon the cliffs in the -splendour of the day, his nerves tingling with the -joy of life, his thoughts went back to those long -years at Eversfield, and he compared his present -attitude of mind with that he had known at the -manor. There the grey steeples and towers of -Oxford, seen beyond the haze of the trees, were -sedative and subduing. There the passionate heart -was tempered, the violent thought was sobered, the -emotions were quieted.</p> - -<p>But here the brilliant sunlight, the sparkling air, -and the great open spaces, induced a grand heedlessness, -a fine improvidence, a riotous prodigality -of the forces of life. Here a man lived, and knew -no more than that he lived; nor did he care what -things the future held in store for him. During -these weeks Jim gave no thought to his coming -movements, save in a very general way. His mind -leapt across the abyss of difficulties which lay in his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> -path, and arrived at the fair places beyond, where -Monimé and Ian were to travel hand-in-hand with -him.</p> - -<p>His attitude towards his little son was shaping -itself in his mind at this time into some sort of clear -recognition of his parental responsibilities, vague -perhaps, but none the less sincere. As an instance of -this development in his character mention may be -made of a certain sunset hour in which he and Monimé -were seated together upon the high ground overlooking -the vast expanse of the desert to westward -of the Nile.</p> - -<p>In this direction, behind the far horizon, lay -the unexplored Sahara, extending in awful solitude -across the whole African continent to its western -shores, three thousand miles away. For a thousand -miles and more this vast and almost uninhabited -land of silence is known as the Libyan Desert. -Behind this is the great Tuareg country, extending -for another fifteen hundred miles; and beyond this -lies the ancient land of Mauretania, where at last, -in the region of Rio de Oro, there is again a -populated country.</p> - -<p>In no other part of the world can a man stand -facing so huge a tract of uncharted country, and nowhere -does the call of the unknown come with such -insistence to the ears of the imagination. In this -untenanted area there is room for many an undiscovered -kingdom, and hidden somewhere amidst its -barren hills and plains there may be cities and -peoples cut off from the outer world these many -thousands of years.</p> - -<p>It is the largest of the world’s remaining areas<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> -of mystery; it is the greatest of all the regions still -to be explored; for the sterile and waterless desert -holds its secrets secure by the fear of hunger and -the terror of thirst. The inhabitants of the Nile -Valley declare to a man that somewhere in this wilderness -there stands a city of gold, whose shining -cupolas and domes are as dazzling as the sun itself, -and whose streets are paved with precious stones.</p> - -<p>Jim had often talked to the natives in regard to -this lost city, and all had assured him that it truly -existed, though no living eyes had seen it.</p> - -<p>On this particular occasion, as he watched the -sun go down amidst the distant hills which were -the first outworks in the defences of these impregnable -secrets, he was overwhelmed with the desire -to penetrate, if only for a few hundred miles, into -this mysterious territory, and eagerly he spoke to -Monimé in regard to the possibilities of such an -expedition.</p> - -<p>She sighed. “I shouldn’t be able to come with -you, Jim,” she said, “however much I should long -to do so. I have to consider Ian first.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he answered at once. “I was not really -speaking seriously. The thought of what may lie -hidden over there sets one dreaming; but actually -I wouldn’t feel it right now to go hunting for fabulous -cities.”</p> - -<p>He spoke with sincerity, and it was only after -the words were uttered that he realized the change -which had taken place in his outlook. No longer -was he free to act as he chose: he had to consider -the interests of another, and, strange to relate, he -was quite willing to do so.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XX">Chapter XX: THE ARM OF THE LAW</h2> - -<p>At high noon upon a morning towards the -end of January, Jim happened to saunter -across the hot sand to the terrace of the -temple where Monimé was painting, and there found -her engaged in conversation with a benevolent, grey-bearded -clergyman and a stout, beaming woman who -appeared to be his wife, both of whom wore blue -spectacles, carried large white umbrellas lined with -green, and wore pith helmets adorned with green -veiling—appurtenances which stamped them as -tourists. Jim himself was somewhat disreputably -dressed, having a slouch hat pulled over his eyes, a -canvas shirt open at the neck, a pair of well-worn -flannel trousers held up by an old leather belt, and -red native slippers upon his bare feet, and he therefore -hesitated to approach.</p> - -<p>Monimé, however, beckoned to him to come to -her, and, when he had done so, introduced him to -her new friends, whose acquaintance, it was explained, -she had made an hour previously. The -clergyman, it appeared, whose name was Jones, was -a man of some wealth who was now touring these -upper reaches of the Nile on a small private steamer, -in search of the good health of which his work in -the underworld of London had deprived him; and -Monimé, in taking the trouble to show him and his -wife around the temple, perhaps had a woman’s eye<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> -to business, for a painter, after all, has wares for -sale, and is dependent on the conversion of all colours -into plain gold.</p> - -<p>Be this as it may, she now invited them to luncheon -upon the dahabiyeh, and Jim, not to be churlish, -was obliged to support the suggestion with every -mark of assent.</p> - -<p>The meal was served under the awnings, and when -coffee had been drunk Monimé took Mrs. Jones -down to the saloon, while the two men were left to -smoke on deck. Jim was in a communicative mood, -and for some time entertained his guest with narrations -of his adventures in many lands, being careful, -however, to draw a veil over the years he had spent -in England. The clergyman responded, at length, -with tales of his life in the slums, expressing the -opinion that, owing to the failure of the Church to -adapt itself to the exigencies of the present day, -callousness in regard to crime was on the increase.</p> - -<p>“Here’s an instance of what I mean,” he said. -“I was walking late one night along a well-known -London street when I was accosted by a young -woman who, in spite of my cloth and my age, made -certain suggestions to me. I was so astounded that -I stopped and spoke to her, and presently she confessed -to me that this was the first time she had ever -done such a thing, but that she was engaged to be -married to a penniless man, and somehow money -had to be obtained. Now there’s callousness for -you! Can you imagine such a proceeding?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, that’s pretty low down,” Jim answered. -“What did you do?”</p> - -<p>The clergyman smiled. “Ah, that is another<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> -story,” he said. “To test her I told her to come -to my house the next day and to bring her fiancé -with her; and to my surprise they turned up. Well, -to cut the story short, I agreed to set them up in -business, and I gave them quite a large sum of money -for the purpose, hardly expecting, however, that it -would prove anything but a dead loss. You may -imagine my gratification, therefore, when I began -to receive regular quarterly repayments, each accompanied -by a gracious little letter of thanks stating -that things were prospering splendidly. At last -the whole debt was paid off, and the woman came -to see me, smartly dressed, and in the best of spirits. -I congratulated her on her honesty, and told her that -her action had strengthened my belief in the basic -goodness of human nature.”</p> - -<p>“‘Well, you see,’ she said, ‘we felt we ought to -pay our debt to you, as we had made in the business -ten times the original sum you gave us.’</p> - -<p>“‘And what is the business?’ I asked.</p> - -<p>“‘Oh,’ she said, ‘we are running a brothel.’”</p> - -<p>Jim leant back in his chair and laughed. “That’s -an instance of the evils of indiscriminate charity,” -he said.</p> - -<p>“It is a sign of the times,” his guest replied, seriously. -“Look at the callous crimes of which we read -in the newspapers. Take, for instance, the Eversfield -case.”</p> - -<p>Jim’s heart seemed to stop beating. “I haven’t -been reading the papers lately,” he stammered. “I -haven’t heard....” His voice failed him.</p> - -<p>“Oh, it’s a shocking case,” said Mr. Jones, but to -Jim his words were as though they came from a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> -great distance or were heard above the noise of a -tempest. “A young woman, the lady of the manor, -was found murdered in her own woods, and at first -the police thought that the crime had been committed -by a certain Jane Potts who was jealous of her. -But she proved her innocence, and then the mother -of the murdered woman, a Mrs. Darling, admitted -that her daughter’s husband, who had been supposed -to be dead, was actually alive, and had visited -his wife on the day of the crime. It seems that he -had wanted to rid himself of her by divorce, but -something happened which induced him to kill her -instead.”</p> - -<p>Jim’s brain was seething. “But if he was guilty, -why did he go to see Mrs. Darling afterwards?” -he asked.