diff options
| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-01-22 21:18:07 -0800 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-01-22 21:18:07 -0800 |
| commit | 7f5f79c4c918dd3c79ccfb7a96db1a6f2a26ffa5 (patch) | |
| tree | 868806f7353e295c9e1db56964b49909a77c445f | |
| parent | bf1e82525a70228c33c29c8544e3eb654ce3ad3b (diff) | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 4 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/65799-0.txt | 11825 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/65799-0.zip | bin | 247311 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/65799-h.zip | bin | 252418 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/65799-h/65799-h.htm | 15301 |
7 files changed, 17 insertions, 27126 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c9b71de --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65799 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65799) diff --git a/old/65799-0.txt b/old/65799-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 62cc767..0000000 --- a/old/65799-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11825 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Lady Athlyne, by Bram Stoker - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Lady Athlyne - -Author: Bram Stoker - -Release Date: July 8, 2021 [eBook #65799] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer. - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LADY ATHLYNE *** - - - - - LADY ATHLYNE - - BY - BRAM STOKER - - - - PAUL R. REYNOLDS - NEW YORK - - - - - COPYRIGHT. - - Copyright, 1908, by - BRAM STOKER - - - - -CONTENTS. - - I. On the “Cryptic” - II. In Italy - III. De Hooge’s Spruit - IV. The Bird-cage - V. An Adventure - VI. True Heart’s Content - VII. A Discussion - VIII. “Look at Me!” - IX. The Car of Destiny - X. A Letter - XI. The Beautiful Twilight - XII. Echo of a Tragedy - XIII. Instinctive Planning - XIV. A Banquet on Olympus - XV. “Stop!” - XVI. A Painful Journey - XVII. The Sheriff - XVIII. Pursuit - XIX. Declaration of War - XX. Knowledge of Law - XXI. Application of Law - XXII. The Hatchet Buried - XXIII. A Harmony in Gray - - - - - LADY ATHLYNE - - CHAPTER I. - ON THE “CRYPTIC” - -On the forenoon of a day in February, 1899, the White Star S. S. -_Cryptic_ forced her way from Pier No. 48 out into the Hudson River -through a mass of floating ice, which made a moving carpet over the -whole river from Poughkeepsie to Sandy Hook. It was little wonder that -the hearts of the outwardbound passengers were cheered with hope; -outside on the wide ocean there must be somewhere clear skies and blue -water, and perchance here and there a slant of sunshine. Come what -might, however, it must be better than what they were leaving behind -them in New York. For three whole weeks the great city had been -beleaguered by cold; held besieged in the icy grip of a blizzard -which, moving from northwest to south, had begun on the last day of -January to devastate the central North American States. In one place, -Breckenridge in Colorado, there fell in five days--and this on the top -of an accumulation of six feet of snow--an additional forty-five -inches. In the track swept by the cold wave, a thousand miles wide, -record low temperatures were effected, ranging from 15° below zero in -Indiana to 54° below at White River on the northern shore of Lake -Superior. - -In New York city the temperature had sunk to 6.2° below zero, the -lowest ever recorded, and an extraordinary temperature for a city -almost entirely surrounded by tidal currents. The city itself was in a -helpless condition, paralyzed and impotent. The snow fell so fast that -even the great snow-ploughs driven by the electric current on the tram -lines could not keep the avenues clear. And the cold was so great that -the street-clearing operations--in which eight thousand men with four -thousand carts dumping some fifty thousand tons of snow daily into the -river were concerned--had to be suspended. Neither men nor horses -could endure the work. The “dead boat” which takes periodically the -city’s unclaimed corpses to Potter’s Field on Hart’s Island was twice -beaten back and nearly wrecked; it carried on the later voyage 161 -corpses. Before its ghastly traffic could be resumed there were in the -city mortuaries over a thousand bodies waiting sepulture. The -“Scientific editor” of one of the great New York dailies computed that -the blanket of snow which lay on the twenty-two square miles of -Manhattan Island would form a solid wall a thousand feet high up the -whole sixty feet width of Broadway in the two and a half miles between -the Battery and Union Square, weighing some two and a half million -tons. Needless to say the streets were almost impassable. In the chief -thoroughfares were narrow passages heaped high with piled-up snow now -nearly compact to ice. In places where the falling snow had drifted it -reached to the level of, and sometimes above, the first floor windows. - -As the _Cryptic_ forced her way through the rustling masses of -drifting ice the little company of passengers stood on deck watching -at first the ferry-boats pounding and hammering their strenuous way -into the docks formed by the floating guards or screens by whose aid -they shouldered themselves to their landing stages; and later on, when -the great ship following the wide circle of the steering buoys, opened -up the entrance of Sandy Hook, the great circle around them of Arctic -desolation. Away beyond the sweep of the river and ocean currents the -sea was frozen and shimmering with a carpet of pure snow, whose -luminous dreariness not even the pall of faint chill mist could -subdue. Here and there, to north and south, were many vessels frozen -in, spar and rope being roughly outlined with clinging snow. The hills -of Long Island and Staten Island and the distant ranges of New Jersey -stood out white and stark into the sky of steel. - -All was grimly, deadly silent so that the throb of the engines, the -rustle and clatter of the drifting ice-pack, as the great vessel, -getting faster way as the current became more open, or the hard -scrunch as she cut through some solid floating ice-field, sounded like -something unnatural--some sound of the living amid a world of the -dead. - -When the Narrows had been reached and passed and the flag of smoke -from the great chimney of the Standard Oil Refining Works lay far -behind on the starboard quarter; when Fire Island was dropping down on -the western horizon, all became changed as though the wand of some -beneficent fairy had obliterated all that was ugly or noxious in its -beneficent sweep. Sky and wave were blue; the sun beamed out; and the -white-breasted gulls sweeping above and around the ship seemed like -the spirit of nature freed from the thrall of the Ice Queen. - -Naturally the spirits of the travellers rose. They too found their -wings free; and the hum and clash of happy noises arose. Unconsciously -there was a general unbending each to the other. All the stiffness -which is apt to characterize a newly gathered company of travellers -seemed to melt in the welcome sunshine; within an hour there was -established an easiness of acquaintanceship generally to be found only -towards the close of a voyage. The happiness coming with the sunshine -and the open water, and the relief from the appalling gloom of the -blizzard, had made the freed captives into friends. - -At such moments like gravitates to like. The young to young; the grave -to the grave; the pleasure-lovers to their kind; free sex to its free -opposite. On the _Cryptic_ the complement of passengers was so small -that the choice of kinds was limited. In all there were only some -thirty passengers. None but adventurous spirits, or those under stress -of need, challenged a possible recurrence of Atlantic dangers which -had marked the beginning of the month, when ship after ship of the -giant liners arrived in port maimed and battered and listed with the -weight of snow and frozen spray and fog which they carried. - -Naturally the ladies were greatly in the minority. After all, travel -is as a rule, men’s work; and this was no time for pleasure trips. The -dominant feeling on board on this subject was voiced in a phrase used -in the Chart room where the Captain was genially pointing out the -course to a tall, proud old man. The latter, with an uneasy gesture of -stroking his long white moustache, which seemed to be a custom or -habit at certain moments of emotion, said: - -“And I quite agree with you, seh; I don’t mind men travelling in any -weather. That’s man’s share. But why in hell, seh, women want to go -gallivantin’ round the world in weather that would make any -respectable dog want to lie quiet by the fireside, I don’t know. Women -should learn----” He was interrupted by a tall young girl who burst -into the room without waiting for a reply to her breathless: “May I -come in?” - -“I saw you go in, Daddy, and I wanted to see the maps too; so I raced -for all I was worth. And now I find I’ve come just in time to get -another lesson about what women ought to do!” As she spoke she linked -her arm in her father’s with a fearlessness and security which showed -that none of the natural sternness which was proclaimed in the old -man’s clear-cut face was specially reserved for her. She squeezed his -arm in a loving way and looked up in his face saucily--the way of an -affectionate young girl towards a father whom she loves and trusts. -The old man pulled his arm away and put it round her shoulder. With a -shrug which might if seen alone have denoted constraint, but with a -look in the dark eyes and a glad tone in the strong voice which -nullified it absolutely, he said to the Captain: - -“Here comes my tyrant, Captain. Now I must behave myself.” - -The girl standing close to him went on in the same loving -half-bantering way: - -“Go on, Daddy! Tell us what women should learn!” - -“They should learn, Miss Impudence, to respect their fathers!” Though -he spoke lightly in a tone of banter and with a light of affection -beaming in his eyes, the girl grew suddenly grave, and murmured -quickly: - -“That is not to be learned, Father. That is born with one, when the -father is like mine!” Then turning to the Captain she went on: - -“Did you ever hear of the Irishman who said: There’s some subjects too -sarious for jestin’; an’ pitaties is wan iv them? I can’t sauce my -father, or chaff him, or be impudent--though I believe he _likes_ me -to be impudent--to him, when he talks of respect. He has killed men -before now for want of that. But he won’t kill me. He knows that my -respect for him is as big as my love--and there isn’t room for any -more of either of them in me. Don’t you Daddy?” - -For answer the old man drew her closer to him; but he said nothing. -Really there was no need for speech. The spirits and emotions of both -were somewhat high strung in the sudden change to brightness from the -gloom that had prevailed for weeks. At such times even the most staid -are apt to be suddenly moved. - -A diversion came from the Captain, a grave, formal man as indeed -becomes one who has with him almost perpetually the responsibility of -many hundreds of lives: - -“Did I understand rightly, Colonel Ogilvie that you have _killed_ men -for such a cause?” The old gentleman lifted his shaggy white eyebrows -in faint surprise, and answered slowly and with an easiness which only -half hid an ineffable disdain: - -“Why, cert’nly!” The simple acceptance of the truth left the Captain -flabbergasted. He grew red and was beginning: “I thought”--when the -girl who considered it possible that a quick quarrel might arise -between the two strong men, interrupted: - -“Perhaps Captain, you don’t understand our part of the world. In -Kentucky we still hold with the old laws of Honour which we sometimes -hear are dead--or at any rate back numbers--in other countries. My -father has fought duels all his life. The Ogilvies have been fighters -way back to the time of the settlement by Lord Baltimore. My Cousin -Dick tells me--for father never talks of them unless he has to--that -they never forced quarrels for their own ends; though I must say that -they are pretty touchy”--She was in turn interrupted by her father who -said quickly: - -“‘Touchy’ is the word, my girl, though I fear you use it too lightly. -A man _should_ be touchy where honour is concerned. For Honour is the -first thing in all the world. What men should live for; what men -should die for! To a gentleman there is nothing so holy. And if he -can’t fight for such a sacred thing, he does not deserve to have it. -He does not know what it means.” - -Through the pause came the grave voice of the Captain, a valiant man -who on state occasions wore on his right breast in accordance with the -etiquette of the occasion the large gold medal of the Royal Humane -Society: - -“There are many things that men should fight for--and die for if need -be. But I am bound to say that I don’t hold that the chiefest among -them is a personal grievance; even if it be on the subject of the -measure of one’s own self-respect.” Noticing the coming frown on the -Kentuckian’s face, he went on a thought more quickly: “But, though I -don’t hold with duelling, Colonel Ogilvie, for any cause, I am bound -to say that if a man thinks and believes that it is right to fight, -then it becomes a duty which he should fulfil!” - -For answer the Colonel held out his hand which the other took warmly. -That handshake cemented a friendship of two strong men who understood -each other well enough to tolerate the other’s limitations. - -“And I can tell you this, seh,” said Colonel Ogilvie, “there are some -men who want killing--want it badly!” - -The girl glowed. She loved to see her father strong and triumphant; -and when toleration was added to his other fine qualities, there was -an added measure in her pride of him. - -There came a tap on the panelling and the doorway was darkened by the -figure of a buxom pleasant-faced woman, who spoke in a strong Irish -accent: - -“I big yer pardon, Miss Ogilvie, but yer Awnt is yellin’ out for ye. -She’s thinkin’ that now the wather’s deep the ship is bound to go down -in it; an’ she sez she wants ye to be wid her whin the ind comes, as -she’s afeard to die alone!” - -“That’s very thoughtful of her! Judy was always an unselfish -creature!” said the Colonel with an easy sarcasm. “Run along to her -anyhow, little girl. That’s the sort of fighting a woman has to do. -And” turning to the Captain “by Ged, seh! she’s got plenty of that -sort of fighting between her cradle and her grave!” As she went out of -the door girl said over her shoulder: - -“That reminds me, daddy. Don’t go on with that lecture of yours of -what women should learn until I come back. Remember I’m only ‘a child -emerging into womanhood’--that’s what you wrote to mother when you -wouldn’t let me travel to her alone. Some one might kill me I suppose, -or steal me between this and Ischia. So it is well I should be -forewarned, and so forearmed, at all points!” - -The Captain looked after her admiringly; then turning to Colonel -Ogilvie he said almost unconsciously--he had daughters of his own: - -“I shouldn’t be surprised if a lot want to steal her, Colonel. And I -don’t know but they’d be right!” - -“I agree with you, by Ged, seh!” said the Colonel reflectively, as he -looked after his daughter pacing with free strides along the deck with -the stout little stewardess over whom she towered by a full head. - -Miss Ogilvie found her aunt, Miss Judith Hayes, in her bunk. From the -clothes hung round and laid, neatly folded, on the upper berth it was -apparent that she had undressed as for the night. When the young girl -realised this she said impulsively: - -“Oh, Aunt Judy, I hope you are not ill. Do come up on deck. The sun is -shining and it is such a change from the awful weather in New York. Do -come, dear; it will do you good.” - -“I am not ill Joy--in the way you mean. Indeed I was never in better -physical health in my life.” She said this with grave primness. The -girl laughed outright: - -“Why on earth Aunt Judy, if you’re well, do you go to bed at ten -o’clock in the morning?” Miss Hayes was not angry; there was a -momentary gleam in her eye as she said with a manifestedly exaggerated -dignity: - -“You forget my dear, that I am an old maid!” - -“What has old-maidenhood to do with it? But anyhow you are not an old -maid. You are only forty!” - -“Not forty, Joy! _Only_ forty, indeed! My dear child when that unhappy -period comes a single lady is put on the shelf--out of reach of all -masculine humanity. For my part I have made up my mind to climb up -there, of my own accord, before the virginal undertakers come for me. -I am in for it anyhow; and I want to play the game as well as I can.” - -Joy bent down and kissed her affectionately. Then taking her face -between her strong young hands, and looking steadily in her eyes, she -said: - -“Aunt Judy you are not an old anything. You are a deal younger than I -am. You mustn’t get such ideas into your head. And even if you do you -mustn’t speak them. People would begin to believe you. What is forty -anyhow!” The other answered sententiously: - -“What is forty? Not old for a wife! Young for a widow! Death for a -maid!” - -“Really Aunt Judy” said the girl smiling “one would think you wish to -be an old maid. Even I know better than that--and Father thinks I am -younger and more ignorant than the yellow chick that has just pecked -its way out of the shell. The woman has not yet been born--nor ever -will be--who wants to be an old maid.” - -Judith Hayes raised herself on one elbow and said calmly: - -“Or a young one, my dear!” Then as if pleased with her epigram she -sank back on her pillow with a smile. Joy paused; she did not know -what to say. A diversion came from the stewardess who had all the time -stood in the doorway waiting for some sort of instructions: - -“Bedad, Miss Hayes, it’s to Ireland ye ought to come. A lovely young -lady like yerself--for all yer jabber about an ould maid iv -forty--wouldn’t be let get beyant Queenstown, let alone the Mall in -Cork. Bedad if ye was in Athlone its the shillelaghs that would be out -an’ the byes all fightin’ for who’d get the hould on to ye first. -Whisper me now, is it coddin’ us ye be doin’ or what?” Joy turned -round to her, her face all dimpled with laughter, and said: - -“That’s the way to talk to her Mrs. O’Brien. You just take her in -hand; and when we get to Queenstown find some nice big Irishman to -carry her off.” - -“Bedad I will! An sorra the shtruggle she’d make agin it anyhow I’m -thinkin’!” Aunt Judy laughed: - -“Joy” she said “you’d better be careful yourself or maybe she’d put on -some of her bachelor press-gang to abduct you.” - -“Don’t you be onaisy about that ma’am,” said Mrs. O’Brien quietly. -“I’ve fixed that already! When I seen Miss Joy come down the companion -shtairs I sez to meself: ‘There’s only wan man in Ireland--an that’s -in all the wurrld--that’s good enough for you, me darlin’. An he’ll -have you for sure or I’m a gandher!’” - -“Indeed!” said Joy, blushing in spite of herself. “And may I be -permitted to know my ultimate destination in the way of matrimony? You -won’t think me inquisitive or presuming I trust.” Her eyes were -dancing with the fun of the thing. Mrs. O’Brien laughed heartily; a -round, cheery, honest laugh which was infectious: - -“Wid all the plisure in life Miss. Shure there’s only the wan, an him -the finest and beautifullest young man ye iver laid yer pritty eyes -on. An him an Earrl, more betoken; wid more miles iv land iv his own -then there does be pitaties in me ould father’s houldin! Musha, he’s -the only wan that’s at all fit to take yer swate self in his charrge!” - -“H’m! Quite condescending of him I am sure. And now what may be his -sponsorial and patronymic appellatives?” Mrs. O’Brien at once became -grave. To an uneducated person, and more especially an Irish person, -an unknown phrase is full of mystery. It makes the listener feel small -and disconcerted, touching the personal pride which is so marked a -characteristic of all degrees of the Irish race. Joy, with the quick -understanding which was not the least of her endowments, saw that she -had made a mistake and hastened to set matters right before the -chagrin had time to bite deep: - -“Forgive me, but that was _my_ fun. What I meant to ask are the name -and title of my destined Lord and Master?” The stewardess answered -heartily, the ruffle of her face softening into an amiable smile: - -“Amn’t I tellin’ ye miss. Shure there is only the wan!” - -“And who may he be?” - -“Faix he may be anything. It’s a King or a Kazer or an Imperor or a -Czaar he’d be if I had the ordherin’ iv it. But what he is is the -Right Honourable the Earl av Athlyne. Lord Liftinant av the County iv -Roscommon--an’ a jool!” - -“Oh, an Irishman!” said Miss Judy. Mrs. O’Brien snorted; her national -pride was hurt: - -“An Irishman! God be thanked he is. But me Lady, av it’ll plaze ye -betther he’s an Englishman too, an’ a Welshman an’ a Scotchman as -well! Oh, th’ injustice t’ Ireland. Him borrn in Roscommon, an yit a -Scotchman they call him bekase his biggest title is Irish!” - -“Mrs. O’Brien, that’s all nonsense,” said Miss Judy tartly. “We may be -Americans; but we’re not to be played for suckers for all that! How -can a Scotchman have an Irish title?” - -“That’s all very well, Miss Hayes, yous Americans is very cliver; but -yez don’t know everything. An’ I may be an ignorant ould fool; but I’m -not so ignorant as ye think, ayther. Wasn’t there a Scotchman thit was -marrid on the granddaughther iv Quane Victory hersilf--An Errll begob, -what owned the size iv a counthry in Scotland. An him all the time wid -an Irish Errldom, till they turned him into a Sassenach be makin’ him -a Juke. Begorra! isn’t it proud th’ ould Laady should ha’ been to git -an Irishman iv any kind for the young girrl! Shure an isn’t Athlyne as -good as Fife any day. Hasn’t he castles an’ estates in Scotland an’ -England an Wales, as well as in Ireland. Isn’t he an ould Bar’n iv -some kind in Scotland an him but a young man! Begob! av it’s Ireland -y’ objict to ye can take him as Scotch--where they say he belongs an’ -where he chose to live whin he became a grown man, before he wint into -th’ Army!” - -Somehow or other the announcement and even the grandiose manner of its -making gave pleasure to Joy. After all, the compliment of the -stewardess was an earnest one. She had chosen for her the best that -she knew. What more could she do? With a sudden smile she made a -sweeping curtsey, the English Presentation curtsey which all American -girls are taught, and said: - -“Let me convey to you the sincere thanks of the Countess of Athlyne! -Aunt Judy do you feel proud of having a Peeress for a niece? Any time -you wish to be presented you can call on the services of Lady -Athlyne.” She suddenly straightened herself to her full height as Mrs. -O’Brien spoke with a sort of victorious howl: - -“Hurroo! Now ye’ve done it. Ye’ve said the wurrds yerself; an’ we all -know what that manes!” - -“What does it mean?” Joy spoke somewhat sharply, her face all aflame. -It appeared that she had committed some unmaidenly indiscretion. - -“It manes that it manes the same as if ye said ‘yis!’ to me gentleman -when persooin’ iv his shute. It’s for all the wurrld the same as bein’ -marrid on to him!” - -In spite of the ridiculousness of the statement Joy thrilled inwardly. -Unconsciously she accepted the position of peeress thus thrust upon -her. - -After all, the Unknown has its own charms for the human heart. Those -old Athenians who built the altars “To the Unknown God,” did but put -into classic phrase the aspirations of a people by units as well as in -mass. Mrs. O’Brien’s enthusiastic admiration laid seeds of some kind -in the young girl’s heart. - -Her instinct was, however, not to talk of it; and as a protective -measure she changed the conversation: - -“But you haven’t told me yet, Aunt Judy, why you went to bed in the -morning because you pretend to be an old maid.” The Irishwoman here -struck in: - -“I’m failin’ to comprehind that meself too. If ye was a young wife now -I could consave it, maybe. Or an ould widda-woman like meself that -does have to be gettin’ up in the night to kape company wid young -weemin that doesn’t like to die, alone …” she burst into hearty -laughter in which Miss Judith Hayes joined. Joy took advantage of the -general hilarity to try to persuade her aunt to come on deck. She -finished her argument: - -“And the Captain is such a nice man. He’s just a wee bit too grave. I -think he must be a widower.” Aunt Judy made no immediate reply; but -after some more conversation she said to the stewardess: - -“I think I will get up Mrs. O’Brien. Perhaps a chair on deck in the -sunshine will be better for me than staying down here. And, after all, -if I have to die it will be better to die in the open than in a bed -the size of a coffin!” - -When Joy rejoined her father in the Chart-room she said to the -Captain: - -“That stewardess of yours is a dear!” He warmly acquiesced: - -“She is really a most capable person; and all the ladies whom she -attends grow to be quite fond of her. She is always kind and cheery -and hearty and makes them forget that they are ill or afraid. When I -took command of the _Cryptic_ I asked the company to let her come with -me.” - -“And quite right too, Captain. That brogue of hers is quite -wonderful!” - -“It is indeed. But, my dear young lady, its very perfection makes me -doubt it. It is so thick and strong and ready, and the way she twists -words into its strength and makes new ones to suit it give me an idea -at times that it is partly put on. I sometimes think it is impossible -that any one can be so absolutely and imperatively Irish as she is. -However, it serves her in good stead; she can say, without offence, -whatever she chooses in her own way to any one. She is a really clever -woman and a kind one; and I have the greatest respect for her.” - -When Aunt Judy was left alone with the stewardess, she asked: - -“Who is Lord Athlyne?--What kind of man is he? Where does he live?” - -“Where does he live?--Why everywhere! In Athlyne for one, but a lot iv -other places as well. He was brought up at the Castle where the ould -Earrl always lived afther he lift Parlimint; and whin he was a boy he -was the wildest young dare-devil iver ye seen. Faix, the County -Roscommon itself wasn’t big enough for him. When he was a young man he -wint away shootin’ lions and tigers and elephants and crockodiles and -such like. Thin he wint into th’ army an began to settle down. He has -a whole lot av different houses, and he goes to them all be times. He -says that no man has a right to be an intire absentee landlord--even -when he’s livin’ in his own house!” - -“But what sort of man is he personally?” she asked persistently. The -Irishwoman’s answer was direct and comprehensive: - -“The bist!” - -“How do you know that?” - -“An’ how do I know it! Amn’t I a Roscommon woman, borrn, an’ wan av -the tinants? Wouldn’t that be enough? But that’s only the beginnin’. -Shure wasn’t I his fosther-mother, God bless him! Wasn’t he like me -own child when I tuk him to me breast whin his poor mother died the -day he was borrn. Ah, Miss Hayes there’s nothin’ ye don’t know about -the child ye have given suck to. More, betoken, than if he was yer own -child; for he might be thinkin’ too much of _him_ an puttin’ the bist -consthruction on ivery little thing he iver done, just because he was -yer own. Troth I didn’t want any tellin’ about Athlyne. The sweetest -wean that iver a woman nursed; the tindherest hearted, wid the wee -little hands upon me face an his rosebud av a mouth puttin’ up to me -for a kiss! An’ yit the pride av him; more’n a King on his throne. An’ -th’ indepindince! Him wantin’ to walk an’ run before he was able to -shtand. An’ ordherin’ about the pig an’ the gandher, let alone the -dog. Shure the masterfullest man-child that iver was, and the -masterfullest man that is. Sorra wan like him in the whole wide -wurrld!” - -“You seem to love him very much,” said Miss Hayes with grave approval. - -“In coorse I do! An’ isn’t it me own boy that was his fosther brother -that loves him too. Whin the Lard wint out to fight the Boors, Mick -wint wid him as his own body man until he was invalided home wid a bad -knee; an’ him a coachman now an’ doin’ nothin’ but take his wages; And -whin he kem to Liverpool to say good-bye when the _Cryptic_ should -come in I tould him to take care of his Masther. ‘Av ye don’t,’ sez I, -‘ye’re no son iv mine, nor iv yer poor dear father, rest his sowl! -Kape betune him an’ any bullet that’s comin’ his way’ I sez. An’ wid -that he laughed out loud in me face. ‘That’s good, mother,’ sez he, -‘an iv coorse I’d be proud to; but I’d like to set eyes on the man -that’d dar to come betune Athlyne an’ a bullet, or to prevint him -cuttin’ slices from aff iv the Boors wid his big cav-a-lary soord,’ he -sez. ‘Begob,’ he sez, ‘t’would be worse nor fightin’ the Boors -themselves to intherfere wid him whin he’s set on his way!’” - -“That’s loyal stock! He’s a Man, that son of yours!” said Miss Judy -enthusiastically, forgetting her semi-cynical rôle of old maid in the -ardour of the moment. The stewardess seeing that she had a good -listener went on: - -“And ’tis the thoughtful man he is. He niver writes to me, bekase he -knows well I can’t read. But he sends me five pounds every Christmas. -On me birthday he gev me this, Lord love him!” She took a gold watch -from her bosom and showed it with pride. - -When she was dressed, Miss Hayes looked into the Library; and finding -it empty took down the “de Brett,” well thumbed by American use. Here -is what she saw on looking up “Athlyne.” - - -ATHLYNE EARL OF FITZGERALD - -Calinus Patrick Richard Westerna Hardy Mowbray FitzGerald 2nd Earl of -Athlyne (in the Peerage of the United Kingdom). 2nd Viscount Roscommon -(in the Peerage of Ireland). 30th Baron Ceann-da-Shail (in the Peerage -of Scotland). b. 6 June 1875 s. 1886 ed. Eton and University of -Dublin; is D. L. for Counties of Ross and Roscommon: J. P. for -Counties of Wilts, Ross and Roscommon. - -_Patron of three livings_:--Raphoon, New Sands, and Politore. - -_Seats_. Ceann-da-Shail Castle and Castle of Elandonan in Ross-shire, -Athlyne Castle C. Roscommon. Travy Manor, Gloucestershire and The Rock -Beach, Cornwall, &c. &c. _Town Residence_. 40 St. James’s Square -S. W. - -_Clubs_. Reform. Marlborough. United Service. Naval and Military. -Garick. Arts. Bath &c. - -_Predecessors_. Sir Calinus FitzGerald--descended from Calinus -FitzGerald the first of the name settled in Ross-shire, to which he -came from Ireland in the XII century--was created by Robert the Bruce -Baron Ceann-da-Shail, 1314, and endowed with the Castle of Elandonan -(Gift of the King) as the reward of a bold rally of the Northern -troops at Bannockburn. Before his death in 1342 he built for himself a -strongly fortified Castle on the Island of Ceann-da-Shail (from which -his estate took its name) celebrated from time immemorial for a -wonderful spring of water. The Barony has been held in direct descent -with only two breaks. The first was in 1642 when direct male issue -having failed through the death of the only son of Calinus the XXth -Baron the Peerage and estates reverted to Robert Calinus e. s. of -James, 2nd s. of Robert XVIII Baron. The second was in 1826 when, -again through the early decease of an only son, the Barony reverted to -Robert e. s. of Malcolm 2nd s. of Colin XXVII Baron. The father of -this heritor, Malcolm FitzGerald, had settled in Ireland in 1782. -There he had purchased a great estate fronting on the River Shannon in -Roscommon on which he had built a castle, Athlyne. Malcolm FitzGerald -entered the Parliament of the United Kingdom in 1805 and sat for 22 -years when he was succeeded in Parliamentary honours by his son Robert -on his coming of age in 1827. Robert held his seat until the creation -of the Viscounty of Roscommon 1870. Three years after his retirement -from the House of Commons he was raised to an Earldom--Athlyne. - - -When she went out on deck she found her niece taking with her father -the beef tea which had just been brought round. She did not mention to -Colonel Ogilvie the little joke about Lady Athlyne, and strange to say -found that Joy to whom a joke or a secret was a matter of fungoid -growth, multiplying and irrepressible, had not mentioned it either. - - - - -CHAPTER II. -IN ITALY - -During the voyage, which had its own vicissitudes, the joke was kept -up amongst the three women. The stewardess, seeing that the two ladies -only spoke of it in privacy, exemplified that discretion which the -Captain had commended. Only once did she forget herself, but even then -fortune was on her side. It was during a day when Joy was upset by a -spell of heavy weather and had to keep her cabin. In the afternoon her -father paid a visit to her; and Mrs. O’Brien in reporting progress to -him said that “her Ladyship” was now on the road to recovery and would -be on deck very shortly. Colonel Ogilvie made quite a lot of the error -which he read in his own way. He said to his sister-in-law as they -paced the deck together: - -“Capital woman that stewardess! There is a natural deference and -respect in her manner which you do not always find in people of her -class. Will you oblige me, Judy, by seeing, when the voyage is over, -that she gets an extra honorarium!” Judy promised, and deftly turned -the conversation; she felt that she was on dangerous ground. - -Judith Hayes called herself an old maid, not believing it to be true; -but all the same there was in her make-up a distinctive trait of it: -the manner in which she regarded a romance. Up to lately, romance -however unlikely or improbable, had a personal bearing; it did not -occur to her that it might not drift in her direction. But now she -felt unconsciously that such romance must have other objective than -herself. The possibility, therefore, of a romance for Joy whom she -very sincerely loved was a thing to be cherished. She could see, as -well as feel, that her niece by keeping it a secret from her father -had taken the matter with at least a phase of seriousness. This alone -was sufficient to feed her own imaginings; and in the glow her -sympathies quickened. She had instinctively at the beginning -determined not to spoil sport; now it became a conscious intention. - -Mrs. O’Brien, too, in her own way helped to further the matter. She -felt that she had a good audience for her little anecdotes of the -child whose infancy she had fostered, and towards whom in his -completed manhood she had a sort of almost idolatrous devotion. Seeing -the girl so sympathetic and listening so patiently, she too began to -see something like the beginnings of a fact. And so the game went -merrily on. - -The telegrams at Queenstown were not very reassuring, and Colonel -Ogilvie and his party pressed on at once to Sorrento whence his wife -had moved on the completion of her series of baths at Ischia. -Naturally the whole of the little party was depressed, until on -arrival they found Mrs. Ogilvie, who was something of a -valetudinarian, much better than they expected. The arrival of her -husband and daughter and sister seemed to complete her cure; she -brightened up at once, and even after a few days began to enjoy -herself. - -One day after lunch as she drove along the road to Amalfi with Judith -and Joy--the Colonel was lazy that day and preferred to sit on the -terrace over the sea and smoke--she began to ask all the details of -the journey. Judy who had not had a chance of speaking alone with -safety began to tell the little secret. Her method of commencement was -abrupt, and somewhat startling to the convalescent: - -“We’ve got a husband for Joy, at last!” - -“Gracious!” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “What do you mean, Judy? Is this one of -your pranks?” - -“Prank indeed!” she answered back, tossing her head. “A real live -lord! A belted Earl if you please--whatever that may mean.” - -“Is this true, Joy?” said her mother beaming anxiously on her--if such -a combination is understandable. Joy took her hand and stroked it -lovingly: - -“Do you think, Mother dear, that if there was such a thing I should -leave you all this time in ignorance of it. It is only a jest made up -by the stewardess who attended us on the _Cryptic_. Aunt Judy seems to -have taken it all in; I think dear you had better ask her; she seems -to know all about it--which is certainly more than I do.” - -“And how did this common woman dare to jest on such a subject. I don’t -think Judy that this would have happened had I been with her myself!” - -“Oh my dear, get off that high horse. There’s nothing to be alarmed -about. The stewardess--who is a most worthy and attentive person----” - -“She is a dear!” interrupted Joy. - -“--took such a fancy to Joy that she said there was only ‘wan’ in all -the world who was worthy of her--a young nobleman to whom she had been -foster-mother. It was certainly meant as a very true compliment, and I -am bound to say that if the young man merits a hundredth part of all -she said of him there’s certainly no cause of offence in the mere -mentioning his name.” - -“What is his name?” There was a shade of anxiety in the mother’s -voice. - -“Lord Athlyne!” - -“The Earl of Athlyne!” said Joy speaking without thought. Then she -turned quickly away to hide her blushing. - -“I--I--I really don’t understand!” said Mrs. Ogilvie, looking around -helplessly. Then with the shadow of a shade of annoyance in her voice -she went on: - -“I really think that in a serious matter of this kind I should have -been consulted. But I seem not to count for anything any more. Colonel -Ogilvie has not even mentioned the matter to me. I think I ought to -have some say in anything of importance relating to my little girl.” - -“Lord bless the woman!” said Aunt Judy throwing up her hands and -lifting her eyes. “Sally dear don’t you comprehend that this was all a -joke. We never saw this young Lord, never heard of him till the -stewardess mentioned him; and as for him he doesn’t know or care -whether there is such a person in the world as Joy Ogilvie----” The -mother interrupted hotly--it seemed want of respect to her child: - -“Then he ought to care. I’d like to know who he is to consider himself -so high and mighty that even my little girl isn’t … Oh! I have no -patience with him.” - -There was silence in the carriage. Mrs. Ogilvie had come to the end of -her remonstrance, and both the others were afraid to speak. It was all -so supremely ridiculous. And yet the mother was taking it all so -seriously that respect for her forbade laughter. The road was here -steep and the horses were laboriously climbing their way. Presently -Judy turned to Joy saying: - -“Wouldn’t you like to look at the view from the edge of the cliff?” As -she spoke she looked meaningly at her niece who took the hint and got -down. - -When she was out of earshot and the driver had stopped the horses Judy -turned to her sister and said with a quiet, incisive directness quite -at variance with all her previous moods: - -“Sally dear I want to speak a moment to you quite frankly and, believe -me, very earnestly. I know you don’t usually credit me with much -earnestness; but this is about Joy, and that is always earnest with -me.” All the motherhood in Mrs. Ogilvie answered to the call. She sat -up with eager intensity, receptive to the full and without any -disturbing chagrin. Judy went on: - -“You have been thinking of your ‘little girl’--and actually speaking -of her as such. That is the worst of mothers--their one fault. With -them time seems to stand still. The world goes flying by them, but in -their eyes the child remains the same. Gold hair or black turns to -white, wrinkles come, knees totter and steps become unsteady; but the -child goes on--still, in the mother’s eyes, dressing dolls and chasing -butterflies. They don’t even seem to realise facts when the child puts -her own baby into the grandmother’s arms. Look round for a moment -where Joy is standing there outlined against that Moorish tower on the -edge of the cliff. Tell me what do you see?” - -“I see my dear, beautiful little girl!” said the mother faintly. - -“Hm!” said Judy defiantly. “That’s not exactly what I see. I agree -with the ‘dear’ and ‘beautiful’; she’s all that and a thousand times -more.” - -“Tell me what you do see, Judy!” said the mother in a whisper as she -laid a gentle hand imploringly on her sister’s arm. She was trembling -slightly. Judy took her hand and stroked it tenderly. “I know!” she -said gently “I know. I know!” The mother took heart from her -tenderness and said in an imploring whisper: - -“Be gentle with me, Judy. She is all I have; and I fear her passing -away from me.” - -“Not that--not yet at all events!” she answered quickly. “The time is -coming no doubt. But it is because we should be ready for it that I -want to speak. We at least ought to know the exact truth!” - -“The exact truth … Oh Judy …!” - -“Don’t be frightened, dear. There is nothing to fear. The truth is all -love and goodness. But my dear we are all but mortal after all, and -the way to keep right is to think truly.” - -“Tell me exactly what you see! Tell me everything no matter how small. -I shall perhaps understand better that way!” - -Judy paused a while, looking at the young girl lovingly. Then she -spoke in a level absent voice as though unconsciously. - -“I don’t see a child--now. I see a young woman of twenty; and a fine -well-grown young woman at that. Look at her figure, straight and clean -as a young pine. Type of figure that is the most alluring of all to -men; what the French call _fausse maigre_. She has great gray eyes as -deep as the sky or the sea; eyes that can drag the soul out of a man’s -body and throw it down beneath her dainty feet. I may be an old maid; -but I know that much anyhow. Her hair is black--that isn’t black, but -with a softness that black cannot give. Her skin is like ivory seen in -the sunset. Her mouth is like a crimson rosebud. Her teeth are like -pearls, and her ears like pink shell. Her head is poised on her -graceful neck like a lily on its stem. Her nose is a fine -aquiline--that means power and determination. Her forehead can -wrinkle--that means thought, and may mean misery. Her hands are long -and fine; patrician hands that can endure--and suffer. Sally, there is -there the making of a splendid woman and of a noble life; she is not -out of her girlhood yet, but she is very near it. Ignorance is no use -to her. She _will_ understand; and then she will take her own course. -She has feeling deep and strong in the very marrow of her bones. Ah! -my dear, and she has passion too. Passion that can make or mar. That -woman will do anything for love. She can believe and trust. And when -she believes and trusts she will hold the man as her master; put him -up on a pedestal and be content to sit at his feet and worship--and -obey … She …” - -Here the mother struck in with surprised consternation “How on earth -do you know all this?” Judy turned towards her with a light in her -eyes which her sister had never seen there: - -“How do I know it! Because she is of my blood and yours. Have I not -seen a lot of it in you in our babyhood. Have I not gone through it -all myself--the longing part of it--the wishing and hoping and praying -and suffering. Do you think Sally that I have arrived at old maidhood -without knowing what a young maid thinks and feels; without having any -share of the torture that women must bear in some form or another. I -know it all as well as though it was all fresh before me instead of a -lurid memory. Ah, my dear she has all our nature--and her father’s -too. And he never learned the restraint that we had to learn--and -practice. When she is face to face with passion she may find herself -constrained to take it as he has always done: for life or death!” … -She paused a moment, panting with the intensity of her feeling. Then -she went on more quietly: - -“Sally, isn’t it wiser to let her, in her youth and ignorance of -herself and the world, break herself in to passion and romance. It -would be hard to get a safer object for sentimental affection than a -man she never saw and is never likely to meet. After all, he is only -an idea; at best a dream. In good time he will pass out of her mind -and give place to something more real. But in the meantime she will -have learned--learned to understand, to find herself.” Then she sat -silent till Joy turned round and began to walk towards them. At this -the mother said quietly: - -“Thank you, dear Judy. I think I understand. You are quite right, and -I am glad you told me.” - -That journey round the Sorrentine Peninsula became a part of Joy’s -life. It was not merely that every moment was a new pleasure, a fresh -delight to the eye; her heart was in some mysterious way beginning to -be afire. Hitherto her thoughts of that abstract creation, Lord -Athlyne, had been impersonal: an objective of her own unconscious -desires, rather than a definite individuality. Up to now, though he -had been often in her thoughts, he had never taken shape there. The -image was so inchoate, indefinite, vague and nebulous. She had never -tried or even wished to find for him in her imagination features or -form. But now she had begun to picture him in various ways. As she -stood beside the Moorish tower looking down across the rugged slope of -rock and oleander at the wrinkled sea beneath, his image seemed to -flit before the eyes of her soul in kaleidoscopic form. It was an -instance of true feminine receptivity: the form did not matter, she -was content to accept the Man. - -The cause--the sudden cause of this change was her mother’s attitude. -She had accepted him as a reality and had not hesitated to condemn him -as though he was a conscious participant in what had passed. Joy had -found herself placed in a position in which she had to hear him -unfairly treated, without being able to make any kind of protest. It -was too ridiculous to argue. What on earth could her mother know about -him that she should take it for granted that he had done wrong? He who -had never seen her or even heard of her! He who was the very last man -in the world to be wanting to a woman in the way of respect--of -tenderness--of love. … Here she started and looked around cautiously -as one does who is suspicious of being watched. For it flashed across -her all at once that she knew no more of him than did her mother. As -yet he was only an abstraction; and her mother’s conception of him -differed from hers. And as she thought, and thought truly for she was -a clever girl, she began to realise that she had all along been -clothing an abstract individuality with her own wishes and dreams--and -hopes. … The last thought brought her up sharply. With a quick shake -of the head she threw aside for the present all thoughts on the -subject, and impulsively went back to the carriage. - -There were however a few root thoughts left which _would_ not be -thrown aside. They could not be, for they were fixed in her womanhood. -Another woman had accepted her dream as a reality; and now, as that -reality was her doing, he was her own man. And he was misunderstood -and blamed and unfairly treated! It was her duty to protect him! - -Had Aunt Judy been aware of her logical process and its conclusion she -could have expressed it thus: - -“Hm! a man in her mind.