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diff --git a/6194-h/6194-h.htm b/6194-h/6194-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6db264f --- /dev/null +++ b/6194-h/6194-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11834 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!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" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Mrs. Falchion, by Gilbert Parker + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mrs. Falchion, Complete, by Gilbert Parker + +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 + + +Title: Mrs. Falchion, Complete + +Author: Gilbert Parker + + +Release Date: October 17, 2006 [EBook #6194] +Last Updated: August 26, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. FALCHION, COMPLETE *** + + + +Produced by David Widger and Andrew Sly + + + + + +</pre> + + <h1> + MRS. FALCHION + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Gilbert Parker + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + INTRODUCTION + </h2> + <p> + This novel was written in the days of the three-decker, and it went out to + sea as such. Every novel of mine written until 1893 was published in two + or three volumes, and the sale to the libraries was greater than the sale + to the general public. This book was begun in 1892 at the time when the + Pierre stories were being written, and it was finished in the summer of + 1893. It did not appear serially; indeed, I made no attempt at serial + publication. I had a feeling that as it was to be my first novel, it + should be judged as a whole and taken at a gasp, as it were. I believe + that the reader of Messrs. Methuen & Company was not disposed to + publish the book, but Mr. Methuen himself (or Mr. Stedman as he was then + called) was impressed by it and gave it his friendly confidence. He was + certain that it would arrest the attention of the critics and of the + public, whether it became popular or not. I have not a set of those + original three volumes. I wish I had, because they won for me an almost + unhoped-for pleasure. The ‘Daily Chronicle’ gave the volumes over a column + of review, and headed the notice, “A Coming Novelist.” The ‘Athenaeum’ + said that ‘Mrs. Falchion’ was a splendid study of character; ‘The Pall + Mall Gazette’ said that the writing was as good as anything that had been + done in our time, while at the same time it took rather a dark view of my + future as a novelist, because it said I had not probed deep enough into + the wounds of character which I had inflicted. The article was written by + Mr. George W. Stevens, and he was right in saying that I had not probed + deep enough. Few very young men—and I was very young then—do + probe very deeply. At the appearance of ‘When Valmond Came to Pontiac’, + however, Mr. Stevens came to the conclusion that my future was assured. + </p> + <p> + I mention these things because they were burnt into my mind at the time. + ‘Mrs. Falchion’ was my first real novel, as I have said, though it had + been preceded by a short novel called ‘The Chief Factor’, since rescued + from publication and never published in book form in England. I realised + when I had written ‘Mrs. Falchion’ that I had not found my metier, and I + was fearful of complete failure. I had come but a few years before from + the South Seas; I was full of what I had seen and felt; I was eager to + write of it all, and I did write of it; but the thing which was deeper + still in me was the life which ‘Pierre and His People’, ‘The Seats of the + Mighty’, ‘The Trail of the Sword’, ‘The Lane That Had no Turning’, and + ‘The Right of Way’ portrayed. That life was destined to give me an assured + place and public, while ‘Mrs. Falchion’, and the South Sea stories + published in various journals before the time of its production, and + indeed anterior to the writing of the Pierre series, only assured me + attention. + </p> + <p> + Happily for the book, which has faults of construction, superficialities + as to incident, and with some crudity of plot, it was, in the main, a + study of character. There was focus, there was illumination in the book, + to what degree I will not try to say; and the attempt to fasten the mind + of the reader upon the central figure, and to present that central figure + in many aspects, safeguarded the narrative from the charge of being a mere + novel of adventure, or, as one writer called it, “an impudent melodrama, + which has its own fascinations.” + </p> + <p> + Reading Mrs. Falchion again after all these years, I seem to realise in it + an attempt to combine the objective and subjective methods of treatment—to + combine analysis of character and motive with arresting episode. It is a + difficult thing to do, as I have found. It was not done on my part wholly + by design, but rather by instinct, and I imagine that this tendency has + run through all my works. It represents the elements of romanticism and of + realism in one, and that kind of representation has its dangers, to say + nothing of its difficulties. It sometimes alienates the reader, who by + instinct and preference is a realist, and it troubles the reader who wants + to read for a story alone, who cares for what a character does, and not + for what a character is or says, except in so far as it emphasises what it + does. One has to work, however, in one’s own way, after one’s own + idiosyncrasies, and here is the book that represents one of my own + idiosyncrasies in its most primitive form. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION </a><br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>BOOK I.</b> </a> <b>BELOW THE SUN + LINE</b> <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> THE + GATES OF THE SEA <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> "MOTLEY + IS YOUR ONLY WEAR” <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> A + TALE OF NO MAN’S SEA <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. + </a> THE TRAIL OF THE ISHMAELITE <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> ACCUSING FACES <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> MUMMERS ALL <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> THE WHEEL COMES + FULL CIRCLE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> A + BRIDGE OF PERIL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> "THE + PROGRESS OF THE SUNS” <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. + </a> BETWEEN DAY AND DARK <br /><br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0013"> <b>BOOK II.</b> </a> <b>THE SLOPE OF + THE PACIFIC</b> <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> AMONG + THE HILLS OF GOD <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> THE + WHIRLIGIG OF TIME <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> THE + SONG OF THE SAW <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> THE + PATH OF THE EAGLE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a> IN + THE TROUGH OF THE WINDS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. + </a> A DUEL IN ARCADY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> + CHAPTER XVII. </a> RIDING THE REEFS <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> THE + STRINGS OF DESTINY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> THE + SENTENCE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a> AFTER + THE STORM <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a> IN + PORT <br /><br /> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + BOOK I. BELOW THE SUN LINE + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. THE GATES OF THE SEA + </h2> + <p> + The part I played in Mrs. Falchion’s career was not very noble, but I + shall set it forth plainly here, else I could not have the boldness to + write of her faults or those of others. Of my own history little need be + said in preface. Soon after graduating with honours as a physician, I was + offered a professional post in a college of medicine in Canada. It was + difficult to establish a practice in medicine without some capital, else I + had remained in London; and, being in need of instant means, I gladly + accepted the offer. But six months were to intervene before the beginning + of my duties—how to fill that time profitably was the question. I + longed to travel, having scarcely been out of England during my life. Some + one suggested the position of surgeon on one of the great steamers running + between England and Australia. The idea of a long sea-voyage was + seductive, for I had been suffering from over-study, though the position + itself was not very distinguished. But in those days I cared more for + pleasing myself than for what might become a newly-made professor, and I + was prepared to say with a renowned Irish dean: “Dignity and I might be + married, for all the relations we are.” + </p> + <p> + I secured the position with humiliating ease and humiliating smallness of + pay. The steamer’s name was the ‘Fulvia’. It was one of the largest + belonging to the Occidental Company. It carried no emigrants and had a + passenger list of fashionable folk. On the voyage out to Australia the + weather was pleasant, save in the Bay of Biscay; there was no sickness on + board, and there were many opportunities for social gaiety, the + cultivation of pleasant acquaintances, and the encouragement of that brisk + idleness which aids to health. This was really the first holiday in my + life, and I enjoyed it thoroughly. Nothing of unusual interest occurred on + the outward voyage; for one thing, because there were no unusual people + among the passengers; for another, because the vessel behaved admirably. + The same cannot be said of the return voyage: and with it my story really + begins. Misfortune followed us out of Sydney harbour. We broke a + crank-shaft between there and Port Phillip, Melbourne; a fire in the hold + occurred at Adelaide; and at Albany we buried a passenger who had died of + consumption one day out from King George’s Sound. At Colombo, also, we had + a misfortune, but it was of a peculiar kind, and did not obtrude itself at + once; it was found in an addition to our passenger list. I had spent a day + in exploring Colombo—visiting Arabi Pasha, inspecting Hindu temples, + watching the jugglers and snake-charmers, evading guides and the sellers + of brummagem jewellery, and idling in the Cinnamon Gardens. I returned to + the ship tired out. After I had done some official duties, I sauntered to + the gangway, and, leaning against the bulwarks, idly watched the + passengers come on board from the tender. Two of these made an impression + on me. One was a handsome and fashionably-dressed woman, who was followed + by a maid or companion (as I fancied), carrying parcels; the other, a + shabbily-dressed man, who was the last to come up from the tender. The + woman was going down the companion-way when he stepped on deck with a + single bag in his hand, and I noticed that he watched her with a strange + look in his eyes. He stood still as he gazed, and remained so for a moment + after she had gone; then he seemed to recover himself, and started, as I + thought, almost guiltily, when he saw that my attention was attracted. He + nervously shifted his bag from one hand to the other, and looked round as + though not certain of where he should go. A steward came to him + officiously, and patronisingly too,—which is the bearing of servants + to shabbily-dressed people,—but he shook his head, caught his bag + smartly away from the steward’s fingers, and moved towards the after part + of the ship, reserved for intermediate passengers. As he went he + hesitated, came to the side of the vessel, looked down at the tender for a + moment, cast his eyes to where the anchor was being weighed, made as if he + would go back to the tender, then, seeing that the ladder was now drawn + up, sighed, and passed on to the second-class companion-way, through which + he disappeared. + </p> + <p> + I stood commenting idly to myself upon this incident, which, slight though + it was, appeared to have significance of a kind, when Hungerford, the + fifth officer, caught me slyly by the arm and said, “Lucky fellow! Nothing + to do but watch the world go by. I wish I had you in the North Atlantic on + a whaler, or in the No Man’s Sea on a pearl-smack for a matter of thirty + days.” + </p> + <p> + “What would come of that, Hungerford?” said I. + </p> + <p> + “An exchange of matter for mind, Marmion; muscle for meditation, physics + for philosophy.” + </p> + <p> + “You do me too much honour; at present I’ve neither mind, meditation, nor + philosophy; I am simply vegetating.” + </p> + <p> + “Which proves you to be demoralised. I never saw a surgeon on a ship who + wasn’t. They began with mind—more or less—they ate the fruits + of indolence, got precious near being sinful as well as indolent, and + ended with cheap cynicism, with the old ‘quid refert’—the thing + Hamlet plagiarised in his, ‘But it is no matter.’” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t this an unusual occupation for you, Hungerford—this + Swift-like criticism?” + </p> + <p> + “Swift-like, is it? You see, I’ve practised on many of your race, Marmion, + and I have it pat now. You are all of two classes—those who sicken + in soul and leave after one trip, and those who make another trip and are + lost.” + </p> + <p> + “Lost? How?” + </p> + <p> + Hungerford pressed his fingers hard on my breastbone, looked at me + enigmatically from under his well-hung brows, and replied: “Brains put out + to seed, morals put out to vegetate—that’s ‘lost.’” + </p> + <p> + “What about fifth officers?” + </p> + <p> + “Fifth officers work like navvies, and haven’t time for foolishness. + They’ve got to walk the bridge, and practise the boats, and be responsible + for luggage—and here I am talking to you like an infallible + undergraduate, while the lascars are in endless confusion with a + half-dozen pieces of baggage, and the first officer foams because I’m not + there to set them right. I leave you to your dreams. Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + Hungerford was younger than myself, but he knew the world, and I was + flattered by these uncommon remarks, because he talked to no one else on + the ship in the same way. He never sought to make friends, had a thorough + contempt for social trifling, and shrugged his shoulders at the “swagger” + of some of the other officers. I think he longed for a different kind of + sea-life, so accustomed had he been to adventurous and hardy ways. He had + entered the Occidental service because he had fallen in love with a pretty + girl, and thought it his duty to become a “regular,” and thus have the + chance of seeing her every three months in London. He had conceived a + liking for me, reciprocated on my part; the more so, because I knew that + behind his blunt exterior there was a warm and manly heart. When he left + me I went to my cabin and prepared for dinner, laughing as I did so at his + keen, uncompromising criticism, which I knew was correct enough; for of + all official posts that of a ship-surgeon is least calculated to make a + man take a pride in existence. At its best, it is assisting in the + movement of a panorama; at its worst, worse than a vegetation. + Hungerford’s solicitude for myself, however, was misplaced, because this + one voyage would end my career as ship-surgeon, and, besides, I had not + vegetated, but had been interested in everything that had occurred, + humdrum as it was. With these thoughts, I looked out of the port-hole, to + see the shores of Colombo, Galle Face, and Mount Lavinia fading in the + distance, and heard seven bells—the time for dinner. When I took my + seat at the table of which I was the head, my steward handed to me a slip + of paper, saying that the chief steward had given a new passenger, a lady, + the seat at my right hand, which had been vacated at Colombo. The name on + the paper was “Mrs. Falchion.” The seat was still empty, and I wondered if + this was the beautiful passenger who had attracted me and interested the + Intermediate Passenger. I was selfish enough to wish so: and it was so. + </p> + <p> + We had finished the soup before she entered. The chief steward, with that + anxious civility which beauty can inspire in even so great a personage, + conducted her to her seat beside me. I confess that though I was at once + absorbed in this occurrence, I noticed also that some of the ladies + present smiled significantly when they saw at whose table Mrs. Falchion + was placed, and looked not a little ironically at the purser, who, as it + was known, always tried to get for his table the newest addition to the + passenger list—when it was a pretty woman. I believe that one or two + rude people chaffed the chief steward about “favouring the doctor”; but he + had a habit of saying uncomfortable things in a deferential way, and they + did not pursue the subject. Then they commiserated the purser, who was an + unpleasant little Jew of an envious turn of mind; and he, as I was told, + likened me to Sir John Falstaff. I was sensitive in those days, and this + annoyed me, particularly that I had had nothing to do with placing Mrs. + Falchion at my table. We are always most sensitive when guilty concerning + the spirit and not the letter. + </p> + <p> + One who has lived the cosmopolitan life of London should be quick at + detecting nationalities, but I found it difficult, even after I heard her + speak, to guess at Mrs. Falchion’s native land. There were good reasons + for this, as may be duly seen. Her appearance in the saloon caused an + instant buzz of admiration and interest, of which she seemed oblivious. If + it was acting, it was good acting; if it was lack of self-consciousness, + it was remarkable. As I soon came to know, it was the latter—which, + in such a woman, increased the remarkableness. I was inclined at first to + venture the opinion that she was an actress; but I discovered that she + possessed the attracting power of an actress without the calculated manner + of one; her very lack of self-consciousness was proof of this + emancipation. + </p> + <p> + When she sat down, I immediately welcomed her by name to my table. The + only surprise she showed at my knowledge of her name and my + self-introduction was to lift her head slightly and look at me, as if + wondering whether I was likely to be an inquisitive and troublesome host; + and also, as I thought, to measure me according to her measure. It was a + quick look, and the interest she showed was of a passive kind. She asked + me as she might an old acquaintance—or a waiter—if the soup + was good, and what the fish was like; decided on my recommendation to wait + for the entrees; requested her next neighbour to pass the olives; in an + impersonal way began to talk about the disadvantages of life at sea; + regretted that all ship food tasted alike; wondered if the cook knew how + to make a Russian salad; and added that the menu was a national + compromise. + </p> + <p> + Now that she was close to me, I could see that her beauty was real and + notable. Her features were regular, her eyes of a greyish violet, her chin + strong, yet not too strong—the chin of a singer; her hands had that + charming quiet certainty of movement possessed by so few; and her colour + was of the most delightful health. In this delightful health, in her + bountiful yet perfect physical eloquence, her attractiveness, as it seemed + to me, chiefly lay. For no one would ever have guessed her to possess an + emotional temperament. All that was outer was fascinating, all that was + inner suggested coldness. After experience assured me that all who came to + know her shared this estimate, even in those days when every man on the + ship was willing to be her slave. She had a compelling atmosphere, a + possessive presence; and yet her mind at this time was unemotional—like + Octavia, the wife of Mark Antony, “of a cold conversation.” She was + striking and unusual in appearance, and yet well within convention and + “good form.” Her dress was simply and modestly worn, and had little + touches of grace and taste which, I understand, many ladies on board + sought to imitate, when they recovered from the first feeling of envy. + </p> + <p> + She was an example of splendid life. I cared to look at her as one would + dwell on the sleek beauty of a deer—as, indeed, I have many a time + since then, in India, watched a tigress asleep on her chain, claws hidden, + wild life latent but slumbering. I could have staked my life that Mrs. + Falchion was insensible to love or passion, and unimpeachable in the broad + scheme of right and wrong; imperious in requiring homage, incapable of + giving it. I noticed when she laughed, as she did once at table, that her + teeth were very white and small and square; and, like a schoolgirl, she + had a habit of clicking them together very lightly, but not conspicuously, + as if trying their quality. This suggested, however, something a little + cruel. Her appetite was very good. She was coolly anxious about the + amusements; she asked me if I could get her a list of the passengers, said + that she was never sea-sick, and took a languid interest in the ladies + present. Her glance at the men was keen at first, then neutral. + </p> + <p> + Once again, during the meal, she slowly turned and flashed an inquiring + glance at me. I caught her eyes. She did not show the least embarrassment, + and asked me if the band insisted on playing every day. Before she left + the saloon, one could see that many present were talking about her. Even + the grim old captain followed her with his eyes as she went. When she + rose, I asked her if she was going on deck. I did it casually, as though + it was her usual custom to appear there after dinner. In like fashion she + replied that her maid had some unpacking to do, she had some things to + superintend, and, when this was done, she intended to spend a time on + deck. Then, with a peculiar smile, she passed out. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [Note by Dr. Marmion appended to his MSS.:—“Many of the + conversations and monologues in this history, not heard by myself + when they occurred, were told to me afterwards, or got from the + diaries and notes of the persons concerned. Only a few are purely + imaginary.”] +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. “MOTLEY IS YOUR ONLY WEAR” + </h2> + <p> + I went to my cabin, took a book, sat down, and began to smoke. My thoughts + drifted from the book, and then occurred a strange, incongruous thing. It + was a remembered incident. It came like a vision as I was lighting a fresh + cigar: + </p> + <p> + A boy and a girl in a village chemist’s shop; he with a boy’s love for + her, she responding in terms, but not in fact. He passed near her carrying + a measure of sulphuric acid. She put out her hand suddenly and playfully, + as though to bar his way. His foot slipped on the oily floor, and the acid + spilled on his hands and the skirt of her dress. He turned instantly and + plunged his hands into a measure of alcohol standing near before the acid + had more than slightly scalded them. She glanced at his startled face; + hers was without emotion. She looked down, and said petulantly: “You have + spoiled my dress; I cannot go into the street.” + </p> + <p> + The boy’s clothes were burnt also. He was poor, and to replace them must + be a trial to him; her father owned the shop, and was well-to-do. Still, + he grieved most that she should be annoyed, though he saw her injustice. + But she turned away and left him. + </p> + <p> + Another scene then crossed the disc of smoke: + </p> + <p> + The boy and girl, now man and woman, standing alone in the chemist’s shop. + He had come out of the big working world, after travel in many countries. + His fame had come with him. She was to be married the next day to a seller + of purple and fine linen. He was smiling a good-bye, and there was nothing + of the old past in the smile. The flame now was in her eyes, and she put + out both her hands to stop him as he turned to go; but his face was + passionless. “You have spoiled my heart,” she said; “I cannot go into the + world so.” + </p> + <p> + “It is too late; the measures are empty,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “I love you to-day, I will loathe you to-morrow,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + But he turned and left her, and she blindly stretched out her hands and + followed him into the darkness, weeping. + </p> + <p> + Was it the scent of the chemicals in my cabin, coupled with some + subterranean association of things, which brought these scenes vividly + before me at this moment? What had they to do with Mrs. Falchion? + </p> + <p> + A time came when the occurrence appeared to me in the light of prescience, + but that was when I began to understand that all ideas, all reason and + philosophy, are the result of outer impression. The primal language of our + minds is in the concrete. Afterwards it becomes the cypher, and even at + its highest it is expressed by angles, lines, and geometrical forms—substances + and allusive shapes. But now, as the scene shifted by, I had involuntarily + thrust forward my hands as did the girl when she passed out into the + night, and, in doing so, touched the curtain of my cabin door swinging in + towards me. I recovered myself, and a man timidly stepped inside, knocking + as he did so. It was the Intermediate Passenger. His face was pale; he + looked ill. + </p> + <p> + Poor as his dress was, I saw that he had known the influences and + practised the graces of good society, though his manner was hesitating and + anxious now. I knew at a glance that he was suffering from both physical + pain and mental worry. Without a word, I took his wrist and felt his + pulse, and he said: “I thought I might venture to come—” + </p> + <p> + I motioned him not to speak. I counted the irregular pulse-beats, then + listened to the action of his heart, with my ear to his breast. There lay + his physical trouble. I poured out a dose of digitalis, and, handing it to + him, asked him to sit down. As he sat and drank the medicine, I rapidly + studied him. The chin was firm, and the eyes had a dogged, persistent look + that, when turned on you, saw not you, but something beyond you. The head + was thrown slightly forward, the eyes looking up at an angle. This last + action was habitual with him. It gave him a peculiar earnestness. As I + noted these peculiarities, my mind was also with his case; I saw that his + life was threatened. Perhaps he guessed what was going on in me, for he + said in a low, cultured voice: “The wheels will stop too long some time, + and there will be no rebound;”—referring to the irregular action of + his heart. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps that is true,” I said; “yet it depends a good deal upon yourself + when it will be. Men can die if they wish without committing suicide. Look + at the Maori, the Tongan, the Malay. They can also prolong life (not + indefinitely, but in a case like yours considerably), if they choose. You + can lengthen your days if you do not brood on fatal things—fatal to + you; if you do not worry yourself into the grave.” + </p> + <p> + I knew that something of this was platitude, and that counsel to such a + man must be of a more possible cast, if it is to be followed. I was aware + also that, in nine cases out of ten, worry is not a voluntary or + constitutional thing, but springs from some extraneous cause. + </p> + <p> + He smiled faintly, raised his head a little higher, and said: “Yes, that’s + just it, I suppose; but then we do not order our own constitutions; and I + believe, Doctor, that you must kill a nerve before it ceases to hurt. One + doesn’t choose to worry, I think, any more than one chooses to lay bare a + nerve.” And then his eyes dropped, as if he thought he had already said + too much. + </p> + <p> + Again I studied him, repeating my definitions in my mind. He was not a + drunkard; he might have had no vice, so free was his face from any sign of + dissipation or indulgence; but there was suffering, possibly the marks of + some endured shame. The suffering and shadows showed the more because his + features were refined enough for a woman. And altogether it struck me that + he was possessed by some one idea, which gave his looks a kind of + sorrowful eloquence, such as one sees on occasion in the face of a great + actor like Salvini, on the forehead of a devout Buddhist, or in the eyes + of a Jesuit missionary who martyrs himself in the wilds. + </p> + <p> + I felt at once for the man a sympathy, a brotherliness, the causes of + which I should be at a loss to trace. Most people have this experience at + one time or another in their lives. It is not a matter of sex; it may be + between an old man and a little child, a great man and a labourer, a + schoolgirl and an old native woman. There is in such companionships less + self-interest than in any other. As I have said, I thought that this man + had a trouble, and I wished to know it; not from curiosity,—though + my mind had a selfish, inquiring strain,—but because I hoped I might + be able to help him in some way. I put my hand on his shoulder, and + replied: “You will never be better unless you get rid of your worry.” + </p> + <p> + He drew in a sharp breath, and said: “I know that. I am afraid I shall + never be better.” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence in which we looked at each other steadily, and then he + added, with an intense but quiet misery: “Never—never!” + </p> + <p> + At that he moved his hand across his forehead wearily, rose, and turned + toward the door. He swayed as he did so, and would have fallen, but I + caught him as he lost consciousness, and laid him on the cabin sofa. I + chafed his hands, unloosed his collar, and opened the bosom of his shirt. + As the linen dropped away from his throat, a small portrait on ivory was + exposed on his breast. I did not look closely at it then, but it struck me + that the woman’s head in the portrait was familiar, though the artistic + work was not recent, and the fashion of the hair was of years before. When + his eyes opened, and he felt his neck bare, he hurriedly put up his hand + and drew the collar close, and at the same time sent a startled and + inquiring look at me. After a few moments I helped him to his feet, and, + thanking me more with a look than with words, he turned towards the door + again. + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” I said, “until I give you some medicine, and then you shall take + my arm to your cabin.” With a motion of the hand, signifying the + uselessness of remedies, he sat down again. As I handed him the phial, I + continued: “I know that it is none of my business, but you are suffering. + To help your body, your mind should be helped also. Can’t you tell me your + trouble? Perhaps I should be able to serve you. I would if I could.” + </p> + <p> + It may be that I spoke with a little feeling and an apparent honesty; for + his eyes searched mine in a kind of earnest bewilderment, as if this could + not be true—as if, indeed, life had gone so hard with him that he + had forgotten the way of kindness. Then he stretched out his hand and said + brokenly: “I am grateful, believe me. I cannot tell you just now, but I + will soon, perhaps.” His hand was upon the curtain of the door, when my + steward’s voice was heard outside, calling my name. The man himself + entered immediately, and said that Mrs. Falchion sent her compliments, and + would I come at once to see her companion, Miss Caron, who had injured + herself. + </p> + <p> + The Intermediate Passenger turned towards me a strange look; his lips + opened as if about to speak, but he said nothing. At the instant there + came to my mind whom the picture on his breast resembled: it was Mrs. + Falchion. + </p> + <p> + I think he saw this new intelligence in my face, and a meaning smile took + the place of words, as he slowly left the cabin, mutely refusing + assistance. + </p> + <p> + I went to Mrs. Falchion’s cabin, and met her outside the door. She looked + displeased. “Justine has hurt herself,” she said. “Please attend to her; I + am going on deck.” + </p> + <p> + The unfeeling nature of this remark held me to the spot for a moment; then + I entered the cabin. Justine Caron, a delicate but warm-faced girl of + little more than twenty, was sitting on the cabin sofa, her head supported + against the wall, and her hand wound in a handkerchief soaked in blood. + Her dress and the floor were also stained. I undid the handkerchief and + found an ugly wound in the palm of the hand. I called the steward, and + sent him to my dispensary for some necessaries; then I asked her how it + happened. At the moment I saw the cause—a broken bottle lying on the + floor. “The ship rolled,” she said. “The bottle fell from the shelf upon + the marble washstand, and, breaking, from there to the floor. Madame + caught at my arm to save herself from falling; but I slipped, and was cut + on the bottle—so.” + </p> + <p> + As she ended there was a knock, but the curtain was not drawn, and Mrs. + Falchion’s voice was heard. “My dress is stained, Justine.” + </p> + <p> + The half-fainting girl weakly replied: “I am very sorry, madame, indeed.” + </p> + <p> + To this Mrs. Falchion rejoined: “When you have been attended to, you may + go to bed, Justine. I shall not want you again to-night. But I shall + change my dress. It is so unpleasant; I hate blood. I hope you will be + well in the morning.” + </p> + <p> + To this Justine replied: “Ah, madame, I am sorry. I could not help it; but + I shall be quite well in the morning, I am sure.” Then she added quietly + to me: “The poor madame! She will not see suffering. She hates pain. + Sickness troubles her. Shall I be able to use my hand very soon, + monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + There was a wistful look in her eyes, and guessing why it was there, I + said: “Yes, soon, I hope—in a few days, no doubt.” + </p> + <p> + Her face lighted up, and she said: “Madame likes about her people who are + happy and well.” Then, as if she might have said too much, she hurriedly + added: “But she is very kind;” and, stooping down quickly, her face + whitening with the effort, she caught up the broken glass and threw it + through the port-hole into the sea. + </p> + <p> + A half-hour later I went on deck, and found Mrs. Falchion comfortably + seated in her deck-chair. I brought a stool over, and sat down beside her. + To this hour the quickness with which I got upon friendly terms with her + astonishes me. + </p> + <p> + “Justine is better?” she said, and her hand made a slight motion of + disgust. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. She was not dangerously hurt, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us change the subject, please. They are going to have a fancy-dress + ball on board, I believe, before we get to Aden. How tiresome! Isn’t it a + little affectation on the part of the stage-struck committee? Isn’t it—inconsequent?” + </p> + <p> + “That depends,” I said vaguely, inviting a question. She idled with a book + in her lap. + </p> + <p> + “On what?” + </p> + <p> + “On those who go, what costumes are worn, and how much beauty and art + appear.” + </p> + <p> + “But the trouble! Does it pay? What return does one get?” + </p> + <p> + “If all admire, half are envious, some are jealous, and one is devoted—isn’t + that enough?” I think I was a fool that night. + </p> + <p> + “You seem to understand women,” she said, with a puzzling and not quite + satisfactory smile. “Yes, all that is something.” + </p> + <p> + Though I was looking at the sea rather than at her, I saw again that + inquiring look in her eyes—such a measuring look as a recruiting + sergeant might give a victim of the Queen’s shilling. + </p> + <p> + After a moment’s pause she continued, I thought, abstractedly: “As what + should you go?” + </p> + <p> + I answered lightly and without premeditation, “As Caius Cassius. Why + should you not appear as Portia?” + </p> + <p> + She lifted her eyebrows at me. + </p> + <p> + “As Portia?” + </p> + <p> + “As Portia, the wife of Brutus,” I blundered on, at the same time + receiving her permission, by a nod, to light my cigar. + </p> + <p> + “The pious, love-sick wife of Brutus!” This in a disdainful tone, and the + white teeth clicked softly together. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, a good disguise,” I said banteringly, though I fancy somewhat + tentatively also, and certainly with a touch of rudeness. I was thinking + at that moment of the Intermediate Passenger, and I was curious. + </p> + <p> + “And you think of going in the disguise of a gentleman? Caius Cassius was + that, wasn’t he?” she retorted in an ironical tone. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose he was, though he was punished once for rudeness,” I replied + apologetically. + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” was the decisive reply. + </p> + <p> + I felt that she was perfectly cool, while I was a little confused, and + ashamed too, that I had attempted to be playfully satirical. And so, + wondering what I should say next, I remarked in desperation: “Do you like + the sea?” + </p> + <p> + “I am never ill at sea,” was her reply. “But I do not really like it; it + is treacherous. The land would satisfy me if—” She paused. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mrs. Falchion—‘if’?” + </p> + <p> + “If I did not wish to travel,” she vaguely added, looking blandly at me. + </p> + <p> + “You have travelled much?” I ventured. + </p> + <p> + “A great deal;” and again I saw that scrutiny in her eyes. It occurred to + me at the moment that she might think I possessed some previous knowledge + of her. + </p> + <p> + My mind became occupied again with the Intermediate Passenger and the + portrait that he wore at his neck. I almost laughed to think of the + melodramatic turn which my first conversation with this woman might chance + to take. I felt that I was dealing with one who was able to meet cleverly + any advance of mine, but I determined to lead the talk into as deep waters + as possible. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose, too, you are a good practical sailor—that is, you + understand seamanship, if you have travelled much?” I do not know why I + said that, for it sounded foolish to me afterwards. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty well,” she replied. “I can manage a sail; I know the argot, I + could tell the shrouds from the bulwarks, and I’ve rowed a boat in a + choppy sea.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not an accomplishment usual to your sex.” + </p> + <p> + “It was ordinary enough where I spent the early part of my life,” was the + idle reply; and she settled herself more comfortably in her chair. + </p> + <p> + “Yes? May I ask where that was?” and as I said this, it occurred to me + that she was, perhaps, leading me on, instead of my leading her; to betray + me as to anything I knew about her. + </p> + <p> + “In the South Seas,” she replied. “My father was a British consul in the + Islands.” + </p> + <p> + “You have not come from the Islands now, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said a little more softly; “it is years since I was in Samoa. + ... My father is buried there.” + </p> + <p> + “You must have found it a romantic life in those half-barbaric places?” + </p> + <p> + She shifted in her chair. “Romantic!” Her tone conveyed a very slight + uneasiness and vagueness. “I am afraid you must ask some one else about + that sort of thing. I did not see much romance, but I saw plenty that was + half-barbaric.” Here she laughed slightly. + </p> + <p> + Just then I saw the lights of a vessel far off. “See—a vessel!” I + said; and I watched the lights in silence, but thinking. I saw that she + too was watching idly. + </p> + <p> + At length, as if continuing the conversation, I said: “Yes, I suppose life + must be somewhat adventurous and dangerous among savage people like the + Samoans, Tongans, and Fijians?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, then,” she replied decisively, “you are not to suppose anything + of the kind. The danger is not alone for the white people.” + </p> + <p> + At this I appeared, as I really was, interested, and begged her to explain + what she meant. She thought a moment, and then briefly, but clearly, + sketched the life of those islands, showing how, in spite of missionary + labour selfish and unselfish, the native became the victim of + civilisation, the prey of the white trader and beachcomber, who were + protected by men-of-war with convincing Nordenfeldt and Hotchkiss guns; + how the stalwart force of barbaric existence declined, and with it the + crude sense of justice, the practice of communism at its simplest and + purest, the valour of nationality. These phrases are my own—the + substance, not the fashion, of her speech. + </p> + <p> + “You do not, then,” I said, “believe wholly in the unselfishness of + missionaries, the fair dealing of traders, the perfect impartiality of + justice, as shown through steel-clad cruisers?” + </p> + <p> + “I have seen too much to be quite fair in judgment, I fear, even to + men-of-war’s men;” and she paused, listening to a song which came from the + after-part of the ship. The air was very still, and a few of the words of + the droll, plaintive ditty came to us. + </p> + <p> + Quartermaster Stone, as he passed us, hummed it, and some voices of the + first-class passengers near joined in the refrain: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Sing, hey, for a rover on the sea, + And the old world!” + </pre> + <p> + Some days later I got all of the song from one of the intermediate + passengers, and the last verse of it I give here: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I’m a-sailing, I’m a-sailing on the sea, + To a harbour where the wind is still; + Oh, my dearie, do you wait for me? + Oh, my dearie, do you love me still? + Sing, hey, for a rover on the sea, + And the old world!” + </pre> + <p> + I noticed that Mrs. Falchion’s brow contracted as the song proceeded, + making a deep vertical line between the eyes, and that the fingers of the + hand nearest me closed on the chair-arm firmly. The hand attracted me. It + was long, the fingers were shapely, but not markedly tapering, and + suggested firmness. I remarked afterward, when I chanced to shake hands + with her, that her fingers enclosed one’s hand; it was not a mere touch or + pressure, but an unemotional and possessive clasp. I felt sure that she + had heard the song before, else it had not produced even this so slight + effect on her nerves. I said: “It is a quaint song. I suppose you are + familiar with it and all of its kind?” + </p> + <p> + “I fancy I have heard it somewhere,” she answered in a cold voice. + </p> + <p> + I am aware that my next question was not justified by our very short + acquaintance; but this acquaintance had been singular from its beginning, + and it did not seem at that moment as it looks on paper; besides, I had + the Intermediate Passenger in my mind. “Perhaps your husband is a naval + man?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + A faint flush passed over her face, and then, looking at me with a neutral + expression and some reserve of manner, she replied: “My husband was not a + naval man.” + </p> + <p> + She said “was not.” That implied his death. + </p> + <p> + There was no trouble in her manner; I could detect no sign of excitement. + I turned to look at the lights of the approaching vessel, and there, + leaning against the railing that divided the two decks, was the + Intermediate Passenger. He was looking at us intently. A moment after he + disappeared. Beyond doubt there was some intimate association between + these two. + </p> + <p> + My thoughts were, however, distracted by our vessel signalling the other. + Hungerford was passing just then, and I said: “Have you any idea what + vessel it is, Hungerford?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, man-of-war ‘Porcupine’, bound for Aden, I think.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Falchion at this laughed strangely, as she leaned forward looking, + and then, rising quickly, said: “I prefer to walk.” + </p> + <p> + “May I accompany you?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + She inclined her head, and we joined the promenaders. The band was + playing, and, for a ship-band, playing very well, the ballet music of + Delibes’ ‘Sylvia’. The musicians had caught that unaccentuated and + sensuous swing of the melody which the soft, tropical atmosphere rendered + still more languorous. With Mrs. Falchion’s hand upon my arm, I felt a + sense of capitulation to the music and to her, uncanny in its suddenness. + At this distance of time it seems to me absurd. I had once experienced + something of the same feeling with the hand of a young medical student, + who, skilled in thought-reading, discovered the number of a bank-note that + was in my mind. + </p> + <p> + This woman had an attractiveness compelling and delightful, at least in + its earlier application to me. Both professionally and socially I have + been brought into contact with women of beauty and grace, but never one + who, like Mrs. Falchion, being beautiful, seemed so unconscious of the + fact, so indifferent to those about her, so untouched by another’s + emotion, so lacking in sensitiveness of heart; and who still drew people + to her. I am speaking now of the earlier portion of our acquaintance; of + her as she was up to this period in her life. + </p> + <p> + I was not alone in this opinion of her, for, as time went on, every + presentable man and woman on the boat was introduced to her; and if some + women criticised and some disliked her, all acknowledged her talent and + her imperial attraction. Among the men her name was never spoken but with + reserve and respect, and her afternoon teas were like a little court. She + had no compromising tenderness of manner for man or woman; she ruled, yet + was unapproachable through any avenues of sentiment. She had a quiet + aplomb, which would be called ‘sang-froid’ in a man. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever see a Spanish-Mexican woman dance?” she asked in one of the + pauses of the music. + </p> + <p> + “Never: never any good dancing, save what one gets at a London theatre.” + </p> + <p> + “That is graceful,” she said, “but not dancing. You have heard of music + stirring the blood; of savage races—and others—working + themselves up to ecstatic fury? Maybe you have seen the Dervishes, or the + Fijians, or the Australian aboriginals? No? Well, I have, and I have seen—which + is so much more—those Spanish-Mexican women dance. Did you ever see + anything so thrilling, so splendid, that you felt you must possess it?”—She + asked me that with her hand upon my arm!—“Well, that is it. I have + felt that way towards a horse which has won a great race, and to a woman + who has carried me with her through the fantastic drama of her dance, + until she stood at the climax, head thrown back, face glowing—a + statue. It is grand to be eloquent like that, not in words, but in + person.” + </p> + <p> + In this was the key to her own nature. Body and mind she was free from + ordinary morbidness, unless her dislike of all suffering was morbid. With + her this was a dislike of any shock to the senses. She was selfish at all + points. + </p> + <p> + These conclusions were pursued at the expense of speech on my part. At + first she did not appear to regard my silence. She seemed to have thoughts + of her own; but she shook them off with a little firm motion of the + shoulders, and, with the assumption of a demureness of manner and an airy + petulance, said: “Well, amuse me.” + </p> + <p> + “Amuse you?” was my reply. “Delighted to do so if I can. How?” + </p> + <p> + “Talk to me,” was the quick response. + </p> + <p> + “Would that accomplish the purpose?” This in a tone of mock protest. + </p> + <p> + “Please don’t be foolish, Dr. Marmion. I dislike having to explain. Tell + me things.” + </p> + <p> + “About what?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, about yourself—about people you have met, and all that; for I + suppose you have seen a good deal and lived a good deal.” + </p> + <p> + “About hospital cases?” I said a little maliciously. + </p> + <p> + “No, please, no! I abhor everything that is sick and poor and miserable.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said I, at idle venture, “if not a hospital, what about a gaol?” + </p> + <p> + I felt the hand on my arm twitch slightly, and then her reply came. + </p> + <p> + “I said I hated everything that was wretched and wicked. You are either + dense, or purposely irritating.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, a college?” + </p> + <p> + “A college? Yes, that sounds better. But I do not wish descriptions of + being ‘gated,’ or ‘sent down,’ or ‘ploughed,’ and that kind of + commonplace. I should prefer, unless your vanity leads you irresistibly in + that direction, something with mature life and amusement; or, at least, + life and incident, and good sport—if you do not dwell on the horrors + of killing.” + </p> + <p> + On the instant there came to me the remembrance of Professor Valiant’s + wife. I think it was not what she wanted; but I had a purpose, and I + began: + </p> + <p> + “Every one at St. Luke’s admired and respected Professor Valiant’s wife, + she was so frank and cordial and prettily downright. In our rooms we all + called her a good chap, and a dashed good chap when her husband happened + to be rustier than usual. He was our professor in science. It was the + general belief that he chose science for his life-work because it gave + unusual opportunities for torture. He was believed to be a devoted + vivisectionist; he certainly had methods of cruelty, masterly in their + ingenuity. He could make a whole class raw with punishment in a few words; + and many a scorching bit of Latin verse was written about his hooked nose + and fishy eye. + </p> + <p> + “But his highest talents in this direction were reserved for his wife. His + distorted idea of his own importance made him view her as a chattel, an + inferior being; the more so, I believe, because she brought him little + money when he married her. She was too much the woman to pretend to kneel + to him, and because she would not be his slave, she had a hard time of it. + He began by insisting that she should learn science, that she might assist + him in his experiments. She knew that she had no taste for it, that it was + no part of her wifely duty, and she did what suited her better—followed + the hounds. It was a picture to see her riding across country. She could + take a fence with a sound hunter like a bird. And so it happened that, + after a time, they went their own ways pretty well; he ignoring her, + neglecting her, deprecating her by manner, if not by speech, and making + her life more than uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + “She was always kind to me. I was the youngest chap in the college, and + was known as ‘Marmy’ by every one; and because I was fonder of science + than most other men in the different years, Valiant was more gracious to + me than the rest, though I did not like him. One day, when I called, I + heard her say to him, not knowing that I was near: ‘Whatever you feel, or + however you act towards me in private, I will have respect when others are + present.’ + </p> + <p> + “It was the custom for the professors to invite each student to luncheon + or dinner once during term-time. Being somewhat of a favourite of both + Professor and Mrs. Valiant however, I lunched with them often. I need + hardly say that I should not have exceeded the regulation once had it not + been for Mrs. Valiant. The last time I went is as clear in my memory as if + it were yesterday. Valiant was more satirical and cold-blooded than usual. + I noticed a kind of shining hardness in his wife’s eyes, which gave me a + strange feeling; yet she was talkative and even gay, I thought, while I + more than once clinched my fist under the table, so much did I want to + pummel him; for I was a lover of hers, in a deferential, boyish way. + </p> + <p> + “At last, knowing that she liked the hunt, I asked her if she was going to + the meet on the following Saturday, saying that I intended to follow, + having been offered a horse. With a steely ring to her voice, and a + further brightening of the eyes, she said: ‘You are a stout little + sportsman, Marmy. Yes, I am going on Major Karney’s big horse, Carbine.’ + </p> + <p> + “Valiant looked up, half sneering, half doubtful, I thought, and rejoined: + ‘Carbine is a valuable horse, and the fences are stiff in the Garston + country.’ + </p> + <p> + “She smiled gravely, then, with her eyes fixed on her husband, said: + ‘Carbine is a perfect gentleman. He will do what I ask him. I have ridden + him.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘The devil you have!’ he replied. + </p> + <p> + “‘I am sure,’ said I, as I hoped, bravely, and not a little + enthusiastically, ‘that Carbine would take any fence you asked him.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Or not, as the case might be. Thank you, Marmy, for the compliment,’ she + said. + </p> + <p> + “‘A Triton among minnows,’ remarked Valiant, not entirely under his + breath; ‘horses obey, and students admire, and there is no end to her + greatness.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘There is an end to everything, Edward,’ she remarked a shade sadly and + quietly. + </p> + <p> + “He turned to me and said: ‘Science is a great study, Marmion, but it is + sardonic too; for you shall find that when you reduce even a Triton to its + original elements—’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh, please let me finish,’ she interrupted softly. ‘I know the lecture + so well. It reads this way: “The place of generation must break to give + place to the generated; but the influence spreads out beyond the + fragments, and is greater thus than in the mass—neither matter nor + mind can be destroyed. The earth was molten before it became cold rock and + quiet world.” There, you see, Marmy, that I am a fellow-student of yours.’ + </p> + <p> + “Valiant’s eyes were ugly to watch; for she had quoted from a lecture of + his, delivered to us that week. After an instant he said, with slow + maliciousness: ‘Oh, ye gods, render me worthy of this Portia, and teach + her to do as Brutus’s Portia did, ad eternum!’ + </p> + <p> + “She shuddered a little, then said very graciously, and as if he had meant + nothing but kindness: ‘Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks.’ I will + leave you now to your cigarettes; and because I must go out soon, and + shall not, I fear, see you again this afternoon, good-bye, Marmy, till + Saturday—till Saturday.’ And she left us. + </p> + <p> + “I was white and trembling with anger. He smiled coolly, and was careful + to choose me one of his best cigars, saying as he handed it: ‘Conversation + is a science, Marmion. Study it; there is solid satisfaction in it; it is + the only art that brings instant pleasure. Like the stage, it gets its + immediate applause.’ + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mrs. Valiant did ride Carbine on that Saturday. Such a scene it + was! I see it now—the mottled plump of hounds upon the scent, the + bright sun showing up the scarlet coats of the whips gloriously, the long + stride of the hunters, ears back and quarters down! She rode Carbine, and + the fences WERE stiff—so stiff that I couldn’t have taken half of + them. Afterward I was not sorry that I couldn’t; for she rode for a fall + that day on Carbine, her own horse, she had bought him of Major Karney a + few days before,—and I heard her last words as she lay beside him, + smiling through the dreadful whiteness of her lips. ‘Goodbye, Marmy,’ she + whispered. ‘Carbine and I go together. It is better so, in the full cry + and a big field. Tell the men at Luke’s that I hope they will pass at the + coming exams.... I am going up—for my final—Marmy.—I + wonder—if I’ll—pass.’ And then the words froze on her lips. + </p> + <p> + “It was persecution that did it—diabolical persecution and + selfishness. That was the worst day the college ever knew. At the funeral, + when the provost read, ‘For that it hath pleased Thee to deliver this our + sister out of the miseries of this sinful world,’ Big Wallington, the + wildest chap among the grads, led off with a gulp in his throat, and we + all followed. And that gold-spectacled sneak stood there, with a lying + white handkerchief at his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I laid myself out to make the college too hot for him. In a week I had + every man in the place with me, and things came to such a pass that all of + us must be sent down, or Valiant resign. He resigned. He found another + professorship; but the thing followed him, and he was obliged to leave the + country.” + </p> + <p> + When I finished the story, Mrs. Falchion was silent for a time, then, with + a slight air of surprise, and in a quite critical way, she said: “I should + think you would act very well, if you used less emotion. Mrs. Valiant had + a kind of courage, but she was foolish to die. She should have stayed and + fought him—fought him every way, until she was his master. She could + have done it; she was clever, I should think. Still, if she had to die, it + was better to go with a good horse that way. I think I should prefer to go + swiftly, suddenly, but without the horror of blood and bruises, and that + sort of thing.... I should like to meet Professor Valiant. He was hard, + but he was able too.... But haven’t we had enough of horror? I asked you + to amuse me, and you have merely interested me instead. Oh!—” + </p> + <p> + This exclamation, I thought, was caused by the voice of the quartermaster + humming: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I’m a-sailing, I’m a-sailing on the sea, + To a harbour where the wind is still”— +</pre> + <p> + Almost immediately she said: “I think I will go below.” Then, after a + slight pause: “This is a liberal acquaintance for one day, Dr. Marmion; + and, you know, we were not introduced.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Mrs. Falchion, we were not introduced; but I am in some regards your + host, and I fear we should all be very silent if we waited for regular + introductions here. The acquaintance gives me pleasure, but it is not + nearly so liberal as I hope it may become.” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer, but smiled at me over her shoulder as she passed down + the staircase, and the next instant I could have bitten my tongue for + playing the cavalier as I had done; for showing, as I think I did, that + she had an influence over me—an influence peculiar to herself, and + difficult to account for when not in her presence. + </p> + <p> + I sat down, lit a cigar, and went over in my mind all that had been said + between us; all that had occurred in my cabin after dinner; every minute + since we left Colombo was laid bare to its minutest detail. Lascars + slipped by me in the half-darkness, the voices of two lovers near + alternated with their expressive silences, and from the music saloon there + came the pretty strains of a minuet, played very deftly. Under the + influence of this music my thoughts became less exact; they drifted. My + eyes shifted to the lights of the ‘Porcupine’ in the distance, and from + them again to the figures passing and repassing me on the deck. The “All’s + well” of the look-out seemed to come from an endless distance; the swish + of water against the dividing hull of the ‘Fulvia’ sounded like a call to + silence from another world; the phosphorescence swimming through the + jarred waters added to the sensation of unreality and dreams. These dreams + grew, till they were broken by a hand placed on my shoulder, and I saw + that one of the passengers, Clovelly, an English novelist, had dropped out + from the promenade to talk with me. He saw my mood, however, and said + quietly: “Give me a light for my cigar, will you? Then, astride this + stool, I’ll help you to make inventory of the rest of them. A pretty + study; for, at our best, ‘What fools we mortals be!’” + </p> + <p> + “‘Motley is your only wear,’” was my reply; and for a full half-hour, + which, even for a man, is considerable, we spoke no word, but only nodded + when some one of the promenaders noticed us. There was a bookmaker fresh + from the Melbourne races; an American, Colonel Ryder, whose eloquence had + carried him round the world; a stalwart squatter from Queensland; a pretty + widow, who had left her husband under the sods of Tasmania; a brace of + girls going to join their lovers and be married in England; a few officers + fleeing from India with their livers and their lives; a family of four + lanky lasses travelling “home” to school; a row of affable ladies, who + alternated between envy and gaiety and delight in, and criticism of, their + husbands; a couple of missionaries, preparing to give us lectures on the + infamous gods of the heathen,—gods which, poor harmless little + creatures! might be bought at a few annas a pint at Aden or Colombo,—and + on the Exodus and the Pharaohs—pleasures reserved for the Red Sea; a + commercial traveller, who arranged theatricals, and cast himself for all + the principal parts; a humorous and naive person who industriously hinted + at the opulence of his estates in Ireland; two stately English ladies of + title; a cheerful array of colonial knights and judges off to Europe for a + holiday; and many others, who made little worlds unto themselves, called + cliques by blunt people. + </p> + <p> + “To my mind, the most interesting persons on the ship,” said Clovelly at + last, “are the bookmaker, Miss Treherne, and the lady with whom you have + just been talking—an exceptional type.” + </p> + <p> + “An unusual woman, I fancy,” was my reply. “But which is Miss Treherne? I + am afraid I am not quite sure.” + </p> + <p> + He described her and her father, with whom I had talked—a London + Q.C., travelling for his health, a notable man with a taste for science, + who spent his idle hours in reading astronomy and the plays of Euripides. + </p> + <p> + “Why not include the father in the list of the most interesting persons?” + I questioned. + </p> + <p> + “Because I have met many men like him, but no one quite like his daughter, + or Mrs.—what is her name?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Falchion.” + </p> + <p> + “Or Mrs. Falchion or the bookmaker.” + </p> + <p> + “What is there so uncommon about Miss Treherne? She had not struck me as + being remarkable.” + </p> + <p> + “No? Well, of course, she is not striking after the fashion of Mrs. + Falchion. But watch her, study her, and you will find her to be the + perfection of a type—the finest expression of a decorous convention, + a perfect product of social conservatism; unaffected, cheerful, sensitive, + composed, very talented, altogether companionable.” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me,” I said, laughing, though I was impressed; “that sounds as if + you had been writing about her, and applying to her the novelist’s system + of analysis, which makes an imperfect individual a perfect type. Now, + frankly, are you speaking of Miss Treherne, or of some one of whom she is + the outline, as it were?” + </p> + <p> + Clovelly turned and looked at me steadily. “When you consider a patient,” + he said, “do you arrange a diagnosis of a type or of a person?—And, + by the way, ‘type’ is a priggish word.” + </p> + <p> + “I consider the type in connection with the person.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. The person is the thing. That clears up the matter of business + and art. But now, as to Miss Treherne: I want to say that, having been + admitted to her acquaintance and that of her father, I have thought of + them only as friends, and not as ‘characters’ or ‘copy.’” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, Clovelly,” said I. “I might have known.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, to prove how magnanimous I am, I shall introduce you to Miss + Treherne, if you will let me. You’ve met her father, I suppose?” he added, + and tossed his cigar overboard. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have talked with him. He is a courteous and able man, I should + think.” + </p> + <p> + We rose. Presently he continued: “See, Miss Treherne is sitting there with + the Tasmanian widow—what is HER name?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Callendar,” I replied. “Blackburn, the Queenslander, is joining + them.” + </p> + <p> + “So much the better,” he said. “Come on.” + </p> + <p> + As we passed the music saloon, we paused for an instant to look through + the port-hole at a pale-faced girl with big eyes and a wonderful bright + red dress, singing “The Angels’ Serenade,” while an excitable bear-leader + turned her music for her. Near her stood a lanky girl who adored actors + and tenors, and lived in the hope of meeting some of those gentlemen of + the footlights, who plough their way so calmly through the hearts of + maidens fresh from school. + </p> + <p> + We drew back to go on towards Miss Treherne, when Hungerford touched me on + the arm, and said: “I want to see you for a little while, Marmion, if Mr. + Clovelly will excuse you.” + </p> + <p> + I saw by Hungerford’s face that he had something of importance to say, + and, linking my arm in his, I went with him to his cabin, which was near + those of the intermediate passengers. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. A TALE OF NO MAN’S SEA + </h2> + <p> + Inside the cabin Hungerford closed the door, gripped me by the arm, and + then handed me a cheroot, with the remark: “My pater gave them to me last + voyage home. Have kept ‘em in tea.” And then he added, with no appearance + of consecutiveness: “Hang the bally ship, anyhow!” + </p> + <p> + I shall not attempt to tone down the crudeness of Hungerford’s language. + It contents me to think that the solidity of his character and his worth + will appear even through the crust of free-and-easy idioms, as they will + certainly be seen in his acts;—he was sound at heart and true as + steel. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter, Hungerford?” I asked lighting the cheroot. + </p> + <p> + “Everything’s the matter. Captain, with his nose in the air, and trusting + all round to his officers. First officer, no good—never any use + since they poured the coal on him. Purser, ought to be on a Chinese junk. + Second, third, fourth officers, first-rate chaps, but so-so sailors. + Doctor, frivolling with a lovely filly, pedigree not known. Why, confound + it! nobody takes this business seriously except the captain, and he sits + on a golden throne. He doesn’t know that in any real danger this swagger + craft would be filled with foolishness. There isn’t more than one good + boat’s crew on board—sailors, lascars, stewards, and all. As for the + officers, if the surgeon would leave the lovely ladies to themselves, he’d + find cases worth treating, and duties worth doing. He should keep himself + fit for shocks. And he can take my word for it—for I’ve been at sea + since I was a kid, worse luck!