</p> - -<p>“Oh, then you have read about the case,” said -his guest, glancing at him quickly.</p> - -<p>Jim struggled inwardly to be calm and to rectify -his mistake. “Yes,” he answered, “I remember it -now.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Jones bent forward in his chair and tapped -his host’s knee. “Mark my words,” he declared, -“that man is an out-and-out villain. He had deserted -his wife, and had let it be thought that he was dead; -and then, I suppose because he was short of money, -he came home, and murdered her when she refused -to give him any. My theory is that he believed he -had been seen by somebody, and therefore determined -to brazen it out by calling on his mother-in-law. -He is evidently of the callous kind.”</p> - -<p>Jim had the feeling that he himself, his ego, had -become detached from his brain’s consciousness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> -Distantly, he could hear every word that was being -said, yet at the same time his mind was in confusion, -in pandemonium. He looked down from afar off at -his body, and wondered whether the trembling of -his hand was noticeable. He could listen to himself -speaking, and desperately he struggled to control -his words.</p> - -<p>“What d’you think will happen?” he asked, passing -his fingers to and fro across his lips. The sudden -dryness of his mouth had produced a sort of click in -his words which he endeavoured thus to mitigate.</p> - -<p>“Oh, they’ll catch him in time,” Mr. Jones replied, -“though Mrs. Darling’s reprehensible conduct -in keeping the facts to herself for so long has helped -him to get clear away. His description is in all the -papers—dark hair and eyes; clean-shaven; sallow -complexion; athletic build; five foot ten in -height....”</p> - -<p>Jim smiled in a sickly manner. “That might -describe me,” he said, and laughed.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” Mr. Jones responded, “I’m afraid it’s -not much to go on; but they’ll get him, believe me. -I expect they’ll publish a photograph soon.”</p> - -<p>Jim drew his breath between his teeth, and again -his heart seemed to be arrested in its beating. He -wanted to rise from his chair and to run from the -dahabiyeh. It seemed to him that his agitation must -be wholly apparent to his guest: a man’s entire life -could not be shattered and fall to pieces in such -utter ruin with no outward sign of the devastation.</p> - -<p>He was about to make a move of some sort to -end the ordeal when Monimé appeared upon the -steps leading up from the saloon, and invited Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> -Jones to come down to see some of her paintings. -He rose at once to comply; and thereupon Jim -lurched from his chair, and, holding on to the table -before him, looked wildly towards the slopes of -golden sand which could be seen between the vari-coloured -hangings.</p> - -<p>Monimé came over to him as the clergyman disappeared -down the stairs. “Hullo, Jim,” she said, -“you look ill, dear. Is anything the matter?”</p> - -<p>He tried to laugh. “No,” he answered sharply. -“Why should you think so? I’m all right—only -rather bored by your talkative friend.”</p> - -<p>She put her arm about him and kissed him: then, -suddenly standing back from him, she looked -anxiously into his face. “You <em>are</em> ill,” she said. -“Your forehead is burning hot. You’ve been out -in the sun without your hat. Oh, Jim, you are so -careless!”</p> - -<p>For a moment his knees gave way under him, and -he swayed visibly as he stood. “I’m all right, I tell -you,” he gasped. “Go and show them your -pictures.”</p> - -<p>Monimé’s consternation was not able to be concealed. -“Oh, my darling,” she cried, “you’re feverish! -You must go and lie down. I’ll get rid of -these people presently: I’ll tell them you are not -well....”</p> - -<p>Jim interrupted her. “No, no!—don’t say anything. -I assure you it’s nothing. I’ll be all right in -a few minutes. I’ll just sit here quietly.”</p> - -<p>He pushed her from him, and obliged her, presently, -to leave him; but no sooner was she gone than -he hastened to the <i>zir</i>, or large porous earthenware<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> -vessel, which stood at the end of the deck and in -which the “drinks” were kept cool, and, selecting a -bottle of whisky, poured a stiff dose into a tumbler, -swallowing the draught in two or three hasty gulps. -Thus fortified, he paced to and fro, staring before -him with unseeing eyes, until Monimé and their -guests returned.</p> - -<p>His anxiety not to appear ill at ease in the presence -of Mr. and Mrs. Jones led him to talk rapidly -upon a variety of disconnected subjects; but his relief -was great when, with umbrellas raised and blue -spectacles adjusted, they took their departure and -walked away over the hot sand towards their own -vessel. Thereupon he hastened to assure Monimé -that his indisposition had passed; and soon he had -the satisfaction of observing that her anxieties were -allayed. But when she had gone back to her painting -at the temple, he left the dahabiyeh, and, scrambling -up the sand-drift like one demented, went running -over the vacant, sun-scorched plateau at the summit -of the cliffs, flinging himself at length upon the -ground, where no eyes save those of the circling -vultures might see his abject misery, and no ears -might hear his groans.</p> - -<p>In the days which followed he so far mastered -his emotions as to give his wife no great cause for -worry; but from time to time he could see in her -troubled face her consciousness that all was not well. -On such occasions the extremity of human wretchedness -seemed to be reached, and the weight upon his -heart and mind was almost intolerable.</p> - -<p>It was not personal fear of the scaffold that spread -this horror along every nerve and through every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> -vein of his body: it was the thought that he would -not be able to avoid involving Monimé and their son -in the catastrophe, and that not only would he disgrace -them, but would alienate them from him completely. -He realized now the enormity of his -offence in holding back from Monimé the truth about -his former marriage and in shutting her out from -his confidences.</p> - -<p>What would she do when she learnt the facts? -Could she possibly understand and forgive? Would -the pain that he was to bring upon her turn her love -into hatred and contempt? Would she, the passionate -mother, forgive the wrong he had done to -their son in placing this stigma upon him?</p> - -<p>Thoughts such as these drove him to the brink of -madness; and the need of secrecy and of facing the -situation by himself produced an unbearable sense -of loneliness in his mind. He recalled the verse in -the Book of Genesis which reads: “The Lord God -said, ‘It is not good that man should be alone; I -will make him an help meet for him.’” If only he -could tell her now, pour out his heart to her, and -see in her tender eyes the overwhelming sweetness -of her understanding.... But he dared not: he -must fight this battle alone.</p> - -<p>Gradually there developed in his brain the thought -of suicide. Were he now to destroy himself in -some manner which would suggest an accident, it -would be Jim Easton who would be laid in the -grave, without a stain upon his public memory; and -the lost James Tundering-West, the supposed -murderer, would not be connected in any way with -Monimé or Ian. Without question this was the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> -only solution of the problem; this was the only -honourable course to follow, and follow it he must.</p> - -<p>He found In this resolution a means of steadying -his mind and of regaining to some extent his equilibrium. -There was a fortnight yet before their return -to the lower reaches of the Nile would bring matters -towards their final phase. Monimé wished to go to -Europe as soon as her work was finished, in order to -be with Ian again; and it would not be necessary for -Jim to put an end to himself, therefore, until he -came within reach of the arm of the law. Here at -Abu Simbel he could easily avoid seeing any of his -fellow men who might visit the temple from the -tourist steamers; and, fortunately, his friend the -police officer at Shallâl who had helped him to embark -on the dahabiyeh, knew him these many years -as Mr. Easton, presumably a resident in Egypt, and -would vouch for him if occasion arose. Very possibly -he might reach Cairo or even the homeward-bound -liner without detection. Then, an accidental -fall at midnight from the deck into the sea—and his -obligation would be honourably fulfilled.</p> - -<p>Yes, that was it: that was his obligation. For the -first time in his life he understood thoroughly and -wholly the meaning of the word. “It is my duty,” -he muttered over and over again. “It is my duty at -all costs to prevent any scandal which would hurt -Monimé or Ian.” He had so often asked himself -the meaning of that strange term “duty,” and now -he knew. Love had taught him.</p> - -<p>Fortunately, Monimé was very hard at work on -the completion of her paintings, and he was therefore -able to go away alone into the desert for hours<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> -at a time, under the pretence of writing his verses, -and thus obtain a respite from the strain of appearing -cheerful and normal. The great untenanted -spaces soothed the clamour of his brain; and, wandering -there alone over the golden sand or the shelving -rocks, in the blazing sunlight, between the vacancy -of earth and the void of heaven, there passed into -his mind a kind of calmness which remained with -him when Monimé was again at his side.