--_Her_ man. Her duty to protest. … We all -know what that means. He’s only in her mind at present … Hm!” - -The whole day was spent on the road, for the beauty was such that the -stoppages were endless. Joy, with the new-arisen soul which took her -out of her own thoughts, found delight in every moment. She could -hardly contain her rapture as fresh vistas of beauty burst upon her. -When the curve of the promontory began to cut off the view of Vesuvius -and the plain seaward of it, she got out of the carriage and ran back -to where she could have a full view. Underneath her lay the wonderful -scene of matchless beauty. To the right rose Vesuvius a mass of warm -colour, with its cinder cone staring boldly into the blue sky, a faint -cloud hanging over it like a flag. Below it was the sloping plain -dotted with trees and villas and villages, articulated in the clear -air like a miniature map. Then the great curve of the bay, the -sapphire sea marked clearly on the outline of the coast from Ischia -which rose like a jewel from a jewel. Past Naples, a clustering mass -with San Martino standing nobly out and the great fortress crowning -grimly the hill above it. Past Portici and the buried Herculaneum; -till getting closer the roofs and trees and gardens seemed to run up -to where she stood. To the left, a silhouette of splendid soft purple, -rose the island of Capri from the sea of sapphire which seemed to -quiver in the sunshine. Long she looked, and then closing her eyes to -prove that the lovely image still held in the darkness, she turned -with a long sigh of ecstasy and walked slowly to the waiting carriage. - -Again and again she stooped, till at last she made up her mind to walk -altogether until she should get tired. The driver took his cue from -her movements when to stop and when to go on. - -The road round the Peninsula runs high up the mountain side with -mostly a steep precipice to seaward and on the other hand towering -rocks. But such rocks! And so clad with the finest vegetation! Rocks -rich in colour and quaint in shape; with jagged points and deep -crevices in which earth could gather and where trees and shrubs and -flowers could cling. High over-head hung here and there a beautiful -stone-pine with red twisted trunk and spreading branches. Fig and -lemon trees rose in the sheltered angles, the long yellow shoots of -the new branches of the lemon cutting into the air like lances. -Elsewhere beech and chestnut, oak and palm. Trailing over the rock, -both seaward and landward, creepers of soft green and pink. And above -all, high up on the skyline, the semi-transparent, smoke-coloured -foliage of the olives that crowned the slopes. - -Then the towns! Maggiore and Amalfi quaint close-drawn irregular -relics of a more turbulent age, climbing up the chasms in the -hillside. Narrow streets, so steep as to look impossible to traffic. -Queer houses of all sorts of irregular design and variety of stone. -Small windows, high doors, steep, rugged irregularly-sloping steps as -though time and some mighty force had shaken the very rock on which -they were built. Joy felt as though she could stay there for ever, and -that each day would be a dream, and each fresh exploration a time of -delight. In her secret heart of hearts she registered a vow that if -ever she should go on a wedding journey it should be to there. - -At Amalfi they had tea, and then made up their minds that they would -drive on to Salerno and there take train home; for it would be time to -travel quick when so long a journey had been taken. - -When they were at the end of the peninsula a sudden storm came on. For -awhile they had seen far out at sea a dark cloud gathering, but it was -so far away that they did not think it would affect them. The driver -knew and began to make ready, for there was no escaping from it. He -turned his horses’ heads to the rock and wedged up the wheels of the -carriage with heavy stones so that in case the horses should get -frightened their plunging could not be too harmful. - -Heavier and heavier grew the cloud out at sea, and as it grew denser -it moved landward. Its grey changed to dark blue and then to a rich -purple, almost black. A keen coldness presaged a coming storm. - -There was stillness all round the mountain road; a positive desolation -of silence from which even the wondrous beauty of the scene could not -distract the mind. Joy absolutely refused to sit in the carriage which -was now properly hooded. She threw on the cloak which she had brought -with her and stood out on the open road where she could enjoy the -scene undisturbed by human proximity. As she stood, the velvet black -cloud was rent by a blinding sheet of lightning which seemed for a -moment to be shaped like a fiery tree, roots upward in the sky. Close -following came such a mighty peal of thunder that her heart shook. -Ordinarily Joy was not timorous, and for thunder she had no fear. But -this was simply terrific; it seemed to burst right over her head and -to roll around her in a prolonged titanic roar. She was about to run -to the carriage when she heard the shrieks of fear from the two women; -the driver was on his knees on the road praying. Joy felt that all she -could do to help her mother and aunt would be to keep calm--as calm as -she could. So she moved her hand and called out cheerfully: - -“Don’t be afraid! It is all right; the lightning has passed us!” As -she spoke the rain came down in torrents. It was tropical; in a few -seconds the open road was running like a river, ankle deep. By the -exercise of her will the girl’s courage had risen. She could now -actually enjoy what was before her. Far out to sea the black cloud -still hung, but it was broken up in great masses which seemed to dip -into the sea. It was almost as dark as night; so dark that the expanse -became lit by the lightning flashes. In one of these she saw three -separate water-spouts. The sea appeared to have risen as the cloud -sank, and now were far apart three great whirling pillars like -hour-glasses. And then, wonder of wonders, without turning her head -but only her eyes she could see away to the left a whole world of -green expanse backed up by the mountains of Calabria. With each second -the sinking sun brought into view some new hilltop flaming in the -glow. A little way in front of her at the southern side of the -peninsula the copper dome of the church at Vietri glowed like a ball -of fire. Away to the south on the edge of the sea rose the many -columns of the majestic ruins of Pæstum, standing still and solemn as -if untouchable by stress of storm or time. - -Joy stood entranced, as though the eyes of her soul had opened on a -new world. She hardly dared to breathe. The pelting of the rainstorm, -the rush of the water round her feet, the crash and roar of the -thunder or the hissing glare of the lightning did not move or disturb -her. It was all a sort of baptism into a new life. - -Joy Ogilvie, like all persons of emotional nature, had quick sympathy -with natural forces and the moods of nature. The experience of the -day, based on the superlative beauty around her, had waked all the -emotional nature within her. Naples is always at spring time; and the -young heart finding naturally its place amongst the things that -germinate and develop unconsciously, swayed with and was swayed by the -impulses of her sex. Beauty and manhood had twin position in her -virgin breast. - -Aunt Judy’s insight or prophecy was being realised quicker than she -thought. Joy’s sex had found her out! - - - - - CHAPTER III. - DE HOOGE’S SPRUIT - -In Italy Joy Ogilvie learned to the full, consciously and -unconsciously, all the lessons which a younger civilisation can learn -from an elder. To the sympathetic there are lessons in everything; -every spot that a stranger foot has pressed has something to teach. -Especially to one coming from the rush of strenuous life, which is the -note of America, the old-world calm and luxury of repose have lessons -in toleration which can hardly be otherwise acquired. In the great -battle of life we do not match ourselves against individuals but -against nations and epochs; and when it is finally borne in on us that -others, fashioned as we ourselves and with the same strength and -ambitions and limitations, have lived and died and left no individual -mark through the gathering centuries, we can, without sacrifice of -personal pride, be content to humbly take each his place. - -The month spent at and round Naples had been a never-ending dream of -delight; and this period of quiescence told on her naturally sensuous -nature. Already she had accepted the idea of a man worthy of love; and -the time went to the strengthening of the image. There was a subtle -satisfactoriness in the received idea; the wealth of her nature had -found a market--of a kind. That is to say: she was satisfied to -export, and that was the end of her thoughts--for the present. -Importation might come later, - - “The mind’s Rialto hath its merchandise.” - -None of the family ever alluded to Lord Athlyne in the presence of her -father. Each in her own way knew that he would not like the idea; and -so the secret--it had by this very reticence grown to be a secret by -now--was kept. - -On the voyage back to New York Joy’s interest in Lord Athlyne became -revived by the surroundings. They had not been able to secure cabins -in the _Cryptic_; and so had come by the Hamburg-American Line from -Southampton. By this time Aunt Judy’s interest in the matter had begun -to wane. To her it had been chiefly a jest, with just that spice of -earnest which came from the effect which she supposed the episode -would have on Joy’s life. As Joy did not ever allude to the matter she -had almost ceased to remember it. - -It was Joy’s duty--she thought of it as her privilege--to make her -father’s morning cocktail which he always took before breakfast. One -morning it was brought by Judy. Colonel Ogilvie thanking her asked why -he had the privilege of her ministration. Unthinkingly she answered: - -“Oh it’s all right. The Countess made it herself, but she asked me to -take it to you as she is feeling the rolling of the ship and wants to -keep in bed.” - -“The who?” asked the Colonel his brows wrinkled in wonder. “What -Countess? I did not know we had one on board.” - -“Lady Athlyne of course. Oh!” she had suddenly recollected herself. As -she saw she was in for an explanation she faced the situation boldly -and went on: - -“That is the name you know, that we call Joy.” - -“The name you call Joy--the Countess! Lady Athlyne! What on earth do -you mean, Judy? I don’t understand.” In a laughing, offhand way, full -of false merriment she tried to explain, her brother-in-law listening -the while with increasing gravity. When she had done he said quietly: - -“Is this one of your jokes, Judy; or did this Countess make two -cocktails?” He stopped and then added: “Forgive me I should not have -said that. But is it a joke, dear?” - -“Not a bit!” she answered spiritedly. “That is, this particular -occasion is not a joke. It is the whole thing that is that.” - -“A joke to take … Is there a real man of the name of the Earl of -Athlyne?” - -“I believe so,” she said this faintly; she had an idea of what was -coming. - -“Then Judith I should like some rational explanation of how you come -to couple my daughter’s name in such a way with that of a strange man. -It is not seemly to say the least of it. Does my daughter allow this -to be done?” - -“Oh Colonel, it is only a joke amongst ourselves. I hope you won’t -make too much of it.” - -“Too much of it! I couldn’t make enough of it! If the damned fellow -was here I’d shoot him!” - -“But, my God, the man doesn’t know anything about it; no more than you -did a minute ago.” Miss Judith was really alarmed; she knew the -Colonel. He waved his hand as though dismissing her from the argument: - -“Don’t worry yourself, my dear: this is a matter amongst men. We know -how to deal with such things!” He said no more on the subject, but -talked during breakfast as usual. When he rose to go on deck Judy -followed him timidly. When they were away from the few already on deck -she touched him on the arm. - -“Give me just a minute?” she entreated. - -“A score if you like, my dear!” he answered heartily as he led her to -a seat in a sheltered corner behind the saloon skylight, and sat -beside her. “What is it?” - -“Lucius you have always been very good to me. All these years that I -have lived in your house as your very sister you never had a word for -me that wasn’t kind …” He interrupted her, laying his hand on hers -which was on the arm of her deck chair: - -“Why else, my dear Judy! You and I have always been the best of -friends. And my dear you have never brought anything but sunshine and -sweetness into the house. Your merriment has kept care away from us -whenever he tried to show his nose … Why my dear what is it? There! -You mustn’t cry!” As he spoke he had taken out a folded silk -pocket-handkerchief and was very tenderly wiping her eyes. Judy went -on sobbing a little at moments: - -“I have always tried to make happiness, and I have never troubled you -with asking favours, have I?” - -“No need to ask, Judy. All I have is yours just as it is Sally’s or -Joy’s.” Suddenly she smiled, her eyes still gleaming with recent -tears: - -“I am asking a favour now--by way of a change. Lucius on my -_honour_--and I know no greater oath with you than that--this has been -a perfectly harmless piece of fun. It arose from a remark of that nice -Irish stewardess on the _Cryptic_ that no one was good enough to marry -Joy except one man: the young nobleman whom she had nursed. And she -really came to believe that it would come off. She says she has some -sort of foreknowledge of things.” The Colonel smiled: - -“Granted all this, my dear; what is it you want me to do?” - -“To do nothing!” she answered quickly. Then she went with some -hesitation: - -“Lucius you are so determined when you take up an idea, and I know you -are not pleased with this little joke. You are mixing it up with -honour--the honour that you fight about; and if you go on, it may -cause pain to us all. We are only a pack of women, after all, and you -mustn’t be hard on us.” - -“Judy, my dear, I am never hard on a woman, am I?” - -“No! Indeed you’re not,” she avowed heartily. “You’re the very -incarnation of sweetness, and gentleness, and tenderness, and chivalry -with them … But then you take it out of the men that cross you!” - -“That’s as a gentleman should be, I take it” he said reflectively, -unconsciously stroking his white moustache. Then he said briskly: - -“Now Judy seriously tell me what you wish me to do or not to do. I -must have _some_ kind of clue to your wishes, you know.” As she was -silent for the moment he went on gravely. “I think I understand, my -dear. Be quite content, I take it all for a joke and a joke between us -it shall remain. But I must speak to Joy about it. There are some -things which if used as subjects for jokes lead to misunderstandings. -Be quite easy in your mind. You know I love my daughter too well to -give her a moment’s pain that I can spare her. Thank you Judy for -speaking to me. I might have misunderstood and gone perhaps too far. -But you know how sensitive--‘touchy’ Joy calls it--about my name and -my family I am; and I hope you will always bear that in mind. And -besides my dear, there is the other gentleman to be considered. He -too, may have a word to say. As he is a nobleman he ought to be -additionally scrupulous about any misuse of his name; and of course I -should have to resent any implication made by him against any member -of my family!” - -“Good Lord!” said Judy to herself, as he stood up and left her with -his usual courtly bow. “What a family to deal with. This poor little -joke is as apt to end in bloodshed as not. The Colonel is on the -war-path already; I can see that by his stateliness!” - -Colonel Ogilvie thought over the matter for a whole day before he -spoke to Joy; he was always very grave and serious regarding subjects -involving honour and duty. - -Joy knew that he had something on his mind from his abstraction, and -rather kept out of his way. This was not on her own account for she -had no idea that she was involved in the matter, but simply because it -was her habit to sympathise with him and to think of and for him. She -was just a little surprised when the next afternoon he said to her as -they stood together at the back of the wheel-house over the screw, the -quietest place on the ship for a talk: - -“Joy dear, I want you to listen to me a minute.” - -“Yes, Daddy!” - -“About that joke you had on the _Cryptic_.” - -“Yes, Daddy.” She was blushing furiously; she understood now. - -“My dear, I don’t object to your having any little harmless romance of -that kind. I don’t suppose it would make any difference if I did. A -young girl will have her dreaming quite independent of her old daddy. -Isn’t it so, little girl?” - -“I suppose so, dear Daddy, since you say it.” She nestled up close to -him comfortably as she spoke: this was nicer talk than she expected. - -“But there is one thing that you must be careful about: There must be -no names!” - -“How do you mean, Daddy?” - -“I gather that there has been a joke amongst some of you as to calling -you the Countess or Lady Athlyne, or some of that kind of foolishness. -My dear child, that is not right. You are not the Countess, nor Lady -Athlyne, nor Lady anything. A name my dear when it is an honourable -one is a very precious possession. A woman must cherish the name she -does possess as a part of her honour.” - -“I am proud of my name, Father, very, very proud of it; and I always -shall be!” She had drawn herself upright and had something of her -father’s splendid personal pride. The very use of the word ‘Father’ -instead of ‘Daddy’ showed that she was conscious of formality. - -“Quite right, little girl. That is your name now; and will in a way -always be. But you may marry you know; and then your husband’s name -will be your name, and you will on your side be the guardian of his -honour. We must never trifle with a name, dear. Those people who go -under an alias are to my mind the worst of criminals.” - -“Isn’t that rather strong, Daddy, when murder and burglary and theft -and wife-beating and cheating at cards are about!” She felt that she -was through the narrow place now and could go back to her raillery. -But her father was quite grave. He walked up and down a few paces as -though arranging his thoughts and words. When he spoke he did so -carefully and deliberately: - -“Not so, little girl. These, however bad they may be, are individual -offences and are punished by law. But a false name--even in jest, my -dear--is an offence against society generally, and hurts and offends -every one. And in addition it is every one of the sins you have named; -and all the others in the calendar as well.” - -“How on earth do you make out that, Daddy?” - -“Take them in order as you mentioned them. Murder, burglary, theft, -wife-beating, cheating at cards! What is murder? Killing without -justification! Does not one who approaches another in false guise kill -something? The murderer takes the life; the other kills what is often -more than life: self respect, belief in human nature, faith. One only -kills the body; but the other kills the soul. Burglary and theft are -the same offence differently expressed; theft is the meaner crime that -is all. Well, disguise is the thief’s method. Sometimes he relies on -absence of others, sometimes on darkness, sometimes on a mask, -sometimes on the appearance or identity of some one else. But he never -deals with the normal condition of things; pretence of some kind must -always be his aid. The man, therefore, who relies on pretence, when he -knows that the truth would be his undoing, is a thief.” - -“Daddy you argue as well as a Philadelphia lawyer!” - -“I don’t believe much in lawyers!” said the old man dryly. “As to -wife-beating!” - -“I’m afraid you’ve struck a snag there, Daddy! There isn’t much -pretence about that crime, anyhow!” - -“Not at all, my dear. That comes within the category of murder. The -man who descends to that abominable crime would kill the woman if he -dared. He is a coward as well as a murderer, and should be killed like -a mad dog!” - -“Bravo! Daddy. I wish there was a man like you to deal with them in -every county. But how about cheating at cards. _That’s_ a poser, I -think!” - -“No trouble about that, Joy. It _is_ cheating at cards.” - -“How do you argue that out, Daddy?” - -“Any game of cards is a game of honour. So many cards, so much skill -in playing them according to the recognised rules of the game; and, -over all, a general belief in the honour of all the players. I have -seen a man shot across a handkerchief--in honourable duel, my -dear--for hesitating markedly at poker when he stood pat on a ‘full -house.’ That was pretence, and against the laws of honour; and he paid -for it with his life.” Joy wrinkled her brows; “I see it’s quite -wrong, father, but I don’t quite see how it fits into the argument,” -she said. - -“That is simple enough, daughter. As I say, it is a pretence. Don’t -you see that after all a game of cards is a simple thing compared with -the social life of which it is only an occasional episode. If a -man,--or a woman either, Joy--misleads another it must be with some -intention to deceive. And in that deception, and by means of it, there -is some gain--something he or she desires and couldn’t otherwise get. -Isn’t that plain enough!” - -“All right, Father; I quite see. I understand now what you mean. I did -not ever look at things in quite that way. Thank you very much, dear, -for warning me so kindly too. I’ll stop the joke, and not allow it to -go on--so far as I can stop it.” - -“How do you mean? Does anyone else know it?” - -“I may have written to one or two girls at home, Daddy. You know girls -are always fond of such foolishness.” - -“Had you not better write to them and tell them not to mention it.” - -“Good Gracious! Why you dear, old goose of a Daddy it is evident you -don’t know girls. That would be the very way to make things buzz. Oh -no! we’ll simply drop it; and they’ll soon forget it. I may have to -tell them something else, though, to draw them away from it.” - -“Hm!” said her father. She looked at him with a sly archness: - -“I suppose, Daddy, it wouldn’t do to have it that an Italian Grand -Duke proposed for me--to you of course!” - -“Certainly not, Miss Impudence! I’m not to be drawn into any of your -foolish girls’ chatter. There, run away and let me smoke in peace!” -She turned away, but came back. - -“Am I forgiven, Daddy?” - -“Forgiven! Lord bless the child, why there’s nothing to forgive. I -only caution. I know well that my little girl is clear grit, straight -through; and I trust her as I do myself. Why Joy, darling” he put his -arm affectionately round her shoulder “you are my little girl! The -only one I have or ever shall have; and so, God willing, you shall be -to me to the end.” - -“Thank you dear, dear Daddy. And I pray so too. I shall always be your -little girl to you and shall come to you to cheer you or to be -comforted myself. Mother has of late taken to treating me like a -grown-up which she always keeps firing off at me so that I don’t know -whether I am myself or not. But whatever I am to anyone else, I never -shall be anything to you but your ‘little girl!’” - -And that compact was sealed then and there with a kiss. - - -Nine months later whilst Colonel Ogilvie was in the library of his own -house, “Air” in Airlville, Joy came in and closed the door carefully; -she came close and whispered: - -“Am I still your little girl, Daddy?” - -“Always my dear! always!” - -“Then you don’t mind having a secret with me?” - -“_Mind_ my dear! I love it. What is it you want to tell me?” She took -a folded newspaper from her pocket and handed it to him, saying: - -“I came across this in the New York _Tribune_. Read it!” Colonel -Ogilvie turned it over with a rueful look as he said: - -“The whole of it!” - -“Oh Daddy, don’t be tiresome; of course not.” Her father’s face -brightened: - -“Then you read what you want me to know. Your eyes are better than -mine!” Joy at once began to read: - -“From our own Correspondent, Capetown. Some details of the lamentable -occurrence at de Hooge’s Spruit which was heliographed from the front -yesterday have now come to hand. It appears that a battery of field -artillery was ordered to proceed from Bloomgroot to Neswick escorted -by a Squadron of mixed troops taken from the Scottish Horse and the -Mounted Yeoman. When they had begun to cross the river, which here -runs so rapidly that great care has to be observed lest the horses -should be swept away, a terrific fusillade from an entrenched force of -overwhelming numbers was opened on them. Colonel Seawright who -commanded ordered a retreat until the disposition of the enemy could -be ascertained. But before the manœuvre could be effected the British -force was half wiped out. Accurate fire had been concentrated on the -artillery horses, and as the guns were all on the river bank ready for -the crossing it was impossible to rescue them. Gallant efforts were -made by the gunners and the cavalry escort, but in the face of the -hail of bullets the only result was a terrible addition to the list of -killed and wounded. Seeing that the ground was partly clear, a number -of Boers crept out of cover and tried to reach the guns. At this our -troops made another gallant effort and the Boers disappeared. Still it -was almost hopeless to try to save the guns. One only of the battery -was saved and this by as gallant an effort on the part of one young -officer as has been as yet recorded in the war. Captain Lord Athlyne” -Here Joy looked up for an instant and saw a frown suddenly darken her -father’s brow--“who was tentatively in command of a yeomanry troop -took a great coil of rope one end of which was held by some of his -men. When he was ready he rode for the guns at a racing pace, loosing -the rope as he went. It was a miracle that he came through the -terrific fire aimed at him by the Boer sharp-shooters. Having gained -the last gun, behind which there was a momentary shelter, he attached -the end of the rope. Then mounting again he swept like a hurricane -across the zone of fire. There was a wild cheer from the British, and -a number of horsemen began to ride out whilst the firing ran along the -front of the waiting line. But the instant the rope was attached the -men began to pull and the gun actually raced along the open space. In -the middle of his ride home the gallant Irishman’s cap was knocked off -by a bullet. He reined up his charger, dismounted and picked up the -cap _and dusted it_ with his handkerchief before again mounting. -Despite their wounds and the chagrin of defeat the whole force cheered -him as he swept into the lines. - -“Daddy I call that something like a man! Don’t you?” Her colour was -high and her eyes were blazing. She looked happy when her father -echoed her enthusiasm: - -“I do! daughter. That was the action of a gallant gentleman!” There -was a silence of perhaps half a minute. Then Colonel Ogilvie spoke: - -“But why, my dear, did you tell this to _me_?” - -“I had to tell some one, Daddy. It is too splendid to enjoy all one’s -self; and I was afraid if I told Mother she might not -understand--she’s only a woman you know, and might put a wrong -construction on my telling her, and so worry herself about me. And I -didn’t dare to tell Aunt Judy, for she’s so chock full of romance that -she would have simply gone crazy and chaffed me out of all reason. -There is no holding back Aunt Judy when she is chasing after a -romance! And besides, Daddy dear” here she took his arm and looked up -in his face “I wanted you to know that Lord Athlyne is a gentleman.” -Her father frowned: - -“Why should I know--or care?” - -“Not on your own part Daddy--but--but only because I want you to. It -is hard to explain, but I think you took a prejudice against him from -the first; and you see it makes it less awkward to be coupled with a -man’s name, when the name and the man are good ones.” The Colonel’s -frown was this time one of puzzlement. - -“I’m afraid I don’t understand. You never saw the man. Why should you -dislike less to be coupled with him because he did a brave thing? -Besides, the whole thing is mere nonsense.” - -“Of course it is, Daddy. All nonsense. But it is better to be good -nonsense than bad nonsense!” - -“Look here daughter--my little girl--I’m afraid you have got or may -get too fond of thinking of that fellow. Take care!” - -“Oh, that’s all right, Daddy. He is only an abstraction to me. But -somehow he interests me. Don’t you be worrying about me. I promise you -solemnly that I will tell you everything I hear about him. Then you -can gauge my feelings, and keep tab of my folly.” - -“All right; little girl! There can’t be anything very dangerous when -you tell your father all about it.” - - -It was three months before Joy mentioned the name of Lord Athlyne -again to her father. One morning she came to him as he sat smoking in -the garden at Air. Her eyes were glistening, and she walked slowly and -dejectedly. In her hand she held a copy of the New York _Tribune_. She -held it out, pointing with her finger to a passage. - -“Read it for me, little girl!” In answer she said with a break in her -voice: - -“You read it, Daddy. Don’t make me. It hurts me; and I should only -break down. It is only a dream I know; but it is a sad dream and is -over all too soon!” Colonel Ogilvie read the passage which was an -account of the fighting at Durk River in which numbers of the British -were carried away by the rapid stream, the hale and those wounded by -the terrible fire of the Boers alike. The list of the missing was -headed by a name he knew. - -“Major the Earl of Athlyne, of the Irish Hussars.” - -The old gentleman rose up as stiff as at the salute and raised his hat -reverently as he said: - -“A very gallant gentleman. My heart is with you, my little girl! A -dream it may have been; but a sad ending to any dream!” - - -A week after Joy sought her father again, in the garden. This time her -step was buoyant, her face radiant, and her eyes bright. The moment -her father saw he felt that it had something to do with what he called -in his own mind “that infernal fellow.” When she was close to him she -said in a low voice that thrilled: - -“He is not dead, Daddy! He was wounded and carried down the river and -was captured by the Boers and taken up to Pretoria. They have put him -in the Birdcage. Beasts! It’s all here in the _Tribune_.” - -Colonel Ogilvie was distinctly annoyed. When he could look on Lord -Athlyne as dead he could admire his bravery, and even tolerate the -existence that had been. But this chopping and changing--this being -dead and coming to life again--was disturbing. What sort of fellow was -he that couldn’t make up his mind on any subject? Couldn’t he remain -dead like a gentleman? He had died like one; wasn’t that enough! Joy -saw that he was not pleased. She was too glad for the moment to take -her father’s attitude to heart; but every instinct in her told her not -to remain. So she laid the paper on his knee and said quietly: - -“I’ll leave it with you, Daddy. You can read it yourself; it’s worth -reading. You are glad, I know, because your little girl is glad that -there is one more brave man in the world.” - -Just as she was going her father called her back. When she was close -he said in a kindly manner but with great gravity: - -“No more mentioning names now, little girl!” She put her finger to her -lip as registering a vow of secrecy. Then she blew a kiss at him and -tripped away. - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - THE BIRD-CAGE - -The “Bird-cage” at Pretoria was the enclosure wherein the captured -British officers were imprisoned during the second quarter of the year -1900. Here at the beginning of May two men were talking quietly as -they lay on the bare ground in the centre of the compound. The -Bird-cage was no home of luxury; but the men who had perforce to live -in it tried to make the best of things, and grumbling was tacitly -discountenanced. These two had become particular chums. For more than -a month they had talked over everything which seemed of interest. At -first of course it was the war and all connected with it which -interested them most. They were full of hope; for though six months of -constant reverses were behind them they could not doubt that Time and -General Roberts would prevail. These two items of expected success -were in addition to the British Army generally and the British -soldier’s belief in it. When every battle or engagement which either -of them had been in had been fought over again, and when their -knowledge of other engagements and skirmishes had come to an end they -fell back on sport. This subject held out for some time. The memories -of both were copious of pleasant days and interesting episodes; and -hopes ran high of repetitions and variations when the war should be -over and the Boers reduced to that acquiescence in British methods and -that loyalty to the British flag which British pride now demanded. -Then “woman” had its turn, and every flirtation with the bounds of -memory was recalled, without names or identification marks. - -Then, when they knew each other better, they talked of the future in -this respect. Young men, whatever exceptions these may be, are very -sentimental. They are at once imaginative and reticent. Unlike girls -their bashfulness is internal. The opening of their hearts, even in a -measure, to each other in this respect was the crowning of their -confidence. At this time they were occasionally getting letters. These -had of course gone through the hands of the censor and their virginity -thus destroyed; but the craving of all the prisoners for news of any -kind, from home or elsewhere, was such that every letter received -became in a measure common property. Even from intimate letters from -their own womenkind parts were read out that had any colourable -bearing on public matters. A few days before one of the men had a -letter from his wife who was in Capetown; a letter which though it was -nothing but a letter of affection from a loving wife, was before the -day was over read by every man in the place. It had puzzled the -husband at first, for though it was in his wife’s writing the manner -of it was not hers. It was much more carefully written than was her -wont. Then it dawned on him that it had a meaning. He thought over it, -till in a flash he saw it all. It was written by her, but she had -copied it for some one else and signed it. The passage of the letter -that now most interested him read: - - -“I do so long to see you, my darling, that if I do not see you before, -I am going to ask to be allowed to come up to Pretoria and see you -there if I may, if it is only a glimpse through that horrid barbed -wire netting that we hear of. You remember my birthday is on Waterloo -day; and I am promising myself, as my birthday treat, a glimpse of the -face of my dear husband.” - - -It did not do to assemble together, for the eyes of the jailors were -sharp and an organized meeting of the prisoners was suspicious and -meant the tightening of bonds. So one by one he talked with his -fellows, telling them what he thought and always imploring them to -maintain the appearance of listless indifference which they had -amongst themselves decided was the attitude best calculated to avert -suspicion. Some did not at first understand the cryptic meaning; but -the general belief was that it was a warning that the capture of -Pretoria was expected not later than the fifteenth of June. This -created enormous hopes. Thenceforth all the talk in private was as to -what each would do when the relief came. - -To-day the conversation was mainly about Athlyne’s affairs. He had -been unfolding plans to his friend Captain Vachell of the Yeomanry and -the latter asked him suddenly: - -“By the way, Athlyne, are you married.” - -“What!--Me married! Lord bless you man, no! Why do you ask?” - -“I gathered so from what you have been saying just now. Don’t be -offended at my asking; but I have a special purpose.” - -“I’m not a bit offended; why should I be? Why do you ask me?” - -“That’s what I want to tell you. But old chap this is a delicate -subject and I want to clear the ground first. It is wiser.” Athlyne -sat up: - -“Look here, Vachell, this is getting interesting. Clear away!” The -other hesitated and then said suddenly: - -“You never went through a ceremony of marriage, or what professed to -be one, with anyone I suppose? I really do ask pardon for this.” - -“Honestly, Vachell, I’m not that sort of man. I have lots of sins on -me; more than my fair share perhaps. But whatever I have done has been -above board.” The other went on with dogged persistence: - -“You will understand when I explain why I ask; but this is your -matter, not mine, and I want to avoid making matters still more -complicated. That is of course if there should be any complication -that you may have overlooked or forgotten.” - -“Good God! man, a marriage is not a thing a man could overlook or -forget.” - -“Oh that’s all right with a real marriage; or even with a mock -marriage if a man didn’t make a practice of it. But there might be -some woman, with whom one had some kind of intrigue or irregular -union, who might take advantage of it to place herself in better -position. Such things have been you know, old chap!” he added -sententiously. Athlyne laughed. - -“Far be it from me to say what a woman might or might not do if she -took it into her pretty head; but I don’t think there’s any woman who -would, or who would ever think she had the right to, do that with me. -There are women, lots of them I am afraid, who answer the bill on the -irregular union or intrigue side; but I should certainly be astonished -if any of them ever set out to claim a right. Now I have made a clean -breast of it. Won’t you tell me what all this is about?” The other -looked at him steadily, as though to see how he took it, as he -answered: - -“There is, I am told, a woman in New York who is passing herself off -as your wife!” - -Athlyne sprang to his feet and cried out: - -“What!” - -“That’s what I took it to mean! By the way--” this was said as if it -was a sudden idea “I take it that your mother is not alive. I had it -in my mind that she died shortly after you were born?” - -“Unhappily that is so!” - -“There is no dowager Countess?” - -“Not for more than thirty years. Why?” - -“The letter says ‘Countess of Athlyne.’ I took it to be your wife.” - -“Let me see the letter.” He held out his hand. Vachell took from his -pocket--the only private storage a man had in the Bird-cage--an -envelope which he handed to his comrade, who took from it a torn -fragment of a letter. He read it then turned it over. As he did so his -eyes lit up; he had seen his own name. He read it over several times, -then he looked up: - -“Have you read it?” - -“Yes. I was told to do so.” - -“All right! Then we can discuss it together.” He read it out loud: - -“So Athlyne is married. At least I take it so, for there is a woman in -New York, I am told, who calls herself the Countess of Athlyne. I know -nothing of her only this: a casual remark made in a gossipy letter.” - -“Now tell me, Vachell, can you throw any light on this?” - -“Not on the subject but only on the way it has come to you. I had -better tell you all I know from the beginning.” Athlyne nodded, he -went on: - -“Whilst we were in the trenches at Volks Spruit waiting for the attack -to sound, Meldon and I were together--you remember Meldon of the -Connaught Fusiliers?” - -“Well! We often hunted together.” - -“He asked me that if anything should happen to him I would look over -his things and send them home, and so forth. I promised, but I asked -him why he so cast down about the fight that was coming; was it a -presentiment or anything of that kind. ‘Not a bit,’ he said, ‘it’s not -spiritualism but logic! You see it’s about my turn next. All our lot -have been wiped out, going up the line in sequence. Rawson, my junior, -was last; and now I come on. And there is a message I want you to -carry on in case I’m done for. You will find among my papers an -envelope directed to Lord Athlyne. It has only a scrap of paper in it -so I had better explain. The last time I saw Ebbfleet of the -Guards--in Hospital just before he died--he asked me to take the -message. ‘You know Athlyne’ he said ‘I got a letter saying a woman in -New York was calling herself his wife, and as I know he is not married -I think it only right that he should know of this. It will put him on -his guard.’ Well you know poor Meldon went under at Sandaal; and so I -took over the message. When you and I met up here I thought we were in -for a long spell and as we couldn’t do anything I came to the -conclusion that there was no use giving you one more unpleasant thing -to think of and grind your teeth over. But now that we know Bobs and -Kitchener are coming up before long I want to hand over to you. It is -evident that they expect us to be ready to help the force from within -when they come, or else they wouldn’t run the chance of telling us. -Four thousand men, even without arms, are not to be despised in a -scrimmage. If the wily Boer tumbles to it they will take us up the -mountains in several sections, and I may not have another chance.” - -“That is all you know of the matter I take it?” - -“Absolutely! Of course should I hear anything more I shall at once let -you know. Though frankly I don’t see how that can be; both men who -sent the message are dead. I haven’t the faintest idea of who sent the -original report. Of course, old chap, I am mum on the subject unless -you ever tell me to speak.” - -“Thanks, old man. I fancy there won’t be much time for looking after -private affairs for a good spell to come after we have shifted our -quarters. There will be a devil of a lot of clearing up when the house -changes hands and continues to ‘run under new management,’ as Bung -says.” - - -All that had been spoken of came off as arranged by the various -parties. On the fifth of June Roberts took Pretoria in his victorious -march. Mafeking and Ladysmith had been relieved, and Johannesberg had -fallen. Now, Kruger and the remainder of his forces were hurrying into -the Lydenburg mountains to make what stand they could; and not the -least keen of their foes were those who had been their guests in the -Bird-cage. Athlyne rejoined his regiment and was under Buller’s -command till the routed army escaped into Portuguese territory. Then -he was sent by Kitchener along the ranges of block houses whose -segregations slowly brought the war to an end. - -When his turn came for going home three years had elapsed. London and -his club claimed him for his spells of his short leave, for there was -still much work to be done with his regiment. When he began to tire of -the long round of work and distractions he commenced to think -seriously of a visit to America. - -His experience of the war had sobered him down. He was now thirty-two -years of age, the time when most men, who have not arrived there -already, think seriously of settling down to matrimony. In other -respects he wanted to be free. He was tired of obeying orders; even of -giving them. The war was over and Britain was at peace with the world. -Had there been still fighting going on anywhere such thought would not -have occurred to him; he would still have wanted to be in the thick of -it. But the long months of waiting and inactivity, the endless -routine, the impossibility of doing anything which would have an -immediate effect; all these things had worn out much of his patience, -and stirred the natural restlessness of his disposition. At home there -seemed no prospect of following soldiering in the way he wished: some -form in which excitement had a part. Indeed the whole scheme of War -and Army seemed to be shaping themselves on lines unfamiliar to him. -The idea of the old devil-may-care life which had first attracted him -and of which he had had a taste did not any longer exist, or, if it -existed it was not for him. Outside actual fighting the life of a -soldier was not now to consist of a series of seasonable amusements. -And even if it did the very routine of amusements not only did not -satisfy him, but became irksome. What, after all, he thought, was to a -grown man a life of games in succession. Polo and cricket, fishing, -shooting, hunting in due course; racquets and tennis, yachting and -racing were all very well individually. But they did not seem to lead -anywhere. - -In fact such pastimes now seemed inadequate to a man who had been -actively taking a part in the biggest game of them all, war! - -When once the idea had come to him it never left him. Each new -disappointment, the unfulfilled expectation of interest, drove it -further and further home. There was everywhere a lack of his old -companions; always a crowd of new faces. The girls he had known and -liked because they were likable, had got married within the few years -of his absence. The matrons had made fresh companionships which held -possession. Bridge had arisen as a new society fetish which drew to -itself the interests and time of all. A new order of “South African -Millionaires” had arisen who by their wealth and extravagance had set -at defiance the old order of social caste, and largely changed the -whole scheme of existing values. - -When he fled away from London he found something of the same changes -elsewhere. In the stir of war, and even in the long weariness of -waiting which followed it, the whirling along of the great world was, -if not forgotten, unthought of. The daily work and the daily interest -were so personal and so absorbing that abstract thinking was not. - -In the country, of course, the changes were less, but they were more -marked. The few years had their full tally of loss; of death, and -decay. The eyes that saw them were so far fresh eyes, that unchecked -memory had not a perpetual ease of comparison. - -For a while he tried hard to find a fresh interest in his work. But -here again was change with which he could feel neither sympathy nor -toleration. Great schemes of reform were on foot; schemes of -organization, of recruiting, of training. The ranks in the Service, of -which he had experience, were becoming more mechanical than ever. Had -he by this time acquired higher rank in the army it is possible that -he would have entered with ardour into the new conditions. He was -fitted for such; young, and energetic, and daring. Those in the -Cabinet or in the Army Council have material for exercising broader -views of the machinery of war, and to the eyes of such many things -which looked at in detail seem wrong or foolish stand out in their -true national importance. - -His dissatisfaction with the army changes was the last straw. He took -it into his head that in future the army had no place for him. The -idea multiplied day by day with an ever-increasing exasperation. At -last his mind was definitely made up. He sent in his papers; and in -due time retired. - -It is generally the way with human beings that they expect some -radical change in themselves and their surroundings to follow close on -some voluntary act. They cannot understand, at once at all events, -that the “eternal verities” are eternal. “I may die but the grass will -grow” says Tennyson in one of his songs. And this is the whole story -in epitome. After all, what is one life, howsoever perfect or noble it -may be, in the great moving world of fact. The great Globe floats in a -sea of logic which encompasses it about everywhere. What is ordained -is ordained to an end, and no puny hopes or fears or wishes of an -individual can sway or change its course. Conclusions follow premises, -results follow causes. We rebel against facts and conditions because -they are facts and conditions. Then for some new whim or purpose -entirely our own we take a new step--forward or backward it matters -not--and lo! we expect the whole world with its million years of slow -working up to that particular moment to change too. - -This belief that things _must_ change in accordance with our desires -has its base deep down in our nature. At the lowest depth it is -founded on Vanity. We are so important to ourselves that we cannot but -think that that importance is sustained through all creation. - -For a little while Lord Athlyne tried to persuade himself that now, at -last, he was enjoying freedom. No more parades or early hours; no more -orderly rooms or mess dinners, or duties at functions; no more of the -bald, stale conventionalities of an occupation which had lost its -charm. He expected each day to be now joyous with the realization of -ancient hopes. - -But the expectations were not realized. The days seemed longer than -ever, and he actually yearned for something to fill up his time. -Naturally his thoughts turned, as in the case of sportsmen they ever -do, on big game. The idea took him and he began to plan out in his -mind where he would go. Africa for lions? No! no! He had had enough of -Africa to last him for some time. India for tigers; the Rockies for -bear? - -Happy thought. Bear would just suit. He could put in two things: look -up that woman in New York who claimed to be his wife and silence her. -He wouldn’t like such an idea to go abroad in case he should ever -marry. Then he would go on to the Rockies or Colorado and have a turn -at the grizzlies. - -He went straightway into the reading room of the club he was in and -began to study Bradshaw. - -At last he had found a new interest in life. For a week he devoted -himself to the work in hand, until his whole sporting outfit was -prepared. Then he began to think of the other quest; and the more he -thought of it the more it puzzled him. - - - - - CHAPTER V. - AN ADVENTURE - -With regard to his quest after his alleged wife the first conclusion -Lord Athlyne came to was that he must go incognito--“under an alias” -he expressed it to himself. Otherwise he would give warning of his -presence, and that was the very thing which he wished to avoid. The -woman must be an unscrupulous one or she would not have entered on -such a scheme of fraud; and she would naturally be quick to protect -herself by concealment or flight. An ordinary individual would have -left such an investigation to his solicitors who would have procured -the services of local detectives. But then Athlyne was not an ordinary -individual. He liked to do things for himself in most matters which -interested him; and in this case there was so distinctly a personal -bearing that he would not have been satisfied to leave it to any one -else. - -When, however, he began to work out details of his alias he found that -he had landed in a perfect hornet’s nest of difficulties. The mere -matter of clothing and luggage was, he found, almost enough to turn -his hair prematurely grey. What was the use of taking a false name -when his true one was engraved on the brass plates of his portmanteaux -and bags so that every porter would know everything about him within -five minutes of his arrival; the chambermaid and laundress would see -the marking of his linen. He very soon found that he would have to set -about this branch of his effort very systematically if he did not want -to give himself away hopelessly even before he started. He had already -come to the conclusion that he must not take a valet with him. It -would be quite enough to support an alias amongst his equals, whose -habits and breeding had at least a certain amount of reticence, -without running the risk of the world of servants who were much more -inquisitive than their employers and much more skilled in matters of -suspicion and detection. - -First he had to decide on the name, and to get familiar with it in all -sorts of ways; speaking, writing, and hearing it spoken. The latter he -could only effect by hearing his own voice; he was conscious that he -must, for some time at all events, be open to the danger of a -surprise. He shrank in a certain way from using a name not his own; so -he salved his conscience by selecting two of the simplest of his many -names. Thus he became for his own purposes Richard Hardy. He fixed his -domicile as “Sands End,” a small place in the middle of Wiltshire -which he had inherited from his mother. It was too small to be -included in his ‘list of seats’ in Debrett, and thus answered his -purpose. Then he got quite fresh store of linen from a new shop and -had it marked ‘R. Hardy’ or ‘R. H.’ He bought new trunks and kit of -all kinds. He had them marked with the same letters, and sent to a -lodging which he had taken for the purpose under his new name. He had -cards printed and got plain notepaper as he had to avoid a crest. Then -he found that all his sporting things, which had already been packed, -had to be unpacked and overhauled lest the real name should remain -anywhere. When all this was done, and it took weeks to complete, he -began to feel an unmitigated fraud and a thorough scoundrel. To a man -who takes honour to be a part of a gentleman’s equipment any form of -dissimulation must always be obnoxious. - -One person alone he took into his confidence: his solicitor. It was -necessary that he should have a bank account opened in New York. Also -that in case of any unforeseen accident it would be at least advisable -to be able to explain his actions. When the solicitor remonstrated he -explained his purpose and made a special request that he should not be -subjected to any opposition. “I go to protect myself” he said. The -other shrugged his shoulders and remained silent. He arranged before -he terminated the interview that his letters should be sent to him -under cover to his new name at his bankers in New York. In due time an -account for a large sum was opened there. Then, when all was as -complete as he could think of, he took a cabin in one of the French -boats as he thought that in a foreign ship he would run less risk of -running up against some acquaintance than would be likely on a British -or American vessel. - -He had hardly got clear of land when he began to realize in what a -false position he had placed himself. He felt that any -acquaintanceship which he could make might possibly lead to some -imbroglio. To those who took him in good faith and made friends he -must either reveal his purpose or accept a false position from which -he might never be able to extricate himself. As the former was -impossible, without creating a suspicion which would destroy his -purpose, he had to take chance for the latter. The result was that had -to be aloof and unresponsive to any of the proffered friendlinesses of -the voyage; and seeing this the other passengers did not press -friendliness on him or even repeat their overtures. He felt this -acutely, for he had been always in the habit of making friends. Such -is one of the delights of travel, as all know who have been about the -world. Those who once “rub shoulders” in a casual way often make -acquaintanceships which ripen into friendship and are life-long. -Perhaps this is from the fact that in such cases each is taken from -the first on his personal merits. There being no foreknowledge there -cannot be any premeditation of purpose of gain of any kind. Like meets -like, recognises natural kinship; and union is the result. - -When after a somewhat tedious and uneventful voyage he landed in New -York he was altogether in a disappointed and a discontented frame of -mind. The acute cause of this was the filling up of the immigration -paper which is so exhaustive as to details as to become inquisitorial. -The answering of each question seemed to him like telling a lie--as -indeed it was. As, however, he had nothing to declare and was without -obvious objection he had no trouble. The only effect from the Customs -examination that he noticed on himself was that when he drove out of -the gates he felt somewhat as he had done when he passed from the -prison pen at Pretoria into the cheering ranks of the victorious -British army. He was lucky enough to escape from the ranks of the -journalists who make copy out of any stranger of distinction who -lands. His name was not sufficiently striking to even attract -attention. He took quiet rooms high up in the “Manhattan,” and for two -days kept his own company. - -The third day he went out. He walked through street after street; took -trolley-cars now and again; went “up town” and “down town” on the -road. Crossed the ferries to New Jersey and Long Island. Lunched at -Martin’s and dined at Delmonico’s; and returned to his hotel without -having made so far as he knew a step towards discovery. The only thing -which he brought back was a slight knowledge of local geography. He -had seen something of New York--from the streets; but except to ask -his way from policemen or for food from foreign waiters he had not -spoken to anybody. - -The next few days he spent in walking about the streets. In summing up -this afternoon he came to the conclusion that there was, for him, -nothing so bad in Pretoria. All the time he felt with increasing force -that he was a fraud, and constantly found himself evolving schemes as -to how he could shed his incognito. The question of clubs alone made -him unhappy. He had always been a clubbable man; in London he belonged -to a number of the best. Whenever he had been in any city where there -was a club its doors had always through the forethought of some friend -been thrown open to him. Here was a city so full of those masculine -refuges that it might be called the “City of Clubs.” In every -fashionable street was at least one, palatial places where men who -were of the great circle met their friends. And yet he felt like the -Peri outside the gates of Paradise. The feeling grew on him that he -could not enter any one of them, even if he got the chance. How could -he explain to men that he was not what he seemed--what he professed to -be. Club-land is in some ways to men holy ground. Here they can afford -to be natural--to be true. Except the club laws, written or unwritten, -there is no conventional demand. As a man who had grown old knowing -little of any other life put it; “In a club you can afford not to -lie.” (It is to be presumed, by the way, that the speaker did not take -a part in the conversations regarding episodes of fishing or _bonnes -fortunes_!) - -He could not see any way in which he could even _begin_ to make his -inquiry; or he could get honestly within any house he had seen. He -became sorry he had ever thought of making the inquiry himself--that -he had ever come at all. Dimly at the back of his thoughts was an -intention to go back to London, resume his proper name, and then -perhaps return in an upright way--as a gentleman should. Still he was -a masterful man and did not like giving up… He thought a ride would -do him good; it would clear his mind and freshen him up. A horseman is -never lonely so long as he has a horse. - -He asked the hotel clerk where he would get one. The man gave him -several addresses. Then he added: - -“By the way do you want to buy or only to hire?” - -“Either. I should buy if I could get something exceptionally good.” - -“Then take my advice. Go up to Seventh Avenue right at the top near -the Park. There is an auction there this morning of fine horses. You -will I daresay get what you want; but you will doubtless have to pay -for it.” - -“I don’t mind that!” he smiled as he spoke; he did not remember that -he had smiled since he left London. The very prospect of a horse -brightened him up. - -Before going to the Auction he called at the bank and drew out a -handsome sum. In horse buying ready money is often a matter of -importance. - -At the Horse Exchange there was a good show, some of the horses being -of real excellence. Prices ran high for these, and competition was -spirited. But he got what he wanted: a big “Blue Grass” thoroughbred -well up to his weight. His warranty was complete. The Auctioneer at -his request brought to him presently a livery man on whom he might, he -said, depend; and with him he arranged for the proper keeping of the -horse. - -For a few days Athlyne was really happy. His horse was as good as it -looked, and had evidently been trained by some one who understood him. -His mouth was as fine as possible and he realized an inflexion of the -voice. Lord Athlyne rode well, and he knew it; and the horse knew it -too from the first moment when his hand touched the bridle. After the -first ride up the Riverside Drive the two became understanding -friends. - -The effect of the exercise on Lord Athlyne was to do away with his -intention of trying to discover the identity of the offending lady. He -would start soon for the Rockies and get after the grizzlies. Or -better still he would go home, shake off his alias, and return--a free -man. - -On the Sunday afternoon he went for a ride in the direction he liked -best, up the Riverside Drive. He went quietly till he got near the -University where there was a long stretch of proper riding ground. -There he let the black horse go, and the noble beast went along at a -splendid pace. It was still a little early, and though there were a -good many pedestrians there were but few persons in carriages or -“horsebacking” and so the “ride” was fairly free. Horse and man were a -noble pair. The one jet black, full of fire and mettle, every movement -charged with power and grace; the other tall and slim, hard as nails -with his long spell of South African soldiering, sitting like a -centaur. Man and horse together moved as one. All eyes were turned on -them as they swept by, with admiring glances from both women and men, -each in their respective ways. Two park policemen, a sergeant and a -roundsman, both finely mounted, were jogging quietly along. As the -black horse came dashing up the roundsman said: - -“Shall I stop him, sergeant?” The other looked on admiringly and -answered quietly: - -“Guess not! ’Twould be a burnin’ shame to stop them two. An there -won’t be any need neyther, _they_ know what they’re doin, Halloran. -They ain’t goin’ to ride down nobody. Did ye iver see a finer seat. -I’d bet that’s an English cavalry man. Look at the spring of him. Be -the Lord I’d like to be in his shoes this minute!” - -Amongst the few riders Athlyne passed on his course were an old man -and a young woman. The man tall with a big white moustache, a haughty -bearing, and steely eyes under shaggy white brows. The girl tall and -slim and graceful with black hair and big gray eyes. Both were fairly -well mounted, but the girl’s mare was restive and shying at anything. -As the black horse came thundering along she had to use considerable -skill and force to keep her from bolting. Athlyne had just time for a -passing glance as he swept by; but in that instant the face and figure -became photographed on his memory. The girl turned and looked after -him; she was in the receptive period of her young womanhood when every -man has a charm, and when such a noble figure as was now presented is -a power. With a sigh she turned and said to her companion: - -“That is the horse that we saw sold at the Horse Exchange. I was -jealous of whoever bought it then. I’m not now; a man who can ride -like that deserves him. Daddy, don’t you think he is something like -what a man ought to be? I do!” - -“You’re right, little girl! But you’d better not say things like that -to any one else but me; they mightn’t understand!” Joy made no answer -but she smiled to herself. During the hour or two that followed she -chatted happily with her father. They had occasional canters and -gallops until the road got too crowded when they went along more -sedately. Whenever her father suggested turning homeward she always -pleaded for one more turn: - -“Just one more, Daddy. It is so delightful here; and the river is so -lovely.” Of course she had her way. The old man found more true -happiness in pleasing her than in any other way. In her heart, though -she did not tell her father for she felt that even he mightn’t -understand, she had a wish that the man on the black horse would -return the same way. She had a feeling that he would. - - -After his gallop Athlyne went quietly along the road past Grant’s Tomb -and followed the course of the Drive. Here the road descended, -circling round the elevation on which the Tomb is erected. Below it is -the valley of some old watercourse into the Hudson. This valley has -been bridged by a viaduct over which the Drive continues its course up -the side of the river for many miles. To-day however, it was necessary -to make a detour, descend the steep on the hither side of the valley -and rise up the other side. Some settlement had affected the base of -the up-river end of the bridge and it had given way. The rock on which -New York is based is of a very soft nature, and rots slowly away, so -that now and again a whole front of a house will slide down a slope, -the underlying rock having perished. Not long before, this had -actually happened to a group of houses in Park Row. Now the bridge had -fallen away; the road ended abruptly, and below lay a great shapeless -mass of twisted metal and stone. The near end of the viaduct was -barred off with wooden rails, and in the centre was a great board with -a warning that the thoroughfare was closed. - -Athlyne rode up as far as the Up-Town Club, sat for awhile amongst the -trees on the river bank and thought of many things. Amongst these of -the girl with the gray eyes who looked so admiringly at his horse--or -himself. Perhaps he accepted the latter alternative, for as his -thoughts ran he smiled and stroked his big moustache. - -When he rode towards town again he kept a sharp look out, -unconsciously slackening speed when any old man and young woman riding -together came in sight. He had ascended the eastern side of the -valley, over which lay the broken viaduct, and commenced to traverse -the curved slope leading up to Grant’s Tomb when he heard a sudden -shouting on the road in front and saw a rush of people to both sides -and up the steps to the Tomb. An instant after a mounted constable -appeared urging his horse to a gallop as he cried out: - -“Clear the road! Clear the road! It’s a run-a-way!” Instinctively -Athlyne drew to the roadside, a double purpose in his mind; to keep -the way clear as directed, and to be able to render assistance if -possible. The noise and cries drew closer and there was on the hard -road a thunder of many hoof strokes. Then round the curve swept a -brown mare dashing madly in a frenzied gallop--the neck stretched out -and the eyes flaming. The woman who rode her, a tall girl with black -hair and great gray eyes, sat easily, holding her reins so as to be -able to use them when the time should come. She was in full possession -of herself. She did not look frightened, though her face was very -pale. Behind her but a little way off came two mounted policemen and -the old man with the big white moustache. Other men variously mounted -came hurrying in the background; beyond them a whole long series of -horse vehicles and motor cars. - -As he saw her Athlyne’s heart leaped. This was the girl whose face had -attracted him; his time had come quicker than he had dared to hope. He -shook his reins and started his horse, spurring him with his heels as -he did so. If he was to be of service he should be able to keep at -least equal pace; and that would require a quick start, for the -runaway was going at a great pace. - -And then a great fear fell on him, not for himself but for the girl. -He knew what perhaps she did not, that the viaduct was broken, and -that her course lay down the steep roadway to the bottom of the little -valley. He rode in earnest now; the sloping curved road was so short -that if he was to stop the mare the effort should be made at once. He -rode close by her, his powerful horse keeping pace almost without an -effort, and said quietly to the girl: - -“Try to hold her in if ever so little, there is a steep road which you -must go down. The viaduct is broken and the road barred.” - -“I can’t,” she said “she has the bit and I am powerless.” - -He struck his heels sharply and the black horse bounded forward. The -girl saw the movement and understood: - -“Take care” she said quickly. “One policeman tried that and was thrown -over, he may be killed.” As she spoke, the words died on her lips; -they had rounded the curve and the danger ahead lay open to them. It -was a choice of evils: a dash down the steep incline with a maddened -mare, or a crash against the barrier cutting off the viaduct. - -But the woman had no choice; the maddened mare took her own course. -Down the curving slope she dashed and went straight for the barrier. -This was made of heavy balks of timber below, but the rails above were -light. These she broke through as she leaped; hurling a cloud of -broken rails and splinters right and left. The girl had nerved herself -to the effort when she had seen what was coming and held up as at a -jump on the hunting field. - -The moment that Athlyne had realized the situation he too was ready. -Seeing that the mare was making for the right side of the barrier he -went for the left, and they leaped together. The instant they had -landed on the other side he was ready and rode alongside the mare. -Ahead of them was the chasm--with death beneath. The girl saw it and -her pale face grew ashy white. Athlyne, riding level and holding his -reins in his left hand, hurriedly cried: - -“Loose your stirrup and when I get my arm round you take hold of my -collar with your left hand. Then try to jump to me as I pull you -towards me.” - -The girl loosened her boot from the stirrup and let go her rein, -bending towards him as his arm went round her waist and catching his -collar as directed. - -“Go!” he cried and she sprang towards him as well as she could. He -drew her towards him with all his strength, and in a second the girl -was landed on the pommel of his saddle. She knew what she had to do: -to leave his right hand free, so she clasped both her arms round his -neck. He pulled at his reins with all his might--it was two lives -now--and cried to the horse. The noble animal seemed to understand and -threw himself back on his haunches. - -He stopped only a few yards from the open chasm, into which the mare -went with a wild rush. - -Athlyne slid from the saddle, holding the girl in his arms. As the -terrible danger came to an end her eyes closed and she sank senseless -to the ground. - -Then the deluge! - -Through the barrier, which appeared to melt away before them, came a -rush of people. Some were on horseback, some on foot, others in -buggies, carriages, motor cars. Foremost came Colonel Ogilvie who -leaped the broken barrier; then after him a policeman whose horse had -manifestly been trained to timber. At last several mounted police -fearing that some terrible accident might occur from the crowding on -the viaduct ranged themselves in front of the opening and protected it -till the coming of a sufficient number of policemen, on foot and -panting, had arrived to hold it. - -Colonel Ogilvie threw himself from his horse and knelt down beside -Joy. When he saw that she was only fainting he stood up and lifted his -hat to her rescuer: - -“I don’t know how to thank you, sir,” he said in a voice broken with -emotion. “’Twas a gallant act! Some day, when you have children of -your own, you may understand what it is to me!” Athlyne who was -kneeling, still holding up Joy’s head, said in the disconnected way -usual to such circumstances: - -“Do not mention it! It has been a pleasure to me to be of any -service,” and so forth. Then, seeing signs in the girl’s face of -returning animation, he said aloud so as to divert some of the -attention: - -“Has any one seen after the mare? The poor brute must be mangled, if -it has not been killed; it ought to be put out of pain.” - -The poor brute was indeed a pitiable sight; there was a sigh of relief -from the crowd round it down below when a policeman put it out of pain -with a revolver shot. - -Seeing that the lady was now recovering and in the charge of her -father, Athlyne wanted to get away. He hated all such fuss and -publicity. He could not let her go lest she should be hurt, but he -signed to her father who took his place; then he arose. The girl’s -eyelids quivered and she gave a heavy sigh. Then the eyes opened and -she stared wildly at the sea of faces around her. She seemed to recall -everything in an instant, and with a shudder and a violent movement -sprang to her feet. - -“Where is he?” she said anxiously. Then, recovering her full presence -of mind and seeing her father, she turned to him and putting her arms -round him began to cry on his shoulder. - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - TRUE HEART’S-CONTENT - -Athlyne’s one idea was now to get away quickly. The crowd was -gathering closely and were beginning to ask questions. One big, -intelligent-looking sergeant of police had out his note-book. - -“May I ask your name, sorr?” - -“Is that necessary, my good man?” - -“Well, we have to report, sorr, but” this he said with a confidential -look “it mayn’t be necessary to make it public. You see, the lady’s -all right, and no one is goin’ to make trouble over a dead horse. -Though why any man would want to keep his name out of the papers for a -deed like _that_, bates me!” Athlyne beckoned him aside; they leaned -against the parapet with their faces towards the river. He had by now -taken out his pocket-book and handed the sergeant a bill with a yellow -back. The man’s eyes opened when he saw it; and there was more than -respect in his voice as he said: “Thank you very much, sorr! Be sure -I’ll do all I can. An’ I don’t know that we can’t pull it off nayther; -but ye must look out for them blasted kodaks!” - -“All right sergeant. I’m much obliged for the hint. By the way wasn’t -one of your men tumbled over?” - -“Yes, sorr; but I’m tould he wasn’t hurt, only a bruise or two an’ the -skin from off iv his nose.” - -“Good! You’ll tell the lady, she is sure to be distressed about him. -Give him this for me, please. And here is my card. I am at the -Manhattan.” - -“Thank you again, sorr. ’Tis mighty kind of ye. An’ sorr if I may make -so bould. If ye want not to be in all the paapers to-morra betther not -ride back. There’ll be a million kodaks on the Boulevard.” - -Just then a tall man raised his hat to Colonel Ogilvie and said: - -“My motor is here, sir, and I shall be very happy if you will use it -for the lady. The chauffeur will leave you where you wish.” - -“Thank you exceedingly. I shall be very grateful. I dare say I can get -somebody to bring my horse to the stables; I couldn’t leave my -daughter alone after such a shock.” - -“I’ll see to it, sorr,” said the sergeant, who had come close. Colonel -Ogilvie gave him his card and said: - -“We are at the Holland House. Come up and see me some time to-morrow -morning. I have some gratitude to express to you and your men!” - -Whilst this conversation was going on a slim young man came up to -Athlyne and raising his hat said: - -“Can I do anything for you, sir. It will be a pleasure I assure you.” -Athlyne summed him up a glance as a soldier. - -“Thanks, old fellow,” he said, impulsively holding out his hand. -“You’re a soldier aren’t you--a cavalry man?” - -“No. Field Artillery 27th Battery. But we’re all cavalry at West -Point. I knew you were a soldier when I saw you ride--let alone what -you did. What can I do?” - -“If it wouldn’t trouble you too much I wish you’d get some one to -bring my horse to the Exchange in Seventh Avenue. You see I want to -avoid all this fuss and kodaking.” - -“I should love to; what a noble animal he is. But I shan’t send him. -If you don’t mind I’ll ride him myself. Catch me missing a ride on a -horse like that. May I come and see you after.” - -“Delighted. Manhattan Hotel.” They bowed and parted. Athlyne went to -Colonel Ogilvie, he felt it would be indecorous to leave without a -word. - -“I hope your daughter is all right, sir.” - -“Thanks to you, my brave friend. I am Colonel Ogilvie of Airlville. -Joy this is Mr. ----” Athlyne felt in an instant like a cad. He -realised now, in all its force, the evil of deception. Silently he -handed his card. “Mr. Hardy” her father said. Joy held out her hand -and he took it. - -“I’m not able to thank you, now and here!” she said, raising to him -her glorious grey eyes. He mumbled out a few words in reply and raised -his hat to part. As he was turning away Joy whispered to her father: - -“Daddy, won’t you ask him to come to see us. Mother will want to thank -him too. Ask him to come to dinner to-night.” - -“My dear, you will be far too upset. Better----” - -“Nonsense, Daddy dear. I’m all right now. Indeed, dear, it will seem -strange if you don’t, after what he has done for--for you, Daddy -dear--and for me.” - -In his own formal and kindly way Colonel Ogilvie gave the invitation. -Athlyne answered with equal kindly ceremony; and they parted. - -By this time the stranger’s motor had been taken in through the broken -barrier. Colonel Ogilvie insisted that their host should not leave -them, and they drove off together. - -In the public excitement at their going Athlyne escaped unnoticed. He -took the street at right angles and shortly got a down-town West-End -Avenue car. - -An hour later he had a call from his military friend, who announced -himself as “Lootenant R. Flinders Breckenridge.” Athlyne had now made -up his mind how to meet him. He said at once: - -“I am going to try your patience, old chap, and perhaps your -friendship; but I want you to keep a secret. I can’t deceive a -comrade; and we military men are that to each other all the world -over. I am here under a false name. I had reasons for keeping my -identity concealed as I came for a special purpose. So I want you to -bear with me and keep even that much a secret between you and me.” - -“That’s all right!” said the boy with a hearty smile. “On my honour -I’ll keep your secret as my own.” - -“And when I can I’ll write and let you know!” And so a friendship -began. - -“Mr. Hardy” left word at the desk that he would not see any one, -especially any newspaper man. But on the Riverside Drive the kodaks -had been hard at work; the black horse was recognised, and the morning -papers had many execrable likenesses of Lootenant Breckenridge as he -appeared galloping. - - -In the hall of the Holland House Lord Athlyne found Colonel Ogilvie -waiting for him with that old-fashioned hospitality which is still to -be found in the South. He cordially greeted his guest, and when they -had come from the elevator took his arm to lead him into his own -suite. Athlyne was quite touched with the greeting extended to him. He -had not for years been in the way of receiving anything of the nature -of family affection. But now when his host’s warmth was followed by a -tearful gratitude on the part of his wife which found expression of a -quick bending forward and kissing the hand which she held in hers--to -the great consternation of the owner thereof--he was sensible of -feeling foolish. - -“Oh, pray! pray!” he said, and then remained silent; for what could he -do but submit gracefully to such an overt outcome of the feelings of a -grateful mother. Joy was a girl in whom were the elements of passion; -was it strange that the same emotional yeast worked in her as in her -mother’s nature. - -The introduction to Miss Judith Hayes was a relief. She too felt -strongly; no less strongly when she realised that the valiant stranger -was so handsome and of so distinguished an appearance. But after all -the matter was not so vitally close to her. An aunt, howsoever loving -her nature may be, cannot be actuated by the overwhelming impulses of -motherhood. This very difference, however, made speech easier; she it -was who of all the grateful little party gave best verbal expression -to her feelings. In frank phrases, touched with the native warmth of -her heart and emphasised by the admiring glances of her fine eyes, she -told him of the gratitude which they all felt for his gallant rescue -of her dear niece. She finished up with an uncontrollable sob as she -said: - -“If it hadn’t been for your bravery and resource and strength there -would be no more sorrowful band of poor souls in all the wide world -than--than” she turned her head and walked over to the window. Athlyne -could see that for quite a minute or two afterwards her shoulders -shook. When at last she did turn round, her glassy eyes but ill -accorded with her incisive humorous phrases or her ringing laugh. The -effect on Athlyne was peculiar; without analysing the intellectual -process too closely, he felt in his mind with a secret exultation that -he had “found an ally.” It may have been the soldier instinct, to -which he had been so long accustomed, working in his mind; or it may -have had another basis. Anyhow he was content. - -His meeting with Joy surprised whilst it satisfied them both. They -looked into each other’s eyes for an instant, and to them both the -whole world became crystal. The “whole world” to them both--their -world--the only world that was to them at that moment, that ever could -be, that had been since the ordination of things. This is the true -heart’s-content. It is the rapture of hearts, the communion of souls. -Passion may later burn the rapture into fixed belief, as the furnace -fixes the painted design on the potter’s clay; but in that first -moment of eyes looking into answering eyes is the dawn of love--the -coming together of those twin halves of a perfect soul which was at -once the conception and realisation of Platonic belief. - -At dinner Athlyne was placed between Mrs. Ogilvie and Joy, Colonel -Ogilvie being next his daughter and Miss Hayes next her sister. Thus -Aunt Judy, being opposite both her niece and the guest, could watch -them both without seeming to stare. In the early part of the dinner -she was abnormally, for her, silent; but later on, when she felt that -things were going dully with some of the party, she manifested her -usual buoyancy of spirits. She had in the meantime come to certain -conclusions of her own. - -Somehow there was an air of constraint over all the party, but in -different ways and from different causes. Athlyne was ill at ease -because they all made so much of him; and as he was painfully -conscious of his false position in accepting the hospitality of such -persons under an alias, their kindness only emphasised to him his own -chagrin. Colonel Ogilvie conscious, rather by instinct than from any -definite word or action, that his guest was more reticent than he -would have thought a young man would be under the circumstances, was -rather inclined to resent it. The Ogilvies had from the earliest times -been very important people in their own place; and many generations of -them had grown up to the understanding that their friendship, even -their acquaintance, was an honour. Now when he had asked into his -family circle a young man known personally to him only by his visiting -card and by the fact that he had saved his daughter’s life--very -gallantly it was true--he found his friendly interest in his new -acquaintance was not received with equal heartiness. The truth was -that Athlyne was afraid. He felt instinctively that he was not his own -master whilst those great grey eyes were upon him--most certainly not -when he was looking into the mystery of their depths. And so he feared -lest he should become confused and weave himself into a further tangle -of falseness. In the background of his own mind he knew what he -wished--what he intended; that this beautiful grey-eyed girl should -become his wife. He knew that he must first get clear of his false -position; and he was determined at any cost not to let anything -interfere with this. At first Colonel Ogilvie’s allusions to his home -and his place in the world were purely kindly; he thought it only -right, under the circumstances of his great obligation, to show such -an interest as a man of his age might with another so much his junior. -But he could not help feeling that though his guest’s manner was all -that was winning and that though his words were adequate there was no -loosening of the strings of self-possession. Such a thing was new to -the Colonel, and new things, especially those that he could not -understand, were not pleasing to him. Still, the man was his guest; -and only a few hours before had rendered him the greatest service that -one could to another. He must not let him, therefore, feel that there -was any constraint on his part. And so he acted what was to him an -unfamiliar part; that of an exuberant man. - -Joy was constrained, for with her deep knowledge of her father’s -character she saw that he was upset by something; and, as that -something could only be in connection with the guest, she was uneasy. -She knew well what her opinion of that guest was; and she had a -feeling of what her hopes would be, dare she give them a voice. But -that must be postponed--till when she should be alone. In the meantime -she wanted to enjoy every moment when that guest was by her side. And -now her breast was stirred with some vague uneasiness. - -Mrs. Ogilvie had her own disturbing cause. She could not but see that -her daughter was very much absorbed in this strange gentleman whom she -had not ever even seen till that afternoon, and she wanted to know -more of him before she could allow matters to become more definite. -She knew that he was brave and she could see that he was a gentleman -and a handsome one. But still--A mother’s heart has its own anxieties -about her child. And this mother knew that her child was of no common -nature, but had her own share of passions which might lead her into -unhappiness. Too well from herself she knew the urging of a passionate -nature. Joy had not been tested yet, as she had herself been. She had -not yet heard that call of sex which can alter a woman’s whole life. - -As to Judy her sympathy with romance in any form and her love for Joy -acted like the two ingredients in a seidlitz-powder. Each by itself -was placid and innocuous, but when united there was a boiling over. It -needed no spirit come from the grave, or from anywhere else, to tell -her of the power which this handsome, gallant, young man had already -over her niece. A single lifting of the girl’s eyes with that adorable -look which no habit of convenience could restrain; a single lifting or -falling of the silky black lashes; a single sympathetic movement of -the beautiful mouth in its receptive mood as she took in her -companion’s meaning told her all these things and a hundred -others--told her a story which brought back heart-aching reminiscence -of her own youth. She was not jealous, not a particle--honestly and -truly. But after all, life is a serious thing, serious to look back -on, though it seems easy enough to look forward to. The heart knoweth -its own bitterness. “A sorrow’s crown of sorrow is remembering happier -things.” - -So far, as to possibilities. Judith was much too clever and too -sympathetic a person to go wrong as to facts on which they were based. -She was a natural physiognomist, like other animals who have learned -to trust their instincts; and within a very few minutes had satisfied -herself as to the worthiness of “Joy’s man”--that is how she tabulated -him in her own mind. She felt quite satisfied as to her own judgment, -not always the case with her. In her own mind, living as she had done -for so long in a little world of her own thoughts, she was in the -habit of arguing out things just as she would were she talking with -some one else, a man for preference. She always wanted to know the -truth, even if she did not use it. She had once said to her sister -when they were considering how they should act with regard to a -scandal in a neighbouring family: - -“Well, Sally, it’s all very well not being inquisitive; but you know, -my dear, we can’t begin to lie properly till we know what we are to -lie about. There’s nothing so destructive of after happiness--no -kindliness so full of pitfalls, as a useless lie.” - -Now, her argument ran: - -“You can’t be all wrong about a man. You have thought too much on the -subject not to be able to form an opinion. And even if your old maid’s -instinct--for you are an old maid, my dear, despite your saying that -you are so to prove that you are not--warps your judgment in favour of -the man. The pride that is in that man’s features never came out of -merely one or two generations of command. It takes a couple of -centuries at any rate to put _that_ stamp on a face. He is bold--well -we know that from to-day’s work; he is courtly--a man doesn’t do nice -things unconsciously, unless it has been his habit. He’s in love with -Joy--no doubt about that; and small blame to him for it. He’s in her -father’s house, an honoured guest as he should be. He’s sitting next -to her and she’s looking straight into his soul with those big lamps -of eyes of hers. He saved her life a few hours ago, and now he can -see--if he’s not a fool and he’s not that whatever else he may -be--that she adores him--and yet he’s not at his ease… What is it? -What does it mean? For Joy’s sake I must find that out. I may have to -lie a bit; but at least I’ll know what I am doing!” - -With this object in view she took, when the charm of the meeting began -to lose its lustre, the conversation in hand herself. She felt that -the time had come. Well she understood when she saw on Colonel -Ogilvie’s face the very faintest shade of a shadow of that dark look -which in earlier years had meant trouble for some one. “Lucius is -thinking!” was the way she put it to herself. To a woman of her -bringing up, the acts of the men of the family, and especially of its -head, were not within the women’s sphere. In the old slave-owning -families there was perpetuated something of the spirit of -subordination--some survival of old feudal principle. This was -especially so in everything relating to quarrels or fighting. It was -not women’s work, and women were trained not to take any part in it, -not even to manifest any concern. Indeed the free-spirited Judy having -lived so many years in that particular atmosphere, before being able -to look round her in wider communities, compared the dominance of view -of a man in his own family life to that of a cock who lords it over -the farmyard, struts about masterfully, and summons his household -round him with no other purpose than his own will. Woman-like she was -content to yield herself to the situation. - -“We’re all the same,” she once said to a farmer’s wife, “women or -hens. When the master clucks we come!” - -As it was quite apparent to her that both her sister and -brother-in-law were uneasy, she began to take on herself the -responsibility of action, even if it should have to be followed by the -odium. - -“What’s the use of being an old maid if you can’t do _something_!” she -said to herself as a sort of rallying cry to her own nerves. Such -gathering of one’s courage is not uncommon; it is, in unusual -circumstances, to many men and to most women. It does not as a rule -apply to professional or accustomed duties. To the soldier, the -lawyer, the engineer, the man of commerce, each as such, the faculties -which wait on the intelligence are already braced by habit. And to the -woman in her hours of social self-consciousness the same applies. When -a woman puts on her best frock she is armed and ready as completely as -is the cavalry man with the thunder of the squadron behind him; as the -artillery man when “Action!” has been sounded. Ordinarily Miss Judith -was equal to all demands made on her; now she was engaging in a matter -in which she did not thoroughly understand either the purpose or the -end. Now she spoke: - -“Have you been staying long in New York Mr. Hardy?” At the moment -Athlyne was talking with his hostess and did not seem to hear; but Joy -heard and said gently: “Mr. Hardy!” He turned suddenly red, even to -his ears. - -“I beg your pardon, I didn’t …” There he stopped, suddenly realizing -that he had almost betrayed himself. The fact was that he heard the -question but forgot for an instant the part he was playing. His ears -had been tuned to the music of Joy’s voice, and he did not wake at -once to the less welcome sound. Partly it was of course due to the -fact that as yet he had heard but little of Aunt Judy’s speech; her -intentional silence had a drawback as well as an advantage. He stopped -his explanation just in time to save suspicion from the rest of the -family, but not from Judy, who having an intention of her own was -alert to everything. She made a mental note to be afterwards -excogitated: “I didn’t--what?” - -She repeated the question. He answered with what nonchalance he could: - -“No. Only a few days.” - -“Do you remain long?” - -“I am sorry to say that I cannot. I had promised myself a few weeks -after grizzlies; but that has to be foregone for the present. -Something has happened which requires my going back at once. But I -hope to renew my visit before long.” He was pleased with himself for -the verbal accuracy of the statement, and this reassured him. - -“What a pity you have to give up your hunting,” said Colonel Ogilvie, -heartily. “You would find it really excellent sport. I haven’t had any -of it for twenty years; but I’d dearly like to have another turn at it -if I could.” - -“What boat do you go by?” asked Mrs. Ogilvie. - -“By the French boat. The _Mignonette_ which sails on Saturday.” He -answered with confidence for he had spent a quarter of an hour looking -it up before he had dressed; and had already posted a letter to the -Office asking to have the best cabin open kept for him. - -“What a pity,” said Joy. “We are going on the _Graphic_ on the -Wednesday after; you might have come with us.” She coloured up as she -became conscious of the dead silence--lasting for a few seconds--of -the rest of the party. - -“H’m!” said the Colonel. - -“Perhaps dear, Mr. Hardy has reasons of his own for choosing his own -route,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, determined that her daughter should not -appear to be too ardent in pressing the new acquaintanceship. - -Athlyne hastened to set matters right, as well as he could. He knew -from his own bringing up that such a request should come rather from -the parents than from the girl herself; but he understood and tried to -protect her. He addressed himself therefore to Mrs. Ogilvie and not -her daughter as he spoke: - -“It would I assure you, be a delight to me to go on your ship. But -unhappily it would not be possible. Some business matters, not -altogether my own, are dependent on my arriving in England. If I had -only known that you were going--Indeed I may say,” he added with a -smile which all three women accepted as “winning” “that if I had -known, to begin with, that such delightful people existed. … But -until that … that accident I had no such knowledge. I must not say -that ‘happy’ accident for it was fraught with such danger to one whom -you hold dear. But, that apart, it _was_ a happy accident to me that -has given me the opportunity of making friends whom I already value so -highly!” This was for him quite a long speech; he breathed more freely -when it was over. - -When the ladies had gone, he and his host had a long chat over their -cigars. He was now more at ease, and as the conversation was all about -sport and horses, matters in which he was thoroughly at home, he could -speak more freely and more naturally than he had yet done. There was -not any personal element which would require him to be on guard and so -cause constraint. The result was that Colonel Ogilvie got quite over -his stiffness and began to warm to his genial influence. - -It was quite a sign of his existing attitude that he now took on -himself to say just what he had reprehended in his daughter: - -“I am really sorry you can’t come on the _Graphic_ with us. It would -make the voyage a new pleasure for us all!” As he spoke he took the -young man’s arm in a most friendly way; and to Joy’s secret delight, -they came in this wise into the drawing-room. - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - A DISCUSSION - -On reflection Lord Athlyne was glad that circumstances had not -allowed him to travel on the _Graphic_ with his new friends. At first -he felt horribly disappointed; as if Fate had in a measure checkmated -him. Had he known that the Ogilvies were to travel on the White Star -boat he could have easily arranged his plans. The voyage would in some -ways--_one_ way--have been delightful. Well he knew that; but as he -should have to keep up his alias he would have been in a perpetual -state of anxiety and humiliation. - -This feeling made it easier for him therefore to come to a definite -conclusion regarding his journey home: he would keep to himself, as -far as possible, during the journey and try to get at the earliest -possible moment out of his present humiliating position. Under any -ordinary circumstances he would have gone to Colonel Ogilvie and told -him frankly of the state of matters, relying on his good feeling to -understand and sympathise with his difficulty. Had there been -opportunity for reflection he would have done so; but all was so -hurried at the scene of the accident that there had not been time for -thought. He had accepted of necessity the invitation to dinner. Then, -or before going to the Holland House would have been his chance. But -again the Colonel meeting him and taking him at once to his family -made present explanation difficult. Dinner finished him. When first on -the Drive he had seen Joy he had thought her a beautiful girl. The act -of rescuing her had made her of the supremest interest to him. But it -was not till he had sat beside her and looked into her eyes that he -felt that love had come. No man could look into those beautiful eyes -and remain untouched. But this man, heart-hungry and naturally -susceptible after some years of campaigning, fell madly in love. His -very soul had gone down into the depths of those unfathomable eyes, -and come back purified and sweetened--like the smoke drawn through the -rosewater of a hookah. Every instant that he sat beside her the spell -grew upon him. Joy was a woman in whom the sex-instinct was very -strong. She was woman all over; type of woman who seems to draw man to -her as the magnet draws the steel. Athlyne was a very masculine person -and therefore peculiarly sensitive to the influence. That deep -thinking young madman who committed suicide at twenty-three, Otto -Weininger, was probably right in that wonderful guess of his as to the -probable solution of the problem of sex. All men and all women, -according to him, have in themselves the cells of both sexes; and the -accredited masculinity or femininity of the individual is determined -by the multiplication and development of these cells. Thus the ideal -man is entirely or almost entirely masculine, and the ideal woman is -entirely or almost entirely feminine. Each individual must have a -preponderance, be it ever so little, of the cells of its own sex; and -the attraction of each individual to the other sex depends upon its -place in the scale between the highest and the lowest grade of sex. -The most masculine man draws the most feminine woman, and _vice -versa_; and so down the scale till close to the border line is the -great mass of persons who, having only development of a few of the -qualities of sex, are easily satisfied to mate with any one. This is -the true principle of selection which is one of the most important of -Nature’s laws; one which holds in the lower as well as in the higher -orders of life, zoological and botanical as well as human. It accounts -for the way in which such a vast number of persons are content to make -marriages and even liaisons, which others, higher strung, are actually -unable to understand. - -As yet, of course, Joy being a young woman had not her power -developed. Such an unconscious power takes in the course of its -development its own time. Instinct is a directing principle, and -obedience can be given to it in many different ways. With Joy its -course had been slow, the growth of time alone. Up to now there had -been no disturbing element in her life; most of her years had been -spent in a quiet house in a quiet neighbourhood where there were but -few inhabitants of her own class; and where, therefore, the percentage -of eligible men was small. There was even to her, as there must be to -any girl like her, certain protecting oppositions. She was at once -practical and sentimental, sensuous and dainty. Her taste was her -first line of defence to the attacks of the baser qualities of her own -nature. Nothing could appeal to her thoroughly which did not answer -widely divergent conditions. Aunt Judy had summed her up well in -saying that she would, if she ever fell in love, give herself -absolutely. But it must be the right man to whom she did so give -herself; one who must comply with all the conditions which she had -laid down for herself. A girl of her up-bringing--with a father and -mother who adored her each in special way; with an aunt who -represented impulsive youth all the more actively because she -professed the staidness of age which is without hope; and with no -intimate