—that a man with anything to do on a + ship ought to travel every day nose out for shipwreck next day, and so on, + port to port. Ship-surgeons, as well as all other officers, weren’t + ordained to follow after cambric skirts and lace handkerchiefs at sea. + Believe me or not as you like, but, for a man having work to do, woman, + lovely woman, is rocks. Now, I suppose you’ll think I’m insolent, for I’m + younger than you are, Marmion, but you know what a rough-and-tumble fellow + I am, and you’ll not mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Hungerford,” I said, “to what does this lead?” + </p> + <p> + “To Number 116 Intermediate, for one thing. It’s letting off steam for + another. I tell you, Marmion, these big ships are too big. There are those + canvas boats. They won’t work; you can’t get them together. You couldn’t + launch one in an hour. And as for the use of the others, the lascars would + melt like snow in any real danger. There’s about one decent boat’s crew on + the ship, that’s all. There! I’ve unburdened myself; I feel better.” + </p> + <p> + Presently he added, with a shake of the head: “See here: now-a-days we + trust too much to machinery and chance, and not enough to skill of hand + and brain stuff. I’d like to show you some of the crews I’ve had in the + Pacific and the China Sea—but I’m at it again! I’ll now come, + Marmion, to the real reason why I brought you here.... Number 116 + Intermediate is under the weather; I found him fainting in the passage. I + helped him into his cabin. He said he’d been to you to get medicine, and + you’d given him some. Now, the strange part of the business is, I know + him. He didn’t remember me, however—perhaps because he didn’t get a + good look at me. Coincidence is a strange thing. I can point to a dozen in + my short life, every one as remarkable, if not as startling, as this. + Here, I’ll spin you a yarn: + </p> + <p> + “It happened four years ago. I had no moustache then, was fat like a + whale, and first mate on the ‘Dancing Kate’, a pearler in the Indian + Ocean, between Java and Australia. That was sailing, mind you—real + seamanship, no bally nonsense; a fight every weather, interesting all + round. If it wasn’t a deadly calm, it was a typhoon; if it wasn’t either, + it was want of food and water. I’ve seen us with pearls on board worth a + thousand quid, and not a drop of water nor three square meals in the + caboose. But that was life for men and not Miss Nancys. If they weren’t + saints, they were sailors, afraid of nothing but God Almighty—and + they do respect Him, even when they curse the winds and the sea. Well, one + day we were lying in the open sea, about two hundred and fifty miles from + Port Darwin. There wasn’t a breath of air. The sea was like glass; the sun + was drawing turpentine out of every inch of the ‘Dancing Kate’. The world + was one wild blister. There wasn’t a comfortable spot in the craft, and + all round us was that staring, oily sea. It was too hot to smoke, and I + used to make a Sede boy do my smoking for me. I got the benefit of the + smell without any work. I was lying under the droop of a dingey, making + the Sede boy call on all his gods for wind, with interludes of smoke, when + he chucked his deities and tobacco, and, pointing, shouted, ‘Man! man!’ + </p> + <p> + “I snatched a spy-glass. Sure enough, there was a boat on the water. It + was moving ever so slowly. It seemed to stop, and we saw something lifted + and waved, and then all was still again. I got a boat’s crew together, and + away we went in that deadly smother. An hour’s row and we got within hail + of the derelict—as one of the crew said, ‘feelin’ as if the immortal + life was jerked out of us.’ The dingey lay there on the glassy surface, + not a sign of life about her. Yet I had, as I said, seen something waved. + The water didn’t even lap its sides. It was ghostly, I can tell you. Our + oars licked the water; they didn’t attack it. Now, I’m going to tell you + something, Marmion, that’ll make you laugh. I don’t think I’ve got any + poetry in me, but just then I thought of some verses I learned when I was + a little cove at Wellington—a devilishly weird thing. It came to me + at that moment like a word in my ear. It made me feel awkward for a + second. All sailors are superstitious, you know. I’m superstitious about + this ship. Never mind; I’ll tell you the verses, to show you what a queer + thing memory is. The thing was called ‘No Man’s Sea’: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘The days are dead in the No Man’s Sea, + And God has left it alone; + The angels cover their heads and flee, + And the wild four winds have flown. + + “‘There’s never a ripple upon the tide, + There’s never a word or sound; + But over the waste the white wraiths glide, + To look for the souls of the drowned. + + “‘The No Man’s Sea is a gaol of souls, + And its gate is a burning sun, + And deep beneath it a great bell tolls + For a death that never is done. + + “‘Alas! for any that comes anear, + That lies on its moveless breast; + The grumbling water shall be his bier, + And never a place of rest.”’ +</pre> + <p> + “There are four of the verses. Well, I made a motion to stop the rowing, + and was mum for a minute. The men got nervous. They looked at the boat in + front of us, and then turned round, as though to see if the ‘Dancing Kate’ + was still in sight. I spoke, and they got more courage. I stood up in the + boat, but could see nothing in the dingey. I gave a sign to go on, and + soon we were alongside. In the bottom of the dingey lay a man, apparently + dead, wearing the clothes of a convict. One of the crew gave a grunt of + disgust, the others said nothing. I don’t take to men often, and to + convicts precious seldom; but there was a look in this man’s face which + the prison clothes couldn’t demoralise—a damned pathetic look, which + seemed to say, ‘Not guilty.’ + </p> + <p> + “In a minute I was beside him, and found he wasn’t dead. Brandy brought + him round a little; but he was a bit gone in the head, and muttered all + the way back to the ship. I had unbuttoned his shirt, and I saw on his + breast a little ivory portrait of a woman. I didn’t let the crew see it; + for the fellow, even in his delirium, appeared to know I had exposed the + thing, and drew the linen close in his fingers, and for a long time held + it at his throat.” + </p> + <p> + “What was the woman’s face like, Hungerford?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + He parried, remarking only that she had the face of a lady, and was + handsome. + </p> + <p> + I pressed him. “But did it resemble any one you had ever seen?” + </p> + <p> + With a slight droop of his eyelids, he said: “Don’t ask foolish questions, + Marmion. Well, the castaway had a hard pull for life. He wouldn’t have + lived at all, if a breeze hadn’t come up and let us get away to the coast. + It was the beginning of the monsoon, and we went bowling down towards Port + Darwin, a crowd of Malay proas in our wake. However, the poor beggar + thought he was going to die, and one night he told me his story. He was an + escaped convict from Freemantle, Western Australia. He had, with others, + been taken up to the northern coast to do some Government work, and had + escaped in the dingey. His crime was stealing funds belonging to a + Squatting and Mining Company. There was this extenuating circumstance: he + could have replaced the money, which, as he said, he’d only intended to + use for a few weeks. But a personal enemy threw suspicion on him, accounts + were examined, and though he showed he’d only used the money while more of + his own was on the way to him, the Company insisted on prosecuting him. + For two reasons: because it was itself in bad odour, and hoped by this + trial to divert public attention from its own dirty position; and because + he had against him not only his personal enemy, but those who wanted to + hit the Company through him. He’d filched to be able to meet the large + expenses of his wife’s establishment. Into this he didn’t enter minutely, + and he didn’t blame her for having so big a menage; he only said he was + sorry that he hadn’t been able to support it without having to come, even + for a day, to the stupidity of stealing. After two years he escaped. He + asked me to write a letter to his wife, which he’d dictate. Marmion, you + or I couldn’t have dictated that letter if we’d taken a year to do it. + There was no religion in it, no poppy-cock, but straightforward talk, full + of sorrow for what he’d done, and for the disgrace he’d brought on her. I + remember the last few sentences as if I’d seen them yesterday. ‘I am dying + on the open sea, disgraced, but free,’ he said. ‘I am not innocent in act, + but I was not guilty of intentional wrong. I did what I did that you + should have all you wished, all you ought to have. I ask but this—and + I shall soon ask for nothing—that you will have a kind thought, now + and then, for the man who always loved you, and loves you yet. I have + never blamed you that you did not come near me in my trouble; but I wish + you were here for a moment before I go away for ever. You must forgive me + now, for you will be free. If I were a better man I would say, God bless + you. In my last conscious moments I will think of you, and speak your + name. And now good-bye—an everlasting good-bye. I was your loving + husband, and am your lover until death.’ And it was signed, ‘Boyd Madras.’ + </p> + <p> + “However, he didn’t die. Between the captain and myself, we kept life in + him, and at last landed him at Port Darwin; all of us, officers and crew, + swearing to let no one know he was a convict. And I’ll say this for the + crew of the ‘Dancing Kate’ that, so far as I know, they kept their word. + That letter, addressed in care of a firm of Melbourne bankers, I gave back + to him before we landed. We made him up a purse of fifty pounds,—for + the crew got to like him,—and left him at Port Darwin, sailing away + again in a few days to another pearl-field farther east. What happened to + him at Port Darwin and elsewhere, I don’t know; but one day I found him on + a fashionable steamer in the Indian Ocean, looking almost as near to + Kingdom Come as when he starved in the dingey on No Man’s Sea. As I said + before, I think he didn’t recognise me; and he’s lying now in 116 + Intermediate, with a look on him that I’ve seen in the face of a man + condemned to death by the devils of cholera or equatorial fever. And + that’s the story, Marmion, which I brought you to hear—told, as you + notice, in fine classical style.” + </p> + <p> + “And why do you tell ME this, Hungerford—a secret you’ve kept all + these years? Knowledge of that man’s crime wasn’t necessary before giving + him belladonna or a hot bath.” + </p> + <p> + Hungerford kept back the whole truth for reasons of his own. He said: + “Chiefly because I want you to take a decent interest in the chap. He + looks as if he might go off on the long voyage any tick o’ the clock. You + are doctor, parson, and everything else of the kind on board. I like the + poor devil, but anyhow I’m not in a position to be going around with + ginger-tea in a spoon, or Ecclesiastes under my arm,—very good + things. Your profession has more or less to do with the mind as well as + the body, and you may take my word for it that Boyd Madras’s mind is as + sick as his torso. By the way, he calls himself ‘Charles Boyd,’ so I + suppose we needn’t recall to him his former experiences by adding the + ‘Madras.’” + </p> + <p> + Hungerford squeezed my arm again violently, and added: “Look here, + Marmion, we understand each other in this, don’t we? To do what we can for + the fellow, and be mum.” + </p> + <p> + Some of this looks rough and blunt, but as it was spoken there was that in + it which softened it to my ear. I knew he had told all he thought I ought + to know, and that he wished me to question him no more, nor to refer to + Mrs. Falchion, whose relationship to Boyd Madras—or Charles Boyd—both + of us suspected. + </p> + <p> + “It was funny about those verses coming to my mind, wasn’t it, Marmion?” + he continued. And he began to repeat one of them, keeping time to the + wave-like metre with his cheroot, winding up with a quick, circular + movement, and putting it again between his lips: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘There’s never a ripple upon the tide, + There’s never a breath or sound; + But over the waste the white wraiths glide, + To look for the souls of the drowned.”’ +</pre> + <p> + Then he jumped off the berth where he had been sitting, put on his jacket, + said it was time to take his turn on the bridge, and prepared to go out, + having apparently dismissed Number 116 Intermediate from his mind. + </p> + <p> + I went to Charles Boyd’s cabin, and knocked gently. There was no response. + I entered. He lay sleeping soundly—the sleep that comes after + nervous exhaustion. I had a good chance to study him as he lay there. The + face was sensitive and well fashioned, but not strong; the hands were + delicate, yet firmly made. One hand was clinched upon that portion of his + breast where the portrait hung. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. THE TRAIL OF THE ISHMAELITE + </h2> + <p> + I went on deck again, and found Clovelly in the smoking-room. The + bookmaker was engaged in telling tales of the turf, alternated with comic + songs by Blackburn—an occupation which lasted throughout the voyage, + and was associated with electric appeals to the steward to fill the + flowing bowl. Clovelly came with me, and we joined Miss Treherne and her + father. Mr. Treherne introduced me to his daughter, and Clovelly amiably + drew the father into a discussion of communism as found in the South Sea + Islands. + </p> + <p> + I do not think my conversation with Miss Treherne was brilliant. She has + since told me that I appeared self-conscious and preoccupied. This being + no compliment to her, I was treated accordingly. I could have endorsed + Clovelly’s estimate of her so far as her reserve and sedateness were + concerned. It seemed impossible to talk naturally. The events of the day + were interrupting the ordinary run of thought, and I felt at a miserable + disadvantage. I saw, however, that the girl was gifted and clear of mind, + and possessed of great physical charm, but of that fine sort which must be + seen in suitable surroundings to be properly appreciated. Here on board + ship a sweet gravity and a proud decorum—not altogether unnecessary—prevented + her from being seen at once to the best advantage. Even at this moment I + respected her the more for it, and was not surprised, nor exactly + displeased, that she adroitly drew her father and Clovelly into the + conversation. With Clovelly she seemed to find immediate ground for naive + and pleasant talk; on his part, deferential, original, and attentive; on + hers, easy, allusive, and warmed with piquant humour. I admired her; saw + how cleverly Clovelly was making the most of her; guessed at the + solicitude, studious care, and affection of her bringing-up; watched the + fond pleasure of the father as he listened; and was angry with myself that + Mrs. Falchion’s voice rang in my ears at the same moment as hers. But it + did ring there, and the real value of that smart tournament of ideas was + partially lost to me. + </p> + <p> + The next morning I went to Boyd Madras’s cabin. He welcomed me gratefully, + and said that he was much better; as he seemed; but he carried a hectic + flush, such as comes to a consumptive person. I said little to him beyond + what was necessary for the discussion of his case. I cautioned him about + any unusual exertion, and was about to leave, when an impulse came to me, + and I returned and said: “You will not let me help you in any other way?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he answered; “I shall be very glad of your help, but not just yet. + And, Doctor, believe me, I think medicines can do very little. Though I am + thankful to you for visiting me, you need not take the trouble, unless I + am worse, and then I will send a steward to you, or go to you myself.” + </p> + <p> + What lay behind this request, unless it was sensitiveness, I could not + tell; but I determined to take my own course, and to visit him when I + thought fit. + </p> + <p> + Still, I saw him but once or twice on the after-deck in the succeeding + days. He evidently wished to keep out of sight as much as possible. I am + ashamed to say there was a kind of satisfaction in this to me; for, when a + man’s wife—and I believed she was Boyd Madras’s wife—hangs on + your arm, and he himself is denied that privilege, and fares poorly beside + her sumptuousness, and lives as a stranger to her, you can scarcely regard + his presence with pleasure. And from the sheer force of circumstances, as + it seemed to me then, Mrs. Falchion’s hand was often on my arm; and her + voice was always in my ear at meal-times and when I visited Justine Caron + to attend to her wound, or joined in the chattering recreations of the + music saloon. It was impossible not to feel her influence; and if I did + not yield entirely to it, I was more possessed by it than I was aware. I + was inquisitive to know beyond doubt that she was the wife of this man. I + think it was in my mind at the time that, perhaps, by being with her much, + I should be able to do him a service. But there came a time when I was + sufficiently undeceived. It was all a game of misery in which some one + stood to lose all round. Who was it: she, or I, or the refugee of + misfortune, Number 116 Intermediate? She seemed safe enough. He or I would + suffer in the crash of penalties. + </p> + <p> + It was a strange situation. I, the acquaintance of a day, was welcome + within the circle of this woman’s favour—though it was an + unemotional favour on her side; he, the husband, as I believed, though + only half the length of the ship away, was as distant from her as the + north star. When I sat with her on deck at night, I seemed to feel Boyd + Madras’s face looking at me from the half-darkness of the after-deck; and + Mrs. Falchion, whose keen eyes missed little, remarked once on my gaze in + that direction. Thereafter I was more careful, but the idea haunted me. + Yet, I was not the only person who sat with her. Other men paid her + attentive court. The difference was, however, that with me she assumed + ever so delicate, yet palpable an air of proprietorship, none the less + alluring because there was no heart in it. So far as the other passengers + were concerned, there was nothing jarring to propriety in our + companionship. They did not know of Number 116 Intermediate. She had been + announced as a widow; and she had told Mrs. Callendar that her father’s + brother, who, years before, had gone to California, had died within the + past two years and left her his property; and, because all Californians + are supposed to be millionaires, her wealth was counted fabulous. She was + going now to England, and from there to California in the following year. + People said that Dr. Marmion knew on which side his bread was buttered. + They may have said more unpleasant things, but I did not hear them, or of + them. + </p> + <p> + All the time I was conscious of a kind of dishonour, and perhaps it was + that which prompted me (I had fallen away from my intention of visiting + him freely) to send my steward to see how Boyd Madras came on, rather than + go myself. I was, however, conscious that the position could not—should + not—be maintained long. The practical outcome of this knowledge was + not tardy. A new influence came into my life which was to affect it + permanently: but not without a struggle. + </p> + <p> + A series of concerts and lectures had been arranged for the voyage, and + the fancy-dress ball was to close the first part of the journey—that + is, at Aden. One night a concert was on in the music saloon. I had just + come from seeing a couple of passengers who had been suffering from the + heat, and was debating whether to find Mrs. Falchion, who, I knew, was on + the other side of the deck, go in to the concert, or join Colonel Ryder + and Clovelly, who had asked me to come to the smoking-room when I could. I + am afraid I was balancing heavily in favour of Mrs. Falchion, when I heard + a voice that was new to me, singing a song I had known years before, when + life was ardent, and love first came—halcyon days in country lanes, + in lilac thickets, of pleasant Hertfordshire, where our footsteps met a + small bombardment of bursting seed-pods of the furze, along the green + common that sloped to the village. I thought of all this, and of HER + everlasting quiet. + </p> + <p> + With a different voice the words of the song would have sent me out of + hearing; now I stood rooted to the spot, as the notes floated out past me + to the nervelessness of the Indian Ocean, every one of them a commandment + from behind the curtain of a sanctuary. + </p> + <p> + The voice was a warm, full contralto of exquisite culture. It suggested + depths of rich sound behind, from which the singer, if she chose, might + draw, until the room and the deck and the sea ached with sweetness. I + scarcely dared to look in to see who it was, lest I should find it a + dream. I stood with my head turned away towards the dusky ocean. When, at + last, with the closing notes of the song, I went to the port-hole and + looked in, I saw that the singer was Miss Treherne. There was an + abstracted look in her eyes as she raised them, and she seemed unconscious + of the applause following the last chords of the accompaniment. She stood + up, folding the music as she did so, and unconsciously raised her eyes + toward the port-hole where I was. Her glance caught mine, and instantly a + change passed over her face. The effect of the song upon her was broken; + she flushed slightly, and, as I thought, with faint annoyance. I know of + nothing so little complimentary to a singer as the audience that + patronisingly listens outside a room or window,—not bound by any + sense of duty as an audience,—between whom and the artists an + unnatural barrier is raised. But I have reason to think now that Belle + Treherne was not wholly moved by annoyance—that she had seen + something unusual, maybe oppressive, in my look. She turned to her father. + He adjusted his glasses as if, in his pride, to see her better. Then he + fondly took her arm, and they left the room. + </p> + <p> + Then I saw Mrs. Falchion’s face at the port-hole opposite. Her eyes were + on me. An instant before, I had intended following Miss Treherne and her + father; now some spirit of defiance, some unaccountable revolution, took + possession of me, so that I flashed back to her a warm recognition. I + could not have believed it possible, if it had been told of me, that, one + minute affected by beautiful and sacred remembrances, the next I should be + yielding to the unimpassioned tyranny of a woman who could never be + anything but a stumbling-block and an evil influence. I had yet to learn + that in times of mental and moral struggle the mixed fighting forces in us + resolve themselves into two cohesive powers, and strive for mastery; that + no past thought or act goes for nothing at such a time, but creeps out + from the darkness where we thought it had gone for ever, and does battle + with its kind against the common foe. There moved before my sight three + women: one, sweet and unsubstantial, wistful and mute and very young, not + of the earth earthy; one, lissom, grave, with gracious body and warm + abstracted eyes, all delicacy, strength, reserve; the other and last, + daring, cold, beautiful, with irresistible charm, silent and compelling. + And these are the three women who have influenced my life, who fought in + me then for mastery; one from out the unchangeable past, the others in the + tangible and delible present. Most of us have to pass through such ordeals + before character and conviction receive their final bias; before human + nature has its wild trouble, and then settles into “cold rock and quiet + world;” which any lesser after-shocks may modify, but cannot radically + change. + </p> + <p> + I tried to think. I felt that to be wholly a man I should turn from those + eyes drawing me on. I recalled the words of Clovelly, who had said to me + that afternoon, half laughingly: “Dr. Marmion, I wonder how many of us + wish ourselves transported permanently to that time when we didn’t know + champagne from ‘alter feiner madeira’ or dry hock from sweet sauterne; + when a pretty face made us feel ready to abjure all the sinful lusts of + the flesh and become inheritors of the kingdom of heaven? Egad! I should + like to feel it once again. But how can we, when we have been intoxicated + with many things; when we are drunk with success and experience; have hung + on the fringe of unrighteousness; and know the world backward, and + ourselves mercilessly?” + </p> + <p> + Was I, like the drunkard, coming surely to the time when I could no longer + say yes to my wisdom, or no to my weakness? I knew that, an hour before, + in filling a phial with medicine, I found I was doing it mechanically, and + had to begin over again, making an effort to keep my mind to my task. I + think it is an axiom that no man can properly perform the business of life + who indulges in emotional preoccupation. + </p> + <p> + These thoughts, which take so long to write, passed then through my mind + swiftly; but her eyes were on me with a peculiar and confident insistence—and + I yielded. On my way to her I met Clovelly and Colonel Ryder. Hungerford + was walking between them. Colonel Ryder said: “I’ve been saving that story + for you, Doctor; better come and get it while it’s hot.” + </p> + <p> + This was a promised tale of the taking of Mobile in the American Civil + War. + </p> + <p> + At any other time the invitation would have pleased me mightily; for, + apart from the other two, Hungerford’s brusque and original conversation + was always a pleasure—so were his cheroots; but now I was under an + influence selfish in its source. At the same time I felt that Hungerford + was storing up some acute criticism of me, and that he might let me hear + it any moment. I knew, numbering the order of his duties, that he could + have but a very short time to spare for gossip at this juncture, yet I + said that I could not join them for half an hour or so. Hungerford had a + fashion of looking at me searchingly from under his heavy brows, and I saw + that he did so now with impatience, perhaps contempt. I was certain that + he longed to thrash me. That was his idea of punishment and penalty. He + linked his arm in those of the other two men, and they moved on, Colonel + Ryder saying that he would keep the story till I came and would wait in + the smoking-room for me. + </p> + <p> + The concert was still on when I sat down beside Mrs. Falchion. “You seemed + to enjoy Miss Treherne’s singing?” she said cordially enough as she folded + her hands in her lap. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I thought it beautiful. Didn’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty, most pretty; and admirable in technique and tone; but she has too + much feeling to be really artistic. She felt the thing, instead of + pretending to feel it—which makes all the difference. She belongs to + a race of delightful women, who never do any harm, whom everybody calls + good, and who are very severe on those who do not pretend to be good. + Still, all of that pleasant race will read their husband’s letters and + smuggle. They have no civic virtues. Yet they would be shocked to bathe on + the beach without a machine, as American women do,—and they look for + a new fall of Jerusalem when one of their sex smokes a cigarette after + dinner. Now, I do not smoke cigarettes after dinner, so I can speak + freely. But, at the same time, I do not smuggle, and I do bathe on the + beach without a machine—when I am in a land where there are no + sharks and no taboo. If morally consumptive people were given a few years + in the South Seas, where they could not get away from nature, there would + be more strength and less scandal in society.” + </p> + <p> + I laughed. “There is a frank note for Mr. Clovelly, who thinks he knows + the world and my sex thoroughly. He says as much in his books.—Have + you read his ‘A Sweet Apocalypse’? He said more than as much to me. But he + knows a mere nothing about women—their amusing inconsistencies; + their infidelity in little things and fidelity in big things; their + self-torturings; their inability to comprehend themselves; their periods + of religious insanity; their occasional revolts against the restraints of + a woman’s position, known only to themselves in their dark hours; ah, + really, Dr. Marmion, he is ignorant, I assure you. He has only got two or + three kinds of women in his mind, and the representatives of these fooled + him, as far as he went with them, to their hearts’ content. Believe me, + there is no one quite so foolish as the professional student of character. + He sees things with a glamour; he is impressionable; he immediately begins + to make a woman what he wishes her to be for his book, not what she is; + and women laugh at him when they read his books, or pity him if they know + him personally. I venture to say that I could make Mr. Clovelly use me in + a novel—not ‘A Sweet Apocalypse’—as a placid lover of fancy + bazaars and Dorcas societies, instead of a very practical person, who has + seen life without the romantic eye, and knows as well the working of a + buccaneering craft—through consular papers and magisterial trials, + of course—as of a colonial Government House. But it is not worth + while trying to make him falsify my character. Besides, you are here to + amuse me.” + </p> + <p> + This speech, as she made it, was pleasantly audacious and clever. I + laughed, and made a gesture of mock dissent, and she added: “Now I have + finished my lecture. Please tie my shoe-lace there, and then, as I said, + amuse me. Oh, you can, if you choose! You are clever when you like to be. + Only, this time, do not let it be a professor’s wife who foolishly + destroys herself, and cuts short what might have been a brilliant career.” + </p> + <p> + On the instant I determined to probe deeper into her life, and try her + nerve, by telling a story with enough likeness to her own (if she was the + wife of Boyd Madras) to affect her acutely; though I was not sure I could + succeed. A woman who triumphs over sea-sickness, whom steam from the + boilers never affects, nor the propeller-screw disturbs, has little to + fear from the words of a man who is neither adroit, eloquent, nor + dramatic. However, I determined to try what I could do. I said: “I fancy + you would like something in the line of adventure; but my career has not + run in that direction, so I shall resort to less exciting fields, and, I + fear, also, a not very cheerful subject.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, never mind!” said she. “What you wish, so long as it is not + conventional and hackneyed. But I know you will not be prosy, so go on, + please.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I began, “once, in the hospital, I attended a man—Anson was + his name—who, when he thought he was going to die, confided to me + his life’s secret. I liked the man; he was good-looking, amiable, but + hopelessly melancholy. He was dying as much from trouble as disease. No + counsel or encouragement had any effect upon him; he did, as I have seen + so many do—he resigned himself to the out-going tide. Well, for the + secret. He had been a felon. His crime had been committed through + ministering to his wife’s vanity.” + </p> + <p> + Here I paused. I felt Mrs. Falchion’s eyes searching me. I raised mine + steadily to hers with an impersonal glance, and saw that she had not + changed colour in the least. But her eyes were busy. + </p> + <p> + I proceeded: “When he was disgraced she did not come near him. When he + went to her, after he was released” (here I thought it best to depart from + any close resemblance to Mrs. Falchion’s own story), “and was admitted to + her, she treated him as an absolute stranger—as one who had + intruded, and might be violent. She said that she and her maid were alone + in the house, and hinted that he had come to disturb them. She bade him + go, or she must herself go. He called her by his own name, and begged her, + by the memory of their dead child, to speak kindly to him. She said he was + quite mistaken in her name, that she was Mrs. Glave, not Mrs. Anson, and + again insisted that he should go. He left her, and at last, + broken-hearted, found his way, in illness and poverty to the hospital, + where, toward the last, he was cared for by a noble girl, a companion of + his boyhood and his better days, who urged his wife to visit him. She left + him alone, said unpleasant things to the girl, did not come to see her + husband when he was dead, and provided nothing for his burial. You see + that, like you, she hated suffering and misery—and criminals. The + girl and her mother paid the expenses of the funeral, and, with myself, + were the only mourners. I am doubtful if the wife knows even where he + lies. I admit that the story sounds melodramatic; but truth is more drama + than comedy, I fancy. Now, what do you think of it all, Mrs. Falchion?” + </p> + <p> + I had felt her shrink a little at the earlier part of my story, as if she + feared that her own tale was to be brutally bared before her; but that + soon passed, and she languidly tapped the chair-arm as the narrative + continued. When it was finished, she leaned over slightly, and with these + same fingers tapped my arm. I thrilled involuntarily. + </p> + <p> + “He died, did he?” she said. “That was the most graceful thing he could + do. So far as my knowledge of the world is concerned, men of his class do + NOT die. They live, and they never rise above their degradation. They had + not brains or courage enough to keep them out of gaol, and they have not + pluck or brains enough to succeed—afterwards. Your friend Anson was + quite gentlemanly in his action at the last. He had some sense of the + fitness of things. He could not find a place in the world without making + other people uncomfortable, and causing trouble. If he had lived, he would + always have added to the blight on his wife’s career, and have been an + arrow—not a thorn—in her side. Very likely he would have + created a scandal for the good young girl who nursed him. He made the + false step, and compelled society to reject him. It did not want to do so; + it never does. It is long-suffering; it tries not to see and acknowledge + things until the culprit himself forces it to take action. Then it says: + ‘Now you have openly and inconsiderately broken our bond of mutual + forbearance. You make me send you away. Go, then, behind stone walls, and + please do not come to me again. If you do, you will only be a troublesome + ghost. You will cause awkwardness and distress.’ So, Mr. Anson—I + must be polite to him—did the most reasonable and proper thing. He + disappeared from the play before it actually became tragedy. There was no + tragedy in his death—death is a magnificent ally; it untangles + knots. The tragedy was in his living—in the perpetual ruin of his + wife’s life, renewed every morning. He disappeared. Then the play became + drama, with only a little shadow of tragedy behind it. Now, frankly, am I + not right?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Falchion,” I said, “your argument is clever, but it is only + incidentally true. You draw life, society and men no more correctly than + the author of ‘A Sweet Apocalypse’ would draw you. The social law you + sketch when reduced to its bare elements, is remorseless. It does not + provide for repentance, for restitution, for recovering a lost paradise. + It makes an act final, a sin irrevocable.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, since we are beginning to talk like a couple of books by a pair of + priggish philosophers, I might as well say that I think sin is final so + far as the domestic and social machinery of the world is concerned. What + his religious belief requires of a man is one thing, what his fellow-men + require of him is another. The world says, You shall have latitude enough + to swing in freely, but you must keep within the code. As soon as you + break the law openly, and set the machinery of public penalty in motion, + there is an end of you, so far as this world is concerned. You may live + on, but you have been broken on the wheel, and broken you always will be. + It is not a question of right or wrong, of kindness or cruelty, but of + general expediency and inevitableness. To all effect, Mr. Anson was dead + before he breathed his last. He died when he passed within the walls of a + gaol—condemned for theft.” + </p> + <p> + There was singular scorn in her last few words, and, dissent as I did from + her merciless theories, I was astonished at her adroitness and + downrightness—enchanted by the glow of her face. To this hour, + knowing all her life as I do, I can only regard her as a splendid + achievement of nature, convincing even when at the most awkward tangents + with the general sense and the straitest interpretation of life; + convincing even in those other and later incidents, which showed her to be + acting not so much by impulse as by the law of her nature. Her emotions + were apparently rationalised at birth—to be derationalised and + broken up by a power greater than herself before her life had worked + itself out. I had counted her clever; I had not reckoned with her powers + of reasoning. Influenced as I was by emotion when in her presence, I + resorted to a personal application of my opinions—the last and most + unfair resort of a disputant. I said I would rather be Anson dead than + Mrs. Anson living; I would rather be the active than the passive sinner; + the victim, than a part of that great and cruel machine of penalty. + </p> + <p> + “The passive sinner!” she replied. “Why, what wrong did she do?” + </p> + <p> + The highest moral conceptions worked dully in her. Yet she seemed then, as + she always appeared to be, free from any action that should set the + machine of penalty going against herself. She was inexorable, but she had + never, knowingly, so much as slashed the hem of the moral code. + </p> + <p> + “It was to give his wife pleasure that Anson made the false step,” I + urged. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think she would have had the pleasure at the price? The man was + vain and selfish to run any risk, to do anything that might endanger her + safety—that is, her happiness and comfort.” + </p> + <p> + “But suppose he knew that she loved ease and pleasure?—that he + feared her anger or disdain if he did not minister to her luxuries?” + </p> + <p> + “Then he ought not to have married that kind of a woman.” The hardness in + her voice was matched at that moment by the coldness of her face. + </p> + <p> + “That is begging the question,” I replied. “What would such a selfish + woman do in such a case, if her pleasure could not be gratified?” + </p> + <p> + “You must ask that kind of woman,” was her ironical answer. + </p> + <p> + I rashly felt that her castle of strength was crumbling. I ventured + farther. + </p> + <p> + “I have done so.” + </p> + <p> + She turned slightly toward me, yet not nervously, as I had expected. + </p> + <p> + “What did she say?” + </p> + <p> + “She declined to answer directly.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause, in which I felt her eyes searching my face. I fear I + must have learned dissimulation well; for, after a minute, I looked at + her, and saw, from the absence of any curious anxiety, that I had betrayed + nothing. She looked me straight in the eyes and said: “Dr. Marmion, a man + must not expect to be forgiven, who has brought shame on a woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Not even when he has repented and atoned?” + </p> + <p> + “Atoned! How mad you are! How can there be atonement? You cannot wipe + things out—on earth. We are of the earth. Records remain. If a man + plays the fool, the coward, and the criminal, he must expect to wear the + fool’s cap, the white feather, and the leg-chain until his life’s end. And + now, please, let us change the subject. We have been bookish long enough.” + She rose with a gesture of impatience. + </p> + <p> + I did not rise. “Pardon me, Mrs. Falchion,” I urged, “but this interests + me so. I have thought much of Anson lately. Please, let us talk a little + longer. Do sit down.” + </p> + <p> + She sat down again with an air of concession rather than of pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “I am interested,” I said, “in looking at this question from a woman’s + standpoint. You see, I am apt to side with the miserable fellow who made a + false step—foolish, if you like—all for love of a selfish and + beautiful woman.” + </p> + <p> + “She was beautiful?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, as you are.” She did not blush at that rank compliment, any more + than a lioness would, if you praised the astonishing sleekness and beauty + of its skin. + </p> + <p> + “And she had been a true wife to him before that?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, in all that concerned the code.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?—Well, was not that enough? She did what she could, as long as + she could.” She leaned far back in the chair, her eyes half shut. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you think—as a woman, not as a theorist—that Mrs. Anson + might at least have come to him when he was dying?” + </p> + <p> + “It would only have been uncomfortable for her. She had no part in his + life; she could not feel with him. She could do nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “But suppose she had loved him? By that memory, then, of the time when + they took each other for better or for worse, until death should part + them?” + </p> + <p> + “Death did part them when the code banished him; when he passed from a + free world into a cage. Besides, we are talking about people marrying, not + about their loving.” + </p> + <p> + “I will admit,” I said, with a little raw irony, “that I was not exact in + definition.” + </p> + <p> + Here I got a glimpse into her nature which rendered after events not so + marvellous to me as they might seem to others. She thought a moment quite + indolently, and then continued: “You make one moralise like George Eliot. + Marriage is a condition, but love must be an action. The one is a + contract, the other is complete possession, a principle—that is, if + it exists at all. I do not know.” + </p> + <p> + She turned the rings round mechanically on her finger; and among them was + a wedding-ring! Her voice had become low and abstracted, and now she + seemed to have forgotten my presence, and was looking out upon the humming + darkness round us, through which now and again there rang a boatswain’s + whistle, or the loud laugh of Blackburn, telling of a joyous hour in the + smoking-room. + </p> + <p> + I am now about to record an act of madness, of folly, on my part. I + suppose most men have such moments of temptation, but I suppose, also, + that they act more sensibly and honourably than I did then. Her hand had + dropped gently on the chair-arm, near to my own, and though our fingers + did not touch, I felt mine thrilled and impelled toward hers. I do not + seek to palliate my action. Though the man I believed to be her husband + was below, I yielded myself to an imagined passion for her. In that moment + I was a captive. I caught her hand and kissed it hotly. + </p> + <p> + “But you might know what love is,” I said. “You might learn—learn of + me. You—” + </p> + <p> + Abruptly and with surprise she withdrew her hand, and, without any visible + emotion save a quicker pulsation of her breast, which might have been + indignation, spoke. “But even if I might learn, Dr. Marmion, be sure that + neither your college nor Heaven gave you the knowledge to instruct me.... + There: pardon me, if I speak harshly; but this is most inconsiderate of + you, most impulsive—and compromising. You are capable of singular + contrasts. Please let us be friends, friends simply. You are too + interesting for a lover, really you are.” + </p> + <p> + Her words were a cold shock to my emotion—my superficial emotion; + though, indeed, for that moment she seemed adorable to me. Without any + apparent relevancy, but certainly because my thoughts in self-reproach + were hovering about cabin 116 Intermediate, I said, with a biting shame, + “I do not wonder now!” + </p> + <p> + “You do not wonder at what?” she questioned; and she laid her hand kindly + on my arm. + </p> + <p> + I put the hand away a little childishly, and replied, “At men going to the + devil.” But this was not what I thought. + </p> + <p> + “That does not sound complimentary to somebody. May I ask you what you + mean?” she said calmly. “I mean that Anson loved his wife, and she did not + love him; yet she held him like a slave, torturing him at the same time.” + </p> + <p> + “Does it not strike you that this is irrelevant? You are not my husband—not + my slave. But, to be less personal, Mr. Anson’s wife was not responsible + for his loving her. Love, as I take it, is a voluntary thing. It pleased + him to love her—he would not have done it if it did not please him; + probably his love was an inconvenient thing domestically—if he had + no tact.” + </p> + <p> + “Of that,” I said, “neither you nor I can know with any certainty. But, to + be scriptural, she reaped where she had not sowed, and gathered where she + had not strawed. If she did not make the man love her,—I believe she + did, as I believe you would, perhaps unconsciously, do,—she used his + love, and was therefore better able to make all other men admire her. She + was richer in personal power for that experience; but she was not grateful + for it nor for his devotion.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean, in fact, that I—for you make the personal application—shall + be better able henceforth to win men’s love, because—ah, surely, Dr. + Marmion, you do not dignify this impulse, this foolishness of yours, by + the name of love!” She smiled a little satirically at the fingers I had + kissed. + </p> + <p> + I was humiliated, and annoyed with her and with myself, though, down in my + mind, I knew that she was right. “I mean,” said I, “that I can understand + how men have committed suicide because of just such things. My wonder is + that Anson, poor devil! did not do it.” I knew I was talking foolishly. + </p> + <p> + “He hadn’t the courage, my dear sir. He was gentlemanly enough to die, but + not to be heroic to that extent. For it does need a strong dash of heroism + to take one’s own life. As I conceive it, suicide would have been the best + thing for him when he sinned against the code. The world would have pitied + him then, would have said, He spared us the trial of punishing him. But to + pay the vulgar penalty of prison—ah!” + </p> + <p> + She shuddered and then almost coldly continued: “Suicide is an act of + importance; it shows that a man recognises, at least, the worthlessness of + his life. He does one dramatic and powerful thing; he has an instant of + great courage, and all is over. If it had been a duel in which, of + intention, he would fire wide, and his assailant would fire to kill, so + much the better; so much the more would the world pity. But either is + superior, as a final situation, than death with a broken heart—I + suppose that is possible?—and disgrace, in a hospital.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to think only of the present, only of the code and the world; + and as if there were no heroism in a man living down his shame, righting + himself heroically at all points possible, bearing his penalty, and + showing the courage of daily wearing the sackcloth of remorse and + restitution.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she persisted, “you make me angry. I know what you wish to express; + I know that you consider it a sin to take one’s life, even in ‘the high + Roman fashion.’ But, frankly, I do not, and I fear—or rather, I + fancy—that I never shall. After all, your belief is a pitiless one; + for, as I have tried to say, the man has not himself alone to consider, + but those to whom his living is a perpetual shame and menace and cruelty + insupportable—insupportable! Now, please, let us change the subject + finally; and”—here she softly laughed—“forgive me if I have + treated your fancied infatuation lightly or indifferently. I want you for + a friend—at least, for a friendly acquaintance. I do not want you + for a lover.” + </p> + <p> + We both rose. I was not quite content with her nor with myself yet. I felt + sure that while she did not wish me for a lover, she was not averse to my + playing the devoted cavalier, who should give all, while she should give + nothing. I knew that my punishment had already begun. We paced the deck in + silence; and once, as we walked far aft, I saw, leaning upon the railing + of the intermediate deck, and looking towards us—Boyd Madras; and + the words of that letter which he wrote on the No Man’s Sea came to me. + </p> + <p> + At length she said: “You have made no reply to my last remark. Are we to + be friends, and not lovers? Or shall you cherish enmity against me? Or, + worse still,”—and here she laughed, I thought, a little ironically,—“avoid + me, and be as icy as you have been—fervid?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Falchion,” I said, “your enemy I do not wish to be—I could not + be if I wished; but, for the rest, you must please let me see what I may + think of myself to-morrow. There is much virtue in to-morrow,” I added. + “It enables one to get perspective.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” she said; and then was silent. We walked the deck slowly + for several minutes. Then we were accosted by two ladies of a committee + that had the fancy-dress ball in hand. They wished to consult Mrs. + Falchion in certain matters of costume and decoration, for which, it had + been discovered, she had a peculiar faculty. She turned to me half + inquiringly, and I bade her good-night, inwardly determined (how easy it + is after having failed to gratify ourselves!) that the touch of her + fingers should never again make my heart beat faster. + </p> + <p> + I joined Colonel Ryder and Clovelly in the smoking-room. Hungerford, as I + guessed gladly, was gone. I was too much the coward to meet his eye just + then. Colonel Ryder was estimating the amount he would wager—if he + were in the habit of betting—that the ‘Fulvia’ could not turn round + in her tracks in twenty minutes, while he parenthetically endorsed + Hungerford’s remarks to me—though he was ignorant of them—that + lascars should not be permitted on English passenger ships. He was + supported by Sir Hayes Craven, a shipowner, who further said that not one + out of ten British sailors could swim, while not five out of ten could row + a boat properly. Ryder’s anger was great, because Clovelly remarked with + mock seriousness that the lascars were picturesque, and asked the American + if he had watched them listlessly eating rice and curry as they squatted + between decks; whether he had observed the Serang, with his silver + whistle, who ruled them, and despised us “poor white trash;” and if he did + not think it was a good thing to have fatalists like them as sailors—they + would be cool in time of danger. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Ryder’s indignation was curbed, however, by the bookmaker, who, + having no views, but seeing an opportunity for fun, brought up + reinforcements of chaff and slang, easily construable into profanity, and + impregnated with terse humour. Many of the ladies had spoken of the + bookmaker as one of the best-mannered men on board. So he was to all + appearance. None dressed with better taste, nor carried himself with such + an air. There was even a deferential tone in his strong language, a + hesitating quaintness, which made it irresistible. He was at the service + of any person on board needing championship. His talents were varied. He + could suggest harmonies in colour to the ladies at one moment, and at the + next, in the seclusion of the bar counter, arrange deadly harmonies in + liquor. He was an authority on acting; he knew how to edit a newspaper; he + picked out the really nice points in the sermons delivered by the + missionaries in the saloon; he had some marvellous theories about + navigation; and his trick with a salad was superb. He now convulsed the + idlers in the smoking-room with laughter, and soon deftly drew off the + discussion to the speed of the vessel, arranging a sweep-stake + immediately, upon the possibilities of the run. He instantly proposed to + sell the numbers by auction. He was the auctioneer. With his eye-glass at + his eye, and Bohemian pleasantry falling from his lips, he ran the prices + up. He was selling Clovelly’s number, and had advanced it beyond the + novelist’s own bidding, when suddenly the screw stopped, the engines + ceased working, and the ‘Fulvia’ slowed down. + </p> + <p> + The numbers remained unsold. Word came to us that an accident had happened + to the machinery, and that we should be hove-to for a day, or longer, to + accomplish necessary repairs. How serious the accident to the machinery + was no one knew. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. ACCUSING FACES + </h2> + <p> + While we were hove-to, the ‘Porcupine’ passed us. In all probability it + would now get to Aden ahead of us; and herein lay a development of the + history of Mrs. Falchion. I was standing beside Belle Treherne as the ship + came within hail of us and signalled to see what was the matter. Mrs. + Falchion was not far from us. She was looking intently at the vessel + through marine-glasses, and she did not put them down until it had passed. + Then she turned away with an abstracted light in her eyes and a wintry + smile; and the look and the smile continued when she sat down in her + deck-chair and leaned her cheek meditatively on the marine-glass. But I + saw now that something was added to the expression of her face—a + suggestion of brooding or wonder. Belle Treherne, noticing the direction + of my glances, said: “Have you known Mrs. Falchion long?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not long,” I replied. “Only since she came on board.” + </p> + <p> + “She is very clever, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + I felt my face flushing, though, reasonably, there was no occasion for it, + and I said: “Yes, she is one of the ablest women I have ever met.” + </p> + <p> + “She is beautiful, too—very beautiful.” This very frankly. + </p> + <p> + “Have you talked with her?” asked I. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, a little this morning, for the first time. She did not speak much, + however.” Here Miss Treherne paused, and then added meditatively: “Do you + know, she impressed me as having singular frankness and singular reserve + as well? I think I admired it. There is no feeling in her speech, and yet + it has great candour. I never before met any one like her. She does not + wear her heart upon her sleeve, I imagine.” + </p> + <p> + A moment of irony came over me; that desire to say what one really does + not believe (a feminine trait), and I replied: “Are both those articles + necessary to any one? A sleeve?—well, one must be clothed. But a + heart?—a cumbrous thing, as I take it.” + </p> + <p> + Belle Treherne turned, and looked me steadily in the eyes for an instant, + as if she had suddenly awakened from abstraction, and slowly said, while + she drew back slightly: “Dr. Marmion, I am only a girl, I know, and + inexperienced, but I hoped most people of education and knowledge of life + were free from that kind of cynicism to be read of in books.” Then + something in her thoughts seemed to chill her words and manner, and her + father coming up a moment after, she took his arm, and walked away with a + not very cordial bow to me. + </p> + <p> + The fact is, with a woman’s quick intuition, she had read in my tone + something suggestive of my recent experience with Mrs. Falchion. Her fine + womanliness awoke; the purity of her thoughts, rose in opposition to my + flippancy and to me; and I knew that I had raised a prejudice not easy to + destroy. + </p> + <p> + This was on a Friday afternoon. + </p> + <p> + On the Saturday evening following, the fancy-dress ball was to occur. The + accident to the machinery and our delay were almost forgotten in the + preparations therefor. I had little to do; there was only one sick man on + board, and my hand could not cure his sickness. How he fared, my + uncomfortable mind, now bitterly alive to a sense of duty, almost + hesitated to inquire. Yet a change had come. A reaction had set in for me. + Would it be permanent? I dared scarcely answer that question, with Mrs. + Falchion at my right hand at table, with her voice at my ear. I was not + quite myself yet; I was struggling, as it were, with the effects of a + fantastic dream. + </p> + <p> + Still, I had determined upon my course. I had made resolutions. I had + ended the chapter of dalliance. I had wished to go to 116 Intermediate and + let its occupant demand what satisfaction he would. I wanted to say to + Hungerford that I was an ass; but that was even harder still. He was so + thorough and uncompromising in nature, so strong in moral fibre, that I + felt his sarcasm would be too outspoken for me just at present. In this, + however, I did not give him credit for a fine sense of consideration, as + after events showed. Although there had been no spoken understanding + between us that Mrs. Falchion was the wife of Boyd Madras, the mind of one + was the other’s also. I understood exactly why he told me Boyd Madras’s + story: it was a warning. He was not the man to harp on things. He gave the + hint, and there the matter ended, so far as he was concerned, until a time + might come when he should think it his duty to refer to the subject again. + Some time before, he had shown me the portrait of the girl who had + promised to be his wife. She, of course, could trust HIM anywhere, + everywhere. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Falchion had seen the change in me, and, I am sure, guessed the new + direction of my thoughts, and knew that I wished to take refuge in a new + companionship—a thing, indeed, not easily to be achieved, as I felt + now; for no girl of delicate and proud temper would complacently regard a + hasty transference of attention from another to herself. Besides, it would + be neither courteous nor reasonable to break with Mrs. Falchion abruptly. + The error was mine, not hers. She had not my knowledge of the immediate + circumstances, which made my position morally untenable. She showed + unembarrassed ignorance of the change. At the same time I caught a tone of + voice and a manner which showed she was not actually oblivious, but was + touched in that nerve called vanity; and from this much feminine hatred + springs. + </p> + <p> + I made up my mind to begin a course of scientific reading, and was seated + in my cabin, vainly trying to digest a treatise on the pathology of the + nervous system, when Hungerford appeared at the door. With a nod, he + entered, threw himself down on the cabin sofa, and asked for a match. + After a pause, he said: “Marmion, Boyd Madras, alias Charles Boyd, has + recognised me.” + </p> + <p> + I rose to get a cigar, thus turning my face from him, and said: “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there isn’t anything very startling. I suppose he wishes I had left + him in the dingey on No Man’s Sea. He’s a fool.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, why?” + </p> + <p> + “Marmion, are your brains softening? Why does he shadow a woman who + wouldn’t lift her finger to save him from battle, murder, or sudden + death?” + </p> + <p> + “From the code,” I said, in half soliloquy. + </p> + <p> + “From the what?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, never mind, Hungerford. I suppose he is shadowing—Mrs. + Falchion?” + </p> + <p> + He eyed me closely. + </p> + <p> + “I mean the woman that chucked his name; that turned her back on him when + he was in trouble; that hopes he is dead, if she doesn’t believe that he + is actually; that would, no doubt, treat him as a burglar if he went to + her, got down on his knees, and said: ‘Mercy, my girl, I’ve come back to + you a penitent prodigal. Henceforth I shall be as straight as the sun, so + help me Heaven and your love and forgiveness!’” + </p> + <p> + Hungerford paused, as if expecting me to reply; but, leaning forward on my + knees and smoking hard, I remained silent. This seemed to anger him, for + he said a little roughly: “Why doesn’t he come out and give you blazes on + the promenade deck, and corner her down with a mighty cheek, and levy on + her for a thousand pounds? Both you and she would think more of him. Women + don’t dislike being bullied, if it is done in the right way—haven’t + I seen it the world over, from lubra to dowager? I tell you, man—sinning + or not—was meant to be woman’s master and lover, and just as much + one as the other.” + </p> + <p> + At this point Hungerford’s manner underwent a slight change, and he + continued: “Marmion, I wouldn’t have come near you, only I noticed you + have altered your course, and are likely to go on a fresh tack. It isn’t + my habit to worry a man. I gave you a signal, and you didn’t respond at + first. Well, we have come within hail again; and now, don’t you think that + you might help to straighten this tangle, and try to arrange a + reconciliation between those two? + </p> + <p> + “The scheme is worth trying. Nobody need know but you and me. It wouldn’t + be much of a sacrifice to her to give him a taste of the thing she swore + to do—how does it run?—‘to have and to hold from this day + forward’?—I can’t recall it; but it’s whether the wind blows fair or + foul, or the keel scrapes the land or gives to the rock, till the sea + gulps one of ‘em down for ever. That’s the sense of the thing, Marmion, + and the contract holds between the two, straight on into the eternal + belly. Whatever happens, a husband is a husband, and a wife a wife. It + seems to me that, in the sight of Heaven, it’s he that’s running fair in + the teeth of the wind, every timber straining, and she that’s riding with + it, well coaled, flags flying, in an open channel, and passing the + derelict without so much as, ‘Ahoy there!’” + </p> + <p> + Now, at this distance of time, I look back, and see Hungerford, “the rowdy + sailor,” as he called himself, lying there, his dark grey eyes turned full + on me; and I am convinced that no honester, more sturdy-minded man ever + reefed a sail, took his turn upon the bridge, or walked the dry land in + the business of life. It did not surprise me, a year after, when I saw in + public prints that he was the hero of—but that must be told + elsewhere. I was about to answer him then as I knew he would wish, when a + steward appeared and said: “Mr. Boyd, 116 Intermediate, wishes you would + come to him, sir, if you would be so kind.” + </p> + <p> + Hungerford rose, and, as I made ready to go, urged quietly: “You’ve got + the charts and soundings, Marmion, steam ahead!” and, with a swift but + kindly clench of my shoulder, he left me. In that moment there came a + cowardly feeling, a sense of shamefacedness, and then, hard upon it, and + overwhelming it, a determination to serve Boyd Madras so far as lay in my + power, and to be a man, and not a coward or an idler. + </p> + <p> + When I found him he was prostrate. In his eyes there was no anger, no + indignation, nor sullenness—all of which he might reasonably have + felt; and instantly I was ashamed of the thought which, as I came to him, + flashed through my mind, that he might do some violent thing. Not that I + had any fear of violence; but I had an active dislike of awkward + circumstances. I felt his fluttering pulse, and noted the blue line on his + warped lips. I gave him some medicine, and then sat down. There was a + silence. What could I say? A dozen thoughts came to my mind, but I + rejected them. It was difficult to open up the subject. At last he put his + hand upon my arm and spoke: + </p> + <p> + “You told me one night that you would help me if you could. I ought to + have accepted your offer at first; it would have been better.—No, + please don’t speak just yet. I think I know what you would say. I knew + that you meant all you urged upon me; that you liked me. I was once worthy + of men’s liking, perhaps, and I had good comrades; but that is all over. + You have not come near me lately, but it wasn’t because you felt any + neglect, or wished to take back your words; but—because of something + else.... I understand it all. She has great power. She always had. She is + very beautiful. I remember when—but I will not call it back before + you, though, God knows, I go over it all every day and every night, until + it seems that only the memory of her is real, and that she herself is a + ghost. I ought not to have crossed her path again, even unknown to her. + But I have done it, and now I cannot go out of that path without kneeling + before her once again, as I did long ago. Having seen her, breathed the + same air, I must speak or die; perhaps it will be both. That is a power + she has: she can bend one to her will, although she often, involuntarily, + wills things that are death to others. One MUST care for her, you + understand; it is natural, even when it is torture to do so.” + </p> + <p> + He put his hand on his side and moved as if in pain. I reached over and + felt his pulse, then took his hand and pressed it, saying: “I will be your + friend now, Madras, in so far as I can.” + </p> + <p> + He looked up at me gratefully, and replied: “I know that—I know + that. It is more than I deserve.” + </p> + <p> + Then he began to speak of his past. He told me of Hungerford’s kindness to + him on the ‘Dancing Kate’, of his luckless days at Port Darwin, of his + search for his wife, his writing to her, and her refusal to see him. He + did not rail against her. He apologised for her, and reproached himself. + “She is most singular,” he continued, “and different from most women. She + never said she loved me, and she never did, I know. Her father urged her + to marry me; he thought I was a good man.” + </p> + <p> + Here he laughed a little bitterly. “But it was a bad day for her. She + never loved any one, I think, and she cannot understand what love is, + though many have cared for her. She is silent where herself is concerned. + I think there was some trouble—not love, I am sure of that—which + vexed her, and made her a little severe at times; something connected with + her life, or her father’s life, in Samoa. One can only guess, but white + men take what are called native wives there very often—and who can + tell? Her father—but that is her secret!... While I was right before + the world, she was a good wife to me in her way. When I went wrong, she + treated me as if I were dead, and took her old name. But if I could speak + to her quietly once more, perhaps she would listen. It would be no good at + all to write. Perhaps she would never begin the world with me again, but I + should like to hear her say, ‘I forgive you. Good-bye.’ There would be + some comfort in a kind farewell from her. You can see that, Dr. Marmion?” + </p> + <p> + He paused, waiting for me to speak. “Yes, I can see that,” I said; and + then I added: “Why did you not speak to her before you both came on board + at Colombo?” + </p> + <p> + “I had no chance. I only saw her in the street, an hour before the ship + sailed. I had scarcely time to take my passage.” + </p> + <p> + Pain here checked his utterance, and when he recovered, he turned again to + me, and continued: “To-morrow night there is to be a fancy-dress ball on + board. I have been thinking. I could go in a good disguise. I could speak + to her, and attract no notice; and if she will not listen to me, why, + then, that ends it. I shall know the worst, and to know the worst is + good.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said I; “and what do you wish me to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish to go in a disguise, of course; to dress in your cabin, if you + will let me. I cannot dress here, it would attract attention; and I am not + a first-class passenger.” + </p> + <p> + “I fear,” I replied, “that it is impossible for me to assist you to the + privileges of a first-class passenger. You see, I am an officer of the + ship. But still I can help you. You shall leave this cabin to-night. I + will arrange so that you may transfer yourself to one in the first-class + section.... No, not a word; it must be as I wish in this. You are ill; I + can do you that kindness at least, and then, by right, you can attend the + ball, and, after it, your being among the first-class passengers can make + little difference; for you will have met and spoken then, either to peace + or otherwise.” + </p> + <p> + I had very grave doubts of any reconciliation; the substance of my notable + conversation with Mrs. Falchion was so prominent in my mind. I feared she + would only reproduce the case of Anson and his wife. I was also afraid of + a possible scene—which showed that I was not yet able to judge of + her resources. After a time, in which we sat silent, I said to Madras: + “But suppose she should be frightened?