</p> - -<p>But the nights were made fearful to him lest in -his sleep he should reveal his secret. He would -lie awake hour after hour in the darkness, while -Monimé slept peacefully, her head upon his encircling -arm, her black hair tumbled about his -shoulder, her breast against his breast, and he would -not dare to shut his eyes. Sometimes, his weariness -overcoming his will, he would drop into oblivion, -only to waken again with a start which caused her -to turn or to mutter in her slumbers. Once he -woke up thus, knowing that he had just uttered the -words “Not guilty,” and in an agony of fear he -waited, propped on his elbow, to ascertain whether -she had heard him or not. She was asleep, however, -and with beating pulse he fell back at length upon -the pillows, the cold sweat upon his face.</p> - -<p>During these days, which he recognized as his -last upon earth, he allowed himself to drown his -sorrow in the full flood of his love; and, like the -waves of the sea, he overwhelmed Monimé in the -tide of his adoration, sweeping her along with him -so that there were times when the breath of life -seemed to fail them, and the silent rapture of their -hearts had near kinship with the quiescence of death.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> -There were times when it was as though he were -eager to die upon her lips, and so to pass in ecstasy -into the hollow acreage of heaven. There were -times when by the might of his passion he seemed to -lift her, clasped in his arms, into the regions beyond -the planets, there to revolve in the exaltation of -dream, round and round the universe, until the -sound of the last trump should hurl their inseparable -souls headlong into the abyss of time and space.</p> - -<p>But between these spells of enchantment there -were periods of deep and horrible gloom in which -he cursed himself for his mistakes, and railed against -man and God.</p> - -<p>“How I hate myself!” he muttered. “Life is like -a prison cell where you and your deadly enemy are -locked in together.”</p> - -<p>Standing at the summit of the cliffs above the -temple, he would shake his fists at the blue depths -of the sky, or, with bronzed arms folded, would -stare down at the rippling waters of the Nile, and -kick the pebbles over the precipice. Occasionally, -too, he turned for comfort to his guitar; and at -the river’s brink, or in the shade of an acacia tree, -he would sit twanging the strings and singing some -outlandish song, his head bent over the instrument -and his dark hair falling over his face.</p> - -<p>As the day of their departure drew near these -periods of gloom increased in frequency, and he -was often aware that the troubled eyes of his wife -were fixed upon him, while, more than once, she -questioned him in regard to his health. His mirror -revealed to him the haggard appearance of his face, -and in order to prevent this becoming too apparent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> -he was obliged to manœuvre his position so that, -when Monimé was facing him, his back should be -to the light.</p> - -<p>At length the dreaded hour arrived. Upon the -glaring face of the waters the little puffing steam-tug, -which had been ordered by them for this date, -came into sight, bearing down upon them as they -sat at breakfast on deck; and soon it was heading -northwards again, towing their dahabiyeh in its wake -towards the First Cataract which marks the frontier -of Egypt proper. For the greater part of the two -days’ journey Jim sat listlessly watching the banks -of the river as they glided by; but when at last -Shallâl, their destination, was reached he pulled himself -together to meet the last crisis, and, by the exertion -of the power of his will, managed to appear as -a normal being.</p> - -<p>They made no halt upon their way; but, after -sleeping for the last time upon their dahabiyeh, -moored near the railway station, they transferred -themselves and their baggage to the morning train, -and arrived at Luxor as the sun went down.</p> - -<p>When they entered the large hotel where they -were to spend the night Jim hid his face as best -he could from the little groups of tourists gathered -about the hall, and, telling Monimé that his head -ached, hastened up the stairs to the room which had -been assigned to them.</p> - -<p>But as he was about to enter, his destiny descended -upon him. A door further along the passage -opened, and a moment later, to his horror, the fat, -well-remembered figure of Mrs. Darling faced him -in the bright illumination of the electric light. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> -saw her start, he saw her eyes open wide in surprise, -and, with a gasp, he dashed forward into his room, -and slammed the door behind him.</p> - -<p>Monimé had preceded him, and her back was -turned as he staggered forward and fell into an -armchair, his face as white as the whitewashed walls. -She was busying herself with the baggage, and did -not look in his direction for some moments. When -at length she glanced at him he had nearly recovered -from the first force of the shock, and she saw only -a tired man mopping his forehead with his handkerchief.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXI">Chapter XXI: THE LAST KICK</h2> - -<p>When the gong sounded for dinner, Jim -protested to Monimé that he was ill and -did not wish to change his clothes and -come down. For a while he had hoped, in his madness, -that when Mrs. Darling saw him again he -would be able to look straight at her and deny that -he was her son-in-law. “I evidently have a double,” -he would say. “My name is Easton, madam; the -proprietor of the hotel will tell you that he has -known me as such for the last five years.” A fact, -indeed, which was beyond dispute, for he had stayed -here before he went to the gold mines.</p> - -<p>But now that the time had come he realized that -this was fantastic, and his one idea was to get away, -so that he might make an end of himself in decent -privacy. He was not a coward: he was not afraid -of death or physical suffering. But with all his soul -he dreaded captivity or enforcement of any kind. -The possibility of being chased into a corner, of -being handcuffed and put behind bolts and bars, of -being compelled and constrained, and finally led, -pinioned, to the gallows, filled him with horrible -terror.</p> - -<p>One of the most common forms in which a breakdown -of the nervous system shows itself is that -known as claustrophobia, a fear of being shut up or -surrounded and fettered. It is a primitive and -primeval dread to which the disordered consciousness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> -leaps back; it is a survival of the days, æons -ago, when man was both hunter and prey of man; -it is, in essence, the fear of the trap.</p> - -<p>Monimé, from whom his mental torture could -not be altogether concealed, looked at him with -troubled, anxious eyes. “Oh, Jim,” she said, “what -<em>is</em> the matter with you? There’s something dreadful -on your mind; there’s something worrying you, -and you won’t tell me about it.”</p> - -<p>“No, there’s nothing, I assure you,” he answered, -in quick denial. She must never know, for knowledge -of the whole miserable business might bring -contempt, and her love for him might be killed. Of -all his terrors the terror of losing her love was the -most unbearable.</p> - -<p>“Come down to dinner, dear,” she persuaded. -“It will do you good.” She bent down and looked -intently at him as he sat on the edge of the bed, -scraping the carpet with his feet and staring at the -floor, his eyes wild with alarm. “It isn’t that you -are afraid of meeting somebody you don’t want to -see, is it?”</p> - -<p>His heart seemed to stop beating for a moment as -he denied the suggestion. She was beginning to -guess, she was beginning to suspect.</p> - -<p>“Oh, very well, then,” he said, unable to meet her -gaze. “I’ll come down. Perhaps, as you say, it’ll -do me good.”</p> - -<p>There was the black murk of damnation now in -his soul, lit only by the glow of his fighting instinct. -The crisis of terror was passing, and now he was -determined not to be caught. “Go on down, darling,” -he said. “I’ll follow you in a moment.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span></p> - -<p>She put her arms about him and kissed him, -smoothing his forehead with her cool hand. “Whatever -it is that is troubling you,” she whispered, “remember -always that I love you, and shall go to my -grave loving you and you only.”</p> - -<p>He closed his eyes, and for a while his head lay -upon her breast, like that of an exhausted child. -All the brawn of life had been knocked out of him. -Every hope, every dream, every vestige of content -had gone from him; and in these pitiable straits he -desired only to shut out the world, and to obtain, if -but for a moment, a respite from the horror of -actuality.</p> - -<p>As soon as he was alone he went to his portmanteau, -and took from it his revolver, which he loaded -and placed in his pocket. His intention had been -to appear to meet with an accidental death, but if -he had left it now till too late, he would have to -blow his brains out. A Bedouin wanderer such as -he, he muttered to himself, must, at any rate, never -be taken alive: a son of the open road must never be -led captive.</p> - -<p>For a moment he stood irresolute at the open door -of his room, and the sweat gleamed upon his forehead. -Then he braced himself, and walked down -the stairs. Monimé was not far ahead of him, and, -as he turned the corner to descend the last flight -which led down into the front hall, she paused at the -foot of the steps to wait for him.