relationships or friendships of the male kind--had not only a -leaning to, but a conviction of romance as a prime factor of life. -“Life” was to her not that which is, but that which is to be. As the -world of the present, where such thoughts are, is not one which is lit -and coloured by love, the world of the future is the World of Love. -The Fairy Prince who is to bring so much happiness--when he comes--is -no mere casual visitor to feminine childhood. He is as real to the -child’s imagination as the things of her waking life, though his -nodding plume has little in common with the material things which -surround her. As she grows older so does he change form, coming more -into harmony with living fact; till at last in some lofty moment, -whose memory is a treasure for after life, the ideal and the real -merge in one. - -To Joy the hour had come. The Prince Charming who had swept across her -path in such heroic fashion was all that she had ever longed for. He -was tall and strong and handsome and brave. He was a gentleman with -all a gentleman’s refined ways. He had taste and daintiness, though -they were expressed in masculine ways. He too had love and passion. -How could she not know it who had seen--had felt--his soul sink into -the deeps of her eyes, where mermaid-like her own soul peeping from -behind the foliage of the deep had smiled on him to lead him on. How -could she forget that strong arm which was thrown around her waist and -which tore her from her saddle just in time to save her from a -horrible death. How could she forget the seconds when she hung on to -him for life, her arms clasped around his neck. - -Whilst he was beside her at dinner she was in an ecstasy. Every fibre -of her being quivered in response to his. And yet, such is the -influence of teaching and convention, all this did not detract from -her outward calm. When the ladies had left the table she had gone out -with her arm round Aunt Judy’s waist as was the convention of the -time, and her smile had not lost its frank geniality. But in very -truth she did not feel like smiling. She would have given anything to -have stolen away to her own room and have lain on her bed, face down, -and have thought, and thought, and thought. The whole thing had come -on her so suddenly. Even the little preparation which she had had at -the auction--the beautiful horse and the fine-looking masterful man -who had bought him--did not seem to count. As he had swept past her in -the Drive, man and horse seen singly seemed superb; but together a -dream. Still there was nothing to fix it in her mind. There needs some -personal quality to fix a dream; just as the painter requires a -mordant to hold his colours to the canvas. But such luxury of thought -would have to be postponed. It would come, of course--later in the -night when there would be loneliness and silence. So she had to -contain herself, and wait. - -When “Mr. Hardy” came back to the drawing-room arm in arm with her -father her heart thrilled. It seemed like a promise of hope if not -hope itself. Aunt Judy, ever watchful, saw and understood. To her -seeing eyes and understanding nature there was no mistaking the -meaning of the girl’s unconscious pantomime--those impulsive -expressions of thought made through the nerves: the eager half turning -of the ear to catch the sound of the opening of the dining room door -and the passing of the feet in the passage way; the uplifting of the -head as the drawing-room door began to open; the glad look in the eyes -and the quick intake of the breath as she saw the attitude of the two -men, each to the other. - -As he came in Athlyne looked at her; a look that seemed to lay any -ghost of a doubt in her mind. She was glad when he went straight -across the room and began to talk with her mother. She was content to -wait till when, having done his social duties, he would find his way -to her. Mrs. Ogilvie had much to say and detained him, Judy thought, -unduly; but Joy gave no possible sign of impatience. When in due -course he spoke a few words to Judy herself that estimable young lady -managed to find something to say to her sister. - -When the guest was at last beside her in her corner of the room Joy -felt that all was right and becoming. No matter how willing a woman -may be to take steps to the accomplishment of her own wishes, it is an -added pleasure to her when she is the objective of man rather than his -pursuer. Even the placid pussy-cat when her thoughts tend to -flirtation runs--slowly--from her mate until she sees that he notices -her going. Then she stops and sings to him--in her own manner of -music--as he approaches. - -The two young people did not use many words in their speech; such -seemed inadequate for what they had to say. Suffice it that what they -did say was thoroughly understood. - -Athlyne did not prolong his stay, much as he would have enjoyed -staying. He felt that it would be better, in every way, if he did not -enforce his first opportunity. Mrs. Ogilvie very graciously hoped that -he would manage to make them a visit before sailing. Joy said -nothing--in words. He had a little conversation with Colonel Ogilvie -who was standing away from the rest and leaning on the chimney piece. - -When he had gone Joy said good-night to them all; she felt that at -present she _could_ not talk the little commonplaces of affectionate -life; and she could not bear to hear “him” discussed. If that acute -reasoner on causes and effects in the female mind, Aunt Judy, had been -able to permeate her heart and brain she would at once have understood -that simple way of accepting a man’s personality--simulacrum. What -need is there to differentiate when there is but one. Names are given -as aids to memory; and at times memory ceases to be an important -matter. - -The next evening after dinner “Mr. Hardy” became the subject of -conversation, and Joy was not comfortable. She knew that there must be -divergent views regarding any one, and was content to let them all -have their own opinions. She had hers. Indeed she would not have been -wholly content to hear him praised even up to the perfection which she -allowed him. He was by far too personal a possession of her own to -share even community of feeling regarding him with any one. - -In the night that had passed her own feeling had grown, multiplied; -the feelings of the others had changed too, but in a different way. -The glamour which had become for her intensified had for them been -lost in the exactness of perspective. Perhaps it was that Joy’s night -had been different from theirs. To her had come all the evils of -reaction. Now and again with wearing recurrency came the exciting -memories of the day; but always with that kaleidoscopic inconsistency -which is the condition of dreaming. The brains of most people are not -accustomed to self-analysis, else we should perhaps more widely -understand that this very inconsistency is mere reproduction. Whilst -we think we do not think that we are thinking, and memory does not -adjust our thoughts to comparison. But, all the time, our thoughts are -really errant; reflections of the night, which seem to be -exaggerations or caricatures, are but just surveys taken from an -altitude which is not our own. In the day time thought is too often -initiated by carnal or material considerations. Selfishness, and need, -and ambition, and anxiety are bases on which thought is built in -working and waking hours. But in the dark and freedom of the night the -mind borrows the wings of the soul and soars away from the body which -is held down by all its weighty restraints. It is perhaps in such -moments that we realise that passion, however earthly may be its -exciting cause, is in itself an attribute or emanation of the Soul. -Over and over again did Joy live through the mad moments of that ride -towards death. Over and over again did that heroic figure sweep up -beside her out of the great unknown. She began to understand now -whence came her calmness and quickness of apprehension as she realised -his presence--the presence of a man who dominated her--even whose -horse in the easiness of its calm intention outstripped the wildness -of her own maddened steed. Here again the abstract mind was working -truly; the horse had its own proper place in her memories of the -heroic deed. Over and over again did that strong hand and arm seize -her; and over and over again did her body sway to him and yield itself -to the clasp, so that at his command it went to him as though of its -own volition. And then, over and over again, came the remembrance of -the poor mad mare disappearing over the edge; of the sickening crash -from below and the wild scream of agony; of the confused rush and -whirl; of the crowding in of people; of the vista of moving carriages -and crowds down the curve of the road. And then all kept fading away -into a blind half consciousness of the strong arm supporting her and -her wearied head resting on his shoulder. … - -This evening Mrs. Ogilvie was very quietly inclined to be tearful. She -too had had a bad night; constant wakings from vague apprehensions, -horrible imaginings of unknown dangers; dread that she could not -localise or specify. Altogether she was upset, something as one is in -the low stage following an attack of hysteria; nervous, weak, -apprehensive, inclined to misunderstand things on the melancholy side. - -Colonel Ogilvie was in that state of mind following a high pressure, -which is a masculine reaction. He was very hard to please about -anything. His wife always thought of this nervous and intellectual -condition as “one of Lucius’s humours,” to others she said “the -Colonel is worried about something.” Judy called it: “one of his -tantrums.” This however did not affect his manner, outwardly. At such -times he was perhaps even more precise than usual in his observance of -the little etiquettes and courtesies of social life. It had perhaps -been unfortunate that his household was exclusively female, for want -of opposition rather encouraged the tendency. In his club or amongst -men such irritation or ill feeling as he had found more outward -expression; and the need to keep himself so that standard of personal -hearing which his own self esteem had set, perpetually recalled him to -himself. But at home, this, though it would not have been possible for -a stranger to find fault with any part of his manner or bearing, still -kept the rest of the family in a sort of hushed self-surrender. Even -Judy the daring kept her natural exuberance in control at such times -and was content to rest in unnoticed quiet. Joy knew well the storm -signals and effaced herself as far as possible; she loved her father -too well and respected him too much to do or say anything which might -cause him disquiet or tend to lower him in his own eyes. - -Judy on this as on other occasions maintained a strictly neutral -position. But her wits were keener and her eyes more observant even -than usual on that very account. She did not know the cause of her -brother-in-law’s disturbance, but she understood it all the same. Few -things there are which lead so directly to the elucidation of truth as -a clever, unselfish woman on the watch. - -Silence rather than speech was the order of the day, and the talking, -such as it was, began with Colonel Ogilvie. Men when they are carrying -out a settled intention or policy can be more silent than women; their -nerves are stronger and their nature more fixed. But in the casual -matters of life they are children in the hands of women. Here were -three women, all of them clever, all of them attached to the man and -all respecting him; but they had only to remain neutral, each in her -individual way, and let him overcome the _vis inertia_ as well as he -could. He could not but be aware that the subject of the guest of last -evening had been tacitly avoided. He had been conscious of such in his -own case, and with the egotism which was so marked a part of his own -character he took it for granted that the avoidance was with the -others due to the same cause as with himself. It was therefore with -something like complacency--if such a thing could be synchronous with -irritability, even if one of the two be in a latent condition--that he -began on the deferred subject: - -“I am afraid that our guest last night did not enjoy himself!” There -was silence for a few seconds. Then each of the three listeners, -feeling that some remark must be made by some one, spoke suddenly and -simultaneously: - -“Why, Lucius, what do you mean?” - -“You surprise me, Colonel!” - -“Is that so, Daddy!” - -He waited deliberately before saying more; he had been thinking over -the subject and knew what he wanted to say. Then he spoke with an air -of settled conviction: - -“Yes, my dear!” He spoke to Joy alone, and thus, to all three, -unconsciously gave away his purpose. “I thought so at the time, and -to-day, whenever I have considered the matter, the conviction has -increased.” Mrs. Ogilvie, seeing on her daughter’s face a certain -hardening of the muscles, took it for granted that it was some form of -chagrin; in a protective spirit she tried to make that matter right: - -“My dear Lucius, I really cannot see how you arrive at such a -conclusion. It seemed to me that the young man was in rather an -exalted condition of happiness. I could not help noticing the way he -kept looking at Joy. And indeed no wonder after the gallant way he had -saved her life.” She added the last sentence as a subtle way of -reminding her husband that they were all under obligation to the young -gentleman. Moreover there was in her heart as a mother--and all -mothers are the same in this respect--that feeling of pride in her -daughter which demands that all men shall be attracted by her charms. -No matter how detrimental a man may be, nor how determined she is that -his suit shall not be finally successful, a mother considers it the -_duty_ of the young man to love her daughter and desire her. - -Joy somehow felt humiliated. It was not merely that she should be the -centre of such a discussion--for, after all, it was through rescuing -her that he was there at all; but she was hurt and disappointed that -this particular man should be discussed in any way. She had seen no -fault in him; nothing to discuss in his conduct or his bearing or his -words or his person. She herself had admired him immensely. He was -somehow different from all the other men she had ever seen. … Then -pride came to her rescue. Not pride for herself, but for him. In her -heart he was her man, and she had to protect his honour; and she would -do so, if necessary. This idea at once schooled her to restraint, and -steeled her to endure. With an unconscious shrug she remained silent. - -But Judy’s keen eyes had been on her, and both her natural sympathy -and the experience of her own heart allowed her to interpret pretty -well. She saw that for Joy’s sake--either now or hereafter--some -opposition to the Colonel’s idea was necessary. She had noticed the -settled look--it had not yet become a frown--which came over his face -when his wife spoke of his looking at Joy. In just such moments and on -subjects as this it is that a father’s and a mother’s ideas join -issue. Whilst the mother expects the singling out of the daughter for -devotion, the father’s first impulse is to resent it. Colonel -Ogilvie’s resentment had all his life been habitually expressed with -force and rapidity; even in a tender matter of this kind the habit -unconsciously worked. - -“All the more reason, Sarah, for his being candid about himself. For -my own part I can understand one attitude or the other; but certainly -not both at once!” - -Joy began to get seriously alarmed. The mere use of her mother’s -formal name was a danger-signal of rare use. By its light she could -realise that her father had what he considered in his own mind to be a -real cause of complaint. She did not like to speak herself; she feared -that just at present it might complicate matters. So she looked over -appealing at Judy, who understood and spoke: - -“What two attitudes? I’m afraid I for one, don’t understand. You _are_ -talking in riddles to-night!” She spoke in a gay debonair manner so -like her usual self that her brother-in-law was unsuspicious of any -underlying intent of opposition. This was just the opportunity for -which he was waiting. With a sardonic smile he went on, singling out -Joy as before: - -“Your mother, my dear, has told us one of them. Perhaps the young man -did look at you. There’s little wonder in that. Were I a young man and -a stranger I should look at you myself; and I would also have looked -at any other man who dared to look at you too. If this is a man’s -attitude he should be more genial--more explicit--more open--less -constrained to her relatives. That my dear Judy,”--he turned to her as -he spoke “is the other attitude.” Mrs. Ogilvie answered--the -conversation to-night was decidedly oblique: - -“Really, Colonel, I can’t agree with you. For my own part I thought -his attitude towards her relatives was all that was courteous and -respectful. Certainly to her mother!” She bridled, and Joy grew more -serious. Her mother calling her husband “Colonel” was another -danger-signal; and she knew that if once her father and mother got to -loggerheads over him--“him” was her way of thinking of Mr. Hardy--it -might keep him away from her. She summoned up her courage and said -with all the affectionate raillery which was usually so effective with -her father: - -“Daddy dear do you remember Æsop’s fable about the Boy and the -Frogs?” - -“I suppose I ought to, little girl; but I’m afraid I have forgotten. -What was it about?” - -“The Boys were throwing stones at the Frogs, and when the Frogs -remonstrated the Boys said they were doing it for fun. So the Frogs -answered: ‘It may be fun to you; but it is death to us!’” Colonel -Ogilvie puckered up his eyebrows: - -“I remember, now, my dear; but for the life of me I don’t see its -application here.” Joy said with a preternatural demureness: - -“It means Daddy, that you are the Boy and I am the Frog!” Her father’s -gravity became intensified: - -“That does not help me much, daughter!” - -“Well, you see, Daddy, here are you and mother commenting on how a man -looked at me--and--so forth. But you don’t take into consideration the -sensitiveness of a woman’s heart--let alone her vanity. I think you’ve -forgotten that I am not now ‘merely a child emerging into -womanhood’--don’t you remember on the _Cryptic_--but a staid woman to -whose waning attractions everything relating to a man is sacred. One -who looks on man, her possible rescuer from the terrors of old -maidhood with the desperation of accomplished years.” As she had -spoken unthinkingly the word “rescuer” a hot tide of blood had rushed -to her face, but she went bravely on to the end of her sentence. There -was not one of the three who did not understand the meaning. Her -mother and aunt were concerned at the self-betrayal. Her father’s face -grew fixed, now to sternness. With a faint heart Joy felt that she had -made a terrible mistake, and inwardly condemned herself for its -foolishness. Colonel Ogilvie now went on with grave deliberateness, he -was determined that there should be no error regarding his -disapprobation. All the time he was inwardly fuming against Mr. Hardy -whom he held responsible: - -“As I was saying, that fellow’s attitude, as it appeared to me, was -wanting in both openness and that confidence which underlies respect.” -Here Joy quivered. Judy, watching her, noticed it and for a moment was -scared. But the girl at once forced herself into calm, and Judy’s -anxiety quite disappeared. She knew that Joy was now quite master of -herself, and would remain so. The Colonel, accepting the dejected -silence as a request to continue, went on: - -“Of course there is no need for me to say that he is a very gallant -fellow and a superb horseman, and that his manners are those of a -polished gentleman. Nor, further still, that I and mine are under a -deep debt of gratitude to him. But there are some things which a man -can do, or what is worse which he can leave undone, that show -distrust.” - -“What things, for instance?” It was Judy who asked the question -falteringly; but it was to Joy that the answer was directed: - -“Well, my dear, I shall illustrate. When I, wishing to show that we -all took an interest in him and his surroundings, mentioned Airlville -and spoke of clubs and such matters he did not proffer me any -information. Still, thinking that his reserve might be that usually -attributed to the stand-off-ness of the English as often accepted -here--that it was due to habit rather than intent--I asked him where -he lived in London. He wrote an address on one of his cards--which by -the way has no address graven on it--and handed it to me, saying: -‘That is only a lodging. I have not got a house yet.’ Then I asked -what clubs he belonged to; and he simply said ‘Several’ and began to -ask me questions about what sport we usually have in Kentucky. Now my -dear, I am not usually inquisitive; and as this man was my guest I -could not proceed in face of such a--a snub.” He winced at the word. -“But as I was really anxious that we should see more of one who had -rendered us so signal a service, I expressed a hope that when we were -in England in the summer we might have the pleasure of seeing him. I -am bound to say that he reciprocated the wish very eagerly. He asked -me a host of questions as to our plans; and I told him what we had -arranged about the Lake Country and the Border of which we have such -traditions in our family. He certainly has a very winning way with -him, and I quite forgot at the time his want of trust about his -residence and his clubs!” - -“Perhaps he may have no home; he may be a poor man,” suggested Aunt -Judy. The Colonel answered her, this time directly: - -“He may not be a rich man, but he is certainly not a poor one. You and -I” this to Joy “saw him pay three thousand for that horse. And he is -free with his money too in other ways. That police sergeant who was -with me this morning--and who, my dear, asked me to convey his -gratitude to you; I gave it for you--told me that the gentleman had -given him on the Viaduct a hundred dollars for himself, and then -another hundred for the officer who was run down.” - -“How generous!” said Judy. Joy said nothing; but she leaned forward, -gladness in her eyes. There is some chord in a woman’s heart which -sounds to any touch of generosity or even of liberality. It is some -survival of conditions of primitive life, and a permanent female -attribute. Judy, anxious to propitiate her brother-in-law, and to -preserve the absent man’s character, said as though it were the -conclusion of some process of reasoning: - -“He must be some important person who is here on private business.” -Ogilvie smiled genially: - -“Our dear Judy will find a romance in everything--even in a man’s -distrust!” Judy, somewhat nettled, felt like defending her own -position. This had nothing to do with Joy so she felt she could argue -freely about it: - -“It needn’t be a romance, Lucius, only fact!” - -“My dear Judy, I don’t see why a man should give so extravagantly -merely because he is on private business. Why, it is the very way to -attract attention.” Judy was made more obstinate by the apparent -appositeness of the remark and by the tolerant tone of the speaker. - -“I don’t mean that he gives _because_ he is on private business, -surely you know that; but that he may be an important man who gives -handsomely as a habit. He may be keeping his identity concealed.” - -“How do you mean exactly. How keep his identity concealed? He never -told me; and he has been my guest!” Colonel Ogilvie had a puzzled look -on his face. - -“Well, for instance by taking another name for the occasion. -Perhaps--” Here she caught sight of the look of positive horror on -Joy’s face and stopped short. Joy had seen in what direction the -conversation was drifting, but was afraid to interfere lest she should -bring on the very catastrophe which she dreaded. She had never -forgotten her father’s expressions regarding an alias; and she had -reason to fear that should his suspicions be in any way directed -towards the new friend whose accidental acquaintanceship already -promised so much, some evil or hindrance must ensue. But her -hypothetical concern was lost in a real one. As Judy spoke, the -Colonel started to his feet, his manner full of suppressed fury. He -was bristling all over, preliminary of his most dangerous mood. - -Joy rose to the occasion. It was now or never. It was apparent that -her father had taken that form of offence which is generally expressed -in idiom or slang. Cornishmen call it a “scunner,” Cockneys “the -hump,” Irishmen “an edge,” Americans “shirty.” It is a condition -antecedent to active offence; a habitat of the germ of -misunderstanding; a searchlight for cause of quarrel. Joy felt cold, -into the very marrow of her bones; well she knew that her father would -never forgive any such offence to him as was implied in an assumed -name. His remarks on the subject flamed before her like fiery -handwriting on the walls of her memory. Moreover Judy’s incautious -remark had but echoed her own thought. All day she had been dreaming -of this man who had plunged so gallantly into her life. Naturally -enough to a young woman, she had been weaving romances in various -forms round that very identity which, even to her, had been -unexpressed if not hidden. Naturally her dreams had in them some -element of concealment; romances always have. She had in her secret -heart taken it for granted that this man must be distinguished--how -could he be otherwise; and now her father’s suspicion might result in -some breach which might result in her never seeing him again. … It -was a possible tragedy! To her, grim and real from her knowledge of -her own heart; and none the less a real tragedy or less potent because -its bounds were lost in the vagueness of mist and fear. … She was -pale and inwardly trembling; but, all the same, her light laugh rang -true; she was desperate and fighting for her man, and so was strung up -to nature’s pitch: - -“Why, Daddy, if you’re going to kill anyone it will have to be dear -Aunt Judy. She’s the one who has made the alias. The poor man -himself--who by the way is not here to answer for himself and -explain--hasn’t done any conceivable thing wrong that we know of--even -you Daddy know that; except not having a house and not bragging of his -clubs!” - -This seemed to strike her father; it touched him on the point of -Justice. The lightness of his daughter’s laugh reassured him. - -“True!” he said. “That is quite true. I was too hasty. And he saved my -little girl’s life!” He rose from the table and putting his arm round -her shoulders kissed her. Then they went into the drawing-room. - -Joy bore up bravely for the rest of the evening. But when she was in -bed and assured that she was alone, the reaction came. She was as cold -as a stone and trembled all over. Putting her face down into her -pillow she pulled the sheet over her head and wept her very heart out. - -“Oh what it might have been if all went well. But what might be if -Daddy took some queer idea … and quarrelled …!” - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - “LOOK AT ME!” - -When on Tuesday afternoon “Mr. Hardy” visited at the Holland House -he found only the single ladies at home. Colonel Ogilvie had gone out -in the morning to see after several matters of business, both in -connection with Air and relating to the forthcoming visit to Europe. -He had said he would probably not be back till dinner time. Mrs. -Ogilvie had gone out after lunch for a drive and would pay some visits -before returning home. Joy pleaded headache as an excuse for remaining -at home. Indeed her excuse was quite real; no one can pass so -melancholy a part of a night as she had done without suffering the -next morning. As the day wore on, however, the headache insensibly -departed; something else had taken its place. Joy would not admit to -herself what that something was; but that afternoon she took unusual -pains with her toilet. Judy noticed it with her usual acute -observation, understood it with her understanding sympathy; with her -wonted discretion she remained silent. She felt, and rightly, that the -time had not yet come when she could either be serious with Joy or -jest with her on the subject nearest to her heart. One thing she did -which can never be out of place, especially when it is true: she -showed pleasure in her niece’s looks, taking care, however to put her -own reason for it on a non-offensive basis. - -“Joy,” she said “that terrible experience of Sunday has not told on -you a bit. You are looking simply lovely.” Ordinarily Joy would have -known it, and would not have shrunk from admitting it to herself, or -possibly even to her aunt; but to-day she was full of self doubting. -Her very flush of happy excitement when her aunt spoke would have -betrayed her secret to a much less sympathetic or experienced person -than Judy. - -It is love more than any other cause or emotion or feeling which -creates self-distrust with the young. And sometimes with the old, for -the matter of that. - -When she found that Aunt Judy did not “chaff” her or ask her -questions, which she rather feared would happen, Joy beamed. Indeed it -looked to Judy’s loving eyes as if she visibly blossomed. Judy spoke -of her dress, remarking how well the dark full-coloured green silk -became her slender figure; but she was careful not to overdo her -praise, or to suggest any special cause for so elaborate a toilet. - -But Judy was of a distinctly practical nature. She took care to send a -message to the hall that if any visitors should come, though both -Colonel and Mrs. Ogilvie were out, Miss Ogilvie and Miss Hayes were at -home. - -Athlyne found both ladies busily idle. Joy was reading a novel; which -by the way she put down hurriedly without as Judy noticed, marking the -place. Judy was knitting; that sort of heavy uninteresting knitting -which is manifestly for the poor! She was used to say that such was -the proper sort of occupation for an old maid. She, too, put down the -cause of her occupation, but deliberately; thereby giving time for the -guest to salute her niece without the need of interruption. It did not -matter, then, if Joy’s hand did remain an instant longer in his than -formality demanded, nor if--when released--it was white in patches as -when extra force is applied to delicate flesh. For a few minutes Judy -joined in the conversation with her usual brilliancy. But to-day she -was distinctly restless, sitting down and jumping up again; moving out -of the room quietly and coming back noisily--the proper way as she -said on an after occasion for all old maids to move. Whenever she came -back she would join in the conversation in a sort of butterfly fashion -till she flitted away again. - -In one of these trios when Mr. Hardy happened to remark that he would -like to know what the movements of the Ogilvies would be, and what -address they gave for letters when they were away, Joy answered: - -“Daddy always has our letters sent to Brown Shipleys in Pall Mall. But -we shall be moving about a good deal I expect. Mother has to take -baths at Ischia again, and one of us will stay with her; but Daddy -wants to go about a bit and see something of England. He is set on -seeing the Border counties this summer.” - -“Then how am I to know where you are?” he asked impulsively. With a -bright smile Joy nodded over to Miss Hayes: - -“You had better ask Aunt Judy. She might keep you advised. She’s the -letter-writer of the family!” - -When in her turn Joy had moved away on some little domestic duty he -turned to Judy and said: - -“Won’t you let me know the moves on the board, Miss Hayes. It would be -very kind of you.” He looked so earnest over it that she felt her -heart flutter. She said at once: - -“Of course I shall, if you will let me have an address to write to.” -He had evidently thought over this part of the matter, for he took -from his pocketbook a card on which he had written below his printed -name: care Jonathan Goldsworth, Solicitor. 47B Lincoln’s Inn Fields, -London, W. C. “That will always find me. I may be away or travelling; -but my letters are sent on every day.” - -Judy thanked him, and seeing that Joy was out of earshot added on her -own account: - -“It is only right that you, who did so much for my dear niece--and so -for us all--should know at least where she is.” - -“Thank you very, very much!” said Athlyne impulsively. He had all an -Irishman’s instinctive knowledge of woman’s character and felt that -Judy was to be trusted, that she was heart-wholly devoted to her -niece. On her part Judy _knew_ that he could be trusted to the full, -especially where Joy was concerned. And from that moment she began to -take an interest in the love affair; an interest quite personal to -herself and independent of her love for the girl. She felt that she -was a participant in all schemes which were to be; and that, she came -to the conclusion, was about all the real romance that an old maid -could share in. “Thank God there’s that left at any rate!” was her -prayer of gratitude. - -Athlyne felt a powerful impulse to make a _confidante_ of her. This -was the first chance he had of disclosing the reality of things, and -he was just about to begin when Joy returned. Once again did that -self-distrust, incidental to his state of mind, cramp him. He fancied -that it might be premature. Not knowing how deeply Joy cared for him -already, he was unwilling to take any chance which might militate -against his ultimate success. There was also another hampering feeling -coincident with the self-distrust: he thought it might be possible -that a confidence made to Judy might be embarrassing to her with her -own folk. Already his devotion was deep enough and pure enough to -prevent his doing intentionally anything which might cause her pain. -Could Aunt Judy have looked into his heart, as she could and would -have done had he been a woman, she would have been satisfied of the -genuineness of his affection; and so she would have had no doubts at -all as to the end of Joy’s love affair. - -Joy’s return, however, brought somehow a sense of restraint. She had -herself originated or initiated a mechanism of correspondence and she -feared that Mr. Hardy might notice that she had done so. In her -present state of feeling towards the man, the very idea of such a -thing was fraught with humiliation. It is extraordinary how much -people take to heart the belief on the part of others of that they -have intended. Truth, truly, is a bright weapon; even the flash of it -has its own terrors! - -Judy did not comprehend exactly what the trouble was. She could see -that there was restraint on both sides, and was wondering whether it -had been possible that he had been speaking too impulsively--“going -too quick” was the way she put it to herself--and that Joy had -resented or feared it. Not the fact but the rapidity. Well Judy knew -that in her youth a woman most holds back when the wildest desire of -her heart is to rush forward; that the instinct of woman being to draw -man on, she will spend the last ounce of her strength in pushing him -back. Judy had once said: - -“A woman wants a man to be master, and specially to be her master. She -wants to feel that when it comes to a struggle she hasn’t got a chance -with him, either to fight or to run away. That’s why we like to make a -man follow when in truth we are dying to run after him--and to catch -him up!” Some of her circle to whom the heterodox saying had been -repeated professed to be very indignant as well as horrified. This was -chiefly noticeable in such of the most elderly of the good ladies as -had a lurid past or a large family, or both. - -If, however, Judy had any doubts as to the cause she had none whatever -of the fact. There was no mistaking the droop of Joy’s eyes, or the -sudden lifting and quick dropping of the lids which makes the densest -man’s heart flutter; no mistaking his eager look; the glowing eyes -ranging over face and form when the windows of her soul were closed, -and entranced in their light when they were open. Judy herself knew -the power of those gray, deep eyes. Even when her niece had been a -baby there seemed something hypnotic about them. They could disarm -anger, or change the iron of theory into the water of fact. Often and -often after some such episode when she had thought the matter over she -had said to herself: - -“Lord! if she’s like that as a baby with me, what will she be with a -man when she’s a woman!” Judy who was a self-observer knew -instinctively that in Joy was an inherent influence over men. There -was some very subtle, delicate force which seemed to emanate from her; -some force at once compelling and tranquillizing, for the explanation -of which mere will-power was insufficient. The power was now in active -exercise; but it was turned inwards. Joy was in love! Judy knew it as -well as if she had herself acknowledged it; indeed better, for the -acknowledgment of such a secret, except to the man himself, is given -with reserve. And so she made up her mind to further the affair; but -to prevent Joy betraying herself unduly during such furtherance. By -“unduly” Judy really meant “unwisely” as to ultimate and most complete -efficacy. - -She had an idea that Joy herself would approve, at present, of such -discretion. It seemed a direct confirmation of such idea when -presently the girl said to her in a faint whisper: - -“Don’t go away again Aunt Judy!” - -When, however, in the course of conversation as the three sat chatting -together happily, Mr. Hardy mentioned that his ship sailed in the -early morning and she saw the colour leave the girl’s cheeks for a -moment, just as a white squall sweeps a sunlit sea, Judy’s heart -softened. She understood that retreating wave of colour. Nature has -its own analogies to its own anomalies; there is a white blackbird, -why not a white blush! So when the time drew near for the departure of -the visitor Judy slipped away for a minute. When she had gone the two -sat still. Athlyne’s eyes were on Joy, eager, burning. Her eyes were -down, the black lashes curling against her cheeks. In a voice rather -husky he said in a low tone: - -“Won’t you think of me sometimes till we meet again?” Her answer was -given in what she wished to be a matter-of-fact tone, but the slight -quaver in it told another story: - -“Of course I shall! How can I help it? You saved my life!” There was -an entrancing demureness in the downcast eyes. But it was not enough -for the man. He wanted to see the eyes, to gaze in them, to lose -himself in them once again. There is for each individual nature some -distinctive way of expressing itself. Sometimes it is the mouth which -tells the story; sometimes it is by simple existence such as the lines -of the nose or forehead, by the shape and movement of the hands; -sometimes by a characteristic habit. Joy’s nature spoke through the -eyes; perhaps it is, that intention is best given by the eyes. Anyhow -the lover wanted to see them. - -In a low voice--not a whisper--that thrilled with intensity he said: - -“Joy, look at me!” He spoke her name, though it was for the first -time, quite unconsciously. As she heard it Joy’s heart beat so that -she feared he would notice it, and all the self-protective instincts -of womanhood rose at the thought. For an instant her face glowed; then -it grew pale again. She did not hesitate, however. She raised her eyes -and looked him full in the face. Her cheeks were flaming now, but she -did not heed it. In the face of nature what, after all, is convention. -As Athlyne lost himself in those wonderful eyes he had a wild almost -over-mastering desire to take her in his arms and kiss her straight on -the beautiful mouth. He was bending towards her for the purpose, she -was swaying towards him, he believed; but for long afterwards he could -not be sure of the matter. - -But suddenly he saw a change in the girl’s face, a look of something -like terror which seemed in an instant to turn her to stone. It was -but a momentary change, however. The spasm passed, and, just as though -it was to his eyes as if he had waked from a dream, she was her -easeful self again. At the same moment the outer door of the _piece_ -opened and Mrs. Ogilvie’s voice was heard as she entered: - -“Judy, I am so glad! I am told he has not gone yet. I should have been -so sorry if I had not seen him!” When she entered the room, three -seconds later, she found the two young people talking quietly -according to the demure common-place of convention. - -Mrs. Ogilvie was very hearty in her manner; a little more hearty than -usual, for she had a sort of feeling as if something extra in the way -of civility was due to him after the way her husband had spoken of -him. This was illustrative of two things. First the woman’s -unconscious acceptance of an unfavourable criticism of an absent -person, as if it had been made to and not merely of him; second the -way the sternness of a man’s judgment is viewed by the females of his -family. She insisted that Mr. Hardy should stay for tea and asked Joy -to ring and order it. - -Joy had been at once relieved and disappointed by the sudden entry of -her mother. The maidenhood in her was glad of the postponement of the -necessity for her surrender; the womanhood in her was disappointed by -it. She was both maid and woman; let the female reader say, and the -male reader guess, which feeling most predominated. She was glad that -_he_ was staying a little longer; for so she might at least feast her -eyes on him again; but it was at best a chastened gladness, for well -she knew that that thrilling moment would not come again--during that -interview. And he was going away next morning! - -Athlyne, too, was ill at ease. He, too, knew there would be no more -opportunity now to follow up his declaration. The chagrin of his -disappointment almost made him cross, such being the nature of man. -Here, however, both his breeding and the kindliness of his nature -stood to him; the shadow quickly passed. Later on in the evening, when -he was thinking the matter over, he came to the conclusion that the -interposition, though he did not attribute it to any divine origin, -was after all perhaps best. It could not, or might not, suit him to -declare himself so quickly. He felt that under the circumstances of -his false name it would be necessary, or at any rate wise, to take -Colonel Ogilvie into his confidence before declaring himself to his -daughter. - -It is thus that we poor mortals deceive ourselves. He had been just -about to declare himself in the most passionate and overt way a man -can; by taking the girl in his arms and kissing her, without even a -passing thought of her father. But now, from some other cause, quite -outside the girl and not even within her knowledge, he found his duty. -One might with this knowledge easily differentiate the values of -“necessary” and “wise” in his mind regarding his confession to her -father. - -Joy found a very distinct, though shy, pleasure in handing him tea and -cake. Judy as usual presided at the tea-table. She did not interfere -unduly with her niece’s ministrations, but she took care that she had -plenty of opportunities. “Joy dear won’t you see if Mr. Hardy will -take more tea?”