—should—should make a + scene?” + </p> + <p> + He raised himself to a sitting posture. “I feel better,” he said. Then, + answering my question: “You do not know her quite. She will not stir a + muscle. She has nerve. I have seen her in positions of great peril and + trial. She is not emotional, though I truly think she will wake one day + and find her heart all fire but not for me. Still, I say that all will be + quite comfortable, so far as any demonstration on her part is concerned. + She will not be melodramatic, I do assure you.” + </p> + <p> + “And the disguise—your dress?” inquired I. + </p> + <p> + He rose from the berth slowly, and, opening a portmanteau, drew from it a + cloth of white and red, fringed with gold. It was of beautiful texture, + and made into the form of a toga or mantle. He said: “I was a seller of + such stuffs in Colombo, and these I brought with me, because I could not + dispose of them without sacrifice when I left hurriedly. I have made them + into a mantle. I could go as—a noble Roman, perhaps!” Then a slight, + ironical smile crossed his lips, and he stretched out his thin but shapely + arms, as if in derision of himself. + </p> + <p> + “You will go as Menelaus the Greek,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “I as Menelaus the Greek?” The smile became a little grim. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, as Menelaus; and I will go as Paris.” I doubt not that my voice + showed a good deal of self-scorn at the moment; but there was a kind of + luxury in self-abasement before him. “Your wife, I know, intends to go as + Helen of Troy. It is all mumming. Let it stand so, as Menelaus and Helen + and Paris before there was any Trojan war, and as if there never could be + any—as if Paris went back discomfited, and the other two were + reconciled.” + </p> + <p> + His voice was low and broken. “I know you exaggerate matters, and condemn + yourself beyond reason,” he replied. “I will do as you say. But, Dr. + Marmion, it will not be all mumming, as you shall see.” + </p> + <p> + A strange look came upon his face at this. I could not construe it; and, + after a few words of explanation regarding his transference to the forward + part of the ship, I left him. I found the purser, made the necessary + arrangements for him, and then sought my cabin, humbled in many ways. I + went troubled to bed. After a long wakefulness, I dozed away into that + disturbed vestibule of sleep where the world’s happenings mingle with the + visions of unconsciousness. I seemed to see a man’s heart beating in his + bosom in growing agonies, until, with one last immense palpitation, it + burst, and life was gone. Then the dream changed, and I saw a man in the + sea, drowning, who seemed never to drown entirely, his hands ever beating + the air and the mocking water. I thought that I tried many times to throw + him a lighted buoy in the half-shadow, but some one held me back, and I + knew that a woman’s arms were round me. + </p> + <p> + But at last the drowning man looked up and saw the woman so, and, with a + last quiver of the arms, he sank from sight. When he was gone, the woman’s + arms dropped away from me; but when I turned to speak to her, she, too, + had gone. + </p> + <p> + I awoke. + </p> + <p> + Two stewards were talking in the passage, and one was saying, “She’ll get + under way by daybreak, and it will be a race with the ‘Porcupine’ to Aden. + How the engines are kicking below!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. MUMMERS ALL + </h2> + <p> + The next day was beautiful, if not enjoyable. Stirring preparations were + being made for the ball. Boyd Madras was transferred to a cabin far + forward, but he did not appear at any meal in the saloon, or on deck. In + the morning I was busy in the dispensary. While I was there, Justine Caron + came to get some medicine that I had before given her. Her hand was now + nearly well. Justine had nerves, and it appeared to me that her efforts to + please her mistress, and her occasional failures, were wearing her unduly. + I said to her: “You have been worried, Miss Caron?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, Doctor,” she quickly replied. + </p> + <p> + I looked at her a little sceptically, and she said at last: “Well, perhaps + a little. You see, madame did not sleep well last night, and I read to + her. It was a little difficult, and there was not much choice of books.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you read?” I asked mechanically, as I prepared her medicine. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, some French novel first—De Maupassant’s; but madame said he was + impertinent—that he made women fools and men devils. Then I tried + some modern English tales, but she said they were silly. I knew not what + to do. But there was Shakespeare. I read Antony and Cleopatra, and she + said that the play was grand, but the people were foolish except when they + died—their deaths were magnificent. Madame is a great critic; she is + very clever.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, I know that; but when did she fall asleep?” + </p> + <p> + “About four o’clock in the morning. I was glad, because she is very + beautiful when she has much sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “And you—does not sleep concern you in this matter of madame?” + </p> + <p> + “For me,” she said, looking away, “it is no matter. I have no beauty. + Besides, I am madame’s servant,”—she blushed slightly at this,”—and + she is generous with money.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and you like money so much?” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes flashed a little defiantly as she looked me in the face. “It is + everything to me.” + </p> + <p> + She paused as if to see the effect upon me, or to get an artificial (I + knew it was artificial) strength to go on, then she added: “I love money. + I work for it; I would bear all for it—all that a woman could bear. + I—” But here she paused again, and, though the eyes still flashed, + the lips quivered. Hers was not the face of cupidity. It was sensitive, + yet firm, as with some purpose deep as her nature was by creation and + experience, and always deepening that nature. I suddenly got the + conviction that this girl had a sorrow of some kind in her life, and that + this unreal affection for money was connected with it. Perhaps she saw my + look of interest, for she hurriedly continued: “But, pardon me, I am + foolish. I shall be better when the pain is gone. Madame is kind; she will + let me sleep this afternoon, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + I handed her the medicine, and then asked: “How long have you known Mrs. + Falchion, Miss Caron?” + </p> + <p> + “Only one year.” + </p> + <p> + “Where did you join her?” + </p> + <p> + “In Australia.” + </p> + <p> + “In Australia? You lived there?” + </p> + <p> + “No, monsieur, I did not live there.” + </p> + <p> + A thought came to my mind—the nearness of New Caledonia to + Australia, and New Caledonia was a French colony—a French penal + colony! I smiled as I said the word penal to myself. Of course the word + could have no connection with a girl like her, but still she might have + lived in the colony. So I added quietly: “You perhaps had come from New + Caledonia?” + </p> + <p> + Her look was candid, if sorrowful. “Yes, from New Caledonia.” + </p> + <p> + Was she, thought I, the good wife of some convict—some political + prisoner?—the relative of some refugee of misfortune? Whatever she + was, I was sure that she was free from any fault. She evidently thought + that I might suspect something uncomplimentary of her, for she said: “My + brother was an officer at Noumea. He is dead. I am going to France, when I + can.” + </p> + <p> + I tried to speak gently to her. I saw that her present position must be a + trial. I advised her to take more rest, or she would break down + altogether, for she was weak and nervous; I hinted that she might have to + give up entirely, if she continued to tax herself heedlessly; and, + finally, that I would speak to Mrs. Falchion about her. I was scarcely + prepared for her action then. Tears came to her eyes, and she said to me, + her hand involuntarily clasping my arm: “Oh no, no! I ask you not to speak + to madame. I will sleep—I will rest. Indeed, I will. This service is + so much to me. She is most generous. It is because I am so altogether + hers, night and day, that she pays me well. And the money is so much. It + is my honour—my dead brother’s honour. You are kind at heart; you + will make me strong with medicine, and I will ask God to bless you. I + could not suffer such poverty again. And then, it is my honour!” + </p> + <p> + I felt that she would not have given way thus had not her nerves been + shaken, had she not lived so much alone, and irregularly, so far as her + own rest and comfort were concerned, and at such perpetual cost to her + energy. Mrs. Falchion, I knew, was selfish, and would not, or could not, + see that she was hard upon the girl, by such exactions as midnight reading + and loss of sleep. She demanded not merely physical but mental energy—a + complete submission of both; and when this occurred with a sensitive, + high-strung girl, she was literally feeding on another’s life-blood. If + she had been told this, she, no doubt, would have been very much + surprised. + </p> + <p> + I reassured Justine. I told her that I should say nothing directly to Mrs. + Falchion, for I saw she was afraid of unpleasantness; but I impressed upon + her that she must spare herself, or she would break down, and extorted a + promise that she would object to sitting up after midnight to read to Mrs. + Falchion. + </p> + <p> + When this was done, she said: “But, you see, it is not madame’s fault that + I am troubled.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not wish,” I said, “to know any secret,—I am a doctor, not a + priest,—but if there is anything you can tell me, in which I might + be able to help you, you may command me in so far as is possible.” + Candidly, I think I was too inquiring in those days. + </p> + <p> + She smiled wistfully, and replied: “I will think of what you say so + kindly, and perhaps, some day soon, I will tell you of such trouble as I + have. But, believe me, it is no question of wrong at all, by any one—now. + The wrong is over. It is simply that a debt of honour must be satisfied; + it concerns my poor dead brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to relatives in France?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “No; I have no relatives, no near friends. I am alone in the world. My + mother I cannot remember; she died when I was very young. My father had + riches, but they went before he died. Still, France is home, and I must go + there.” She turned her head away to the long wastes of sea. + </p> + <p> + Little more passed between us. I advised her to come often on deck, and + mingle with the passengers; and told her that, when she pleased, I should + be glad to do any service that lay in my power. Her last words were that, + after we put into Aden, she would possibly take me at my word. + </p> + <p> + After she had gone, I found myself wondering at my presentiment that Aden + was to be associated with critical points in the history of some of us; + and from that moment I began to connect Justine Caron with certain events + which, I felt sure, were marshalling to an unhappy conclusion. I wondered, + too, what part I should play in the development of the comedy, tragedy, or + whatever it was to be. In this connection I thought of Belle Treherne, and + of how I should appear in her eyes if that little scene with Mrs. + Falchion, now always staring me in the face, were rehearsed before her. I + came quickly to my feet, with a half-imprecation at myself; and a verse of + a crude sea-song was in my ears: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “You can batten down cargo, live and dead, + But you can’t put memory out of sight; + You can paint the full sails overhead, + But you can’t make a black deed white....” + </pre> + <p> + Angry, I said to myself: “It wasn’t a black deed; it was foolish, it was + infatuation, it was not right, but it is common to shipboard; and I lost + my head, that was all.” + </p> + <p> + Some time later I was still at work in the dispensary, when I heard Mr. + Treherne’s voice calling to me from outside. I drew back the curtain. He + was leaning on his daughter’s arm, while in one hand he carried a stick. + “Ah, Doctor, Doctor,” cried he, “my old enemy, sciatica, has me in its + grip, and why, in this warm climate, I can’t understand. I’m afraid I + shall have to heave-to, like the ‘Fulvia’, and lay up for repairs. And, by + the way, I’m glad we are on our course again.” He entered, and sat down. + Belle Treherne bowed to me gravely, and smiled slightly. The smile was not + peculiarly hospitable. I knew perfectly well that to convince her of the + reality of my growing admiration for her would be no easy task; but I was + determined to base my new religion of the affections upon unassailable + canons, and I felt that now I could do best by waiting and proving myself. + </p> + <p> + While I was arranging some medicine for Mr. Treherne, and advising him on + care against chills in a hot climate, he suddenly broke in with: “Dr. + Marmion, Captain Ascott tells me that we shall get to Aden by Tuesday + morning next. Now, I was asked by a friend of mine in London to visit the + grave of a son of his—a newspaper correspondent—who was killed + in one of the expeditions against the native tribes, and was buried in the + general cemetery at Aden. On the way out I was not able to fulfil the + commission, because we passed Aden in the night. But there will be plenty + of time to do so on Tuesday, I am told. This, however, is my difficulty: I + cannot go unless I am better, and I’m afraid there is no such luck as that + in store for me. These attacks last a week, at least. I wish my daughter, + however, to go. One of the ladies on board will go with her—Mrs. + Callendar, I believe; and I am going to be so bold as to ask you to + accompany them, if you will. I know you better than any officer on board; + and, besides, I should feel safer and better satisfied if she went under + the protection of an officer,—these barbarous places, you know!—though, + of course, it may be asking too much of you, or what is impossible.” + </p> + <p> + I assented with pleasure. Belle Treherne was looking at the Latin names on + the bottles at the time, and her face showed no expression either of + pleasure or displeasure. Mr. Treherne said bluffly: “Dr. Marmion, you are + kind—very kind, and, upon my word, I’m much obliged.” He then looked + at his daughter as if expecting her to speak. + </p> + <p> + She looked up and said conventionally: “You are very kind, Dr. Marmion, + and I am much obliged.” Then I thought her eyes twinkled with amusement at + her own paraphrase of her father’s speech, and she added: “Mrs. Callendar + and myself will be much honoured indeed, and feel very important in having + an officer to attend us. Of course everybody else will be envious, and, + again of course, that will add to our vanity.” + </p> + <p> + At this she would have gone; but her father, who was suffering just enough + pain to enjoy anything that would divert his attention from it, fell into + conversation upon a subject of mutual interest, in which his daughter + joined on occasion, but not with enthusiasm. Yet, when they came to go, + she turned and said kindly, almost softly, as her fingers touched mine: “I + almost envy you your profession, Dr. Marmion. It opens doors to so much of + humanity and life.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no sin,” I laughingly said, “in such a covetousness, and, + believe me, it can do no harm to me, at least.” Then I added gravely: “I + should like my profession, in so far as I am concerned, to be worth your + envy.” She had passed through the door before the last words were said, + but I saw that her look was not forbidding. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ......................... +</pre> + <p> + Is there unhappiness anywhere? There is not a vexing toss of the sea, not + a cloud in the sky. Is not catastrophe dead, and the arrows of tragedy + spilled? Peace broadens into deep, perfumed dusk towards Arabia; languor + spreads towards the unknown lands of the farthest south. No anxious soul + leans out from the casement of life; the time is heavy with delightful + ease. There is no sound that troubles; the world goes by and no one heeds; + for it is all beyond this musky twilight and this pleasant hour. In this + palace on the sea Mirth trails in and out with airy and harmonious + footsteps. Even the clang-clang of eight bells has music—not + boisterous nor disturbing, but muffled in the velvety air. Then, through + this hemisphere of jocund quiet, there sounds the “All’s well” of the + watch. + </p> + <p> + But, look! Did you see a star fall just then, and the long avenue of + expiring flame behind it?—Do not shudder; it is nothing. No cry of + pain came through that brightness. There was only the “All’s well” from + the watchers. + </p> + <p> + The thud of the engines falls on a padded atmosphere, and the lascars move + like ghosts along the decks. The long, smooth promenade is canopied and + curtained, and hung with banners, and gay devices of the gorgeous East are + contributing to the federation of pleasure. + </p> + <p> + And now, through a festooned doorway, there come the people of many lands + to inhabit the gay court. Music follows their footsteps: Hamlet and + Esther; Caractacus and Iphigenia; Napoleon and Hermione; The Man in the + Iron Mask and Sappho; Garibaldi and Boadicea; an Arab sheikh and Joan of + Arc; Mahomet and Casablanca; Cleopatra and Hannibal—a resurrected + world. But the illusion is short and slight. This world is very sordid—of + shreds and patches, after all. It is but a pretty masquerade, in which + feminine vanity beats hard against strangely-clothed bosoms; and masculine + conceit is shown in the work of the barber’s curling-irons and the + ship-carpenter’s wooden swords and paper helmets. The pride of these folk + is not diminished because Hamlet’s wig gets awry, or a Roman has trouble + with his foolish garters. Few men or women can resist mumming; they fancy + themselves as somebody else, dead or living. Yet these seem happy in this + nonsense. The indolent days appear to have deadened hatred, malice, and + all uncharitableness. They shall strut and fret their hour upon this + little stage. Let that sprightly girl forget the sudden death which made + her an orphan; the nervous broker his faithless wife; the grey-haired + soldier his silly and haunting sins; the bankrupt his creditors. + </p> + <p> + “On with the dance, let joy be unconfined!” For the captain is on the + bridge, the engineer is beneath; we have stout walls, and a ceaseless + sentry-go. In the intervals of the dance wine passes, and idle things are + said beside the draped and cushioned capstan or in the friendly gloom of a + boat, which, in the name of safety, hangs taut between its davits. Let + this imitation Cleopatra use the Cleopatra’s arts; this mellow Romeo + (sometime an Irish landlord) vow to this coy Juliet; this Helen of Troy—Of + all who walked these decks, mantled and wigged in characters not their + own, Mrs. Falchion was the handsomest, most convincing. With a graceful + swaying movement she passed along the promenade, and even envy praised + her. Her hand lay lightly on the arm of a brown stalwart native of the + Indian hills, fierce and savage in attire. Against his wild + picturesqueness and brawny strength, her perfectness of animal beauty, + curbed and rendered delicate by her inner coldness, showed in fine + contrast; and yet both were matched in the fine natural prowess of form. + </p> + <p> + With a singular affirmation of what had been, after all, but a + sadly-humourous proposal, I had attired myself in a Greek costume—quickly + made by my steward, who had been a tailor—and was about to leave my + cabin, when Hungerford entered, and exclaimed, as he took his pipe from + his mouth in surprise: “Marmion, what does this mean? Don’t you know your + duties better? No officer may appear at these flare-ups in costume other + than his uniform. You’re the finest example of suburban innocence and + original sin I’ve seen this last quarter of a century, wherein I’ve kept + the world—and you—from tottering to destruction.” He reached + for one of my cigars. + </p> + <p> + Without a word, and annoyed at my own stupidity, I slowly divested myself + of the clothes of Greece; while Hungerford smoked on, humming to himself + occasionally a few bars of The Buccaneer’s Bride, but evidently occupied + with something in his mind. At length he said: “Marmion, I said suburban + innocence and original sin, but you’ve a grip on the law of square and + compass too. I’ll say that for you, old chap—and I hope you don’t + think I’m a miserable prig.” + </p> + <p> + Still I replied nothing, but offered him one of my best cigars, taking the + other one from him, and held the match while he lighted it—which, + between men, is sufficient evidence of good-feeling. He understood, and + continued: “Of course you’ll keep your eye on Mrs. Falchion and Madras + to-night: if he is determined that they shall meet, and you have arranged + it. I’d like to know how it goes before you turn in, if you don’t mind. + And, I say, Marmion, ask Miss Treherne to keep a dance for me—a + waltz—towards the close of the evening, will you? Excuse me, but she + is the thorough-bred of the ship. And if I have only one hop down the + promenade, I want it to be with a girl who’ll remind me of some one that + is making West Kensington worth inhabiting. Only think, Marmion, of a girl + like her—a graduate in arts, whose name and picture have been in all + the papers—being willing to make up with me, Dick Hungerford! She is + as natural and simple as a girl can be, and doesn’t throw Greek roots at + you, nor try to convince you of the difference between the songs of the + troubadours and the sonnets of Petrarch. She doesn’t care a rap whether + Dante’s Beatrice was a real woman or a principle; whether James the First + poisoned his son; or what’s the margin between a sine and a cosine. She + can take a fence in the hunting-field like a bird—! Oh, all right, + just hold still, and I’ll unfasten it.” And he struggled with a + recalcitrant buckle. “Well, you’ll not forget about Miss Treherne, will + you? She ought to go just as she is. Fancy-dress on her would be gilding + the gold; for, though she isn’t surpassingly beautiful, she is very fine, + very fine indeed. There, now, you’re yourself again, and look all the + better for it.” + </p> + <p> + By this time I was again in my uniform, and I sat down, and smoked, and + looked at Hungerford. His long gossip had been more or less detached, and + I had said nothing. I understood that he was trying, in his blunt, honest + way, to turn my thoughts definitely from Mrs. Falchion to Belle Treherne; + and he never seemed to me such a good fellow as at that moment. I replied + at last: “All right, Hungerford; I’ll be your deputation, your ambassador, + to Miss Treherne. What time shall we see you on deck?” + </p> + <p> + “About 11.40—just in time to trip a waltz on the edge of eight + bells.” + </p> + <p> + “On the edge of Sunday, my boy.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Do you know, it is just four years ago tomorrow since I found Boyd + Madras on the No Man’s Sea?” + </p> + <p> + “Let us not talk of it,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “All right. I merely stated the fact because it came to me. I’m mum + henceforth. And I want to talk about something else. The first officer,—I + don’t know whether you have noticed him lately, but I tell you this: if we + ever get into any trouble with this ship he’ll go to pieces. Why, the + other night, when the engine got tangled, he was as timid as a woman. That + shock he had with the coal, as I said before, has broken his nerve, big + man as he is.” + </p> + <p> + “Hungerford,” I said, “you do not generally croak, but you are earning the + character of the raven for yourself to-night. The thing is growing on you. + What IS the use of bringing up unpleasant subjects? You are an old woman.” + I fear there was the slightest irritation in my voice; but, truth is, the + last few days’ experiences had left their mark on me, and Hungerford’s + speech and manner had suddenly grown trying. + </p> + <p> + He stood for a moment looking at me with direct earnestness from under his + strong brows, and then he stepped forward, and, laying his hand upon my + arm, rejoined: “Do not be raw, Marmion. I’m only a blunt, stupid sailor; + and, to tell you God’s truth, as I have told you before, every sailor is + superstitious—every real sailor. He can’t help it—I can’t. I + have a special fit on me now. Why don’t I keep it to myself? Because I’m + selfish, and it does me good to talk. You and I are in one secret + together, and it has made me feel like sharing this thing with a pal, I + suppose.” + </p> + <p> + I seized his hand and begged his pardon, and called myself unpleasant + names, which he on the instant stopped, and said: “That’s all right, + Marmy; shake till the knuckles crack! I’m off. Don’t forget the dance.” He + disappeared down the passage. + </p> + <p> + Then I went on deck, and the scene which I have so imperfectly described + passed before me. Mrs. Falchion was surrounded with admirers all the + evening, both men and women; and two of the very stately English ladies of + title, to whom I before referred, were particularly gracious to her; while + she, in turn, bore herself with becoming dignity. I danced with her once, + and was down on her programme for another dance. I had also danced with + Belle Treherne, who appeared as Miriam, and was chaperoned by one of the + ladies of title; and I had also “sat out” one dance with her. Chancing to + pass her as the evening wore on, I saw her in conversation with Mrs. + Falchion, who had dismissed her cavalier, preferring to talk, she said, + for dancing was tiresome work on the Indian Ocean. Belle Treherne, who up + to that moment had never quite liked her, yielded to the agreeable charm + of her conversation and her frank applausive remarks upon the costumes of + the dancers. She had a good word for every one, and she drew her companion + out to make the most of herself, as women less often do before women than + in the presence of men. I am certain that her interest in Belle Treherne + was real, and likewise certain that she cherished no pique against her + because I had transferred my allegiance. Indeed, I am sure that she had no + deep feeling of injured pride where I was concerned. Such after acidity as + she sometimes showed was directed against the foolish part I had played + with her and my action in subsequent events; it did not proceed from + personal feeling or self-value. + </p> + <p> + Some time after this meeting I saw Boyd Madras issue from the + companion-way dressed as a Greek. He wore a false beard, and carried off + well his garments of white and scarlet and gold—a very striking and + presentable man. He came slowly forward, looking about him steadily, and, + seeing me, moved towards me. But for his manner I should scarcely have + recognised him. A dance was beginning; but many eyes were turned + curiously, and even admiringly, to him; for he looked singular and + impressive and his face was given fulness by a beard and flesh paints. I + motioned him aside where there was shadow, and said: “Well, you have + determined to see her?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said; “and I wish you, if you will, to introduce me to her as + Mr. Charles Boyd. + </p> + <p> + “You still think this wise?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “It is my earnest wish. I must have an understanding to-night.” He spoke + very firmly, and showed no excitement. His manner was calm and + gentlemanly. + </p> + <p> + He had a surprising air of decision. Supporting an antique character, he + seemed for the moment to have put on also something of antique strength of + mind, and to be no longer the timid invalid. “Then, come with me,” I + answered. + </p> + <p> + We walked in silence for a few minutes, and then, seeing where Mrs. + Falchion was, we advanced to her. The next dance on her programme was + mine. In my previous dance with her we had talked as we now did at table—as + we did the first hour I met her—impersonally, sometimes (I am bold + to say) amusingly. Now I approached her with apologies for being late. The + man beside her took his leave. She had only just glanced at me at first, + but now she looked at my companion, and the look stayed, curious, + bewildered. + </p> + <p> + “It is fitting,” I said, “that Greek meet Greek—that Menelaus should + be introduced to Helen. May I say that when Helen is not Helen she is Mrs. + Falchion, and when Menelaus is not Menelaus he is—Mr. Charles Boyd.” + </p> + <p> + I am afraid my voice faltered slightly, because there came over me + suddenly a nervousness as unexpected as it was inconvenient, and my words, + which began lightly, ended huskily. Had Madras miscalculated this woman? + </p> + <p> + Her eyes were afire, and her face was as pale as marble; all its slight + but healthy glow had fled. A very faint gasp came from her lips. I saw + that she recognised him, as he bowed and mentioned her name, following my + introduction. I knew not what might occur, for I saw danger in her eyes in + reply to the beseeching look in his. Would melodrama supervene after all? + She merely bowed towards me, as if to dismiss me, and then she rose, took + his arm, and moved away. The interview that follows came to me from Boyd + Madras afterwards. + </p> + <p> + When they had reached the semi-darkness of the forward part of the ship, + she drew her hand quickly away, and, turning to him, said: “What is the + name by which you are called? One does not always hear distinctly when + being introduced.” + </p> + <p> + He did not understand what she was about to do, but he felt the deadly + coldness in her voice. “My name is known to you,” he replied. He steadied + himself. + </p> + <p> + “No, pardon me, I do not know it, for I do not know you.... I never saw + you before.” She leaned her hand carelessly on the bulwarks. + </p> + <p> + He was shocked, but he drew himself together. Their eyes were intent on + each other. “You do know me! Need I tell you that I am Boyd Madras?” “Boyd + Madras,” she said, musing coldly. “A peculiar name.” + </p> + <p> + “Mercy Madras was your name until you called yourself Mrs. Falchion,” he + urged indignantly, yet anxiously too. + </p> + <p> + “It suits you to be mysterious, Mr.—ah yes, Mr. Boyd Madras; but, + really, you might be less exacting in your demands upon one’s + imagination.” Her look was again on him casually. + </p> + <p> + He spoke breathlessly. “Mercy—Mercy—for God’s sake, don’t + treat me like this! Oh, my wife, I have wronged you every way, but I loved + you always—love you now. I have only followed you to ask you to + forgive me, after all these years. I saw you in Colombo just before you + came on board, and I felt that I must come also. You never loved me. + Perhaps that is better for you, but you do not know what I suffer. If you + could give me a chance, and come with me to America—anywhere, and + let me start the world again? I can—travel straight now, and I will + work hard, and be honest. I will—” But here sudden pain brought back + the doubt concerning his life and its possibilities. + </p> + <p> + He leaned against the bulwarks, and made a helpless, despairing motion + with his hand. “No, no!” he said; and added with a bitter laugh: “Not to + begin the world again, but to end it as profitably and silently as I can. + ... But you will listen to me, my wife? You will say at least that you + forgive me the blight and ill I brought upon you?” + </p> + <p> + She had listened to him unmoved outwardly. Her reply was instant. “You are + more melodramatic than I thought you capable of being—from your + appearance,” she said in a hard tone. “Your acting is very good, but not + convincing. I cannot respond as would become the unity and sequence of the + play.... I have no husband. My husband is dead—I buried him years + ago. I have forgotten his name—I buried that too.” + </p> + <p> + All the suffering and endured scorn of years came to revolt in him. He + leaned forward now, and caught her wrist. “Have you no human feeling?” he + said “no heart in you at all? Look. I have it in me here suddenly to kill + you as you stand. You have turned my love to hate. From your smooth skin + there I could strip those rags, and call upon them all to look at you—my + wife—a felon’s wife; mine to have and to hold—to hold, you + hear!—as it was sworn at the altar. I bare my heart to you, + repenting, and you mock it, torture it, with your undying hate and + cruelty. You have no heart, no life. This white bosom is all of you—all + of your power to make men love you—this, and your beauty. All else, + by God, is cruel as the grave!” + </p> + <p> + His voice had sunk to a hoarse whisper. She had not sought to remove his + hand, nor struggled in the least; and once it seemed as if this new + development of his character, this animal fierceness, would conquer her: + she admired courage. It was not so. He trembled with weakness before he + had finished. He stopped too soon; he lost. + </p> + <p> + “You will find such parts exhausting to play,” she murmured, as he let her + arm fall. “It needs a strong physique to endure exaggerated, nervous + sentiment. And now, please, let us perform less trying scenes.” Then, with + a low, cold anger, she continued: “It is only a coward that will dog a + woman who finds his presence insupportable to her. This woman cannot, if + she would, endure this man’s presence; it is her nature. Well, why rush + blindly at the impossible? She wishes to live her spoiled life alone. The + man can have no part in it—never, never! But she has money. If in + that way—” + </p> + <p> + He stretched out his hand protestingly, the fingers spread in excitement. + “No more—not another word!” he said. “I ask for forgiveness, for one + word of kindness—and I am offered money! the fire that burned me to + eat, instead of bread! I had a wife once,” he added in a kind of troubled + dream, looking at her as if she were very far away, “and her name was + Mercy—her name was Mercy—Mercy Madras. I loved her. I sinned + for her sake. A message came that she was dead to me; but I could not + believe that it was so altogether, for I had knelt at her feet and + worshipped her. I went to her, but she sent me away angrily. Years passed. + ‘She will have relented now,’ I said, and I followed her, and found her as + I thought. But it was not she; it was a wicked ghost in her beautiful body—nothing + more. And then I turned away and cursed all things, because I knew that I + should never see my wife again. Mercy Madras was dead. ... Can you not + hear the curses?” + </p> + <p> + Still she was unmoved. She said with a cruel impatience in her voice: + “Yes, Mercy Madras is dead. How then can she forgive? What could her ghost—as + you call her—do, but offer the thing which her husband—when he + was living—loved so well that he sold himself into bondage, and + wrecked his world and hers for it—Money? Well, money is at his + disposal, as she said before—” + </p> + <p> + But she spoke no more. The man in him straight way shamed her into silence + with a look. She bowed her head, yet not quite in shame, for there was + that in her eyes which made her appear as if his suffering was a + gratuitous infliction. But at this moment he was stronger, and he drew her + eyes up by the sheer force of his will. “I need no money now,” he coldly + declared. “I need nothing—not even you; and can you fancy that, + after waiting all these years for this hour, money would satisfy me? Do + you know,” he continued slowly and musingly, “I can look upon you now—yes, + at this moment—with more indifference than you ever showed to me? A + moment ago I loved you: now I think you horrible; because you are no + woman; you have a savage heart. And some day you will suffer as I do, so + terribly that even the brazen serpent could not cure you. Then you will + remember me.” + </p> + <p> + He was about to leave her, but he had not taken two steps before he + turned, with all the anger and the passion softened in his eyes, and said, + putting his hand out towards yet not to touch her, “Good-bye—for the + last time.” And then the look was such as might be turned upon a forgiven + executioner. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night,” she replied, and she did not look into his eyes, but out to + sea. Her eyes remained fixed upon its furtive gloom. She too was furtive + and gloomy at this moment. They were both sleek, silent, and remorseless. + There was a slight rustle to her dress as she changed her position. It was + in grim keeping with the pitiless rustle of the sea. + </p> + <p> + And so they parted. I saw him move on towards the companion-way, and + though I felt instinctively that all had gone ill with him, I was + surprised to see how erect he walked. After a minute I approached her. She + heard me coming, and presently turned to me with a curious smile. “Who is + Mr. Charles Boyd?” she asked. “I did not pierce his disguise. I could not + tell whether I had met him on board before. Have I? But my impression is + that I had not seen him on the ship.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you had not seen him,” I replied. “He had a fancy to travel, until + yesterday, with the second-class passengers. Now he has a first-class + cabin—in his proper place, in fact.” + </p> + <p> + “You think so—in his proper place?” The suggestion was not pleasant. + </p> + <p> + “Assuredly. Why do you speak in that way?” was my indignant reply. + </p> + <p> + She took my arm as we moved on. “Because he was slightly rude to me.” + </p> + <p> + I grew bold, and determined to bring her to some sort of reckoning. + </p> + <p> + “How rude were you to him?” + </p> + <p> + “Not rude at all. It is not worth while being so—to anybody,” was + her chilly answer. + </p> + <p> + “I was under the impression you had met him before,” I said gravely. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed? And why?” She raised her eyebrows at me. I pushed the matter to a + conclusion. “He was ill the other day—he has heart trouble. It was + necessary for me to open the clothes about his neck. On his breast I saw a + little ivory portrait of a woman’s head.” + </p> + <p> + “A woman’s head,” she repeated absently, and her fingers idly toyed with a + jingling ornament in her belt. In an idle moment I had sketched the head, + as I remembered it, on a sheet of paper, and now I took it from my pocket + and handed it to her. We were standing near a port-hole of the music + saloon, from which light streamed. + </p> + <p> + “That is the head,” said I. + </p> + <p> + She deliberately placed the paper in the belt of light, and, looking at + it, remarked mechanically: “This is the head, is it?” She showed no change + of countenance, and handed it back to me as if she had seen no likeness. + “It is very interesting,” she said, “but one would think you might make + better use of your time than by surreptitiously sketching portraits from + sick men’s breasts. One must have plenty of leisure to do that sort of + thing, I should think. Be careful that you do not get into mischief, Dr. + Marmion.” She laughed. “Besides, where was the special peculiarity in that + portrait that you should treasure it in pencil so conventionally?—Your + drawing is not good.—Where was the point or need?” + </p> + <p> + “I have no right to reply to that directly,” I responded. “But this man’s + life is not for always, and if anything happened to him it would seem + curious to strangers to find that on his breast—because, of course, + more than I would see it there.” + </p> + <p> + “If anything happened? What should happen? You mean, on board ship?” There + was a little nervousness in her tone now. + </p> + <p> + “I am only hinting at an awkward possibility,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + She looked at me scornfully. “When did you see that picture on his + breast?” I told her. “Ah! before THAT day?” she rejoined. I knew that she + referred to the evening when I had yielded foolishly to the fascination of + her presence. The blood swam hotly in my face. “Men are not noble + creatures,” she continued. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid you would not give many their patents of nobility if you had + power to bestow them,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Most men at the beginning, and very often ever after, are ignoble + creatures. Yet I should confer the patents of nobility, if it were my + prerogative; for some would succeed in living up to them. Vanity would + accomplish that much. Vanity is the secret of noblesse oblige; not radical + virtue—since we are beginning to be bookish again.” + </p> + <p> + “To what do you reduce honour and right?” returned I. + </p> + <p> + “As I said to you on a memorable occasion,” she answered very drily, “to a + code.” + </p> + <p> + “That is,” rejoined I, “a man does a good action, lives an honourable + life, to satisfy a social canon—to gratify, say, a wife or mother, + who believes in him, and loves him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” She was watching Belle Treherne promenading with her father. She + drew my attention to it by a slight motion of the hand, but why I could + not tell. + </p> + <p> + “But might not a man fall by the same rule of vanity?” I urged. “That he + shall appear well in their eyes, that their vanity in turn should be fed, + might he not commit a crime, and so bring misery?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is true either way—pleasure or misery. Please come to the + saloon and get me an ice before the next dance.” + </p> + <p> + I was perplexed. Was she altogether soulless? Even now, as we passed among + the dancers, she replied to congratulations on her make-up and appearance + with evident pleasure. + </p> + <p> + An hour later, I was taking Belle Treherne from the arm of Hungerford for + the last waltz, and, in reply to an inquiring glance from him, I shook my + head mournfully. His face showed solicitude as he walked away. Perhaps it + did not gratify my vanity that Belle Treherne, as her father limped + forward at the stroke of eight bells to take her below, said to me: “How + downright and thorough Mr. Hungerford is!” But I frankly admitted that he + was all she might say good of him, and more. + </p> + <p> + The deck was quickly dismantled, the lights went out, and all the dancers + disappeared. The masquerade was over; and again, through the darkness, + rose the plaintive “All’s well!” And it kept ringing in my ears until it + became a mocking sound, from which I longed to be free. It was like the + voice of Lear crying over the body of Cordelia: “Never, never, never, + never, never!” + </p> + <p> + Something of Hungerford’s superstitious feeling possessed me. I went + below, and involuntarily made my way to Boyd Madras’s cabin. + </p> + <p> + Though the night was not hot, the door was drawn to. I tapped. His voice + at once asked who was there, and when I told him, and inquired how he was, + he said he was not ill, and asked me to come to his cabin in the morning, + if I would. I promised, and bade him good-night. He responded, and then, + as I turned away from the door, I heard him repeat the good-night + cordially and calmly. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. THE WHEEL COMES FULL CIRCLE + </h2> + <p> + The next morning I was up early, and went on deck. The sun had risen, and + in the moist atmosphere the tints of sky and sea were beautiful. + Everywhere was the warm ocean undulating lazily to the vague horizon. A + few lascars were still cleansing the decks; others were seated on their + haunches between decks, eating curry from a calabash; a couple of + passengers were indolently munching oranges; and Stone the quartermaster + was inspecting the work lately done by the lascars. Stone gave me a + pleasant good-morning, and we walked together the length of the deck + forward. I had got about three-fourths of the length back again, when I + heard a cry from aft—a sharp call of “Man overboard!” In a moment I + had travelled the intermediate deck, and was at the stern, looking below, + where, in the swirling waters, was the head of a man. With cries of “Man + overboard!” I threw two or three buoys after the disappearing head, above + which a bare arm thrust itself. I heard the rush of feet behind me, and in + a moment Hungerford and Stone were beside me. The signal was given for the + engines to stop; stewards and lascars came running on deck in response to + Hungerford’s call, and the first officer now appeared. Very soon a crew + was gathered on the after-deck, about a boat on the port side. + </p> + <p> + Passengers by this time showed in various stages of dressing—women + wringing their hands, men gesticulating. If there is anything calculated + to send a thrill of awe through a crowd, it is the cry of “Man overboard!” + And when one looked below, and saw above the drowning head two white arms + thrust from the sea, a horrible thing was brought home to each of us. + Besides, the scene before us on the deck was not reassuring. There was + trouble in getting the boat lowered. The first officer was excited, the + lascars were dazed, the stewards were hurried without being confident; + only Hungerford, Stone, and the gunner were collected. The boat should + have been launched in a minute, but still it hung between its davits; its + course downward was interrupted; something was wrong with the ropes, “A + false start, by—-!” said the bookmaker, looking through his + eye-glass. Colonel Ryder’s face was stern, Clovelly was pale and anxious, + as moment after moment went, and the boat was not yet free. Ages seemed to + pass before the boat was let down even with the bulwarks, and a crew of + ten, with Hungerford in command, were in it, ready to be lowered. Whether + the word was given to lower, or whether it was any one’s fault, may never + perhaps be known; but, as the boat hung there, suddenly it shot down at + the stern, some one having let go the ropes at that end; and the bow being + still fast, it had fallen like a trap-door. It seemed, on the instant, as + if the whole crew were tossed into the water; but some had successfully + clutched the boat’s side, and Hungerford hung by a rope with one hand. In + the eddying water, however, about the reversing screw, were two heads, and + farther off was a man struggling. The face of one of the men near the + screw was upturned for a moment; it was that of Stone the quartermaster. + </p> + <p> + A cry went up from the passengers, and they swayed forward to the + suspended boat; but Colonel Ryder turned almost savagely upon them. “Keep + quiet!” he said. “Stand back! What can you do? Give the officers a + chance.” He knew that there had been a false start, and bad work indeed; + but he also saw that the task of the officers must not be made harder. His + sternness had effect. The excited passengers drew back, and I took his + place in front of them. When the first effort had been made to lower the + boat, I asked the first officer if I could accompany the crew, but he said + no. I could, therefore, do nothing but wait. A change came on the crowd. + It became painfully silent, none speaking save in whispers, and all + watching with anxious faces either the receding heads in the water or the + unfortunate boat’s crew. Hungerford showed himself a thorough sailor. + Hanging to the davit, he quietly, reassuringly, gave the order for + righting the boat, virtually taking the command out of the hands of the + first officer, who was trembling with nervousness. Hungerford was right; + this man’s days as a sailor were over. The accident from which he had + suffered had broken his nerve, stalwart as he was. But Hungerford was as + cool as if this were ordinary boat-practice. Soon the boat was drawn up + again, and others took the place of those who had disappeared. Then it was + lowered safely, and, with Hungerford erect in the bows, it was pulled + swiftly along the path we had come. + </p> + <p> + At length, too, the great ship turned round, but not in her tracks. It is + a pleasant fiction that these great steamers are easily managed. They can + go straight ahead, but their huge proportions are not adapted for rapid + movement. However, the work of rescue was begun. Sailors were aloft on + watch, Captain Ascott was on the bridge, sweeping the sea with his glass; + order was restored. But the ship had the feeling of a home from which some + familiar inmate had been taken, to return no more. Children clasped their + mothers’ hands and said, “Mother, was it the poor quartermaster?” and men + who the day before had got help from the petty officers in the preparation + of costumes, said mournfully: “Fife the gunner was one of them.” + </p> + <p> + But who was the man first to go overboard—and who was it first gave + the alarm? There were rumours, but no one was sure. All at once I + remembered something peculiar in that cry of “Man overboard!” and it + shocked me. I hurried below, and went to the cabin of Boyd Madras. It was + empty; but on a shelf lay a large envelope, addressed to Hungerford and + myself. I tore it open. There was a small packet, which I knew contained + the portrait he had worn on his bosom, addressed to Mrs. Falchion; and the + other was a single sheet directed to me, fully written upon, and marked in + the corner: “To be made public.” + </p> + <p> + So, he had disappeared from the play? He had made his exit? He had + satisfied the code at last? Before opening the letter addressed to me, I + looked round. His clothes were folded upon one of the berths; but the + garments of masquerade were not in the cabin. Had he then gone out of the + world in the garb of a mummer? Not altogether, for the false beard he had + worn the night before lay beside the clothes. But this terrible + earnestness of his would look strange in last night’s disguise. + </p> + <p> + I opened the packet addressed to Hungerford and myself, and saw that it + contained a full and detailed account of his last meeting with his wife. + The personal letter was short. He said that his gratitude was unspeakable, + and now must be so for ever. He begged us not to let the world know who he + was, nor his relationship to Mrs. Falchion, unless she wished it; he asked + me to hand privately to her the packet bearing her name. Lastly, he + requested that the paper for the public be given to the captain of the + ‘Fulvia’. + </p> + <p> + Going out into the passage, I found a steward, who hurriedly told me that + just before the alarm was given he had seen Boyd Madras going aft in that + strange costume, which he mistook for a dressing-gown, and he had come to + see if, by any chance, it was he who had gone overboard. I told him that + it was. He disappeared, and soon the whole ship knew it. I went to the + captain, gave him the letter, and told him only what was necessary to + tell. He was on the bridge, and was occupied with giving directions, so he + asked me the substance of the letter, and handed it back to me, requesting + me to make a copy of it soon and leave it in his cabin. I then took all + the papers to my cabin, and locked them up. I give here the substance of + the letter which was to be made public: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Because you know how much I have suffered physically while on board + this ship, and because you have been kind to me, I wish, through + you, to say my last word to the world: though, indeed, this may seem + a strange form for gratitude to take. Dying men, however, make few + apologies, and I shall make none. My existence, as you know, is an + uncertain quantity, and may be cut short at any moment in the + ordinary course of things. But I have no future in the active + concerns of life; no past on which to dwell with satisfaction; no + friends to mourn for my misfortunes in life, nor for my death, + whether it be peaceful or violent; therefore, I have fewer + compunctions in ending a mistaken career and a worthless life. + + Some one will profit by my death: who it is matters not, for it is + no friend of mine. My death adjusts a balance, perhaps not nicely, + yet it does it. And this is all I have to say.... I am + going. Farewell.... +</pre> + <p> + After a brief farewell to me added, there came the subscription “Charles + Boyd;” and that was all. Why he cried out “Man overboard” (for now I + recognised that it was his voice which gave the alarm), I do not know, + except that he wished his body to be recovered, and to receive burial. + </p> + <p> + Just here, some one came fumbling at the curtain of my cabin. I heard a + gasp—“Doctor—my head! quick!” + </p> + <p> + I looked out. As I drew the curtain a worthless lascar sailor fell + fainting into my cabin. He had been drinking a good deal, and the horror + and excitement of the accident had brought on an apoplectic fit. This in a + very hot climate is suddenly fatal. In three minutes, in spite of me, he + was dead. Postponing report of the matter, I went on deck again among the + passengers. + </p> + <p> + I expected that Mrs. Falchion would be among them, for the news must have + gone to every part of the ship; but she was not there. On the outskirts of + one of the groups, however, I saw Justine Caron. I went to her, and asked + her if Mrs. Falchion had risen. She said that she had not: that she had + been told of the disaster, and had appeared shocked; but had complained of + a headache, and had not risen. I then asked Justine if Mrs. Falchion had + been told who the suicide was, and was answered in the negative. At that + moment a lady came to me and said in an awed whisper: “Dr. Marmion, is it + true that the man who committed suicide was a second-class passenger, and + that he appeared at the ball last night, and danced with Mrs. Falchion?” + </p> + <p> + I knew that my reply would soon become common property, so I said: + </p> + <p> + “He was a first-class passenger, though until yesterday he travelled + second-class. I knew him. His name was Charles Boyd. I introduced him to + Mrs. Falchion last night, but he did not stay long on deck, because he + felt ill. He had heart trouble. You may guess that he was tired of life.” + Then I told her of the paper which was for the public, and she left me. + </p> + <p> + The search for the unfortunate men went on. No one could be seen near the + floating buoys which were here and there picked up by Hungerford’s boat. + The long undulations of the water had been broken up in a large area about + the ship, but the sea was still comparatively smooth. We were steaming + back along the track we had come. There was less excitement on board than + might be expected. The tropical stillness of the air, the quiet suddenness + of the tragedy itself, the grim decisiveness of Hungerford, the watchful + silence of a few men like Colonel Ryder and Clovelly, had effect upon even + the emotion of those women, everywhere found, who get a morbid enjoyment + out of misery. + </p> + <p> + Nearly all were watching the rescue boat, though a few looked over the + sides of the ship as if they expected to find bodies floating about. They + saw sharks, instead, and a trail of blood, and this sent them away + sickened from the bulwarks. Then they turned their attention again upon + the rescue party. It was impossible not to note what a fine figure + Hungerford made, as he stood erect in the bow, his hand over his eyes, + searching the water. Presently we saw him stop the boat, and something was + drawn in. He signalled the ship. He had found one man—but dead or + alive? The boat was rapidly rowed back to the ship, Hungerford making + efforts for resuscitation. Arrived at the vessel, the body was passed up + to me. + </p> + <p> + It was that of Stone the quartermaster. I worked to bring back life, but + it was of no avail. A minute after, a man in the yards signalled that he + saw another. It was not a hundred yards away, and was floating near the + surface. It was a strange sight, for the water was a vivid green, and the + man wore garments of white and scarlet, and looked a part of some strange + mosaic: as one has seen astonishing figures set in balls of solid glass. + This figure framed in the sea was Boyd Madras. The boat was signalled, it + drew near, and two men dragged the body in, as a shark darted forward, + just too late, to seize it. The boat drew alongside the ‘Fulvia’. I stood + at the gangway to receive this castaway. I felt his wrist and heart. As I + did so I chanced to glance up at the passengers, who were looking at this + painful scene from the upper deck. There, leaning over the railing, stood + Mrs. Falchion, her eyes fixed with a shocking wonder at the drooping, + weird figure. Her lips parted, but at first they made no sound. Then, she + suddenly drew herself up with a shudder. “Horrible! horrible!” she said, + and turned away. + </p> + <p> + I had Boyd Madras taken to an empty cabin next to mine, which I used for + operations, and there Hungerford and myself worked to resuscitate him. We + allowed no one to come near. I had not much hope of bringing life back, + but still we worked with a kind of desperation, for it seemed to + Hungerford and myself that somehow we were responsible to humanity for + him. His heart had been weak, but there had been no organic trouble: only + some functional disorder, which open-air life and freedom from anxiety + might have overcome. Hungerford worked with an almost fierce persistence. + Once he said: “By God, I will bring him back, Marmion, to face that woman + down when she thinks she has got the world on the hip!” + </p> + <p> + I cannot tell what delight we felt when, after a little time, I saw a + quiver of the eyelids and a slight motion of the chest. Presently a longer + breath came, and the eyes opened; at first without recognition. Then, in a + few moments, I knew that he was safe—desperately against his will, + but safe. + </p> + <p> + His first sentient words startled me. He gasped, “Does she think I am + drowned?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then she must continue to do so!” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because”—here he spoke faintly, as if sudden fear had produced + additional weakness—“because I had rather die a thousand deaths than + meet her now; because she hates me. I must begin the world again. You have + saved my life against my will: I demand that you give that life its only + chance of happiness.” + </p> + <p> + As his words came to me, I remembered with a start the dead lascar, and, + leading Hungerford to my cabin, I pointed to the body, and whispered that + the sailor’s death was only known to me. “Then this is the corpse of Boyd + Madras, and we’ll bury it for him,” he said with quick bluntness. “Do not + report this death to Captain Ascott—he would only raise objections + to the idea. This lascar was in my watch. It will be supposed he fell + overboard during the accident to the boat. Perhaps some day the funeral of + this nigger will be a sensation and surprise to her blessed ladyship on + deck.” + </p> + <p> + I suggested that it seemed underhand and unprofessional, but the + entreating words of the resuscitated man in the next room conquered my + objections. + </p> + <p> + It was arranged that Madras should remain in the present cabin, of which I + had a key, until we reached Aden; then he should, by Hungerford’s aid, + disappear. + </p> + <p> + We were conspirators, but we meant harm to nobody. I covered up the face + of the dead lascar and wrapped round him the scarlet and gold cloth that + Madras had worn. Then I got a sailor, who supposed Boyd Madras was before + him, and the body was soon sewed in its shotted shroud and carried to + where Stone the quartermaster lay. + </p> + <p> + At this day I cannot suppose I would do these things, but then it seemed + right to do as Madras wished: he was, under a new name, to begin life + afresh. + </p> + <p> + After giving directions for the disposition of the bodies, I went on deck. + Mrs. Falchion was still there. Some one said to her: “Did you know the man + who committed suicide?” + </p> + <p> + “He was introduced to me last night by Dr. Marmion,” she replied, and she + shuddered again, though her face showed no remarkable emotion. She had had + a shock to the senses, not to the heart. + </p> + <p> + When I came to her on the deck, Justine was saying to her: “Madame, you + should not have come. You should not see such painful things when you are + not well.” + </p> + <p> + She did not reply to this. She looked up at me and said: “A strange whim, + to die in those fanciful rags. It is dreadful to see; but he had the + courage.” + </p> + <p> + I replied: “They have as much courage who make men do such things and then + live on.” + </p> + <p> + Then I told her briefly that I held the packet for her, that I guessed + what was in it, and that I would hand it to her later. I also said that he + had written to me the record of last night’s meeting with her, and that he + had left a letter which was to be made public. As I said these things we + were walking the decks, and, because eyes were on both of us, I tried to + show nothing more unusual in manner than the bare tragedy might account + for. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” she said, with a curious coldness, “what use shall you make of + your special knowledge?” + </p> + <p> + “I intend,” I said, “to respect his wish, that your relationship to him be + kept unknown, unless you declare otherwise.” + </p> + <p> + “That is reasonable. If he had always been as reasonable! And,” she + continued, “I do not wish the relationship to be known: practically there + is none.... Oh! oh!” she added, with a sudden change in her voice, “why + did he do as he did, and make everything else impossible—impossible!... + Send me, or give me the packet, when you wish: and now please leave me, + Dr. Marmion.” + </p> + <p> + The last few words were spoken with some apparent feeling, but I knew she + was thinking of herself most, and I went from her angry. + </p> + <p> + I did not see her again before the hour that afternoon when we should give + the bodies of the two men to the ocean. No shroud could be prepared for + gunner Fife and able-seaman Winter, whose bodies had no Christian burial, + but were swallowed by the eager sea, not to be yielded up even for a few + hours. We were now steaming far beyond the place where they were lost. + </p> + <p> + The burial was an impressive sight, as burials at sea mostly are. The + lonely waters stretching to the horizon helped to make it so. There was a + melancholy majesty in the ceremony. + </p> + <p> + The clanging bell had stopped. Captain Ascott was in his place at the head + of the rude draped bier. In the silence one only heard the swish of water + against the ‘Fulvia’s’ side, as we sped on towards Aden. People do not + know how beautiful, how powerful, is the burial service in the Book of + Common Prayer, who have only heard it recited by a clergyman. To hear it + read by a hardy man, whose life is among stern duties, is to receive a new + impression. He knows nothing of lethargic monotone; he interprets as he + reads. And when the man is the home-spun captain of a ship, who sees + before him the poor shell of one that served him for ten years, “The Lord + gave and the Lord hath taken away; Blessed be the name of the Lord,” has a + strange significance. It is only men who have borne the shock of toil and + danger, and have beaten up against the world’s buffetings, that are fit to + say last words over those gone down in the storm or translated in the + fiery chariot of duty. + </p> + <p> + The engines suddenly stopped. The effect was weird. Captain Ascott’s + fingers trembled, and he paused for an instant and looked down upon the + dead, then out sorrowfully to the waiting sea, before he spoke the words, + “We therefore commit their bodies to the deep.” But, the moment they were + uttered, the bier was lifted, there was a swift plunge, and only the flag + and the empty boards were left. The sobbing of women now seemed almost + unnatural; for around us was the bright sunlight, the gay dresses of the + lascars, the sound of the bell striking the hours, and children playing on + the deck. The ship moved on. + </p> + <p> + And Mrs. Falchion? As the burial service was read, she had stood, and + looked, not at the bier, but straight out to sea, calm and apparently + unsympathetic, though, as she thought, her husband was being buried. When, + however, the weighted body divided the water with a swingeing sound, her + face suddenly suffused, as though shame had touched her or some + humiliating idea had come. But she turned to Justine almost immediately, + and soon after said calmly: “Bring a play of Moliere, and read to me, + Justine.” + </p> + <p> + I had the packet her supposed dead husband had left for her in my pocket. + I joined her, and we paced the deck, at first scarcely speaking, while the + passengers dispersed, some below, some to the smoking-rooms, some upon + deck-chairs to doze through the rest of the lazy afternoon. The world had + taken up its orderly course again. At last, in an unfrequented corner of + the deck, I took the packet from my pocket and handed it to her. “You + understand?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I understand. And now, may I beg that for the rest of your natural + life”—here she paused, and bit her lip in vexation that the unlucky + phrase had escaped her—“you will speak of this no more?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Boyd Madras,” I said (here she coloured indignantly),—“pardon + me for using the name, but it is only this once,—I shall never speak + of the matter to you again, nor to any one else, unless there is grave + reason.” + </p> + <p> + We walked again in silence. Passing the captain’s cabin, we saw a number + of gentlemen gathered about the door, while others were inside. We paused, + to find what the incident was. Captain Ascott was reading the letter which + Boyd Madras had wished to be made public. (I had given it to him just + before the burial, and he was acting as though Boyd Madras was really dead—he + was quite ignorant of our conspiracy.) I was about to move on, but Mrs. + Falchion touched my arm. “Wait,” she said. She stood and heard the letter + through. Then we walked on, she musing. Presently she said: “It is a pity—a + pity.” + </p> + <p> + I looked at her inquiringly, but she offered no explanation of the + enigmatical words. But, at this moment, seeing Justine waiting, she + excused herself, and soon I saw her listening to Moliere. Later in the day + I saw her talking with Miss Treherne, and it struck me that she had never + looked so beautiful as then, and that Miss Treherne had never seemed so + perfect a product of a fine convention. But, watching them together, one + who had had any standard of good life could never have hesitated between + the two. It was plain to me that Mrs. Falchion was bent upon making a + conquest of this girl who so delicately withstood her; and Belle Treherne + has told me since, that, when in her presence, and listening to her, she + was irresistibly drawn to her; though at the same time she saw there was + some significant lack in her nature; some hardness impossible to any one + who had ever known love. She also told me that on this occasion Mrs. + Falchion did not mention my name, nor did she ever in their acquaintance, + save in the most casual fashion. Her conversation with Miss Treherne was + always far from petty gossip or that smart comedy in which some women tell + much personal history, with the guise of badinage and bright cynicism. I + confess, though, it struck me unpleasantly at the time, that this fresh, + high-hearted creature should be in familiar conversation with a woman who, + it seemed to me, was the incarnation of cruelty. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Falchion subscribed most liberally to the fund raised for the + children of the quartermaster and munificently to that for the crew which + had, under Hungerford, performed the rescue work. The only effect of this + was to deepen the belief that she was very wealthy, and could spend her + money without affectation; for it was noticeable that she, of all on + board, showed the least outward excitement at the time of the disaster. It + occurred to me that once or twice I had seen her eyes fixed on Hungerford + inquisitively, and not free from antipathy. It was something behind her + usual equanimity. Her intuitive observation had led her to trace his hand + in recent events. Yet I know she admired him too for his brave conduct. + The day following the tragedy we were seated at dinner. The captain and + most of the officers had risen, but Mrs. Falchion, having come in late, + was still eating, and I remained seated also. Hungerford approached me, + apologising for the interruption. He remarked that he was going on the + bridge, and wished to say something to me before he went. It was an + official matter, to which Mrs. Falchion apparently did not listen. When he + was about to turn away, he bowed to her rather distantly; but she looked + up at him and said, with an equivocal smile: + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Hungerford, we often respect brave men whom we do not like.” + </p> + <p> + Then he, understanding her, but refusing to recognise the compliment, not + altogether churlishly replied: “And I might say the same of women, Mrs. + Falchion; but there are many women we dislike who are not brave.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I could recognise a brave man without seeing his bravery,” she + urged. + </p> + <p> + “But I am a blundering sailor,” he rejoined, “who only believes his eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “You are young yet,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “I shall be older to-morrow,” was his retort. + </p> + <p> + “Well, perhaps you will see better to-morrow,” she rejoined, with indolent + irony. + </p> + <p> + “If I do, I’ll acknowledge it,” he added. Then Hungerford smiled at me + inscrutably. We two held a strange secret. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. A BRIDGE OF PERIL + </h2> + <p> + No more delightful experience may be had than to wake up in the harbour of + Aden some fine morning—it is always fine there—and get the + first impression of that mighty fortress, with its thousand iron eyes, in + strong repose by the Arabian Sea. Overhead was the cloudless sun, and + everywhere the tremulous glare of a sandy shore and the creamy wash of the + sea, like fusing opals. A tiny Mohammedan mosque stood gracefully where + the ocean almost washed its steps, and the Resident’s house, far up the + hard hillside, looked down upon the harbour from a green coolness. The + place had a massive, war-like character. Here was a battery with + earthworks; there, a fort; beyond, a signal-staff. Hospitals, hotels, and + stores were incidents in the picture. Beyond the mountain-wall and lofty + Jebel Shamsan, rising in fine pink and bronze, and at the end of a + high-walled path between the great hills, lay the town of Aden proper. + Above the town again were the mighty Tanks, formed out of clefts in the + mountains, and built in the times when the Phoenicians made Aden a great + mart, the richest spot in all Arabia. + </p> + <p> + Over to the left, on the opposite side of the harbour, were wide bungalows + shining in the sun, and flanking the side of the ancient aqueduct, the + gigantic tomb of an Arab sheikh. In the harbour were the men-of-war of all + nations, and Arab dhows sailed slowly in, laden with pilgrims for Mecca—masses + of picturesque sloth and dirt—and disease also; for more than one + vessel flew the yellow flag. As we looked, a British man-of-war entered + the gates of the harbour in the rosy light. It was bringing back the + disabled and wounded from a battle, in which a handful of British soldiers + were set to punish thirty times their number in an unknown country. But + there was another man-of-war in port with which we were familiar. We + passed it far out on the Indian Ocean. It again passed us, and reached + Aden before we did. The ‘Porcupine’ lay not far from the ‘Fulvia’, and as + I leaned over the bulwarks, idly looking at her, a boat shot away from her + side, and came towards us. As it drew near, I saw that it was filled with + luggage—a naval officer’s, I knew it to be. As the sailors hauled it + up, I noticed that the initials upon the portmanteaus were G. R. The owner + was evidently an officer going home on leave, or invalided. It did not, + however, concern me, as I thought, and I turned away to look for Mr. + Treherne, that I might fulfil my promise to escort his daughter and Mrs. + Callendar to the general cemetery at Aden; for I knew he was not fit to do + the journey, and there was nothing to prevent my going. + </p> + <p> + A few hours later I stood with Miss Treherne and Mrs. Callendar in the + graveyard beside the fortress-wall, placing wreaths of artificial flowers + and one or two natural roses—a chance purchase from a shop at the + port—on the grave of the young journalist. Miss Treherne had brought + some sketching materials, and both of us (for, as has been suggested, I + had a slight gift for drawing) made sketches of the burial-place. Having + done this, we moved away to other parts of the cemetery, looking at the + tombstones, many of which told sad tales enough of those who died far away + from home and friends. As we wandered on, I noticed a woman kneeling + beside a grave. It grew upon me that the figure was familiar. Presently I + saw who it was, for the face lifted. I excused myself, went over to her, + and said:—“Miss Caron, you are in trouble?” + </p> + <p> + She looked up, her eyes swimming with tears and pointed to the tombstone. + On it I read: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sacred to the Memory of + HECTOR CARON, + Ensign in the French Navy. + + Erected by his friend, Galt Roscoe, + H.B.M.N. +</pre> + <p> + Beneath this was the simple line: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Why, what evil hath he done?” + </pre> + <p> + “He was your brother?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monsieur, my one brother.” Her tears dropped slowly. + </p> + <p> + “And Galt Roscoe, who was he?” asked I. + </p> + <p> + Through her grief her face was eloquent. “I never saw him—never knew + him,” she said. “He saved my poor Hector from much suffering; he nursed + him, and buried him here when he died, and then—that!” pointing to + the tombstone. “He made me love the English,” she said. “Some day I shall + find him, and I shall have money to pay him back all he spent—all.” + Now I guessed the meaning of the scene on board the ‘Fulvia’, when she had + been so anxious to preserve her present relations with Mrs. Falchion. This + was the secret—a beautiful one. She rose. “They disgraced Hector in + New Caledonia,” she said, “because he refused to punish a convict at Ile + Nou who did not deserve it. He determined to go to France to represent his + case. He left me behind, because we were poor. He went to Sydney. There he + came to know this good man,”—her finger gently felt his name upon + the stone,—“who made him a guest upon his ship; and so he came on + towards England. In the Indian Ocean he was taken ill: and this was the + end.” + </p> + <p> + She mournfully sank again beside the grave, but she was no longer weeping. + </p> + <p> + “What was this officer’s vessel?” I said presently. She drew from her + dress a letter. “It is here. Please read it all. He wrote that to me when + Hector died.” + </p> + <p> + The superscription to the letter was—H.B.M.S. Porcupine. + </p> + <p> + I might have told her then that the ‘Porcupine’ was in the harbour at + Aden, but I felt that things would work out to due ends without my help—which, + indeed, they began to do immediately. As we stood there in silence, I + reading over and over again the line upon the pedestal, I heard footsteps + behind, and, turning, I saw a man approaching us, who, from his manner, + though he was dressed in civilian’s clothes, I guessed to be an officer of + the navy. He was of more than middle height, had black hair, dark blue + eyes, straight, strongly-marked brows, and was clean-shaven. He was a + little ascetic-looking, and rather interesting and uncommon, and yet he + was unmistakably a sea-going man. It was a face that one would turn to + look at again and again—a singular personality. And yet my first + glance told me that he was not one who had seen much happiness. Perhaps + that was not unattractive in itself, since people who are very happy, and + show it, are often most selfish too, and repel where they should attract. + He was now standing near the grave, and his eyes were turned from one to + the other of us, at last resting on Justine. + </p> + <p> + Presently I saw a look of recognition. He stepped quickly forward. + “Mademoiselle, will you pardon me?” he said very gently, “but you remind + me of one whose grave I came to see.” His hand made a slight motion toward + Hector Caron’s resting-place. Her eyes were on him with an inquiring + earnestness. “Oh, monsieur, is it possible that you are my brother’s + friend and rescuer?” + </p> + <p> + “I am Roscoe. He was my good friend,” he said to her, and he held out his + hand. She took it, and kissed it impulsively. He flushed, and drew it back + quickly and shyly. + </p> + <p> + “Some day I shall be able to repay you for all your goodness,” she said. + “I am only grateful now—grateful altogether. And you will tell me + all you knew of him—all that he said and did before he died?” + </p> + <p> + “I will gladly tell you all I know,” he answered, and he looked at her + compassionately, and yet with a little scrutiny, as though to know more of + her and how she came to be in Aden. He turned to me inquiringly. + </p> + <p> + I interpreted his thought by saying: “I am the surgeon of the ‘Fulvia’. I + chanced upon Miss Caron here. She is travelling by the ‘Fulvia’.” + </p> + <p> + With a faint voice, Justine here said: “Travelling—with my + mistress.” + </p> + <p> + “As companion to a lady,” I preferred to add in explanation, for I wished + not to see her humble herself so. A look of understanding came into + Roscoe’s face. Then he said: “I am glad that I shall see more of you; I am + to travel by the ‘Fulvia’ also to London.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet I am afraid I shall see very little of you,” she quietly replied. + </p> + <p> + He was about to say something to her, but she suddenly swayed and would + have fallen, but that he caught her and supported her. The weakness lasted + only for a moment, and then, steadying herself, she said to both of us: “I + hope you will say nothing of this to madame? She is kind, most kind, but + she hates illness—and such things.” + </p> + <p> + Galt Roscoe looked at me to reply, his face showing clearly that he + thought “madame” an extraordinary woman. I assured Justine that we would + say nothing. Then Roscoe cordially parted from us, saying that he would + look forward to seeing us both on the ship; but before he finally went, he + put on the grave a small bouquet from his buttonhole. Then I excused + myself from Justine, and, going over to Miss Treherne, explained to her + the circumstances, and asked her if she would go and speak to the + afflicted girl. She and Mrs. Callendar had been watching the incident, and + they eagerly listened to me. I think this was the moment that I first + stood really well with Belle Treherne. Her sympathy for the bereaved girl + flooded many barriers between herself and me. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she said quickly, “indeed I will go to her, poor girl! Will you come + also, Mrs. Callendar?” + </p> + <p> + But Mrs. Callendar timidly said she would rather Miss Treherne went + without her; and so it was. While Miss Treherne was comforting the + bereaved girl, I talked to Mrs. Callendar. I fear that Mrs. Callendar was + but a shallow woman; for, after a moment of excitable interest in Justine, + she rather naively turned the talk upon the charms of Europe. And, I fear, + not without some slight cynicism, I followed her where she led; for, as I + said to myself, it did not matter what direction our idle tongues took, so + long as I kept my mind upon the two beside that grave: but it gave my + speech a spice of malice. I dwelt upon Mrs. Callendar’s return to her + native heath—that is, the pavements of Bond Street and Piccadilly, + although I knew that she was a native of Tasmania. At this she smiled + egregiously. + </p> + <p> + At length Miss Treherne came to us and said that Justine insisted she was + well enough to go back to the vessel alone, and wished not to be + accompanied. So we left her there. + </p> + <p> + A score of times I have stopped when preparing my notes for this tale from + my diary and those of Mrs. Falchion and Galt Roscoe, to think how, all + through the events recorded here, and many others omitted, Justine Caron + was like those devoted and, often, beautiful attendants of the heroes and + heroines of tragedy, who, when all is over, close the eyes, compose the + bodies, and cover the faces of the dead, pronouncing with just lips the + benediction, fittest in their mouths. Their loves, their deeds, their + lives, however good and worthy, were clothed in modesty and kept far up + the stage, to be, even when everything was over, not always given the + privilege to die as did their masters, but, like Horatio, bade to live and + be still the loyal servant: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “But in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, + To tell my story.” + </pre> + <p> + There was no reason why we should go to the ship immediately, and I + proposed that we should first explore the port-town, and then visit the + city of Aden—five miles away beyond the hills—and the Tanks. + To this the ladies consented. + </p> + <p> + Somauli policemen patrolled the streets; Somauli, Arab, and Turkish guides + impeded the way; Arabs in plain white, Arab sheikhs in blue and white, and + gold, lounged languidly about, or drank their coffee in the shade of the + bazaars. Children of the desert, nearly naked, sprinkled water before the + doors of the bazaars and stores and upon the hot thoroughfare, from long + leather bottles; caravans of camels, with dusty stride, swung up the + hillside and beyond into the desert; the Jewish water-carrier with his + donkey trudged down the pass from the cool fountains in the volcanic + hills; a guard of eunuchs marched by with the harem of a Mohammedan; in + the doorways of the houses goats and donkeys fed. Jews, with greasy faces, + red-hemmed skirt, and hungry look, moved about, offering ostrich feathers + for sale, everywhere treated worse than the Chinaman in Oregon or at Port + Darwin. We saw English and Australian passengers of the ‘Fulvia’ pelting + the miserable members of a despised race with green fruit about the + streets, and afterwards from the deck of the ship. A number of these + raised their hats to us as they passed; but Belle Treherne’s + acknowledgment was chilly. + </p> + <p> + “It is hard to be polite to cowards,” she said. + </p> + <p> + After having made some ruinous bargains in fezes, Turkish cloths and + perfume, I engaged a trap, and we started for Aden. The journey was not + one of beauty, but it had singular interest. Every turn of the wheels + carried us farther and farther away from a familiar world to one of + yesterday. White-robed warriors of the desert, with lances, bent their + brows upon us as they rode away towards the endless sands, and vagabonds + of Egypt begged for alms. In about three-quarters of an hour we had passed + the lofty barriers of Jebel Shamsan and its comrades, and were making + clouds of dust in the streets of Aden. In spite of the cantonments, the + British Government House, and the European Church, it was an Oriental town + pure and simple, where the slow-footed hours wandered by, leaving apathy + in their train; where sloth and surfeit sat in the market-places; idle + women gossiped in their doorways; and naked children rolled in the sun. + Yet how, in the most unfamiliar places, does one wake suddenly to hear or + see some most familiar thing, and learn again that the ways of all people + and nations are not, after all, so far apart! Here three naked youths, + with trays upon their heads, cried aloud at each doorway what, + interpreted, was: “Pies! Hot pies! Pies all hot!” or, “Crum-pet! Crumpet! + Won’t you buy-uy a crum-pet!” + </p> + <p> + One sees the same thing in Kandy, in Calcutta, in Tokio, in Istamboul, in + Teheran, in Queensland, in London. + </p> + <p> + To us the great Tanks overlooking the place were more interesting than the + town itself, and we drove thither. At Government House and here were the + only bits of green that we had seen; they were, in fact, the only spots of + verdure on the peninsula of Aden. It was a very sickly green, from which + wan and dusty fig trees rose. In their scant shadow, or in the shelter of + an overhanging ledge of rock, Arabs offered us draughts of cool water, and + oranges. There were people in the sickly gardens, and others were + inspecting the Tanks. Passengers from the ship had brought + luncheon-baskets to this sad oasis. + </p> + <p> + As we stood at the edge of one of the Tanks, Miss Treherne remarked with + astonishment that they were empty. I explained to her that Aden did not + have the benefits conferred even on the land of the seven fat and seven + lean kine—that there had not been rain there for years, and that + when it did come it was neither prolonged nor plentiful. Then came + questions as to how long ago the Tanks were built. + </p> + <p> + “Thirteen hundred years!” she exclaimed. “How strange to feel it so! It is + like looking at old graves. And how high the walls are, closing up the + gorge between the hills.” + </p> + <p> + At that moment Mrs. Callendar drew our attention to Mrs. Falchion and a + party from the ship. Mrs. Falchion was but a few paces from us, smiling + agreeably as she acknowledged our greetings. Presently two of her party + came to us and asked us to share their lunch. I would have objected, and I + am certain Belle Treherne would gladly have done so, but Mrs. Callendar + was anxious to accept, therefore we expressed our gratitude and joined the + group. On second thoughts I was glad that we did so, because, otherwise, + my party must have been without refreshments until they returned to the + ship—the restaurants at Aden are not to be trusted. To me Mrs. + Falchion was pleasantly impersonal, to Miss Treherne delicately and + actively personal. At the time I had a kind of fear of her interest in the + girl, but I know now that it was quite sincere, though it began with a + motive not very lofty—to make Belle Treherne her friend, and so + annoy me, and also to study, as would an anatomist, the girl’s life. + </p> + <p> + We all moved into the illusive shade of the fig and magnolia trees, and + lunch was soon spread. As we ate, conversation turned upon the annoying + persistency of Eastern guides, and reference was made to the exciting + circumstances attending the engagement of Amshar, the guide of Mrs. + Falchion’s party. Among a score of claimants, Amshar had had one + particular opponent—a personal enemy—who would not desist even + when the choice had been made. He, indeed, had been the first to solicit + the party, and was rejected because of his disagreeable looks. He had even + followed the trap from the Port of Aden. As one of the gentlemen was + remarking on the muttered anger of the disappointed Arab, Mrs. Falchion. + said: “There he is now at the gate of the garden.” + </p> + <p> + His look was sullenly turned upon our party. Blackburn, the Queenslander + said, “Amshar, the other fellow is following up the game,” and pointed to + the gate. + </p> + <p> + Amshar understood the gesture at least, and though he gave a toss of the + head, I noticed that his hand trembled as he handed me a cup of water, and + that he kept his eyes turned on his opponent. + </p> + <p> + “One always feels unsafe with these cut-throat races,” said Colonel Ryder, + “as some of us know, who have had to deal with the nigger of South + America. They think no more of killing a man—” + </p> + <p> + “Than an Australian squatter does of dispersing a mob of aboriginals or + kangaroos,” said Clovelly. + </p> + <p> + Here Mrs. Callendar spoke up briskly. “I don’t know what you mean by + ‘dispersing.’” + </p> + <p> + “You know what a kangaroo battue is, don’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “But that is killing, slaughtering kangaroos by the hundred.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, and that is aboriginal dispersion,” said the novelist. “That is the + aristocratic method of legislating the native out of existence.” + </p> + <p> + Blackburn here vigorously protested. “Yes, it’s very like a novelist, on + the hunt for picturesque events, to spend his forensic soul upon ‘the poor + native,’—upon the dirty nigger, I choose to call him: the meanest, + cruellest, most cowardly, and murderous—by Jove, what a lot of + adjectives!—of native races. But we fellows, who have lost some of + the best friends we ever had—chums with whom we’ve shared blanket + and tucker—by the crack of a nulla-nulla in the dark, or a spear + from the scrub, can’t find a place for Exeter Hall and its ‘poor native’ + in our hard hearts. We stand in such a case for justice. It is a new + country. Not once in fifty times would law reach them. Reprisal and + dispersion were the only things possible to men whose friends had been + massacred, and—well, they punished tribes for the acts of + individuals.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Falchion here interposed. “That is just what England does. A British + trader is killed. She sweeps a native town out of existence with Hotchkiss + guns—leaves it naked and dead. That is dispersion too; I have seen + it, and I know how far niggers as a race can be trusted, and how much they + deserve sympathy. I agree with Mr. Blackburn.” + </p> + <p> + Blackburn raised his glass. “Mrs. Falchion,” he said, “I need no further + evidence to prove my case. Experience is the best teacher.” + </p> + <p> + “As I wish to join the chorus to so notable a compliment, will somebody + pass the claret?” said Colonel Ryder, shaking the crumbs of a pate from + his coat-collar. When his glass was filled, he turned towards Mrs. + Falchion, and continued: “I drink to the health of the best teacher.” And + every one laughingly responded. This impromptu toast would have been drunk + with more warmth, if we could have foreseen an immediate event. Not less + peculiar were Mrs. Falchion’s words to Hungerford the evening before, + recorded in the last sentence of the preceding chapter. + </p> + <p> + Cigars were passed, and the men rose and strolled away. We wandered + outside the gardens, passing the rejected guide as we did so. “I don’t + like the look in his eye,” said Clovelly. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Ryder laughed. “You’ve always got a fine vision for the dramatic.” + </p> + <p> + We passed on. I suppose about twenty minutes had gone when, as we were + entering the garden again, we heard loud cries. Hurrying forward towards + the Tanks, we saw a strange sight. + </p> + <p> + There, on a narrow wall dividing two great tanks, were three people—Mrs. + Falchion, Amshar, and the rejected Arab guide. Amshar was crouching behind + Mrs. Falchion, and clinging to her skirts in abject fear. The Arab + threatened with a knife. He could not get at Amshar without thrusting Mrs. + Falchion aside, and, as I said, the wall was narrow. He was bent like a + tiger about to spring. + </p> + <p> + Seeing Mrs. Falchion and Amshar apart from the others,—Mrs. Falchion + having insisted on crossing this narrow and precipitous wall,—he had + suddenly rushed after them. As he did so, Miss Treherne saw him, and cried + out. Mrs. Falchion faced round swiftly, and then came this tragic + situation. + </p> + <p> + Some one must die. + </p> + <p> + Seeing that Mrs. Falchion made no effort to dislodge Amshar from her + skirts, the Arab presently leaped forward. Mrs. Falchion’s arms went out + suddenly, and she caught the wrist that held the dagger. Then there was an + instant’s struggle. It was Mrs. Falchion’s life now, as well as Amshar’s. + They swayed. They hung on the edge of the rocky chasm. Then we lost the + gleam of the knife, and the Arab shivered, and toppled over. Mrs. Falchion + would have gone with him, but Amshar caught her about the waist, and saved + her from the fall which would have killed her as certainly as it killed + the Arab lying at the bottom of the tank. She had managed to turn the + knife in the Arab’s hand against his own breast, and then suddenly pressed + her body against it; but the impulse of the act came near carrying her + over also. + </p> + <p> + Amshar was kneeling at her feet, and kissing her gown gratefully. She + pushed him away with her foot, and, coolly turning aside, began to arrange + her hair. As I approached her, she glanced down at the Arab. “Horrible! + horrible!” she said. I remembered that these were her words when her + husband was lifted from the sea to the ‘Fulvia’. + </p> + <p> + Not ungently, she refused my hand or any assistance, and came down among + the rest of the party. I could not but feel a strange wonder at the + powerful side of her character just shown—her courage, her cool + daring. In her face now there was a look of annoyance, and possibly + disgust, as well as of triumph—so natural in cases of physical + prowess. Everybody offered congratulations, but she only showed real + pleasure, and that mutely, at those of Miss Treherne. To the rest of us + she said: “One had to save one’s self, and Amshar was a coward.” + </p> + <p> + And so this woman, whose hardness of heart and excessive cruelty + Hungerford and I were keeping from the world, was now made into a heroine, + around whom a halo of romance would settle whenever her name should be + mentioned. Now, men, eligible and ineligible, would increase their homage. + It seemed as if the stars had stopped in their courses to give her special + fortune. + </p> + <p> + That morning I had thought her appearance at this luncheon-party was + little less than scandalous, for she knew, if others did not, who Boyd + Madras was. After the occurrence with the Arab, the other event was + certainly much less prominent, and here, after many years, I can see that + the act was less in her than it would have been in others. For, behind her + outward hardness, there was a sort of justice working, an iron thing, but + still not unnatural in her. + </p> + <p> + Belle Treherne awakened also to a new perception of her character, and a + kind of awe possessed her, so masculine seemed her courage, yet so womanly + and feminine her manner. Mrs. Callendar was loud in her exclamations of + delight and wonder at Mrs. Falchion’s coolness; and the bookmaker, with + his usual impetuosity, offered to take bets at four to one that we should + all be detained to give evidence in the matter. + </p> + <p> + Clovelly was silent. He occasionally adjusted his glasses, and looked at + Mrs. Falchion as if he had suddenly come to a full stop in his opinions + regarding her. This, I think, was noticed by her, and enjoyed too, for she + doubtless remembered her conversation with me, in which she had said that + Clovelly thought he understood her perfectly. Colonel Ryder, who was loyal + at all times, said she had the nerve of a woman from Kentucky. Moreover, + he had presence of mind, for he had immediately sent off a native to + inform the authorities of what had occurred; so that before we had got + half-way to the town we were met by policemen running towards us, followed + by a small detachment of Indian soldiers. The officer in command of the + detachment stopped us, and said that the governor would be glad if we + would come to Government House for an hour, while an inquiry was being + held. + </p> + <p> + To this we cheerfully consented, of course; and, in a room where punkahs + waved and cool claret-cup awaited us, we were received by the governor, + who was full of admiration of Mrs. Falchion. It was plain, however, that + he was surprised at her present equanimity. Had she no nerves at all? + </p> + <p> + “I can only regret exceedingly,” said the governor, “that your visit to + Aden has had such a tragical interruption; but since it has occurred, I am + glad to have the privilege of meeting a lady so brave as Mrs. Falchion.”—The + bookmaker had introduced us all with a naivete that, I am sure, amused the + governor, as it certainly did his aide-de-camp. “We should not need to + fear the natives if we had soldiers as fearless,” his excellency + continued. + </p> + <p> + At this point the inquiry began, and, after it was over, the governor said + that there the matter ended so far as we were concerned, and then he + remarked gallantly that the Government of Aden would always remain Mrs. + Falchion’s debtor. She replied that it was a debt she would be glad to + preserve unsettled for ever. After this pretty exchange of compliments, + the governor smiled, and offered her his arm to the door, where our ‘char + a bans’ awaited us. + </p> + <p> + So impressed was the bookmaker with the hospitable reception the governor + had given us, that he offered him his cigar-case with its contents, said + he hoped they would meet again, and asked his excellency if he thought of + coming to Australia. The governor declined the cigars graciously, ignored + the hoped-for pleasure of another meeting, and trusted that it might fall + to his lot to visit Australia some day. Thereupon the bookmaker insisted + on the aide-de-camp accepting the cigar-case, and gave him his + visiting-card. The aide-de-camp lost nothing by his good-humoured + acceptance, if he smoked, because, as I knew, the cigars were very good + indeed. Bookmakers, gamblers and Jews are good judges of tobacco. And the + governor’s party lost nothing in dignity because, as the traps wheeled + away, they gave a polite little cheer for Mrs. Falchion. I, at first, was + fearful how Belle Treherne would regard the gaucheries of the bookmaker, + but I saw that he was rather an object of interest to her than otherwise; + for he was certainly amusing. + </p> + <p> + As we drove through Aden, a Somauli lad ran from the door of a house, and + handed up a letter to the driver of my trap. It bore my name, and was + handed over to me. I recognised the handwriting. It was that of Boyd + Madras. He had come ashore by Hungerford’s aid in the night. The letter + simply gave an address in England that would always find him, and stated + that he intended to take another name. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. “THE PROGRESS OF THE SUNS” + </h2> + <p> + News of the event had preceded us to the ‘Fulvia’, and, as we scrambled + out on the ship’s stairs, cheers greeted us. Glancing up, I saw + Hungerford, among others, leaning over the side, and looking at Mrs. + Falchion in a curious cogitating fashion, not unusual to him. The look was + non-committal, yet earnest. If it was not approval, it was not + condemnation; but it might have been slightly ironical, and that annoyed + me. It seemed impossible for him—and it was so always, I believe—to + get out of his mind the thought of the man he had rescued on No Man’s Sea. + I am sure it jarred upon him that the band foolishly played a welcome when + Mrs. Falchion stepped on the deck. As I delivered Miss Treherne into the + hands of her father, who was anxiously awaiting us, Hungerford said in my + ear: “A tragedy queen, Marmion.” He said it so distinctly that Mrs. + Falchion heard it, and she gave him a searching look. Their eyes met and + warred for a moment, and then he added: “I remember! Yes, I can respect + the bravery of a woman whom I do not like.” + </p> + <p> + “And this is to-morrow,” she said, “and a man may change his mind, and + that may be fate—or a woman’s whim.” She bowed, turned away, and + went below, evidently disliking the reception she had had, and anxious to + escape inquiries and congratulations. Nor did she appear again until the + ‘Fulvia’ got under way about six o’clock in the evening. As we moved out + of the harbour we passed close to the ‘Porcupine’ and saw its officers + grouped on the deck, waving adieus to some one on our deck, whom I + guessed, of course, to be Galt Roscoe. + </p> + <p> + At this time Mrs. Falchion was standing near me. “For whom is that + demonstration?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “For one of her officers, who is a passenger by the ‘Fulvia’,” I replied. + “You remember we passed the ‘Porcupine’ in the Indian Ocean?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know that very well,” she said, with a shade of meaning. “But”—here + I thought her voice had a touch of breathlessness—“but who is the + officer? I mean, what is his name?” + </p> + <p> + “He stands in the group near the door of the captain’s cabin, there. His + name is Galt Roscoe, I think.” + </p> + <p> + A slight exclamation escaped her. There was a chilly smile on her lips, + and her eyes sought the group until it rested on Galt Roscoe. In a moment + she said “You have met him?” + </p> + <p> + “In the cemetery this morning, for the first time.” + </p> + <p> + “Everybody seems to have had business this morning at the cemetery. + Justine Caron spent hours there. To me it is so foolish, heaping up a + mound, and erecting a tombstone over—what?—a dead thing, + which, if one could see it, would be dreadful.” + </p> + <p> + “You would prefer complete absorption—as of the ocean?” I brutally + retorted. + </p> + <p> + She appeared not to notice the innuendo. “Yes, what is gone is gone. + Graves are idolatry. Gravestones are ghostly. It is people without + imagination who need these things, together with crape and black-edged + paper. It is all barbaric ritual. I know you think I am callous, but I + cannot help that. For myself, I wish the earth close about me, and level + green grass above me, and no one knowing of the place; or else, fire or + the sea.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Falchion,” said I, “between us there need be no delicate words. You + appear to have neither imagination, nor idolatry, nor remembrances, nor + common womanly kindness.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” she said. “Yet you might know me better.” Here she touched my + arm with the tips of her fingers, and, in spite of myself, I felt my pulse + beat faster. It seemed to me that in her presence, even now, I could not + quite trust myself. “Indeed!” she repeated. “And who made you omniscient, + Dr. Marmion? You hardly do yourself justice. You hold a secret. You insist + on reminding me of the fact. Is that in perfect gallantry? Do you know me + altogether, from your knowledge of that one thing? You are vain. Or does + the secret wear on you, and—Mr. Hungerford? Was it necessary to seek + HIS help in keeping it?” + </p> + <p> + I told her then the true history of Hungerford’s connection with Boyd + Madras, and also begged her pardon for showing just now my knowledge of + her secret. At this she said, “I suppose I should be grateful,” and was + there a slightly softer cadence to her voice? + </p> + <p> + “No, you need not be grateful,” I said. “We are silent, first, because he + wished it; then because you are a woman.” + </p> + <p> + “You define your reasons with astonishing care and taste,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, as to taste!—” said I; but then I bit my tongue. + </p> + <p> + At that she said, her lips very firm and pale, “I could not pretend to a + grief I did not feel. I acted no lie. He died as we had lived—estranged. + I put up no memorials.” + </p> + <p> + But I, thinking of my mother lying in her grave, a woman after God’s own + heart, who loved me more than I deserved, repeated almost unconsciously + these lines (clipped from a magazine): + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Sacred the ring, the faded glove, + Once worn by one we used to love; + Dead warriors in their armour live, + And in their relics saints survive. + + “Oh, Mother Earth, henceforth defend + All thou hast garnered of my friend, + From winter’s wind and driving sleet, + From summer’s sun and scorching heat. + + “Within thine all-embracing breast + Is hid one more forsaken nest; + While, in the sky, with folded wings, + The bird that left it sits and sings.” + </pre> + <p> + I paused; the occasion seemed so little suited to the sentiment, for + around us was the idle excitement of leaving port. I was annoyed with + myself for my share in the conversation so far. Mrs. Falchion’s eyes had + scarcely left that group around the captain’s door, although she had + appeared acutely interested in what I was saying. Now she said: + </p> + <p> + “You recite very well. I feel impressed, but I fancy it is more your voice + than those fine sentiments; for, after all, you cannot glorify the dead + body. Look at the mummy of Thothmes at Boulak, and think what Cleopatra + must look like now. And please let us talk about something else. Let us—” + She paused. + </p> + <p> + I followed the keen, shaded glance of her eyes, and saw, coming from the + group by the captain’s door, Galt Roscoe. He moved in our direction. + Suddenly he paused. His look was fixed upon Mrs. Falchion. A flush passed + over his face, not exactly confusing, but painful, and again it left him + pale, and for a moment he stood motionless. Then he came forward to us. He + bowed to me, then looked hard at her. She held out her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Roscoe, I think?” she said. “An old friend,” she added, turning to + me. He gravely took her extended hand and said: + </p> + <p> + “I did not think to see you here, Miss—” + </p> + <p> + “MRS. Falchion,” she interrupted clearly. + </p> + <p> + “MRS. Falchion!” he said, with surprise. “It is so many years since we had + met, and—” + </p> + <p> + “And it is so easy to forget things? But it isn’t so many, really—only + seven, the cycle for constitutional renewal. Dear me, how erudite that + sounds!... So, I suppose, we meet the same, yet not the same.” + </p> + <p> + “The same, yet not the same,” he repeated after her, with an attempt at + lightness, yet abstractedly. + </p> + <p> + “I think you gentlemen know each other?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; we met in the cemetery this morning. I was visiting the grave of a + young French officer.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” she said—“Justine Caron’s brother. She has told me; but + she did not tell me your name.” + </p> + <p> + “She has told you?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. She is—my companion.” I saw that she did not use the word that + first came to her. + </p> + <p> + “How strangely things occur! And yet,” he added musingly, “I suppose, + after all, coincidence is not so strange in these days of much travel, + particularly with people whose lives are connected—more or less.” + </p> + <p> + “Whose lives are connected—more or less,” she repeated after him, in + a steely tone. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to me that I had received my cue to leave. I bowed myself away, + and went about my duties. As we steamed bravely through the Straits of + Babelmandeb, with Perim on our left, rising lovely through the milky haze, + I came on deck again, and they were still near where I had left them an + hour before. I passed, glancing at them as I did so. They did not look + towards me. His eyes were turned to the shore, and hers were fixed on him. + I saw an expression on her lips that gave her face new character. She was + speaking, as I thought, clearly and mercilessly. I could not help hearing + her words as I passed them. + </p> + <p> + “You are going to be that—you!” There was a ring of irony in her + tone. I heard nothing more in words, but I saw him turn to her somewhat + sharply, and I caught the deep notes of his voice as he answered her. + When, a moment after, I looked back, she had gone below. + </p> + <p> + Galt Roscoe had a seat at Captain Ascott’s table, and I did not see + anything of him at meal-times, but elsewhere I soon saw him a great deal. + He appeared to seek my company. I was glad of this, for I found that he + was an agreeable man, and had distinct originality of ideas, besides being + possessed of very considerable culture. He also had that social aplomb so + much a characteristic of the naval officer. Yet, man of the world as he + was, he had a strain of asceticism which puzzled me. It did not make him + eccentric, but it was not a thing usual with the naval man. Again, he + wished to be known simply as Mr. Roscoe, not as Captain Roscoe, which was + his rank. He said nothing about having retired, yet I guessed he had done + so. One evening, however, soon after we had left Aden, we were sitting in + my cabin, and the conversation turned upon a recent novel dealing with the + defection of a clergyman of the Church of England through agnosticism. The + keenness with which he threw himself into the discussion and the knowledge + he showed, surprised me. I knew (as most medical students get to know, + until they know better) some scientific objections to Christianity, and I + put them forward. He clearly and powerfully met them. I said at last, + laughingly: “Why, you ought to take holy orders.” + </p> + <p> + “That is what I am going to do,” he said very seriously, “when I get to + England. I am resigning the navy.” At that instant there flashed through + my mind Mrs. Falchion’s words: “You are going to be that—you!” + </p> + <p> + Then he explained to me that he had been studying for two years, and + expected to go up for deacon’s orders soon after his return to England. I + cannot say that I was greatly surprised, for I had known a few, and had + heard of many, men who had exchanged the navy for the Church. It struck + me, however, that Galt Roscoe appeared to view the matter from a + stand-point not professional; the more so, that he expressed his + determination to go to the newest part of a new country, to do the pioneer + work of the Church. I asked him where he was going, and he said to the + Rocky Mountains of Canada. I told him that my destination was Canada also. + He warmly expressed the hope that we should see something of each other + there. This friendship of ours may seem to have been hastily hatched, but + it must be remembered that the sea is a great breeder of friendship. Two + men who have known each other for twenty years find that twenty days at + sea bring them nearer than ever they were before, or else estrange them. + </p> + <p> + It was on this evening that, in a lull of the conversation, I casually + asked him when he had known Mrs. Falchion. His face was inscrutable, but + he said somewhat hurriedly, “In the South Sea Islands,” and then changed + the subject. So, there was some mystery again? Was this woman never to be + dissociated from enigma? In those days I never could think of her save in + connection with some fatal incident in which she was scathless, and some + one else suffered. + </p> + <p> + It may have been fancy, but I thought that, during the first day or two + after leaving Aden, Galt Roscoe and Mrs. Falchion were very little + together. Then the impression grew that this was his doing, and again that + she waited with confident patience for the time when he would seek her—because + he could not help himself. Often when other men were paying her devoted + court I caught her eyes turned in his direction, and I thought I read in + her smile a consciousness of power. And it so was. Very soon he was at her + side. But I also noticed that he began to look worn, that his conversation + with me lagged. I think that at this time I was so much occupied with + tracing personal appearances to personal influences that I lost to some + degree the physician’s practical keenness. My eyes were to be opened. He + appeared to be suffering, and she seemed to unbend to him more than she + ever unbent to me, or any one else on board. Hungerford, seeing this, said + to me one day in his blunt way: “Marmion, old Ulysses knew what he was + about when he tied himself to the mast.” + </p> + <p> + But the routine of the ship went on as before. Fortunately, Mrs. + Falchion’s heroism at Aden had taken the place of the sensation attending + Boyd Madras’s suicide. Those who tired of thinking of both became mildly + interested in Red Sea history. Chief among these was the bookmaker. As an + historian the bookmaker was original. He cavalierly waved aside all such + confusing things as dates: made Moses and Mahomet contemporaneous, + incidentally referred to King Solomon’s visits to Cleopatra, and with sad + irreverence spoke of the Exodus and the destruction of Pharaoh’s horses + and chariots as “the big handicap.” He did not mean to be irreverent or + unhistorical. He merely wished to enlighten Mrs. Callendar, who said he + was very original, and quite clever at history. His really startling + points, however, were his remarks upon the colours of the mountains of + Egypt and the sunset tints to be seen on the Red Sea and the Suez Canal. + To him the grey, and pink, and melancholy gold only brought up visions of + a race at Epsom or Flemington—generally Flemington, where the + staring Australian sun pours down on an emerald course, on a score of + horses straining upon the start, the colours of the jockeys’ coats and + caps changing in the struggle like a kaleidoscope, and making strange + harmonies of colour. The comparison between the mountains of Egypt and a + race-course might seem most absurd, if one did not remember that the + bookmaker had his own standards, and that he thought he was paying unusual + honour to the land of the Fellah. Clovelly plaintively said, as he drank + his hock and seltzer, that the bookmaker was hourly saving his life; and + Colonel Ryder admitted at last that Kentucky never produced anything quite + like him. + </p> + <p> + The evening before we came to the Suez Canal I was walking with Miss + Treherne and her father. I had seen Galt Roscoe in conversation with Mrs. + Falchion. Presently I saw him rise to go away. A moment after, in passing, + I was near her. She sprang up, caught my arm, and pointed anxiously. I + looked, and saw Galt Roscoe swaying as he walked. + </p> + <p> + “He is ill—ill,” she said. + </p> + <p> + I ran forward and caught him as he was falling. Ill? + </p> + <p> + Of course he was ill. What a fool I had been! Five minutes with him + assured me that he had fever. I had set his haggard appearance down to + some mental trouble—and I was going to be a professor in a medical + college! + </p> + <p> + Yet I know now that a troubled mind hastened the fever. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. BETWEEN DAY AND DARK + </h2> + <p> + From the beginning Galt Roscoe’s fever was violent. It had been hanging + about him for a long time, and was the result of malarial poisoning. I + devoutly wished that we were in the Mediterranean instead of the Red Sea, + where the heat was so great; but fortunately we should soon be there. + There was no other case of sickness on board, and I could devote plenty of + time to him. Offers of assistance in nursing were numerous, but I only + encouraged those of the bookmaker, strange as this may seem; yet he was as + gentle and considerate as a woman in the sick-room. This was on the first + evening of his attack. After that I had reasons for dispensing with his + generous services. The night after Roscoe was taken ill we were passing + through the canal, the search-light of the ‘Fulvia’ sweeping the path + ahead of it and glorifying everything it touched. Mud barges were fairy + palaces; Arab punts beautiful gondolas; the ragged Egyptians on the banks + became picturesque; and the desolate country behind them had a wide + vestibule of splendour. I stood for half an hour watching this scene, then + I went below to Roscoe’s cabin and relieved the bookmaker. The sick man + was sleeping from the effects of a sedative draught. The bookmaker had + scarcely gone when I heard a step behind me, and I turned and saw Justine + Caron standing timidly at the door, her eyes upon the sleeper. She spoke + quietly. “Is he very ill?” + </p> + <p> + I answered that he was, but also that for some days I could not tell how + dangerous his illness might be. She went to the berth where he lay, the + reflected light from without playing weirdly on his face, and smoothed the + pillow gently. + </p> + <p> + “If you are willing, I will watch for a time,” she said. “Everybody is on + deck. Madame said she would not need me for a couple of hours. I will send + a steward for you if he wakes; you need rest yourself.” + </p> + <p> + That I needed rest was quite true, for I had been up all the night before; + still I hesitated. She saw my hesitation, and added: + </p> + <p> + “It is not much that I can do, still I should like to do it. I can at + least watch.” Then, very earnestly: “He watched beside Hector.” + </p> + <p> + I left her with him, her fingers moving the small bag of ice about his + forehead to allay the fever and her eyes patiently regarding him. I went + on deck again. I met Miss Treherne and her father. They both inquired for + the sick man, and I told Belle—for she seemed much interested—the + nature of such malarial fevers, the acute forms they sometimes take, and + the kind of treatment required. She asked several questions, showing a + keen understanding of my explanations, and then, after a moment’s silence, + said meditatively: “I think I like men better when they are doing + responsible work; it is difficult to be idle—and important too.” + </p> + <p> + I saw very well that, with her, I should have to contend for a long time + against those first few weeks of dalliance on the ‘Fulvia’. + </p> + <p> + Clovelly joined us, and for the first time—if I had not been so + egotistical it had appeared to me before—I guessed that his somewhat + professional interest in Belle Treherne had developed into a very personal + thing. And with that thought came also the conception of what a powerful + antagonist he would be. For it improves some men to wear glasses; and + Clovelly had a delightful, wheedling tongue. It was allusive, + contradictory (a thing pleasing to women), respectful yet playful, bold + yet reverential. Many a time I have longed for Clovelly’s tongue. + Unfortunately for me, I learned some of his methods without his art; and + of this I am occasionally reminded at this day. A man like Clovelly is + dangerous as a rival when he is not in earnest; when he IS in earnest, it + becomes a lonely time for the other man—unless the girl is perverse. + </p> + <p> + I left the two together, and moved about the deck, trying to think closely + about Roscoe’s case, and to drive Clovelly’s invasion from my mind. I + succeeded, and was only roused by Mrs. Falchion’s voice beside me. + </p> + <p> + “Does he suffer much?” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + When answered, she asked nervously how he looked—it was impossible + that she should consider misery without shrinking. I told her that he was + only flushed and haggard as yet and that he was little wasted. A thought + flashed to her face. She was about to speak, but paused. After a moment, + however, she remarked evenly: “He is likely to be delirious?” + </p> + <p> + “It is probable,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes were fixed on the search-light. The look in them was inscrutable. + She continued quietly: “I will go and see him, if you will let me. Justine + will go with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Not now,” I replied. “He is sleeping. To-morrow, if you will.” + </p> + <p> + I did not think it necessary to tell her that Justine was at that moment + watching beside him. We walked the deck together in silence. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” she said, “that you care to walk with me. Please do not make + the matter a burden.” + </p> + <p> + She did not say this with any invitation to courteous protest on my part, + but rather with a cold frankness—for which, I confess, I always + admired her. I said now: “Mrs. Falchion, you have suggested what might + easily be possible in the circumstances, but I candidly admit that I have + never yet found your presence disagreeable; and I suppose that is a + comment upon my weakness. Though, to speak again with absolute truth, I + think I do not like you at this present.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I fancy I can understand that,” she said. “I can understand how, for + instance, one might feel a just and great resentment, and have in one’s + hand the instrument of punishment, and yet withhold one’s hand and protect + where one should injure.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment these words had no particular significance to me, but there + chanced a time when they came home with great force. I think, indeed, that + she was speaking more to herself than to me. Suddenly she turned to me. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” she said, “if I am as cruel as you think me—for, indeed, + I do not know. But I have been through many things.” + </p> + <p> + Here her eyes grew cold and hard. The words that followed seemed in no + sequence. “Yet,” she said, “I will go and see him to-morrow.... + Good-night.” After about an hour I went below to Galt Roscoe’s cabin. I + drew aside the curtain quietly. Justine Caron evidently had not heard me. + She was sitting beside the sick man, her fingers still smoothing away the + pillow from his fevered face and her eyes fixed on him. I spoke to her. + She rose. “He has slept well,” she said. And she moved to the door. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Caron,” I said, “if Mrs. Falchion is willing, you could help me to + nurse Mr. Roscoe?” + </p> + <p> + A light sprang to her eyes. “Indeed, yes,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I will speak to her about it, if you will let me?” She bowed her head, + and her look was eloquent of thanks. After a word of good-night we parted. + </p> + <p> + I knew that nothing better could occur to my patient than that Justine + Caron should help to nurse him. This would do far more for him than + medicine—the tender care of a woman—than many pharmacopoeias. + </p> + <p> + Hungerford had insisted on relieving me for a couple of hours at midnight. + He said it would be a good preparation for going on the bridge at three + o’clock in the morning. About half-past two he came to my cabin and waked + me, saying: “He is worse—delirious; you had better come.” + </p> + <p> + He was indeed delirious. Hungerford laid his hand on my shoulder. + “Marmion,” he said, “that woman is in it. Like the devil, she is + ubiquitous. Mr. Roscoe’s past is mixed up with hers somehow. I don’t + suppose men talk absolute history in delirium, but there is no reason, I + fancy, why they shouldn’t paraphrase. I should reduce the number of nurses + to a minimum if I were you.” + </p> + <p> + A determined fierceness possessed me at the moment. I said to him: “She + shall nurse him, Hungerford—she, and Justine Caron, and myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Plus Dick Hungerford,” he added. “I don’t know quite how you intend to + work this thing, but you have the case in your hands, and what you’ve told + me about the French girl shows that she is to be trusted. But as for + myself, Marmion M.D., I’m sick—sick—sick of this woman, and + all her words and works. I believe that she has brought bad luck to this + ship; and it’s my last voyage on it; and—and I begin to think you’re + a damned good fellow—excuse the insolence of it; and—good-night.” + </p> + <p> + For the rest of the night I listened to Galt Roscoe’s wild words. He + tossed from side to side, and murmured brokenly. Taken separately, and as + they were spoken, his words might not be very significant, but pieced + together, arranged, and interpreted through even scant knowledge of + circumstances, they were sufficient to give me a key to difficulties + which, afterwards, were to cause much distress. I arrange some of the + sentences here to show how startling were the fancies—or + remembrances—that vexed him. + </p> + <p> + “But I was coming back—I was coming back—I tell you I should + have stayed with her for ever.... See how she trembles!—Now her + breath is gone—There is no pulse—Her heart is still—My + God, her heart is still!—Hush! cover her face.... Row hard, you + devils!—A hundred dollars if you make the point in time.... + Whereaway?—Whereaway?—Steady now!—Let them have it + across the bows!—Low! low!—fire low!... She is dead—she + is dead!” + </p> + <p> + These things he would say over and over again breathlessly, then he would + rest a while, and the trouble would begin again. “It was not I that did it—no, + it was not I. She did it herself!—She plunged it in, deep, deep, + deep! You made me a devil!... Hush! I WILL tell!—I know you—yet—Mercy—Mercy—Falchion—” + </p> + <p> + Yes, it was best that few should enter his cabin. The ravings of a sick + man are not always counted ravings, no more than the words of a well man + are always reckoned sane. At last I got him into a sound sleep, and by + that time I was thoroughly tired out. I called my own steward, and asked + him to watch for a couple of hours while I rested. I threw myself down and + slept soundly for an hour beyond that time, the steward having hesitated + to wake me. + </p> + <p> + By that time we had passed into the fresher air of the Mediterranean, and + the sea was delightfully smooth. Galt Roscoe still slept, though his + temperature was high. + </p> + <p> + My conference with Mrs. Falchion after breakfast was brief, but + satisfactory. I told her frankly that Roscoe had been delirious, that he + had mentioned her name, and that I thought it best to reduce the number of + nurses and watchers. I made my proposition about Justine Caron. She shook + her head a little impatiently, and said that Justine had told her, and + that she was quite willing. Then I asked her if she would not also assist. + She answered immediately that she wished to do so. As if to make me + understand why she did it, she added: “If I did not hear the wild things + he says, some one else would; and the difference is that I understand + them, and the some one else would interpret them with the genius of the + writer of a fairy book.” + </p> + <p> + And so it happened that Mrs. Falchion came to sit many hours a day beside + the sick couch of Galt Roscoe, moistening his lips, cooling his brow, + giving him his medicine. After the first day, when she was, I thought, + alternating between innate disgust of misery and her womanliness and + humanity,—in these days more a reality to me,—she grew + watchful and silently solicitous at every turn of the malady. What + impressed me most was that she was interested and engrossed more, it + seemed, in the malady than in the man himself. + </p> + <p> + And yet she baffled me even when I had come to this conclusion. + </p> + <p> + During most of his delirium she remained almost impassive, as if she had + schooled herself to be calm and strong in nerve; but one afternoon she did + a thing that upset all my opinions of her for a moment. Looking straight + at her with staring, unconscious eyes, he half rose in his bed, and said + in a low, bitter tone: “I hate you. I once loved you—but I hate you + now!” Then he laughed scornfully, and fell back on the pillow. She had + been sitting very quietly, musing. His action had been unexpected, and had + broken upon a silence. She rose to her feet quickly, gave a sharp indrawn + breath, and pressed her hand against her side, as though a sudden pain had + seized her. The next moment, however, she was composed again, and said in + explanation that she had been half asleep, and he had startled her. But I + had seen her under what seemed to me more trying conditions, and she had + not shown any nervousness such as this. + </p> + <p> + The passengers, of course, talked. Many “true histories” of Mrs. + Falchion’s devotion to the sick man were abroad; but it must be said, + however, that all of them were romantically creditable to her. She had + become a rare product even in the eyes of Miss Treherne, and more + particularly her father, since the matter at the Tanks. Justine Caron was + slyly besieged by the curious, but they went away empty; for Justine, if + very simple and single-minded, was yet too much concerned for both Galt + Roscoe and Mrs. Falchion to give the inquiring the slightest clue. She + knew, indeed, little herself, whatever she may have guessed. As for + Hungerford, he was dumb. He refused to consider the matter. But he roundly + maintained once or twice, without any apparent relevance, that a woman was + like a repeating decimal—you could follow her, but you never could + reach her. He usually added to this: “Minus one, Marmion,” meaning thus to + exclude the girl who preferred him to any one else. When I ventured to + suggest that Miss Treherne might also be excepted, he said, with maddening + suggestion: “She lets Mrs. Falchion fool her, doesn’t she? And she isn’t + quite sure the splendour of a medical professor’s position is superior to + that of an author.” + </p> + <p> + In these moments, although I tried to smile on him, I hated him a little. + I sought to revenge myself on him by telling him to help himself to a + cigar, having first placed the box of Mexicans near him. He invariably + declined them, and said he would take one of the others from the tea-box—my + very best, kept in tea for sake of dryness. If I reversed the process he + reversed his action. His instinct regarding cigars was supernatural, and I + almost believe that he had—like the Black Dwarf’s cat—the + “poo’er” of reading character and interpreting events—an uncanny + divination. + </p> + <p> + I knew by the time we reached Valetta that Roscoe would get well; but he + recognised none of us until we arrived at Gibraltar. Justine Caron and + myself had been watching beside him. As the bells clanged to “slow down” + on entering the harbour, his eyes opened with a gaze of sanity and + consciousness. He looked at me, then at Justine. + </p> + <p> + “I have been ill?” he said. + </p> + <p> + Justine’s eyes were not entirely to be trusted. She turned her head away. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you have been very ill,” I replied, “but you are better.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled feebly, adding: “At least, I am grateful that I did not die at + sea.” Then he closed his eyes. After a moment he opened them, and said, + looking at Justine: “You have helped to nurse me, have you not?” His + wasted fingers moved over the counterpane towards her. + </p> + <p> + “I could do so little,” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + “You have more than paid your debt to me,” he gently replied. “For I live, + you see, and poor Hector died.” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head gravely, and rejoined: “Ah no, I can never pay the debt + I owe to you and to God—now.” He did not understand this, I know. + But I did. “You must not talk any more,” I said to him. + </p> + <p> + But Justine interposed. “He must be told that the nurse who has done most + for him is Mrs. Falchion.” His brows contracted as if he were trying to + remember something. He moved his head wearily. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think I remember,” he said, “about her being with me, but nothing + clearly—nothing clearly. She is very kind.” + </p> + <p> + Justine here murmured: “Shall I tell her?” + </p> + <p> + I was about to say no; but Roscoe nodded, and said quietly, “Yes, yes.” + </p> + <p> + Then I made no objection, but urged that the meeting should only be for a + moment. I determined not to leave them alone even for that moment. I did + not know what things connected with their past—whatever it was—might + be brought up, and I knew that entire freedom from excitement was + necessary. I might have spared myself any anxiety on the point. When she + came she was perfectly self-composed, and more as she seemed when I first + knew her, though I will admit that I thought her face more possible to + emotion than in the past. + </p> + <p> + It seems strange to write of a few weeks before as the past; but so much + had occurred that the days might easily have been months and the weeks + years. + </p> + <p> + She sat down beside him and held out her hand. And as she did so, I + thought of Boyd Madras and of that long last night of his life, and of her + refusal to say to him one comforting word, or to touch his hand in + forgiveness and friendship. And was this man so much better than Boyd + Madras? His wild words in delirium might mean nothing, but if they meant + anything, and she knew of that anything, she was still a heartless, + unnatural woman, as I had once called her. + </p> + <p> + Roscoe took her hand and held it briefly. “Dr. Marmion says that you have + helped to nurse me through my illness,” he whispered. “I am most + grateful.” + </p> + <p> + I thought she replied with the slightest constraint in her voice. “One + could not let an old acquaintance die without making an effort to save + him.” + </p> + <p> + At that instant I grew scornful, and longed to tell him of her husband. + But then a husband was not an acquaintance. I ventured instead: “I am + sorry, but I must cut short all conversation for the present. When he is a + little better, he will be benefited by your brightest gossip, Mrs. + Falchion.” + </p> + <p> + She rose smiling, but she did not again take his hand, though I thought he + made a motion to that end. But she looked down at him steadily for a + moment. Beneath her look his face flushed, and his eyes grew hot with + light; then they dropped, and the eyelids closed on them. At that she + said, with an incomprehensible airiness: “Good-night. I am going now to + play the music of ‘La Grande Duchesse’ as a farewell to Gibraltar. They + have a concert on to-night.” + </p> + <p> + And she was gone. + </p> + <p> + At the mention of La Grande Duchesse he sighed, and turned his head away + from her. What it all meant I did not know, and she had annoyed me as much + as she had perplexed me; her moods were like the chameleon’s colours. He + lay silent for a long time, then he turned to me and said: “Do you + remember that tale in the Bible about David and the well of Bethlehem?” I + had to confess my ignorance. + </p> + <p> + “I think I can remember it,” he continued. And though I urged him not to + tax himself, he spoke slowly thus: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And David was in an hold, and the garrison of the Philistines was + then in Bethlehem. + + “And David longed, and said, Oh that one would give me to drink of + the water of the well of Bethlehem that is at the gate! + + “And the three brake through the host of the Philistines, and drew + water out of the well of Bethlehem that was by the gate, and took + and brought it to David; nevertheless, he would not drink thereof, + but poured it out unto the Lord. + + “And he said, My God forbid it me that I should do this; is not this + the blood of the men that went in jeopardy of their lives? + Therefore he would not drink it.” + </pre> + <p> + He paused a moment, and then added: “One always buys back the past at a + tremendous price. Resurrections give ghosts only.” + </p> + <p> + “But you must sleep now,” I urged. And then, because I knew not what else + more fitting, I added: “Sleep, and + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Let the dead past bury its dead.’” + </pre> + <p> + “Yes, I will sleep,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + BOOK II. THE SLOPE OF THE PACIFIC + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. AMONG THE HILLS OF GOD + </h2> + <p> + “Your letters, sir,” said my servant, on the last evening of the college + year. Examinations were over at last, and I was wondering where I should + spend my holidays. The choice was very wide; ranging from the Muskoka + lakes to the Yosemite Valley. Because it was my first year in Canada, I + really preferred not to go beyond the Dominion. With these thoughts in my + mind I opened my letters. The first two did not interest me; tradesmen’s + bills seldom do. The third brought a thumping sensation of pleasure—though + it was not from Miss Treherne. I had had one from her that morning, and + this was a pleasure which never came twice in one day, for Prince’s + College, Toronto, was a long week’s journey from London, S.W. Considering, + however, that I did receive letters from her once a week, it may be + concluded that Clovelly did not; and that, if he had, it would have been + by a serious infringement of my rights. But, indeed, as I have learned + since, Clovelly took his defeat in a very characteristic fashion, and said + on an important occasion some generous things about me. + </p> + <p> + The letter that pleased me so much was from Galt Roscoe, who, as he had + intended, was settled in a new but thriving district of British Columbia, + near the Cascade Mountains. Soon after his complete recovery he had been + ordained in England, had straightway sailed for Canada, and had gone to + work at once. This note was an invitation to spend the holiday months with + him, where, as he said, a man “summering high among the hills of God” + could see visions and dream dreams, and hunt and fish too—especially + fish. He urged that he would not talk parish concerns at me; that I should + not be asked to be godfather to any young mountaineers; and that the only + drawback, so far as my own predilections were concerned, was the + monotonous health of the people. He described his summer cottage of red + pine as being built on the edge of a lovely ravine; he said that he had + the Cascades on one hand with their big glacier fields, and mighty pine + forests on the other; while the balmiest breezes of June awaited “the + professor of pathology and genial saw-bones.” At the end of the letter he + hinted something about a pleasant little secret for my ear when I came; + and remarked immediately afterwards that there were one or two delightful + families at Sunburst and Viking, villages in his parish. One naturally + associated the little secret with some member of one of these delightful + families. Finally, he said he would like to show me how it was possible to + transform a naval man into a parson. + </p> + <p> + My mind was made up. I wrote to him that I would start at once. Then I + began to make preparations, and meanwhile fell to thinking again about him + who was now the Reverend Galt Roscoe. After the ‘Fulvia’ reached London I + had only seen him a few times, he having gone at once into the country to + prepare for ordination. Mrs. Falchion and Justine Caron I had met several + times, but Mrs. Falchion forbore inquiring for Galt Roscoe: from which, + and from other slight but significant matters, I gathered that she knew of + his doings and whereabouts. Before I started for Toronto she said that she + might see me there some day, for she was going to San Francisco to inspect + the property her uncle had left her, and in all probability would make a + sojourn in Canada. I gave her my address, and she then said she understood + that Mr. Roscoe intended taking a missionary parish in the wilds. In his + occasional letters to me while we all were in England Roscoe seldom spoke + of her, but, when he did, showed that he knew of her movements. This did + not strike me at the time as anything more than natural. It did later. + </p> + <p> + Within a couple of weeks I reached Viking, a lumbering town with great + saw-mills, by way of San Francisco and Vancouver. Roscoe met me at the + coach, and I was taken at once to the house among the hills. It stood on + the edge of a ravine, and the end of the verandah looked over a verdant + precipice, beautiful but terrible too. It was uniquely situated; a nest + among the hills, suitable either for work or play. In one’s ears was the + low, continuous din of the rapids, with the music of a neighbouring + waterfall. + </p> + <p> + On the way up the hills I had a chance to observe Roscoe closely. His face + had not that sturdy buoyancy which his letter suggested. Still, if it was + pale, it had a glow which it did not possess before, and even a stronger + humanity than of old. A new look had come into his eyes, a certain + absorbing earnestness, refining the past asceticism. A more amiable and + unselfish comrade man never had. + </p> + <p> + The second day I was there he took me to call upon a family at Viking, the + town with a great saw-mill and two smaller ones, owned by James Devlin, an + enterprising man who had grown rich at lumbering, and who lived here in + the mountains many months in each year. + </p> + <p> + Mr. James Devlin had a daughter who had had some advantages in the East + after her father had become rich, though her earlier life was spent + altogether in the mountains. I soon saw where Roscoe’s secret was to be + found. Ruth Devlin was a tall girl of sensitive features, beautiful eyes, + and rare personality. Her life, as I came to know, had been one of great + devotion and self-denial. Before her father had made his fortune, she had + nursed a frail-bodied, faint-hearted mother, and had cared for, and been a + mother to, her younger sisters. With wealth and ease came a brighter bloom + to her cheek, but it had a touch of care which would never quite + disappear, though it became in time a beautiful wistfulness rather than + anxiety. Had this responsibility come to her in a city, it might have + spoiled her beauty and robbed her of her youth altogether; but in the + sustaining virtue of a life in the mountains, warm hues remained on her + cheek and a wonderful freshness in her nature. Her family worshipped her—as + she deserved. + </p> + <p> + That evening Roscoe confided to me that he had not asked Ruth Devlin to be + his wife, nor had he, indeed, given her definite tokens of his love. But + the thing was in his mind as a happy possibility of the future. We talked + till midnight, sitting at the end of the verandah overlooking the ravine. + This corner, called the coping, became consecrated to our many + conversations. We painted and sketched there in the morning (when we were + not fishing or he was not at his duties), received visitors, and smoked in + the evening, inhaling the balsam from the pines. An old man and his wife + kept the house for us, and gave us to eat of simple but comfortable fare. + The trout-fishing was good, and many a fine trout was broiled for our + evening meal; and many a fine string of trout found its way to the tables + of Roscoe’s poorest parishioners, or else to furnish the more fashionable + table at which Ruth Devlin presided. There were excursions up the valley, + and picnics on the hill-sides, and occasional lunches and evening parties + at the summer hotel, a mile from us farther down the valley, at which + tourists were beginning to assemble. + </p> + <p> + Yet, all the time, Roscoe was abundantly faithful to his duties at Viking + and in the settlement called Sunburst, which was devoted to + salmon-fishing. Between Viking and Sunburst there was a great jealousy and + rivalry; for the salmon-fishers thought that the mills, though on a + tributary stream, interfered, by the sawdust spilled in the river, with + the travel and spawning of the salmon. It needed all the tact of both Mr. + Devlin and Roscoe to keep the places from open fighting. As it was, the + fire smouldered. When Sunday came, however, there seemed to be truce + between the villages. It appeared to me that one touched the primitive and + idyllic side of life: lively, sturdy, and simple, with nature about us at + once benignant and austere. It is impossible to tell how fresh, bracing, + and inspiring was the climate of this new land. It seemed to glorify + humanity, to make all who breathed it stalwart, and almost pardonable even + in wrong-doing. Roscoe was always received respectfully, and even + cordially, among the salmon-fishers of Sunburst, as among the mill-men and + river-drivers of Viking: not the less so, because he had an excellent + faculty for machinery, and could talk to the people in their own + colloquialisms. He had, besides, though there was little exuberance in his + nature, a gift of dry humour, which did more than anything else, perhaps, + to make his presence among them unrestrained. + </p> + <p> + His little churches at Viking and Sunburst were always well attended—often + filled to overflowing—and the people gave liberally to the + offertory: and I never knew any clergyman, however holy, who did not view + such a proceeding with a degree of complacency. In the pulpit Roscoe was + almost powerful. His knowledge of the world, his habits of directness, his + eager but not hurried speech, his unconventional but original statements + of things, his occasional literary felicity and unusual tact, might have + made him distinguished in a more cultured community. Yet there was + something to modify all this: an occasional indefinable sadness, a + constant note of pathetic warning. It struck me that I never had met a man + whose words and manner were at times so charged with pathos; it was + artistic in its searching simplicity. There was some unfathomable fount in + his nature which was even beyond any occurrence of his past; some radical, + constitutional sorrow, coupled with a very strong, practical, and even + vigorous nature. + </p> + <p> + One of his most ardent admirers was a gambler, horse-trader, and + watch-dealer, who sold him a horse, and afterwards came and offered him + thirty dollars, saying that the horse was worth that much less than Roscoe + had paid for it, and protesting that he never could resist the opportunity + of getting the best of a game. He said he did not doubt but that he would + do the same with one of the archangels. He afterwards sold Roscoe a watch + at cost, but confessed to me that the works of the watch had been + smuggled. He said he was so fond of the parson that he felt he had to give + him a chance of good things. It was not uncommon for him to discourse of + Roscoe’s quality in the bar-rooms of Sunburst and Viking, in which he was + ably seconded by Phil Boldrick, an eccentric, warm-hearted fellow, who was + so occupied in the affairs of the villages generally, and so much an + advisory board to the authorities, that he had little time left to + progress industrially himself. + </p> + <p> + Once when a noted bully came to Viking, and, out of sheer bravado and + meanness, insulted Roscoe in the streets, two or three river-drivers came + forward to avenge the insult. It was quite needless, for the clergyman had + promptly taken the case in his own hands. Waving them back, he said to the + bully: “I have no weapon, and if I had, I could not take your life, nor + try to take it; and you know that very well. But I propose to meet your + insolence—the first shown me in this town.” + </p> + <p> + Here murmurs of approbation went round. + </p> + <p> + “You will, of course, take the revolver from your pocket, and throw it on + the ground.” + </p> + <p> + A couple of other revolvers were looking the bully in the face, and he + sullenly did as he was asked. + </p> + <p> + “You have a knife: throw that down.” + </p> + <p> + This also was done under the most earnest emphasis of the revolvers. + Roscoe calmly took off his coat. “I have met such scoundrels as you on the + quarter-deck,” he said, “and I know what stuff is in you. They call you + beachcombers in the South Seas. You never fight fair. You bully women, + knife natives, and never meet any one in fair fight. You have mistaken + your man this time.” + </p> + <p> + He walked close up to the bully, his face like steel, his thumbs caught + lightly in his waistcoat pockets; but it was noticeable that his hands + were shut. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” he said, “we are even as to opportunity. Repeat, if you please, + what you said a moment ago.” + </p> + <p> + The bully’s eye quailed, and he answered nothing. “Then, as I said, you + are a coward and a cur, who insults peaceable men and weak women. If I + know Viking right, it has no room for you.” Then he picked up his coat, + and put it on. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” he added, “I think you had better go; but I leave that to the + citizens of Viking.” + </p> + <p> + What they thought is easily explained. Phil Boldrick, speaking for all, + said: “Yes, you had better go—quick; but on the hop like a cur, mind + you: on your hands and knees, jumping all the way.” + </p> + <p> + And, with weapons menacing him, this visitor to Viking departed, + swallowing as he went the red dust disturbed by his hands and feet. + </p> + <p> + This established Roscoe’s position finally. Yet, with all his popularity + and the solid success of his work, he showed no vanity or egotism, nor + ever traded on the position he held in Viking and Sunburst. He seemed to + have no ambition further than to do good work; no desire to be known + beyond his own district; no fancy, indeed, for the communications of his + labours to mission papers and benevolent ladies in England—so much + the habit of his order. He was free from professional mannerisms. + </p> + <p> + One evening we were sitting in the accustomed spot—that is, the + coping. We had been silent for a long time. At last Roscoe rose, and + walked up and down the verandah nervously. + </p> + <p> + “Marmion,” said he, “I am disturbed to-day, I cannot tell you how: a sense + of impending evil, an anxiety.” + </p> + <p> + I looked up at him inquiringly, and, of purpose, a little sceptically. + </p> + <p> + He smiled something sadly and continued: “Oh, I know you think it + foolishness. But remember that all sailors are more or less superstitious: + it is bred in them; it is constitutional, and I am afraid there’s a good + deal of the sailor in me yet.” + </p> + <p> + Remembering Hungerford, I said: “I know that sailors are superstitious, + the most seasoned of them are that. But it means nothing. I may think or + feel that there is going to be a plague, but I should not enlarge the + insurance on my life because of it.” + </p> + <p> + He put his hand on my shoulder and looked down at me earnestly. “But, + Marmion, these things, I assure you, are not matters of will, nor yet + morbidness. They occur at the most unexpected times. I have had such + sensations before, and they were followed by strange matters.” + </p> + <p> + I nodded, but said nothing. I was still thinking of Hungerford. After a + slight pause he continued somewhat hesitatingly: + </p> + <p> + “I dreamed last night, three times, of events that occurred in my past; + events which I hoped would never disturb me in the life I am now leading.” + </p> + <p> + “A life of self-denial,” ventured I. I waited a minute, and then added: + “Roscoe, I think it only fair to tell you—I don’t know why I haven’t + done so before—that when you were ill you were delirious, and talked + of things that may or may not have had to do with your past.” + </p> + <p> + He started, and looked at me earnestly. “They were unpleasant things?” + </p> + <p> + “Trying things; though all was vague and disconnected,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you tell me this,” he remarked quietly. “And Mrs. Falchion and + Justine Caron—did they hear?” He looked off to the hills. + </p> + <p> + “To a certain extent, I am sure. Mrs. Falchion’s name was generally + connected with—your fancies.... But really no one could place any + weight on what a man said in delirium, and I only mention the fact to let + you see exactly on what ground I stand with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you give me an idea—of the thing I raved about?” + </p> + <p> + “Chiefly about a girl called Alo, not your wife, I should judge—who + was killed.” + </p> + <p> + At that he spoke in a cheerless voice: “Marmion, I will tell you all the + story some day; but not now. I hoped that I had been able to bury it, even + in memory, but I was wrong. Some things—such things—never die. + They stay; and in our cheerfulest, most peaceful moments confront us, and + mock the new life we are leading. There is no refuge from memory and + remorse in this world. The spirits of our foolish deeds haunt us, with or + without repentance.” He turned again from me and set a sombre face towards + the ravine. “Roscoe,” I said, taking his arm, “I cannot believe that you + have any sin on your conscience so dark that it is not wiped out now.” + </p> + <p> + “God bless you for your confidence. But there is one woman who, I fear, + could, if she would, disgrace me before the world. You understand,” he + added, “that there are things we repent of which cannot be repaired. One + thinks a sin is dead, and starts upon a new life, locking up the past, not + deceitfully, but believing that the book is closed, and that no good can + come of publishing it; when suddenly it all flames out like the letters in + Faust’s book of conjurations.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” I said. “You need not tell me more, you must not—now; not + until there is any danger. Keep your secret. If the woman—if THAT + woman—ever places you in danger, then tell me all. But keep it to + yourself now. And don’t fret because you have had dreams.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, as you wish,” he replied after a long time. As he sat in silence, I + smoking hard, and he buried in thought, I heard the laughter of people + some distance below us in the hills. I guessed it to be some tourists from + the summer hotel. The voices came nearer. + </p> + <p> + A singular thought occurred to me. I looked at Roscoe. I saw that he was + brooding, and was not noticing the voices, which presently died away. This + was a relief to me. We were then silent again. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. THE WHIRLIGIG OF TIME + </h2> + <p> + Next day we had a picnic on the Whi-Whi River, which, rising in the far + north, comes in varied moods to join the Long Cloud River at Viking. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [Dr. Marmion, in a note of his MSS., says that he has purposely + changed the names of the rivers and towns mentioned in the second + part of the book, because he does not wish the locale to be too + definite.] +</pre> + <p> + Ruth Devlin, her young sister, and her aunt Mrs. Revel, with Galt Roscoe + and myself, constituted the party. The first part of the excursion had + many delights. The morning was fresh and sweet, and we were all in + excellent spirits. Roscoe’s depression had vanished; but there was an + amiable seriousness in his manner which, to me, portended that the faint + roses in Ruth Devlin’s cheeks would deepen before the day was done, unless + something inopportune happened. + </p> + <p> + As we trudged gaily up the canon to the spot where we were to take a big + skiff, and cross the Whi-Whi to our camping-ground, Ruth Devlin, who was + walking with me, said: “A large party of tourists arrived at Viking + yesterday, and have gone to the summer hotel; so I expect you will be gay + up here for some time to come. Prepare, then, to rejoice.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you think it is gay enough as it is?” I answered. “Behold this + festive throng.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it is nothing to what there might be. This could never make Viking + and ‘surrounding country’ notorious as a pleasure resort. To attract + tourists you must have enough people to make romances and tragedies,—without + loss of life, of course,—merely catastrophes of broken hearts, and + hair-breadth escapes, and mammoth fishing and shooting achievements, such + as men know how to invent,”—it was delightful to hear her voice + soften to an amusing suggestiveness, “and broken bridges and land-slides, + with many other things which you can supply, Dr. Marmion. No, I am afraid + that Viking is too humdrum to be notable.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed then very lightly and quaintly. She had a sense of humour. + </p> + <p> + “Well, but, Miss Devlin,” said I, “you cannot have all things at once. + Climaxes like these take time. We have a few joyful things. We have + splendid fishing achievements,—please do not forget that basket of + trout I sent you the other morning,—and broken hearts and such + tragedies are not impossible; as, for instance, if I do not send you as + good a basket of trout to-morrow evening; or if you should remark that + there was nothing in a basket of trout to—” + </p> + <p> + “Now,” she said, “you are becoming involved and—inconsiderate. + Remember, I am only a mountain girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Then let us only talk of the other tragedies. But are you not a little + callous to speak of such things as if you thirsted for their occurrence?” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid you are rather silly,” she replied. “You see, some of the + land up here belongs to me. I am anxious that it should ‘boom’—that + is the correct term, is it not?—and a sensation is good for + ‘booming.’ What an advertisement would ensue if the lovely daughter of an + American millionaire should be in danger of drowning in the Long Cloud, + and a rough but honest fellow—a foreman on the river, maybe a young + member of the English aristocracy in disguise—perilled his life for + her! The place of peril would, of course, be named Lover’s Eddy, or the + Maiden’s Gate—very much prettier, I assure you, than such + cold-blooded things as the Devil’s Slide, where we are going now, and much + more attractive to tourists.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Devlin,” laughed I, “you have all the eagerness of the incipient + millionaire. May I hope to see you in Lombard Street some day, a very + Katherine among capitalists?—for, from your remarks, I judge that + you would—I say it pensively—‘wade through slaughter to a + throne.’” + </p> + <p> + Galt Roscoe, who was just ahead with Mrs. Revel and Amy Devlin, turned and + said: “Who is that quoting so dramatically? Now, this is a picnic party, + and any one who introduces elegies, epics, sonnets, ‘and such,’ is guilty + of breaking the peace at Viking and its environs. Besides, such things + should always be left to the parson. He must not be outflanked, his + thunder must not be stolen. The scientist has unlimited resources; all he + has to do is to be vague, and look prodigious; but the parson must have + his poetry as a monopoly, or he is lost to sight, and memory.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said I, “I shall leave you to deal with Miss Devlin yourself, + because she is the direct cause of my wrong-doing. She has expressed the + most sinister sentiments about Viking and your very extensive parish. Miss + Devlin,” I added, turning to her, “I leave you to your fate, and I cannot + recommend you to mercy, for what Heaven made fair should remain tender and + merciful, and—” + </p> + <p> + “‘So young and so untender!’” she interjected, with a rippling laugh. “Yet + Cordelia was misjudged very wickedly, and traduced very ungallantly, and + so am I. And I bid you good-day, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Her delicate laugh rings in my ears as I write. I think that sun and clear + skies and hills go far to make us cheerful and harmonious. Somehow, I + always remember her as she was that morning. + </p> + <p> + She was standing then on the brink of a new and beautiful experience, at + the threshold of an acknowledged love. And that is a remarkable time to + the young. + </p> + <p> + There was something thrilling about the experiences of that morning, and I + think we all felt it. Even the great frowning precipices seemed to have + lost their ordinary gloom, and when some young white eagles rose from a + crag and flew away, growing smaller as they passed, until they were one + with the snow of the glacier on Mount Trinity, or a wapiti peeped out from + the underwood and stole away with glancing feet down the valley; we could + scarcely refrain from doing some foolish thing out of sheer delight. At + length we emerged from a thicket of Douglas pine upon the shore of the + Whi-Whi, and, loosening our boat, were soon moving slowly on the cool + current. For an hour or more we rowed down the river towards the Long + Cloud, and then drew into the shade of a little island for lunch. When we + came to the rendezvous, where picnic parties generally feasted, we found a + fire still smoking and the remnants of a lunch scattered about. A party of + picnickers had evidently been there just before us. Ruth suggested that it + might be some of the tourists from the hotel. This seemed very probable. + </p> + <p> + There were scraps of newspaper on the ground, and among them was an empty + envelope. Mechanically I picked it up, and read the superscription. What I + saw there I did not think necessary to disclose to the other members of + the party; but, as unconcernedly as possible, for Ruth Devlin’s eyes were + on me, I used it to light a cigar—inappropriately, for lunch would + soon be ready. + </p> + <p> + “What was the name on the envelope?” she said. “Was there one?” + </p> + <p> + I guessed she had seen my slight start. I said evasively: “I fancy there + was, but a man who is immensely interested in a new brand of cigar—” + </p> + <p> + “You are a most deceitful man,” she said. “And, at the least, you are + selfish in holding your cigar more important than a woman’s curiosity. Who + can tell what romance was in the address on that envelope—” + </p> + <p> + “What elements of noble tragedy, what advertisement for a certain property + in the Whi-Whi Valley,” interrupted Roscoe, breaking off the thread of a + sailor’s song he was humming, as he tended the water-kettle on the fire. + </p> + <p> + This said, he went on with the song again. I was struck by the wonderful + change in him now. Presentiments were far from him, yet I, having read + that envelope, knew that they were not without cause. Indeed, I had an + inkling of that the night before, when I heard the voices on the hill. + Ruth Devlin stopped for a moment in the preparations to ask Roscoe what he + was humming. I, answering for him, told her that it was an old sentimental + sea-song of common sailors, often sung by officers at their jovial + gatherings. At this she pretended to look shocked, and straightway + demanded to hear the words, so that she could pronounce judgment on her + spiritual pastor and master. + </p> + <p> + He good-naturedly said that many of these old sailor songs were amusing, + and that he often found himself humming them. To this I could testify, and + he sang them very well indeed—quietly, but with the rolling tone of + the sailor, jovial yet fascinating. At our united request, his humming + became distinct. Three of the verses I give here: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The ‘Lovely Jane’ went sailing down + To anchor at the Spicy Isles; + And the wind was fair as ever was blown, + For the matter of a thousand miles. + + “Then a storm arose as she crossed the line, + Which it caused her masts to crack; + And she gulped her fill of the whooping brine, + And she likewise sprained her back. + + “And the capting cried, ‘If it’s Davy Jones, + Then it’s Davy Jones,’ says he, + ‘Though I don’t aspire to leave my bones + In the equatorial sea.’” + </pre> + <p> + What the further history of the ‘Lovely Jane’ was we were not informed, + for Ruth Devlin announced that the song must wait, though it appeared to + be innocuous and child-like in its sentiments, and that lunch would be + served between the acts of the touching tragedy. When lunch was over, and + we had again set forth upon the Whi-Whi, I asked Ruth to sing an old + French-Canadian song which she had once before sung to us. Many a time the + woods of the West had resounded to the notes of ‘En Roulant ma Boule’, as + the ‘voyageurs’ traversed the long paths of the Ottawa, St. Lawrence, and + Mississippi; brave light-hearted fellows, whose singing days were over. + </p> + <p> + By the light of coming events there was something weird and pathetic in + this Arcadian air, sung as it was by her. Her voice was a mezzo-soprano of + rare bracing quality, and she had enough natural sensibility to give the + antique refinement of the words a wistful charm, particularly apparent in + these verses: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Ah, cruel Prince, my heart you break, + In killing thus my snow-white drake. + + “My snow-white drake, my love, my King, + The crimson life-blood stains his wing. + + “His golden bill sinks on his breast, + His plumes go floating east and west— + + “En roulant ma boule: + Rouli, roulant, ma boule roulant, + En roulant ma boule roulant, + En roulant ma boule!” + </pre> + <p> + As she finished the song we rounded an angle in the Whi-Whi. Ahead of us + lay the Snow Rapids and the swift channel at one side of the rapids which, + hurrying through a rocky archway, was known as the Devil’s Slide. There + was one channel through the rapids by which it was perfectly safe to pass, + but that sweep of water through the Devil’s Slide was sometimes a trap of + death to even the most expert river-men. A half-mile below the rapids was + the confluence of the two rivers. The sight of the tumbling mass of white + water, and the gloomy and colossal grandeur of the Devil’s Slide, a + buttress of the hills, was very fine. + </p> + <p> + But there was more than scenery to interest us here, for, moving quickly + towards the Slide, was a boat with three people in it. They were evidently + intending to attempt that treacherous passage, which culminated in a + series of eddies, a menace to even the best oarsman ship. They certainly + were not aware of their danger, for there came over the water the sound of + a man’s laughing voice, and the two women in the boat were in unconcerned + attitudes. Roscoe shouted to them, and motioned them back, but they did + not appear to understand. + </p> + <p> + The man waved his hat to us, and rowed on. There was but one thing for us + to do: to make the passage quickly through the safe channel of the rapids, + and to be of what service we could on the other side of the Slide, if + necessary. We bent to the oars, and the boat shot through the water. Ruth + held the rudder firmly, and her young sister and Mrs. Revel sat perfectly + still. But the man in the other boat, thinking, doubtless, that we were + attempting a race, added his efforts to the current of the channel. I am + afraid that I said some words below my breath scarcely proper to be spoken + in the presence of maidens and a clerk in holy orders. Roscoe was here, + however, a hundred times more sailor than parson. He spoke in low, firm + tones, as he now and then suggested a direction to Ruth Devlin or myself. + Our boat tossed and plunged in the rapids, and the water washed over us + lightly once or twice, but we went through the passage safely, and had + turned towards the Slide before the other boat got to the rocky archway. + </p> + <p> + We rowed hard. The next minute was one of suspense, for we saw the boat + shoot beneath the archway. Presently it emerged, a whirling plaything in + treacherous eddies. The man wildly waved his arm, and shouted to us. The + women were grasping the sides of the boat, but making no outcry. We could + not see the faces of the women plainly yet. The boat ran forward like a + race-horse; it plunged hither and thither. An oar snapped in the rocks, + and the other one shot from the man’s hand. Now the boat swung round and + round, and dipped towards the hollow of a whirlpool. When we were within a + few rods of them, it appeared to rise from the water, was hurled on a + rock, and overturned. Mrs. Revel buried her face in her hands, and Ruth + gave a little groan, but she held the rudder firmly, as we swiftly + approached the forms struggling in the water. All, fortunately, had + grasped the swamped boat, and were being carried down the stream towards + us. The man was caring resolutely for himself, but one, of the women had + her arm round the other, supporting her. We brought our skiff close to the + swirling current. I called out words of encouragement, and was preparing + to jump into the water, when Roscoe exclaimed in a husky voice: “Marmion, + it is Mrs. Falchion.” + </p> + <p> + Yes, it was Mrs. Falchion; but I had known that before. We heard her words + to her companion: “Justine, do not look so. Your face is like death. It is + hateful.” + </p> + <p> + Then the craft veered towards the smoother water where we were. This was + my opportunity. Roscoe threw me a rope, and I plunged in and swam towards + the boat. I saw that Mrs. Falchion recognised me; but she made no + exclamation, nor did Justine Caron. Their companion, however, on the other + side of the boat, was eloquent in prayers to be rescued. I caught the bow + of the boat as it raced past me, and with all my strength swung it towards + the smoother water. I ran the rope I had brought, through the iron ring at + the bow, and was glad enough of that; for their lives perhaps depended on + being able to do it. It had been a nice calculation of chances, but it was + done. Roscoe immediately bent to the oars, I threw an arm around Justine, + and in a moment Roscoe had towed us into safer quarters. Then he drew in + the rope. As he did so, Mrs. Falchion said: “Justine would drown so easily + if one would let her.” + </p> + <p> + These were her first words to me. I am sure I never can sufficiently + admire the mere courage of the woman and her presence of mind in danger. + Immediately afterwards she said—and subsequently it seemed to me + marvellous: “You are something more than the chorus to the play this time, + Dr. Marmion.” + </p> + <p> + A minute after, and Justine was dragged into our boat, and was followed by + Mrs. Falchion, whose first words to Roscoe were: “It is not such a meeting + as one would plan.” + </p> + <p> + And he replied: “I am glad no harm has come to you.” + </p> + <p> + The man was duly helped in. A poor creature he was, to pass from this tale + as he entered it, ignominiously and finally here. I even hide his + nationality, for his race are generally more gallant. But he was wealthy, + had an intense admiration for Mrs. Falchion, and had managed to secure her + in his boat, to separate from the rest of the picnic party—chiefly + through his inefficient rowing. + </p> + <p> + Dripping with water as Mrs. Falchion was, she did not, strange to say, + appear at serious disadvantage. Almost any other woman would have done so. + She was a little pale, she must have felt miserable, but she accepted Ruth + Devlin’s good offices—as did Justine Caron those of Mrs. Revel—with + much self-possession, scanning her face and form critically the while, and + occasionally turning a glance on Roscoe, who was now cold and impassive. I + never knew a man who could so banish expression from his countenance when + necessary. Speaking to Belle Treherne long afterwards of Mrs. Falchion’s + self-possessed manner on this occasion, and of how she rose superior to + the situation, I was told that I must have regarded the thing poetically + and dramatically, for no woman could possibly look self-possessed in + draggled skirts. She said that I always magnified certain of Mrs. + Falchion’s qualities. + </p> + <p> + That may be so, and yet it must be remembered that I was not predisposed + towards her, and that I wished her well away from where Roscoe was. + </p> + <p> + As for Justine Caron, she lay with her head on Mrs. Revel’s lap, and + looked from beneath heavy eyelids at Roscoe with such gratitude and—but, + no, she is only a subordinate in the story, and not a chief factor, and + what she said or did here is of no vital consequence at this moment! We + rowed to a point near the confluence of the two rivers, where we could + leave our boats to be poled back through the rapids or portaged past them. + </p> + <p> + On the way Mrs. Falchion said to Roscoe: “I knew you were somewhere in the + Rockies; and at Vancouver, when I came from San Francisco, I heard of your + being here. I had intended spending a month somewhere in the mountains, so + I came to Viking, and on to the summer hotel: but really this is too + exciting for recreation.” + </p> + <p> + This was spoken with almost gay outward manner, but there was a note in + her words which I did not like, nor did I think that her eye was very + kind, especially when she looked at Ruth Devlin and afterwards at Roscoe. + </p> + <p> + We had several miles to go, and it was nightfall—for which Mrs. + Falchion expressed herself as profoundly grateful—when we arrived at + the hotel. Our parting words were as brief as, of necessity, they had been + on our journey through the mountains, for the ladies had ridden the horses + which we had sent over for ourselves from Viking, and we men walked in + front. Besides, the thoughts of some of us were not at all free from + misgiving. The spirit possessing Roscoe the night before seemed to enter + into all of us, even into Mrs. Falchion, who had lost, somewhat, the + aplomb with which she had held the situation in the boat. But at the door + of the hotel she said cheerfully: “Of course, Dr. Marmion will find it + necessary to call on his patients to-morrow—and the clergyman also + on his new parishoners.” + </p> + <p> + The reply was left to me. I said gravely: “Let us be thankful that both + doctor and clergyman are called upon to use their functions; it might + easily have been only the latter.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do not be funereal!” she replied. “I knew that we were not to drown + at the Devil’s Slide. The drama is not ended yet, and the chief actors + cannot go until ‘the curtain.’—Though I am afraid that is not quite + orthodox, is it, Mr. Roscoe?” + </p> + <p> + Roscoe looked at her gravely. “It may not be orthodox as it is said, but + it is orthodox, I fancy, if we exchange God for fate, and Providence for + chance.... Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + He said this wearily. She looked up at him with an ironical look, then + held out her hand, and quickly bade him good-night. Partings all round + were made, and, after some injunctions to Mrs. Falchion and Justine Caron + from myself as to preventives against illness, the rest of us started for + Sunburst. + </p> + <p> + As we went, I could not help but contrast Ruth and Amy Devlin, these two + gentle yet strong mountain girls, with the woman we had left. Their lives + were far from that dolorous tide which, sweeping through a selfish world, + leaves behind it the stain of corroding passions; of cruelties, + ingratitude, hate, and catastrophe. We are all ambitious, in one way or + another. We climb mountains over scoria that frays and lava that burns. We + try to call down the stars, and when, now and then, our conjuring + succeeds, we find that our stars are only blasting meteors. One moral + mishap lames character for ever. A false start robs us of our natural + strength, and a misplaced or unrighteous love deadens the soul and + shipwrecks just conceptions of life. + </p> + <p> + A man may be forgiven for a sin, but the effect remains; it has found its + place in his constitution, and it cannot be displaced by mere penitence, + nor yet forgiveness. A man errs, and he must suffer; his father erred, and + he must endure; or some one sinned against the man, and he hid the sin—But + here a hand touched my shoulder! I was startled, for my thoughts had been + far away. Roscoe’s voice spoke in my ear: “It is as she said; the actors + come together for ‘the curtain.’” + </p> + <p> + Then his eyes met those of Ruth Devlin turned to him earnestly and + inquiringly. And I felt for a moment hard against Roscoe, that he should + even indirectly and involuntarily, bring suffering into her life. In + youth, in early manhood, we do wrong. At the time we seem to be injuring + no one but ourselves; but, as we live on, we find that we were wronging + whomsoever should come into our lives in the future. At the instant I said + angrily to myself: “What right has he to love a girl like that, when he + has anything in his life that might make her unhappy, or endanger her in + ever so little!” + </p> + <p> + But I bit my tongue, for it seemed to me that I was pharisaical; and I + wondered rather scornfully if I should have been so indignant were the + girl not so beautiful, young, and ingenuous. I tried not to think further + of the matter, and talked much to Ruth,—Gait Roscoe walked with Mrs. + Revel and Amy Devlin,—but I found I could not drive it from my mind. + This was not unnatural, for was not I the “chorus to the play”? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. THE SONG OF THE SAW + </h2> + <p> + There was still a subdued note to Roscoe’s manner the next morning. He was + pale. He talked freely however of the affairs of Viking and Sunburst, and + spoke of business which called him to Mr. Devlin’s great saw mill that + day. A few moments after breakfast we were standing in the doorway. + “Well,” he said, “shall we go?” + </p> + <p> + I was not quite sure where he meant to go, but I took my hat and joined + him. I wondered if it would be to the summer hotel or the great mill. My + duty lay in the direction of the hotel. When we stepped out, he added: + “Let us take the bridle-path along the edge of the ravine to the hotel.” + </p> + <p> + The morning was beautiful. The atmosphere of the woods was of soft, + diffusive green—the sunlight filtering through the transparent + leaves. Bowers of delicate ferns and vines flanked the path, and an + occasional clump of giant cedars invited us: the world was eloquent. + </p> + <p> + Several tourists upon the verandah of the hotel remarked us with curiosity + as we entered. A servant said that Mrs. Falchion would be glad to see us; + and we were ushered into her sitting-room. She carried no trace of + yesterday’s misadventure. She appeared superbly well. And yet, when I + looked again, when I had time to think upon and observe detail, I saw + signs of change. There was excitement in the eyes, and a slight nervous + darkness beneath them, which added to their charm. She rose, smiling, and + said: “I fear I am hardly entitled to this visit, for I am beyond + convalescence, and Justine is not in need of shrift or diagnosis, as you + see.” + </p> + <p> + I was not so sure of Justine Caron as she was, and when I had paid my + respects to her, I said a little priggishly (for I was young), still not + too solemnly: “I cannot allow you to pronounce for me upon my patients, + Mrs. Falchion; I must make my own inquiries.” + </p> + <p> + But Mrs. Falchion was right. Justine Caron was not suffering much from her + immersion; though, speaking professionally, her temperature was higher + than the normal. But that might be from some impulse of the moment, for + Justine was naturally a little excitable. + </p> + <p> + We walked aside, and, looking at me with a flush of happiness in her face, + she said: “You remember one day on the ‘Fulvia’ when I told you that money + was everything to me; that I would do all I honourably could to get it?” + </p> + <p> + I nodded. She continued: “It was that I might pay a debt—you know + it. Well, money is my god no longer, for I can pay all I owe. That is, I + can pay the money, but not the goodness, the noble kindness. He is most + good, is he not? The world is better that such men as Captain Galt Roscoe + live—ah, you see I cannot quite think of him as a clergyman. I + wonder if I ever shall!” She grew suddenly silent and abstracted, and, in + the moment’s pause, some ironical words in Mrs. Falchion’s voice floated + across the room to me: “It is so strange to see you so. And you preach, + and baptise; and marry, and bury, and care for the poor and—ah, what + is it?—‘all those who, in this transitory life, are in sorrow, need, + sickness, or any other adversity’?... And do you never long for the + flesh-pots of Egypt? Never long for”—here her voice was not quite so + clear—“for the past?” + </p> + <p> + I was sure that, whatever she was doing, he had been trying to keep the + talk, as it were, on the surface. I was equally sure that, to her last + question, he would make no reply. Though I was now speaking to Justine + Caron, I heard him say quite calmly and firmly: “Yes, I preach, baptise, + marry, and bury, and do all I can for those who need help.” + </p> + <p> + “The people about here say that you are good and charitable. You have won + the hearts of the mountaineers. But you always had a gift that way.”—I + did not like her tone.—“One would almost think you had founded a new + dispensation. And if I had drowned yesterday, you would, I suppose, have + buried me, and have preached a little sermon about me.—You could + have done that better than any one else!... What would you have said in + such a case?” + </p> + <p> + There was an earnest, almost a bitter, protest in the reply. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, if I cannot answer your question. Your life was saved, and + that is all we have to consider, except to be grateful to Providence. The + duties of my office have nothing to do with possibilities.” + </p> + <p> + She was evidently torturing him, and I longed to say a word that would + torture her. She continued: “And the flesh-pots—you have not + answered about them: do you not long for them—occasionally?” + </p> + <p> + “They are of a period,” he answered, “too distant for regret.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” she replied softly, “I fancied sometimes in London last year, + that you had not outgrown that antique time—those lotos-days.” + </p> + <p> + He made no reply at once, and in the pause Justine and I passed out to the + verandah. + </p> + <p> + “How long does Mrs. Falchion intend remaining here, Miss Caron?” I said. + </p> + <p> + Her reply was hesitating: “I do not quite know; but I think some time. She + likes the place; it seems to amuse her.” + </p> + <p> + “And you—does it amuse you?” + </p> + <p> + “It does not matter about me. I am madame’s servant; but, indeed, it does + not amuse me particularly.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you like the place?” + </p> + <p> + The reply was somewhat hurried, and she glanced at me a little nervously. + “Oh yes,” she said, “I like the place, but—” + </p> + <p> + Here Roscoe appeared at the door and said, “Mrs. Falchion wishes to see + Viking and Mr. Devlin’s mills, Marmion. She will go with us.” + </p> + <p> + In a little time we were on our way to Viking. I walked with Mrs. + Falchion, and Roscoe with Justine. I was aware of a new element in Mrs. + Falchion’s manner. She seemed less powerfully attractive to me than in the + old days, yet she certainly was more beautiful. It was hard to trace the + new characteristic. But at last I thought I saw it in a decrease of that + cold composure, that impassiveness, so fascinating in the past. In its + place had come an allusive, restless something, to be found in words of + troublesome vagueness, in variable moods, in an increased sensitiveness of + mind and an undercurrent of emotional bitterness—she was emotional + at last! She puzzled me greatly, for I saw two spirits in her: one + pitiless as of old; the other human, anxious, not unlovely. + </p> + <p> + At length we became silent, and walked so side by side for a time. Then, + with that old delightful egotism and selfishness—delightful in its + very daring—she said: “Well, amuse me!” + </p> + <p> + “And is it still the end of your existence,” I rejoined—“to be + amused?” + </p> + <p> + “What is there else to do?” she replied with raillery. + </p> + <p> + “Much. To amuse others, for instance; to regard human beings as something + more than automata.” + </p> + <p> + “Has Mr. Roscoe made you a preaching curate? I helped Amshar at the + Tanks.” + </p> + <p> + “One does not forget that. Yet you pushed Amshar with your foot.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you expect me to kiss the black coward? Then, I nursed Mr. Roscoe in + his illness.” + </p> + <p> + “And before that?” + </p> + <p> + “And before that I was born into the world, and grew to years of + knowledge, and learned what fools we mortals be, and—and there—is + that Mr. Devlin’s big sawmill?” + </p> + <p> + We had suddenly emerged on a shelf of the mountainside, and were looking + down into the Long Cloud Valley. It was a noble sight. Far to the north + were foothills covered with the glorious Norfolk pine, rising in steppes + till they seemed to touch white plateaus of snow, which again billowed to + glacier fields whose austere bosoms man’s hand had never touched; and + these suddenly lifted up huge, unapproachable shoulders, crowned with + majestic peaks that took in their teeth the sun, the storm, and the + whirlwinds of the north, never changing countenance from day to year and + from year to age. + </p> + <p> + Facing this long line of glory, running irregularly on towards that sea + where Franklin and M’Clintock led their gay adventurers,—the bold + ships,—was another shore, not so high or superior, but tall and + sombre and warm, through whose endless coverts of pine there crept and + idled the generous Chinook winds—the soothing breath of the friendly + Pacific. Between these shores the Long Cloud River ran; now boisterous, + now soft, now wallowing away through long channels, washing gorges always + dark as though shaded by winter, and valleys always green as favoured by + summer. Creeping along a lofty narrow path upon that farther shore was a + mule train, bearing packs which would not be opened till, through the + great passes of the mountain, they were spilled upon the floors of fort + and post on the east side of the Rockies. + </p> + <p> + Not far from where the mule train crept along was a great hole in the + mountain-side, as though antique giants of the hills had tunnelled through + to make themselves a home or to find the eternal secret of the mountains. + Near to this vast dark cavity was a hut—a mere playhouse, it seemed, + so small was it, viewed from where we stood. From the edge of a cliff just + in front of this hut, there swung a long cable, which reached almost to + the base of the shore beneath us; and, even as we looked, we saw what + seemed a tiny bucket go swinging slowly down that strange hypotenuse. We + watched it till we saw it get to the end of its journey in the valley + beneath, not far from the great mill to which we were bound. + </p> + <p> + “How mysterious!” said Mrs. Falchion. “What does it mean? I never saw + anything like that before. What a wonderful thing!” + </p> + <p> + Roscoe explained. “Up there in that hut,” he said, “there lives a man + called Phil Boldrick. He is a unique fellow, with a strange history. He + has been miner, sailor, woodsman, river-driver, trapper, salmon-fisher;—expert + at the duties of each of these, persistent at none. He has a taste for the + ingenious and the unusual. For a time he worked in Mr. Devlin’s mill. It + was too tame for him. He conceived the idea of supplying the valley with + certain necessaries, by intercepting the mule trains as they passed across + the hills, and getting them down to Viking by means of that cable. The + valley laughed at him; men said it was impossible. He went to Mr. Devlin, + and Mr. Devlin came to me. I have, as you know, some knowledge of + machinery and engineering. I thought the thing feasible but expensive, and + told Mr. Devlin so. However, the ingenuity of the thing pleased Mr. + Devlin, and, with that singular enterprise which in other directions has + made him a rich man, he determined on its completion. Between us we + managed it. Boldrick carries on his aerial railway with considerable + success, as you see.” + </p> + <p> + “A singular man,” said Mrs. Falchion. “I should like to see him. Come, sit + down here and tell me all you know about him, will you not?” + </p> + <p> + Roscoe assented. I arranged a seat for us, and we all sat. + </p> + <p> + Roscoe was about to begin, when Mrs. Falchion said, “Wait a minute. Let us + take in this scene first.” + </p> + <p> + We were silent. After a moment I turned to Mrs. Falchion, and said: “It is + beautiful, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + She drew in a long breath, her eyes lighted up, and she said, with a + strange abandon of gaiety: “Yes, it is delightful to live.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed so, in spite of the forebodings of my friend and my own + uneasiness concerning him, Ruth Devlin, and Mrs. Falchion. The place was + all peace: a very monotony of toil and pleasure. The heat drained through + the valley back and forth in visible palpitations upon the roofs of the + houses, the mills, and the vast piles of lumber: all these seemed + breathing. It looked a busy Arcady. From beneath us life vibrated with the + regularity of a pulse: distance gave a kind of delighted ease to toil. + Event appeared asleep. + </p> + <p> + But when I look back now, after some years, at the experiences of that + day, I am astonished by the running fire of events, which, unfortunately, + were not all joy. + </p> + <p> + As I write I can hear that keen wild singing of the saw come to us + distantly, with a pleasant, weird elation. The big mill hung above the + river, its sides all open, humming with labour, as I had seen it many a + time during my visit to Roscoe. The sun beat in upon it, making a broad + piazza of light about its sides. Beyond it were pleasant shadows, through + which men passed and repassed at their work. Life was busy all about it. + Yet the picture was bold, open, and strong. Great iron hands reached down + into the water, clamped a massive log or huge timber, lightly drew it up + the slide from the water, where, guided by the hand-spikes of the men, it + was laid upon its cradle and carried slowly to the devouring teeth of the + saws: there to be sliced through rib and bone in moist sandwiched layers, + oozing the sweet sap of its fibre; and carried out again into the open to + be drained to dry bones under the exhaust-pipes of the sun: piles upon + piles; houses with wide chinks through which the winds wandered, looking + for tenants and finding none. + </p> + <p> + To the north were booms of logs, swilling in the current, waiting for + their devourer. Here and there were groups of river-drivers and their + foremen, prying twisted heaps of logs from the rocks or the shore into the + water. Other groups of river-drivers were scattered upon the banks, + lifting their huge red canoes high up on the platforms, the spring’s and + summer’s work of river-driving done; while others lounged upon the grass, + or wandered lazily through the village, sporting with the Chinamen, or + chaffing the Indian idling in the sun—a garish figure stoically + watching the inroads of civilisation. The town itself was squat but + amiable: small houses and large huts; the only place of note and dignity, + the new town hall, which was greatly overshadowed by the big mill, and + even by the two smaller ones flanking it north and south. + </p> + <p> + But Viking was full of men who had breathed the strong life of the hills, + had stolen from Nature some of her brawny strength, and set themselves up + before her as though a man were as great as a mountain and as good a thing + to see. It was of such a man that Galt Roscoe was to tell us. His own + words I will not give, but will speak of Phil Boldrick as I remember him + and as Roscoe described him to us. + </p> + <p> + Of all the men in the valley, none was so striking as Phil Boldrick. Of + all faces his was the most singular; of all characters his the most + unique; of all men he was the most unlucky, save in one thing—the + regard of his fellows. Others might lay up treasures, not he; others lose + money at gambling, not he—he never had much to lose. But yet he did + all things magniloquently. The wave of his hand was expansive, his stride + was swaying and decisive, his over-ruling, fraternal faculty was always in + full swing. Viking was his adopted child; so much so that a gentleman + river-driver called it Philippi; and by that name it sometimes went, and + continues still so among those who knew it in the old days. + </p> + <p> + Others might have doubts as to the proper course to pursue under certain + circumstances; it was not so with Phil. They might argue a thing out + orally, he did so mentally, and gave judgment on it orally. He was final, + not oracular. One of his eyes was of glass, and blue; the other had an + eccentricity, and was of a deep and meditative grey. It was a wise and + knowing eye. It was trained to many things—like one servant in a + large family. One side of his face was solemn, because of the gay but + unchanging blue eye, the other was gravely humourous, shrewdly playful. + His fellow citizens respected him; so much so, that they intended to give + him an office in the new-formed corporation; which means that he had + courage and downrightness, and that the rough, straightforward gospel of + the West was properly interpreted by him. + </p> + <p> + If a stranger came to the place, Phil was sent first to reconnoitre; if + any function was desirable, Phil was requested to arrange it; if justice + was to be meted out, Phil’s opinion had considerable weight—for he + had much greater leisure than other more prosperous men; if a man was + taken ill (this was in the days before a doctor came), Phil was asked to + declare if he would “shy from the finish.” + </p> + <p> + I heard Roscoe more than once declare that Phil was as good as two curates + to him. Not that Phil was at all pious, nor yet possessed of those + abstemious qualities in language and appetite by which good men are known; + but he had a gift of civic virtue—important in a wicked world, and + of unusual importance in Viking. He had neither self-consciousness nor + fear; and while not possessed of absolute tact in a social way, he had a + knack of doing the right thing bluntly, or the wrong thing with an air of + rightness. He envied no man, he coveted nothing; had once or twice made + other men’s fortunes by prospecting, but was poor himself. And in all he + was content, and loved life and Viking. + </p> + <p> + Immediately after Roscoe had reached the mountains Phil had become his + champion, declaring that there was not any reason why a man should not be + treated sociably because he was a parson. Phil had been a great traveller, + as had many who settled at last in these valleys to the exciting life of + the river: salmon-catching or driving logs. He had lived for a time in + Lower California and Mexico, and had given Roscoe the name of The Padre: + which suited the genius and temper of the rude population. And so it was + that Roscoe was called The Padre by every one, though he did not look the + character. + </p> + <p> + As he told his story of Phil’s life I could not help but contrast him with + most of the clergymen I knew or had seen. He had the admirable ease and + tact of a cultured man of the world, and the frankness and warmth of a + hearty nature, which had, however, some inherent strain of melancholy. + Wherever I had gone with him I had noticed that he was received with + good-humoured deference by his rough parishioners and others who were such + only in the broadest sense. Perhaps he would not have succeeded so well if + he had worn clerical clothes. As it was, of a week day, he could not be + distinguished from any respectable layman. The clerical uniform attracts + women more than men, who, if they spoke truly, would resent it. Roscoe did + not wear it, because he thought more of men than of function, of manliness + than clothes; and though this sometimes got him into trouble with his + clerical brethren who dearly love Roman collar, and coloured stole, and + the range of ritual from a lofty intoning to the eastward position, he + managed to live and himself be none the worse, while those who knew him + were certainly the better. + </p> + <p> + When Roscoe had finished his tale, Mrs. Falchion said: “Mr. Boldrick must + be a very interesting man;” and her eyes wandered up to the great hole in + the mountain-side, and lingered there. “As I said, I must meet him,” she + added; “men of individuality are rare.” Then: “That great ‘hole in the + wall’ is, of course, a natural formation.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Roscoe. “Nature seems to have made it for Boldrick. He uses it + as a storehouse.” + </p> + <p> + “Who watches it while he is away?” she said. “There is no door to the + place, of course.” + </p> + <p> + Roscoe smiled enigmatically. “Men do not steal up here: that is the + unpardonable crime; any other may occur and go unpunished; not it.” + </p> + <p> + The thought seemed to strike Mrs. Falchion. “I might have known!” she + said. “It is the same in the South Seas among the natives—Samoans, + Tongans, Fijians, and others. You can—as you know, Mr. Roscoe,”—her + voice had a subterranean meaning,—“travel from end to end of those + places, and, until the white man corrupts them, never meet with a case of + stealing; you will find them moral too in other ways until the white man + corrupts them. But sometimes the white man pays for it in the end.” + </p> + <p> + Her last words were said with a kind of dreaminess, as though they had no + purpose; but though she sat now idly looking into the valley beneath, I + could see that her eyes had a peculiar glance, which was presently turned + on Roscoe, then withdrawn again. On him the effect was so far disturbing + that he became a little pale, but I noticed that he met her glance + unflinchingly and then looked at me, as if to see in how far I had been + affected by her speech. I think I confessed to nothing in my face. + </p> + <p> + Justine Caron was lost in the scene before us. She had, I fancy, scarcely + heard half that had been said. Roscoe said to her presently: “You like it, + do you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Like it?” she said. “I never saw anything so wonderful.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet it would not be so wonderful without humanity there,” rejoined + Mrs. Falchion. “Nature is never complete without man. All that would be + splendid without the mills and the machinery and Boldrick’s cable, but it + would not be perfect: it needs man—Phil Boldrick and Company in the + foreground. Nature is not happy by itself: it is only brooding and + sorrowful. You remember the mountain of Talili in Samoa, Mr. Roscoe, and + the valley about it: how entrancing yet how melancholy it is. It always + seems to be haunted, for the natives never live in the valley. There is a + tradition that once one of the white gods came down from heaven, and built + an altar, and sacrificed a Samoan girl—though no one ever knew quite + why: for there the tradition ends.” + </p> + <p> + I felt again that there was a hidden meaning in her words; but Roscoe + remained perfectly still. It seemed to me that I was little by little + getting the threads of his story. That there was a native girl; that the + girl had died or been killed; that Roscoe was in some way—innocently + I dared hope—connected with it; and that Mrs. Falchion held the key + to the mystery, I was certain. That it was in her mind to use the mystery, + I was also certain. But for what end I could not tell. What had passed + between them in London the previous winter I did not know: but it seemed + evident that she had influenced him there as she did on the ‘Fulvia’, had + again lost her influence, and was now resenting the loss, out of pique or + anger, or because she really cared for him. It might be that she cared. + </p> + <p> + She added after a moment: “Add man to nature, and it stops sulking: which + goes to show that fallen humanity is better than no company at all.” + </p> + <p> + She had an inherent strain of mockery, of playful satire, and she told me + once, when I knew her better, that her own suffering always set her + laughing at herself, even when it was greatest. It was this characteristic + which made her conversation very striking, it was so sharply contrasted in + its parts; a heartless kind of satire set against the most serious and + acute statements. One never knew when she would turn her own or her + interlocutor’s gravity into mirth. + </p> + <p> + Now no one replied immediately to her remarks, and she continued: “If I + were an artist I should wish to paint that scene, given that the lights + were not so bright and that mill machinery not so sharply defined. There + is almost too much limelight, as it were; too much earnestness in the + thing. Either there should be some side-action of mirth to make it less + intense, or of tragedy to render it less photographic; and unless, Dr. + Marmion, you would consent to be solemn, which would indeed be droll; or + that The Padre there—how amusing they should call him that!—should + cease to be serious, which, being so very unusual, would be tragic, I do + not know how we are to tell the artist that he has missed a chance of + immortalising himself.” + </p> + <p> + Roscoe said nothing, but smiled at her vivacity, while he deprecated her + words by a wave of his hand. I also was silent for a moment; for there had + come to my mind, while she was speaking and I was watching the scene, + something that Hungerford had said to me once on board the ‘Fulvia’. + “Marmion,” said he, “when everything at sea appears so absolutely + beautiful and honest that it thrills you, and you’re itching to write + poetry, look out. There’s trouble ahead. It’s only the pretty pause in the + happy scene of the play before the villain comes in and tumbles things + about. When I’ve been on the bridge,” he continued, “of a night that set + my heart thumping, I knew, by Jingo! it was the devil playing his silent + overture. Don’t you take in the twaddle about God sending thunderbolts; + it’s that old war-horse down below.—And then I’ve kept a sharp + lookout, for I knew as right as rain that a company of waterspouts would + be walking down on us, or a hurricane racing to catch us broadsides. And + what’s gospel for sea is good for land, and you’ll find it so, my son.” + </p> + <p> + I was possessed of the same feeling now as I looked at the scene before + us, and I suppose I seemed moody, for immediately Mrs. Falchion said: + “Why, now my words have come true; the scene can be made perfect. Pray + step down to the valley, Dr. Marmion, and complete the situation, for you + are trying to seem serious, and it is irresistibly amusing—and + professional, I suppose; one must not forget that you teach the young + ‘sawbones’ how to saw.” + </p> + <p> + I was piqued, annoyed. I said, though I admit it was not cleverly said: + “Mrs. Falchion, I am willing to go and complete that situation, if you + will go with me; for you would provide the tragedy—plenty of it; + there would be the full perihelion of elements; your smile is the + incarnation of the serious.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at me full in the eyes. “Now that,” she said, “is a very good + ‘quid pro quo’—is that right?—and I have no doubt that it is + more or less true; and for a doctor to speak truth and a professor to be + under stood is a matter for angels. And I actually believe that, in time, + you will be free from priggishness, and become a brilliant + conversationalist; and—suppose we wander on to our proper places in + the scene.... Besides, I want to see that strange man, Mr. Boldrick.