</p> - -<p>He saw her standing there in the light of a large -electric globe, her black hair as vivid as a strong -colour, her skin white like marble, her eyes occult -in their serenity, her lips smiling encouragement to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> -him; but in the same glance he saw also a group of -persons standing before the cashier’s office in the -otherwise empty hall, and instantly he knew that -the crisis of his life was upon him.</p> - -<p>There, fat but alert, stood Mrs. Darling, still -wearing day-dress and hat; beside her was a quiet-looking -Englishman who was the British Consul, -and with whom Jim had had dealings in his gold-mining -days; on her other hand was an Egyptian -police-officer; and next to him was the proprietor -of the hotel, whose face was turned in contemplation -of the native policeman standing at the main -entrance. It was evident on the instant that as -soon as Mrs. Darling had caught sight of him on -his arrival she had communicated with the police, -who, in their turn, had fetched the Consul.</p> - -<p>As Jim appeared at the head of the stairs Mrs. -Darling clutched at the Consul’s arm. “There he -is!” she exclaimed excitedly, pointing an accusing -finger at him. “That’s the man!”</p> - -<p>He saw Monimé swing round and face them; he -saw the policeman put his hand to his hip-pocket, -and turn to the Consul for instructions; and, as -though a flame had been set to straw, his anger -blazed up into unreasoning, passionate hate of all -that these people stood for.</p> - -<p>Instantly he whipped out his revolver and shouted -to them: “Put up your hands, or I shoot!” at the -same time running downstairs and straight at them -across the hall—a wild, grey-flannelled figure, his -dark hair tumbling over his pallid face, and his eyes -burning like coals of fire. All the hands in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span> -group went up together, and he saw Mrs. Darling’s -face grow livid with alarm.</p> - -<p>Monimé ran forward. “Jim! Oh, Jim!” she -cried, trying to seize his arm.</p> - -<p>“I’m innocent!” he gasped. “But I won’t be taken -alive by a damned set of bungling parasites.”</p> - -<p>Still covering them with his revolver he backed -towards the garden entrance, and the next moment -was out in the chill night air and running like a -madman down the path between the palms and -shrubs. The darkness was intense, and more than -once he fell into the flower-beds, kicking the soft -earth in all directions. He heard shouts and cries -behind, but the thunder of his own brain rendered -these meaningless as he dashed onwards under the -stars.</p> - -<p>Soon he came to the back wall of the garden, and -this he scaled like a cat, dropping into the narrow -lane on the other side and continuing his flight between -the walls of the silent native huts and enclosures. -At length he emerged, breathless, into the -open space not far from the railway-station, where, -under a flickering street-lamp, a two-horsed carriage -was standing awaiting hire.</p> - -<p>He hailed the red-fezzed driver with as much -composure as he could command, and told him to -drive “like the wind” to the temple of Karnak. This, -at any rate, would take him clear of the town, and -near the open fields; and to the driver he would seem -to be but a somewhat impatient Cook’s tourist, -anxious to see the ruins by night. Perhaps there was -no need to kill himself: he might go into hiding and -ultimately fly to the uttermost ends of the earth.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span></p> - -<p>As the carriage lurched and swayed along the -embanked road, he turned in his seat to watch for -his pursuers; but there was no sign of them. Yet -this fact now brought no comfort to him. With -returning sanity he realized clearly enough that -escape was impossible. Were he to hide in the -desert, the Ababdeh trackers, always employed by -the police in these districts, would soon hunt him -down. Were he to take refuge amongst the natives, -his hiding-place would be revealed in a few hours -in response to the official offer of a reward. And, -anyway, to abandon Monimé, and to have no likely -means of communicating with her, would make the -smart of life unbearable.</p> - -<p>There was no way out, and his present flight resolved -itself into a wild attempt to obtain breathing -space in which to prepare himself for the end, and, -if possible, to see Monimé once again to bid her -farewell. The jury at home would be bound to find -him guilty: the evidence was too damning. Some -tramp had murdered Dolly, and was now lost forever; -or else, and more probably, Merrivall’s housekeeper -had actually done it, but was now unalterably -acquitted. It was certain that he would be hanged -in the end, and it would therefore be far better to -finish it this very night.</p> - -<p>In these moments he drank the cup of bitterness -to the dregs; and the comparative calmness which -now succeeded his frenzy was the calmness of utter -despair. Thus, when the driver pulled up his horses -in the darkness before the towering pylons of the -main gateway of the temple of Karnak, Jim paid -him off and approached the ancient courts of Ammon,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> -determined only to keep his pursuers at bay until -he could make his confession to Monimé and die in -the peace of her forgiveness.</p> - -<p>The watchman at the gateway, being used to the -eccentric ways of the foreigner, admitted him without -comment, and left him to wander alone amongst -the vast black ruins, which were massed around him -in a silence broken only by the distant yelping of -the jackals and the nearer hooting of the owls. -Through the roofless Hypostyle Hall he went, a -desolate little figure, dwarfed into insignificance by -the stupendous pillars which mounted up about him -into the stars; and here, presently, he stood for a -while with arms outstretched and face upturned, in -an agony of supplication.</p> - -<p>“O Almighty You,” he prayed, “Who, under this -name or under that, have ever been the God of the -wretched, and the Father of the broken-hearted, -look down upon this miserable little grub whom You -have created, and whose brain You had filled with -all those splendid dreams which now You have -shattered and swept aside. Before I come to You, -grant me this last request: give me a little time with -the woman I love, so that I may make my peace -with her and hear her words of forgiveness.”</p> - -<p>He walked onwards, past the huge obelisk of -Hatshepsut, and in amongst the mass of fallen -blocks of stone which lie heaped before the Sanctuary; -but now frenzy seized him again, and, furiously -resolving to meet his fate, he swung round -and retraced his steps back to the first court, breathing -imprecations as he went. Somehow, by some -means, he must see Monimé before the final production<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> -of the handcuffs gave him the signal for his -suicide, which it was now too late to disguise as an -accident.</p> - -<p>“Blast them!” he muttered. “Blast them! Blast -them! I’ll show them that they can’t go chasing -innocent men across the world. I’ll shoot the lot of -them, and then I’ll shoot myself.” He stumbled -over a fallen column. “Damnation!” he cried. -“Who the devil left that thing lying about?—the -silly idiots!”</p> - -<p>Suddenly voices at the gateway came to his ears, -and, with hammering heart, he realized that he had -been tracked and that his hour was come. Thereupon -he ran headlong through the dark forecourt of -the small temple of Rameses the Third which stands -at the south side of the main courtyard, and concealed -himself, panting, in the sanctuary at its far -end, a place to which there was but the one entrance.</p> - -<p>Here he stood in the darkness, fingering his revolver, -while the squeaking bats darted in and out -of the doorway like little flying goblins. Presently -he could see figures lit by lanterns coming towards -him, and could plainly hear their voices.</p> - -<p>“Here I am, you fools!” he called out loudly and -defiantly; and the searchers came to an immediate -halt, holding up their lanterns and peering through -the darkness. “I have my revolver covering you,” -he shouted, “so don’t come close, unless you want -to be killed. Do any of you know where my wife -is?”</p> - -<p>“I’m here, Jim,” came her quiet voice in the -darkness. “Let me come to you.”</p> - -<p>“It’s no good,” said the Consul. “You’d better<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> -surrender at once. You can’t escape. Will you let -me come and speak to you?”</p> - -<p>“No,” Jim answered. “I’ll shoot anybody who -tries to get in here, except my wife. Let me have -a talk to her privately, and then you can come and -take me and I won’t resist.” He might have added -that by then he would be beyond resistance.</p> - -<p>The night air was chilly, and the Consul did not -relish the thought of waiting about while the criminal -exchanged confidences with his wife. He therefore -sharply ordered him to submit, and took two -or three paces forward to emphasize his words. He -came to a sudden standstill, however, when Jim’s -voice from the sanctuary told him in unmistakable -tones that one further step would mean instant -death.</p> - -<p>“Oh, very well,” he replied, with irritation. “I’ll -give you a quarter of an hour.” He pulled his pipe -and pouch from his pocket, and prepared to smoke. -He prided himself on his heartlessness. He had -once been a Custom House official.</p> - -<p>“You’ll give me as long as I choose to take,” said -Jim, again flaring up, “unless you prefer bloodshed. -Come, Monimé, I have a lot to say to you.”