--“has Mr. Hardy enough sugar?” and so forth. She had -noticed those sudden liftings of the girl’s eyes, and knew what they -meant to a woman--and to a man. Athlyne did not as a rule make tea a -“square” meal, but this time he got in that direction. He refused -nothing she offered. He would have accepted death at her hands now, if -it would have pleased her; and it was only the girl’s discretion which -saved the situation. - -In due time he made his adieux and took his leave. With Joy there was -no more than a handshake. It was perhaps part of a second longer than -customary, but the force with which the squeeze was given lingered -long in her memory. Perhaps it was the pain inflicted in the operation -which made her often during the evening, when she was alone, caress -the possibly wounded hand! That night she went to sleep with her right -hand pressed to her heart. - -Judy had a wild impulse to tell Joy to go to the door with the -departing guest, but in the presence of her mother she did not dare to -suggest it. Had she been alone she would probably have done so. - -Athlyne walked away with his mind in a whirl. In his heart was ever -surging up through all other thoughts that one sublime recognition -which comes to every man at least once in his life: that which Sir -Geraint voiced: - -“Here, by God’s rood is the one maid for me!” To this all other -thoughts gave way. It obsessed him. When he came to Forty Second -Street he did not turn towards the hotel but kept straight on up Fifth -Avenue till he reached Central Park. He felt the need of movement. He -wanted to be alone in the open. At Central Park his steps took him -seemingly of their own accord towards the Riverside Drive. When he -came to a place amongst trees seeming to hang over the river he sat on -a seat and gave way to his thoughts. There was no one near him. Below -him was the quiet river with its passing life; beyond, the Jersey -shore so distant that details of life were not apparent. He took off -his hat, more in reverence than for ease, as he thought of the -beautiful girl who had so strangely come into life. Over and over -again he said to himself in endless repetition: - -“Joy! Joy! Joy! Joy!” He sat till the light began to fail and for long -after the sudden darkness of the American night had swooped down. Then -he went home. - -In the hotel he found a visitor waiting for him. Mr. Breckenridge had -come to say good-bye. He did so with so much heartiness that Athlyne -could not bear to be aught but hearty himself. Though he longed to be -alone he insisted on the young fellow coming up to his own rooms. - -The boy was not quite at ease so Athlyne said to him: - -“There is something on your mind. What is it?” - -“Well, look here, sir,” he answered gravely. “You have treated me like -a comrade, and I want to treat you like one!” - -“Go on, old chap. I’m listening.” Not without some nervousness the -other proceeded: - -“I saw in the _Journal_ last evening that you had dined on Sunday -evening in the Holland with Colonel Ogilvie.” - -“Those damned reporters!” interrupted Athlyne, but at once told him -with a wave of his hand to proceed: - -“That hung in my mind from something you said to me the other evening. -That confidence which I shall always value.” Athlyne nodded. He went -on: - -“I know something of that family. I’m from Kentucky myself; and I was -there for a while--that time of the nigger disturbance you know--and I -was quartered not far from Airlville. I have met Colonel Ogilvie; but -it was on duty and amongst a good many others so he would not remember -me. I never met any of his family; but I need not tell you that I fell -in love with Miss Ogilvie. No fellow could help that; one glimpse of -her is enough---- However---- I heard a lot down there about the old -man, and as I was keen about the girl I took it all in and remembered -it. I want to tell you this, because he is a very peculiar man. He is -a splendid old chap. As brave as a lion, and as masterful as Teddy -Roosevelt himself. But all the same he has his ideas which are hardly -up to date. He is as stern as Fate in matters of--of--well, social -matters. They told me a story of him which when I recalled it has -troubled me since I saw you. It was about a man whose identity he -mistook and who for a jest allowed the error to go, and kept it up. He -was a Northern of course, for a Southern would have understood, and -our boys are sometimes very keen on a joke. But it was no joke when -the old man tumbled to it. He called it an unforgivable outrage and -insisted on fighting over it. I tell you it nearly cost the joker his -life. He was drilled right through, and only escaped death by a -miracle. I tell you all this, sir, because of your confidence in me. -If I might make a suggestion--you won’t think it beastly presumptuous -of me will you?” Athlyne held out his hand; the other after shaking -it, went on: “I would venture to suggest that--of course if you have -not done so already--you should take him into your confidence before -leaving here. It might be awkward if the old man were to find out for -himself. He would think it a want of trust, and he might never forgive -it. I am sure you would like to meet him and his again--you know you -can’t save the life of a girl like that every day----” He stopped -there, confused and blushing. - -Athlyne was touched by the young man’s kindly frankness and sincerity. -He thanked him heartily but in a regretful way added: - -“Unfortunately I didn’t tell him. It was all so quick, and there was -no opportunity when we did meet; and now I may not have the chance for -some time. It would not do to write; I must see him and explain. And I -go away early to-morrow. But be sure of this: the very first chance I -get I shall tell him. I do wish for the friendship of him and his; and -I should be main sorry if any foolishness hindered it. I shall have to -do it carefully, I can see from what you tell me that he may construe -my accepting his hospitality in my assumed name as an offence.” He -went to the door with his friend, but before parting he said: - -“By the way I should like you to do something for me if you don’t -mind. I have asked the Horse Exchange people to get me another mount -of the same strain as my black, a mare this time. I have given them -full instructions, and if you will, I shall tell them that they must -have your approval. I want some one who knows a good horse; and as I -have given them carte blanche as to price it is right I should have -some one to refer to. They are to send it to England for me.” - -When Breckenridge was gone he set about his preparations for his early -start. Strange to say he never thought of dinner at all that day; the -omission may have been due to his hearty tea! As he worked he thought -gravely over what his young friend had told him. He could see good -cause for concern. Colonel Ogilvie’s attitude towards -misrepresentation only echoed his own feeling. He came to the -conclusion that there lay before him much thought; and possibly much -action. - -But all the same this branch of the subject did not monopolise his -thoughts that night. As he lay awake he kept repeating to himself -again, and again, and again: - -“Joy! Joy! Joy! Joy!” He fell asleep with the words on his lips. The -thought continued in his heart. - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - THE CAR OF DESTINY - -Athlyne did not feel safe till the French vessel was dipping her -nose into the open Atlantic seas, and the Long Island Hills were a -faint blue line on the western horizon. The last dozen hours of his -stay in New York had been as though spent in prison. He knew well now -that he really loved Joy; that this was no passing fancy, no mere -desire of possession of a pretty woman. All phases of the passion of -love, from the solely physical to the purely spiritual, have their own -forces commanding different sets of nerves. Any one of these many -phases may be all-compelling--for a time. But it is rather the blind -dogged reckless pursuit of an immediate purpose than the total -abandonment to a settled conviction. All the passions--or rather the -phases of one passion--are separate and co-ordinate. Inasmuch as they -are centred in one physical identity they are correlated. Nature has -its own mysteries; and the inter-relations of various functions of a -human being form not the least of them. As there are broad divisions -of them--Christians accept three, the ancient Egyptians held to -eight--so must we accept their uses and consequences. “Body and soul,” -so runs the saying of the illiterate, not seldom used in objurgation. -“Body, mind and soul” says the quasi-thinker who believes that he has -grasped the truth of the great parcelling-out of qualities. “Heart, -soul and flesh” says the lover who knows that he understands. The -lover alone it is who knows as distinguished from believing. For his -world is complete; in it there is no striving after knowledge, no vain -desire of many things, no self-seeking. For the true lover’s one idea -is to give. In such a world there can be no doubting, no fearing, no -hoping. Before its creation Pandora’s box has been emptied to the -last. It may be that the lover’s world is only a phantasm, a -condition. It may be that it is a reality which can only be grasped by -those who have been gifted with special powers. It may be that it is -an orb as real as our own world, whirling in space in darkness, and -can only be seen by those who have a new sense of vision. Surely it is -not too much to believe, following the great analogies, that the soul -as well as the body has eyes, and that all eyes of all sorts and -degrees have vision of one kind or another; that there may be even a -power of choice. We know that in the great manifestation which we call -Light are various rays, each with its own distinctive powers and -limitations. When these are all classified and understood, then -science may take breathing time for its next great effort at -investigation. Why, then, may not certain visual organs be adapted to -specific purposes! We know through our sensoria that there is response -in various ways to seekings of our own; whatever be the means of -communication; whatever it be--electrical or magnetic, or through some -other of the occult root forces, the message is conveyed. Why may it -not be, again following the great analogies, that two forces of -varying kind coming together are necessary for creation of any kind. -We know it of lightning, we know it of protoplasm, and of whatever -lies between them of which we know anything. We find or have ground -for believing that the same conditions hold in all the worlds which -germinate and increase and multiply. May it then not be that in -love--“creation’s final law”--the meeting of the two forces of sex may -create a new light; a light strange to either sex alone; a light in -which that other world, spinning in the darkness through ether, swims -into view in that new-created light. - -In physical life when flesh touches flesh the whole body responds, -provided that the two are opposite yet sympathetic. When ideas are -exchanged, mind come forth to mind till each understands with a common -force. When soul meets soul some finer means of expression comes into -play. Something so fine and of condition so rare that other senses can -neither realise nor conceive. - -But in the lover all the voices speak, and speak simultaneously; the -soul and the mind and the body all call, each to its new-found mate. -What we call “heart” gives the note for that wonderful song of love; -that song of songs whose music is as necessary in a living world as -light or air, and which is more potent in the end than the forces of -winds or seas. - -To Athlyne this new world had dawned. In the light which made it -visible to him other things looked small; some of them base. And this, -though the consciousness of love was still wanting; it had only spoken -instinctively. The completeness only comes with that assurance of -reciprocity which need not be spoken in words. Athlyne had been very -close to it. The yearning of his own nature had spoken in that call -out of the depths of his heart: “Joy look at me!” And if there had -been time for the girl’s new-wakened love to surge up through the deep -waters of her virgin timidity his happiness might have been by now -complete. As yet he only believed that there might yet be happiness -for him; he did not know! Had he seen in Joy’s beautiful eyes the -answering look which he hoped for, he would have been justified in a -change of his plans. He would then have spoken to her father at the -earliest possible opportunity, have told him the entire story of his -visit to America under an assumed name, and trusted to his good -feeling to understand and absolve him. As it was he had to accept -existing circumstances; and so he prepared himself for the future. -First he would get rid of his alias; then he would try to see Joy -again and form some idea of his fate. After that he would make his -confession to Colonel Ogilvie; and if the latter still remained -friendly he would press his suit. - -If some impartial reasoner, like Judy for instance, had been summing -up the matter for him the same would have said: “What are you -troubling yourself about. You are as good as he is, you are a suitable -match for the girl in every way. You have a title, a large estate, a -fine social position personally. You have a more than good record as a -soldier. You are young, handsome, strong, popular. You saved the -girl’s life at the risk of your own. Then why, in the name of common -sense, are you worrying? The old man is not an ass; he will understand -at once that you had a good reason for assuming another name. He will -see that the circumstances of your meeting were such that you had no -time to undeceive him. He owes you already the deepest debt of -gratitude that a father can owe. The girl owes you also her life. What -in the world better chance do you want? You love the girl yourself -…” - -Aye! there it was. He loved the girl! That hampered him. - -During the whole time of the voyage he kept to himself. He made no new -friends, not even acquaintances; he had begun to feel that so long as -he remained under the shadow of that accursed alias each momentarily -pleasant episode of his life was only the beginning of a new series of -social embarrassments. When the ship arrived at Havre he got off and -went at once to London. There he stayed for a few days in the lodgings -which he had taken in the name of Hardy. He set himself gravely to -work to wipe out from his belongings every trace of the false name. It -was carefully cut or scraped from the new luggage, obliterated from -the new linen and underclothes by the simple process of scissors. The -cards and stationery were burned. It was with a sigh of relief that, -having discharged all his obligations, he drove to his chambers in the -Albany and resumed his own name and his old life. He was, however, -somewhat restless. He tried to satisfy himself with long rides, but -even the speed of the Kentucky horse who got more than his share of -work did not satisfy him. There was some new uneasiness in his life; -an overwhelming want which nothing of the old routine, no matter how -pleasant it might be, could fill. - - -When “Mr. Hardy” had said good bye to her, Joy’s new life began. New -life indeed, for Love is a new birth, a re-creation. Whenever she -thought of herself she seemed to be leading a double life. All the -routine, the cares and the duties of the old life remained unchanged; -but superimposed on it was quite a new existence, one of -self-surrender, of infinite yearning, of infinite hope, of endless -doubting as to whether she was worthy of all that which she shyly -believed really existed. She was all sweetness to those around her, to -whom she seemed happy--but with a tinge of sadness. Both her father -and mother believed that she was feeling the reaction from the shock -of the Riverside adventure. Her mother possibly had at first an idea -that she had given some thought to the handsome young man who had -saved her; but when she herself reviewed in her mind how quietly, not -to say unconcernedly, the young man had taken the whole episode she -was content to let it take a minor place in both her concern and her -recollection. - -In due course the Ogilvie family set out on their European journey, -and in due course without any occurrence of note they arrived at their -destination. - - -Hotel Bellevue, -Casamicciŏla, Ischia. - -Dear Mr. Hardy: - -As I promised to write to you I now try to keep my word. I dare say -you will think that an old maid is glad to get a chance of writing to -a man! Perhaps she is! But I may say a word in your ear: the habit of -personal reticence begins younger and lingers longer than you would -think. However this is not the time or place--or weather for -philosophising. The scenery is far too lovely to think of anything -unpleasant. We got here all right after a voyage which was nice -enough, though rather dull, and with no opportunities of making new -friends. We can’t have runaway horses on shipboard! My sister will -remain here for some weeks and I shall stay with her as it wouldn’t do -to leave her all alone. It brought the whole caboodle of us hurrying -over from America through a blizzard the last time! No, thank you! And -Colonel Ogilvie doesn’t care to travel by himself. He is set on going -up to Westmoreland which he says is the original Country of his branch -of the Ogilvies. He is complaining of getting no riding here; and yet -he says that when he gets to London he will hire a motor. Men are -queer things, aren’t they? The rest of us are quite well and looking -forward to our English visit where we may meet some friends. How are -you? I suppose spending your time as usual galloping about like a -knight-errant on a big black horse rescuing distressed ladies. And -writing letters to a pack of women not _all_ old maids! I suppose you -will spare a moment to write to one in answer to this, just to say -where you are and where you will be in the next few weeks. My -brother’s section of our party leaves here next week. As I am an old -maid I am shy of telling my sister, and most of the rest of us, that I -am writing to a gentleman; but if they knew it they too would send -their love. For my own part I must confine myself to kind remembrance. - - Believe me, - Yours faithfully, - Judith Hayes. - -P. S.--By the way, I forgot to say that the first contingent will -after a few days in London go on to Cumberland or Westmoreland--I know -it is the “Lake” country! - - -Athlyne read the letter eagerly; but when he had finished he dropped -it impatiently. There was not a thing in it that he wanted to -know--not once the name he wanted to see. He sat for a while thinking; -then he took it up again saying to himself: - -“She’s no fool; it must have taken her some pains to say so little.” -As he read it the second time, more carefully this time and not merely -looking for what he wished to find, the letter told its own story, and -in its own way. Then he smiled heartily as he sat thinking it over and -commenting to himself: - -“Not a word about her; not even her name! And yet she must know that -it would be of _some_ interest to me to hear of her. I wonder if it -would do to run over to Ischia. There seems to be a party of them …” -He read over the letter again with a puzzled look, which all at once -changed to a smile. “Good old Judy! So that’s it is it! That’s not the -first letter Miss Judy has written with a double meaning in it. She -hasn’t those fine eyes and that quick wit for nothing. Why it’s as -clever and as secret as that sent to Basing at Pretoria.” For a good -while he pondered over it, making notes on the back of the envelope. -Then he read these over: - -“We are at Ischia. - -“I am writing because I promised. - -“The habit of personal reticence (that means not saying a thing for -yourself) is for both young and old. - -“Our voyage was dull, no adventure, no meeting any one like you. - -“Mrs. Ogilvie and Judy remain at Ischia some weeks. - -“Colonel Ogilvie doesn’t like going alone and goes to the Lake County -(who is to be with him but Joy?) - -“He wants to go motoring (seems more in this--think it over). - -_The rest of us_--(that can only mean Joy) are looking forward to -meeting friends in England--(that proves she is going with her -father). - -“Let me know where you will be during the coming weeks. - -“My brother’s section of our party--(He and Joy)--leave here next -week. - -“I haven’t told Mrs. Ogilvie _or most of the rest of us_ (Besides Mrs. -O. there are only two so that _most_ of them must mean the -bigger--that is Colonel Ogilvie--she has not told that one of the -two--then she _has_ told the other. And the other is Joy!) - -“If any of those kept in ignorance knew they _too_ would send their -love! - -“‘_Too!_’ Then one does. Judy sends her own ‘kind remembrance.’ The -only other one, Joy, sends her love--to me. - -“Joy sends her love to me!” - -He sat for a moment in an ecstasy, holding the letter loosely in his -hand. Then he raised it to his lips and kissed it. Then he kissed it a -second time, a lighter kiss, murmuring: - -“That’s for Aunt Judy!” He proceeded with his comment: - -“The postscript: ‘After a few days in London--will go on to Cumberland -or Westmoreland.’ No address in either place, what does that mean? She -has been so clever over the rest that she can’t be dull in this. She -_must_ know the London address … she thinks it best not to tell it -to me--why?” - -That puzzled him. He could not make out any reason from her point of -view. He was willing to accept the fact and obey directions, but Judy -had been so subtle in the other matter that he felt she must have some -shrewd design in this. But the simple fact was that in this matter she -had no design whatever. She intended to write to him again on hearing -from him and to give him all details. - -But for his own part Athlyne had several reasons for not seeing -Colonel Ogilvie in London. Knowing that the father might make some -quarrel out of his coming to his home in a false name he wanted to -make sure of the daughter’s affection before explaining it to him. -Besides there was the matter of continuing the fraud--even to Judy. -Until things had been explained, meeting and any form of familiarity -or even of hospitality on either side was dangerous. He could neither -declare himself nor continue as they knew him. He was known in London -to too many people to avoid possible _contretemps_, even if he decided -to continue the alias with them and take chance, until he could seize -a favourable opportunity. And as he could not introduce the old -gentleman to his friends and his clubs it would be wiser not to see -him at all. When all was said and done the pain of patient waiting -might be the least of many ills. - -All the morning and afternoon he thought over the letter which he was -to write to Judy. He despaired of writing anything which could mean so -much; and beyond that again he felt that he could say nothing which -would be so important to its recipient as the message of Judy’s letter -had been to him. How could he hope for such a thing! The letter, which -just before the time of collection he posted with much trepidation, -ran: - - -“My Dear Miss Hayes: - -“Thank you very much for your most kind letter and for all that you -have said and left unsaid. I too had a dull journey from New York and -found London duller still. As a town it seems to have fallen off; but -it will brighten up again I am sure before long! I am glad you are all -well. I suppose your party will re-unite after Mrs. Ogilvie’s cure has -been completed. It is strange how we are all taking to motor cars. I -am myself getting one, and I hope in the early summer to have some -lovely drives. I am looking out for a companion. But it is a difficult -thing to get exactly the one you want, and without such it is lonely -work. Even going the utmost pace possible could not keep one’s mind -away from the want. When I went to America that time I was feeling -lonely and dull; and I have felt lonelier and duller ever since. But -when I get my motor I hope all that will shortly cease. I hope that -when you arrive--if you and Mrs. Ogilvie do come over--that you will -honour my car by riding in it. I shall hope to have some one with me -whom you must like very much--you seem to like nice people and nice -people seem to be fond of you. I greatly fear it will not be possible -for me to see Colonel Ogilvie in London, for I have to be away very -shortly on some business, and I probably shall not be back in time; -but I am going up North in a few weeks--in my new car if it is -ready--and I shall hope to see my friends. Perhaps Colonel Ogilvie and -some of his friends will come for a drive with me. Won’t you let me -know where he will be staying after he leaves London. Please give, if -occasion serves, my warm remembrance to all. I have not forgotten that -delightful conversation we had before tea the day I called. Tell Miss -Joy that I wish we could renew and continue it. Miss Ogilvie must be a -very happy girl to have, in addition to such nice parents who love her -so much, an aunt like you so much her own age, so sympathetic, so -understanding. I cannot tell you how much I am obliged to you for -writing. I look eagerly for another letter. - - “Believe me, - Yours very sincerely.” - - -There he hesitated. He had meant never to write again the name Richard -Hardy. Here the letter seemed to demand it. He had already thought the -matter over in all ways and from all points of view and had, he -thought, made up his mind to go through with the fraud as long as it -was absolutely necessary. There was no other way. But now when he had -to write out the lie--as it appeared to him to be--his very soul -revolted at it. It seemed somehow to dishonour Joy. Since he had -looked into the depth of her eyes, scruples had come to him which had -not ever before troubled him. It was unworthy of her, and of himself, -to continue a lie. And so with him began again the endless circle of -reasoning on a basis of what was false. - -A lie, little or big, seems gifted with immortality. At its creation -it seems to receive that vitality which belongs to noxious things. The -germs which preserve disease survive the quick lime of the plague-pit -and continue after the seething mass of corruption has settled into -earthly dust; and when the very bones have been resolved into their -elements the waiting germs come forth on disturbance of the soil -strong and baneful as ever. - -Sometimes Athlyne grumbled to himself of the hardness of his lot. It -was too bad that from such a little thing as taking another name, and -merely for the purpose of a self-protective investigation of a lie, he -should find himself involved in such a net-work of deceit. Other -people did things a hundred times worse every day of their lives. He -had often done so himself; but nothing ever came of it. But now, when -his whole future might depend upon it, he was face to face with an -actual danger. If Colonel Ogilvie quarrelled with him about it that -would mean the end of all. Joy would never quarrel with her father; of -that he felt as surely as that he loved her. All unknown to himself -Athlyne had an instinctive knowledge of character. Any one who had -ever seen him exercise the faculty would have been astonished by the -rapidity of its working. The instant he had seen Joy he had recognised -her qualities. He had understood young Breckenridge at a glance; -otherwise he was too shrewd a man to trust him as he had done. It is -not often that a man will entrust the first comer in a crowd with a -valuable horse. To this man, too, an utter stranger, he had entrusted -his secret, the only person who now knew it on the entire American -continent. So also with Colonel Ogilvie. He was assured in his inner -consciousness that that old gentleman would be hard to convince of the -necessity for disguise. There was something about his fine stern-cut -features--so exquisitely modified in his daughter--and in his haughty -bearing which was obnoxious to any form of deceit. - -One of these grumbling fits came on him now, and so engrossed him that -he quite forgot to sign the letter. It was in the post box when he -recollected the omission. He rejoiced when he did so that he had not -written the lie. It was queer how sensitive his conscious was -becoming! - -One immediate effect of the awakened conscience was that he went about -a motor car that very afternoon. He had said to Miss Judy that he was -getting one, and his words had to be made good. Moreover he had, in -addition to the train of reasons induced by Miss Judy’s mention of -Colonel Ogilvie’s getting a car, a sort of intuition that it would be -of service to him. Of service to him, meant of course, in his present -state of mind with regard to Joy--of service in furthering his love -affair. He had wished for a horse and got one, and it had brought him -to Joy. Now he wanted a motor … The chain of reasoning seemed so -delightfully simple that it would be foolish to dispute it. -Sub-conscious intuition supplied all lacunæ. - -The logic of fact seemed to support that of theory. He looked in at -his club to find the name of a motor agency. There in the hall he met -an old diplomatic friend, who after greeting him said: - -“This is good-bye as well.” - -“How so?” he asked. - -“I am off for Persia. Ballentyre got a stroke just as he was starting -and they sent for me in a hurry and offered me the post. It is too -good to refuse, so I am booked for another three years. I was -promising myself a long rest, or a spell in a civilised place anyhow. -It is too bad, just when I was expecting home my new -Delaunay-Belleville car which has been nearly a year in hand.” - -“Do you take the car with you?” asked Athlyne feeling a queer kind of -beating of his heart. - -“No. It would be useless there; at all events until I see what the -country and the roads are like. I was just off to the agents to tell -them to sell it for me.” - -“Strange we should meet. I came here to look up the address of an -agent. I want to buy a car.” - -“Look here, Athlyne; why not take over this? I shall have to sell it -at a sacrifice, and why shouldn’t you have the advantage. I’ll let you -have it cheap; I would rather clear it all up before I go.” - -“All right, old chap. I’ll take it. What’s the figure?” - -“I agreed to pay £1,000. You may have it at what you think fair!” - -“All right. Can we settle it now?” - -“By all means.” Athlyne took out his cheque-book and wrote a cheque -which he handed to the other. - -“I say,” said Chetwynd. “You have made this for the full sum.” - -“Quite so! What else could I offer. Why man, do you think I would beat -you down because you are in a hurry. If there is any huckstering it is -I who should pay. I get my car at once, the very car I wanted. I -should have to wait another year.” - -Three days after, the car arrived. Athlyne had spent the time in -getting lessons at a garage and learning something of the mechanism. -He was already a fair mechanic and a fine driver of horses; so that -before another week was out he had learned to know his car. He got a -good chauffeur so that he would always have help in case of need; and -before the next letter arrived from Miss Judy he was able to fly about -all over the country. The new car was a beauty. It was 100-110 h. p. -and could do sixty miles an hour easily. - -The next letter which he received from Miss Hayes was short and -devoid, so far as he could discern after much study, of any cryptic -meaning whatever. She thus made allusion to the fact that he had not -signed his letter: - -“By the way I notice that you forgot to sign your letter. I suppose -you were thinking at the time of other things.” The later sentence was -underlined. The information in the letter was that Colonel Ogilvie and -“his daughter” expected to be in London on the Saturday following her -letter and would stay at Brown’s Hotel, Albemarle Street, “where I -have no doubt they will be happy to see you if you should chance to be -in London at the time. I think Lucius intends to write you.” - -The latter sentence was literally gall to him. He knew that he must -not be in London during their stay there. To be away was the only -decent way of avoiding meeting them. He must not meet Colonel Ogilvie -until he had made certain of Joy’s feeling towards him, for he could -not make his identity known till he had that certainty. He could then -explain his position … The rest of the possibilities remained -unspoken; but they were definite in his own mind. - -As he had to go away he thought it would be well to study up the -various branches of the Ogilvy as well as of the Ogilvie family. He -would then make a tour on his own account to the various places where -were their ancient seats. As Colonel Ogilvie was interested in the -matter some knowledge on his part might lead … somewhere. - - - - - CHAPTER X. - A LETTER - -Before he set out for London, Colonel Ogilvie wrote a letter to “Mr. -Hardy” which he sent to the address given on the card handed to him at -New York. He had thought over the matter of writing with the -seriousness which he always gave to social matters. Indeed he was -careful to be even more punctilious than usual with this young man; -firstly because he had got the idea that his overtures had not been -cordially received and he wished to be just, secondly because he felt -he must not forget the great service rendered to his daughter and -himself. In his letter he apprised Mr. Hardy that with his daughter he -was coming to London for a week or more, that they would be staying at -Brown’s Hotel, Albemarle Street, and that they would be very pleased -to see him there if he would honour them with a visit, and that -perhaps he would make it convenient to dine with them any evening -which he himself might select. He also told him that Mrs. Ogilvie and -her sister were to remain some weeks longer in Italy, and that they -would join him in the North of England, whence they would go all -together to some bracing part of Scotland, to be decided later on when -the time came for the after-cure. Of course, as he did not know that -Athlyne was already in correspondence with Miss Judy, and was -particular to give details of his future movements. Before posting it -he showed the letter to Joy so that he might have her opinion as to -whether all was correct. Joy was secretly fluttered, but she preserved -admirably her self-control and came well through the ordeal, leaving -no suspicion in the mind of her father as to the real state of things. -She was now very deeply in love; the days that had passed had each and -all fed the flame of her incipient passion. Time and the brain working -together have a period of growth of their own which the -physiopsychists have called “unconscious cerebration,” a sort of -intellectual process whereby crude thoughts are throughout the -darkness of suspended effort developed into logical results. Again, -one of Nature’s mysterious workings; again one of her analogies to the -inner and outer worlds of growth. As the hibernating seed, as the -child in the womb, so the thought of man. Growth without ceasing, in -light or darkness. Logical development, from the gates of Life to the -gates of Death. - -Joy was so deeply in love that all her thoughts, all her acts, all her -hopings and fearings were tinged by it. Dreams need a physical basis -somewhere; and whatever is the outward condition of man or woman so -will be the mind. Whatever the inward, so will be the outward; each is -the true index to the other. Her father, though an acute enough man in -other respects, was sublimely unconscious of any change in his little -girl; indeed he held her in his mind as but a child to whom the -realities of life had not yet presented themselves. And yet even as a -father he was feeling the effects of her developed affection. All the -sweetness of her childhood had ripened. Somehow her nature had become -more buoyant, more elastic. Sweetness and thoughtful understanding of -his wishes seemed to breathe from her. Now and again were languorous -moments when her whole being seemed to yield itself involuntarily to a -wish outside her own. To a woman these are times of danger. For when -the will ceases, passivity is no longer negative; it is simply a -doubling of the external domination--as though an active spirit had -been breathed into inertness. There are many readings to any of the -Parables. When certain devils have been cast out and the house has -been swept and garnished may it not be that spirits other than devils -may find place therein. May it not also be that there is a virtue in -even selfishness; if only that its protective presence keeps out -devils that would fain enter the house where it abides. - -With a spirit of meekness Joy waited the coming of the friend who had -been bidden. She had every confidence that he would come. True that he -had not written to her; but she had seen his unsigned letter to Judy, -and into its barrenness had read meanings of her own. How could he -_not_ come to her when she would have so gladly flown to him? Besides -there was always with her the memory of that rapturous moment when he -had spoken her name: “Joy look at me!” It was not hard to remember -that; it was the only time she had heard her name upon his lips. As -the weeks had gone by, that little sentence impulsively spoken had -arrived at the dignity of a declaration of passion. It had grown in -her mind from a request to a command; and she felt the sweetness of -being commanded by a man she loved. In that moment she had accepted -him as her Master; and that acceptance on a woman’s part remains as a -sacred duty of obedience so long as love lasts. This is one of the -mysteries of love. Like all other mysteries, easy of acceptance to -those who believe; an acceptance which needs no doubting -investigation, no proof, no consideration of any kind whatever. She -had faith in him, and where Faith reigns Patience ceases to be a -virtue. - -Her father waited also, though not in the same meekness of spirit. -Indeed his feeling was fast becoming an exasperation in which the -feeling of gratitude was merging. He felt that he had done all that -was right and correct with regard to the young man. He had gone out of -his way to be nice to him; but with only the result of insult--that -was the way in which he was beginning to construe the silence of Mr. -Hardy. Insult to his daughter as well as himself; and that was a thing -which could not be brooked from anyone no matter how strong or how -numerous were his claims for leniency! Joy saw that there was some -cause of displeasure with her father, and with a sinking heart had to -attribute it to the real cause. She knew--which her father did -not--from his letter to Judy that Mr. Hardy would have to be away from -London just at the time of their visit; but she was afraid to speak -lest she should precipitate catastrophe. It was not that she had fear -in the ordinary sense. Much as she loved her father she would face him -if necessary. But she felt that it would be unwise to force the issue -prematurely; her father was a man of such strong prejudices--he called -them convictions!--that once they were aroused they mastered his -judgment. What might happen if he should give them scope on this -occasion! Her heart sank more deeply still at the very thought. - -In her anxiety she took what was probably the wisest course; she kept -him perpetually busy, trotting about with her to see the sights of -London. This was a pleasure which she had long promised herself -with--since the adventure with the run-away horse--the added interest -of having present a nice Englishman to point out and explain. This -special charm had now to be foregone; and the denial made her secretly -sad. However, the best anodyne to pain is pain; her anxiety regarding -her father’s case was a counteractant to her own. Father and daughter -were so busy, morning noon and night, and the girl appeared to be so -tired when the day’s programme as laid down had been exhausted, that -occasion was lacking for consideration of a disagreeable subject. -Towards the end of the first week, however, Colonel Ogilvie’s patience -began to fail. He felt that he must speak of his annoyance to some -one, and there was no choice. Joy felt that the moment had come, and -she did not flinch. She had a grim foreboding that there would be -something said which would give her pain to hear. Her hands were tied. -She could not even mention that Mr. Hardy was away; her father would -be sure to ask how she knew it. If he did so, she would not dare to -tell him; for she knew well that if he learned that the man who had -not even answered his own letter was in secret correspondence with the -ladies of his own family--that is how he would put it--the fact would -add fuel to the flame, would change chagrin to fury. And so she -steeled herself to the quiet endurance of suffering. - -The blow fell at breakfast time when her father had looked through the -few letters which lay beside his plate. - -“Well, I do think that that young man’s rudeness is unpardonable!” - -Joy looked up with a pleasant smile which belied the chilly feeling -about her heart. She felt that she must pretend ignorance; her father -might, later on, hold a too ready acceptance as suspicious: - -“What, Daddy? Who? Whose rudeness?” - -“That--that gentleman whom I asked to dine with us. Mr. Hardy.” - -“Perhaps he may not have got your letter.” - -“How do you mean, daughter? He must have got it; I directed it to the -address he gave me himself.” - -“But Daddy, he may be away. You remember he told you at dinner that -day in the Holland that he had important business. It may have been -prolonged you know. He may not even be in London.” - -“Then he should see that his letters are duly sent on to him.” - -“Certainly he ought. But perhaps Daddy he’s not as careful as we are. -He may not be a man of business!” Colonel Ogilvie smiled: - -“I’m afraid that is a very bad argument my dear. You have just used -the opposite!” - -“How so, Daddy?” she asked wrinkling up her brows. - -“You said he might be away on business!” He was so pleased with his -combating of her argument that her purpose was effected; he abandoned -the subject--for a time. - -The next morning, however, he renewed it again under similar -circumstances: - -“I think, my dear, that we had better give up any idea of keeping that -young man on the list of our friends. It is quite evident that he does -not care to continue our acquaintanceship!” Joy suffered much this -time; all the more because there was nothing that she could say which -would be wise. She had to content herself with a commonplace -acceptance of his views. So she answered with as steady a voice as she -could manage: - -“Of course, Daddy! Whatever you think right!” The answer pleased her -father; he showed it in his reply: - -“I am sorry about it, my dear; for he seemed a fine young fellow, and -he saved you very bravely. However we cannot help it. _We_ did all we -could to make him welcome; but we can’t force him to come to us. It -isn’t an occasion for wain-ropes!” After a pause she ventured to say -meekly: - -“Yes. It would be a pity if we had to quarrel with a man who did so -much for us. I suppose if he _could_ show that he did not get your -letter, then it would be--you could forgive him.” - -“Of course I would, my dear. But these English are so stand-off that -there is no understanding them. I wanted to be friends with the man -who saved my little girl … But there, it is no use wishing anything -when people are pig-headed …” - -His words somehow made Joy’s heart glow. It might be all right yet, if -only … - -But the present was sadly un-right. The suspense, the uncertainty, the -waiting in the dark were hard to bear. It was little wonder that in -the middle of the following week her father noticed that she had grown -pale and listless. Deep down in his mind he connected it somehow with -“that damned fellow” but he took care not to betray his thought to his -daughter in any way. His present wish was that even the existence of -the fellow should fall out of the memory of his family. As for himself -he never let a grievance fall out of his memory; there had to be a day -of reckoning for all concerned in such. - -He quietly made preparations for their northern tour, and when all was -ready told Joy who joined with alacrity in the move. London was now -growing hateful to her. - - -In the meantime Athlyne, living either in his castle of -Ceann-da-Shail--which he had long looked on as his home--as a centre, -was flying about in his new motor, learning each day fresh mysteries -of driving. The speeds of the motor are so much above those of other -vehicles that a driver, howsoever experienced he may be in other ways, -seems here to be dealing with a new force. The perspective changes so -fast as the machine eats up the space that the mind requires to be -practised afresh in judging distances and curves. It had been a bitter -regret to him that he had to keep out of London just when Joy had come -to it. His mind was always running on what a delight it would be to be -with her when all the interesting things came before her; to note the -sudden flushes of delight, to see the quick lifting of the beautiful -eyes, to look into their mysterious, bewildering depths. At first when -such ideas took him whilst driving, he nearly ran into danger. -Unconsciously his hands would turn the wheel for speed, and in his -eagerness he would make such swerves and jumps that undesirable things -almost happened. However, after a few such experiences his nerves -learned their own business. It is part of the equipment of a chauffeur -to be able to abstract and control his driving senses from all other -considerations; and such dual action of the mind requires habit and -experience for its realisation. The constant watchfulness and anxiety -had at least this beneficent use: that for a part of the day at all -events his mind was kept from brooding over his personal trouble. - -The arrival of Colonel Ogilvie’s letter, sent on to him from London, -made in a way a new trouble for him; for whilst he was delighted to -get so friendly an overture it was he saw but another difficulty ahead -of him. He must either reply in his false name, which was now hateful -to him; or he must leave the letter, for the present, unanswered. This -latter alternative would be dangerous with a man so sensitive and so -punctilious; but, all told, it was the lesser evil. He had had -opportunity to make up his mind on the subject before the letter came, -for Aunt Judy had said in her last letter that Colonel Ogilvie had -spoken about writing to him before they should arrive in London. Still -it was a sore trial to him to be so discourteous, with the added -chagrin that it might--probably would--stand in his way with the one -man in the world whom he wished to propitiate. - -As he did not know anything about the history of Colonel Ogilvie’s -family he went to the peerage books and made lists of the bearers of -that name in its different spellings; and then as he decided to go to -many of the places named, he made runs into Perthshire and Forfar. He -came to the conclusion that he must have misunderstood Colonel Ogilvie -in alluding to the “Border Counties.” He laid up, however, a good deal -of local information which might be pleasing to his prospective -father-in-law. - -One morning he had a letter which quite fluttered him. It was from -Aunt Judy telling him that Colonel Ogilvie had announced his intention -of starting on the then coming Thursday for the north, and that he had -given as the direction of his letters till further notice the “Inn of -Greeting,” Ambleside. The unqualified pleasure which he received from -this news was neutralised by the postscript: - - -“By the way--this of course in your private ear, now and -hereafter--Colonel Ogilvie is vastly disappointed that you have not -been to see him in London, and that you have not even replied to his -letter. Surely there must be some mistake about this. I sincerely hope -so, for he looks on any breach of courtesy, or any defect in it, as an -unpardonable sin. I know from the fact of his mentioning it to his -womenkind that he has taken it to heart. Do, do my dear friend, who -have done so much for us and whose friendship we wish to hold, repair -this without delay. He is an old man and may possibly expect more from -a younger man than from one of his own standing. I am sure that if -there has been any omission there is on your part a good reason for -it. But do not lose any time. If you wish to please us _all_--and I am -sure you do--you would do well to go up to Ambleside--if you have not -seen him already--and call on him there. And do like a dear man drop -me a line at once to say you have received this and telling me what -you intend to do.” - - -He sat for a while quite still, putting his thoughts in order. It was -now Monday so that Colonel Ogilvie would have been already some days -at Ambleside. He took it for granted that Joy was with him, but he -could not help a qualm of doubt about even that. Aunt Judy had not -mentioned her in the matter. The only possible allusion was in the -underlining of the word “all.” Otherwise the letter was too direct and -too serious for any cryptic meaning. - -He came to the conclusion that his best plan would be to go at once to -some place on Windermere, and from there go quietly to Ambleside and -find out for himself how things lay. The best place for him to stay at -would, for his purposes, be Bowness. There he would leave his car with -the chauffeur and drive in a carriage to Ambleside. When there he -would contrive to meet if possible Joy alone. He would surely be able -to form from her attitude some opinion of her disposition towards him. -If he were satisfied as to this he would at once go to her father, -tell him the whole story, and place himself in his hands. - -But then he thought that if he were so near, his name might become -known to Colonel Ogilvie; that infernal alias seemed to be always -standing in his way! He was so obsessed by the subject that at times -he quite overlooked the fact that neither the Colonel nor any of his -family knew anything whatever of the matter. It took him an hour’s -hard thought before this idea presented itself to him. It took a -weight off his mind. If by any chance Colonel Ogilvie should hear that -an individual called Lord Athlyne was in the neighbourhood it would -mean nothing to him. Nothing except the proximity of one more of that -“bloated aristocracy,” which one class of Americans run down--and -another run after. - -He was then up in Ross. As he did not wish to “rush” matters he -decided to start next day. When that time came he had fully made up -his plan of action. As the Ogilvies were at Ambleside he would go to -Bowness. As there was a service of public coaches he could go between -the places mentioned--without even the isolation of a carriage for his -sole use. He would go quietly to the Inn of Greeting and learn what he -could about their movements. The rest must depend on circumstances. -But there must be no hurry; the matter was too serious now and the -issue too important to take any risk. But when he should have seen Joy -and knew, or believed, or understood … Then he would lose not a -moment in seeing her father. But he might not get a chance of seeing -him alone and under circumstances favourable to his purpose. He must -be ready. All at once an idea struck him … - -All these weeks Athlyne had now and again had a vague feeling of -uneasiness which he could not understand: a sort of feeling that he -would some time wake and wonder what he had been fretting and fuming -about. Why could he not have written to Colonel Ogilvie at any time? -Even before he had left New York, or whilst he had been on board ship, -or whilst the American family had been in Italy, or even when the -Colonel had been in London? Why not now? After all, there was nothing -in any way wrong; nothing to be ashamed of. He was of good social -position; at least as good as Joy’s father was. He was himself rich -and wanted no fortune with his wife. He had won certain honours--a man -to whose name had been suffixed V.C. and D.S.O. must be considered -personally adequate for ordinary purposes. And so on. Vanity and -self-interest, in addition to the working of the higher qualities, -supplied many good reasons. - -And yet! … He was always being brought up against one of two things: -Colonel Ogilvie’s peculiar views and character, or his own position -towards him with regard to the alias. He could always find in either -of these something which might cause pain or trouble to Joy. Moreover -there was another matter which was a powerful factor in his -conclusions, although it was one which he did not analyse or even -realise. It was one that worked unconsciously; a disposition rather -than an activity; a tendency rather than a thought. Lord Athlyne was -Scotch and Irish; a Celt of Celts on his mother’s side. He had all -that underlying desire of the unknown which creates sentiment, and -which is so pronounced a part of the Celtic character. This it is -whence comes that clinging to the place of birth which has made the -peasantry of the Green Isle for seven hundred years fight all opposing -forces, from hunger to bayonets, to hold possession of their own. This -it is which animated a race, century after century, to suffer and -endure from their Conquerors of a more prosaic race all sorts of pain -and want, and for reasons not understandable by others. Those who have -lived amongst those Celts of the outlying fringes, amongst whom racial -tendencies remain unaltered by changing circumstances, and by whom -traditions are preserved not by historical purpose but by the exercise -of faith, know that there is a Something which has a name but no -external bounds or limitations, no quick principle, no settled -purpose. Something which to an alien can only be described by -negatives; if any idea can at all be arrived at by such--any idea -however rudimentary, phantasmal or vague--it can only be acquired at -all by a process of exclusions. The name is “The Gloom”; the rest is a -birthright. Those who can understand it need no telling or explaining; -others can no more understand it than those born without eyes can see. -It is a quality opposed to no other; it can exist with any. It can -co-exist with fighting, with song, with commerce. It makes no change -in other powers or qualities of the children of Adam. Those who -possess it can be good or bad, clever or silly, heroic or mean. It can -add force to imagination, understand nature, give quiet delight or -spiritual pain. And the bulk of those who have it do not think of it -or even know it: or if they do, hardly ever speak of it. - -Athlyne had his full share of it. Being young and strong and of a -class in life which seldom lacks amusement he had not been given to -self-analysis. But all the same, though he did not think of it, the -force was there. In his present emotional crisis it brought the lover -in him up to the Celtic ideal. An ideal so strangely saturated with -love that his whole being, his aims and ambitions, his hopes and -fears, his pleasures and pains yielded place to it and for the time -became merged in it. To him the whole world seemed to revolve round -Joy as a pivotal point. Nothing could be of any use or interest which -did not have touch of her or lead to her. So, he wanted to know beyond -the mere measure of intellectual belief if Joy loved him or was on the -way to doing so. When he was satisfied as to this he would be free to -act; but not before. - -On the journey he had allowed the chauffeur to drive, as he wanted to -think over the whole matter without fear of interruption. He had sat -in the tonneau and made from time to time notes in his pocket-book. He -had now made up his mind that he would write a letter to Colonel -Ogilvie telling him the whole circumstances. This he would keep in his -pocket so that at the first moment when he was satisfied as to Joy’s -views he could post it, in case he could not have the opportunity of a -personal explanation. After dinner the second night of the journey and -then in his bedroom he sat up writing the letter and then copying it -out on his own note paper of which he had for the purpose brought a -supply with him. When it was completed it left nothing that he could -think of open to doubt. When he had got this off his mind sleep came -to him. - -Next day he took the wheel himself; and that day when there was -fitting opportunity the car hummed along merrily at top speed. Before -sunset they arrived at Bowness. There he left the car in charge of the -chauffeur, on whom he again impressed the necessity for absolute -silence. The man was naturally discreet, and he saw that he was in a -good situation. Athlyne was satisfied on leaving him that his orders -would be thoroughly carried out. - -In the forenoon of the next day he took the steamer which plies along -the Lake, and in due course landed at Ambleside. His heart beat -quickly now and his eyes searched keenly all around him as he moved. -He would not miss a chance of seeing Joy. - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - THE BEAUTIFUL TWILIGHT - -The first couple of days at Ambleside were a delight to Joy. In the -change from the roar and ceaseless whirl of London was such a sense of -peace that it influenced even the pain of her heart-hunger. Here in -this lovely place, where despite the life and movement of the little -town nature seemed to reign, was something to calm nerves overstrung -with waiting and apprehension. It was a relief to her at first, a -pleasure later, to walk about the pleasant roads with her father; to -take long drives beneath shady trees or up on the hillside where the -lake lay below like a panorama; to sit on the steamer’s deck and drift -along the beautiful lake. - -Her father was now and again impatient, not with her but because of -the non-arrival of the motor which he had ordered in London. It had -not been quite ready when they left and so it was arranged that it -should follow them. He wanted to have it in possession so that they -could fly all over the region; the American in him was clamorous for -movement, for speed and progress! He kept up an endless telegraphing -with the motor people in London, and when at last they wired that the -car was nearly ready he got a map and traced out the route. Each day -he marked out a space that he thought it ought to have covered, -crediting it for every hour of daylight with top speed. After all, no -matter what our ages may be, we are but children and the new toy but -renews the old want and the old impatience; bringing in turn the old -disillusionment and the old empty-hearted discontent. And the new toy -may be of any shape: even that of a motor-car--or a beating human -heart. - -Partly out of affection for her father and so from sympathy with him, -and partly as a relief to herself, Joy looked eagerly for the coming -of the car. She used to go with him to the post office when he was -sending his telegrams. Indeed she never left him; and be sure he was -glad of her companionship. Now and again would come over her an -overwhelming wave of disappointment--grief--regret--she knew not -what--when she thought of the friendship so romantically begun but -failing so soon. The letters from Aunt Judy used to worry and even -humiliate her. For Judy could not understand why there was no meeting; -and her questions, made altogether for the girl’s happiness but made -in the helplessness of complete ignorance, gave her niece new concern. -She had to give reasons, invent excuses. This in itself, for she was -defending the man, only added fuel to her own passion. Joy’s love was -ripening very fast; all her nature was yielding to it. Each day seemed -to make her a trifle thinner. Her eyes seemed to grow bigger and at -times to glow like lamps. Whenever she could, she kept looking out on -the road by which He might come. Walking or driving or in the hotel it -was all the same. In the sitting-room her seat was near the window, -her place at table where she could command a view. All this added to -her beauty and so her father took no concern from it. He thought she -was looking well; and as she was hearty and always, whilst with him, -in good spirits and vivacious and even eager in her movements, he was -more than satisfied. - -One morning as she was sitting alone close to the window, presumably -reading for she had a book in her lap, she caught sight with the tail -of her eye of a figure that she knew. There was no mistaking on her -part that tall, upright man with the springy step; the image was too -deeply burned into her heart for that. For a fraction of a second her -heart stood still; and then the wave of feeling went over her. -Instinctively she drew back and kept her head low so that only her -eyes were over the line of the window sill. She did not wish to be -recognised--all at once. With the realisation of her woman’s wishes -came all the instinctive exercise of her woman’s wiles. He was walking -so slowly that she had time to observe him fully, to feast her eyes on -him. He was looking up at the hotel, not eagerly she thought, but -expectantly. This, though it did not chill her, somehow put her on -guard. She slipped behind the window curtain and peeped cautiously. As -he came closer to the hotel he went still more slowly. He did not come -to the door as she expected, but moved along the street. - -This all puzzled her; puzzled her very much. She knew that Judy had -written to him of their coming to London, she had seen his reply to -her letter; and Judy with her usual thoughtful kindness had -mentioned--as though by chance, for she was the very soul of kindly -discretion--that when she knew what locality and hotel had been fixed -on for the visit to the Lakes she would tell him. It was evident, that -he knew they were there and in the hotel; why, then, did he not come -to see them. How she would have hurried, she thought, had she been the -man and loved as she did! She had no doubting whatever of his good -faith. “Perfect love casteth out fear.” And doubt is but fear in a -timid form. She accepted in simple good faith that he had some purpose -or reason of his own. Her manifest duty to him, therefore, was not to -let any wish or act of hers clash with it. So she set herself to think -it all out, feeling in reality far happier than she had done for many -weeks. It was not merely that she had, after long waiting, seen the -man; but she was now able to do something for him--if indeed it was -only the curbing of her own curiosity, her own desires. - -She rose quietly and went to her bed-room which was at another side of -the house--on the side towards which He had passed. Her father was -writing letters and would not want her; he had said at breakfast that -he would not be able to go out for an hour or two. In her room she -went cautiously to her window and, again hiding behind the curtains, -glanced into the street. She felt quite sad when she only saw his back -as he walked slowly along. Every now and again he would stop and look -round him as though admiring the place and the views as the openings -between the houses allowed him to see the surrounding country. Once or -twice she could see him look out under his eyebrows as though watching -the hotel without appearing to do so. Presently he turned the corner -of the next street to the left, moving as though he wished to go all -round the hotel. - -She sat down and thought, her heart beating hard. Her face was covered -with both her hands. Forehead and cheeks and neck were deeply flushed; -and when she took away her hands her eyes were bright and seemed to -glow. She seemed filled with happiness, but all the same looked -impossibly demure; as is woman’s nature, playing to convention even -when alone. - -Before she left her room she had changed her clothes, putting on after -several experiments the frock which she thought the most becoming. She -did not send for her maid, but did everything for herself; even to -hanging up the discarded frocks. Then she went back to the sitting -room and took as before her seat at the window, keeping however a -little more in the background. She wanted to see rather than to be -seen. With her eyes seemingly on her book, but in reality sweeping -under her lashes the approaches to the hotel like searchlights, she -sat quite quietly for some time. At length the eyes suddenly fell for -an instant under an uncontrollable wave of diffidence; she had seen -Him pass into the garden opposite to the hotel and go secretively -behind some lilac bushes opposite the doorway. But after that one -droop of the eyes, there was scarce even the flicker of an eyelid; she -did not want to lose a single glimpse of him. - -Sitting by the window, where he could see her, for a full hour until -her father appeared, she thought over the new phase of the matter. If -she had ever had any real doubt as to whether Mr. Richard Hardy loved -her it was all resolved now. For certain he loved her--and as much, -she hoped, as she loved him! He had sought her out at Ambleside; for -even in her own secret mind she never went through the pretence of -trying to persuade herself that it may have been some one else that he -was looking for. - -But why was he so secret? Why did he not come at once into the hotel -and ask to see her father. He had been invited to come; he had been -made a welcome guest at the Holland. He knew their movements; he had -written to Judy. But why did he keep so aloof? If he wanted to avoid -them altogether he had only to keep away. Why then did he keep coming -round the house and looking at it secretively? She was absolutely at a -standstill every time her thinking led her to this _impasse_. But, all -the same, she never questioned or doubted the man. In her own mind she -was sure that he had some good reason for all he did; and it was her -duty not to thwart but to help him. - -She had already accepted the position of a true wife, a true lover: -The man’s will was law! - -Then her thoughts turned as to how best she could help him. Here all -her brains as well as all the instincts of her womanhood came into -play; and this is a strong combination in a man’s service. Her -arguments ran: - -As he evidently wishes his presence to be unknown she must not seem to -know of it. - -As he evidently wanted to know something about her she would take care -that he knew what he wished, so far as she could know or effect it. - -As (perhaps) he wished to see her (from afar, or at all events without -proclaiming himself) she would take care that he would have plenty of -opportunities. - -But as he did not want Daddy to see him--at present (this last -qualification she insisted on to herself) she would have to be careful -that her father did not notice his presence. This she felt would be -difficult, and might be dangerous; she feared that if the two men -should meet just at present (another qualification equally insisted -on) her father might make some quarrel or trouble. - -As Daddy might make trouble this way, she must keep very close to him. -She might thus be able to smooth matters, or do _something_ if any -occasion came. - -_And_ she must be careful that he did not notice that she saw him. -This argument came straight out of her sex-artfulness. Every instinct -of her being told her that such would be the most effective way of -bringing the man to her. And Oh! but she did long to see him, close to -her where they could see each other clearly. “Look at me!” seemed to -throb through her every nerve, and make a clang of great music in her -brain. - -When presently Colonel Ogilvie, having finished his letters, asked her -what she would like to do that morning she said she would like to go -for a drive. She knew that there would be more security in the -isolation of a carriage than when walking, where a chance meeting -might occur at any moment. - -When Athlyne, who was watching the hotel from the garden where the -shrubs gave him cover, saw the landau at the door he thought he would -wait and see if by any chance it might be for the Ogilvies’ use. His -hopes were justified when he saw Joy follow her father from the -doorway. She looked radiantly beautiful; so beautiful that all his -love and passion surged up in him till he felt almost suffocated. He -had quite a good view of her, for she stood for a minute or two in -front of the horses giving them lumps of sugar and stroking their -noses. He heard the voices of both father and daughter. Colonel -Ogilvie’s was strong and resonant; Joy’s was sweet and clear. -Moreover, she spoke on purpose a little more loudly than usual; she -knew that He was listening and would like to hear her voice. - -“Tell him where you would like to go, little girl.” - -“Anywhere you think best, coachman; provided we get a good view. We -had better be back here in about an hour. Then, Daddy, we shall keep -quiet after lunch--if that will suit you, dear. After tea we can go -out again and have a long drive and come back in the lovely English -twilight. Of course if you would like to, Daddy. I must say there is -one institution that I wish we had in America.” - -“And what is that daughter?” - -“The twilight! Since I have seen it, our own night seems very cruel! -It shuts down too fast. For my own part if ever I fall in love----” -here the words became indistinct; she was entering the carriage. - -She had chosen her words on purpose. She wished to let Him know the -plans for the day. She knew well that at the end of the hour he would -be waiting, hidden in the garden, to see their return. Thus he would -see her again, and she by going quickly to the window would perhaps -see him again. She had spoken of not going out again till after tea, -because she did not wish to keep him all day at his post; she knew -that this would happen if he were in ignorance of her movements. He, -poor fellow! would have to get lunch. … She was exercising for him -already the solicitude of a wife for a husband. As to the remarks -about twilight, that had a double origin. Firstly it was quite true; -she had long had it in her mind. Secondly it was a sort of _ballon -d’essai_; it might point or lead somewhere. Where that might be she -knew not; but she had a vague hopeful feeling that there was an -answer--somewhere. - -As to the remark about ever loving. Well! she could not have explained -that herself. All she knew was that she had a sudden desire to mention -the word. … - -Athlyne profited by the lesson; but his acts were not quite what Joy -had anticipated. She, thinking from the feminine standpoint, had taken -it that he would remain at his post until the return and then avail -himself of the longer period for rest and food. But Athlyne was a -soldier and had as such long ago learned the maxim that in route -marching the camp should be set beyond the bridge. Moreover in the -strenuous life of the Boer war he had superadded the wisdom of taking -his meal at the first opportunity. As soon as the carriage had -disappeared from view he went straight into the hotel and ordered his -lunch in the Coffee-room. He was really hungry, and the lamb and salad -were excellent; but had he not been hungry, and had the food been -poor, he would have enjoyed it without knowing its inferiority. -Everything was good to him this morning; he had seen Joy! - -He was out in the garden in good time. Fortunately so, from his point -of view. For Joy, believing that he would be still waiting, kept the -coachman up to time. It might well have been that they had met in the -hall. - -The drive had increased the girl’s loveliness, if such were possible. -Her eyes were bright, there was fine colour in her cheeks, and her -voice and manner were full of vivacity. The bright sun and the sweet, -strong air had braced her; and perhaps some inward emotion had -exercised the same effect. One quick glance under her eyelashes as -they drove towards the hotel had shewn her the outline of a tall -figure close to the lilacs in the garden. As her father helped her -from the carriage with all his habitual gallantry of manner she said -in a clear voice--Athlyne across the street heard every word: - -“That drive was exquisite! Wasn’t it Daddy? Thank you so much for it! -The lights and shadows on the hills were simply divine. It would be -nice to go again to-morrow in something of the same direction. We -might go about the same hour, if it would suit you, and see the same -effects again!” - -When they had gone in Athlyne waited a little while in the garden. He -sat in the sunshine on a garden seat placed in the centre of the grass -plot. He was not afraid of being seen at present, and as he knew that -Joy and her father were in the house he did not even try to look for -them. Had he chosen a position for the purpose of giving Joy pleasure -he could not have done better than this. From behind her window -curtain she could see him plainly. To her he made a beautiful picture, -of which the natural setting was complete: the background of sweet -pale lilac, the dropping gold of the laburnum and the full red of -scarlet hawthorn; his feet in the uncut grass starred with daisies. -She had a long, long view of him, watching every movement and -expression with eager eyes. One thing he did which she could not -understand. He took from his breast pocket an envelope; this he opened -and took from it a letter. Instead of reading it, however, he sat for -a long time with it in his hand. Then with a quick movement he put it -back in the envelope, moistened the flap with his lips and closed it. -Joy’s idea had been that it might have been Judy’s letter which he had -intended to re-read; but this could not be. For an instant a spasm of -pain had gripped her heart as the thought came that it might have been -from some other woman. But that idea she swept aside imperiously. Now -she knew that it was some letter of his own, and the questioning of -her brain began to assail her heart: - -Whom could he be writing to? What could he be writing about? Why did -he have a finished letter in his pocket, not even sealed up? - -If she had known the truth she would have sat quiet, not with -perturbation but in a silent ecstasy. Athlyne had made up his mind -that if occasion did not serve for his seeing Joy alone he would send -the letter to Colonel Ogilvie and risk being refused. In such case he -would have to take another course, and try to obtain her consent in -spite of her father’s wishes. He did not, however, intend to send the -letter yet. His first hope was too sweet to abandon without good -cause. His closing the letter was but an impulsive expression of his -feeling. - -Suddenly he stood up and moved out of the garden. This did not puzzle -her, but awoke all her curiosity. She had a wild desire to see where -he was going; but as she could not follow him she made up her mind to -present patience. She watched from her window till he had passed out -of sight. She was glad that she was concealed behind the curtain when -she saw him at the furthest point of sight turn and give a long look -back at the hotel. Then she went to her room to get ready for lunch. - -Athlyne felt that he must do something to let off steam. Movement of -some kind was necessary in his present frame of mind. For his pleasure -was not unmixed. He had seen Joy, and she was looking more radiantly -beautiful than ever. But she had said one thing that sent a pang -through him: “if I ever fall in love.” There could hardly be any doubt -of her sincerity; she was talking to her father quite alone and -unconscious that he of all men was within earshot. “If I ever fall in -love,” that meant that she had not yet done so. It would be wise to -wait before sending the letter so that he might see if that happy time -had come or had even begun to peep above the horizon. Unconsciously he -took from his pocket the letter and his pocket-book, put the former -into the latter and returned it to its place. - -Athlyne was no fool; but he was only a man, and as such took for -gospel every word spoken by the woman he loved. Had Joy been present -and known his difficulty, and had cared to express herself then as she -would have done later, she would have smiled at him as she said: - -“Why you dear old goose how could I fall in love with you when I had -done that already!” - -Had Aunt Judy been commenting on the comment she would have said in -her genial cynicism: - -“A woman--or a man either--can only fall in love once in a life time; -with the same person!” - -Athlyne telephoned his chauffeur to whom he had already sent a wire to -be prepared, and in a time to be computed by minutes met him outside -Ambleside. There he took the wheel himself, telling the man to meet -him a little before five o’clock. He felt that he must be alone. He -went slowly so long as he was near the town; but when he found himself -on a clear road, over which he could see for a long way ahead, the -index went round to “speed” and as the car swept over the ground its -rush kept pace with his own thoughts. - -He went about a hundred miles before he regained anything like calm. -Trying afterwards to recall the sequence of his thoughts he never -could arrive at any sort of conclusion regarding them. - -The only thing definite in his mind was that he wanted to see Joy -again, and soon. He knew they would be starting out after tea time -which meant, he knew, something after five o’clock; and not for a -world of chrysolite would he miss being there. Outside Ambleside he -met the chauffeur whom he sent back to Bowness; he did not want his -car to be too much _en evidence_ at Ambleside at present. He had a -wash and a cup of tea at another hotel; and at five strolled back to -his nook in the garden. - -By this time Joy had made up her mind that he _might_ come back that -evening though--with still her protective instinct, partly for herself -but more for him--she had quite made up her mind that even if he -should not come she would not be disappointed. He was not to be blamed -in any way, now or hereafter. How could he be? It would not be fair. A -few minutes before five she took her place at the window, but sitting -so far back this time that she could not be seen from without. She -herself could see out, but only by raising her head high. This she did -now and again, but very cautiously. She felt a sort of diffidence, a -certain measure of shamefacedness lest he should see her again and -suspect anything. We are very sensitive as to the discovery of truth -by others when we are ourselves trying to deceive ourselves! The few -minutes passed slowly, very slowly. Then when once more she looked out -a great thrill of joy shook her. He _had_ come. If doubt there had -been, it could no longer exist. Her heart beat, her face flushed, she -trembled with a sort of ecstasy; the waves of high passion swept her. -She was half inclined to stand boldly in the window and let him see -her; to let him see that she saw him; to run out to him and fall into -his arms. There is no boldness that love will not commit when it is -true! She felt this, though not consciously. There was no need for -consciousness, for thought, for argument. She knew! - -It was perhaps just as well that her father came into the room. He -brought a sense of sanity with him; she felt that consciously enough. -Her mere faint sigh of regret was sufficient proof. - -Joy did not walk down the staircase; she floated, as though matter had -ceased to exist and the soul was free. She stood for a minute on the -step looking out at the view; but presently kept changing her pose so -that her face might be seen with both profiles, as well as the full -face. If He had come there to see her He should not be -disappointed--if she could help it. - -That drive was a dream, an ecstasy. At first there was a miserable -sense that each turn of the wheels took them farther apart; but -shortly this was lost in the overwhelming sense of gladness. She could -have sung--danced--shouted. She wanted some physical expression of her -feeling. Then the excitement settled down to a quiet tingling -happiness, a sense of peace which was ineffable and complete. - - “… if that all of animated nature - Be but organic harps diversely framed - That tremble into thought as o’er them sweeps - Plastic and vast one intellectual breeze - At once the soul of each and God of all.” - -So sung, a century before, a poet of that sweet cult of the school -centred in the very area in which she moved; and if his thoughts were -true there was a true act of worship that sunny afternoon on the -rising hills beyond the lakehead. For happiness is not merely to be at -rest. It is to be with God, to carry out to the full His wish that His -children should appreciate and enjoy the powers and good things given -them by His hands. And when that happiness is based on love--and there -is no true happiness on aught that is not high--the love itself is of -the soul and quivers with the flapping of its wings. Then indeed can -we realize that marvellous promise of the words of the Master: - -“Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God.” Wordsworth and -those who held with him saw God and worshipped Him in those myriad -beauties of the lake they loved; and as the beauty and its immortal -truth soothed and purified their souls, so was the spirit of the -love-sick girl cleansed of all dross. How at such a time, when the -soul swam free in grateful worship, was there place for anything that -was not clean? Her father thought, as he looked at her and heard the -ring of her voice, that he had never seen her look better or happier. -She was full of spirits, gay, sweet, tender; and yet there was over -her such a grace of gentle gravity that the old man felt himself -saying to himself: - -“My little girl is a woman!” - -That mellow afternoon was to her lovely; the trees and shrubs, the -flowers, the fields. The singing of the birds was ethereal music; the -lights and shadows were the personal manifestation of Nature’s God. -Her heart, her sympathy, her nature were at full tide; all overflowing -and in their plenitude full. - -The long summer afternoon faded into the softness of twilight during -the homeward journey. Perhaps it was the yielding to its mysterious -influence which made Joy so still; perhaps it was that she was drawing -nearer to the man whom she adored. Her father neither knew nor took -note of it. He saw that his little girl was silent in an ecstasy of -happiness in that soft twilight of which she had spoken so tenderly; -and he was content. He too sat silent, yielding himself to the -influence of the beauty around him. - -When they reached the hotel Joy seemed to wake from a dream; but she -lost none of her present placidity, none of her content. One form of -happiness had given way to another, that was all. As she stood on the -steps, waiting whilst her father was giving the coachman his -instructions for the morrow, she tried to peer into the lilac bushes -in the garden. She had a sort of intuition--nay more that an -intuition, an actual certainty--that He was again behind them. And -once more she so stood and moved that he might see her face as he -would. When her father turned to come in she took his arm and pointed -to the sky: - -“Oh look, Daddy, the beautiful twilight! Is it not exquisite!” Then -impulsively she put her hand to her lips and threw a kiss to it--over -the square by way of the lilacs. Her voice was languishing music as -she said softly, but clearly enough to heard in the garden: - -“Good night; Good night beloved! Good night! Good night!” - -And Athlyne peering through the bushes heard the words with a beating -of his heart which made his temples throb. His only wish at the moment -was that it might have been that the words had been addressed to him. - -That evening before going to dress for dinner Joy went to the window -and pulled aside the blind so that she stood outside it. The dusk was -now thick; the day had gone, but the moon had not yet risen. It was -impossible to see much; only the outline of the trees, and out on the -grass the shadowy form of a man seated. There was one faint red spark -of brightness, face high, such as might be the tip of a cigar. - -When she came back into the room her father raised his face from his -book: - -“Why how pale you are little girl. I am afraid that long drive must -have tired you. You were quite rosy when we arrived home. You had -better sleep it out in the morning. If mother sees you pale she will -blame me, you know. And Judy--well Judy will be Judy in her own way.” - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - ECHO OF A TRAGEDY - -Athlyne had one other day almost similar to the last. This time he -came to Ambleside a little earlier; fortunately so, for Joy had got up -early. When he came into the square she was standing in the window -looking out. Not in his direction; did a woman ever do such a stupid -thing when at the first glance she had caught sight of the man far -off. No, this time she appeared to be eagerly watching two tiny -children toddling along the street hand in hand. He had time for a -good look at her before she changed her position. This was only when -the children had disappeared--and he had gained the shelter of the -lilacs. - -Love is a blindness--in certain ways. It never once occurred to -Athlyne that Joy might have seen him, might have even known of his -being at Ambleside or in its neighbourhood. Any independent onlooker -or any one not bound by the simplicity and unquestioning faith of -ardent love would at least have doubted whether there was not some -possible intention in Joy’s movements. His faith however saved him -from pain, that one pain from which true love can suffer however -baseless it may be--doubt. Early morning took him to Ambleside; he -only went back to Bowness when those windows of the hotel which he -knew were darkened for the night. - -The second day of waiting and watching was just like the first, with -only the addition that the hearts of both the young people were more -clamant, each to each; and that the rising passion of each was harder -to control. The same routine of going out and returning was observed -by the Ogilvies, and each of the lovers had tumultuous moments when -the other was within view. More than once Athlyne was tempted to put -his letter in the post or to leave it at the hotel; but each time -Joy’s chance phrase: “If I ever fall in love” came back to him as a -grim warning. He knew that if he once declared himself to Colonel -Ogilvie the whole truth must come out, and then his title and fortune -might be extraneous inducements to the girl. Whenever he came to this -point in his reasoning he thrust the letter deeper into his pocket and -his lips shut tight. He would win Joy on his mere manhood and his -manhood’s love--if at all! - -By the post next morning Colonel Ogilvie and Joy both got letters from -Italy. That of the former was from his wife who announced that they -were just starting for London where they wished to remain for a few -days in order to do some shopping. When this was done she would wire -him and he could run up to London and bring them down with him. This -pleased him, for he was certain that by then he would have his -automobile. He felt in a way that his pride was at stake on this -point. He had told his women folk that the car would be ready, and he -wished to justify. He wired off at once to the agents, in even a -sterner spirit than usual, as to the cause of delay. For excuses had -come in a most exasperating way. Long after it had been reported that -the car had started and had even proceeded a considerable distance on -the way he was told that there had been an error and that by some -strange mistake the progress made by a car long previously ordered by -another customer had been reported; but that Colonel Ogilvie’s -esteemed order was well in hand and that delivery of the car was -daily--hourly--expected; and that at once on its receipt by the writer -it would be forwarded to Ambleside either with a trusty chauffeur or -by train as the purchaser might wish. Colonel Ogilvie fumed but was -powerless. He wanted the car and at once; so it was useless for him to -cancel the contract. He could only wait and hope; and console himself -with such attenuated expressions of disapproval as were permissible in -the ethics of the telegraphic system. - -Joy’s letter was from Judy. It was in her usual bright style and full -of affection, sympathy and understanding, as was customary in her -letters to her niece. Judy had of late been much disturbed in her mind -about the future, and as she feared Joy might be taking to heart the -same matters as she did and in the same way, she tried to help the -other. She knew from Colonel Ogilvie’s letters to his wife which they -talked over together that he was seriously hurt and pained by the -neglect of Mr. Hardy. Indeed in his last letter he had declared that -in spite of the high opinion he had formed of him from his brave and -ready action he never wished to see his face again. To Judy this meant -much, the most that could be of possible ill; Joy’s happiness might be -at stake. The aunt, steeped through and through with knowledge of the -world and character--a knowledge gained from her own heart, its hopes -and pains and from bitter experience of the woes of others--knew that -her niece would suffer deeply in case of any rupture between her -father and the man who had saved her life. It was not merely from -imaginative sympathy that she derived her belief. She had had many and -favourable opportunities of studying Joy closely, and she had in her -own mind no doubt whatever that the girl’s affections were given -beyond recall to the handsome stranger. So in her letter she tried to -guard her from the pain of present imaginings and yet to prepare her -subtly for the possibility of disappointment in the future. Her letter -in its important part ran: - - -“Your father is undoubtedly very angry with Mr. Hardy; and though I -believe that his anger may have a slight basis it is altogether -excessive. We do not know yet what Mr. Hardy’s limitations of freedom -may be. After all, darling, we do not know anything as yet of his -circumstances or his surroundings. He may have a thousand calls on his -time which we neither know nor understand. For all we can tell he may -have a wife already--though this I do not believe or accept for a -moment. And you don’t either, my dear! Of course this is all a joke. -We _know_ he is free as to marriage, though I don’t believe his heart -is--Eh! Puss! But seriously if you ever get a chance tell him to try -to be very nice to your father. Old men are often more sensitive in -some things that young ones, more sensitive than even we women are -supposed to be. So when he does come to see you both--for he _will_ -come soon (if he hasn’t come already)--don’t keep him all to yourself, -but contrive somehow that your father can have a little chat with him. -You needn’t go altogether away you know, my dear. Don’t sit so far -away that he can’t see you nor you him (this is a whisper expressed in -writing) and I dare say you will like to hear all they say to each -other. But if he says a word about seeing your daddy alone for a -moment, if he begins to look ill at ease or to get red and then pale -and red again, or stammers and clears his throat do you just get up -quietly and go out of the room without a word in the most natural way -in the world, just as if you were doing some little household duty. I -suppose I needn’t tell you this; you know it just as well as I do, -though I have known it by experience and you can not. You know how I -know it darling though I never told you this part of it. Women are -Cowards. _We_ know it though we don’t always say so, and we even -disguise it from others now and then. But in such a time as I have -mentioned we are _all_ Cowards. We couldn’t stay if we would. We -_want_ to get away and hide our heads just as we do when it thunders. -But what an awful lot of _rot_ I am talking. When Mr. Hardy and your -father meet they will, I am sure, have plenty to talk about without -either you or me being the subject of it. They are both sportsmen and -fond of horses--and a lot of things. It is only if they don’t meet -that I am afraid of. I am writing by the way to Mr. Hardy this post to -know where he is at present and where he has been. I shall of course -write you when I hear; or if there be anything important I shall wire. -We are off to London and it is possible that whilst we are there we -may have unexpected meetings with all sorts of friends and calls from -them. I hope, darling, that by the time we reach Ambleside we shall -find you _blooming_, full of happiness and health and freshness, the -very embodiment of your name.” - - -The letter both disquieted Joy and soothed her. There were suggestions -of fear, but there was also a consistent strain of hope. Judy would -never have said such things if she did not believe them. Moreover she -herself knew what Judy did not; her aunt hadn’t peeped from behind -window blinds at a tall figure behind lilac bushes or sitting in the -darkness with only a fiery cigar tip to mark his presence. Poor Judy! -The girl’s sympathetic heart, made more sympathetic by her own burning -love, ached when she thought of the older woman’s lonely, barren life. -She too had loved--and been loved; had hoped and feared, and waited. -The very knowledge of how a woman would feel when the man was asking -formally for parental sanction disclosed something of which the girl -had never thought. She had always known Judy in such a motherly and -elderly aspect that she had never realised the possibility of her -having ever been in love; any more that she had given consideration to -the love-making of her own mother. Now she was surprised to find that -she too had been young, had loved, and had pleasures and heart-pains -of her own. This set her thinking. The process of thought was silent, -but its conclusion found outward expression; the girl understood now. -The secret of her life--the true secret was unveiled at last: - -“Poor Aunt Judy. Oh, poor Aunt Judy!” - -Athlyne’s letter reached him a day later, having been sent on from -London. It was a fairly bulky one, with a good many sheets of foreign -post, written hastily in a large bold hand. - - -“My Dear Friend: - -I have been, and am, much concerned about you. I gather from his -letters that Colonel Ogilvie has been much disappointed at not having -heard from you. And I want, if you will allow me to take the liberty, -to speak to you seriously about it. You will give me this privilege I -know--if only for the fact that I am an old maid; for the same Powers -that made me an old maid have made me an old woman, and such is -entitled, I take it, to forbearance, if not to respect. You -should--you really should be more considerate towards Colonel Ogilvie. -He is an old man--much older than you perhaps think, for he bears -himself as proudly as in his younger days. But the claim on you is not -merely from his years; that claim must appeal to all. From you there -is one more imperative still, one which is personal and paramount: he -is under so very deep an obligation to you. A matter which from -another would pass unconsidered as an act of thoughtfulness must now, -when it is due to you, seem to him like a studied affront. I put it -this way because I know you are a man of noble nature, and that -generosity is to such even a stronger urge than duty--if such a thing -be possible. In certain matters he is sensitive beyond belief. Even to -a degree marked in a place where men still hold that their lives rest -behind every word and deed, every thought or neglect towards another. -I have some hesitation in mentioning this lest you should think I am -summoning Fear to the side of Duty. But you are above such a -misunderstanding, I am sure. Oh my dear friend do think of some of the -rest of us. You have saved the life of our darling Joy--the one -creature in whom all our loves are centred. Naturally we all want to -see you again--to make much of you--to show you in our own poor way -how deeply we hold you in our hearts. But if Colonel Ogilvie thinks -himself insulted--that is how he regards any neglect however -trivial--he acts on that belief, and there is no possible holding him -back. He looks on it as a sacred duty to avenge affront. You must not -blame him for it. In your peaceful English life you have I think no -parallel to the ungovernable waves of passion that rage in the hearts -of Kentuckians when they consider their honour is touched. Ah! we poor -women know it who have to suffer in silence and wait and wait, and -wait; and when the worst is made known to us, to seal up the founts of -our grief and pretend that we too agree with the avenging of wrong. -For it is our life to be silent in men’s quarrels. We are not given a -part--any part. We are not supposed to even look on. It is another -world from ours, and we have to accept it so. Please God may you never -know what it is to be in or on the fringe of a Feud. Well I know its -dread, its horror! My own life that years ago was as bright and -promising as any young life can be; when the Love that had dawned on -my girlhood rose and beat with noonday heat on my young-womanhood made -it seem as if heaven had come down to earth. And then the one moment -of misunderstanding--the quick accusation--the quicker retort--and my -poor heart lying crushed between the bodies of two men whom I loved -each in his proper way… Think of what I say, if only on account of -what I have suffered. - -“Forgive me! But my anxiety lest any such blight should come across a -young life that I love far far beyond my own is heavy on me. I have -lost myself in sad thoughts of a bitter past… Indeed you must take -it that my earnestness in this matter is shown in the lurid light of -that past. I have been silent on it always. Never since the black -cloud burst over me have I said a word to a soul--not to my -sister--nor to Joy whom I adore and whose questioning to me of my -‘love affair’--as they still call it when they speak of it--is so -sweet a tightening bond between us. I have only said to her: ‘and then -he died,’ and my heart has seemed to stop beating. Be patient with me -and don’t blame me. You are a man and can be tolerant. Think not of me -or any gloom of my life but only that makes me sadly, grimly, terribly -in earnest when I see similar elements of tragedy drawing close to -each other before my eyes. You may be inclined to laugh at me--though -I know you will not--and to put down my thinking of possible great -quarrels arising from such small causes as ‘an old maid’s’ fears. But -when I have known the awful effect of a mere passing word, -misunderstood to such disastrous result, no wonder that I have fears. -It is due to that very cause that my fears are those of an old maid. I -suppose I need not ask you to be sure to keep all this locked in your -own breast. It is my secret; I have shared it with you because I deem -such necessary for the happiness of--of others. I have kept it so -close that not even those nearest and dearest to me have even -suspected it. The rowdiness of spirit--as it seems to me--which other -friends call fun and brightness and high spirits and other such -insulting terms--has been my domino as I have passed through the -hollow hearted carnival of life. Judge then how earnest I am when I -put it aside and raise my mask for you a stranger whom I have seen but -twice; I who even then was but an accessory--a super on the little -stage where we began to act our little--comedy or tragedy which is it -to be? - -“There! I have opened to you my memory, not my heart. That you have no -use for. After such a letter as this I shall not pretend to go back to -the Proprieties, the _Convenances_. If I am right in my surmise--you -can guess what that is or why have you written to the old rowdy aunt -instead… there is every reason why I should be frank. But remember -that I hold--and have hitherto held--what I believe to be your secret -as sacredly as I hope you will hold mine. And if I am right--and from -my knowledge and insight won by past suffering I pray to God that I -am--you have no time to lose to make matters right, and possibly to -save the world one more sorrowful heart like my own. It is only a word -that is wanted--a morning call--a visit of ceremony. Anything that -will keep open the doors of friendship which you unlocked by your own -bravery. We are going in a day or two to Ambleside. In the meantime we -shall be in London at Brown’s Hotel Albemarle Street where my sister, -and incidentally myself, shall be glad to see you. … - -“Won’t you let me have a line as soon as you can after you get this. I -am torn with anxiety till I know what you intend to do about visiting -Colonel Ogilvie. Again forgive me, - - Your true friend, - Judy. - -“P. S.--I shall not dare to read this over, lest when I had I should -not have courage to send it. Accept it then with all its faults and be -tolerant of them--and of me.” - - -Athlyne read the letter through without making a pause or even an -internal comment. That is how a letter should be read; to follow the -writer’s mind, not one’s own, and so take in the sequence of thoughts -and the general atmosphere as well as the individual facts. As he read -he felt deeply moved. There was in the letter that manifest sincerity -which showed that it was straight from the heart. And heart speaks to -heart, whatever may be the medium, if the purpose is sincere. It was a -surprise to him to learn that Miss Judy’s high and volatile spirits -rested on so sad a base. His appreciation of her worthiness came in -his unconscious resolution that when he and Joy were married Aunt Judy -should be an honoured guest in the house, and that they would try to -lighten, with what sympathy and kindness they could, the dark shadows -of her life. - -He sat with the letter in his hand for some time. He was sitting in -the window of the hotel at Bowness looking out on the lake. It was -still early and the life of the day had hardly begun. At Bowness the -life was that of the tourists and visitors and it would still be an -hour or more before they began to move out on their objectives. He had -very many various and whirling thoughts, but supreme amongst them was -one: Time was flying. He must not delay, for every hour was more and -more jeopardising his chance of winning the woman he loved. He -realized to the full that his neglect of Colonel Ogilvie, for so it -was being construed, was making--had made--a difficulty for him. Each -day, perhaps each hour, was widening the breach; if he did not take -care he might end with the door permanently closed against him. As he -came to the conclusion of his reasoning he drew once more from his -pocket the sealed letter to Colonel Ogilvie, and stood up. He fancied -that his determination was made that he would see Colonel Ogilvie as -soon as possible and broach the subject to him. As however he went -towards the boat--for he was going to Ambleside by water--he postponed -the intention of an immediate interview. He would wait this one day -and see what would turn up. If nothing happened likely to further his -wishes he would whilst at Ambleside the next morning put the letter in -the post. Then he would hold himself ready for the interview with -Joy’s father for which the letter asked. - -At Ambleside he took his place behind the lilacs in the garden and -kept watch on the window where Joy was wont to appear. A little before -breakfast-time she appeared there for a brief space, and then moved -back into the room. He waited with what patience he could till nearly -eleven o’clock when the same carriage which they used drove up to the -door; waiting became then an easier task. Presently Colonel Ogilvie -came out and stood on the steps. Athlyne wondered; this was the first -time that Joy had not been before him. Throwing his eyes around in -vague wondering as to the cause he saw Joy standing in the window -dressed and pulling on her gloves. She was radiantly beautiful. Her -colour was a little heightened and her lovely grey eyes shone like -stars. Her gaze was fixed so that her eyes seemed to look straight -before her but beyond him. The look made him quiver as though he felt -it were directed at him, and his knees began to tremble with a mighty, -vague longing. For quite a minute she stood there, till her eyes -falling she caught sight of her father standing by the carriage below. -She drew back quickly and almost immediately appeared at the -hall-door, saying: - -“I am so sorry, Daddy. I hope I did not keep you waiting too long!” - -“Not a bit little girl. It is a pleasure to me to wait for you; to do -anything for you, my dear. Whatever else is the use of being a -father.” - -“You dear! May we go to-day up the mountain road where we can look -over the lake. I want you to have a nice glimpse of it again before -you go.” - -Here Athlyne’s heart sank for an instant. This was the first idea he -had of any intention of moving, and it actually shook him. Joy had as -usual a handful of sugar for the horses. She went to the off side -horse first and gave him his share. Then when she stood at the head of -the other, her face toward the lilacs, she turned to her father and -said in a low, thrilling tone: - -“Daddy, am I nice to-day? _Look at me!