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. THE PATH OF THE EAGLE + </h2> + <p> + We travelled slowly down the hillside into the village, and were about to + turn towards the big mill when we saw Mr. Devlin and Ruth riding towards + us. We halted and waited for them. Mr. Devlin was introduced to Mrs. + Falchion by his daughter, who was sweetly solicitous concerning Mrs. + Falchion and Justine Caron, and seemed surprised at finding them abroad + after the accident of the day before. Ruth said that her father and + herself had just come from the summer hotel, where they had gone to call + upon Mrs. Falchion. Mrs. Falchion heartily acknowledged the courtesy. She + seemed to be playing no part, but was apparently grateful all round; yet I + believe that even already Ruth had caught at something in her presence + threatening Roscoe’s peace; whilst she, from the beginning, had, with her + more trained instincts, seen the relations between the clergyman and his + young parishioner.—But what had that to do with her? + </p> + <p> + Between Roscoe and Ruth there was the slightest constraint, and I thought + that it gave a troubled look to the face of the girl. Involuntarily, the + eyes of both were attracted to Mrs. Falchion. I believe in that moment + there was a kind of revelation among the three. While I talked to Mr. + Devlin I watched them, standing a little apart, Justine Caron with us. It + must have been a painful situation for them; to the young girl because a + shadow was trailing across the light of her first love; to Roscoe because + the shadow came out of his past; to Mrs. Falchion because she was the + shadow. I felt that trouble was at hand. In this trouble I knew that I was + to play a part; for, if Roscoe had his secret and Mrs. Falchion had the + key to it, I also held a secret which, in case of desperate need, I should + use. I did not wish to use it, for though it was mine it was also + another’s. I did not like the look in Mrs. Falchion’s eyes as she glanced + at Ruth: I was certain that she resented Roscoe’s regard for Ruth and + Ruth’s regard for Roscoe; but, up to that moment, I had not thought it + possible that she cared for him deeply. Once she had influenced me, but + she had never cared for me. + </p> + <p> + I could see a change in her. Out of it came that glance at Ruth, which + seemed to me the talon-like hatred that shot from the eyes of Goneril and + Regan: and I was sure that if she loved Roscoe there would be mad trouble + for him and for the girl. Heretofore she had been passionless, but there + was a dormant power in her which had only to be wickedly aroused to wreck + her own and others’ happiness. Hers was one of those volcanic natures, + defying calculation and ordinary conceptions of life; having the fullest + capacity for all the elementary passions—hatred, love, cruelty, + delight, loyalty, revolt, jealousy. She had never from her birth until now + felt love for any one. She had never been awakened. Even her affection for + her father had been dutiful rather than instinctive. She had provoked + love, but had never given it. She had been self-centred, compulsive, + unrelenting. She had unmoved seen and let her husband go to his doom—it + was his doom and death so far as she knew. + </p> + <p> + Yet, as I thought of this, I found myself again admiring her. She was + handsome, independent, distinctly original, and possessing capacity for + great things. Besides, so far, she had not been actively vindictive—simply + passively indifferent to the sufferings of others. She seemed to regard + results more than means. All she did not like she could empty into the + mill of the destroying gods: just as General Grant poured hundreds of + thousands of men into the valley of the James, not thinking of lives but + victory, not of blood but triumph. She too, even in her cruelty, seemed to + have a sense of wild justice which disregarded any incidental suffering. + </p> + <p> + I could see that Mr. Devlin was attracted by her, as every man had been + who had ever met her; for, after all, man is but a common slave to beauty: + virtue he respects, but beauty is man’s valley of suicide. Presently she + turned to Mr. Devlin, having, as it seemed to me, made Roscoe and Ruth + sufficiently uncomfortable. With that cheerful insouciance which was + always possible to her on the most trying occasions, she immediately said, + as she had often said to me, that she had come to Mr. Devlin to be amused + for the morning, perhaps the whole day. It was her way, her selfish way, + to make men her slaves. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Devlin gallantly said that he was at her disposal, and with a kind of + pride added that there was plenty in the valley which would interest her; + for he was a frank, bluff man, who would as quickly have spoken + disparagingly of what belonged to himself, if it was not worthy, as have + praised it. + </p> + <p> + “Where shall we go first?” he said. “To the mill?” + </p> + <p> + “To the mill, by all means,” Mrs. Falchion replied; “I have never been in + a great saw-mill, and I believe this is very fine. Then,” she added, with + a little wave of the hand towards the cable running down from Phil + Boldrick’s eyrie in the mountains, “then I want to see all that cable can + do—all, remember.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Devlin laughed. “Well, it hasn’t many tricks, but what it does it does + cleverly, thanks to The Padre.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” responded Mrs. Falchion, still looking at the cable; “The Padre, + I know, is very clever.” + </p> + <p> + “He is more than clever,” bluffly replied Mr. Devlin, who was not keen + enough to see the faint irony in her tones. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” responded Mrs. Falchion in the same tone of voice, “he is more than + clever. I have been told that he was once very brave. I have been told + that once in the South Seas he did his country a great service.” + </p> + <p> + She paused. I could see Ruth’s eyes glisten and her face suffuse, for + though she read the faint irony in the tone, still she saw that the tale + which Mrs. Falchion was evidently about to tell, must be to Galt Roscoe’s + credit. Mrs. Falchion turned idly upon Ruth and saw the look in her face. + An almost imperceptible smile came upon her lips. She looked again at the + cable and Phil Boldrick’s eyrie, which seemed to have a wonderful + attraction for her. Not turning away from it, save now and then to glance + indolently at Mr. Devlin or Ruth, and once enigmatically at myself, she + said: + </p> + <p> + “Once upon a time—that is the way, I believe, to begin a pretty + story—there were four men-of-war idling about a certain harbour of + Samoa. One of the vessels was the flag-ship, with its admiral on board. On + one of the other vessels was an officer who had years before explored this + harbour. It was the hurricane season. He advised the admiral not to enter + the harbour, for the indications foretold a gale, and himself was not sure + that his chart was in all respects correct, for the harbour had been + hurriedly explored and sounded. But the admiral gave orders, and they + sailed in. + </p> + <p> + “That day a tremendous hurricane came crying down upon Samoa. It swept + across the island, levelled forests of cocoa palms, battered villages to + pieces, caught that little fleet in the harbour, and played with it in a + horrible madness. To right and left were reefs, behind was the shore, with + a monstrous surf rolling in; before was a narrow passage. One vessel made + its way out—on it was the officer who had surveyed the harbour. In + the open sea there was safety. He brought his vessel down the coast a + little distance, put a rope about him and in the wild surf made for the + shore. I believe he could have been court-martialled for leaving his ship, + but he was a man who had taken a great many risks of one kind and another + in his time. It was one chance out of a hundred; but he made it—he + got to the shore, travelled down to the harbour where the men-of-war were + careening towards the reefs, unable to make the passage out, and once + again he tied a rope about him and plunged into the surf to try for the + admiral’s ship. He got there terribly battered. They tell how a big wave + lifted him and landed him upon the quarter-deck just as big waves are not + expected to do. Well, like the hero in any melodrama of the kind, he very + prettily piloted monsieur the admiral and his fleet out to the open sea.” + </p> + <p> + She paused, smiling in an inscrutable sort of way, then turned and said + with a sudden softness in her voice, though still with the air of one who + wished not to be taken with too great a seriousness: “And, ladies and + gentlemen, the name of the ship that led the way was the ‘Porcupine’; and + the name of the hero was Commander Galt Roscoe, R.N.; and ‘of such is the + kingdom of heaven!’” + </p> + <p> + There was silence for a moment. The tale had been told adroitly, and with + such tact as to words that Roscoe could not take offence—need not, + indeed, as he did not, I believe, feel any particular self-consciousness. + I am not sure but he was a little glad that such evidence should have been + given at the moment, when a kind of restraint had come between him and + Ruth, by one who he had reason to think was not wholly his friend might be + his enemy. It was a kind of offset to his premonitions and to the peril + over which he might stumble at any moment. + </p> + <p> + To me the situation was almost inexplicable; but the woman herself was + inexplicable: at this moment the evil genius of us all, at that doing us + all a kind of crude, superior justice. I was the first to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Roscoe,” I said, “I never had heard of this, although I remember the + circumstance as told in the newspapers. But I am glad and proud that I + have a friend with such a record.” + </p> + <p> + “And, only think,” said Mrs. Falchion, “he actually was not + court-martialled for abandoning his ship to save an admiral and a fleet. + But the ways of the English Admiralty are wonderful. They go out of their + way to avoid a court-martial sometimes, and they go out of their way to + establish it sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + By this time we had started towards the mill. Roscoe walked ahead with + Ruth Devlin. Mr. Devlin, Mrs. Falchion, Justine Caron and myself walked + together. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Falchion presently continued, talking, as it seemed to me, at the + back of Roscoe’s head: + </p> + <p> + “I have known the Admiralty to force an officer to resign the navy because + he had married a native wife. But I never knew the Admiralty to + court-martial an officer because he did not marry a native wife whom he + OUGHT to have married: but, as I said, the ways of the Admiralty are past + admiration.” + </p> + <p> + I could see Roscoe’s hand clinch at his side, and presently he said over + his shoulder at her: “Your memory and your philosophy are as wonderful as + the Admiralty are inscrutable.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed. “You have not lost your old gift of retort,” she said. “You + are still amusing.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, come,” said Mr. Devlin cheerfully, “let’s see if there isn’t + something even more amusing than Mr. Roscoe in Viking. I will show you, + Mrs. Falchion, the biggest saw that ever ate the heart out of a Norfolk + pine.” + </p> + <p> + At the mill Mrs. Falchion was interested. She asked questions concerning + the machinery which mightily pleased Mr. Devlin, they were so apt and + intelligent; and herself assisted in giving an immense log to the teeth of + the largest saw, which, with its six upright blades, ate, and was never + satisfied. She stooped and ran her ungloved hand into the sawdust, as + sweet before the sun has dried it as the scent of a rose. The rich smell + of the fresh-cut lumber filled the air, and suggested all kinds of remote + and pleasant things. The industry itself is one of the first that comes + with the invasion of new territory, and makes one think of man’s first + work in the world: to fell the tree and till the soil. It is impossible to + describe that fierce, jubilant song of the saw, which even when we were + near was never shrill or shrieking: never drowning our voices, but vibrant + and delightful. To Mrs. Falchion it was new; she was impressed. + </p> + <p> + “I have seen,” she said to Mr. Devlin, “all sorts of enterprises, but + never anything like this. It all has a kind of rough music. It is + enjoyable.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Devlin beamed. “I have just added something to the mill that will + please you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She looked interested. We all gathered round. I stood between Mrs. + Falchion and Ruth Devlin, and Roscoe beside Justine Caron. + </p> + <p> + “It is the greatest mill-whistle in the country,” he continued. “It will + be heard from twelve to twenty-five miles, according to the condition of + the atmosphere. I want big things all round, and this is a masterpiece, I + guess. Now, I’ll let you hear it if you like. I didn’t expect to use it + until to-night at nine o’clock, when, also for the first time, I am to + light the mills by electricity; a thing that’s not been attempted yet in + any saw-mill on the Continent. We’re going to work night and day for a + couple of months.” + </p> + <p> + “This is all very wonderful. And are you indebted to Mr. Roscoe in these + things too?—Everybody seems to need him here.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the mill-owner, laughing, “the whistle is my own. It’s the + sort of thing I would propose—to blow my trumpet, as it were; but + the electricity and the first experiments in it I owe to The Padre.” + </p> + <p> + “As I thought,” she said, and turned to Roscoe. “I remember,” she added, + “that you had an electrical search-light on the ‘Porcupine’, and that you + were fond of electricity. Do you ever use search-lights here? I should + think they might be of use in your parish. Then, for a change, you could + let the parish turn it upon you, for the sake of contrast and + edification.” + </p> + <p> + For the moment I was exceedingly angry. Her sarcasm was well veiled, but I + could feel the sardonic touch beneath the smiling surface. This innuendo + seemed so gratuitous. I said to her, almost beneath my breath, that none + of the others could hear: “How womanly!” + </p> + <p> + She did no more than lift her eyebrows in acknowledgment, and went on + talking lightly to Mr. Devlin. Roscoe was cool, but I could see now in his + eyes a kind of smouldering anger; which was quite to my wish. I hoped he + would be meek no longer. + </p> + <p> + Presently Ruth Devlin said: “Would it not be better to wait till to-night, + when the place is lighted, before the whistle is blown? Then you can get a + better first impression. And if Mrs. Falchion will come over to our home + at Sunburst, we will try and amuse her for the rest of the day—that + is, after she has seen all here.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Falchion seemed struck by the frankness of the girl, and for an + instant debated, but presently said: “No, thank you. When all is seen now, + I will go to the hotel, and then will join you all here in the evening, if + that seems feasible. Perhaps Dr. Marmion will escort me here. Mr. Roscoe, + of course, has other duties.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be happy,” I said, maliciously smiling, “to guide you to the + sacrifice of the saw.” + </p> + <p> + She was not disturbed. She touched Mr. Devlin’s arm, and, looking archly + at him, nodded backwards towards me. “‘Beware the anaconda!’” she said. + </p> + <p> + It was impossible not to be amused; her repartee was always so + unrestrained. She disarmed one by what would have been, in a man, insolent + sang-froid: in her it was piquancy, daring. + </p> + <p> + Presently she added: “But if we are to have no colossal whistle and no + electric light till evening, there is one thing I must have: and that is + your remarkable Phil Boldrick, who seems to hold you all in the palm of + his hand, and lives up there like a god on his Olympus.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, suppose you go and call on him,” said Roscoe, with a touch of dry + humour, his eye on the cable that reached to Boldrick’s perch. + </p> + <p> + She saw her opportunity, and answered promptly: “Yes, I will call on him + immediately,”—here she turned towards Ruth,—“if Miss Devlin + and yourself will go with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense,” interposed Mr. Devlin. “Besides, the cage will only hold two + easily. Anyhow, it’s absurd.” + </p> + <p> + “Why is it absurd? Is there any danger?” queried Mrs. Falchion. + </p> + <p> + “Not unless there’s an idiot at the machinery.” + </p> + <p> + “I should expect you to manage it,” she persisted. + </p> + <p> + “But no woman has ever done it.” + </p> + <p> + “I will make the record.” And, turning to Ruth: “You are not afraid?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I am not afraid,” said the girl bravely, though she acknowledged to + me afterwards that while she was not afraid of anything where her own + skill was called in question, such as mountain-climbing, or even + puma-hunting, she did not joyfully anticipate swinging between heaven and + earth on that incline. “I will go,” she added, “if my father will let me. + ... May I?” she continued, turning to him. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps something of the father’s pride came up in him, perhaps he had + just got some suspicion that between his daughter and Mrs. Falchion there + was a subterranean rivalry. However it was, he gave a quick, quizzical + look at both of them, then glanced at Roscoe, and said: “I’ll make no + objections, if Ruth would like to introduce you to Phil. And, as Mrs. + Falchion suggested, I’ll ‘turn the crank.’” + </p> + <p> + I could see that Roscoe had a bad moment. But presently he appeared to me + perfectly willing that Ruth should go. Maybe he was as keen that she + should not appear at a disadvantage beside Mrs. Falchion as was her + father. + </p> + <p> + A signal was given, and the cage came slowly down the cable to the mill. + We could see Boldrick, looking little bigger than a child at the other + end, watching our movements. At the last moment Mr. Devlin and Roscoe + seemed apprehensive, but the women were cool and determined. I noticed + Mrs. Falchion look at Ruth curiously once or twice after they entered the + cage, and before they started, and what she saw evidently gave her a + higher opinion of the girl, for she laid her hand on Ruth’s arm suddenly, + and said: “We will show these mere men what nerve is.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth nodded, then ‘bon voyage’ was said, and the signal was given. The + cage ascended at first quickly, then more slowly, swaying up and down a + little on the cable, and climbing higher and higher through the air to the + mountain-side. What Boldrick thought when he saw the two ascending towards + him, he expressed to Mr. Devlin later in the day in vigorous language: + what occurred at his but Ruth Devlin told me afterwards. When the cage + reached him, he helped the two passengers out, and took them to his hut. + With Ruth he had always been a favourite, and he welcomed her with + admiring and affectionate respect. + </p> + <p> + “Never b’lieved you could have done it, Miss Devlin—never! Not but + what I knew you weren’t afraid of anything on the earth below, or the + waters under the earth; but when you get swinging there over the world, + and not high enough to get a hold on heaven, it makes you feel as if + things was droppin’ away from you like. But, by gracious! you did it like + an eagle—you and your friend.” + </p> + <p> + By this time he was introduced, and at the name of Mrs. Falchion, he + cocked his head, and looked quizzically, as if trying to remember + something, then drew his hand once or twice across his forehead. After a + moment he said: “Strange, now, ma’am, how your name strikes me. It isn’t a + common name, and I’ve heerd it before somewhere—somewhere. It isn’t + your face that I’ve seen before—for I’d have remembered it if it was + a thousand years ago,” he added admiringly. “But I’ve heard some one use + it; and I can’t tell where.” + </p> + <p> + She looked curiously at him, and said: “Don’t try to remember, and it will + come to you in good time. But show us everything about your place before + we go back, won’t you, please?” + </p> + <p> + He showed them his hut, where he lived, quite alone. It was supplied with + bare necessaries, and with a counter, behind which were cups and a few + bottles. In reference to this, Boldrick said: “Temperance drinks for the + muleteers, tobacco and tea and sugar and postage stamps and things. They + don’t gargle their throats with anything stronger than coffee at this + tavern.” + </p> + <p> + Then he took them to the cave in which puma, bear, and wapiti skins were + piled, together with a few stores and the kits of travellers who had left + their belongings in Boldrick’s keeping till they should come again. After + Mrs. Falchion and Ruth had seen all, they came out upon the mountain-side + and waved their handkerchiefs to us, who were still watching from below. + Then Boldrick hoisted a flag on his hut, which he used on gala occasions, + to celebrate the event, and, not content with this, fired a ‘feu de joie’, + managed in this way: He took two anvils used by the muleteers and + expressmen to shoe their animals, and placed one on the other, putting + powder between. Then Mrs. Falchion thrust a red-hot iron into the powder, + and an explosion ensued. I was for a moment uneasy, but Mr. Devlin + reassured me, and instantly a shrill whistle from the little mills + answered the salute. + </p> + <p> + Just before they got into the cage, Mrs. Falchion turned to Boldrick, and + said: “You have not been trying to remember where you heard my name + before? Well, can you not recall it now?” + </p> + <p> + Boldrick shook his head. “Perhaps you will recall it before I see you + again,” she said. + </p> + <p> + They started. As they did so, Mrs. Falchion said suddenly, looking at + Boldrick keenly: “Were you ever in the South Seas?” + </p> + <p> + Boldrick stood for an instant open-mouthed, and then exclaimed loudly, as + the cage swung down the incline: “By Jingo! No, ma’am, I was never there, + but I had a pal who come from Samoa.” + </p> + <p> + She called back at him: “Tell me of him when we meet again. What was his + name?” + </p> + <p> + They were too far down the cable now for Boldrick’s reply to reach them + distinctly. The descent seemed even more adventurous than the ascent, and, + in spite of myself, I could not help a thrill of keen excitement. But they + were both smiling when the cage reached us, and both had a very fine + colour. + </p> + <p> + “A delightful journey, a remarkable reception, and a very singular man is + your Mr. Boldrick,” said Mrs. Falchion. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Mr. Devlin, “you’ll know Boldrick a long time before you + find his limits. He is about the most curious character I ever knew, and + does the most curious things. But straight—straight as a die, Mrs. + Falchion!” + </p> + <p> + “I fancy that Mr. Boldrick and I would be very good friends indeed,” said + Mrs. Falchion; “and I purpose visiting him again. It is quite probable + that we shall find we have had mutual acquaintances.” She looked at Roscoe + meaningly as she said this, but he was occupied with Ruth. + </p> + <p> + “You were not afraid?” Roscoe said to Ruth. “Was it not a strange + sensation?” + </p> + <p> + “Frankly, at first I was a little afraid, because the cage swings on the + cable, and it makes you uncomfortable. But I enjoyed it before we got to + the end.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Falchion turned to Mr. Devlin. “I find plenty here to amuse me,” she + said, “and I am glad I came. To-night I want to go up that cable and call + on Mr. Boldrick again, and see the mills and the electric light, and hear + your whistle, from up there. Then, of course, you must show us the mill + working at night, and afterwards—may I ask it?—you must all + come and have supper with me at the summer hotel.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth dropped her eyes. I saw she did not wish to go. Fortunately Mr. + Devlin extricated her. “I’m afraid that will be impossible, Mrs. + Falchion,” he said: “much obliged to you all the same. But I am going to + be at the mill pretty near all night, and shouldn’t be able to go, and I + don’t want Ruth to go without me.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it must be another time,” said Mrs. Falchion. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, whenever it’s convenient for Ruth, after a day or two, I’ll be ready + and glad. But I tell you what: if you want to see something fine, you must + go down as soon as possible to Sunburst. We live there, you know, not here + at Viking. It’s funny, too, because, you see, there’s a feud between + Viking and Sunburst—we are all river-men and mill-hands at Viking, + and they’re all salmon-fishers and fruit-growers at Sunburst. By rights I + ought to live here, but when I started I thought I’d build my mills at + Sunburst, so I pitched my tent down there. My wife and the girls got + attached to the place, and though the mills were built at Viking, and I + made all my money up here, I live at Sunburst and spend my shekels there. + I guess if I didn’t happen to live at Sunburst, people would be trailing + their coats and making Donnybrook fairs every other day between these two + towns. But that’s neither here nor there. Take my advice, Mrs. Falchion, + and come to Sunburst and see the salmon-fishers at work, both day and + night. It is about the biggest thing in the way of natural picturesqueness + that you’ll see—outside my mills. Indians, half-breeds, white men, + Chinamen—they are all at it in weirs and cages, or in the nets, and + spearing by torch-light!—Don’t you think I would do to run a circus, + Mrs. Falchion?—Stand at the door, and shout: ‘Here’s where you get + the worth of your money’?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Falchion laughed. “I am sure you and I will be good friends; you are + amusing. And, to be perfectly frank with you, I am very weary of trying to + live in the intellectual altitudes of Dr. Marmion—and The Padre.” + </p> + <p> + I had never seen her in a greater strain of gaiety. It had almost a kind + of feverishness—as if she relished fully the position she held + towards Roscoe and Ruth, her power over their future, and her belief (as I + think was in her mind then) that she could bring back to her self Roscoe’s + old allegiance. That she believed this, I was convinced; that she would + never carry it out, was just as strong: for I, though only the chorus in + the drama, might one day find it in my power to become, for a moment, one + of the principal actors—from which position I had declined one day + when humiliated before Mrs. Falchion on the ‘Fulvia’. Boyd Madras was in + my mind. + </p> + <p> + After a few minutes we parted, agreeing to meet again in the valley in the + evening. I had promised, as Mrs. Falchion had suggested, to escort her and + Justine Caron from the summer hotel to the mill. Roscoe had duties at both + Viking and Sunburst and would not join us until we all met in the evening. + Mr. Devlin and Ruth rode away towards Sunburst. Mrs. Falchion, Justine, + and myself travelled slowly up the hillside, talking chiefly upon the + events of the morning. Mrs. Falchion appeared to admire greatly the + stalwart character of Mr. Devlin; in a few swift, complimentary words + disposed of Ruth; and then made many inquiries concerning Roscoe’s work, + my own position, and the length of my stay in the mountains; and talked + upon many trivial matters, never once referring—as it seemed to me, + purposely—to our past experiences on the ‘Fulvia’, nor making any + inquiry concerning any one except Belle Treherne. + </p> + <p> + She showed no surprise when I told her that I expected to marry Miss + Treherne. She congratulated me with apparent frankness, and asked for Miss + Treherne’s address, saying she would write to her. As soon as she had left + Roscoe’s presence she had dropped all enigmatical words and phrases, and, + during this hour I was with her, was the tactful, accomplished woman of + the world, with the one present object: to make her conversation + agreeable, and to keep things on the surface. Justine Caron scarcely spoke + during the whole of our walk, although I addressed myself to her + frequently. But I could see that she watched Mrs. Falchion’s face + curiously; and I believe that at this time her instinct was keener by far + to read what was in Mrs. Falchion’s mind than my own, though I knew much + more of the hidden chain of events connecting Mrs. Falchion’s life and + Galt Roscoe’s. + </p> + <p> + I parted from them at the door of the hotel, made my way down to Roscoe’s + house at the ravine, and busied myself for the greater part of the day in + writing letters, and reading on the coping. About sunset I called for Mrs. + Falchion, and found her and Justine Caron ready and waiting. There was + nothing eventful in our talk as we came down the mountain-side towards + Viking—Justine Caron’s presence prevented that. It was dusk when we + reached the valley. As yet the mills were all dark. The only lights + visible were in the low houses lining the banks of the river. Against the + mountainside there seemed to hang one bunch of flame like a star, large, + red, and weird. It was a torch burning in front of Phil Boldrick’s hut. We + made our way slowly to the mill, and found Mr. Devlin, Ruth, and Roscoe, + with Ruth’s sister, and one or two other friends, expecting us. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Mr. Devlin heartily, “I have kept the show waiting for you. + The house is all dark, but I guess you’ll see a transformation scene + pretty quick. Come out,” he continued, “and let us get the front seats. + They are all stalls here; nobody has a box except Boldrick, and it is up + in the flies.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Devlin,” said Mrs. Falchion, “I purpose to see this show not only + from the stalls, but from the box in the flies. Therefore, during the + first act, I shall be here in front of the foot-lights. During the second + act I shall be aloft like Tom Bowling—” + </p> + <p> + “In other words—” began Mr. Devlin. + </p> + <p> + “In other words,” added Mrs. Falchion, “I am going to see the valley and + hear your great horn blow from up there!” She pointed towards the star in + front of Phil’s hut. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Mr. Devlin; “but you will excuse me if I say that I + don’t particularly want anybody to see this performance from where Tom + Bowling bides.” + </p> + <p> + We left the office and went out upon the platform, a little distance from + the mill. Mr. Devlin gave a signal, touched a wire, and immediately it + seemed as if the whole valley was alight. The mill itself was in a blaze + of white. It was transfigured—a fairy palace, just as the mud barges + in the Suez Canal had been transformed by the search-light of the + ‘Fulvia’. For the moment, in the wonder of change from darkness to light, + the valley became the picture of a dream. Every man was at his post in the + mill, and in an instant work was going on as we had seen it in the + morning. Then, all at once, there came a great roar, as it were, from the + very heart of the mill—a deep diapason, dug out of the throat of the + hills: the big whistle. + </p> + <p> + “It sounds mournful—like a great animal in pain,” said Mrs. + Falchion. “You might have got one more cheerful.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait till it gets tuned up,” said Mr. Devlin. “It hasn’t had a chance to + get the burs out of its throat. It will be very fine as soon as the + engine-man knows how to manage it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Ruth, interposing, “a little toning down would do it good—it + is shaking the windows in your office; feel this platform tremble!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I bargained for a big whistle and I’ve got it: and I guess they’ll + know if ever there’s a fire in the town!” Just as he said this, Roscoe + gave a cry and pointed. + </p> + <p> + We all turned, and saw a sight that made Ruth Devlin cover her face with + her hands and Mrs. Falchion stand horror-stricken. There, coming down the + cable with the speed of lightning, was the cage. In it was a man—Phil + Boldrick. With a cry and a smothered oath, Mr. Devlin sprang towards the + machinery, Roscoe with him. There was nobody near it, but they saw a boy + whose duty it was that night to manage the cable, running towards it. + Roscoe was the first to reach the lever; but it was too late. He partially + stopped the cage, but only partially. It came with a dull, sickening thud + to the ground, and Phil Boldrick—Phil Boldrick’s broken, battered + body—was thrown out. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later Boldrick was lying in Mr. Devlin’s office. + </p> + <p> + Ill luck for Viking in the hour of her success. Phil’s shattered hulk is + drifting. The masts have gone by the board, the pilot from the captain’s + side. Only the man’s “unconquerable soul” is on the bridge, watching the + craft dip at the bow till the waters, their sport out, should hugely + swallow it. + </p> + <p> + We were all gathered round. Phil had asked to see the lad who, by + neglecting the machinery for a moment, had wrecked his life. “My boy,” he + said, “you played an ugly game. It was a big mistake. I haven’t any grudge + agen you, but be glad I’m not one that’d haunt you for your cussed + foolishness.... There, now, I feel better; that’s off my mind!” + </p> + <p> + “If you’re wanting to show remorse or anything,” he continued, “there’s my + friend, Mr. Roscoe, The Padre—he’s all right, you understand!—Are + you there?... Why don’t you speak?” He stretched out his hand. The lad + took it, but he could not speak: he held it and sobbed. + </p> + <p> + Then Phil understood. His brow wrinkled with a sudden trouble. He said: + “There, never mind. I’m dying, but it isn’t what I expected. It doesn’t + smart nor tear much; not more than river-rheumatism. P’r’aps I wouldn’t + mind it at all if I could see.” + </p> + <p> + For Phil was entirely blind now. The accident had destroyed his remaining + eye. Being blind, he had already passed that first corridor of death—darkness. + Roscoe stooped over him, took his hand, and spoke quietly to him. Phil + knew the voice, and said with a faint smile: “Do you think they’d plant me + with municipal honours—honours to pardners?” + </p> + <p> + “We’ll see to that, Phil,” said Mr. Devlin from behind the clergyman. + </p> + <p> + Phil recognised the voice. “You think that nobody’ll kick at making it + official?” + </p> + <p> + “Not one, Phil.” + </p> + <p> + “And maybe they wouldn’t mind firin’ a volley—Lights out, as it + were: and blow the big whistle? It’d look sociable, wouldn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “There’ll be a volley and the whistle, Phil—if you have to go,” said + Mr. Devlin. + </p> + <p> + There was a silence, then the reply came musingly: “I guess I hev to go. + ... I’d hev liked to see the corporation runnin’ longer, but maybe I can + trust the boys.” + </p> + <p> + A river-driver at the door said in a deep voice: “By the holy! yes, you + can trust us.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you kindly.... If it doesn’t make any difference to the rest, I’d + like to be alone with The Padre for a little—not for religion, you + understand, for I go as I stayed, and I hev my views,—but for + private business.” + </p> + <p> + Slowly, awkwardly, the few river-drivers passed out—Devlin and Mrs. + Falchion and Ruth and I with them—for I could do nothing now for him—he + was broken all to pieces. Roscoe told me afterwards what happened then. + </p> + <p> + “Padre,” he said to Roscoe, “are we alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite alone, Phil.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I hevn’t any crime to tell, and the business isn’t weighty; but I + hev a pal at Danger Mountain—” He paused. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Phil?” + </p> + <p> + “He’s low down in s’ciety; but he’s square, and we’ve had the same blanket + for many a day together. I crossed him first on the Panama level. I was + broke—stony broke. He’d been shipwrecked, and was ditto. He’d been + in the South Seas; I in Nicaragua. We travelled up through Mexico and + Arizona, and then through California to the Canadian Rockies. At last we + camped at Danger Mountain, a Hudson’s Bay fort, and stayed there. It was a + roughish spot, but we didn’t mind that. Every place isn’t Viking. One + night we had a difference—not a quarrel, mind you, but a difference. + He was for lynchin’ a fellow called Piccadilly, a swell that’d come down + in the world, bringin’ the worst tricks of his tribe with him. He’d never + been a bony fidy gentleman—just an imitation. He played sneak with + the daughter of Five Fingers, an Injin chief. We’d set store by that girl. + There wasn’t one of us rough nuts but respected her. She was one of the + few beautiful Injin women I’ve seen. Well, it come out that Piccadilly had + ruined her, and one morning she was found dead. It drove my pal well-nigh + crazy. Not that she was anything partik’ler to him; but the thing took + hold of him unusual.” + </p> + <p> + Now that I know all concerning Roscoe’s past life, I can imagine that this + recital must have been swords at his heart. The whole occurrence is put + down minutely in his diary, but there is no word of comment upon it. + </p> + <p> + Phil had been obliged to stop for pain, and, after Roscoe had adjusted the + bandages, he continued: + </p> + <p> + “My pal and the others made up their minds they’d lynch Piccadilly; they + wouldn’t give him the benefit of the doubt—for it wasn’t certain + that the girl hadn’t killed herself.... Well, I went to Piccadilly, and + give him the benefit. He left, and skipped the rope. Not, p’r’aps, that he + ought to hev got away, but once he’d showed me a letter from his mother,—he + was drunk too, at the time,—and I remembered when my brother Rodney + was killed in the Black Hills, and how my mother took it; so I give him + the tip to travel quick.” + </p> + <p> + He paused and rested. Then presently continued: “Now, Padre, I’ve got four + hundred dollars—the most I ever had at one time in my life. And I’d + like it to go to my old pal—though we had that difference, and + parted. I guess we respect each other about the same as we ever did. And I + wish you’d write it down so that the thing would be municipal.” + </p> + <p> + Roscoe took pencil and paper and said: “What’s his name, Phil?” + </p> + <p> + “Sam—Tonga Sam.” + </p> + <p> + “But that isn’t all his name?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I s’pose not, but it’s all he ever had in general use. He’d got it + because he’d been to the Tonga Islands and used to yarn about them. Put + ‘Tonga Sam, Phil Boldrick’s Pal at Danger Mountain, ult’—add the + ‘ult,’ it’s c’rrect.—That’ll find him. And write him these words, + and if you ever see him say them to him—‘Phil Boldrick never had a + pal that crowded Tonga Sam.’” + </p> + <p> + When the document was written, Roscoe read it aloud, then both signed it, + Roscoe guiding the battered hand over the paper. + </p> + <p> + This done, there was a moment’s pause, and then Phil said: “I’d like to be + in the open. I was born in the open—on the Madawaska. Take me out, + Padre.” + </p> + <p> + Roscoe stepped to the door, and silently beckoned to Devlin and myself. We + carried him out, and put him beside a pine tree. + </p> + <p> + “Where am I now?” he said. “Under the white pine, Phil.” “That’s right. + Face me to the north.” + </p> + <p> + We did so. Minutes passed in silence. Only the song of the saw was heard, + and the welting of the river. “Padre,” he said at last hurriedly, “lift me + up, so’s I can breathe.” + </p> + <p> + This was done. + </p> + <p> + “Am I facin’ the big mill?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s c’rrect. And the ‘lectric light is burnin’ in the mill and in the + town, an’ the saws are all goin’?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “By gracious, yes—you can hear ‘em! Don’t they scrunch the stuff, + though!” He laughed a little. “Mr. Devlin an’ you and me hev been pretty + smart, hevn’t we?” + </p> + <p> + Then a spasm caught him, and after a painful pause he called: “It’s the + biggest thing in cables.... Stand close in the cage.... Feel her swing!—Safe, + you bet, if he stands by the lever....” + </p> + <p> + His face lighted with the last gleam of living, and he said slowly: “I hev + a pal—at Danger Mountain.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. IN THE TROUGH OF THE WINDS + </h2> + <p> + The three days following the events recorded in the preceding chapter were + notable to us all. Because my own affairs and experiences are of the least + account, I shall record them first: they will at least throw a little + light on the history of people who appeared previously in this tale, and + disappeared suddenly when the ‘Fulvia’ reached London, to make room for + others. + </p> + <p> + The day after Phil Boldrick’s death I received a letter from Hungerford, + and also one from Belle Treherne. Hungerford had left the Occidental + Company’s service, and had been fortunate enough to get the position of + first officer on a line of steamers running between England and the West + Indies. The letter was brusque, incisive, and forceful, and declared that, + once he got his foot firmly planted in his new position, he would get + married and be done with it. He said that Clovelly the novelist had given + a little dinner at his chambers in Piccadilly, and that the guests were + all our fellow-passengers by the ‘Fulvia’; among them Colonel Ryder, the + bookmaker, Blackburn the Queenslander, and himself. + </p> + <p> + This is extracted from the letter: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ... Clovelly was in rare form.—Don’t run away with the idea + that he’s eating his heart out because you came in just ahead in the + race for Miss Treherne. For my part—but, never mind!—You had + phenomenal luck, and you will be a phenomenal fool if you don’t + arrange for an early marriage. You are a perfect baby in some + things. Don’t you know that the time a woman most yearns for a man + is when she has refused him? And Clovelly is here on the ground, + and they are in the same set, and though I’d take my oath she would + be loyal to you if you were ten thousand miles from here for ten + years, so far as a promise is concerned, yet remember that a promise + and a fancy are two different things. We may do what’s right for + the fear o’ God, and not love Him either. Marmion, let the marriage + bells be rung early—a maiden’s heart is a ticklish thing.... + + But Clovelly was in rare form, as I said; and the bookmaker, who + had for the first time read a novel of his, amiably quoted from it, + and criticised it during the dinner, till the place reeked with + laughter. At first every one stared aghast (“stared aghast!”—how + is that for literary form?); but when Clovelly gurgled, and then + haw-hawed till he couldn’t lift his champagne, the rest of us + followed in a double-quick. And the bookmaker simply sat calm and + earnest with his eye-glass in his eye, and never did more than + gently smile. “See here,” he said ever so candidly of Clovelly’s + best character, a serious, inscrutable kind of a man, the dignified + figure in the book—“I liked the way you drew that muff. He was + such an awful outsider, wasn’t he? All talk, and hypocrite down to + his heels. And when you married him to that lady who nibbled her + food in public and gorged in the back pantry, and went ‘slumming’ + and made shoulder-strings for the parson—oh, I know the kind!”— + [This was Clovelly’s heroine, whom he had tried to draw, as he said + himself, “with a perfect sincerity and a lovely worldly-mindedness, + and a sweet creation altogether.”] “I said, that’s poetic justice, + that’s the refinement of retribution. Any other yarn-spinner would + have killed the male idiot by murder, or a drop from a precipice, or + a lingering fever; but Clovelly did the thing with delicate torture. + He said, ‘Go to blazes,’ and he fixed up that marriage—and there + you are! Clovelly, I drink to you; you are a master!” + + Clovelly acknowledged beautifully, and brought off a fine thing + about the bookmaker having pocketed L5000 at the Derby, then + complimented Colonel Ryder on his success as a lecturer in London + (pretty true, by the way), and congratulated Blackburn on his coming + marriage with Mrs. Callendar, the Tasmanian widow. What he said of + myself I am not going to repeat; but it was salaaming all round, + with the liquor good, and fun bang over the bulwarks. + + How is Roscoe? I didn’t see as much of him as you did, but I liked + him. Take my tip for it, that woman will make trouble for him some + day. She is the biggest puzzle I ever met. I never could tell + whether she liked him or hated him; but it seems to me that either + would be the ruin of any “Christom man.” I know she saw something + of him while she was in London, because her quarters were next to + those of my aunt the dowager (whose heart the gods soften at my + wedding!) in Queen Anne’s Mansions, S.W., and who actually liked + Mrs. F., called on her, and asked her to dinner, and Roscoe too, + whom she met at her place. I believe my aunt would have used her + influence to get him a good living, if he had played his cards + properly; but I expect he wouldn’t be patronised, and he went for a + “mickonaree,” as they say in the South Seas.... Well, I’m off + to the Spicy Isles, then back again to marry a wife. “Go thou and + do likewise.” + + By the way, have you ever heard of or seen Boyd Madras since he + slipped our cable at Aden and gave the world another chance? + I trust he will spoil her wedding—if she ever tries to have one. + May I be there to see! +</pre> + <p> + Because we shall see nothing more of Hungerford till we finally dismiss + the drama, I should like to say that this voyage of his to the West Indies + made his fortune—that is, it gave him command of one of the finest + ships in the English merchant service. In a storm a disaster occurred to + his vessel, his captain was washed overboard, and he was obliged to take + command. His skill, fortitude, and great manliness, under tragical + circumstances, sent his name booming round the world; and, coupled, as it + was, with a singular act of personal valour, he had his pick of all + vacancies and possible vacancies in the merchant service, boy (or little + more) as he was. I am glad to say that he is now a happy husband and + father too. + </p> + <p> + The letter from Belle Treherne mentioned having met Clovelly several times + of late, and, with Hungerford’s words hot in my mind, I determined, though + I had perfect confidence in her, as in myself, to be married at + Christmas-time. Her account of the courtship of Blackburn and Mrs. + Callendar was as amusing as her description of an evening which the + bookmaker had spent with her father, when he said he was going to marry an + actress whom he had seen at Drury Lane Theatre in a racing drama. This he + subsequently did, and she ran him a break-neck race for many a day, but + never making him unhappy or less resourceful. His verdict, and his only + verdict, upon Mrs. Falchion had been confided to Blackburn, who in turn + confided it to Clovelly, who passed it on to me. + </p> + <p> + He said: “A woman is like a horse. Make her beautiful, give her a high + temper and a bit of bad luck in her youth, and she’ll take her revenge out + of life; even though she runs straight, and wins straight every time; till + she breaks her heart one day over a lost race. After that she is good to + live with for ever. A heart-break for that kind is their salvation: + without it they go on breaking the hearts of others.” + </p> + <p> + As I read Belle’s and Hungerford’s letters my thoughts went back again—as + they did so often indeed—to the voyage of the ‘Fulvia’, and then to + Mrs. Falchion’s presence in the Rocky Mountains. There was a strange + destiny in it all, and I had no pleasant anticipations about the end; for, + even if she could or did do Roscoe no harm, so far as his position was + concerned, I saw that she had already begun to make trouble between him + and Ruth. + </p> + <p> + That day which saw poor Boldrick’s death put her in a conflicting light to + me. Now I thought I saw in her unusual gentleness, again an unusual irony, + an almost flippant and cruel worldliness; and though at the time she was + most touched by the accident, I think her feeling of horror at it made her + appear to speak in a way which showed her unpleasantly to Mr. Devlin and + his daughter. It may be, however, that Ruth Devlin saw further into her + character than I guessed, and understood the strange contradictions of her + nature. But I shall, I suppose, never know absolutely about that; nor does + it matter much now. + </p> + <p> + The day succeeding Phil’s death was Sunday, and the little church at + Viking was full. Many fishers had come over from Sunburst. It was evident + that people expected Roscoe to make some reference to Phil’s death in his + sermon, or, at least, have a part of the service appropriate. By a + singular chance the first morning lesson was David’s lamentation for Saul + and Jonathan. Roscoe had a fine voice. He read easily, naturally—like + a cultivated layman, not like a clergyman; like a man who wished to convey + the simple meaning of what he read, reverently, honestly. On the many + occasions when I heard him read the service, I noticed that he never + changed the opening sentence, though there were, of course, others from + which to choose. He drew the people to their feet always with these words, + spoken as it were directly to them: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “When the wicked man turneth away from the wickedness that he hath + committed, and doeth that which is lawful and right, he shall save + his soul alive.” + </pre> + <p> + I noticed this morning that he instantly attracted the attention of every + one, and held it, with the first words of the lesson: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The beauty of Israel is slain upon thy high places: how are the + mighty fallen!” + </pre> + <p> + It seemed to me as if the people at first almost tried to stop breathing, + so intense was the feeling. Mrs. Falchion was sitting very near me, and + though she had worn her veil up at first, as I uncharitably put it then, + to disconcert him, she drew it rather quickly down as his reading + proceeded; but, so far as I could see, she never took her eyes off his + face through the whole service; and, impelled in spite of myself, I + watched her closely. Though Ruth Devlin was sitting not far from her, she + scarcely looked that way. + </p> + <p> + Evidently the text of the sermon was not chosen that it might have some + association with Phil’s death, but there was a kind of simple grandeur, + and certainly cheerful stalwartness, in his interpretation and practical + rendering of the text: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Who is this that cometh from Edom, with dyed garments from Bozrah? + ... travelling in the greatness of his strength? I that speak + in righteousness, mighty to save.” + </pre> + <p> + A man was talking to men sensibly, directly, quietly. It was impossible to + resist the wholesome eloquence of his temperament; he was a revelation of + humanity: what he said had life. + </p> + <p> + I said to myself, as I had before, Is it possible that this man ever did + anything unmanly? + </p> + <p> + After the service, James Devlin—with Ruth—came to Roscoe and + myself, and asked us to lunch at his house. Roscoe hesitated, but I knew + it was better for him not to walk up the hills and back again immediately + after luncheon; so I accepted for us both; and Ruth gave me a grateful + look. Roscoe seemed almost anxious not to be alone with Ruth—not + from any cowardly feeling, but because he was perplexed by the old sense + of coming catastrophe, which, indeed, poor fellow, he had some cause to + feel. He and Mr. Devlin talked of Phil’s funeral and the arrangements that + had been made, and during the general conversation Ruth and I dropped + behind. + </p> + <p> + Quite abruptly she said to me: “Who is Mrs. Falchion?” + </p> + <p> + “A widow—it is said—rich, unencumbered,” I as abruptly + answered. + </p> + <p> + “But I suppose even widows may have pedigrees, and be conjugated in the + past tense,” was the cool reply. She drew herself up a little proudly. + </p> + <p> + I was greatly astonished. Here was a girl living most of her life in these + mountains, having only had a few years of social life in the East, + practising with considerable skill those arts of conversation so much + cultivated in metropolitan drawing-rooms. But I was a very dull fellow + then, and had yet to learn that women may develop in a day to wonderful + things. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I said in reply, “I suppose not. But I fear I cannot answer + regarding the pedigree, nor a great deal about the past, for I only met + her under two years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet I have imagined that you knew her pretty well, and that Mr. + Roscoe knew her even better—perhaps,” she said suggestively. + </p> + <p> + “That is so,” I tried to say with apparent frankness, “for she lived in + the South Seas with her father, and Roscoe knew her there.” + </p> + <p> + “She is a strange woman, and quite heartless in some ways; and yet, do you + know, I like her while I dislike her; and I cannot tell why.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not try to tell,” I answered, “for she has the gift of making people + do both.—I think she likes and dislikes herself—as well as + others.” + </p> + <p> + “As well—as others,” she replied slowly. “Yes, I think I have + noticed that. You see,” she added, “I do not look at people as most girls + of my age: and perhaps I am no better for that. But Mrs. Falchion’s + introduction to me occurred in such peculiar circumstances, and the + coincidence of your knowing her was so strange, that my interest is not + unnatural, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary,” I said, “I am only surprised that you have restrained + your curiosity so much and so long. It was all very strange; though the + meeting was quite to be expected, as Mrs. Falchion herself explained that + day. She had determined on coming over to the Pacific Coast; this place + was in her way; it is a fashionable resort; and she stood a good chance of + finding old friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—of finding—old friends,” was the abstracted reply. “I + like Miss Caron, her companion, very much better than—most women I + have met.” + </p> + <p> + This was not what she was going to say, but she checked herself, lest she + might be suspected of thinking uncharitably of Mrs. Falchion. I, of + course, agreed with her, and told her the story of Galt Roscoe and Hector + Caron, and of Justine’s earnestness regarding her fancied debt to Roscoe. + </p> + <p> + I saw that the poison of anxiety had entered the girl’s mind; and it + might, perhaps, bear fruit of no engaging quality. In her own home, + however, it was a picture to see her with her younger sisters and + brothers, and invalid mother. She went about very brightly and sweetly + among them, speaking to them as if she was mother to them all, angel of + them all, domestic court for them all; as indeed she was. Here there + seemed no disturbing element in her; a close observer might even have said + (and in this case I fancy I was that) that she had no mind or heart for + anything or anybody but these few of her blood and race. Hers was a fine + nature—high, wholesome, unselfish. Yet it struck me sadly also, to + see how the child-like in her, and her young spirit, had been so early set + to the task of defence and protection: a mother at whose breasts a child + had never hung; maternal, but without the relieving joys of maternity. + </p> + <p> + I knew that she would carry through her life that too watchful, too + anxious tenderness; that to her last day she would look back and not + remember that she had a childhood once; because while yet a child she had + been made into a woman. + </p> + <p> + Such of the daughters of men make life beautiful; but themselves are + selfish who do not see the almost intolerable pathos of unselfishness and + sacrifice. At the moment I was bitter with the thought that, if Mrs. + Falchion intended anything which could steal away this girl’s happiness + from her, even for a time, I should myself seek to retaliate—which + was, as may appear, in my power. But I could not go to Mrs. Falchion now + and say: “You intend some harm to these two: for God’s sake go away and + leave them alone!” I had no real ground for making such a request. + Besides, if there was any catastrophe, any trouble, coming, or possible, + that might hasten it, or, at least, give it point. + </p> + <p> + I could only wait. I had laid another plan, and from a telegram I had + received in answer to one I had sent, I believed it was working. I did not + despair. I had, indeed, sent a cable to my agent in England, which was to + be forwarded to the address given me by Boyd Madras at Aden. I had got a + reply saying that Boyd Madras had sailed for Canada by the Allan Line of + steamers. I had then telegraphed to a lawyer I knew in Montreal, and he + had replied that he was on the track of the wanderer. + </p> + <p> + All Viking and Sunburst turned out to Phil Boldrick’s funeral. Everything + was done that he had requested. The great whistle roared painfully, + revolvers and guns were fired over his grave, and the new-formed + corporation appeared. He was buried on the top of a foot-hill, which, to + this day, is known as Boldricks’ Own. The grave was covered by an immense + flat stone bearing his name. But a flagstaff was erected near, no stouter + one stands on Beachy Head or elsewhere,—and on it was engraved: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PHIL BOLDRICK, + + Buried with Municipal Honours on + the Thirtieth day of June 1883. + + This to his Memory, and for the honour of + Viking and Sunburst. +</pre> + <p> + “Padre,” said a river-driver to Galt Roscoe after the rites were finished, + “that was a man you could trust.” + </p> + <p> + “Padre,” added another, “that was a man you could bank on, and draw your + interest reg’lar. He never done a mean thing, and he never pal’d with a + mean man. He wasn’t for getting his teeth on edge like some in the valley. + He didn’t always side with the majority, and he had a gift of doin’ things + on the square.” + </p> + <p> + Others spoke in similar fashion, and then Viking went back to work, and we + to our mountain cottage. + </p> + <p> + Many days passed quietly. I saw that Galt Roscoe wished to speak to me on + the subject perplexing him, but I did not help him. I knew that it would + come in good time, and the farther off it was the better. I dreaded to + hear what he had to tell, lest, in spite of my confidence in him, it + should really be a thing which, if made public, must bring ruin. During + the evenings of these days he wrote much in his diary—the very book + that lies by me now. Writing seemed a relief to him, for he was more + cheerful afterwards. I know that he had received letters from the summer + hotel, but whether they were from Mrs. Falchion or Justine Caron I was not + then aware, though I afterwards came to know that one of them was from + Justine, asking him if she might call on him. He guessed that the request + was connected with Hector Caron’s death; and, of course, gave his consent. + During this time he did not visit Ruth Devlin, nor did he mention her + name. As for myself, I was sick of the whole business, and wished it well + over, whatever the result. + </p> + <p> + I make here a few extracts from Roscoe’s diary, to show the state of his + mind at this period: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Can a man never get away from the consequences of his wickedness, + even though he repents?... Restitution is necessary as well + as repentance; but when one cannot make restitution, when it is + impossible—what then? I suppose one has to reply, Well, you have + to suffer, that is all.... Poor Alo! To think that after all + these years, you can strike me! + + There is something malicious in the way Mercy Falchion crosses my + path. What she knows, she knows; and what she can do if she + chooses, I must endure. I cannot love Mercy Falchion again, and + that, I suppose, is the last thing she would wish now. I cannot + bring Alo back. But how does that concern her! Why does she hate + me so? For, underneath her kindest words,—and they are kind + sometimes,—I can detect the note of enmity, of calculating scorn. + ... I wish I could go to Ruth and tell her all, and ask her to + decide if she can take a man with such a past.... What a + thing it is to have had a clean record of unflinching manliness at + one’s back! +</pre> + <p> + I add another extract: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Phil’s story of Danger Mountain struck like ice at my heart. There + was a horrible irony in the thing: that it should be told to me, of + all the world, and at such a time. Some would say, I suppose, that + it was the arrangement of Providence. Not to speak it profanely, it + seems to be the achievement of the devil. The torture was too + malicious for God.... + + Phil’s letter has gone to his pal at Danger Mountain.... +</pre> + <p> + The fourth day after the funeral Justine Caron came to see Galt Roscoe. + This was the substance of their conversation, as I came to know long + afterwards. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” she said, “I have come to pay something of a debt which I owe + to you. It is a long time since you gave my poor Hector burial, but I have + never forgotten, and I have brought you at last—you must not shake + your head so—the money you spent.... But you MUST take it. I should + be miserable if you did not. The money is all that I can repay; the + kindness is for memory and gratitude always.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her wonderingly, earnestly, she seemed so unworldly, standing + there, her life’s ambition not stirring beyond duty to her dead. If + goodness makes beauty, she was beautiful; and yet, besides all that, she + had a warm, absorbing eye, a soft, rounded cheek, and she carried in her + face the light of a cheerful, engaging spirit. + </p> + <p> + “Will it make you happier if I take the money?” he said at last, and his + voice showed how she had moved him. + </p> + <p> + “So much happier!” she answered, and she put a roll of notes into his + hand. + </p> + <p> + “Then I will take it,” he replied, with a manner not too serious, and he + looked at the notes carefully; “but only what I actually spent, remember; + what I told you when you wrote me at Hector’s death; not this ample + interest. You forget, Miss Caron, that your brother was my friend.” + </p> + <p> + “No I cannot forget that. It lives with me,” she rejoined softly. But she + took back the surplus notes. “And I have my gratitude left still,” she + added, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Believe me, there is no occasion for gratitude. Why, what less could one + do?” + </p> + <p> + “One could pass by on the other side.” + </p> + <p> + “He was not fallen among thieves,” was his reply; “he was among + Englishmen, the old allies of the French.” + </p> + <p> + “But the Priests and the Levites, people of his own country—Frenchmen—passed + him by. They were infamous in falsehood, cruel to him and to me.—You + are an Englishman; you have heart and kindness.” + </p> + <p> + He hesitated, then he gravely said: “Do not trust Englishmen more than you + trust your own countrymen. We are selfish even in our friendships often. + We stick to one person, and to benefit that one we sacrifice others. Have + you found all Englishmen—and WOMEN unselfish?” He looked at her + steadily; but immediately repented that he had asked the question, for he + had in his mind one whom they both knew, too well, perhaps; and he added + quickly: “You see, I am not kind.” + </p> + <p> + They were standing now in the sunlight just outside the house. His hands + were thrust down in the pockets of his linen coat; her hands opening and + shutting her parasol slightly. They might, from their appearance, have + been talking of very inconsequent things. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes lifted sorrowfully to his. “Ah, monsieur,” she rejoined, “there + are two times when one must fear a woman.” She answered his question more + directly than he could have conjectured. But she felt that she must warn + him. + </p> + <p> + “I do not understand,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you do not. Only women themselves understand that the two times + when one must fear a woman are when she hates, and when she loves—after + a kind. When she gets wicked or mad enough to hate, either through + jealousy or because she cannot love where she would, she is merciless. She + does not know the honour of the game. She has no pity. Then, sometimes + when she loves in a way, she is, as you say, most selfish. I mean a love + which—is not possible. Then she does some mad act—all women + are a little mad sometimes. Most of us wish to be good, but we are + quicksilver....” + </p> + <p> + Roscoe’s mind had been working fast. He saw she meant to warn him against + Mrs. Falchion. His face flushed slightly. He knew that Justine had thought + well of him, and now he knew also that she suspected something not + creditable or, at least, hazardous in his life. + </p> + <p> + “And the man—the man whom the woman hates?” + </p> + <p> + “When the woman hates—and loves too, the man is in danger.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know of such a man?” he almost shrinkingly said. + </p> + <p> + “If I did I would say to him, The world is wide. There is no glory in + fighting a woman who will not be fair in battle. She will say what may + appear to be true, but what she knows in her own heart to be false—false + and bad.” + </p> + <p> + Roscoe now saw that Justine had more than an inkling of his story. + </p> + <p> + He said calmly: “You would advise that man to flee from danger?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, to flee,” she replied hurriedly, with a strange anxiety in her eyes; + “for sometimes a woman is not satisfied with words that kill. She becomes + less than human, and is like Jael.” + </p> + <p> + Justine knew that Mrs. Falchion held a sword over Roscoe’s career; she + guessed that Mrs. Falchion both cared for him and hated him too; but she + did not know the true reason of the hatred—that only came out + afterwards. Woman-like, she exaggerated in order that she might move him; + but her motive was good, and what she said was not out of keeping with the + facts of life. + </p> + <p> + “The man’s life even might be in danger?