</p> - -<p>She turned to her companions. “Have I your -word of honour that you will leave him unmolested -while we talk?”</p> - -<p>“All right,” the Consul replied, setting his lantern -down on the ground, and casually lighting his -pipe. His shadow was thrown across the forecourt -and up the side wall like some monstrous and menacing -apparition.</p> - -<p>Thereat Monimé ran forward into the sanctuary,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> -and a moment later her arms were about her husband, -and her lips were whispering words of encouragement -and love.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Jim, Jim!” she murmured at last. “Tell me -what it’s all about. They say you were married and -that you killed your wife. Tell me the truth, I -beg you.”</p> - -<p>“That is why I wanted to talk to you,” he panted, -putting his hand upon her throat as though he would -throttle her. “You must know the truth. Ever since -I met you again in Cyprus, I’ve been aching to tell -you all about it; but I was a coward. I so dreaded -the possibility of losing you.” He threw out his -arms and then clapped his hands to his head.</p> - -<p>She seated herself on a fallen block of stone, and -he slid to the ground at her feet. She was wearing -an evening cloak, heavy with fur, and against this -his face rested, while her mothering arms encircled -him, and her hands were clasped upon his. The -distant flicker of the lanterns made it possible for -him dimly to discern the outline of her pale face; -and in this uncertain light she seemed to become a -celestial figure gazing down at him with such infinite -tenderness that the ferment of his brain abated.</p> - -<p>At first in halting phrases, but presently with -increasing fluency, he told her of his inheritance of -Eversfield Manor, of his marriage to Dolly, and of -the three dreary years which followed. Then briefly -he described his escape, his supposed death, and his -wanderings which brought him to Cyprus.</p> - -<p>“When I went back to England,” he said, “it was -with the idea of obtaining a divorce, so that you and -I might be married. I had come to love you with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> -every fibre of my being, and life without you seemed -unthinkable.”</p> - -<p>He told her of Smiley-face, of his meeting with -Dolly in the woods, and how next day he had read -of her murder. “I swear to you, as God sees me,” -he declared, “that I had nothing to do with her -death. But who is going to believe me? I was the -last person to be with her: my supposed motive is -clear!”</p> - -<p>He went on to relate how he had fled back to -Egypt, and how, finding that the crime was placed -at the door of another, he had felt himself free -to ask her to marry him. Then had come the -devastating news that he was wanted by the police, -and his worst fears had been substantiated when -he had caught sight of Mrs. Darling on his arrival -at the hotel.</p> - -<p>“The rest you know,” he said. “I ran away just -now in a frenzy of fear and rage; but that has left -me and I am prepared. Feel my hand: it doesn’t -shake, you see. I am quite cool, now. They shall -never take me to the scaffold, Monimé. They shall -never make our story a public scandal. In a few -minutes I am going to shoot myself....”</p> - -<p>She uttered a low cry of anguish. “Jim, Jim! -What are you saying? We’ll fight the case. We’ll -get the best lawyers in England to defend you. -They’ll have to realize that you are innocent.”</p> - -<p>“Do you believe I am innocent?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes!” she cried. “I believe every word you -have told me. My intuition is never wrong: and I -know what you have told me is the truth.”</p> - -<p>The relief he felt at her belief in him was immediate,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> -and yet he was not able to grasp at once its -full significance.</p> - -<p>“The jury won’t believe me,” he said. “I meant -to die by what would appear an accident; but things -reached the crisis too quickly. I lost my head. If -I don’t end things here and now, our son will be -branded as the son of a man who was hanged. Once -I’m arrested I shall be watched night and day: there -will not be another chance to die honourably.”</p> - -<p>“You mustn’t speak of dying, my beloved,” she -murmured. “If you were to go, do you think I could -live without you? I have got to bring up our son -and watch over him until he can fend for himself. -Do you think I shall be able to live long enough to -do so if you have left me? If you die, Jim, my life -will be so smashed that even the power of motherhood -will fail to keep the breath in my body. If we -had no child it might be different; we would go together -now, into the valley of the shadows, and side -by side we would find our way to the City of God, -if at all it may be found. But as it is, I can’t come -with you; and you can’t have the heart to leave me -behind while there’s still a chance that you need not -have gone.”</p> - -<p>“Monimé,” he answered, “listen to me. There -is no hope. You are asking me to submit to imprisonment, -a thing unthinkable to a wanderer like -myself. You are asking me to submit to a trial in -which your name will be dragged through the dirt -as well as mine. You will be called the ‘woman in -the case’; my passion for you will be recorded as -my motive. The story of our love will be travestied -and brought up against you and our son all your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span> -lives. Whereas, if I end it now, most of the tale -will never be told in open court, and the whole thing -will soon be forgotten.”</p> - -<p>She laughed. “Do you think I weigh gossip -against the chance, however remote, of the trial -going in your favour? Do you think I care what -they say against me in the court if there is any hope -of your acquittal? My darling, I shall fight for -your life and your good name, which is mine and -Ian’s, too, to my last ounce of strength and my last -penny; and in the end there will be victory, because -you are innocent, and innocence shows its face as -surely as guilt.”</p> - -<p>“You really do believe what I say—that I had -absolutely nothing to do with her death?” he asked, -still hardly daring to credit her trust. His experiences -with Dolly had left him with so profound a -scepticism in regard to female mentality that even -his adoration of Monimé was not wholly proof -against it.</p> - -<p>She looked down at him, and he seemed to detect -an expression upon her face which was almost defiant. -“My dear,” she said, “as far as I am concerned, -even if you were guilty it would make no -difference.”</p> - -<p>He stared at her incredulously, for man does not -know woman, nor can he penetrate to the source -of her deepest convictions. It was not Monimé, -it was no individual, who had spoken: it was eternal -woman.</p> - -<p>“Nothing can alter love,” she explained. “Can’t -a man understand that?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No,” he answered, “only woman and God love -in that way.”</p> - -<p>Suddenly he seemed to realize to the full the -glory of her sympathy and understanding. It was -as though their love in this moment of bitter trial -had passed the greatest of all tests, and stood now -triumphant, the conqueror of life and death.</p> - -<p>All the years of misery were blotted out in the -wonder of this revelation of womanhood, and on -the instant his desire for life in unity with her came -surging back into his heart.</p> - -<p>“Monimé,” he said, “this is the biggest moment -of all. Whatever I may suffer will be worth while, -because it will have brought me the knowledge that -our love transcends the ways of man. By God!—I’ll -stand my trial; I’ll make a fight for my life, even -though the chances of success are small. I didn’t -know that such love existed.”</p> - -<p>She laughed. “You didn’t know,” she whispered, -“because, as I once told you, men don’t bother to -study women.”</p> - -<p>He looked up at her in the dim light, and of a -sudden it seemed to his overwrought fancy that the -sanctuary was filled with her presence, as though -she were one with the women of all the ages, pressing -forward from every side to tend him, to bind -up his wounds, to stand by him in his adversity, to -forgive his sins. He saw her revealed to him as -the eternal woman, the everlasting companion, wife -and mother, for ever watching over his welfare, for -ever acting upon a code of principles other than that -of man, for ever drawing knowledge from sources -unattainable to man. Of no account were the little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> -shams of the sex, such as Dolly; they were swamped -amidst the hosts of the good and the true. It had -been his misfortune to encounter one of the former; -but his disillusionment was forgotten in the all-pervading -sympathy which now enfolded him like the -tender wings of Hathor.</p> - -<p>He scrambled to his feet and stood before her, -gazing into her shadowy face. “Come,” he said, -“the night air is too chilly for you. You must go -back to the hotel, and I must go with these confounded -little tin soldiers.” His voice was cheery -and his head was held high once more.</p> - -<p>They came out of the black sanctuary hand-in-hand, -and stood in the columned portico before the -entrance, in the dimly reflected light of the lanterns.</p> - -<p>“Well, have you finished?” the Consul asked, -knocking out the ashes from his pipe against the -uplifted heel of his boot.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I am ready now,” Jim replied very quietly.