diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/60185-h/60185-h.htm')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/60185-h/60185-h.htm | 12547 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 12547 deletions
diff --git a/old/60185-h/60185-h.htm b/old/60185-h/60185-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index f561a27..0000000 --- a/old/60185-h/60185-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,12547 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Bedouin Love, by Arthur Weigall. - </title> - - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - -<style type="text/css"> - -a { - text-decoration: none; -} - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - -h1,h2 { - text-align: center; - clear: both; -} - -hr { - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - clear: both; - width: 65%; - margin-left: 17.5%; - margin-right: 17.5%; -} - -p { - margin-top: 0.5em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: 0.5em; - text-indent: 1em; -} - -table { - margin: 1em auto 1em auto; - max-width: 40em; - border-collapse: collapse; -} - -th { - font-weight: normal; - padding: 0.25em; -} - -td { - padding-left: 2.25em; - padding-right: 0.25em; - vertical-align: top; - text-indent: -2em; -} - -.tdr { - text-align: right; -} - -.tdpg { - vertical-align: bottom; - text-align: right; -} - -.blockquote { - margin: 1.5em 10%; -} - -.center { - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; -} - -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -.larger { - font-size: 150%; -} - -.noindent { - text-indent: 0em; -} - -.pagenum { - position: absolute; - right: 4%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - font-style: normal; -} - -.poetry-container { - text-align: center; - margin: 1em; -} - -.poetry { - display: inline-block; - text-align: left; -} - -.poetry .stanza { - margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em; -} - -.poetry .verse { - text-indent: -3em; - padding-left: 3em; -} - -.poetry .indent1 { - text-indent: -2em; -} - -.smaller { - font-size: 80%; -} - -.smcap { - font-variant: small-caps; - font-style: normal; -} - -.titlepage { - text-align: center; - margin-top: 3em; - text-indent: 0em; -} - -@media handheld { - -img { - max-width: 100%; - width: auto; - height: auto; -} - -.poetry { - display: block; - margin-left: 1.5em; -} - -.blockquote { - margin: 1.5em 5%; -} -} - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -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.) - - - - - - -</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. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at -http://gutenberg.org/license). - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -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 - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at -http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at -809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email -business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact -information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official -page at http://pglaf.org - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit http://pglaf.org - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - - -</pre> - -</body> -</html> |