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “It might.” + </p> + <p> + “But surely that is not so dreadful,” he still said calmly. + </p> + <p> + “Death is not the worst of evils.” + </p> + <p> + “No, not the worst; one has to think of the evil word as well. The evil + word can be outlived; but the man must think of those who really love him—who + would die to save him—and whose hearts would break if he were + killed. Love can outlive slander, but it is bitter when it has to outlive + both slander and death. It is easy to love with joy so long as both live, + though there are worlds between. Thoughts fly and meet; but Death makes + the great division.... Love can only live in the pleasant world.” + </p> + <p> + Very abstractedly he said: “Is it a pleasant world to you?” + </p> + <p> + She did not reply directly to that, but answered: “Monsieur, if you know + of such a man as I speak of, warn him to fly.” And she raised her eyes + from the ground and looked earnestly at him. Now her face was slightly + flushed, she looked almost beautiful. + </p> + <p> + “I know of such a man,” he replied, “but he will not go. He has to answer + to his own soul and his conscience. He is not without fear, but it is only + fear for those who care for him, be they ever so few. And he hopes that + they will be brave enough to face his misery, if it must come. For we know + that courage has its hour of comfort.... When such a man as you speak of + has his dark hour he will stand firm.” + </p> + <p> + Then with a great impulse he added: “This man whom I know did wrong, but + he was falsely accused of doing a still greater. The consequence of the + first thing followed him. He could never make restitution. Years went by. + Some one knew that dark spot in his life—his Nemesis.” + </p> + <p> + “The worst Nemesis in this life, monsieur, is always a woman,” she + interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps she is the surest,” he continued. “The woman faced him in the + hour of his peace and—” he paused. His voice was husky. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ‘and,’ monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “And he knows that she would ruin him, and kill his heart and destroy his + life.” + </p> + <p> + “The waters of Marah are bitter,” she murmured, and she turned her face + away from him to the woods. There was no trouble there. The birds were + singing, black squirrels were jumping from bough to bough, and they could + hear the tapping of the woodpecker. She slowly drew on her gloves, as if + for occupation. + </p> + <p> + He spoke at length as though thinking aloud: “But he knows that, whatever + comes, life has had for him more compensations than he deserves. For, in + his trouble, a woman came, and said kind words, and would have helped him + if she could.” + </p> + <p> + “There were TWO women,” she said solemnly. + </p> + <p> + “Two women?” he repeated slowly. + </p> + <p> + “The one stayed in her home and prayed, and the other came.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not understand,” he said: and he spoke truly. + </p> + <p> + “Love is always praying for its own, therefore one woman prayed at home. + The other woman who came was full of gratitude, for the man was noble, she + owed him a great debt, and she believed in him always. She knew that if at + any time in his life he had done wrong, the sin was without malice or + evil.” + </p> + <p> + “The woman is gentle and pitiful with him, God knows.” + </p> + <p> + She spoke quietly now, and her gravity looked strange in one so young. + </p> + <p> + “God knows she is just, and would see him fairly treated. She is so far + beneath him! and yet one can serve a friend though one is humble and + poor.” + </p> + <p> + “How strange,” he rejoined, “that the man should think himself miserable + who is befriended in such a way! Mademoiselle, he will carry to his grave + the kindness of this woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” she added humbly, yet with a brave light in her eyes, “it is + good to care whether the wind blows bitter or kind. Every true woman is a + mother, though she have no child. She longs to protect the suffering, + because to protect is in her so far as God is.... Well, this woman cares + that way....” She held out her hand to say good-bye. Her look was simple, + direct, and kind. Their parting words were few and unremarkable. + </p> + <p> + Roscoe watched Justine Caron as she passed out into the shade of the + woods, and he said to himself: “Gratitude like that is a wonderful thing.” + He should have said something else, but he did not know, and she did not + wish him to know: and he never knew. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. A DUEL IN ARCADY + </h2> + <p> + The more I thought of Mrs. Falchion’s attitude towards Roscoe, the more I + was puzzled. But I had at last reduced the position to this: Years ago + Roscoe had cared for her and she had not cared for him. Angered or + indignant at her treatment of him, Roscoe’s affections declined unworthily + elsewhere. Then came a catastrophe of some kind, in which Alo (whoever she + was) suffered. The secret of this catastrophe Mrs. Falchion, as I believe, + held. There was a parting, a lapse of years, and then the meeting on the + ‘Fulvia’: with it, partial restoration of Mrs. Falchion’s influence, then + its decline, and then a complete change of position. It was now Mrs. + Falchion that cared, and Roscoe that shunned. It perplexed me that there + seemed to be behind Mrs. Falchion’s present regard for Roscoe some weird + expression of vengeance, as though somehow she had been wronged, and it + was her duty to punish. In no other way was the position definable. That + Roscoe would never marry her was certain to my mind. That he could not + marry her now was also certain—to me; I had the means to prevent it. + That she wished to marry him I was not sure, though she undoubtedly cared + for him. Remained, therefore, the supposition that if he cared for her she + would do him no harm, as to his position. But if he married Ruth, disaster + would come—Roscoe himself acknowledged that she held the key of his + fortunes. + </p> + <p> + Upon an impulse, and as a last resort, I had taken action whereby in some + critical moment I might be able to wield a power over Mrs. Falchion. I was + playing a blind game, but it was the only card I held. I had heard from + the lawyer in Montreal that Madras, under another name, had gone to the + prairie country to enter the mounted police. I had then telegraphed to + Winnipeg, but had got no answer. + </p> + <p> + I had seen her many times, but we had never, except very remotely, touched + upon the matter which was uppermost in both our minds. It was not my wish + to force the situation. I knew that my opportunity would come wherein to + spy upon the mind of the enemy. It came. On the evening that Justine Caron + called upon Roscoe, I accidentally met Mrs. Falchion in the grounds of the + hotel. She was with several people, and as I spoke to her she made a + little gesture of invitation. I went over, was introduced to her + companions, and then she said: + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Marmion, I have not yet made that visit to the salmon-fishers at + Sunburst. Unfortunately, on the days when I called on Miss Devlin, my time + was limited. But now I have a thirst for adventure, and time hangs heavy. + Will you perform your old office of escort, and join a party, which we can + make up here, to go there to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + I had little love for Mrs. Falchion, but I consented, because it seemed to + me the chance had come for an effective talk with her; and I suggested + that we should go late in the afternoon of the next day, and remain till + night and see the Indians, the half-breeds, and white fishermen working by + torch-light on the river. The proposition was accepted with delight. + </p> + <p> + Then the conversation turned upon the feud that existed between Viking and + Sunburst, the river-drivers and the fishers. During the last few days, + owing to the fact that there were a great many idle river-men about, the + river-driving for the season being done, there had been more than one + quarrel of a serious nature at Sunburst. It had needed a great deal of + watchfulness on the part of Mr. Devlin and his supporters to prevent + fighting. In Sunburst itself, Mr. Devlin had much personal influence. He + was a man of exceedingly strong character, bold, powerful, persuasive. But + this year there had been a large number of rough, adventurous characters + among the river-men, and they seemed to take delight in making sport of, + and even interfering with, the salmon-fishers. We talked of these things + for some time, and then I took my leave. As I went, Mrs. Falchion stepped + after me, tapped me on the arm, and said in a slow, indolent tone: + </p> + <p> + “Whenever you and I meet, Dr. Marmion, something happens—something + strange. What particular catastrophe have you arranged for to-morrow? For + you are, you know, the chorus to the drama.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not spoil the play by anticipation,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “One gets very weary of tragedy,” she retorted. “Comedy would be a relief. + Could you not manage it?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know about to-morrow,” I said, “as to a comedy. But I promise + you that one of these days I will present to you the very finest comedy + imaginable.” + </p> + <p> + “You speak oracularly,” she said; “still you are a professor, and + professors always pose. But now, to be perfectly frank with you, I do not + believe that any comedy you could arrange would be as effective as your + own.” + </p> + <p> + “You have read ‘Much Ado about Nothing’,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it is as good as that, is it?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it has just as good a final situation,” I answered. She seemed + puzzled, for she saw I spoke with some undercurrent of meaning. “Mrs. + Falchion,” I said to her suddenly and earnestly, “I wish you to think + between now and to-morrow of what I am just going to say to you.” + </p> + <p> + “It sounds like the task set an undergraduate, but go on,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you to think,” said I, “of the fact that I helped to save your + life.” + </p> + <p> + She flushed; an indignant look shot into her face, and her voice + vibrating, she said: + </p> + <p> + “What man would have done less?” Then, almost immediately after, as though + repenting of what she had said, she continued in a lower tone and with a + kind of impulsiveness uncommon to her: “But you had courage, and I + appreciate that; still, do not ask too much. Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + We parted at that, and did not meet again until the next afternoon, when I + joined her and her party at the summer hotel. Together we journeyed down + to Sunburst. + </p> + <p> + It was the height of the salmon-fishing season. Sunburst lay cloyed among + the products of field and forest and stream. At Viking one got the + impression of a strong pioneer life, vibrant, eager, and with a touch of + Arcady. But viewed from a distance Sunburst seemed Arcady itself. It was + built in green pastures, which stretched back on one side of the river, + smooth, luscious, undulating to the foot-hills. This was on one side of + the Whi-Whi River. On the other side was a narrow margin, and then a sheer + wall of hills in exquisite verdure. The houses were of wood, and chiefly + painted white, sweet and cool in the vast greenness. Cattle wandered + shoulders deep in the rich grass, and fruit of all kinds was to be had for + the picking. The population was strangely mixed. Men had drifted here from + all parts of the world, sometimes with their families, sometimes without + them. Many of them had settled here after mining at the Caribou field and + other places on the Frazer River. Mexican, Portuguese, Canadian, + Californian, Australian, Chinaman, and coolie lived here, side by side, at + ease in the quiet land, following a primitive occupation with primitive + methods. + </p> + <p> + One could pick out the Indian section of the village, because not far from + it was the Indian graveyard, with its scaffolding of poles and brush and + its offerings for the dead. There were almost interminable rows of + scaffolding on the river’s edge and upon the high bank where hung the + salmon drying in the sun. The river, as it ambled along, here over + shallows, there over rapids and tiny waterfalls, was the pathway for + millions and millions of salmon upon a pilgrimage to the West and North—to + the happy hunting grounds of spawn. They came in droves so thick at times + that, crowding up the little creeks which ran into the river, they filled + them so completely as to dam up the water and make the courses a solid + mass of living and dead fish. In the river itself they climbed the rapids + and leaped the little waterfalls with incredible certainty; except where + man had prepared his traps for them. Sometimes these traps were weirs or + by-washes, made of long lateral tanks of wicker-work. Down among the + boulders near the shore, scaffoldings were raised, and from these the + fishermen with nets and wicker-work baskets caught the fish as they came + up. + </p> + <p> + We wandered about during the afternoon immensely interested in all that we + saw. During that time the party was much together, and my conversation + with Mrs. Falchion was general. We had supper at a quiet little tavern, + idled away an hour in drinking in the pleasant scene; and when dusk came + went out again to the banks of the river. + </p> + <p> + From the time we left the tavern to wander by the river I managed to be a + good deal alone with Mrs. Falchion. I do not know whether she saw that I + was anxious to speak with her privately, but I fancy she did. Whatever we + had to say must, in the circumstances, however serious, be kept + superficially unimportant. And, as it happened, our serious conference was + carried on with an air of easy gossip, combined with a not artificial + interest in all we saw. And there was much to see. Far up and down the + river the fragrant dusk was spotted with the smoky red light of torches, + and the atmosphere shook with shadows, through which ran the song of the + river, more amiable than the song of the saw, and the low, weird cry of + the Indians and white men as they toiled for salmon in the glare of the + torches. Here upon a scaffolding a half-dozen swung their nets and baskets + in the swift river, hauling up with their very long poles thirty or forty + splendid fish in an hour; there at a small cascade, in great baskets sunk + into the water, a couple of Indians caught and killed the salmon that, in + trying to leap the fall, plumped into the wicker cage; beyond, others, + more idle and less enterprising, speared the finny travellers, thus five + hundred miles from home—the brave Pacific. + </p> + <p> + Upon the banks the cleaning and curing went on, the women and children + assisting, and as the Indians and half-breeds worked they sang either the + wild Indian melodies, snatches of brave old songs of the ‘voyageurs’ of a + past century, or hymns taught by the Jesuit missionaries in the persons of + such noble men as Pere Lacombe and Pere Durieu, who have wandered up and + down the vast plains of both sides of the Rockies telling an old story in + a picturesque, heroic way. These old hymns were written in Chinook, that + strange language,—French, English, Spanish, Indian, arranged by the + Hudson’s Bay Company, which is, like the wampum-belt, a common tongue for + tribes and peoples not speaking any language but their own. They were set + to old airs—lullabies, chansons, barcarolles, serenades, taken out + of the folk-lore of many lands. Time and again had these simple arcadian + airs been sung as a prelude to some tribal act that would not bear the + search-light of civilisation—little by the Indians east of the + Rockies, for they have hard hearts and fierce tongues, but much by the + Shuswaps, Siwashes, and other tribes of the Pacific slope, whose natures + are for peace more than for war; who, one antique day, drifted across from + Japan or the Corea, and never, even in their wild, nomadic state, forgot + their skill and craft in wood and gold and silver. + </p> + <p> + We sat on the shore and watched the scene for a time, saying nothing. Now + and again, as from scaffolding to scaffolding, from boat to boat, and from + house to house, the Chinook song rang and was caught up in a slow + monotone, so not interfering with the toil, there came the sound of an + Indian drum beaten indolently, or the rattle of dry hard sticks—a + fantastic accompaniment. + </p> + <p> + “Does it remind you of the South Seas?” I asked Mrs. Falchion, as, with + her chin on her hand, she watched the scene. + </p> + <p> + She drew herself up, almost with an effort, as though she had been lost in + thought, and looked at me curiously for a moment. She seemed trying to + call back her mind to consider my question. Presently she answered me: + “Very little. There is something finer, stronger here. The atmosphere has + more nerve, the life more life. This is not a land for the idle or + vicious, pleasant as it is.” + </p> + <p> + “What a thinker you are, Mrs. Falchion!” + </p> + <p> + She seemed to recollect herself suddenly. Her voice took on an inflection + of satire. “You say it with the air of a discoverer. With Columbus and Hervey + and you, the world—” She stopped, laughing softly at the thrust, and + moved the dust about with her foot. + </p> + <p> + “In spite of the sarcasm, I am going to add that I feel a personal + satisfaction in your being a woman who does think, and acts more on + thought than impulse.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Personal satisfaction’ sounds very royal and august. It is long, I + imagine, since you took a—personal satisfaction—in me.” + </p> + <p> + I was not to be daunted. “People who think a good deal and live a fresh, + outdoor life—you do that—naturally act most fairly and wisely + in time of difficulty—and contretemps.” + </p> + <p> + “But I had the impression that you thought I acted unfairly and unwisely—at + such times.” + </p> + <p> + We had come exactly where I wanted. In our minds we were both looking at + those miserable scenes on the ‘Fulvia’, when Madras sought to adjust the + accounts of life and sorely muddled them. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said I, “you are not the same woman that you were.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, Sir Oracle,” she answered: “and by what necromancy do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “By none. I think you are sorry now—I hope you are—for what—” + </p> + <p> + She interrupted me indignantly. “You go too far. You are almost—unbearable. + You said once that the matter should be buried, and yet here you work for + an opportunity, Heaven knows why, to place me at a disadvantage!” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me,” I answered; “I said that I would never bring up those + wretched scenes unless there was cause. There is cause.” + </p> + <p> + She got to her feet. “What cause—what possible cause can there be?” + </p> + <p> + I met her eye firmly. “I am bound to stand by my friend,” I said. “I can + and I will stand by him.” + </p> + <p> + “If it is a game of drawn swords, beware!” she retorted. “You speak to me + as if I were a common adventuress. You mistake me, and forget that you—of + all men—have little margin of high morality on which to speculate.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I do not forget that,” I said, “nor do I think of you as an + adventuress. But I am sure you hold a power over my friend, and—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped me. “Not one word more on the subject. You are not to suppose + this or that. Be wise do not irritate and annoy a woman like me. It were + better to please me than to preach to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Falchion,” I said firmly, “I wish to please you—so well that + some day you will feel that I have been a good friend to you as well as to + him—” + </p> + <p> + Again she interrupted me. “You talk in foolish riddles. No good can come + of this.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot believe that,” I urged; “for when once your heart is moved by + the love of a man, you will be just, and then the memory of another man + who loved you and sinned for you—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you coward!” she broke out scornfully—“you coward to persist in + this!” + </p> + <p> + I made a little motion of apology with my hand, and was silent. I was + satisfied. I felt that I had touched her as no words of mine had ever + touched her before. If she became emotional, was vulnerable in her + feelings, I knew that Roscoe’s peace might be assured. That she loved + Roscoe now I was quite certain. Through the mists I could see a way, even + if I failed to find Madras and arrange another surprising situation. She + was breathing hard with excitement. + </p> + <p> + Presently she said with incredible quietness, “Do not force me to do hard + things. I have a secret.” + </p> + <p> + “I have a secret too,” I answered. “Let us compromise.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not fear your secret,” she answered. She thought I was referring to + her husband’s death. “Well,” I replied, “I honestly hope you never will. + That would be a good day for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us go,” she said; then, presently: “No, let us sit here and forget + that we have been talking.” + </p> + <p> + I was satisfied. We sat down. She watched the scene silently, and I + watched her. I felt that it would be my lot to see stranger things happen + to her than I had seen before; but all in a different fashion. I had more + hope for my friend, for Ruth Devlin, for—! + </p> + <p> + I then became silent even to myself. The weltering river, the fishers and + their labour and their songs, the tall dark hills, the deep gloomy + pastures, the flaring lights, were then in a dream before me; but I was + thinking, planning. + </p> + <p> + As we sat there, we heard noises, not very harmonious, interrupting the + song of the salmon-fishers. We got up to see. A score of river-drivers + were marching down through the village, mocking the fishers and making + wild mirth. The Indians took little notice, but the half-breeds and white + fishers were restless. + </p> + <p> + “There will be trouble here one day,” said Mrs. Falchion. + </p> + <p> + “A free fight which will clear the air,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to see it—it would be picturesque, at least,” she + added cheerfully; “for I suppose no lives would be lost.” + </p> + <p> + “One cannot tell,” I answered; “lives do not count so much in new lands.” + </p> + <p> + “Killing is hateful, but I like to see courage.” + </p> + <p> + And she did see it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. RIDING THE REEFS + </h2> + <p> + The next afternoon Roscoe was sitting on the coping deep in thought, when + Ruth rode up with her father, dismounted, and came upon him so quietly + that he did not hear her. I was standing in the trees a little distance + away. + </p> + <p> + She spoke to him once, but he did not seem to hear. She touched his arm. + He got to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “You were so engaged that you did not hear me,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “The noise of the rapids!” he answered, after a strange pause, “and your + footstep is very light.” + </p> + <p> + She leaned her chin on her hand, rested against the rail of the coping, + looked meditatively into the torrent below, and replied: “Is it so light?” + Then after a pause: “You have not asked me how I came, who came with me, + or why I am here.” + </p> + <p> + “It was first necessary for me to conceive the delightful fact that you + are here,” he said in a dazed, and, therefore, not convincing tone. + </p> + <p> + She looked him full in the eyes. “Please do not pay me the ill compliment + of a compliment,” she said. “Was it the sailor who spoke then or the—or + yourself? It is not like you.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not mean it as a compliment,” he replied. “I was thinking about + critical and important things.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Critical and important’ sounds large,” she returned. + </p> + <p> + “And the awakening was sudden,” he continued. “You must make allowance, + please, for—” + </p> + <p> + “For the brusque appearance of a very unimaginative, substantial, and + undreamlike person? I do. And now, since you will not put me quite at my + ease by assuming, in words, that I have been properly ‘chaperoned’ here, I + must inform you that my father waits hard by—is, as my riotous young + brother says, ‘without on the mat.’” + </p> + <p> + “I am very glad,” he replied with more politeness than exactness. + </p> + <p> + “That I was duly escorted, or that my father is ‘without on the mat’? ... + However, you do not appear glad one way or the other. And now I must + explain our business. It is to ask your company at dinner (do consider + yourself honoured—actually a formal dinner party in the Rockies!) to + meet the lieutenant-governor, who is coming to see our famous Viking and + Sunburst.... But you are expected to go out where my father feeds his—there, + see—his horse on your ‘trim parterre.’ And now that I have done my + duty as page and messenger without a word of assistance, Mr. Roscoe, will + you go and encourage my father to hope that you will be vis-a-vis to his + excellency?” She lightly beat the air with her whip, while I took a good + look at the charming scene. + </p> + <p> + Roscoe looked seriously at the girl for an instant. He understood too well + the source of such gay social banter. He knew it covered a hurt. He said + to her: “Is this Ruth Devlin or another?” + </p> + <p> + And she replied very gravely: “It is Ruth Devlin and another too,” and she + looked down to the chasm beneath with a peculiar smile; and her eyes were + troubled. + </p> + <p> + He left her and went and spoke to her father whom I had joined, but, after + a moment, returned to Ruth. Ruth turned slightly to meet him as he came. + “And is the prestige of the house of Devlin to be supported?” she said; + “and the governor to be entertained with tales of flood and field?” + </p> + <p> + His face had now settled into a peculiar calmness. He said with a touch of + mock irony: “The sailor shall play his part—the obedient retainer of + the house of Devlin.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she said, “you are malicious now! You turn your long accomplished + satire on a woman.” And she nodded to the hills opposite, as if to tell + them that it was as they had said to her: those grand old hills with which + she had lived since childhood, to whom she had told all that had ever + happened to her. + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed no,” he replied, “though I am properly rebuked. I fear I am + malicious—just a little, but it is all inner-self-malice: ‘Rome + turned upon itself.’” + </p> + <p> + “But one cannot always tell when irony is intended for the speaker of it. + Yours did not seem applied to yourself,” was her slow answer, and she + seemed more interested in Mount Trinity than in him. + </p> + <p> + “No?” Then he said with a playful sadness: “A moment ago you were not + completely innocent of irony, were you?” + </p> + <p> + “But a man is big and broad, and should not—he should be + magnanimous, leaving it to woman, whose life is spent among little things, + to be guilty of littlenesses. But see how daring I am—speaking like + this to you who know so much more than I do.... Surely, you are still only + humorous, when you speak of irony turned upon yourself—the irony so + icy to your friends?” + </p> + <p> + She had developed greatly. Her mind had been sharpened by pain. The edge + of her wit had become poignant, her speech rendered logical and allusive. + Roscoe was wise enough to understand that the change in her had been + achieved by the change in himself; that since Mrs. Falchion came, Ruth had + awakened sharply to a distress not exactly definable. She felt that though + he had never spoken of love to her, she had a right to share his troubles. + The infrequency of his visits to her of late, and something in his manner, + made her uneasy and a little bitter. For there was an understanding + between them, though it had been unspoken and unwritten. They had vowed + without priest or witness. The heart speaks eloquently in symbols first, + and afterwards in stumbling words. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to Roscoe at this moment, as it had seemed for some time, that + the words would never be spoken. And was this all that had troubled her—the + belief that Mrs. Falchion had some claim upon his life? Or had she + knowledge, got in some strange way, of that wretched shadow in his past? + </p> + <p> + This possibility filled him with bitterness. The old Adam in him awoke, + and he said within himself “God in heaven, must one folly, one sin, kill + me and her too? Why me more than another!... And I love her, I love her!” + </p> + <p> + His eyes flamed until their blue looked all black, and his brows grew + straight over them sharply, making his face almost stern.... There came + swift visions of renouncing his present life; of going with her—anywhere: + to tell her all, beg her forgiveness, and begin life over again, admitting + that this attempt at expiation was a mistake; to have his conscience clear + of secret, and trust her kindness. For now he was sure that Mrs. Falchion + meant to make his position as a clergyman impossible; to revenge herself + on him for no wrong that, as far as he knew, he ever did directly to her. + But to tell this girl, or even her father or mother, that he had been + married, after a shameful, unsanctified fashion, to a savage, with what + came after, and the awful thing that happened—he who ministered at + the altar! Now that he looked the thing in the face it shocked him. No, he + could not do it. + </p> + <p> + She said to him, while he looked at her as though he would read her + through and through, though his mind was occupied with a dreadful + possibility beyond her: + </p> + <p> + “Why do you look so? You are stern. You are critical. Have I—disimproved + so?” + </p> + <p> + The words were full of a sudden and natural womanly fear, that something + in herself had fallen in value. They had a pathos so much the more moving + because she sought to hide it. + </p> + <p> + There swam before his eyes the picture of happiness from which she herself + had roused him when she came. He involuntarily, passionately, caught her + hand and pressed it to his lips twice; but spoke nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! oh!—please!” she said. Her voice was low and broken, and she + spoke appealingly. Could he not see that he was breaking her heart, while + filling it also with unbearable joy? Why did he not speak and make this + possible, and not leave it a thing to flush her cheeks, and cause her to + feel he had acted on a knowledge he had no right to possess till he had + declared himself in speech? Could he not have spared her that?—This + Christian gentleman, whose worth had compassed these mountains and won the + dwellers among them—it was bitter. Her pride and injured heart rose + up and choked her. + </p> + <p> + He let go her hand. Now his face was partly turned from her, and she saw + how thin and pale it was. She saw, too, what I had seen during the past + week, that his hair had become almost white about the temples; and the + moveless sadness of his position struck her with unnatural force, so that, + in spite of herself, tears came suddenly to her eyes, and a slight moan + broke from her. She would have run away; but it was too late. + </p> + <p> + He saw the tears, the look of pity, indignation, pride, and love in her + face. + </p> + <p> + “My love!” he cried passionately. He opened his arms to her. + </p> + <p> + But she stood still. He came very close to her, spoke quickly, and almost + despairingly: “Ruth, I love you, and I have wronged you; but here is your + place, if you will come.” + </p> + <p> + At first she seemed stunned, and her face was turned to her mountains, as + though the echo of his words were coming back to her from them, but the + thing crept into her heart and flooded it. She seemed to wake, and then + all her affection carried her into his arms, and she dried her eyes upon + his breast. + </p> + <p> + After a time he whispered, “My dear, I have wronged you. I should not have + made you care for me.” + </p> + <p> + She did not seem to notice that he spoke of wrong. She said: “I was yours, + Galt, even from the beginning, I think, though I did not quite know it. I + remember what you read in church the first Sunday you came, and it has + always helped me; for I wanted to be good.” + </p> + <p> + She paused and raised her eyes to his, and then with sweet solemnity she + said: “The words were: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘The Lord God is my strength, and He will make my feet like hinds’ + feet, and He will make me to walk upon mine high places.’” + </pre> + <p> + “Ruth,” he answered, “you have always walked on the high places. You have + never failed. And you are as safe as the nest of the eagle, a noble work + of God.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I am not noble; but I should like to be so. Most women like goodness. + It is instinct with us, I suppose. We had rather be good than evil, and + when we love we can do good things; but we quiver like the compass-needle + between two poles. Oh, believe me! we are weak; but we are loving.” + </p> + <p> + “Your worst, Ruth, is as much higher than my best as the heaven is—” + </p> + <p> + “Galt, you hurt my fingers!” she interrupted. + </p> + <p> + He had not noticed the almost fierce strength of his clasp. But his life + was desperately hungry for her. “Forgive me, dearest.—As I said, + better than my best; for, Ruth, my life was—wicked, long ago. You + cannot understand how wicked!” + </p> + <p> + “You are a clergyman and a good man,” she said, with pathetic negation. + </p> + <p> + “You give me a heart unsoiled, unspotted of the world. I have been in some + ways worse than the worst men in the valley there below.” + </p> + <p> + “Galt, Galt, you shock me!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Why did I speak? Why did I kiss your hand as I did? Because at the moment + it was the only honest thing to do; because it was due you that I should + say: ‘Ruth, I love you, love you so much’”—here she nestled close to + him—“‘so well, that everything else in life is as nothing beside it—nothing! + so well that I could not let you share my wretchedness.’” + </p> + <p> + She ran her hand along his breast and looked up at him with swimming eyes. + </p> + <p> + “And you think that this is fair to me? that a woman gives the heart for + pleasant weather only? I do not know what your sorrow may be, but it is my + right to share it. I am only a woman; but a woman can be strong for those + she loves. Remember that I have always had to care for others—always; + and I can bear much. I will not ask what your trouble is, I only ask you”—here + she spoke slowly and earnestly, and rested her hand on his shoulder—“to + say to me that you love no other woman; and that—that no other woman + has a claim upon you. Then I shall be content to pity you, to help you, to + love you. God gives women many pains, but none so great as the love that + will not trust utterly; for trust is our bread of life. Yes, indeed, + indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “I dare not say,” he said, “that it is your misfortune to love me, for in + this you show how noble a woman can be. But I will say that the cup is + bitter-sweet for you.... I cannot tell you now what my trouble is; but I + can say that no other living woman has a claim upon me.... My reckoning is + with the dead.” + </p> + <p> + “That is with God,” she whispered, “and He is just and merciful too.... + Can it not be repaired here?” She smoothed back his hair, then let her + fingers stray lightly on his cheek. + </p> + <p> + It hurt him like death to reply. “No, but there can be punishment here.” + </p> + <p> + She shuddered slightly. “Punishment, punishment,” she repeated fearfully—“what + punishment?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not quite know.” Lines of pain grew deeper in his face.... “Ruth, + how much can a woman forgive?” + </p> + <p> + “A mother, everything.” But she would say no more. He looked at her long + and earnestly, and said at last: “Will you believe in me no matter what + happens?” + </p> + <p> + “Always, always.” Her smile was most winning. + </p> + <p> + “If things should appear dark against me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if you give me your word.” + </p> + <p> + “If I said to you that I did a wrong; that I broke the law of God, though + not the laws of man?” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause in which she drew back, trembling slightly, and looked + at him timidly and then steadily, but immediately put her hands bravely in + his, and said: “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not break the laws of man.” + </p> + <p> + “It was when you were in the navy?” she inquired, in an awe-stricken tone. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “I know. I feel it. You must not tell me. It was a woman, and this other + woman, this Mrs. Falchion knows, and she would try to ruin you, or”—here + she seemed to be moved suddenly by a new thought—“or have you love + her. But she shall not, she shall not—neither! For I will love you, + and God will listen to me, and answer me.” + </p> + <p> + “Would to Heaven I were worthy of you! I dare not think of where you might + be called to follow me, Ruth.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy + people shall be my people, and thy God my God,’” she rejoined in a low + voice. + </p> + <p> + “‘Thy God my God!’” he repeated after her slowly. He suddenly wondered if + his God was her God; whether now, in his trouble, he had that comfort + which his creed and profession should give him. For the first time he felt + acutely that his choice of this new life might have been more a reaction + from the past, a desire for expiation, than radical belief that this was + the right and only thing for him to do. And when, some time after, he bade + Ruth good-bye, as she went with her father, it came to him with appalling + conviction that his life had been a mistake. The twist of a great wrong in + a man’s character distorts his vision; and if he has a tender conscience + he magnifies his misdeeds. + </p> + <p> + In silence Roscoe and I watched the two ride down the slope. I guessed + what had happened: afterwards I was told all. I was glad of it, though the + end was not yet promising. When we turned to go towards the house again, a + man lounged out of the trees towards us. He looked at me, then at Roscoe, + and said: + </p> + <p> + “I’m Phil Boldrick’s pal from Danger Mountain.” Roscoe held out his hand, + and the man took it, saying: “You’re The Padre, I suppose, and Phil was + soft on you. Didn’t turn religious, did he? He always had a streak of God + A’mighty in him; a kind of give-away-the-top-of-your-head chap; friend o’ + the widow and the orphan, and divvy to his last crust with a pal. I got + your letter, and come over here straight to see that he’s been tombed + accordin’ to his virtues; to lay out the dollars he left me on the people + he had on his visitin’ list; no loafers, no gophers, not one; but to them + that stayed by him I stay, while prog and liquor last.” + </p> + <p> + I saw Roscoe looking at him in an abstracted way, and, as he did not + reply, I said: “Phil had many friends and no enemies.” Then I told him the + tale of his death and funeral, and how the valley mourned for him. + </p> + <p> + While I spoke he stood leaning against a tree, shaking his head and + listening, his eyes occasionally resting on Roscoe with a look as + abstracted and puzzled as that on Roscoe’s face. When I had finished he + drew his hand slowly down his beard and a thick sound came from behind his + fingers. But he did not speak. + </p> + <p> + Then I suggested quietly that Phil’s dollars could be put to a better use + than for prog and liquor. + </p> + <p> + He did not reply to this at all; but after a moment’s pause, in which he + seemed to be studying the gambols of a squirrel in a pine tree, he rubbed + his chin nervously, and more in soliloquy than conversation said: “I never + had but two pals that was pals through and through. And one was Phil and + the other was Jo—Jo Brackenbury.” + </p> + <p> + Here Roscoe’s hand, which had been picking at the bark of a poplar, + twitched suddenly. + </p> + <p> + The man continued: “Poor Jo went down in the ‘Fly Away’ when she swung + with her bare ribs flat before the wind, and swamped and tore upon the + bloody reefs at Apia.... God, how they gnawed her! And never a rag holdin’ + nor a stick standin’, and her pretty figger broke like a tin whistle in a + Corliss engine. And Jo Brackenbury, the dandiest rip, the noisiest pal + that ever said ‘Here’s how!’ went out to heaven on a tearing sea.” + </p> + <p> + “Jo Brackenbury—” Roscoe repeated musingly. His head was turned away + from us. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Jo Brackenbury; and Captain Falchion said to me” (I wonder that I + did not start then) “when I told him how the ‘Fly Away’ went down to Davy, + and her lovers went aloft, reefed close afore the wind—‘Then,’ says + he, ‘they’ve got a damned sound seaman on the Jordan, and so help me! him + that’s good enough to row my girl from open sea, gales poundin’ and + breakers showin’ teeth across the bar to Maita Point, is good enough for + use where seas is still and reefs ain’t fashionable.’” + </p> + <p> + Roscoe’s face looked haggard as it now turned towards us. “If you will + meet me,” he said to the stranger, “to-morrow morning, in Mr. Devlin’s + office at Viking, I will hand you over Phil Boldrick’s legacy.” + </p> + <p> + The man made as if he would shake hands with Roscoe, who appeared not to + notice the motion, and then said: “I’ll be there. You can bank on that; + and, as we used to say down in the Spicy Isles, where neither of you have + been, I s’pose, Talofa!” + </p> + <p> + He swung away down the hillside. + </p> + <p> + Roscoe turned to me. “You see, Marmion, all things circle to a centre. The + trail seems long, but the fox gets killed an arm’s length from his hole.” + </p> + <p> + “Not always. You take it too seriously,” I said. “You are no fox.” + </p> + <p> + “That man will be in at the death,” he persisted. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, Roscoe. He does not know you. What has he to do with you? This + is overwrought nerves. You are killing yourself with worry.” + </p> + <p> + He was motionless and silent for a minute. Then he said very quietly: “No, + I do not think that I really worry now. I have known”—here he laid + his hand upon my shoulder and his eyes had a shining look—“what it + is to be happy, unspeakably happy, for a moment; and that stays with me. I + am a coward no longer.” + </p> + <p> + He drew his finger tips slowly across his forehead. Then he continued: + “To-morrow I shall be angry with myself, no doubt, for having that + moment’s joy, but I cannot feel so now. I shall probably condemn myself + for cruel selfishness; but I have touched life’s highest point this + afternoon, Marmion.” + </p> + <p> + I drew his hand down from my shoulder and pressed it. It was cold. He + withdrew his eyes from the mountain, and said: “I have had dreams, + Marmion, and they are over. I lived in one: to expiate—to wipe out—a + past, by spending my life for others. The expiation is not enough. I lived + in another: to win a woman’s love; and I have, and was caught up by it for + a moment, and it was wonderful. But it is over now, quite over. ... And + now for her sake renunciation must be made, before I have another dream—a + long one, Marmion.” + </p> + <p> + I had forebodings, but I pulled myself together and said firmly: “Roscoe, + these are fancies. Stop it, man. You are moody. Come, let us walk, and + talk of other things.” + </p> + <p> + “No, we will not walk,” he said, “but let us sit there on the coping and + be quiet—quiet in that roar between the hills.” Suddenly he swung + round, caught me by the shoulders and held me gently so. + </p> + <p> + “I have a pain at my heart, Marmion, as if I’d heard my death sentence; + such as a soldier feels who knows that Death looks out at him from iron + eyes. You smile: I suppose you think I am mad.” + </p> + <p> + I saw that it was best to let him speak his mind. So I answered: “Not mad, + my friend. Say on what you like. Tell me all you feel. Only, for God’s + sake be brave, and don’t give up until there’s occasion. I am sure you + exaggerate your danger, whatever it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen for a minute,” said he: “I had a brother Edward, as good a lad as + ever was; a boisterous, healthy fellow. We had an old nurse in our family + who came from Irish hills, faithful and kind to us both. There came a + change over Edward. He appeared not to take the same interest in his + sports. One day he came to me, looking a bit pale, and said: ‘Galt, I + think I should like to study for the Church.’ I laughed at it, yet it + troubled me in a way, for I saw he was not well. I told Martha, the nurse. + She shook her head sadly, and said: ‘Edward is not for the Church, but + you, my lad. He is for heaven.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘For heaven, Martha?’ laughed I. + </p> + <p> + “‘In truth for heaven,’ she replied, ‘and that soon. The look of his eye + is doom. I’ve seen it since I swaddled him, and he will go suddenly.’ + </p> + <p> + “I was angry, and I said to her,—though she thought she spoke the + truth,—‘This is only Irish croaking. We’ll have the banshee next.’ + </p> + <p> + “She got up from her chair and answered me solemnly: ‘Galt Roscoe, I HAVE + heard the banshee wail, and sorrow falls upon your home. And don’t you be + so hard with me that have loved you, and who suffers for the lad that + often and often lay upon my breast. Don’t be so hard; for your day of + trouble comes too. You, not he, will be priest at the altar. Death will + come to him like a swift and easy sleep; but you will feel its hand upon + your heart and know its hate for many a day, and bear the slow pangs of it + until your life is all crushed, and you go from the world alone, Love + crying after you and not able to save you, not even the love of woman—weaker + than death.... And, in my grave, when that day comes beside a great + mountain in a strange land, I will weep and pray for you; for I was mother + to you too, when yours left you alone bewhiles, never, in this world, to + come back.’ + </p> + <p> + “And, Marmion, that night towards morning, as I lay in the same room with + Edward, I heard his breath stop sharply. I jumped up and drew aside the + curtains to let in the light, and then I knew that the old woman spoke + true.... And now!... Well, I am like Hamlet—and I can say with him: + ‘But thou wouldst not think how ill all’s here about my heart—but it + is no matter!”’.... + </p> + <p> + I tried to laugh and talk away his brooding, but there was little use, his + convictions were so strong. Besides, what can you do with a morbidness + which has its origin in fateful circumstances? + </p> + <p> + I devoutly wished that a telegram would come from Winnipeg to let me know + if Boyd Madras, under his new name, could be found. I was a hunter on a + faint trail. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. THE STRINGS OF DESTINY + </h2> + <p> + When Phil’s pal left us he went wandering down the hillside, talking to + himself. Long afterwards he told me how he felt, and I reproduce his + phrases as nearly as I can. + </p> + <p> + “Knocked ‘em, I guess,” he said, “with that about Jo Brackenbury.... Poor + Jo! Stuck together, him and me did, after she got the steel in her + heart.”... He pulled himself together, shuddering.... “Went back on me, + she did, and took up with a cursed swell, and got it cold—cold. And + I? By Judas! I never was shut of that. I’ve known women, many of ‘em, all + countries, but she was different. I expect now, after all these years, + that if I got my hand on the devil that done for her, I’d rattle his + breath in his throat. There’s things that clings. She clings, Jo + Brackenbury clings, and Phil Boldrick clings; and they’re gone, and I’m + left to go it alone. To play the single hand—what!—by Jiminy!” + </p> + <p> + He exclaimed thus on seeing two women approach from the direction of the + valley. He stood still, mouth open, staring. They drew near, almost passed + him. But one of them, struck by his intense gaze, suddenly turned and came + towards him. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Falchion! Miss Falchion!” he cried. Then, when she hesitated as if + with an effort of memory, he added: “Don’t you know me?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” she replied abruptly, “Sam Kilby! Are you Sam Kilby, Jo + Brackenbury’s friend, from Samoa?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, miss, I’m Jo Brackenbury’s friend; and I’ve rowed you across the + reefs with him more than once I guess so! But it’s a long way from Apia to + the Rockies, and it’s funny to meet here.” + </p> + <p> + “When did you come here—and from where?” + </p> + <p> + “I come to-day from the Hudson’s Bay post at Danger Mountain. I’m Phil + Boldrick’s pal.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” she said again, with a look in her eyes not pleasant to see, “and + what brings you up here in the hills?” Hers was more than an ordinary + curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “I come to see the Padre who was with Phil—when he left. And the + Padre’s a fair square sort, as I reckon him, but melancholy, almighty + melancholy.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, melancholy, I suppose,” she said, “and fair square, as you say. And + what did you say and do?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, we yarned about Phil, and where I’d get the legacy to-morrow; and I + s’pose I had a strong breeze on the quarter, for I talked as free as if + we’d grubbed out of the same dough-pan since we was kiddies.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes siree; I don’t know how it was, but I got to reelin’ off about Jo—queer, + wasn’t it? And I told ‘em how he went down in the ‘Fly Away’, and how the + lovely ladies—you remember how we used to call the whitecaps lovely + ladies—fondled him out to sea and on to heaven.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did—the Padre—think of that?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he’s got a heart, I should say, and that’s why Phil cottoned to + him, maybe,—for he looked as if he’d seen ghosts. I guess he’d never + had a craft runnin’ ‘tween a sand-bar and a ragged coral bank; nor seen a + girl like the ‘Fly Away’ take a buster in her teeth; nor a man-of-war come + bundlin’ down upon a nasty glacis, the captain on the bridge, engines + goin’ for all they’re worth, every man below battened in, and every Jack + above watchin’ the fight between the engines and the hurricane.... Here + she rolls six fathoms from the glacis that’ll rip her copper garments off, + and the quiverin’ engines pull her back; and she swings and struggles and + trembles between hell in the hurricane and God A’mighty in the engines; + till at last she gets her nose at the neck of the open sea and crawls out + safe and sound.... I guess he’d have more marble in his cheeks, if he saw + likes o’ that, Miss Falchion?” + </p> + <p> + Kilby paused and wiped his forehead. + </p> + <p> + She had listened calmly. She did not answer his question. She said: + “Kilby, I am staying at the summer hotel up there. Will you call on me—let + me see.... say, to-morrow afternoon?—Some one will tell you the way, + if you do not know it.... Ask for MRS. Falchion, Kilby, not Miss + Falchion.... You will come?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes,” he replied, “you can count on me; for I’d like to hear of + things that happened after I left Apia—and how it is that you are + Mrs. Falchion, for that’s mighty queer.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall hear all that and more.” She held out her hand to him and + smiled. He took it, and she knew that now she was gathering up the strings + of destiny. + </p> + <p> + They parted. + </p> + <p> + The two passed on, looking, in their cool elegance, as if life were the + most pleasant thing; as though the very perfume of their garments would + preserve them from that plague called trouble. + </p> + <p> + “Justine,” said Mrs. Falchion, “there is one law stranger than all; the + law of coincidence. Perhaps the convenience of modern travel assists it, + but fate is in it also. Events run in circles. People connected with them + travel that way also. We pass and re-pass each other many times, but on + different paths, until we come close and see each other face to face.” + </p> + <p> + She was speaking almost the very words which Roscoe had spoken to me. But + perhaps there was nothing strange in that. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, madame,” replied Justine; “it is so, but there is a law greater than + coincidence.” + </p> + <p> + “What, Justine?” + </p> + <p> + “The law of love, which is just and merciful, and would give peace instead + of trouble.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Falchion looked closely at Justine, and, after a moment, evidently + satisfied, said: “What do you know of love?” + </p> + <p> + Justine tried hard for composure, and answered gently: “I loved my brother + Hector.” + </p> + <p> + “And did it make you just and merciful and—an angel?” + </p> + <p> + “Madame, you could answer that better. But it has not made me be at war; + it has made me patient.” + </p> + <p> + “Your love—for your brother—has made you that?” Again she + looked keenly, but Justine now showed nothing but earnestness. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, madame.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Falchion paused for a moment, and seemed intent on the beauty of the + pine-belted hills, capped by snowy peaks, and wrapped in a most hearty yet + delicate colour. The red of her parasol threw a warm soft ness upon her + face. She spoke now without looking at Justine. + </p> + <p> + “Justine, did you ever love any one besides your brother?—I mean + another man.” + </p> + <p> + Justine was silent for a moment, and then she said: “Yes, once.” She was + looking at the hills now, and Mrs. Falchion at her. + </p> + <p> + “And you were happy?” Here Mrs. Falchion abstractedly toyed with a piece + of lace on Justine’s arm. Such acts were unusual with her. + </p> + <p> + “I was happy—in loving.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you not marry?” + </p> + <p> + “Madame—it was impossible—quite.” This, with hesitation and + the slightest accent of pain. + </p> + <p> + “Why impossible? You have good looks, you were born a lady; you have a + foolish heart—the fond are foolish.” She watched the girl keenly, + the hand ceased to toy with the lace, and caught the arm itself—“Why + impossible?” + </p> + <p> + “Madame, he did not love me, he never could.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he know of your love?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, no!” This with trouble in her voice. + </p> + <p> + “And you have never forgotten?” + </p> + <p> + The catechism was merciless; but Mrs. Falchion was not merely malicious. + She was inquiring of a thing infinitely important to her. She was + searching the heart of another, not only because she was suspicious, but + because she wanted to know herself better. + </p> + <p> + “It is easy to remember.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it long since you saw him?” + </p> + <p> + The question almost carried terror with it, for she was not quite sure why + Mrs. Falchion questioned her. She lifted her eyes slowly, and there was in + them anxiety and joy. “It seems,” she said, “like years.” + </p> + <p> + “He loves some one else, perhaps?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think so, madame.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you hate her?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no; I am glad for him.” + </p> + <p> + Here Mrs. Falchion spoke sharply, almost bitterly. Even through her soft + colour a hardness appeared. “You are glad for him? You would see another + woman in his arms and not be full of anger?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite.” + </p> + <p> + “Justine, you are a fool.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame, there is no commandment against being a fool.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you make me angry with your meekness!” Here Mrs. Falchion caught a + twig from a tree by her, snapped it in her fingers, and petulantly threw + its pieces to the ground. “Suppose that the man had once loved you, and + afterwards loved another—then again another?” + </p> + <p> + “Madame, that would be my great misfortune, but it might be no wrong in + him.” + </p> + <p> + “How not a wrong in him?” + </p> + <p> + “It may have been my fault. There must be love in both—great love, + for it to last.” + </p> + <p> + “And if the woman loved him not at all?” + </p> + <p> + “Where, then, could be the wrong in him?” + </p> + <p> + “And if he went from you,”—here her voice grew dry and her words + were sharp,—“and took a woman from the depths of—oh, no matter + what! and made her commit—crime—and was himself a criminal?” + </p> + <p> + “It is horrible to think of; but I should ask myself how much I was to + blame.... What would you ask yourself, madame?” + </p> + <p> + “You have a strain of the angel in you, Justine. You would forgive Judas + if he said, ‘Peccavi.’ I have a strain of Satan—it was born in me—I + would say, You have sinned, now suffer.” + </p> + <p> + “God give you a softer heart,” said Justine, with tender boldness and + sincerity. + </p> + <p> + At this Mrs. Falchion started slightly, and trouble covered her face. She + assumed, however, a tone almost brusque, artificially airy and + unimportant. + </p> + <p> + “There, that will do, thank you.... We have become serious and + incomprehensible. Let us talk of other things. I want to be gay.... Amuse + me.” + </p> + <p> + Arrived at the hotel, she told Justine that she must not be disturbed till + near dinner-time, and withdrew to her sitting-room. There she sat and + thought, as she had never done in her life before. She thought upon + everything that had happened since the day when she met Galt Roscoe on the + ‘Fulvia’; of a certain evening in England, before he took orders, when he + told her, in retort to some peculiarly cutting remark of hers, that she + was the evil genius of his life: that evening when her heart grew hard, as + she had once said it should always be to him, and she determined again, + after faltering many times, that just such a genius she would be; of the + strange meeting in the rapids at the Devil’s Slide, and the irony of it; + and the fact that he had saved her life—on that she paused a while; + of Ruth Devlin—and here she was swayed by conflicting emotions; of + the scene at the mill, and Phil Boldrick’s death and funeral; of the + service in the church where she meant to mock him, and, instead, mocked + herself; of the meeting with Tonga Sam; of all that Justine had said to + her: then again of the far past in Samoa, with which Galt Roscoe was + associated, and of that first vow of vengeance for a thing he had done; + and how she had hesitated to fulfil it year after year till now. + </p> + <p> + Passing herself slowly back and forth before her eyes, she saw that she + had lived her life almost wholly alone; that no woman had ever cherished + her as a friend, and that on no man’s breast had she ever laid her head in + trust and love. She had been loved, but it had never brought her + satisfaction. From Justine there was devotion; but it had, as she thought, + been purchased, paid for, like the labour of a ploughboy. And if she saw + now in Justine’s eyes a look of friendship, a note of personal allegiance, + she knew it was because she herself had grown more human. + </p> + <p> + Her nature had been stirred. Her natural heart was struggling against her + old bitterness towards Galt Roscoe and her partial hate of Ruth Devlin. + Once Roscoe had loved her, and she had not loved him. Then, on a bitter + day for him, he did a mad thing. The thing became—though neither of + them knew it at the time, and he not yet—a great injury to her, and + this had called for the sharp retaliation which she had the power to use. + But all had not happened as she expected; for something called Love had + been conceived in her very slowly, and was now being born, and sent, + trembling for its timid life, into the world. + </p> + <p> + She closed her eyes with weariness, and pressed her hands to her temples. + </p> + <p> + She wondered why she could not be all evil or all good. She spoke and + acted against Ruth Devlin, and yet she pitied her. She had the nettle to + sting Roscoe to death, and yet she hesitated to use it. She had said to + herself that she would wait till the happiest moment of his life, and then + do so. Well, his happiest moment had come. Ruth Devlin’s heart was all + out, all blossomed—beside Mrs. Falchion’s like some wild flower to + the aloe.... Only now she had come to know that she had a heart. Something + had chilled her at her birth, and when her mother died, a stranger’s kiss + closed up all the ways to love, and left her an icicle. She was + twenty-eight years old, and yet she had never kissed a face in joy or to + give joy. And now, when she had come to know herself, and understand what + others understand when they are little children in their mother’s arms, + she had to bow to the spirit that denies. She drew herself up with a + quiver of the body. + </p> + <p> + “O God!” she said, “do I hate him or love him!” Her head dropped in her + hands. She sat regardless of time, now scarcely stirring, desperately + quiet. The door opened softly and Justine entered. “Madame,” she said, + “pardon me; I am so sorry, but Miss Devlin has come to see you, and I + thought—” + </p> + <p> + “You thought, Justine, that I would see her.” There was unmistakable irony + in her voice. “Very well.... Show her in.” + </p> + <p> + She rose, stretched out her arms as if to free herself of a burden, + smoothed her hair, composed herself, and waited, the afternoon sun just + falling across her burnished shoes, giving her feet of gold. She chanced + to look down at them. A strange memory came to her: words that she had + heard Roscoe read in church. The thing was almost grotesque in its + association. “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him who + bringeth glad tidings, who publisheth peace!” + </p> + <p> + Ruth Devlin entered, saying, “I have come, to ask you if you will dine + with us next Monday evening?” + </p> + <p> + Then she explained the occasion of the dinner party, and said: “You see, + though it is formal, I am asking our guests informally;” and she added as + neutrally and as lightly as she could—“Mr. Roscoe and Dr. Marmion + have been good enough to say that they will come. Of course, a dinner + party as it should be is quite impossible to us simple folk, but when a + lieutenant-governor commands, we must do the best we can—with the + help of our friends.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Falchion was delighted, she said, and then they talked of trivial + matters, Ruth smoothing out the folds of her riding-dress with her whip + more earnestly, in preoccupation, than the act called for. At last she + said, in the course of the formal talk: “You have travelled much?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that has been my lot,” was the reply; and she leaned back in the + gold-trimmed cane chair, her feet still in the belt of sunlight. + </p> + <p> + “I have often wished that I might travel over the ocean,” said Ruth, “but + here I remain—what shall I say?—a rustic in a bandbox, seeing + the world through a pin-hole. That is the way my father puts it. Except, + of course, that I think it very inspiring to live out here among wonderful + mountains, which, as Mr. Roscoe says, are the most aristocratic of + companions.” + </p> + <p> + Some one in the next room was playing the piano idly yet expressively. The + notes of Il Trovatore kept up a continuous accompaniment to their talk, + varying, as if by design, with its meaning and importance, and yet in + singular contrast at times to their thoughts and words. It was almost + sardonic in its monotonous persistence. + </p> + <p> + “Travel is not all, believe me, Miss Devlin,” was the indolent reply. + “Perhaps the simpler life is the happier. The bandbox is not the worst + that may come to one—when one is born to it. I am not sure but it is + the best. I doubt that when one has had the fever of travel and the world, + the bandbox is permanently habitable again.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Falchion was keen; she had found her opportunity. + </p> + <p> + On the result of this duel, if Ruth Devlin but knew it, depends her own + and another’s happiness. It is not improbable, however, that something of + this was in her mind. She shifted her chair so that her face was not so + much in the light. But the belt of sunlight was broadening from Mrs. + Falchion’s feet to her dress. + </p> + <p> + “You think not?” Ruth asked slowly. + </p> + <p> + The reply was not important in tone. Mrs. Falchion had picked up a paper + knife and was bending it to and fro between her fingers. + </p> + <p> + “I think not. Particularly with a man, who is, we will say, by nature, + adventurous and explorative. I think if, in some mad moment, I determined + to write a novel, it should be of such a man. He flies wide and far; he + sees all; he feeds on novelty; he passes from experience to experience—liberal + pleasures of mind and sense all the way. Well, he tires of Egypt and its + flesh-pots. He has seen as he hurried on—I hope I am not growing too + picturesque—too much of women, too many men. He has been unwise—most + men are. Perhaps he has been more than unwise; he has made a great + mistake, a social mistake—or crime—less or more. If it is a + small one, the remedy is not so difficult. Money, friends, adroitness, + absence, long retirement, are enough. If a great one, and he is sensitive—and + sated—he flies, he seeks seclusion. He is afflicted with remorse. He + is open to the convincing pleasures of the simple and unadorned life; he + is satisfied with simple people. The snuff of the burnt candle of + enjoyment he calls regret, repentance. He gives himself the delights of + introspection, and wishes he were a child again—yes, indeed it is + so, dear Miss Devlin.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth sat regarding her, her deep eyes glowing. Mrs. Falchion continued: + “In short, he finds the bandbox, as you call it, suited to his + renunciations. Its simplicities, which he thinks is regeneration, are only + new sensations. But—you have often noticed the signification of a + ‘but,’” she added, smiling, tapping her cheek lightly with the ivory knife—“but + the hour arrives when the bandbox becomes a prison, when the simple hours + cloy. Then the ordinary incident is merely gauche, and expiation a bore. + </p> + <p> + “I see by your face that you understand quite what I mean.... Well, these + things occasionally happen. The great mistake follows the man, and, by a + greater misery, breaks the misery of the bandbox; or the man himself, + hating his captivity, becomes reckless, does some mad thing, and has a + miserable end. Or again, some one who holds the key to his mistake comes + in from the world he has left, and considers—considers, you + understand!—whether to leave him to work out his servitude, or, + mercifully—if he is not altogether blind—permit him the means + of escape to his old world, to the life to which he was born—away + from the bandbox and all therein.... I hope I have not tired you—I + am sure I have.