</p> - -<p>He unloaded his revolver, shaking the cartridges -into his hand, thereafter holding out the empty -weapon to the native policeman, who, being a Soudani, -was the first to take the risk of approach.</p> - -<p>“Give me the handcuffs,” said the Consul to the -police officer.</p> - -<p>Jim extended his wrists, and as he did so his face -was averted and his eyes were fixed upon Monimé. -On her lips was the smile of Hathor and of Isis—serene, -confident, inscrutable, all-wise.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXII">Chapter XXII: THE SHADOW OF DEATH</h2> - -<p>Jim spent the night at the police-station, where -a military camp-bed was provided for him in -an empty whitewashed room. Late in the evening -his overcoat, guitar-case and kit-bag were -brought to him from the hotel, the latter containing -a few clothes and necessaries; and, pinned to his -pyjamas, was a sheet of notepaper upon which, in -Monimé’s handwriting, were the pencilled words: -“Keep up your spirits. I shall come to England with -you, my beloved.”</p> - -<p>A surprising languor had descended upon him -after the excitements of the evening, and it was not -long before he fell into a profound sleep, from -which he was aroused before daybreak by the entrance -of a native policeman, who deposited a candle -upon the cement floor and informed him that he was -to be taken down to Cairo by the day train due to -depart at dawn. A cup of native coffee was presently -brought in, together with a pile of stale sandwiches, -which, he was told, had been sent from the hotel on -the previous evening; but, having no appetite, he -placed these in the pocket of his coat.</p> - -<p>After the lapse of a dreary and bitterly cold half -hour, the Consul entered the cell, bluntly bidding -him good morning. “I have orders,” he said, “to -bring you down to Cairo myself.”</p> - -<p>“That <em>will</em> be jolly,” Jim answered gloomily.</p> - -<p>The Consul adjusted his eyeglasses and stared at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span> -him coldly. “I must warn you,” he mumbled, “that -anything you say may be taken down in evidence -against you.”</p> - -<p>“That’ll make the journey jollier still,” said Jim. -Now that Monimé knew all, and had declared that -she loved and trusted him, he was in much happier -mood, and could face the shadow of death with sufficient -equanimity to permit him to jest with his -captors. But exasperation returned to his mind -when in answer to his inquiry he was told that his -wife had not been informed of his immediate departure, -nor had the authorities any concern with -her or her movements.</p> - -<p>“‘The sin ye do by two and two ye must pay for -one by one,’” quoted the Consul, to whom Kipling -was as the Bible.</p> - -<p>“Oh, shut up!” said Jim. “Get out your notebook -and write down that I declare I’m innocent and that -the police are bungling fools.”</p> - -<p>On the journey down to Cairo he and the Consul -occupied a compartment which had been reserved for -them. A policeman was stationed in the corridor, -and the windows on the opposite side were screened -by the wooden shutters which serve as blinds in -Egyptian railway trains. There was nothing to do -except smoke the cigarettes he had been permitted -to buy at the station, or doze in his corner, while -his companion complacently read a novel and smoked -his pipe on the opposite seat, occasionally glancing at -him over the top of his eyeglasses.</p> - -<p>Fourteen hours of this sort of thing was enough -to reduce him to a condition of complete desperation, -and when at last the train jolted over the points<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span> -into the terminus at Cairo, he had almost made up -his mind to bolt and to attempt to return to England -on his own account. He was well guarded, however, -and soon he was deposited for the night at the -Consulate. Next day he was taken, handcuffed, to -the station, where he was pushed into the train for -Port Said under the eyes of a gaping crowd. He -was now in the charge of a Scotch ex-sergeant serving -in the Egyptian Police, who had been lent for the -purpose; and on the following morning this man, -assisted by native policemen, conveyed him to the -liner which was to carry him to England.</p> - -<p>Here an interior cabin had been assigned to him, -a small glass panel in the door having been removed -so that he might be at all times under observation; -and here for the twelve weary days of the journey -he was confined, with nothing to relieve the tedium -except an occasional visit from the kindly captain, a -nightly breath of fresh air on the deserted deck, -the reading of the novels which were considerately -sent down to him from the ship’s library, and the -playing of his guitar, which by favour of the Cairene -authorities he had been allowed to retain.</p> - -<p>His depression was deepened by his inability to -obtain any news of Monimé, but he presumed that -she would know his whereabouts, and she had said -that she would follow him to England. At any rate -there would be no lack of money for her journey and -the ultimate expenses of the trial; for he was now, -of course, once more owner of the Eversfield property, -and Tundering-West was again his name.</p> - -<p>During these days his mind dwelt for hours together -upon the problems of life as they presented<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span> -themselves to a man of his Bedouin temperament, -and clearly he began to see that it was not enough -merely to live and let live. As he lay sprawling -upon his berth, staring at the white-painted walls -and at the locked door of the cabin, or as he paced -the narrow area of flooring or sat listening to the -rhythmic throbbing of the engines, it became apparent -to him that the recognition of some sort of -obligation to society at large was essential, if only -for the sake of his son.</p> - -<p>He had always been an outlaw, hating organized -society, and naming it, like the wise Giacomo -Leopardi, “that extoller and enjoiner of all false -virtues; that detractor and persecutor of all true -ones; that opponent of all essential greatness which -can become a man, and derider of every lofty sentiment -unless it be spurious; that slave of the strong -and tyrant of the weak.”</p> - -<p>Yet he saw now that to some extent it was necessary -to conform to its ways. The art of life, in fact, -was to conform without being consumed, to submit -without being submerged. But in his case he had, -by his inconsideration, managed to put people’s -backs up on all sides, and now, when he needed their -friendship, for his wife and his child if not for himself, -he was friendless.</p> - -<p>He had contributed nothing, he felt, to his fellow -men. He had carried his dreams locked in his -head, and only occasionally had he troubled to -write them down in the form of verse. He had -squandered the gifts with which he was endowed; he -had wasted the years; and now, in his desperate -plight, there was no one to come forward to say a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span> -word in his defence. Public opinion would declare -him guilty, and he would have to fight for his life -not only against an absence of sympathy, but against -a bias in his disfavour.</p> - -<p>Monimé, too, had gone her own way, ignoring -the conventions, following with him the law of -nature and not respecting that law in the form into -which man has had to twist and limit it to meet the -conditions of civilized society. And now they and -their son would be the sufferers. They were a pair -of outcasts; and yet she, as individually he understood -her, was a personification of the glory of -womanhood. They were vagrants; their love, at the -outset, had been Bedouin love; and how they must -pay the price.</p> - -<p>The troubles by which he was surrounded had -had a salutary effect upon his character, and had -aroused him to his shortcomings. Before he had -inherited the family property his life had been of -an indefinite and dreamy character; at Eversfield -he had been suppressed and rendered ineffectual; -but since he had come to love Monimé he had -emerged from this stagnation, and in the strongly -contrasted turmoil of his subsequent life he had, -as the saying is, found himself.</p> - -<p>As the vessel passed up the Thames and approached -its moorings at Tilbury, he had the feeling -that, grasped in the relentless tentacles, he was being -drawn in towards the cold, fat body of the octopus -against which he had always fought. Perhaps he -would be devoured, perhaps he would be vomited -forth unharmed; but, whatever the issue, he had -no power to resist, and must assuredly be sucked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span> -into that horrible mouth. There had been times -during the voyage when he lay in his berth, sick with -the dread of it; but now that his destination was -nearly reached he felt an eager desire to be up and -fighting for his life and liberty.</p> - -<p>There had been times, too, when he had turned -with aching heart to his guitar, and had sat for -hours on the edge of his berth, playing and singing -melancholy ditties and songs of love. He was ever -unaware of the beauty of his voice, and he would -have been surprised had he been able to see the -wrapt faces of the stewards and others who used to -gather at the door to listen, and who would sometimes -peep at the wild figure bending over the strings.