_” She stood still whilst the -old man looked at her admiringly, proudly, fondly. - -“You are peerless, little girl. Peerless! that’s it!” She was -evidently pleased at the compliment, for her colour rose to a deep -flush. Her grey eyes shone through it like two great grey suns. Whilst -her father was speaking to the coachman she gave the other horse, now -impatient, his share of the sugar and stood looking across the road. -Athlyne could hardly contain himself. The few seconds, although flying -so fast, were momentous. Past and present rushed together to the -creation of a moment of ecstasy. The sound of the words swept him; the -idea and all it rewoke and intensified, transfigured his very soul. -And then he heard her say in a low, languorous voice which vibrated: - -“Thank you Daddy for such a sweet compliment. I am glad I said ‘_Look -at me!_’” As she spoke it seemed to Athlyne that her eyes fixed across -the road sent their lightnings straight into his heart. And yet it did -not even occur to him at the moment that the words could have been -addressed to him. - -During the drive Joy kept her father interested in all around them. He -saw that she was elated and happy, and it made his heart glad to that -receptive mood which is the recrudescence of youth. In the girl’s mind -to-day several trains of thought, all of them parental of action, went -on together. She did not analyze them; indeed she was hardly conscious -of them. The mechanism of mind was working to a set purpose, but one -which was temperamental rather than intentional--of sex and individual -character rather than of a studied conclusion. For that morning was to -her momentous. She knew it with all her instincts. Unconsciously she -drew conclusions from facts without waiting to develop their logical -sequence. - -A telegram had arrived from Mrs. Ogilvie saying that she and Judy were -now ready to leave London and, as her husband had said that he wished -to escort them to Ambleside, they would be prepared on his coming to -leave on the next morning or whatever later time he might fix. After a -glance at the time-table he had wired back that he would go up on that -night, and that they would all start on the following morning. Joy had -offered to accompany him, but he would not have it: “No, little girl,” -he said. “Travel at night is all very well for men; but it takes it -out of women. I want your mother to see the bright, red-cheeked girl -that has been with me for the last week, and not a pale, worn-out -draggled young woman with her eyes heavy with weariness. You stay -here, my dear, and get plenty of air and sunshine. You will not be -afraid to be here alone with your maid!” Joy smiled: - -“Not a bit, Daddy! I shall walk and drive all day and perhaps go down -the Lake in a boat. If I do the latter I shall take Eugenie with me -and we shall lunch down at Newby Bridge. We shall be home here in good -time to drive over and meet you all at the station at Windermere.” - -From that moment Joy hardly left her father out of her sight. -Instinctively she knew that the chance of her life had come. She had a -conviction--it was more than a mere idea or even a belief--that if she -were alone whilst her father was up in London or on the way down, that -figure which even now was hidden by the lilacs would abandon secretive -ways and come out into the open where she could see him close, and -hear the sound of his voice--that voice whose every note made music in -her ears. It was the presence of her father which kept him hidden. It -was imperative, both in accordance with his wishes as well as from her -own apprehensions of what might happen if they should meet -unexpectedly before she had time to warn him, that no mischance should -prevent an early meeting, free from any suspicion between herself and -Mr. Hardy. When Daddy was well on his way. … Here she would close -her eyes; definite thought was lost in a languorous ecstasy. The -coming day would mean to her everything or. … - -The drive was a fairly long one and they did not get back till nearly -one o’clock. Colonel Ogilvie had said to Joy: - -“I shall have a good time to-day, have plenty of fresh air and be -ready for sleep when I get into the train. As I shall arrive early in -the morning I shall have time to express my opinions on their conduct -to those automobile people. They won’t expect my coming and be able to -get out of the way. I fancy it will do me good to say what I feel; or -at any rate enough to give them some indication of what I could say, -and shall say if there is any further delay in the matter.” - -When they arrived Joy went at once into the hotel leaving her father -to tell the coachman at what hour to be ready for the afternoon drive. -She went straight to the window and, keeping as usual behind the -curtain, looked over at the lilac bushes. She could see through the -foliage that there was _some one_ there, and that satisfied her. She -would have liked to have instructed the driver herself so that she -would have been sure that he knew; but on this occasion a wave of -diffidence suddenly overwhelmed her. Times were coming when she would -not be able to afford the luxury of such an emotion, so she grasped it -whilst she could. - -Colonel Ogilvie was to catch the train from Windermere at nine -o’clock, so the second drive should come after lunch and not after -tea; and when she was in her own room, Joy feared that He might miss -them. When, however, before going downstairs she looked out of the -window she saw that he was still at his post. Athlyne’s campaigning -experience had had its own psychology. Seeing that there was some -change in the Ogilvie day he had arranged his own plans to meet it. -Whilst they had been taking their morning drive he had provided -himself with some sandwiches; he had determined not to leave his post -until he knew more. Joy’s words had all day rung in his ears, and he -was now and again distracted with doubts. Was it possible that there -had been any meaning or intention in her words more than was apparent? -Was the spontaneity consequent on some deep feeling which evoked -memory? Could he believe that she really. … He would wait now before -sending the letter, whatever came. In that he was adamant. - -During the drive Joy was mainly silent. It was not the silence of -thought; it was simply spiritual quiescence. She knew that the rest of -the day was so laid out that it was unlikely it could be marred by an -untoward accident. There was this in His persistent waiting that she -had come to trust it. There was some intention, so manifest, though -what it was was unknown to her, that it was hardly to be disturbed by -any sudden exigency. She lived at the moment in a world of calm, a -dream-world of infinite happiness. Now and again she woke to the -presence of her father and then poured on him in every way in which a -young woman can all the treasures of her thought and affection. This -made the old man so happy that he too was content to remain silent -when she ceased to speak. - -When they got back to the hotel, she spoke to the driver: - -“You will be here at eight o’clock please, as you will have to drive -Colonel Ogilvie to the station at Windermere in good time to catch the -nine o’clock train. I shall not want you in the morning as I intend to -take a walk; but you must be at Windermere to meet my father at five -o’clock. If to-morrow afternoon there is any change in his plans he -will wire the hotel people and they will let you know. Perhaps you had -better call here on your way to Windermere as I may go over in the -carriage. But if I am not here do not wait for me; I may possibly walk -over. When you have left Colonel Ogilvie at Windermere to-night you -will have to leave me back here. I am going to the depot with him.” - -Then she went into the doorway, and hurried to the sitting-room where -she looked out into the garden--where the lilacs grew. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII. - INSTINCTIVE PLANNING - -Man’s unconscious action is a strange thing. Athlyne had just heard -words which took from him a strain under which he had suffered for a -whole week of waiting and watching; words which promised him the -opportunity for which he had longed for many weeks. His nerves had -been strung to tension so high that now it would seem only natural if -the relief sent him into a sort of delirium. But he quietly lit a -cigar, taking care that it was properly cut and properly lit, and -smoked luxuriously as he moved across the garden and into the street. -Joy from her window saw him go, and her admiration of his ease and -self possession and magnificent self-reliance sent fresh thrills -through her flesh. - -When Athlyne went out of the garden he had evidently made up his mind, -consciously or unconsciously, to some other point in connection with -the motor for he visited such shops as were open and made some -purchases--caps, veils, cloaks and such like gear suitable for the use -of a tall young lady. These he took with him in a hired carriage to -the hotel at Bowness, where he added them to certain others already -sent from London. Then he told the chauffeur to give the car a careful -overhauling so that it be in perfect order, and went for a stroll up -the Lake. - -Shortly he was in a mental and physical tumult; the period which had -elapsed since he heard the news of Colonel Ogilvie’s coming departure -had been but the prelude to the storm. At first he could not think; he -had no words, no sequence of ideas, not even vague intentions. He had -only sensations; and these though they moved and concentrated every -nerve in his body were without even physical purpose. He went like one -in a dream. But in the background of his mind was a fact which stood -out firm and solid like the profile of a mountain seen against the -glow of a western sunset. Joy would be alone to-morrow; the -opportunity he waited for was at last at hand! The recognition of this -seemed to pull him together, to set all his faculties working -simultaneously; and as each had a different method the tumult was in -reducing them to unison--in achieving one resultant from all the -varying forces. Gradually out of the chaos came the first clear -intent: he must so master the whole subject that when the opportunity -had come he should be able to avail himself of it to the full. From -this he proceeded to weigh the various possibilities, till gradually -he began to realise what vague purpose had been behind his wish to -have his automobile in perfect working order. It did not even occur to -him that with such machinery at his command he might try to carry her -off, either without her consent or with it. All that he wanted in the -first instance was to have fitting opportunity of discovering how Joy -regarded him. The last twenty-four hours had opened to his mind such -glorious possibilities that every word she had said, every look on her -eloquent face (though such looks had manifestly not been intended for -him) had a place in a chain which linked her heart to his. “Look at -me!” “I am glad I asked you to look at me!” though spoken to her -father seemed to have another significance. It was as though an eager -thought had at last found expression. “Good night! Good night, -beloved!” though ostensibly spoken to the twilight was breathed with -such fervour, with such languishing eyes and with such soft pouting of -scarlet lips that it seemed impossible that it should have other than -a human objective. These thoughts swept the man into a glow of -passion. He was young and strong and ardent, and he loved the woman -with all his heart; with all his soul; with all the strength of human -passion. It is a mistake to suppose--as some abstract thinkers seem to -do always, and most people at some moment of purely spiritual -exaltation--that the love of a man and a woman each for the other is, -even at its very highest, devoid of physical emotion. The original -Creator did not manifestly so intend. The world of thought is an -abstract world whose inner shrine is where soul meets soul. The world -of life is the world of the heart, and its beating is the sway of the -pendulum between soul and flesh. The world of flesh is the real world; -wrought of physical atoms in whose recurrent groupings is the -elaborated scheme of nature. Into this world has been placed Man to -live and rule. To this end his body is fixed with various powers and -complications and endurances; with weaknesses and impulses and -yieldings; with passions to animate, with desires to attract, and -animosities to repel. And as the final crowning of this wondrous work, -the last and final touch of the Creator’s hand, Sex for the eternal -renewing of established forces. How can souls be drawn to souls when -such are centred in bodies which mutually repel? How can the heart -quicken its beats when it may not come near enough to hear the -answering throb? No! If physical attraction be not somewhere, naught -can develop. Judy, the outspoken, had once almost horrified a little -group of matrons who were discussing the interest which a certain -young cleric was beginning to take in one of the young female -parishioners. When one of them said, somewhat sanctimoniously, that -his interest was only in the salvation of her immortal soul, that he -was too good a man to ever think of falling in love as ordinary men -do, the vivacious old maid replied: - -“Not a bit of it, my dear! When a man troubles himself about an -individual young woman’s soul you may be quite certain that his eyes -have not neglected her body. And moreover you will generally, if not -always, find that she has a pair of curving red lips, or a fine bust, -or a well-developed figure somewhere!” - -Athlyne loved Joy in all ways, so that the best of his nature -regulated the standard of his thoughts. His love was no passing fancy -which might or might not develop, flame up, and fade away. He had, he -felt, found the other half of him, lost in the primeval chaos; and he -wanted the union to be so complete that it would outlive the clashing -of worlds in the final cataclysm. Healthy people are healthy in their -loves and even in their passions. These two young people were both -healthy, both red-blooded, both of ardent, passionate nature; and they -were drawn together each to each by all the powers that rule sex and -character. To say that their love was all of earth would be as absurd -as to say that it was all of heaven. It was human, all human, and all -that such implies. Heaven and earth had both their parts in the -combination; and perhaps, since both were of strong nature and marked -individuality, Hell had its due share in the amalgam. - -Athlyne thought, and thought, and thought; till the length of his own -shadow recalled the passing of time. He postponed the thinking over -his plans for to-morrow--the active part of them, and hastened back to -his place behind the lilacs. - -He was just in time. The carriage stood at the door with Colonel -Ogilvie’s “grip-sack” at the driver’s feet. Then the Boots ran down -the steps and held the carriage door open. Joy came holding her -father’s arm. They got into the carriage and drove away. Athlyne -waited, sitting on the seat on the grass lawn smoking luxuriously. He -forgot that he was hungry and thirsty, forgot everything except that -he would before long see Joy again, this time _alone_. His thoughts -were evidently pleasant, for the time flew fast. Indeed he must have -been in something like a waking dream which absorbed all his faculties -for he did not notice the flight of time at all. It was only when, -recalled to himself by the passing of a carriage, he looked up and saw -Joy that he came back to reality. To his disappointment her head was -turned away. When within sight of the garden, she had noticed him and -as she did not wish him, just yet, to know that she knew of his -presence, she found her eyes fixed on the other side of the street. It -was the easiest and most certain way of avoiding complexities. He -slipped over to the lilacs to see her alight. When she had done so she -turned to the coachman and said: - -“You understand I shall not want you in the morning as I shall be out -walking; but if I don’t send for you in the afternoon, or if you don’t -get any message you will meet my father at Windermere station at a -quarter to five.” - -She went to the front of the carriage and stroked the horses’ noses -and necks after her usual fashion. He had as good a view of her -profile as the twilight would allow. Then with a pleasant “Good -evening!” to the coachman she tripped up the steps and disappeared. -For more than a quarter of an hour Athlyne watched the windows; but -she did not appear. This was natural enough, for she was behind the -curtains peeping out to see if he went back to his seat on the lawn. - -When she saw that he did not return Joy, with a gentle sigh, went to -her room. - -That sigh meant a lot. It was the reaction from an inward struggle. -All day she had been suffering from the dominance of two opposing -ideas, between which her inward nature swayed pendulum-wise. This -“inward nature” comprised her mind, her reason, her intelligence, her -fears, her hopes, her desires--the whole mechanism and paraphernalia -of her emotional and speculative psychology. She would fain have gone -out boldly into the garden and there met Mr. Hardy face to face--of -course by pure accident. But this vague intention was combated by a -maiden fear; one of those delicious, conscious apprehensions made to -be combated unless thoroughly supported by collateral forces; one of -those gentle fears of sex which makes yielding so sweet. Following -this came the fixed intention of that walk to be taken in the morning. -The morning was still far off and its apprehensive possibilities were -not very dreadful. Indeed she did not really fear them at all for she -had privately made up her mind that, fear or no fear, she was going on -that walk. The only point left open was its direction. The hour was -positively settled; an hour earlier than that at which for the past -few days she had driven out with Daddy! Even to herself she would not -admit that her choice of time was in any way controlled or influenced -by the fact that it was the same hour about which Mr. Hardy made his -appearance in the garden. - -But all the same her thoughts and her intentions were becoming -conscious. For good or evil she was getting more reckless in her -desires; passion was becoming dominant--and she knew it. - -This is perhaps the most dangerous phase of a woman’s trial. She knows -that there is at work a growing desire for self-surrender which it is -her duty to combat. She knows that all contra reasons which can be -produced will be--must be--overcome. She knows with all the subtle -instincts of her sex that she is deliberately setting her feet on a -slope down which some impulse, perhaps but momentary, will carry her -with resistless force. It is the preparatory struggle to defeat; the -clearing away of difficulties which might later be hampering or even -obstructive; the clamant _wish_ for defeat which makes for the -conquered the satisfaction if not the happiness of finality. To all -children of Adam, of either sex, this phase may come. To the strongest -and most resolute warrior must be a moment when he can no more; when -the last blow has been struck and the calling of another world is -ringing in his ears; to the resolute amongst men this moment is the -moment of death. To women it is surrender of self; surrender to the -embrace of Death--or to the embrace of Love. It is the true end of the -battle. The rest is but the carrying out of the Treaty of Peace, the -Triumph of the Victory in which she is now proud to have a part--if it -be only that of captive! - -There was no sleep for Joy that night. She heard the hours strike one -after the other, never missing one. She was not restless. She lay -still, and quiet, and calm; patient with that patience which is an -acceptance that what is to come is good. In all the long vigil she -never faltered in her intention to take that walk in the forenoon. -What was to happen in it she did not guess. She had a conviction that -that tall figure would follow her discreetly; and that when she was -alone they would somehow meet. It might be that she would hear his -voice before she saw him; that was most likely, indeed almost certain, -for she would not turn till he had spoken … or at any rate till she -knew that he was close behind her. … Here her thoughts would stop. -She would lie in a sort of ecstasy … whatever might come after that -would be happiness. She would see Him … look into His eyes. … -“Look at me, Joy!” seemed to sound in her ears in sweet low music like -a whisper. Then she would close her eyes and lie motionless, passive, -breathing as gently as a child; high-strung, conscious, awake and -devoid of any definite intent. - -When she was dressing for the day she put on one of the simplest and -prettiest of her dresses, one which she had directed over night to be -got ready; a sort of heavy gauze of dull white which fell in long full -folds showing her tall slim figure to its perfect grace. Her maid who -was a somewhat silent person, not given to volubility unless -encouraged, looked at her admiringly as she said: - -“I do think miss that is the most becoming of all your frocks!” This -pleased her and sent a red glow through her cheeks. Then, fearing if -she seemed to think too much of the matter it might seem suspicious as -to some purpose, she said quietly: - -“Perhaps then it would be better if I put on one of the lawn dresses. -I am going for a walk this morning and as it may be dusty a frock that -will not catch the dust may be better.” - -“It does seem a pity miss to wear such a pretty frock and spoil it -when there is no one here to see it; not even your father.” This gave -Joy an opening of which she quickly availed herself. She had not the -least intention of changing the frock or of looking, if she could -avoid it, one whit below her best. - -“Fie, Eugenie! one doesn’t put on frocks to attract. If you think that -way, I shall wear it; even if it is to get dusty.” The Abigail who was -a privileged person answered gravely: - -“That’s quite true, Miss, exactly as you say it. _One_ doesn’t put on -nice frocks to attract; and that one is yourself. But all the rest -do!” Joy’s merry laugh showed the measure of her ebullient happiness. - -“Dear me! Eugenie. You are quite an orthoëpist--indeed a -precisionist. I shall have to polish up my grammar. However I’ll keep -on the frock if only in compliment to your sense of terminological -exactitude!” - -A little after breakfast, when the time for starting on the walk drew -nigh, Joy did not feel so elated. Woman-like she was not anxious to -begin. It was not that she in any way faltered in her purpose, but -merely that she was suffering from the nervousness which comes to -those of high strung temperaments in momentous crises. Humming merrily -she put on her hat and finished her toilet for her walk. In the -sitting room from the shelter of the curtain she looked out of the -window, as she tried to think, casually. Her eyes turned towards the -lilac bushes, but caught no indication of the tall figure that she -sought. Her heart fell. But a second later it leaped almost painfully -as she saw Mr. Hardy sitting out openly on the seat, and strange to -say--for she had come to identify that seat with the practice--not -smoking. He evidently had no present thought of being concealed. Why? -The answer to her own question came in a rush of blood to her face, a -rush so quick and thorough that it seemed for the moment to deplete -her heart which beat but faintly… When she looked again he had risen -and was moving toward the lilacs. - -Without a word she walked downstairs and out through the hall-door. - - -Athlyne had not slept either that night. But the manner and range of -his thoughts showed the difference between the sexes. Both his -imagining and his reasoning were to practical purpose. He wanted to -see Joy, to speak with her, to prove to himself if his hoping was in -any way justified by fact. He had for so long been concentrating his -thoughts on one subject that doubts at first shadowy had become real. -It seemed therefore to him that in his planning for the morrow he was -dealing with real things, not imaginative ones. And, after all, there -is nothing more real than doubt--so far as it goes. Victor Cousin took -from its reality his subtlest argument for belief: “At this point -scepticism itself vanishes; for if a man doubt everything else, at -least he cannot doubt that he doubts.” So with Athlyne. By accepting -doubt as reality he began the experiment for its cure. - -In the silence of the night, with nerves high-strung and with brain -excited he tried in those most earnest hours of his life, when for -good or ill he was to organise his intellectual forces, to arrange -matters so that at the earliest time he might with certainty learn his -fate. He had an idea that in such a meeting as was before him he must -not be over-precipitated. And yet he must not check impulsiveness as -long as its trend was in the right direction. He knew that a woman’s -heart is oftener won by assault than by siege. For himself he had -plenty of patience as well as a sufficiency of spirit; his task at -present therefore was one of generalship alone: the laying out of the -battle plans, the disposition of his forces. As he thought, and as his -ideas and his intentions came into order, he began to understand -better the purpose of those two preparations of his which were already -complete: the overhauling of his automobile, and the supplying it with -female wraps. He intended by some means or other, dependent on -developing opportunity, to bring her for a ride in the motor. There, -all alone, he would be able to learn, perhaps at first from her -bearing and then from her own lips, how she regarded him. - -Athlyne was a young man, a very young man in his real knowledge of the -sex. There are hundreds, thousands, of half-pulseless boys, flabby of -flesh and pallid with enervating dissipation, who would have smiled -cynically--they have not left in them grit enough for laughter--at his -doubting. - -He would not frighten her at first. Here for a time he took himself to -task for seeming to plot against the woman he loved. Surely it would -be better to treat her with perfect fairness; to lay his heart at her -feet; tell her with all the passionate force that swept him how he -loved her--tell it with what utterance he had. Then he should wait her -decision. No, not decision! That was too cold a word--thought. If -indeed there was any answering love to his, little decision would be -required. Had _he_ made any decision! From the first moment he had -looked in her beautiful grey eyes and lost himself in their depths, -his very soul had gone out to her. And it might be that she too had -felt something of the same self-abandonment. He could never forget how -on that afternoon visit at the Holland she had raised her eyes to his -in answer to his passionate appeal: “Joy, Look at me!” Then at that -memory, and at the later memory when she had spoken the words herself -only the day before--the sweetness of her voice was still tingling in -his ears, a sort of tidal wave of lover’s rapture swept over him. It -overwhelmed him so completely that it left him physically gasping for -breath. He was in a tumult; he could not lie in bed. He leaped to his -feet and walked to and fro with long, passionate strides. He threw up -the lower sash of the window and looked out into the moonlight, -craning his neck round to the right so that his eyes were in the -direction of Ambleside as though the very ardour of his gaze could -pierce through distance and stone walls and compel Joy’s white eyelids -to raise so that he might once more lose himself in those grey deeps -wherein his soul alone found peace. - -In this passion of adoration all his doubts seemed to disappear, as -the sun drinks up the mist. He felt as though uplifted. At the very -idea of Joy’s loving him as he loved her he felt more worthy, more -strong, and with a sense of triumph which had no parallel in his life. -He stood looking out at the beauty of the scene before him, till -gradually it became merged in his thoughts with Joy and his hopes -which the morrow might realise. He never knew exactly how long he -stood there. It must have been a long time, for when he realised any -sense of time at all he was cramped and chill; and the forerunner of -the morning light coming from far away behind him was articulating the -fields on the hill-slopes across the lake. - -He was then calm. All the thinking and reasoning and planning and -passion of the night had been wrought into unity. His mind was made up -as to the first stage of his undertaking. He would bring the car to -Ambleside and leave it with the chauffeur outside the town. Then he -would take his place in the garden and wait till she came out for that -walk of which she had told her father. He would cautiously follow her; -and when there was a fair opportunity for uninterrupted speech would -come to her. If he found there was no change in her manner to him--and -here once again the memory of those lifting eyes made him tremble--he -would try to get her to come for a ride in his car. There, wrapped in -the glory of motion and surrounded by all the grandeur of natural -beauty, he would pour out his soul to her and put his fate to the -touch. Then if all were well he would send on the letter to her father -and would pay his formal visit as soon as might be. He would take care -to have ready a luncheon basket so that if she would ride with him -they might have together an ethereal banquet. - -It is strange that even those who are habitually cautious, whose -thoughts and deeds alike are compelled and ruled by reason, will in -times of exaltation forget their guiding principle. They will refuse -to acknowledge the existence of chance; and will proceed calmly on -their way as though life was as a simple cord, with Inclination -pulling at one end of it and Fact yielding at the other. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. - A BANQUET ON OLYMPUS - -On this occasion Athlyne did not continue to sit out on the lawn. -Now that he wished to overtake Joy unawares he was as careful to hide -his presence from her as he had previously hidden it from her father. -He had hardly ensconced himself in his usual cover when Joy came out -on the steps. Her maid was with her and together they stood on the -steps speaking. As she turned to come down the steps Joy said: - -“Perhaps I had better arrange to come back after a short walk; there -might be some telegram from father to be attended to. If there is not, -I can then go for a real, long walk.” She did not say more but moved -briskly down the roadway without ever turning her head. Athlyne -slipped through the gate of the garden, following at such distance -that he could easily keep out of view in case she should turn. When -she had cleared the straggling houses which made the outskirts of the -little town she walked slowly, and then more slowly still. Finally she -sat on a low wall by the roadside with her back partially turned to -Ambleside and looked long at the beautiful view before her where, -between the patches of trees which here shut out the houses altogether -and heightened the air of privacy of the bye road, the mountain slopes -rose before her. - -This was the opportunity for which Athlyne was waiting. He had hardly -dared to hope that it would be in a spot so well adapted to his -wishes. Dear simple soul! he never imagined that it had been already -chosen--marked down by a keener intellect than his own, and that -intellect a woman’s! - -Joy knew that he was coming; that he was drawing closer; that he was -at hand. It was not needed that she had now and again thrown a half -glance behind her at favourable moments as she went. There was at work -a subtler sense than any dealing with mere optics; a sense that can -float on ether waves as surely as can any other potent force. Nay, may -it not be the same sense specialised. The sense that makes soul known -to soul, sex to sex; that tells of the presence of danger; that calls -kind to kind, and race to race, from the highest of creation to the -lowest. And so she was prepared and waited, calm after the manner of -her sex. For when woman waits for the coming of man her whole being is -in suspense. Though in secret her heart beat painfully Joy did not -look round, made no movement till the spoken words reached her: - -“Miss Ogilvie is it not!” - -Slowly she turned, as to a voice but partly heard or partly -remembered. Athlyne felt his heart sink down, down as he saw the -slowness of the movement and realised the absence of that quick -response which he had by long and continuous thinking since last night -encouraged himself to expect. The quick gleam of pleasure in the face -as she turned, the light in her marvellous grey eyes, the gentle blush -which despite herself passed like an Alpenglow from forehead to neck -did not altogether restore his equanimity or even encourage him -sufficiently to try to regain that pinnacle of complacent hope on -which up to then he had stood. - -“Why Mr. Hardy,” she said warmly as she rose quickly to her feet. -“This is real nice. I was afraid we were not going to see you whilst -we were in England.” - -It was beautifully done; no wonder that some women can on the stage -carry a whole audience with them, when off it so many can deceive -intellects more powerful than their own. And yet it was not all -acting. She did not intend it as such; not for a moment did she wish -or intend to deceive. It was only the habit of obedience to convention -which was guiding natural impulse into safe channels. For who shall -say where nature--the raw, primeval crude article--ends or where -convention, which is the artfulness necessitated by the elaboration of -organised society, begins. A man well known in New York used to say: -“All men are equal after the fish!” Kipling put the same idea in -another way: … “the Colonel’s Lady an’ Judy O’Grady are sisters -under their skins!” - -When Athlyne looked into Joy’s eyes--and there was full opportunity -for so doing--all his intentions of reserve went from him. He was -lover all over; nothing but lover, with wild desire to be one with her -he loved. His eyes began to glow, his knees to tremble, then every -muscle of his body became braced; and when he spoke his voice at once -deepened and had a masterful ring which seemed to draw Joy’s very soul -out towards him. Well it was for her main purpose that her instinct -had given that first chill of self-possession; had the man been able -to go on from where he had first started nothing that she knew of -reserve or self-restraint could have prevented her from throwing -herself straightway into his arms. Had Athlyne not begun with that -same chill, which to him took the measure of a repulse, he would have -caught her to him with all the passions of many kinds which were -beginning to surge in him. - -But what neither of them could effect alone, together they did. The -pause of the fraction of a second in the springing of their passion -made further restraint possible. There is no fly-wheel in the -mechanism of humanity to carry the movement of the crank beyond its -level. Such machinery was not invented at the time of the organisation -of Eden. - -“I have longed for this moment more than I can say; more than words -can tell!” His voice vibrated with the very intensity of his truth. -Joy’s eyes, despite her efforts to keep them fixed, fell. Her bosom -rose and fell quickly and heavily with the stress of her breathing. -Her knees trembled and a slow pallor took the place of the flush on -her face. Seemingly unconsciously she murmured so faintly that only a -lover’s ear could hear or follow it: - -“I have longed for it too--oh so much!” The words dropped from her -lips like faint music. Instinctively she put her hand on the wall -beside her to steady herself; she feared she was going to faint. - -Athlyne, seeing and hearing, thrilled through to the very marrow of -his bones. His great love controlled, compelled him. He made no -movement towards her but looked with eyes of rapture. Such a moment -was beyond personal satisfaction; it was of the gods, not of men. And -so they stood. - -Then the tears welled over in Joy’s eyes beneath the fallen lids. They -hung on the dark, curly lashes and rolled like silver beads down the -softness of her cheeks. Still Athlyne made no sign; he felt that the -time had not yet come. The woman was his own now, he felt -instinctively; and it was his duty--his sacred privilege to protect -her. Unthinkingly he moved a step back on the road he had come. -Instinctively Joy did the same. It was without thought or intention on -the part of either; all instinctive, all natural. The usage of the -primeval squaw to follow her master outlives races. - -Then he paused. She came up to him and they walked level. Not another -word had been spoken; but there are silences that speak more than can -be written in ponderous tomes. These two--this man and this -woman--_knew_. They had in their hearts in those glorious moments all -the wisdom won by joy and suffering through all the countless ages -since the Lord rested on that first Sabbath eve and felt that His -finished work was good. - -When, keeping even step, they had taken a few quiet paces, Athlyne -spoke in a soft whisper that thrilled: - -“Joy, look at me!” - -Without question or doubt of any kind she raised her shining eyes to -his. And then, slowly and together as though in obedience to some -divine command, their lips met in a long, loving kiss in which their -very souls went out each to the other. - -When their mouths parted, with a mutual sigh, each gave a quick glance -up and down the road; neither had thought of it before. - -The tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil did not die in Eden bower. -It flourishes still in even the most unlikely places all the wide -world over. And they who taste its fruit must look with newly-opened -eyes on the world around them. - -Together, still keeping step, not holding each other, not touching -except by the chance of movement, they walked to where the bye-road -joined the main one. As yet they had spoken between them less than -threescore words. They wondered later in the day when they talked -together how so much as they had thought and felt and conveyed had -been packed into such compass. Now, as they paused at the joining of -the roads, Athlyne said--and strange to say it was in an ordinary -commonplace voice: - -“Joy won’t you come with me for a ride. I have my motor here, and we -can go alone. There is much I want to say to you--much to tell you, -and the speed will help us. I want to rush along--to fly. Earth is too -prosaic for me--now!” Joy looking softly up caught the lightning that -flashed from his eyes, and her own fell. A tide of red swept her face; -this passed in a moment, however, leaving a divine pink like summer -sunset on snowy heights. Her voice was low and thrilling as she -answered with eyes still cast down. - -“I’ll go with you where you will--to the end of the world--or Heaven -or Hell if you wish--now!” - -And then as if compelled by a force beyond control she raised her eyes -to his. - -“Shall you come with me to the car; or shall I bring it to the hotel?” -He spoke once more in something like his ordinary voice. - -“Neither!” she answered with her eyes still fixed on his -unflinchingly. He felt their witchery run through him like fire now; -his blood seemed to boil as it rushed through his veins. Love and -passion were awake and at one. - -“I must go back to see if there is any wire from Daddy, and to leave -word that I am going for a drive. I shall tell my maid that I shall -return in good time. Father and Mother and Aunt Judy are to arrive at -Windermere at five o’clock unless we hear to the contrary. You bring -up the motor to--to there where we met.” Her eyes burned through him -as without taking them from his she raised an arm and pointed -gracefully up the bye-road, towards where they had sat. - -“Don’t come with me,” she said as he moved with her. “It will be -sweeter to keep our secret to ourselves.” - -And so, he raising his cap as he stood aside, she passed on after -sending one flashing look of love right through him. - -At the hotel she found a wire from her father to the effect that they -would not be able to leave Euston at 11.30 as intended but that they -hoped to reach Windermere at 7.05. This pleased her, for it gave her -another two hours for that motor drive to which she looked forward -with beating heart. She told her maid that she would be out till late -in the afternoon as she was going motoring with a friend; and that -she, Eugenie, could please herself as to how she would pass the time. -When the maid asked her what she wished as to lunch she answered: - -“I shall not want any lunch; but if we feel hungry we can easily get -some on the way.” - -“Which way shall you be going, Miss, in case any one should ask.” - -“I really don’t know Eugenie. I just said I would join in the drive. I -daresay it is up somewhere amongst the lakes. That is where the fine -scenery is.” - -“And what about wraps, miss? You will want something warm for -motoring. That dress you have on is rather thin for the purpose.” - -“Oh dear; oh dear!” she answered with chagrin. “This will do well -enough, I think. We shall not, I expect, be going very far. If I find -I want a wrap I can borrow one.” And off she set for the rendezvous. - -In the meantime Athlyne had found the car, and had given instructions -to the chauffeur to remain at an inn at Ambleside which he had already -noted for the purpose and where a telegram would find him in case it -might be necessary to give any instructions. He had made sure that the -luncheon basket which he had ordered at Bowness was in its place. Then -he had driven back to the bye-road and waited with what patience he -could for the coming of Joy. - -She came up the bye-road walking fast enough. Up to that point she had -walked leisurely, but when she saw the great car all flaming -magnificently in scarlet and gold she forgot everything in the way of -demureness, and hurried forward. She had also seen Mr. Hardy. That -morning he had put on his motor clothes, for he knew he had to look -forward to a long spell of hard work before him--work of a kind which -needs special equipment. More than ever did he look tall and lithe and -elegant in his well-fitting suit of soft dark leather. When he caught -sight of Joy and saw that she was still in her pretty white frock he -began to lift from the bottom of the tonneau a pile of wraps which he -spread on the side. Joy did not notice the things at first; her eyes -were all for him. He stepped forward to meet her and, after a quick -glance round to see that they were alone, took her in his arms and -kissed her. She received the kiss in the most natural way--as if it -was a matter of course, and returned it. It is surprising what an easy -art to learn kissing is, and how soon even the most bashful of lovers -become reconciled to its exacting rules! - -Then she began to admire his car, partly to please him, partly because -it was really a splendid machine admirably wrought to its special -purpose--speed. He lifted a couple of coats and asked: - -“Which will you wear?” - -“Must I wear one? It is warm enough isn’t it without a coat?” - -“At present, yes! But when our friend here” he slapped the car -affectionately “wakes up and knows who he has the honour of carrying -you’ll want it. You have no idea what a difference a fifty or sixty -mile breeze makes.” - -“I’ll take this one, please,” she said without another word; a ready -acquiescence to his advice which made him glow afresh. One after -another she took all the articles which his loving forethought had -provided, and put them on prettily. She felt, and he felt too, that -each fresh adornment was something after the manner of an embrace. At -the last he lifted the motor cap and held it out to her. She took it -with a smile and a blush. - -“I really quite forgot my hat,” she said. “’Tis funny how your memory -goes when you’re very eager!” This little speech, unconsciously -uttered, sent a wave of sweet passion through the man. “Very Eager!” -She went on: - -“But where on earth am I to put it? I think I had almost better hide -it here behind the hedge and retrieve it when we get back!” Athlyne -smiled superiorly--that sort of affectionate tolerant superiority -which a woman admires in a man she loves and which the least -sentimental man employs unconsciously at times. He stooped into the -tonneau and from under one of the seats drew out a leather bonnet-box -which ran in and out on a slide. As he touched a spring this flew -open, showing space and equipment for several hats and a tiny dressing -bag. - -“Why, dear, there is everything in the world in your wonderful car.” - -How he was thrilled by her using the word--the first time her lips had -used it to him. It was none the less sweet because spoken without -thought. She herself had something of the same feeling. She quivered -in a languorous ecstasy. But she did not even blush at the thought; it -had been but the natural expression of her feeling and she was glad -she had said it. Their eyes searched each other and told their own -eloquent tale. - -“Darling!” he said, and bending over kissed again the rosy mouth that -was pouted to meet him. - -In silence he opened the door of the tonneau. She drew back. - -“Must I go in there--alone?” - -“I can’t go with you, darling. I must sit in the seat to drive. Unless -you would rather we had the chauffeur!” - -“You stupid old … _dear_!” this in a whisper. “I want to sit beside -you--as close as I can … _darling_!” She sank readily into the arms -which instinctively opened. - -True love makes its own laws, its own etiquettes. When lovers judge -harshly each the conduct of the other it is time for the interference -or the verdict of strangers. But not till then. - -Athlyne took the wheel, feeling in a sort of triumphant glory; in -every way other than he had expected. He thought that he would be -ardent and demonstrative; he was protective. The very trustfulness of -her reception of his caresses and her responsiveness to them made for -a certain intellectual quietude. - -Joy too was in a sort of ecstatic calm. There was such completeness -about her happiness that all thought of self disappeared. She did not -want anything to be changed in the whole universe. She did not want -time to fly betwixt now and her union with the man she loved. That -might--would--come later; but in the meanwhile happiness was so -complete as to transcend ambition, hope, time. - -Athlyne, who had made up his mind as to the direction of the drive, -came down on the high road and drove at moderate speed to Ambleside; -he thought that it would be wise to go slowly so as not to be too -conspicuous. He had given Joy a dust-veil but she had not yet adjusted -it. The present pace did not require such protection, and the idea of -concealing her identity did not even enter into her head. When they -were passing the post-office a sudden recollection came to Athlyne, -and he stopped the car suddenly. Joy for an instant was a little -alarmed and looked towards him inquiringly. - -“Only a letter which I want to post!” he said in reply as he stepped -down on the pavement. He opened his jacket and took from his pocket a -letter which he placed in the box. Joy surmised afresh about the -letter; she vaguely wondered if it was the same that she had seen him -close and put into his pocketbook. The thought was, however, only a -passing one. She had something else than other people’s letters to -think about at present. - -Just as he was turning back from the post box Eugenie, who was taking -advantage of her freedom, passed along the pavement. She stopped to -admire the tall chauffeur whom she thought the handsomest man she had -ever seen. She did not know him. Her service with Miss Ogilvie had -only commenced with the visit to London: up to the time of her leaving -Italy Mrs. Ogilvie’s maid had attended to Joy. She stood back and -pretended to be looking in at a window as she did not care to be seen -staring openly at him. Then she saw that he was no ordinary chauffeur. -It was with a sigh that she said to herself: - -“_Voila! Un vrai Monsieur!_” Her eyes following him as he turned the -starting handle and took his seat behind the wheel, she saw that his -companion was her mistress. Not wishing to appear as if prying on her -either, she instinctively turned away. - -As Athlyne was arranging himself to his driving work he said quietly -to Joy: - -“Sorry for delaying, but it was a most important letter, which I want -to be delivered to-night. It might be late if it was not posted till -Carlisle.” This was the first knowledge Joy had of the direction of -the journey. Eugenie heard only the last word as the car moved off. - -The pace was comparatively slow until the outskirts of Ambleside had -been passed; then he told Joy to put on her spectacles and donned his -own. When they were both ready he increased the pace, and they flew up -to the shores of Rydal Water. At Joy’s request they slowed down whilst -the lake was in sight; but raced again till the road ran close to the -peaceful water of Grasmere. But when Grasmere with its old church and -Coleridge’s tomb lay away to their left they flew again up the steep -road to Thirlmere. Athlyne was a careful driver and the car was a good -hill climber. It was only when the road was quite free ahead that they -went at great speed. They kept steadily on amongst the rising -mountains, only slackening as they passed to Thirlmere and dropped -down to Keswick. They did not stop here, but passing by the top of -Derwentwater drew up for a few minutes to look down the lake whose -wooded islands add so much to the loveliness of the view. Then on -again full speed by the borders of Bassenthwaite Lake and on amongst -the frowning hills to Cockermouth. - -Joy was in a transport of delight the whole time. Her soul seemed to -be lifted by the ever-varying beauty of the panorama as they swept -along; and the rushing speed stirred her blood. She was silent, save -at ecstatic moments when she was quite unable to control herself. -Athlyne was silent too. He had been over the ground already, and -besides such driving required constant care and attention. He was more -than ever careful in his work, for was not Joy--his Joy!