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth saw the full meaning of Mrs. Falchion’s words. She realised that her + happiness, his happiness—everything—was at stake. All Mrs. + Falchion’s old self was battling with her new self. She had determined to + abide by the result of this meeting. She had spoken in a half gay tone, + but her words were not everything; the woman herself was there, speaking + in every feature and glance. Ruth had listened with an occasional change + of colour, but also with an outward pride to which she seemed suddenly to + have grown. But her heart was sick and miserable. How could it be + otherwise, reading, as she did, the tale just told her in a kind, of + allegory, in all its warning, nakedness, and vengeance? But she detected, + too, an occasional painful movement of Mrs. Falchion’s lips, a kind of + trouble in the face. She noticed it at first vaguely as she listened to + the music in the other room; but at length she interpreted it aright, and + she did not despair. She did not then follow her first impulse to show + that she saw the real meaning of that speech, and rise and say, “You are + insulting,” and bid her good-day. + </p> + <p> + After all, where was the ground for the charge of insult? The words had + been spoken impersonally. So, after a moment, she said, as she drew a + glove from a hand slightly trembling: “And you honestly think it is the + case: that one having lived such a life as you describe so unusually, + would never be satisfied with a simple life?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear, never—not such a man as I describe. I know the world.” + </p> + <p> + “But suppose not quite such an one; suppose one that had not been so—intense; + so much the social gladiator; who had business of life as well,”—here + the girl grew pale, for this was a kind of talk unfamiliar and painful to + her, but to be endured for her cause,—“as well as ‘the flesh-pots of + Egypt;’ who had made no wicked mistakes—would he necessarily end as + you say?” + </p> + <p> + “I am speaking of the kind of man who had made such mistakes, and he would + end as I say. Few men, if any, would leave the world for—the + bandbox, shall I still say? without having a Nemesis.” + </p> + <p> + “But the Nemesis need not, as you say yourself, be inevitable. The person + who holds the key of his life, the impersonation of his mistake—” + </p> + <p> + “His CRIMINAL mistake,” Mrs. Falchion interrupted, her hand with the ivory + knife now moveless in that belt of sunlight across her knees. + </p> + <p> + “His criminal mistake,” Ruth repeated, wincing—“might not it become + changed into mercy, and the man be safe?” + </p> + <p> + “Safe? Perhaps. But he would tire of the pin-hole just the same.... My + dear, you do not know life.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Mrs. Falchion,” said the girl, now very bravely, “I know the crude + elements of justice. That is one plain thing taught here in the mountains. + We have swift reward and punishment—no hateful things called + Nemesis. The meanest wretch here in the West, if he has a quarrel, avenges + himself openly and at once. Actions are rough and ready, perhaps, but that + is our simple way. Hate is manly—and womanly too—when it is + open and brave. But when it haunts and shadows, it is not understood + here.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Falchion sat during this speech, the fingers of one hand idly + drumming the arm of her chair, as idly as when on board the ‘Fulvia’ she + listened to me telling that story of Anson and his wife. Outwardly her + coolness was remarkable. But she was really admiring, and amazed at Ruth’s + adroitness and courage. She appreciated fully the skilful duel that had + kept things on the surface, and had committed neither of them to anything + personal. It was a battle—the tragical battle of a drawing-room. + </p> + <p> + When Ruth had ended, she said slowly: “You speak very earnestly. You do + your mountains justice; but each world has its code. It is good for some + men to be followed by a slow hatred—it all depends on themselves. + There are some who wish to meet their fate and its worst, and others who + would forget it. The latter are in the most danger always.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth rose. + </p> + <p> + She stepped forward slightly, so that her feet also were within the + sunlight. The other saw this; it appeared to interest her. Ruth looked—as + such a girl can look—with incredible sincerity into Mrs. Falchion’s + eyes, and said: “Oh, if I knew such a man, I would be sorry—sorry + for him; and if I also knew that his was only a mistake and not a crime, + or, if the crime itself had been repented of, and atonement made, I would + beg some one—some one better than I—to pray for him. And I + would go to the person who had his life and career at disposal, and would + say to her, if it were a woman, oh, remember that it is not he alone who + would suffer! I would beg that woman—if it were a woman—to be + merciful, as she one day must ask for mercy.” + </p> + <p> + The girl as she stood there, all pale, yet glowing with the white light of + her pain, was beautiful, noble, compelling. Mrs. Falchion now rose also. + She was altogether in the sunlight now. From the piano in the next room + came a quick change of accompaniment, and a voice was heard singing, as if + to the singer’s self, ‘Il balen del suo sorris’. It is hard to tell how + far such little incidents affected her in what she did that afternoon; but + they had their influence. She said: “You are altruistic—or are you + selfish, or both?... And should the woman—if it were a woman—yield, + and spare the man, what would you do?” + </p> + <p> + “I would say that she had been merciful and kind, and that one in this + world would pray for her when she needed prayers most.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean when she was old,”—Mrs. Falchion shrank a little at the + sound of her own words. Now her careless abandon was gone; she seemed to + be following her emotions. “When she was old,” she continued, “and came to + die? It is horrible to grow old, except one has been a saint—and a + mother.... And even then—have you ever seen them, the women of that + Egypt of which we spoke—powdered, smirking over their champagne, + because they feel for an instant a false pulse of their past?—See + how eloquent your mountains make me!—I think that would make one + hard and cruel; and one would need the prayers of a churchful of good + women, even as good—as you.” + </p> + <p> + She could not resist a touch of irony in the last words, and Ruth, who had + been ready to take her hand impulsively, was stung. But she replied + nothing; and the other, after waiting, added, with a sudden and wonderful + kindness: “I say what is quite true. Women might dislike you—many of + them would—though you could not understand why; but you are good, + and that, I suppose, is the best thing in the world. Yes, you are good,” + she said musingly, and then she leaned forward and quickly kissed the + girl’s cheek. “Good-bye,” she said, and then she turned her head + resolutely away. + </p> + <p> + They stood there both in the sunlight, both very quiet, but their hearts + were throbbing with new sensations. Ruth knew that she had conquered, and, + with her eyes all tearful, she looked steadily, yearningly at the woman + before her; but she knew it was better she should say little now, and, + with a motion of the hand in good-bye,—she could do no more,—she + slowly went to the door. There she paused and looked back, but the other + was still turned away. + </p> + <p> + For a minute Mrs. Falchion stood looking at the door through which the + girl had passed, then she caught close the curtains of the window, and + threw herself upon the sofa with a sobbing laugh. + </p> + <p> + “To her—I played the game of mercy to her!” she cried. “And she has + his love, the love which I rejected once, and which I want now—to my + shame! A hateful and terrible love. I, who ought to say to him, as I so + long determined: ‘You shall be destroyed. You killed my sister, poor Alo; + if not with a knife yourself you killed her heart, and that is just the + same.’ I never knew until now what a heart is when killed.” + </p> + <p> + She caught her breast as though it hurt her, and, after a moment, + continued: “Do hearts always ache so when they love? I was the wife of a + good man oh! he WAS a good man, who sinned for me. I see it now!—and + I let him die—die alone!” She shuddered. “Oh, now I see, and I know + what love such as his can be! I am punished—punished! for my love is + impossible, horrible.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long silence, in which she sat looking at the floor, her face + all grey with pain. At last the door of the room softly opened, and + Justine entered. + </p> + <p> + “May I come in, madame?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, come, Justine.” The voice was subdued, and there was in it what drew + the girl swiftly to the side of Mrs. Falchion. She spoke no word, but + gently undid the other’s hair, and smoothed and brushed it softly. + </p> + <p> + At last Mrs. Falchion said: “Justine, on Monday we will leave here.” + </p> + <p> + The girl was surprised, but she replied without comment: “Yes, madame; + where do we go?” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause; then: “I do not know. I want to go where I shall get + rested. A village in Italy or—” she paused. + </p> + <p> + “Or France, madame?” Justine was eager. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Falchion made a gesture of helplessness. “Yes, France will do.... The + way around the world is long, and I am tired.” Minutes passed, and then + she slowly said: “Justine, we will go to-morrow night.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, madame, to-morrow night—and not next Monday.” + </p> + <p> + There was a strange only half-veiled melancholy in Mrs. Falchion’s next + words: “Do you think, Justine, that I could be happy anywhere?” + </p> + <p> + “I think anywhere but here, madame.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Falchion rose to a sitting posture, and looked at the girl fixedly, + almost fiercely. A crisis was at hand. The pity, gentleness, and honest + solicitude of Justine’s face conquered her, and her look changed to one of + understanding and longing for companionship: sorrow swiftly welded their + friendship. + </p> + <p> + Before Mrs. Falchion slept that night, she said again: “We will leave here + to-morrow, Justine, for ever.” + </p> + <p> + And Justine replied: “Yes, madame, for ever.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. THE SENTENCE + </h2> + <p> + The next morning Roscoe was quiet and calm, but he looked ten years older + than when I had first seen him. After breakfast he said to me: “I have to + go to the valley to pay Phil Boldrick’s friend the money, and to see Mr. + Devlin. I shall be back, perhaps, by lunchtime. Will you go with me, or + stay here?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall try to get some fishing this morning, I fancy,” I said. “And + possibly I shall idle a good deal, for my time with you here is + shortening, and I want to have a great store of laziness behind me for + memory, when I’ve got my nose to the grindstone.” + </p> + <p> + He turned to the door, and said: “Marmion, I wish you weren’t going. I + wish that we might be comrades under the same roof till—” He paused + and smiled strangely. + </p> + <p> + “Till the finish,” I added, “when we should amble grey-headed, sans + everything, out of the mad old world? I imagine Miss Belle Treherne would + scarcely fancy that.... Still, we can be friends just the same. Our wives + won’t object to an occasional bout of loafing together, will they?” + </p> + <p> + I was determined not to take him too seriously. He said nothing, and in a + moment he was gone. + </p> + <p> + I passed the morning idly enough, yet thinking, too, very much about my + friend. I was anxiously hoping that the telegram from Winnipeg would come. + About noon it came. It was not known quite in what part of the North-west, + Madras (under his new name) was, for the corps of mounted police had been + changed about recently. My letter had, however, been forwarded into the + wilds. + </p> + <p> + I saw no immediate way but to go to Mrs. Falchion and make a bold bid for + his peace. I had promised Madras never to let her know that he was alive, + but I would break the promise if Madras himself did not come. After + considerable hesitation I started. It must be remembered that the events + of the preceding chapter were only known to me afterwards. + </p> + <p> + Justine Caron was passing through the hall of the hotel when I arrived. + After greetings, she said that Mrs. Falchion might see me, but that they + were very busy; they were leaving in the evening for the coast. Here was a + pleasant revelation! I was so confused with delight at the information, + that I could think of nothing more sensible to say than that the + unexpected always happens. By this time we were within Mrs. Falchion’s + sitting-room. And to my remark, Justine replied “Yes, it is so. One has to + reckon most with the accidents of life. The expected is either pleasant or + unpleasant; there is no middle place.” + </p> + <p> + “You are growing philosophic,” said I playfully. “Monsieur,” she said + gravely, “I hope as I live and travel, I grow a little wiser.” Still she + lingered, her hand upon the door. + </p> + <p> + “I had thought that you were always wise.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, no! How can you say so? I have been very foolish sometimes.”... + She came back towards me. “If I am wiser I am also happier,” she added. + </p> + <p> + In that moment we understood each other; that is, I read how unselfish + this girl could be, and she knew thoroughly the source of my anxiety, and + was glad that she could remove it. + </p> + <p> + “I would not speak to any one save you,” she said, “but do you not also + think that it is good we go?” + </p> + <p> + “I have been thinking so, but I hesitated to say so,” was my reply. + </p> + <p> + “You need not hesitate,” she said earnestly. “We have both understood, and + I know that you are to be trusted.” + </p> + <p> + “Not always,” I said, remembering that one experience of mine with Mrs. + Falchion on the ‘Fulvia’. Holding the back of a chair, and looking + earnestly at me, she continued: “Once, on the vessel, you remember, in a + hint so very little, I made it appear that madame was selfish.... I am + sorry. Her heart was asleep. Now, it is awake. She is unselfish. The + accident of our going away is hers. She goes to leave peace behind.” “I am + most glad,” said I. “And you think there will be peace?” + </p> + <p> + “Surely, since this has come, that will come also.” + </p> + <p> + “And you—Mademoiselle?” I should not have asked that question had I + known more of the world. It was tactless and unkind. + </p> + <p> + “For me it is no matter at all. I do not come in anywhere. As I said, I am + happy.” + </p> + <p> + And turning quickly, yet not so quickly but that I saw her cheeks were + flushed, she passed out of the room. In a moment Mrs. Falchion entered. + There was something new in her carriage, in her person. She came towards + me, held out her hand, and said, with the same old half-quizzical tone: + “Have you, with your unerring instinct, guessed that I was leaving, and so + come to say good-bye?” + </p> + <p> + “You credit me too highly. No, I came to see you because I had an + inclination. I did not guess that you were going until Miss Caron told + me.” + </p> + <p> + “An inclination to see me is not your usual instinct, is it? Was it some + special impulse, based on a scientific calculation—at which, I + suppose, you are an adeptor curiosity? Or had it a purpose? Or were you + bored, and therefore sought the most startling experience you could + conceive?” She deftly rearranged some flowers in a jar. + </p> + <p> + “I can plead innocence of all directly; I am guilty of all indirectly: I + was impelled to come. I reasoned—if that is scientific—on what + I should say if I did come, knowing how inclined I was to—” + </p> + <p> + “To get beyond my depth,” she interrupted, and she motioned me to a chair. + </p> + <p> + “Well, let it be so,” said I. “I was curious to know what kept you in this + sylvan, and I fear, to you, half-barbaric spot. I was bored with myself; + and I had some purpose in coming, or I should not have had the impulse.” + </p> + <p> + She was leaning back in her chair easily, not languidly. She seemed + reposeful, yet alert. + </p> + <p> + “How wonderfully you talk!” she said, with good-natured mockery. “You are + scientifically frank. You were bored with yourself.—Then there is + some hope for your future wife.... We have had many talks in our + acquaintance, Dr. Marmion, but none so interesting as this promises to be. + But now tell me what your purpose was in coming. ‘Purpose’ seems + portentous, but quite in keeping.” + </p> + <p> + I noticed here the familiar, almost imperceptible click of the small white + teeth. + </p> + <p> + Was I so glad she was going that I was playful, elated? “My purpose,” said + I, “has no point now; for even if I were to propose to amuse you—I + believe that was the old formula—by an idle day somewhere, by an + excursion, an—” + </p> + <p> + “An autobiography,” she broke in soothingly. + </p> + <p> + “Or an autobiography,” I repeated stolidly, “you would not, I fancy, be + prepared to accept my services. There would be no chance—now that + you are going away—for me to play the harlequin—” + </p> + <p> + “Whose office you could do pleasantly if it suited you—these + adaptable natures!” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so. But it is all futile now, as I say.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you mentioned that before.—Well?” + </p> + <p> + “It is well,” I replied, dropping into a more meaning tone. + </p> + <p> + “You say it patriarchally, but yet flatteringly.” Here she casually + offered me a flower. I mechanically placed it in my buttonhole. She seemed + delighted at confusing me. But I kept on firmly. + </p> + <p> + “I do not think,” I rejoined gravely now, “that there need be any flattery + between us.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?—We are not married.” + </p> + <p> + “That is as radically true as it is epigrammatic,” blurted I. + </p> + <p> + “And truth is more than epigram?” + </p> + <p> + “One should delight in truth; I do delight in epigram; there seems little + chance for choice here.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed to me that I had said quite what I wished there, but she only + looked at me enigmatically. + </p> + <p> + She arranged a flower in her dress as she almost idly replied, though she + did not look me full in the face as she had done before: “Well, then, let + me add to your present delight by saying that you may go play till + doomsday, Dr. Marmion. Your work is done.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not understand.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes were on me now with the directness she could so well use at need. + </p> + <p> + “I did not suppose you would, despite your many lessons at my hands. You + have been altruistic, Dr. Marmion; I fear critical people would say that + you meddled. I shall only say that you are inquiring—scientific, or + feminine—what you please!... You can now yield up your portfolio of—foreign + affairs—of war—shall I say? and retire into sedative + habitations, which, believe me, you become best.... What concerns me need + concern you no longer. The enemy retreats. She offers truce—without + conditions. She retires.... Is that enough for even you, Professor + Marmion?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Falchion,” I said, finding it impossible to understand why she had + so suddenly determined to go away (for I did not know all the truth until + afterwards—some of it long afterwards), “it is more than I dared to + hope for, though less, I know, than you have heart to do if you willed so. + I know that you hold some power over my friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not think,” she said, “that you have had the least influence. What you + might think, or may have intended to do, has not moved me in the least. I + have had wrongs that you do not know. I have changed—that is all. I + admit I intended to do Galt Roscoe harm. + </p> + <p> + “I thought he deserved it. That is over. After to-night, it is not + probable that we shall meet again. I hope that we shall not; as, + doubtless, is your own mind.” + </p> + <p> + She kept looking at me with that new deep look which I had seen when she + first entered the room. + </p> + <p> + I was moved, and I saw that just at the last she had spoken under + considerable strain. “Mrs. Falchion,” said I, “I have THOUGHT harder + things of you than I ever SAID to any one. Pray believe that, and believe, + also, that I never tried to injure you. For the rest, I can make no + complaint. You do not like me. I liked you once, and do now, when you do + not depreciate yourself of purpose.... Pardon me, but I say this very + humbly too.... I suppose I always shall like you, in spite of myself. You + are one of the most gifted and fascinating women that I ever met. I have + been anxious for my friend. I was concerned to make peace between you and + your husband—” + </p> + <p> + “The man who WAS my husband,” she interrupted musingly. + </p> + <p> + “Your husband—whom you so cruelly treated. But I confess I have + found it impossible to withhold admiration of you.” + </p> + <p> + For a long time she did not reply, but she never took her eyes off my + face, as she leaned slightly forward. Then at last she spoke more gently + than I had ever heard her, and a glow came upon her face. + </p> + <p> + “I am only human. You have me at advantage. What woman could reply + unkindly to a speech like that? I admit I thought you held me utterly bad + and heartless, and it made me bitter.... I had no heart—once. I had + only a wrong, an injury, which was in my mind; not mine, but another’s, + and yet mine. Then strange things occurred.... At last I relented. I saw + that I had better go. Yesterday I saw that; and I am going—that is + all.... I wished to keep the edge of my intercourse with you sharp and + uncompanionable to the end; but you have forced me at my weakest + point....” Here she smiled somewhat painfully.... “Believe me, that is the + way to turn a woman’s weapon upon herself. You have learned much since we + first met.... Here is my hand in friendliness, if you care to take it; and + in good-bye, should we not meet again more formally before I go.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish now that your husband, Boyd Madras, were here,” I said. + </p> + <p> + She answered nothing, but she did not resent it, only shuddered a little. + </p> + <p> + Our hands grasped silently. I was too choked to speak, and I left her. At + that moment she blinded me to all her faults. She was a wonderful woman. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ..................... +</pre> + <p> + Galt Roscoe had walked slowly along the forest-road towards the valley, + his mind in that state of calm which, in some, might be thought numbness + of sensation, in others fortitude—the prerogative of despair. He + came to the point of land jutting out over the valley, where he had stood + with Mrs. Falchion, Justine, and myself, on the morning of Phil Boldrick’s + death. + </p> + <p> + He looked for a long time, and then, slowly descending the hillside, made + his way to Mr. Devlin’s office. He found Phil’s pal awaiting him there. + After a few preliminaries, the money was paid over, and Kilby said: + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been to see his camping-ground. It’s right enough. Viking has done + it noble.... Now, here’s what I’m goin’ to do: I’m goin’ to open bottles + for all that’ll drink success to Viking. A place that’s stood by my pal, I + stand by—but not with his money, mind you! No, that goes to you, + Padre, for hospital purposes. My gift an’ his.... So, sit down and write a + receipt, or whatever it’s called, accordin’ to Hoyle, and you’ll do me + proud.” + </p> + <p> + Roscoe did as he requested, and handed the money over to Mr. Devlin for + safe keeping, remarking, at the same time, that the matter should be + announced on a bulletin outside the office at once. + </p> + <p> + As Kilby stood chewing the end of a cigar and listening to the brief + conversation between Roscoe and Mr. Devlin, perplexity crossed his face. + He said, as Roscoe turned round: “There’s something catchy about your + voice, Padre. I don’t know what; but it’s familiar like. You never was on + the Panama level, of course?” + </p> + <p> + “Never.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor in Australia?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, in 1876.” + </p> + <p> + “I wasn’t there then.” + </p> + <p> + Roscoe grew a shade paler, but he was firm and composed. He was determined + to answer truthfully any question that was asked him, wherever it might + lead. + </p> + <p> + “Nor in Samoa?” + </p> + <p> + There was the slightest pause, and then the reply came: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, in Samoa.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a missionary, by gracious! Not a mickonaree in Samoa?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” He said nothing further. He did not feel bound to incriminate + himself. + </p> + <p> + “No? Well, you wasn’t a beachcomber, nor trader, I’ll swear. Was you there + in the last half of the Seventies? That’s when I was there.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” The reply was quiet. + </p> + <p> + “By Jingo!” The man’s face was puzzled. He was about to speak again; but + at that moment two river-drivers—boon companions, who had been + hanging about the door—urged him to come to the tavern. This + distracted him. He laughed, and said that he was coming, and then again, + though with less persistency, questioned Roscoe.. “You don’t remember me, + I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I never saw you, so far as I know, until yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “No? Still, I’ve heard your voice. It keeps swingin’ in my ears; and I + can’t remember.... I can’t remember!... But we’ll have a spin about it + again, Padre.” He turned to the impatient men. “All right, bully-boys, I’m + comin’.” + </p> + <p> + At the door he turned and looked again at Roscoe with a sharp, half-amused + scrutiny, then the two parted. Kilby kept his word. He was liberal to + Viking; and Phil’s memory was drunk, not in silence, many times that day. + So that when, in the afternoon, he made up his mind to keep his engagement + with Mrs. Falchion, and left the valley for the hills, he was not entirely + sober. But he was apparently good-natured. As he idled along he talked to + himself, and finally broke out into singing: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Then swing the long boat down the drink, + For the lads as pipe to go; + But I sink when the ‘Lovely Jane’ does sink, + To the mermaids down below.’ + + “‘The long boat bides on its strings,’ says we, + ‘An’ we bides where the long boat bides; + An’ we’ll bluff this equatorial sea, + Or swallow its hurricane tides.’ + + “But the ‘Lovely Jane’ she didn’t go down, + An’ she anchored at the Spicy Isles; + An’ she sailed again to Wellington Town— + A matter of a thousand miles.” + </pre> + <p> + It will be remembered that this was part of the song sung by Galt Roscoe + on the Whi-Whi River, the day we rescued Mrs. Falchion and Justine Caron. + Kilby sang the whole song over to himself until he reached a point + overlooking the valley. Then he stood silent for a time, his glance upon + the town. The walk had sobered him a little. “Phil, old pal,” he said at + last, “you ain’t got the taste of raw whiskey with you now. When a man + loses a pal he loses a grip on the world equal to all that pal’s grip was + worth.... I’m drunk, and Phil’s down there among the worms—among the + worms!... Ah!” he added in disgust, and, dashing his hand across his eyes, + struck off into the woods again, making his way to the summer hotel, where + he had promised to meet Mrs. Falchion. He inquired for her, creating some + astonishment by his uncouth appearance and unsteady manner. + </p> + <p> + He learned from Justine that Mrs. Falchion had gone to see Roscoe, and + that he would probably meet her if he went that way. This he did. He was + just about to issue into a partly open space by a ravine near the house, + when he heard voices, and his own name mentioned. He stilled and listened. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Galt Roscoe,” said a voice, “Sam Kilby is the man that loved Alo—loved + her not as you did. He would have given her a home, have made her happy, + perhaps. You, when Kilby was away, married her—in native fashion—which + is no marriage—and KILLED her.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, I did not kill her—that is not so. As God is my Judge, that + is not so.” + </p> + <p> + “You did not kill her with the knife?... Well, I will be honest now, and + say that I believe that, whatever I may have hinted or said before. But + you killed her just the same when you left her.” + </p> + <p> + “Mercy Falchion,” he said desperately, “I will not try to palliate my sin. + But still I must set myself right with you in so far as I can. The very + night Alo killed herself I had made up my mind to leave the navy. I was + going to send in my papers, and come back to Apia, and marry her as + Englishmen are married. While I remained in the navy I could not, as you + know, marry her. It would be impossible to an English officer. I intended + to come back and be regularly married to her.” + </p> + <p> + “You say that now,” was the cold reply. + </p> + <p> + “But it is the truth, the truth indeed. Nothing that you might say could + make me despise myself more than I do; but I have told you all, as I shall + have to tell it one day before a just God. You have spared me: He will + not.” + </p> + <p> + “Gait Roscoe,” she replied, “I am not merciful, nor am I just. I intended + to injure you, though you will remember I saved your life that night by + giving you a boat for escape across the bay to the ‘Porcupine’, which was + then under way. The band on board, you also remember, was playing the + music of La Grande Duchesse. You fired on the natives who followed. Well, + Sam Kilby was with them. Your brother officers did not know the cause of + the trouble. It was not known to any one in Apia exactly who it was that + Kilby and the natives had tracked from Alo’s hut.” + </p> + <p> + He drew his hand across his forehead dazedly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes I remember!” he said. “I wish I had faced the matter there and + then. It would have been better.” + </p> + <p> + “I doubt that,” she replied. “The natives who saw you coming from Alo’s + hut did not know you. You wisely came straight to the Consul’s office—my + father’s house. And I helped you, though Alo, half-caste Alo, was—my + sister!” + </p> + <p> + Roscoe started back. “Alo—your—sister!” he exclaimed in + horror. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, though I did not know it till afterwards, not till just before my + father died. Alo’s father was my father; and her mother had been honestly + married to my father by a missionary; though for my sake it had never been + made known. You remember, also, that you carried on your relations with + Alo secretly, and my father never suspected it was you.” + </p> + <p> + “Your sister!” Roscoe was white and sick. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And now you understand my reason for wishing you ill, and for hating + you to the end.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said despairingly, “I see.” + </p> + <p> + She was determined to preserve before him the outer coldness of her nature + to the last. + </p> + <p> + “Let us reckon together,” she said. “I helped to—in fact, I saved + your life at Apia. You helped to save my life at the Devil’s Slide. That + is balanced. You did me—the honour to say that you loved me once. + Well, one of my race loved you. That is balanced also. My sister’s death + came through you. There is no balance to that. What shall balance Alo’s + death? ... I leave you to think that over. It is worth thinking about. I + shall keep your secret, too. Kilby does not know you. I doubt that he ever + saw you, though, as I said, he followed you with the natives that night in + Apia. He was to come to see me to-day. I think I intended to tell him all, + and shift—the duty—of punishment on his shoulders, which I do + not doubt he would fulfil. But he shall not know. Do not ask why. I have + changed my mind, that is all. But still the account remains a long one. + You will have your lifetime to reckon with it, free from any interference + on my part; for, if I can help it, we shall never meet again in this world—never.... + And now, good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + Without a gesture of farewell she turned and left him standing there, in + misery and bitterness, but in a thankfulness too, more for Ruth’s sake + than his own. He raised his arms with a despairing motion, then let them + drop heavily to his side.... + </p> + <p> + And then two strong hands caught his throat, a body pressed hard against + him, and he was borne backward—backward—to the cliff! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. AFTER THE STORM + </h2> + <p> + I was sitting on the verandah, writing a letter to Belle Treherne. The + substantial peace of a mountain evening was on me. The air was clear, and + full of the scent of the pines and cedars, and the rumble of the rapids + came musically down the canon. I lifted my head and saw an eagle sailing + away to the snow-topped peak of Trinity, and then turned to watch the + orioles in the trees. The hour was delightful. It made me feel how grave + mere living is, how noble even the meanest of us becomes sometimes—in + those big moments when we think the world was built for us. It is half + egotism, half divinity; but why quarrel with it? + </p> + <p> + I was young, ambitious; and Love and I were at that moment the only + figures in the universe really deserving attention! I looked on down a + lane of cedars before me, seeing in imagination a long procession of + pleasant things; of—As I looked, another procession moved through + the creatures of my dreams, so that they shrank away timidly, then + utterly, and this new procession came on and on, until—I suddenly + rose, and started forward fearfully, to see—unhappy reality!—the + body of Galt Roscoe carried towards me. + </p> + <p> + Then a cold wind seemed to blow from the glacier above and killed all the + summer. A man whispered to me: “We found him at the bottom of the ravine + yonder. He’d fallen over, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + I felt his heart. “He is not dead, thank God!” I said. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” said the other, “but he’s all smashed.” They brought him in and + laid him on his bed. I sent one of the party for the doctor at Viking, and + myself set to work, with what appliances I had, to deal with the dreadful + injuries. When the doctor came, together we made him into the semblance of + a man again. His face was but slightly injured, though his head had + received severe hurts. I think that I alone saw the marks on his throat; + and I hid them. I guessed the cause, but held my peace. + </p> + <p> + I had sent round at once to James Devlin (but asked him not to come till + morning), and also to Mrs. Falchion; but I begged her not to come at all. + I might have spared her that; for, as I afterwards knew, she had no + intention of coming. She had learned of the accident on her way to Viking, + and had turned back; but only to wait and know the worst or the best. + </p> + <p> + About midnight I was left alone with Roscoe. Once, earlier in the evening, + he had recognised me and smiled faintly, but I had shaken my head, and he + had said nothing. Now, however, he was looking at me earnestly. I did not + speak. What he had to tell me was best told in his own time. + </p> + <p> + At last he said faintly: “Marmion, shall I die soon?” + </p> + <p> + I knew that frankness was best, and I replied: “I cannot tell, Roscoe. + There is a chance of your living.” + </p> + <p> + He moved his head sadly. “A very faint chance?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, a faint one, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes? ‘But’?” He looked at me as though he wished it over. + </p> + <p> + “But it rests with you whether the chance is worth anything. If you are + content to die, it is gone.” + </p> + <p> + “I am content to die,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “And there,” said I, “you are wrong and selfish. You have Ruth to live + for. Besides, if you are given the chance, you commit suicide if you do + not take it.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long pause, and then he said: “You are right; I will live if I + can, Marmion.” + </p> + <p> + “And now YOU are right.” I nodded soothingly to him, and then asked him to + talk no more; for I knew that fever would soon come on. + </p> + <p> + He lay for a moment silent, but at length whispered: “Did you know it was + not a fall I had?” He raised his chin and stretched his throat slightly, + with a kind of trembling. + </p> + <p> + “I thought it was not a fall,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + “It was Phil’s pal—Kilby.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought that.” + </p> + <p> + “How could you—think it? Did—others—think so?” he asked + anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “No, not others; I alone. They thought it accident; they could have no + ground for suspicion. But I had; and, besides, there were marks on your + throat.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing must happen to him, you understand. He had been drinking, and—and + he was justified. I wronged him in Samoa, him and Mrs. Falchion.” + </p> + <p> + I nodded and put my fingers on my lips. + </p> + <p> + Again there was silence. I sat and watched him, his eyes closed, his body + was motionless. He slept for hours so, and then he waked rather sharply, + and said half deliriously: “I could have dragged him with me, Marmion.” + </p> + <p> + “But you did not. Yes, I understand. Go to sleep again, Roscoe.” + </p> + <p> + Later on the fever came, and he moaned and moved his head about his + pillow. He could not move his body—it was too much injured. + </p> + <p> + There was a source of fear in Kilby. Would he recklessly announce what he + had done, and the cause of it? After thinking it over and over, I + concluded that he would not disclose his crimes. My conclusions were + right, as after events showed. + </p> + <p> + As for Roscoe, I feared that if he lived he must go through life maimed. + He had a private income; therefore if he determined to work no more in the + ministry, he would, at least, have the comforts of life. + </p> + <p> + Ruth Devlin came. I went to Roscoe and told him that she wished to see + him. He smiled sorrowfully and said: “To what end, Marmion? I am a + drifting wreck. It will only shock her.” I think he thought she would not + love him now if he lived—a crippled man. + </p> + <p> + “But is this noble? Is it just to her?” said I. + </p> + <p> + After a long time he answered: “You are right again, quite right. I am + selfish. When one is shaking between life and death, one thinks most of + one’s self.” + </p> + <p> + “She will help to bring you back from those places, Roscoe.” + </p> + <p> + “If I am delirious ever, do not let her come, will you, Marmion? Promise + me that.” I promised. + </p> + <p> + I went to her. She was very calm and womanly. She entered the room, went + quietly to his bedside, and, sitting down, took his hand. Her smile was + pitiful and anxious, but her words were brave. + </p> + <p> + “My dearest,” she said, “I am so sorry. But you will soon be well, so we + must be as patient and cheerful as we can.” + </p> + <p> + His eyes answered, but he did not speak. She leaned over and kissed his + cheek. Then he said: “I hope I may get well.” + </p> + <p> + “This was the shadow over you,” she ventured. “This was your presentiment + of trouble—this accident.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, this was the shadow.” + </p> + <p> + Some sharp thought seemed to move her, for her eyes grew suddenly hard, + and she stooped and whispered: “Was SHE there—when—it + happened, Galt?” + </p> + <p> + He shrank from the question, but he said immediately: “No, she was not + there.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad,” she added, “that it was only an accident.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes grew clear of their momentary hardness. There is nothing in life + like the anger of one woman against another concerning a man. + </p> + <p> + Justine Caron came to the house, pale and anxious, to inquire. Mrs. + Falchion, she said, was not going away until she knew how Mr. Roscoe’s + illness would turn. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Caron,” I said to her, “do you not think it better that she should + go?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, for him; but she grieves now.” + </p> + <p> + “For him?” + </p> + <p> + “Not alone for him,” was the reply. There was a pause, and then she + continued: “Madame told me to say to you that she did not wish Mr. Roscoe + to know that she was still here.” + </p> + <p> + I assured her that I understood, and then she added mournfully: “I cannot + help you now, monsieur, as I did on board the ‘Fulvia’. But he will be + better cared for in Miss Devlin’s hands, the poor lady!... Do you think + that he will live?” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so. I am not sure.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes went to tears; and then I tried to speak more encouragingly. + </p> + <p> + All day people came to inquire, chief among them Mr. Devlin, whose big + heart split itself in humanity and compassion. “The price of the big mill + for the guarantee of his life!” he said over and over again. “We can’t + afford to let him go.” + </p> + <p> + Although I should have been on my way back to Toronto, I determined to + stay until Roscoe was entirely out of danger. It was singular, but in this + illness, though the fever was high, he never was delirious. It would + almost seem as if, having paid his penalty, the brain was at rest. + </p> + <p> + While Roscoe hovered between life and death, Mr. Devlin, who persisted + that he would not die, was planning for a new hospital and a new church, + of which Roscoe should be president and padre respectively. But the + suspense to us all, for many days, was very great; until, one morning when + the birds were waking the cedars, and the snow on Mount Trinity was + flashing coolness down the hot valley, he waked and said to me: “Marmion, + old friend; it is morning at last.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is morning,” said I. “And you are going to live now? You are + going to be reasonable and give the earth another chance?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I believe I shall live now.” + </p> + <p> + To cheer him, I told him what Mr. Devlin intended and had planned; how + river-drivers and salmon-fishers came every day from the valley to inquire + after him. I did not tell him that there had been one or two disturbances + between the river-drivers and the salmon-fishers. I tried to let him see + that there need be no fresh change in his life. At length he interrupted + me. + </p> + <p> + “Marmion,” he said, “I understand what you mean. It would be cowardly of + me to leave here now if I were a whole man. I am true in intention, God + knows, but I must carry a crippled arm for the rest of my life, must I + not?.... and a crippled Padre is not the kind of man for this place. They + want men straight on their feet.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think,” I answered, “that they will not be able to stand the test? + You gave them—shall I say it?—a crippled mind before; you give + them a crippled body now. Well, where do you think the odds lie? I should + fancy with you as you are.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long silence in which neither of us moved. At last he turned + his face towards the window, and, not looking at me, said lingeringly: + “This is a pleasant place.” + </p> + <p> + I knew that he would remain. + </p> + <p> + I had not seen Mrs. Falchion during Roscoe’s illness; but every day + Justine came and inquired, or a messenger was sent. And when, this + fortunate day, Justine herself came, and I told her that the crisis was + past, she seemed infinitely relieved and happy. Then she said: + </p> + <p> + “Madame has been ill these three days also; but now I think she will be + better; and we shall go soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Ask her,” said I, “not to go yet for a few days. Press it as a favour to + me.” Then, on second thought, I sat down and wrote Mrs. Falchion a note, + hinting that there were grave reasons why she should stay a little longer: + things connected with her own happiness. Truth is, I had received a note + that morning which had excited me. It referred to Mrs. Falchion. For I was + an arch-plotter—or had been. + </p> + <p> + I received a note in reply which said that she would do as I wished. + Meanwhile I was anxiously awaiting the arrival of some one. + </p> + <p> + That night a letter came to Roscoe. After reading it shrinkingly he handed + it to me. It said briefly: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I’m not sorry I did it, but I’m glad I hevn’t killed you. I was + drunk and mad. If I hadn’t hurt you, I’d never hev forgive myself. + I reckon now, there’s no need to do any forgivin’ either side. + We’re square—though maybe you didn’t kill her after all. Mrs. + Falchion says you didn’t. But you hurt her. Well, I’ve hurt you. + And you will never hear no more of Phil’s pal from Danger Mountain. +</pre> + <p> + Immediately after sunset of this night, a storm swept suddenly down the + mountains, and prevented Ruth and her father from going to Viking. I left + them talking to Roscoe, he wearing such a look on his face as I like to + remember now, free from distress of mind—so much more painful than + distress of body. As I was leaving the room, I looked back and saw Ruth + sitting on a stool beside Roscoe’s chair, holding the unmaimed hand in + hers; the father’s face shining with pleasure and pride. Before I went + out, I turned again to look at them, and, as I did so, my eye fell on the + window against which the wind and rain were beating. And through the wet + there appeared a face, shocking in its paleness and misery—the face + of Mrs. Falchion. Only for an instant, and then it was gone. + </p> + <p> + I opened the door and went out upon the verandah. As I did so, there was a + flash of lightning, and in that flash a figure hurried by me. One moment, + and there was another flash; and I saw the figure in the beating rain, + making toward the precipice. + </p> + <p> + Then I heard a cry, not loud, but full of entreaty and sorrow. I moved + quickly toward it. In another white gleam I saw Justine with her arms + about the figure, holding it back from the abyss. She said with incredible + pleading: + </p> + <p> + “No, no, madame, not that! It is wicked—wicked.” + </p> + <p> + I came and stood beside them. + </p> + <p> + The figure sank upon the ground and buried a pitiful face in the wet + grass. + </p> + <p> + Justine leaned over her. + </p> + <p> + She sobbed as one whose harvest of the past is all tears. Nothing human + could comfort her yet. + </p> + <p> + I think she did not know that I was there. Justine lifted her face to me, + appealing. + </p> + <p> + I turned and stole silently away. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI. IN PORT + </h2> + <p> + That night I could not rest. It was impossible to rid myself of the + picture of Mrs. Falchion as I had seen her by the precipice in the storm. + What I had dared to hope for had come. She had been awakened; and with the + awakening had risen a new understanding of her own life and the lives of + others. The storm of wind and rain that had swept down the ravine was not + wilder than her passions when I left her with Justine in the dark night. + </p> + <p> + All had gone well where the worst might have been. Roscoe’s happiness was + saved to him. He felt that the accident to him was the penalty he paid for + the error of his past; but in the crash of penalties Mrs. Falchion, too, + was suffering; and, so far as she knew, must carry with her the remorse of + having seen, without mercy, her husband sink to a suicide’s grave. I knew + that she was paying a great price now for a mistaken past. I wished that I + might make her remorse and sorrow less. There was a way, but I was not + sure that all would be as I wished. Since a certain dreadful day on the + ‘Fulvia’, Hungerford and I had held a secret in our hands. When it seemed + that Mrs. Falchion would bring a great trouble and shame into Roscoe’s + life, I determined to use the secret. It must be used now only for Mrs. + Falchion’s good. As I said in the last chapter, I had received word that + somebody was coming whose presence must take a large place in the drama of + these events: and I hoped the best. + </p> + <p> + Until morning I lay and planned the best way to bring things to a + successful issue. The morning came—beautiful after a mad night. Soon + after I got up I received a note, brought by a boy from Viking, which gave + me a thrill of excitement. The note requested me to go to Sunburst. But + first I sent a note to Mrs. Falchion, begging her in the name of our new + friendship not to leave the mountains that day. I also asked that she + would meet me in Sunburst that evening at eight o’clock, at a place + indicated by me. I asked for a reply by the messenger I sent, and urged + her to ask no questions, but to trust me as one who only wished to do her + a great service, as I hoped her compliance would make possible. I waited + for the reply, and it bore but the one word—“Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Greatly pleased, I started down the valley. It was still early when I + reached Sunburst. I went directly to the little tavern from whence the + note had come, and remained an hour or more. The result of that hour’s + conversation with the writer of the note was memorable, as was the hour + itself. I began to hope fondly for the success of my scheme. + </p> + <p> + From the tavern I went to the village, with an elation hardly disturbed by + the fact that many of the salmon-fishers were sullen, because of foolish + depredations committed the evening before by idle river-men and mill-hands + of Viking. Had I not been so occupied with Mrs. Falchion and an event + wherein she must figure, I should have taken more seriously the mutterings + of the half-breeds, the moroseness of the Indians, and the nervous + threatenings of the white fishers: the more so because I knew that Mr. + Devlin had started early that morning for the Pacific Coast, and would not + be back for some days. + </p> + <p> + No two classes of people could be more unlike than the salmon-fishers of + Sunburst and the mill-hands and river-drivers of Viking. The life of the + river-men was exciting, hardy, and perilous; tending to boisterousness, + recklessness, daring, and wild humour: that of the salmon-fishers was + cheerful, picturesque, infrequently dangerous, mostly simple and quiet. + The river-driver chose to spend his idle hours in crude, rough + sprightliness; the salmon-fisher loved to lie upon the shore and listen to + the village story-teller,—almost official when successful,—who + played upon the credulity and imagination of his listeners. The + river-driver loved excitement for its own sake, and behind his + boisterousness there was little evil. When the salmon-fisher was roused, + his anger became desperately serious. It was not his practice to be + boisterous for the sake of boisterousness. + </p> + <p> + All this worked for a crisis. + </p> + <p> + From Sunburst I went over to Viking, and for a time watched a handful of + river-drivers upon a little island in the centre of the river, working to + loosen some logs and timber and foist them into the water, to be driven + down to the mill. I stood interested, because I had nothing to do of any + moment for a couple of hours. I asked an Indian on the bank to take his + canoe and paddle me over to the island. He did so. I do not know why I did + not go alone; but the Indian was near me, his canoe was at his hand, and I + did the thing almost mechanically. I landed on the island and watched with + great interest the men as they pried, twisted and tumbled the pile to get + at the key-log which, found and loosened, would send the heap into the + water. + </p> + <p> + I was sorry I brought the Indian with me, for though the river-drivers + stopped their wild sing-song cry for a moment to call a “How!” at me, they + presently began to toss jeering words at the Indian. They had recognised + him—I had not—as a salmon-fisher and one of the Siwash tribe + from Sunburst. He remained perfectly silent, but I could see sullenness + growing on his face. He appeared to take no notice of his scornful + entertainers, but, instead of edging away, came nearer and nearer to the + tangle of logs—came, indeed, very close to me, as I stood watching + four or five men, with the foreman close by, working at a huge timber. At + a certain moment the foreman was in a kind of hollow. Just behind him, + near to the Indian, was a great log, which, if loosened by a slight + impulse, must fall into the hollow where the foreman stood. The foreman + had his face to us; the backs of the other men were on us. Suddenly the + foreman gave a frightened cry, and I saw at the same instant the Indian’s + foot thrust out upon the big log. Before the foreman had time to get out + of the hollow, it slid down, caught him just above the ankle and broke the + leg. + </p> + <p> + I wheeled, to see the Indian in his canoe making for the shore. He was + followed by the curses of the foreman and the gang. The foreman was very + quiet, but I could see that there was danger in his eye, and the + exclamations of the men satisfied me that they were planning an + inter-municipal difficulty. + </p> + <p> + I improvised bandages, set the leg directly, and in a little while we got + to the shore on a hastily constructed raft. After seeing the foreman + safely cared for, and giving Mr. Devlin’s manager the facts of the + occurrence, more than sated with my morning’s experience, I climbed the + mountain side, and took refuge from the heat in the coolness of Roscoe’s + rooms. + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon I received a note from Mrs. Falchion, saying that on the + following day she would start for the coast; that her luggage would be + taken to Sunburst at once; and that, her engagement with me fulfilled, she + would spend a night there, not returning again to the hills. I was + preparing for my own departure, and was kept very busy until evening. Then + I went quickly down into the valley,—for I was late,—and + trudged eagerly on to Sunburst. As I neared the village I saw that there + were fewer lights—torches and fires—than usual on the river. I + noticed also that there were very few fishers on the banks or in the + river. But still the village seemed noisy, and, although it was dusk, I + could make out much stir in the one street along which the cottages and + huts ambled for nearly a mile. + </p> + <p> + All at once it came to me strongly that the friction between the two + villages had consummated in the foreman’s injury, and was here coming to a + painful crisis. My suspicions had good grounds. As I hurried on I saw that + the lights usually set on the banks of the river were scattered through + the town. Bonfires were being lighted, and torches were flaring in front + of the Indian huts. Coming closer, I saw excited groups of Indians, + half-breeds, and white men moving here and there; and then, all at once, + there came a cry—a kind of roar—from farther up the village, + and the men gathered themselves together, seizing guns, sticks, irons, and + other weapons, and ran up the street. I understood. I was moderately swift + of foot those days. I came quickly after them, and passed them. As I did + so I inquired of one or two fishers what was the trouble. + </p> + <p> + They told me, as I had guessed, that they expected an attack on the + village by the mill-hands and river-drivers of Viking. + </p> + <p> + The situation was critical. I could foresee a catastrophe which would for + ever unsettle the two towns, and give the valley an unenviable reputation. + I was certain that, if Roscoe or Mr. Devlin were present, a prohibitive + influence could be brought to bear; that some one of strong will could + stand, as it were, in the gap between them, and prevent a pitched battle, + and, possibly, bloodshed. I was sure that at Viking the river-drivers had + laid their plans so secretly that the news of them would scarcely reach + the ears of the manager of the mill, and that, therefore, his influence, + as Mr. Devlin’s, would not be available. + </p> + <p> + Remained only myself—as I first thought. I was unknown to a great + number of the men of both villages, and familiar with but very few—chiefly + those with whom I had a gossiping acquaintance. Yet, somehow, I felt that + if I could but get a half-dozen men to take a firm stand with me, I might + hold the rioters in check. + </p> + <p> + As I ran by the side of the excitable fishers, I urged upon one or two of + them the wisdom and duty of preventing a conflict. Their reply was—and + it was very convincing—that they were not forcing a struggle, but + were being attacked, and in the case would fight. My hasty persuasion + produced but little result. But I kept thinking hard. Suddenly it came to + me that I could place my hand upon a man whose instincts in the matter + would be the same as mine; who had authority; knew the world; had been in + dangerous positions in his lifetime; and owed me something. I was sure + that I could depend upon him: the more so that once frail of body he had + developed into a strong, well-controlled man. + </p> + <p> + Even as I thought of him, I was within a few rods of the house where he + was. I looked, and saw him standing in the doorway. I ran and called to + him. He instantly joined me, and we ran on together: the fishermen + shouting loudly as they watched the river-drivers come armed down the + hill-slope into the village. + </p> + <p> + I hastily explained the situation to my friend, and told him what we must + do. A word or two assured me of all I wished to know. We reached the scene + of the disorder. The fishermen were bunched together, the river on the one + side, the houses and hills on the other. The river-drivers had halted not + many yards away, cool, determined and quiet, save for a little muttering. + In their red shirts, top boots, many of them with long black hair and + brass earrings, they looked a most formidable crowd. They had evidently + taken the matter seriously, and were come with the intention of carrying + their point, whatever it might be. Just as we reached the space between + the two parties, the massive leader of the river-drivers stepped forward, + and in a rough but collected voice said that they had come determined to + fight, if fighting were necessary, but that they knew what the end of the + conflict would be, and they did not wish to obliterate Sunburst entirely + if Sunburst accepted the conditions of peace. + </p> + <p> + There seemed no leader to the fishermen. + </p> + <p> + My friend said to me quickly: “You speak first.” Instantly I stepped + forward and demanded to know what the terms of peace were. As soon as I + did so, there were harsh mutterings among the river-drivers. I explained + at once, waving back some of the fisher-men who were clamouring about me, + that I had nothing whatever to do with the quarrel; that I happened to be + where I was by accident, as I had happened by accident to see the + difficulty of the morning. But I said that it was the duty of every man + who was a good citizen and respected the laws of his country, to see, in + so far as it was possible, that there should be no breach of those laws. I + spoke in a clear strong voice, and I think I produced some effect upon + both parties to the quarrel. The reply of the leader was almost immediate. + He said that all they demanded was the Indian who had so treacherously + injured the foreman of their gangs. I saw the position at once, and was + dumfounded. For a moment I did not speak. + </p> + <p> + I was not prepared for the scene that immediately followed. Some one broke + through the crowd at my back, rushed past me, and stood between the two + forces. It was the Indian who had injured the foreman. He was naked to the + waist, and painted and feathered after the manner of his tribe going to + battle. There was a wild light in his eye, but he had no weapon. He folded + his arms across his breast, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, you want me. Here I am. I will fight with any man all alone, + without a gun or arrow or anything. I will fight with my arms—to + kill.” + </p> + <p> + I saw revolvers raised at him instantly, but at that the man, my friend, + who stood beside me, sprang in front of the Indian. + </p> + <p> + “Stop—stop!” he cried. “In the name of the law! I am a sergeant of + the mounted police of Canada. My jurisdiction extends from Winnipeg to + Vancouver. You cannot have this man except over my body: and for my body + every one of you will pay with your lives; for every blow struck this + night, there will be a hundred blows struck upon the river-drivers and + mill-hands of this valley. Take care! Behind me is the law of the land—her + police and her soldiery.” + </p> + <p> + He paused. There was almost complete silence. He continued: + </p> + <p> + “This man is my prisoner; I arrest him.”—He put his hand upon the + Indian’s shoulder.—“For the crime he committed this morning he shall + pay: but to the law, not to you. Put up your revolvers, men. Go back to + Viking. Don’t risk your lives; don’t break the law and make yourselves + criminals and outlaws. Is it worth it? Be men. You have been the + aggressors. There isn’t one of you but feels that justice which is the + boast of every man of the West. You wanted to avenge the crime of this + morning. But the vengeance is the law’s.—Stand back—Stand + back!” he said, and drew his revolver, as the leader of the river-drivers + stepped forward. “I will kill the first man that tries to lay his hand + upon my prisoner. Don’t be mad. I am not one man, I am a whole country.” + </p> + <p> + I shall never forget the thrill that passed through me as I saw a man who, + but a handful of months before, was neck deep in his grave, now blossomed + out into a strong, defiant soldier. + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. At last the leader of the river-drivers spoke. “See,” + he said, “Sergeant, I guess you’re right. You’re a man, so help me! Say, + boys,” he continued, turning to his followers, “let him have the Injin. I + guess he’s earned him.” + </p> + <p> + So saying he wheeled, the men with him, and they tramped up the slope + again on their way back to Viking. The man who had achieved this turned + upon the fishers. + </p> + <p> + “Back to your homes!” he said. “Be thankful that blood was not shed here + to-night, and let this be a lesson to you. Now, go.” + </p> + <p> + The crowd turned, slowly shambled down the riverside, and left us three + standing there. + </p> + <p> + But not alone. Out of the shadow of one of the houses came two women. They + stepped forward into the light of the bonfire burning near us. One of the + women was very pale. + </p> + <p> + It was Mrs. Falchion. + </p> + <p> + I touched the arm of the man standing beside me. He wheeled and saw her + also. A cry broke from his lips, but he stood still. A whole life-time of + sorrow, trouble, and love looked out of his eyes. Mrs. Falchion came + nearer. Clasping her hands upon her breast, she peered up into his face, + and gasped: + </p> + <p> + “Oh—oh—I thought that you were drowned—and dead! I saw + you buried in the sea. No—no—it cannot be you! I have heard + and seen all within these past few minutes. YOU are so strong and brave, + so great a man!... Oh, tell me, tell me, are you in truth my husband?” + </p> + <p> + He spoke. + </p> + <p> + “I was your husband, Mercy Falchion. I was drowned, but this man”—he + turned and touched my shoulder—“this man brought me back to life. I + wanted to be dead to the world. I begged him to keep my secret. A sailor’s + corpse was buried in my shroud, and I lived. At Aden I stole from the boat + in the night. I came to America—to Canada—to begin a new life + under a new name, never to see you again.... Do not, do not speak to me—unless + I am not to lose you again; unless I am to know that now you forgive me—that + you forgive me—and wish me to live—my wife!” + </p> + <p> + She put both her hands out, a strange, sorrowful look in her eyes, and + said: “I have sinned—I have sinned.” + </p> + <p> + He took her hands in his. + </p> + <p> + “I know,” he said, “that you do not love me yet; but you may some day.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said, “I do not love you; but.... I am glad you live. Let us—go + home.” + </p> + <p> + THE END. <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ETEXT EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS: + + A heart-break for that kind is their salvation + A man may be forgiven for a sin, but the effect remains + A man you could bank on, and draw your interest reg’lar + Aboriginal dispersion + All he has to do is to be vague, and look prodigious (Scientist) + And even envy praised her + Audience that patronisingly listens outside a room or window + But to pay the vulgar penalty of prison—ah! + Death is a magnificent ally; it untangles knots + Death is not the worst of evils + Engrossed more, it seemed, in the malady than in the man + Every true woman is a mother, though she have no child + Fear a woman are when she hates, and when she loves + For a man having work to do, woman, lovely woman, is rocks + He didn’t always side with the majority + He had neither self-consciousness nor fear + Her own suffering always set her laughing at herself + It is difficult to be idle—and important too + It is hard to be polite to cowards + Jews everywhere treated worse than the Chinaman + Learned what fools we mortals be + Love can outlive slander + Men do not steal up here: that is the unpardonable crime + One always buys back the past at a tremendous price + One doesn’t choose to worry + Saying uncomfortable things in a deferential way + She had provoked love, but had never given it + Slow-footed hours wandered by, leaving apathy in their train + “Still the end of your existence,” I rejoined—“to be amused?” + That anxious civility which beauty can inspire + The happy scene of the play before the villain comes in + The ravings of a sick man are not always counted ravings + The sea is a great breeder of friendship + The tender care of a woman—than many pharmacopoeias + The threshold of an acknowledged love + There are things we repent of which cannot be repaired + There is no refuge from memory and remorse in this world + Think that a woman gives the heart for pleasant weather only? + Thou wouldst not think how ill all’s here about my heart + Time a woman most yearns for a man is when she has refused him + Vanity; and from this much feminine hatred springs + Very severe on those who do not pretend to be good + What is gone is gone Graves are idolatry + Who get a morbid enjoyment out of misery + Would look back and not remember that she had a childhood +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s Mrs. Falchion, Complete, by Gilbert Parker + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. FALCHION, COMPLETE *** + +***** This file should be named 6194-h.htm or 6194-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/6/1/9/6194/ + +Produced by David Widger and Andrew Sly + + +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. 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