</p> - -<p>At Tilbury he had to face an army of cameramen -who ran before him snapping him as he came down -the gangway in charge of two policemen. A motor -police-van conveyed him thence to the prison where -he was to await the formal proceedings in the magistrate’s -court; and here at last he experienced the -full rigour of the criminal’s lot. Until now he had -been confined in rooms not intended for imprisonment; -but here he found himself in an actual cell, -designed and built to cage the arbitrary and the -recalcitrant. The iron bars, the ingenious mechanism -of the lock and bolt, the inaccessible window, -the uniformed warder in the passage outside—these -were all instruments of the great octopus, and obedient -to its word: “Thou shalt have none other gods -but me.”</p> - -<p>In the late afternoon he lay upon his bed in a -comatose state, due to his nervous exhaustion; but -whenever sleep came upon him his active brain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span> -created a picture of his coming trial, so dreadful that -he had to fight his way, so it seemed, back to consciousness -to avoid it. He saw the crowded court, -and the hundreds of eyes that watched him as he -stood in the dock, and it appeared to him that the -judge was none other than the fat, leering spectre -which at Eversfield had come to represent his married -life and its respectable surroundings. But now -the creature no longer coaxed and wheedled; it was -impelled only by malice and revenge, and the flabby -hand was pointed at him in cold accusation, or raised -with a sweeping gesture to indicate the all-embracing -power of the great octopus.</p> - -<p>In momentary dreams and in half-conscious -thought his fevered brain gradually formed into -words this monstrous judge’s summary of his actions, -so that he seemed to be listening to the story of his -life as interpreted by his fellow men. “Vile creature,” -the voice droned, “coward, bully, and assassin, -let me recount to you the steps which have led you -to the scaffold. As a young man you deserted the -post at which your good father had placed you, and, -unable to do an honest day’s work, you fled over the -seas and attached yourself to the world’s riff-raff, -thereby breaking the parental heart. Having -squandered your patrimony, you came at last to -some low haunt in the city of Alexandria, and there, -meeting a woman of loose morals, you cohabited -with her, but deserted her when she was with child.”</p> - -<p>“It’s a lie!” he heard himself screaming, as he -struggled to loose himself from the grip of the -attendant policemen.</p> - -<p>“The facts speak for themselves,” the accusing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span> -voice continued. “You deserted her because you had -inherited your uncle’s money, and were lured back -to England by the love of gold. In your own ancestral -village you used your position to bully your -tenants; you assaulted one of your honest farmers, -you insulted the saintly vicar, and the local medical -officer; you incurred the mistrust of the simple villagers. -Your only friend was a filthy poacher and -thief. You pursued the most comely maiden in the -neighbourhood, and did not desist until you had encompassed -her downfall. But, having married her, -you treated her like a bully, and at length you -deserted her, too, as you had deserted your former -mistress.”</p> - -<p>“Lies! Lies!” he shouted. “I will not listen!”</p> - -<p>“Returning to your disreputable life in low haunts, -you were involved in a cut-throat affray in Italy; -and, escaping from this, you pretended to have -been murdered, and allowed your assailant to stand -his trial on that charge. Thus you thought to escape -from the bonds of wedlock, and with a lie upon your -lips you returned to the arms of your mistress, proposing -to her a bigamous marriage. But, fearing -detection, and needing money, you sneaked home; -lured into the woods the sorrowing woman who, -deeming herself a widow, mourned your memory; -and there did her to death.”</p> - -<p>“I am innocent!” he gasped, looking about him -in desperation at the hard faces which surrounded -him and hemmed him in. “Of her death at any rate -I am innocent.”</p> - -<p>“You fled, then, back to your lover,” the voice -went on, “and ruthlessly involved her in your coming<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span> -débâcle. When the officers of the law had hunted -you down you threatened them with death; but presently, -running from them like a coward, and being -too craven to take your own life, you were ignominiously -captured, and brought trembling to this place -of justice. Enemy of society, lazy and useless member -of the community, wretched victim of your own -lusts, have you anything to say why sentence of death -should not be passed upon you?”</p> - -<p>Wildly he struggled to free himself, and so awoke, -bathed in perspiration and shaking in every limb. -“O God!” he cried, beating his fists upon the bed, -“take away from me this vision of myself as others -see me. Because I have turned in contempt from -the Great Sham, because I have dared to be independent, -must I pay the penalty with my life, and go -accursed to my grave? Must Monimé, must Ian -suffer for my mistakes, and bear the burden of -my sins?”</p> - -<p>For an hour and more he paced his cell in torment; -but at last the door was opened and a clergyman -entered, announcing himself as the prison -chaplain, and politely asking whether he might be -of service.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Jim without hesitation, looking at -him with bloodshot eyes, “go away and pray for -me.”</p> - -<p>But his visitor was too accustomed to the bitterness -of the prisoner’s heart to accept this rebuff, and -held his ground. “I am one of those who believe -in your innocence,” he said, “and that being so, I -should like to say that I am proud to meet you.”</p> - -<p>Jim pushed the hair back from his damp forehead<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span> -and glanced quickly at him. “Is that a figure -of speech?” he asked, menacingly.</p> - -<p>“Why, of course not: I mean it,” the chaplain -replied. “The whole English-speaking world is -under the deepest debt to you.”</p> - -<p>Jim stared at him in astonishment. “I don’t -understand,” he muttered.</p> - -<p>“Well, you are the James Easton who wrote -<cite>Songs of the Highroad</cite>, are you not?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, <em>that</em>!” Jim smiled. “The book is out, is -it? I thought they were going to publish late in -the spring.”</p> - -<p>“My dear sir,” the visitor exclaimed, “do you -mean to say you haven’t seen the reviews?”</p> - -<p>“No, I don’t know anything about it,” Jim -answered.</p> - -<p>“But every man of letters in the country is talking -about it. We have all hailed you as the greatest -poet of modern times. Why, the one poem, ‘The -Nile,’ is enough to bring you immortality. My dear -sir, do you really mean that this is news to you?”</p> - -<p>“Of course it is,” said Jim. “I haven’t read the -papers for weeks.” He sat down suddenly upon his -bed, his knees refusing their office.</p> - -<p>The chaplain spread out his hands in wonder. -“But don’t you know that your arrest has caused -the biggest sensation ever known in recent years? -First comes the book, and you are hailed as a public -benefactor, the friend and interpreter of struggling -humanity, the genius of the age, the uncrowned -laureate of England; and then the discovery is made -that you are one with the James Tundering-West, -alias James Easton, wanted on the charge of murder.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span> -Why, it has been dumbfounding to us all. Nobody -can believe that you are guilty.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not, padre,” said Jim quietly. “But the evidence -is pretty damning, you know. I <em>was</em> there in -the woods with my wife.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you will have public opinion on your side,” -the chaplain continued. “A man like you, who has -given so much to the world, will certainly receive -the maximum of consideration.”</p> - -<p>“But ... but,” Jim stammered, a lump in his -throat, “I’ve given nothing. I’ve been a selfish -beast, going my own way, ignoring my obligation -to society. Why, all the way home in the steamer -I’ve been telling myself that my life has been useless. -And just now the judge said.... Oh, padre, -the things he said!... No, that was only a -dream; but the fact remains, I’ve been useless.”</p> - -<p>“Useless!” his visitor laughed. “Why, man, you -will be beloved and thanked for generations to -come. How little do we realize when we are being -of use!”</p> - -<p>Long after his visitor had gone Jim sat dazed and -overawed. He cared nothing for his actual triumph, -but there were no bounds to his thankfulness that -at last he might appear worthy of the love of -Monimé. He slept little that night. He was alternately -miserable and exultant, and there were -moments when he could with difficulty refrain from -battering at the door with his fists, in a frenzy to be -out and away over the hills.</p> - -<p>Daylight brought no relief to the confusion of -his mind; and by mid-morning, as he sat waiting for -something to happen, hovering between hope and -dread, his head seemed nigh to bursting.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span></p> - -<p>But suddenly all things were changed. The door -of his cell was opened and a warder entered. Jim -did not look up: his face was buried in his hands -in a vain effort to collect his thoughts.</p> - -<p>“There’s your wife to see you, sir,” said the -warder, tapping his shoulder. “You are to come -with me.”</p> - -<p>Jim sprang to his feet, his eyes blinking, his hair -tossed about his forehead. Down the corridor he -was led, and up a flight of stairs. The door of the -visitor’s room was opened, and a moment later the -beloved arms were about his neck, and the warder -had stepped back into the passage.</p> - -<p>“It’s all right, my darling!” she cried. “We’ve -found the murderer. The order for your release -will come through at once: you’ll be out of this in -an hour or so. Oh, Jim, Jim, Jim, my darling, my -darling!”</p> - -<p>He was incredulous, and in breathless haste she -told him what had happened. She had come back -to England by the quick route, and, travelling across -country, had arrived some days before his ship had -completed the long sea route by way of the -Peninsula.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Darling came with me,” she said. “Oh, -Jim, she’s been splendid.”</p> - -<p>“What d’you mean?” he asked in astonishment. -“She is my accuser.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, that was only natural,” Monimé explained. -“That was a mother’s instinctive feeling. But we -talked all through that terrible night at Luxor, and -long before we left Egypt I think she realized she -had made a mistake. You see, as soon as the police -were able to prove that Merrivall’s housekeeper<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span> -was not guilty she at once thought it must have been -you after all, and she swore she’d hunt you down. -She came to Egypt with the concurrence of the -police, who had an unconfirmed report about your -having been seen at Abu Simbel.”</p> - -<p>“Never mind about all that,” Jim interrupted. -“Tell me who did it.... Oh, for God’s sake tell -me they’ve really got the man!”</p> - -<p>Monimé reassured him. “Listen,” she went on. -“As soon as we arrived in England I made Mrs. -Darling take me down to Eversfield, and we started -our own inquiries. You had spoken of having sent -your poacher friend off to get Mrs. Darling’s address -from the postman; so of course we went first -to the post-office, and Mr. Barnes was quite emphatic -that Smiley-face was only with him for a few minutes -early in the afternoon.”</p> - -<p>Jim’s face fell. “I feared as much,” he groaned. -“You’re on the wrong scent. You’re suggesting that -Smiley did it.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not suggesting,” she answered with triumph. -“He <em>did</em> do it. He has confessed.”</p> - -<p>He stared at her in dismay. “Good Lord!” he -exclaimed, and, turning away, stood lost in thought. -He had not believed it possible that the poacher -was in any way connected with the crime, for his -errand in the village had seemed to account for his -time, and later in the afternoon he had returned with -perfect composure.</p> - -<p>“Has the poor chap been arrested?” he asked at -length.</p> - -<p>Monimé shook her head. “No,” she said, “he is -in the infirmary at Oxford. They hardly expected -him to live yesterday, after all the strain of making<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span> -his confession to us and then to the police.” It -was his heart, it seemed, that had given out, a fact -at which Jim was not surprised, for when he had -met him on that memorable day it was evident that -he was very ill.</p> - -<p>“Poor old Smiley!” he murmured. “He did it -for my sake.”</p> - -<p>Monimé’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Jim,” she -said. “I’m so cross with you. To think that you -never let me know you were a great poet. You said -you only scribbled doggerel. When I read this -book of your poems I cried my eyes out, with pride -and temper and love and fear. Didn’t you realize -you were writing things that would live?”</p> - -<p>“Good Lord, no!” he answered. “I thought -you’d think them awful rot.”</p> - -<p>The order from the Home Secretary for Jim’s -release was not long delayed, and soon after midday -he was a free man once more, enjoying a bath -and a change of clothes at the hotel where his wife -was staying. Here, when his toilet was complete, -Mrs. Darling came to see him, and he was surprised -to observe the affectionate relationship which seemed -to exist between her and Monimé.</p> - -<p>“Jim, my dear,” she said, when the somewhat -difficult greetings were exchanged. “I am a wicked -old woman to have brought such unhappiness upon -you; but you will know what I felt about my Dolly’s -cruel end.” She passed her plump hand over her -eyes. “I can’t yet bear to think of it.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know,” he answered. “But you might -have realized that I would not have done such a -thing.”</p> - -<p>“I see that now,” she said. “This dear girl has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span> -explained you to me, so that I see you as clear as -crystal. She has pointed out that you will neither -let anybody interfere with your life nor will you -interfere with theirs. You just live and let live. I -hadn’t quite understood that, but I see it now, and -your poems, too, have helped me to understand. -Isn’t it true that if you once remove understanding -from life you get every kind of complication! It is -our business as women to make a study of the workings -of men’s minds; but in this case I made a miserable -hash of it.... Oh dear, oh dear!” she muttered, -and suddenly, sitting down heavily upon a -chair, she wept loudly, rocking her fat little body -to and fro.</p> - -<p>Jim was not able to remain long to comfort her. -He had determined to catch an afternoon express -to Oxford to try to see the dying Smiley-face before -the end; and he had arranged to return by the late -evening train, so that he and Monimé might go down -next morning to join their little son on the south -coast.</p> - -<p>He evaded a mob of journalists at the door of the -hotel, and reached Oxford after the winter sun had -set, driving to the infirmary in a scurry of snow. -In an ante-room he explained his mission to the -matron, who seemed much relieved that he had -come.</p> - -<p>“He’s been asking about you all day, and begging -us to tell him if you had been released,” she said. -“It’s almost as though he were clinging on to life -until he knew you were safe. He’s a poor, half-witted -creature. It’s a mercy he is dying.”</p> - -<p>Jim was taken into a small room leading from -one of the large wards; and here, in the dim light<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span> -of a green-shaded electric globe, he saw a nurse -leaning over the sick man’s bed. He saw the -poacher’s red hair, now less towsled than he had -known it in the open, and of a more pronounced -colour by reason of its washing and combing; he -saw the drawn features, and the shut eyes; he saw -the rough, hairy hands lying inert upon the white -quilt: and for a moment he thought he had arrived -too late.</p> - -<p>The matron, however, exchanged a whispered -word with the nurse; and presently a sign was made -to him to approach. He thereupon seated himself -at the bedside, and laid his hand upon Smiley’s arm.</p> - -<p>For some moments there was silence in the room; -but at length the little pig-like eyes opened, and -Jim could see the sudden expression of relief and -happiness which at once lit up the whole face.</p> - -<p>“Forgive me, forgive me,” the dying man whispered. -“I didn’t know they’d taken you. If I’d ha’ -known that, I’d ha’ told them at once. I thought -you was safe in them furrin lands; and when your -lady come yesterday and said they’d cotched you and -put you in the lock-up, I thought I’d go clean off -it, I did.”</p> - -<p>Jim pressed his hand. “Smiley,” he said, “why -did you do it?”</p> - -<p>“Seemed like it was the only way,” he replied. -“When I come back into the woods to wait for you, -I heerd you and her talking, and I listened; and -then I heerd her say as ’ow she’d make your name -stink in the nostrils of every gen’l’man, and I knew -you couldn’t never be rid o’ she. Then her come -running past where I was a-hiding, and her tripped -up and fell. Fair stunned, her was. I thought her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span> -was dead, her lay that still. So I reckoned I’d make -sure. I did it quick, with a stone. Her made no -sound.”</p> - -<p>“But why did you do it?” Jim repeated.</p> - -<p>Smiley-face grinned. “Because you was my -friend, and her was your enemy. Because I remembered -your face that day when you was a-weeping -down there in the woods, and a-longing to be free -again.”</p> - -<p>He closed his eyes and for some moments he did -not speak. At length, however, he looked at Jim -once more, and his lips moved. “Parson do say -God be werry merciful,” he whispered. “Maybe -He’ll understand why I done it. But I don’t care if -He send I into hell fire, now I know you’re happy. -Tell me, sir, what be you going to do?”</p> - -<p>“I’m going away, Smiley,” replied Jim. “I’ve -got a lot of work to do. We are going to find a -little house overlooking the Mediterranean, and in -the years to come, when all this is forgotten, we shall -come back here, perhaps, and get the place ready for -my son. You’d like my son, Smiley: he’s a fine little -lad.”</p> - -<p>The poacher nodded. “When you come back -here,” he said, “go down into the woods and whistle -to me the same as you used to do. I shall hear. I -shall say: ‘There’s my dear a-calling of me. Friends -sticks to friends through thick and thin.’ And maybe -they’ll let me answer you....”</p> - -<p>His voice trailed off, but his lips smiled. “Oh, -them little rabbits,” he chuckled.</p> - -<p class="titlepage">THE END</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Bedouin Love, by Arthur Edward Pearse Brome Weigall - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEDOUIN LOVE *** - -***** This file should be named 60185-h.htm or 60185-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/1/8/60185/ - -Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive/American -Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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