--his -passenger. - -They did not stop at Cockermouth but turned into the main road and, -passing Bride-kirk--and Bothel, flew up to Carlisle. As he slowed down -at the city wall Athlyne looking at his watch said quietly: - -“An hour and a half and some fifty miles. Let us go on and eat our -lunch in Scotland.” - -“Oh do! Go on! Go on--darling! I forgot to tell you that I have had a -wire; they don’t get in till seven; so we have two more hours,” cried -Joy enthusiastically. This time she used the word of endearment -instinctively and without a pause. “Practice makes perfect” says the -old saw. - -Athlyne controlled himself and went at quiet pace through the -Cumberland capital. He would like to have put the engine at full -speed; the last word had fired him afresh. However, he did not want to -get into police trouble. When he came out on the Northern road and -climbed the steep hill to Stanwix he felt freer. The road was almost a -dead level and there was little traffic, only a stray cart here and -there. Then he let go, and the car jumped forward like an eager horse. -Athlyne felt proud of it, just as though it had an intention of its -own--that it wanted to show Joy how it loved to carry her. Joy almost -held her breath as they swept along here. The wind whistled around her -head and she had to keep her neck stiff against the pressure of the -fifty-mile breeze. They slowed at the forking of the road beyond -Kingstown; and at the Esk bridge and its approaches; otherwise they -went at terrific speed till they reached the border where the road -crossed the Sark. Then, keeping the Lochberie road to the right, they -rushed away through Annan towards Dumfries. - -Joy did not know that at that turning off to Annan they were almost in -touch with Gretna Green. Athlyne did not think of it at the time. Had -the knowledge or the thought of either been engaged on the subject the -temptation it would have brought might have been too much for lovers -in their rapturous condition … and the course of this history might -have been different. - -The run to the outskirts of Dumfries, where the traffic increased, was -another wild rush which wrought both the occupants of the car to a -high pitch of excitement. - -To Joy it seemed a sort of realisation. On the drive to Carlisle, and -from that on over the Border, the fringing hills of the Solway had -been a dim and mystery-provoking outline. But now the hills were at -hand, before them and to the north; whilst far across the waste of -banks and shoals of Solway Frith rose the Cumberland mountains, a -mighty piling mass of serrated blue haze. It was a convincing -recognition of the situation; this was Scotland, and England was far -behind! Instinctively she leaned closer to her companion at the -thought. - -Between Dumfries and Castle Douglas was a long hill to climb within a -stretch of seven miles. But the Delaunay-Belleville breasted it nobly -and went up with unyielding energy. Then, when the summit at -Crocketford was reached, she ran down the hill to Urr Water with a -mighty rush which seemed to carry her over the lesser hill to Castle -Douglas. From thence the road to Dalry was magnificent for scenery. At -Crossmicheal it came close to the Ken whose left bank it followed -right up by Parton to “St. John’s Town of Dalry” where it crossed the -river. Athlyne had intended to rest a while somewhere about here; but -the old coach road, winding with the curves of the river, looked so -inviting that he ran a few miles up north towards Carsphairn. Coming -to a bye-road where grew many fine trees of beech and stone pine which -gave welcome shade, he ran up a few hundred yards to where the road -curved a little. Here was an ideal spot for a picnic, and especially -for a picnic of two like the present. - -The curving of the road made an open space, which the spreading trees -above shaded. Deep grass was on the wide margin of the flat road which -presently dipped to cross a shallow rill of bright water which fell -from a little rocky ledge, tinkling happily through the hum of summer -insect life. Wildflowers grew everywhere. It was idyllic and -delightful and beautiful in every way, even to where, towering high -above a Druidic ruin in the foreground, the lofty hills of Carsphairn -rose far away between them and the western sky. In itself the scene -wanted for absolute perfection some figures in the foreground. And -presently it had them in a very perfect form. Joy clapped her hands -with delight like a happy child as she glanced around her. Athlyne -drew up sharp, and jumping from his seat held out his hand to Joy who -sprang beside him on the road. As they stood together when Joy’s wrap -had been removed they made a handsome couple. Both tall and slim and -elegant and strong. Both straight as lances; both bright and eager; -with the light of love and happiness shining on them more notably than -even the flicker of sunlight between the great stems and branches of -the trees. His brown hair seemed to match her black; the brown eyes -and the grey both were lit with a “light that never came from land or -sea!” Joy’s eyes fell under the burning glances of her lover; the time -had not yet come for that absolutely fearless recognition which, being -a man’s unconscious demand, a woman instinctively resists. Athlyne -recognised the delicacy and acquiesced. All this without a single -spoken word. Then he spoke: - -“Was there ever such a magnificent run in the world. More than a -hundred miles on end without a break or pause. And every moment a -lifetime of bliss--to me at all events--Darling!” - -“And to me!” Joy’s eyes flashed grey lightning as she raised them for -a moment to his, and held them there. Athlyne’s knees trembled with -delight; his voice quivered also as he spoke: - -“And all the time I never left my duty once for an instant. I think I -ought to get a medal!” - -“You should indeed, darling. And I never once distracted you from it -did I?” - -“Unhappily, no!” His eyes danced. - -“So I ought to get more than a medal!” - -“What? What should you get--now?” His voice was a little hoarse. He -drew closer to her. She made no answer in words; but her eyes were -more eloquent. With a mutual movement she was in his arms and their -mouths met. - -“And now for lunch!” he said as after a few entrancing seconds she -drew her face away. “I am sure you must be starving.” - -“I _am_ hungry!” she confessed. Her face was still flushed and her -eyes were like stars. She bustled about to help him. He took the seats -and cushions from the tonneau and made a comfortable nest for her, -with a seat for himself close, very close beside her. He lifted off -the luncheon basket and unstrapped it. Whilst she took out the plates -and packets and spread the cloth he put a bottle of champagne and one -of fizzy water in the cool of the running stream. - -They may have had some delightful picnics on Olympus in the days of -the old gods who were so human and who loved so much--and so often. -But surely there was none so absolutely divine as on that day that -under the trees, looking over at the grey piling summits of the -mountains of Carsphairn. The food was a dream, the wine was nectar. -The hearts of the two young people beat as one heart. Love surely was -so triumphant that there never could come a cloud into the sky which -hung over them like a blue canopy. Life and nature and happiness and -beauty and love took hands and danced around them fairy-like as they -sat together, losing themselves and their very souls in the depths of -each other’s eyes. - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - “STOP!” - -Under the shading trees the time flew fast. It is ever thus in the -sylvan glades where love abides: - - “… The halcyon hours with double swiftness run - And in the splendour of Arcadian summers - The quicker climb the coursers of the sun.” - -Athlyne and Joy sat in a gentle rapture of happiness. She had made him -draw up his cushion close to her so that she could lean against him. -They sat hand in hand for a while, and then one arm stole round her -and drew her close to him. She came yieldingly, as though such a -moment had been ordained since the beginning of the world. Her hand -stole inside his arm and held him tight; and so they sat locked -together, with their faces so close that their mouths now and again -met in long, sweet kisses. More than once was asked by either the old -question of lovers--which has no adequate or final answer: “Do you -love me?” And at each such time the answer was given in the fashion -which ruled in Eden--and ever since. - -Presently Athlyne, drawing Joy closer than ever to him, said: - -“Joy darling there is something I want to say to you!” He paused; she -drew him closer to her, and held him tighter. She realised that his -voice had changed a little; he was under some nervousness or anxiety. -This woke the protective instinct which is a part of woman’s love. - -“We love each other?” - -“I do!” As she spoke she looked at him with her great gray eyes -blazing. He kissed her: - -“And I love you, my darling, more than I have words to say. More than -words can express. I am lost in you. You are my world, my hope, my -heaven! Beyond measure I love you, and honour you, and trust you; and -now that I feel you love me too … My dear! … my dear! the whole -world seems to swim around me and the heavens to open …” - -“Dear, go on. It is music to me--all music--that I have so longed -for!” - -“Darling! It seems like sacrilege to say anything just -now--but--but--You know I love you?” - -“Yes!” The simple word was stronger than any embellishment; it was of -the completeness, the majesty, of sincerity in its expression. - -“Then there is no need to say more of that now … But before I say -something else which I long to hear--in words, dear, for its truth is -already in my heart …” - -“Darling!” she spoke the word lingeringly as though grudging that its -saying must end … - -“Before such time I must speak with your father!” He spoke the words -with a gravity which brought a chill to her heart; her face blanched -suddenly as does liquid in the final crystallization of frost. Her -voice was faint--she was only a girl after all, despite her pride and -bravery--as she asked: - -“Oh, I hope it is nothing. …” - -“Nothing, darling” he said as he stroked tenderly the hand that lay in -his--he had taken his arm from her waist to do it--“except the -courtesy which is due to an old man … and one other thing, small in -itself--absolutely nothing in my own mind--which makes it necessary in -respect to his … his … his convictions that I should speak to him -before …” He stopped suddenly, remembering that if he went on he -must betray the secret which as yet he wished to keep. Not on his own -account did he wish to keep it. But there was Joy’s happiness to be -considered. Until he knew how Colonel Ogilvie would take the knowledge -of his having introduced himself under a false name he must not do or -say anything which might ultimately make difference between her and -her father. - -Joy erred in her interpretation of his embarrassment, of his sudden -stopping. Again the pallor grew over her face which had under her -lover’s earlier words regained its normal colour. More faintly even -than before she whispered: - -“It is nothing I hope that would keep us …” He saw her distress and -cut quickly into her question: - -“No! No! No! Nothing that could ever come between you and me. It is -only this, Joy darling. Your father belongs to another country from my -own and an older generation than mine. His life has been different, -and the ideas that govern him are very masterful in their convention. -Were I to neglect this I might make trouble which would, without our -wish or part, come between us. Believe me, dear, that in this I am -wise.” Then seeing the trouble still in her eyes he went on: “I know -well, Joy, that it is not necessary for me to justify myself in your -eyes.” Here she strained him a little closer and held his arm and his -hand harder “but my dearest, I am going to do it all the same. I want -to say something, but which I mustn’t say yet, so that you must be -tolerant with me if I say unneeded things which are still open to me. -Truly, darling, there is absolutely nothing which could possibly come -between you and me. I have done no wrong--in that way at all events. -There should be no more difference between you and me for anything -that is now in my mind than there is between your soul and the blue -sky above us; between you and heaven. …” She put her hand over his -mouth: - -“Oh hush, hush, dear. … By the way what am I to call you--darling?” -For the moment he was taken aback. To give her his own name as yet -would be to break the resolution of present secrecy; to give her a -false name now would be sacrilege. His native Irish wit stood him in -good stead: - -“That is the name for to-day--darling. There can be none like -that--for to-day. We began with it. It took me on its wings up to -heaven. Let me stay there--for to-day. For to-day we are true husband -and wife--are we not?” - -“Yes dear!” she answered simply. He went on: - -“To-morrow … we can be grave to-morrow; and then I can give you -another name to use--if you wish it!” - -“I do!” she said with reverence. She accepted and returned the kiss -which followed. This closed the incident, and for a little space they -sat hand in hand, his arm again round her whilst again she had linked -her arm in his. Presently he said: - -“And now Joy dear, won’t you tell me all about yourself. You know that -as yet you and I know very little about each other’s surroundings. I -want specially to know to-day dear, for to-morrow I want to see your -father and it will be better to go equipped.” Joy felt quite in a -flutter. At last she was going to learn something about the man she -loved. She would tell him everything, and he would … Her thoughts -were interrupted by her companion going on: - -“And then to-morrow when we have talked I can tell you everything. -…” - -“Everything!” then there was something to conceal! Her heart fell. But -as the man continued, her train of thought was again interrupted: - -“When you see him to-night you had better …” - -Suddenly she jumped to her feet in a sort of fright. Seeing her face -he too sprang up, giving, with the instinct of his campaigning a quick -look around as though some danger threatened: - -“What is it Joy? What is wrong? …” She almost gasped out: - -“My father! He will be home by seven! It must be late in the afternoon -now and we are more than a hundred miles from home! …” Athlyne in -turn was staggered. In his happiness in being with Joy and talking of -love he had quite overlooked the passing of time. Instinctively he -looked at his watch. It was now close on four o’clock. … Joy was the -first to speak: - -“Oh do let us hurry! No one knows where I am; and if when Daddy gets -home and finds I am not there he will be alarmed--and he may be upset. -And Mother and Aunt Judy too! … Oh do not lose a moment! If we do -not get home before they arrive … and Daddy finds I have been out -all day with you … Oh, hurry, hurry!” - -Athlyne had been thinking hard whilst she spoke, and his thoughts had -been arranging themselves. His intelligence was all awake now. He -could see at a glance that Joy’s absence might make trouble for all. -Colonel Ogilvie was a man of covenance, and his daughter’s going out -with him in such a way was at least unconventional. She _must_ get -back in time! His conclusion was reached before she had finished -speaking. His military habit of quick action asserted itself; already -he was replacing the things in the carriage. Joy saw, and with -feverish haste began to help him. When he saw her at work he ran to -the engine and began to prepare for starting. When that was ready he -held Joy’s coat for her and helped her into her seat. As he took the -wheel he said as he began to back down the road which was hardly wide -enough to turn in: - -“Forgive me, dear. It was all my selfish pleasure. But we shall do all -we can. Bar accident we may do it; we have over three hours!” He set -his teeth as he saw the struggle before him. It would be a glorious -run … and there was no use forestalling trouble. … Joy saw the -smile on his face, recognised the man’s strength, and was comforted. - -They backed into the road and sprang southward. Without taking his -eyes off his work, Athlyne said: - -“Tell me dear as we go along all that I must bear in mind in speaking -to your father of our marriage. …” - -There! It was out unconsciously. Joy thrilled, but he did not himself -seem to notice his self-betrayal. He went on unconcernedly: - -“It may be a little uphill at first if we do not get in line in time.” -Joy looked under her lashes at the strong face now set as a stone to -his work and kept silence as to the word. She was glad that she could -blush unseen. After a little pause she said in a meek voice: - -“Very well, dear. I shall tell you whenever we are on a straight bit -of road, but I will be silent round the curves.” They were then flying -along the old coach road. The road was well-made, broad and with good -surface and they went at a terrific pace. Athlyne felt that the only -chance of reaching Ambleside was by taking advantage of every -opportunity for speed. Already he knew from the morning’s journey that -there were great opportunities as long stretches of the road were -level and in good order and were not unduly impeded with traffic. The -motor was running splendidly, it seemed as if the run in the morning -had put every part of it in good working order. He did not despair of -getting to Ambleside in time. The train was not due at Windermere till -seven. And it might be a little late. In any case it would take the -arriving party a little while to get their things together and then -drive to Ambleside. As they were sweeping down towards the bridge at -Dalry he said to Joy without looking round: - -“It will be all right. I have been thinking it over. We can do it!” - -“Thank God!” she exclaimed fervently. She too had been thinking. - -“Stop!” - -The voice rang out imperiously; and a policeman, stepping from behind -the trunk of a great beech, held up his hand. Instinctively Athlyne -began to slow. He shouted back “All right!” He had grasped the -situation and as they were out of earshot of the policeman said -quickly to Joy: - -“We are arrested! Oh, I am sorry darling. If they won’t let me pay a -fine and go at once you must take the car on. I shall try to arrange -that. But do be cautious dear--you are so precious to me. If you are -delayed anywhere and can’t make it in time wire to your father tell -him you are motoring and have been delayed. It will soften matters, -even if he is angry. I shall go on by train in the morning. And -darling if you are not getting on as you wish, take a train the best -you can--a special. Don’t stop at any expense. But get on! And don’t -tell your name to any one, under any circumstances. Don’t forget the -telegram if delayed.” As he was speaking the car was slowing and the -panting policeman was coming up behind. When the car stopped, Athlyne -jumped out and walked towards the officer; he wanted to be as -conciliatory as possible. - -“I am very sorry, officer. That beautiful bit of road tempted me; and -being all quite clear I took a skim down it?” - -“Ye did! Man, but it was fine! But I hae to arrest ye all the same. -Duty is duty!” - -“Certainly. I suppose the station is across the bridge?” - -“Aye sir.” The policeman, who at first sight had from his dress taken -him for a chauffeur, had by now recognised him as a gentleman. - -“Will you come in the car? It’s all right. I’ll go slow.” - -“Thank ye sir. I’ve had a deal o’ walkin’ the day!” When the man was -in the tonneau Athlyne who had been thinking of what was to be done -said to him affably: - -“It was silly of me going at such a pace. But I wanted my wife to see -how the new car worked.” He had a purpose in saying this: to emphasise -to Joy the necessity of not mentioning her name. It was the only way -to keep off the subject when they should get to the station. Joy -turned away her head. She did not wish either man to see her furious -blushing at hearing the word. She took the hint; silence was her cue. - -At the station Joy sat in the car whilst Athlyne went inside with the -officer. The sergeant was a grave elderly man, not unkindly. He too -recognised, but at once, that the chauffeur was a gentleman. There was -an air of distinction about Athlyne which no one, especially an -official, could fail to appreciate. He was not surprised when he read -the card which Athlyne handed to him. He frowned a little and -scratched his head. - -“I fear this’ll be a bit awkward my lord. Ye come frae o’er the Border -and ye’ll hae to attend the summons at New Galloway. I dinna want to -inconvenience you and her ladyship but …” - -“Will it not be possible to let the car go on. My wife has to meet her -father and mother who are coming up to Ambleside to-night, and they -will be so disappointed. Her mother is an invalid and is coming from -Italy. I shall be really greatly obliged if it can be managed.” - -The sergeant shook his head and said slowly: - -“’Tis a fine car. A valuable commodity to take out of the jurisdiction -and intil a foreign country.” Athlyne had already taken out his -pocket-book. Fortunately he had provided himself well with money -before coming north. - -“I paid a thousand pounds for the car. Will it not suit if I leave -that amount in your custody.” The official was impressed. - -“Losh! man what wad I be daen wi’ a thoosan poons in a wee bit station -like this, or carryin’ it aboot in me claes. Na! na! if ye’ll -de-po-sit say a ten poon note for the guarantee I’m thinkin’ ’twill be -a’ reet. But how can the leddy get ava; ye’ll hae to bide till the -morn’s morn.” - -“Oh that’s all right, officer, she’s a licensed driver. Unhappily she -has not got her license with her. She left it in Ambleside as I was -driving myself and had mine.” He said this to avert her being -questioned on the neglect; in which case there might be more trouble -about the pace. - -“Ooh! aye. Then that’s a’ reet! A maun ax her masel forbye she mayn’t -hae the license aboot her. Wimmen is feckless cattle anyhow!” - -“Do you think sergeant she may get away at once. It is a long drive, -and the day is getting on. I shall be very grateful indeed if you can -manage it!” The sergeant was still impressed by the pocket book. - -“Weel A’ll see what A can dae!” He went outside with Athlyne to the -automobile, and touching his cap said: - -“Yer pardon ma leddy, ye’re the wife o’ the defender?” Joy was glad -that she had put on the motor veil attached to her cap. - -“Yes! My husband told you, did he not?” she said. The thrill that came -to her with the speaking of the word “husband” she kept for later -thought. The sergeant answered respectfully: - -“He did ma leddy. But as an offeecial o’ the law I hae to make sure as -ye’re aboot to travel oot o’ the jurisdiction. He says ye hae left yer -licence at hame; but as ye hae answered me that ye are his wife I will -accept it, an’ ye may go. The defender remains here; but I’m thinkin’ -there’s a chance that he may no hae to remain so lang as he’s fearin! -Ma service to ye ma leddy.” He touched his cap and went back into the -station. - -Athlyne came forward and said in a low voice, for the policeman who -had effected the arrest was now standing outside the door: - -“You will be careful darling. You may be able to do it. But if you are -late and your father be angry say as little as you can. Unhappily I -must remain here, but I shall do all I possibly can to settle things -quietly. I shall follow in the morning; but not too early. Don’t -forget to wire your father if you are delayed anywhere, or are certain -to be late. For my own part I shall leave proof everywhere of my own -presence as we shall be in different countries!” He said this as it -occurred to him that if she should be delayed it might later avert a -scandal. Then he spoke up for the benefit of the policeman: - -“As the time is so short, and we have learned the lesson of the danger -of going too fast, you might ask when you get to Carlisle whether it -is not quicker to return by Penrith and Patterdale. That way is some -miles shorter.” The policeman who had heard--and had also seen the -pocket-book--came close and said with a respectful touch of his cap: - -“If A may make sae bold, the leddy can save a wheen o’ miles by takin’ -the road to Dumfries by Ken Brig an’ Crocketford up yon. A saw ye the -morn comin’ up there.” Athlyne nodded and touched his pocket; the man -drew back into the station. One last word to Joy: - -“I wish you knew the machine darling. But we must take chance for all -going well.” As he spoke he was turning the starting handle. Joy in a -low voice said: - -“Good bye my darling!” Resolutely she touched the levers, and the car -moved off quietly to the “God bless you!” of each. - -Athlyne watched the car as long as it was in sight; then he went back -into the station. He spoke at once to the sergeant. - -“Now sergeant is there nothing that can possibly be done to hasten the -matter. You see I have done all I can to obey rules--once having -broken them. I am most anxious to get back home as I have some very -important business in the morning. I shall of course do exactly as is -necessary; but I shall be deeply obliged if I can get away quietly, -and double deeply to you if you can arrange it.” - -“Well ma lord I dinna think ye’ll hae much trouble or be delayed o’er -lang neither. For masel A canna do aught; but A’m thinkin that the -Sheriff o’ Galloway himsel will be here ony moment. He nearly always -rides by when the fair at Castle Douglas is on, as it is to be in the -morn. A’ll hae a sharp look oot for him. He’s a kind good man; an A’m -thinkin that he’ll no fash yer lordship. He can take responsibeelity -that even a sargeant o’ polis daurn’t. So it’s like ye’ll get ava -before the nicht.” - -Athlyne sat himself down to wait with what patience he could muster. -Once again nature’s pendulum began to swing in his thoughts; on one -side happiness, on the other anxiety. The delight of the day wherein -he had realised to the full that Joy indeed loved him, even as he -loved her; the memory of those sweet kisses which still tingled on his -lips and momentarily exalted him to a sort of rapture; and then the -fear which was manifold, selfish and unselfish. She might get into any -one of many forms of trouble if only from her anxiety to reach home -before the arrival of her parents. She was, after all, not a practiced -driver; and was in control of the very latest type of machine of whose -special mechanism she could know nothing. If she should break down far -from any town she would be in the most difficult position possible: a -girl all alone in a country she did not know. And all this apart from -the possibility of accident, of mischance of driving; of the act of -other travellers; of cattle on the road; of any of the countless -mishaps which can be with so swift and heavy a machine as a motor. And -then should she not arrive in time, what pain or unpleasantness might -there not be with her father. He would be upset and anxious at first, -naturally. He might be angry with her for going out on such a long -excursion with a man alone; he would most certainly be angry with him -for taking her, for allowing her to go. And at such a time too! Just -when everything was working--had worked towards the end he aimed at. -He knew that Colonel Ogilvie was and had been incensed with him for a -neglect which under the circumstances was absolute discourtesy. And -here he bitterly took himself to task for his selfishness--he realised -now that it was such--in wanting to make sure of Joy’s love before -consulting her father, or even explaining to him the cause of his -passing under a false name. Might it not be too late to set that right -now. … And there he was, away in Scotland, kicking his heels in a -petty little police station, while the poor girl would have to bear -all the brunt of the pain and unpleasantness. And that after a long, -wearying, wearing drive of a hundred miles, with her dear heart -eternally thumping away lest she might lose in her race against Time. -And what was worse still that it would all follow a day which he did -not attempt to doubt had been, up to the time of the arrest, one of -unqualified happiness. - - “… nessun maggoir dolore - Che ricordasi del tempo felice - Nella miseria.” - - (“A sorrow’s crown of sorrow is remembering happier things.”) - -The contrast would be terrible. He knew what the thought of it was to -him; what would it be to her! Her sweet, gentle, loving heart would be -hurt, crushed to the very dust. - -He sprang to his feet and walked about the room, till noticing the -sergeant was watching him with surprise and suspicion, he controlled -himself. - -He talked with the sergeant for a while genially. It was positively -necessary that there should not be any doubt in the mind of the latter -when the Sheriff should arrive. This episode took the strain from his -mind--for a time. He expressed to the officer how anxious he was to -get on and interested the worthy man so much that he sent over to the -hotel to borrow a time-table. There Athlyne learned that it would be -practically impossible for him to get on to Ambleside that night. Not -even if he could get a special train at Carlisle--there was no -possibility of getting one from a nearer place. When he asked the -sergeant his opinion, that grave individual condescended to smile: - -“Losh! man they don’t run specials on these bit lines. ’Tis as much as -they can do to run a few trains a day. A’m thinkin’ that if ye asked -the stationmaster anywheer along the Dumfries and Kircudbright line -for a special he’d hae ye in the daft-hoose, or he’d be there himsel!” -Athlyne went back to his seat; once again the pendulum of his thoughts -swung to and fro. - -He was now face to face with one certainty amongst many possibilities: -Whatever befel he could not give any immediate help to Joy. She, poor -dear, must fend for herself and if need be, fight her battle alone. He -could only try to make it up to her afterwards. And yet what could he -do for her, what more give to her who had already all that was his! -And here again he lost himself in memories of the immediate past; -which presently merged into dreams of the future which has no end. - -But again swung the pendulum with the thought of what he was next day -to do which might help Joy. He began to realise out of the intensity -of his thought, which was now all unselfish, in what a danger of -misconception the girl stood already and how such might be multiplied -by any accident of her arrival. In the eyes of her friends her very -character might be at stake! And now he made up his mind definitely as -to how he would protect her in that way. He could prove his time of -leaving Ambleside by his chauffeur, the time of that swift journey -would be its own proof; the time of his arrest was already proved. -Likewise of Joy’s departure for home. Henceforward till he should meet -her father he would take care that his movements were beyond any -mystery or suspicion whatever. In any case--even if she did not arrive -at home till late--Joy would be actually in another country from that -which held him, and the rapidity of her journey would in itself -protect. He would stay in some hotel in a place where he could get a -suitable train in the morning; and would arrange that his arrival and -departure were noted. - -Naturally the place he would rest for the night, if he should succeed -in getting away, would be Castle Douglas; for here lines from -Kirkcudbright, from Stranraer, and from Glasgow made junction so that -he had a double chance of departure. If he were detained at Dalry the -police themselves would be proof of his presence there. - -He felt easier in his mind after this decision, and was able to await -with greater patience the coming of the Sheriff. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. - A PAINFUL JOURNEY - -Joy started on her long journey in a very agitated frame of mind; -though the habit of her life and her concern for her lover enabled her -to so bear herself that she appeared calm. To start with, she was full -of fears; some of them natural, others of that class which is due to -the restrictions and conventions of a woman’s life. She was by no -means an expert driver. She merely had some lessons and was never in -an automobile by herself before. Moreover she was not only in a -country strange to her, but even the road to Dumfries on which she was -started was absolutely new to her. In addition to it all she was--as -an American--handicapped by the difference in the rules of the road. -In America they follow the French and drive on the off side: in -England the “on” rule is correct. - -She had no option, however; she dared not make any difficulty or even -ask advice or help, for such might betray her and she might not be -allowed to proceed at all. So with as brave a face and bearing as she -could muster, but with a sinking heart, she started on her journey, -praying inwardly that she might not meet with any untoward accident or -difficulty. For she did not know anything about mechanism; the use of -the wheel and the levers in driving was all that had been embraced in -her lessons. - -At first all went well enough. The road was clear and she felt that -she had the machine well in hand. As far as Balmaclellan she went -slowly, carefully, climbing laboriously up the steep zig-zag road; and -presently she began to feel in good heart. She did not know the name -of the place; had never heard of it. But it was somewhere; one stage -at least on the way home. When the village lay behind her she began to -put on more speed. With the apprehension gone of not being able to get -on at all, she began to think of her objective and of how long was the -journey before it could be revealed. With increased speed, however, -came fresh fears. The importance of the machine began to be manifest; -such force and speed needed special thought. The road changed so -rapidly that she felt that she wanted another pair of eyes. The wheel -alone, with its speed and steering indices, took all attention. She -hardly dared to look up from it. And yet if she did not how could she -know the road to take; how could she look out for danger. Happily the -mere movement was a tonic; the rush through the air braced her. -Otherwise she would have been shortly in a state of panic. - -Very soon she began to realise the difficulty of driving on an unknown -road, when one is not skilled in the art. So many things have to be -considered all at once, and the onus of choosing perpetually is of -nightmare shadow. The openings of bye-roads and cross-roads are so -much more important than is suspected that there is a passing doubt as -to direction; and country roads generally wind about so that distant -land-marks, which can guide one in general direction, come and go with -embarrassing suddenness. At first every cart-track or farm-road made -such doubts, and even when she got to understand such minor trends she -got confused over bye-roads of more importance. Cross-roads there were -before long, right or left making shortcuts for those who knew. These -she had to pass; she could judge only of her course by the excellence -of the main road--not always a safe guide in remote agricultural -districts. One thing told in her favour: the magnificent bracing air -of that splendid high-hung moor through which she passed. By the time -she got to Corsock, however, she was beginning to feel the strain -severely. She was hot and nervous and wearied; only the imperative -need of getting on, and getting on quickly, enabled her to keep up at -all. At Corsock she stopped to ask the way, but found it hard to -understand the Lowland Scotch in which directions for her guidance -were given. The result was that she started afresh with a blank -despair gripping at her heart. Already she felt that her effort to -reach home in time was destined to failure. The time seemed to fly so -fast, the miles to be so long. She even began to feel a nervous doubt -as to whether she should even be able to send word to her father. East -of Corsock the nature of the road is confusing to a stranger. There -are bye-roads leading south and up northwards into the mountains; and -Urr Water has to be crossed. Joy began to lose the perspective of -things; her doubts as to whether she was on the right road became -oppressive. Somehow, things were changing round her. Look where she -would, she could not see the hill tops that had been her landmarks. A -mist was coming from the right hand--that was the south, where was -Solway Firth. Then she gave up heart altogether. There came to her -woman’s breast the reaction from all the happy excitement of the day. -It was too bright to last. And now came this shadow of trouble worse -even than the mist which seemed to presage it … Oh, if only He were -with her now … He! … Strange it was that in all that day she had -not once spoken to him by name. “Dear” or “Darling” seemed more -suitable when her hand was in his; when he was kissing her. She closed -her eyes in an ecstasy of delightful remembrance … She was recalled -to herself by a sudden jar; in her momentary forgetfulness she had run -up a bank. - -It was a shock to her when her eyes opened to see how different were -her surroundings from her thoughts. Those hours when they sat together -where the sunbeams stole through the trees would afford her many a -comparison in the time to come. All was now dark and dank and chill. -The mist was thickening every instant; she could hardly see the road -ahead of her. - -However, she had to go on, mist or no mist; at least till she should -reach some place whence she could telegraph to her father. With a pang -she realised that she must not wire also to Him as she would have -loved to have done. It would only upset and alarm him, poor fellow! -and he had quite anxiety enough in thinking of her already! … With a -heavy heart she crawled along through the mist, steering by the -road-bed as well as she could, keeping a sharp look-out for -cross-roads and all the dangers of the way. - -The time seemed to fly, but not the car; the road appeared to be -endless. Would she never come to any hospitable place! … It was a -surprise to her when she came on straggling cottages, and found -herself between double rows of houses. Painted over a door she saw -“Crocketford Post-Office.” In her heart she thanked God that she was -still on the right road, though she had only as yet come some dozen or -more miles. It seemed as if a week had passed since she left Dalry … -and … She drew up to the post-office and went in. There she sent a -wire: - -“Went out motoring caught here in mist am going on however but must -arrive very late so do not be anxious about me. Love to Mother and -Aunt Judy and dear Daddy. Joy.” - -When she had handed it in she looked at her watch. It was only -half-past five o’clock! - -It was still therefore on the verge of possibility that she might get -back in time. She hurried out. Several people had gathered round the -motor, which was throbbing away after the manner of motors, as though -impatient to get to real work. A policeman who was amongst them, -seeing that she was about to go on, suggested that she should have her -lamps lit as it would be a protection as well as a help to her in the -mist. She was about to say that she thought it would be better not; -for she did not know anything about acetylene lamps and feared to -expose her ignorance, when he very kindly offered to light them for -her: - -“’Tis no wark for a bonny leddy!” he said in self-justification of -bending his official dignity to the occasion. She felt that his -courtesy demanded some explanation, and also that such explanation -would, be accounting for her being all alone, avoid any questioning. -So said sweetly: - -“Thank you so much, officer. I really do not know much about lamps -myself and I had to leave my … my husband, who was driving, at -Dalry. He was going too fast, and your people had a word to say to -him. However, I can get on all right now. This is a straight road to -Dumfries is it not?” The road was pointed out and instructions given -to keep the high road to Dumfries. With better heart and more courage -than heretofore she drove out into the mist. There was comfort for her -in the glare of the powerful lights always thrown out in front of her. - -All went well now. The road was distinctly good, and the swift smooth -motion restored her courage. When in about half an hour she began to -note the cottages and houses grouping in the suburbs of Dumfries she -got elated. She was now well on the way to England! She knew from -experience that the road to Annan, by which they had come, was fairly -level. She did not mind the mist so much, now that she was accustomed -to it; and she expected that as it was driving up northwards from the -Firth she would be free from it altogether when she should have passed -the Border and was on her way south to Carlisle. - -In the meanwhile she was more anxious than as yet. The mist seemed to -have settled down more here than in the open country. There were -lights in many windows in the suburbs, and the street lamps were lit. -It is strange how the perspective of lines of lamps gets changed when -one is riding or driving or cycling in mist or fog. If one kept the -centre of the road it would be all right; but as one keeps of -necessity to the left the lines between the lamps which guide the eye -change with each instant. The effect is that straight lines appear to -be curved; and if the driver loses nerve and trusts to appearances he -will soon come to grief. This was Joy’s first experience of driving in -mist, and she naturally fell into the error. She got confused as to -the right and wrong side of the road. She had to fight against the -habit of her life, which instinctively took command when her special -intention was in abeyance. She knew that from Dumfries the road -dropped to the south-east and as the curve seemed away to the left -from her side of the road she, thinking that the road to the left was -the direct road, naturally inclined towards the right hand, when she -came to a place where there were roads to choose. There was no one -about from whom to ask the way; and she feared to descend from the car -to look for a sign-post. The onus of choice was on her, and she took -the right hand thinking it was straight ahead. For some time now she -had been going slow, and time and distance had both spun out to -infinitude; she had lost sense of both. She was tired, wearied to -death with chagrin and responsibility. Everything around her was new -and strange and unknown, and so was full of terrors. She did not know -how to choose. She feared to ask lest the doing so might land her in -new embarrassments. She knew that unless she got home in something -like reasonable time her father would be not only deeply upset but -furiously angry--and all that anger would be visited on Him. Oh she -must get on! It was too frightful to contemplate what might happen -should she have to be out all night … and after having gone out with -a man against whom her father had already a grievance, though he owed -him so much! - -The change in the road, however, gave her some consolation; it was -straight and smooth, and as the wind was now more in her face she felt -that she was making southward. But her physical difficulties were -increasing. The wind was much stronger, and the mist came boiling up -so fast that her goggles got blurred more than ever. Everything around -her was becoming wet. - -For a few miles--she could only guess at the distance--all went well, -and she got back some courage. She still went slowly and carefully; -she did not mean to have any mischance now if she could help it. It -would not be so very long before she was over the Border. Then most -likely she would be out of the mist and she could put on more speed. - -Presently she felt that the car was going up a steep incline. When it -had been running swiftly she had not felt such, but now it was -apparent. It was not a big hill, however, and the run down the other -side was exhilarating, though the fear of some obstacle in front -damped such pleasure as there was. Even then the pace was not fast; -ordinarily it would have been considered as little better than a rapid -crawl. For a while, not long but seeming more than long, the road was -up-and-down till she saw in the dimness of the mist glimpses of -houses, then a few gleams of light from the chinks of shut windows. -Here she went very slowly and tooted often. She feared she might do -some harm; and the slightest harm now might mean delay. She breathed -more freely when she was out in the open again. That episode of the -arrest and the prolonged agitation which followed it had unnerved her -more than she had thought; and now the mist and the darkness and the -uncertainty were playing havoc with her. It was only when she was long -past the little place that she regretted she had not stopped to ask if -she was on the right road. There was nothing for it, however, but to -go on. The road was all up and down, up and down; but the surface was -fairly good, and as the powerful lamps showed her sufficient space -ahead to steer she moved along, though it had to be with an agonising -slowness. How different it all was, she thought, from that -fairy-chariot driving with Him in the morning. The road then seemed -straight and level, and movement was an undiluted pleasure! For an -instant she closed her wearied eyes as she sighed at the change--and -ran off the road-bed. - -Happily she was going slowly and recovered herself before more than -the front wheels were on the rough mass of old road-scrapings. In a -couple of seconds she had backed off and was under way again. She was -preternaturally keen now in her outlook. She felt the strain acutely; -for the road seemed to be always curving away from her. Moreover there -was another cause of concern. Night was coming on. Even in the densest -mist or the blackest fog the light or darkness of the sky is to some -degree apparent. Now the sense came on her that over the thick mist -was darkness. She stopped a moment and getting out looked at her watch -in the light of the lamps. - -Her heart fell away, away. It was now close to _eight_ o’clock. There -was no use worrying she felt; nothing to be done but to go on, -carefully for the present. When she made up her mind to the worst, her -courage began to come back and she could think. She felt that as the -wind was now strongly in her face she must be nearing the Firth, and -that in time she would pass the Border and be heading for home and -father. She jumped into her seat and was off again. - -The fog--she realised now that it was not mist but fog--was thicker -than ever; the wind being strongly in her face, it seemed above the -glare of the powerful lamps, to come boiling up out of the roadway -which she could see but dimly. Fear, vague and gaunt, began to -overshadow her. But there was no use worrying or thinking of anything -except the immediate present which took the whole of her thought and -attention. In the face of her surroundings she dared not go fast, -dared not stop. And so for a time that seemed endless she pressed on -through the fog. Presently she became aware that the wind was now not -so much in her teeth. As she was steering by the road-bed she did not -notice curves; there was no doubt as to her route, as there did not -seem to be any divergent roads at all. On, on, on, on! A road full of -hills, not very high nor especially steep but enough to keep a driver -on constant watch-out. - -At last she felt that she was close to the sea. The wind came -fiercely, and the drifting fog seen against the luminous area round -the lamps seemed like a whirlpool. There was a salt smell in the air. -This gave her some hope. If this were the Firth she must be close to -the Border and would soon be at the bridge over which they had entered -Scotland. Instinctively she went forward faster. And at last there -surely was a bridge. A narrow enough bridge it was; as she went slowly -across it she wondered how it was that they had seemed to fly over it -in the morning. - -However she could go on now in new hope. She was in England and bye -and bye she would come through the fog-belt, and having passed -Carlisle would drop down through the Lake roads to Ambleside. Though -the fog was dense as ever she did not feel the wind so much; she -crowded on--she did not dare go much faster as yet and as she was now -climbing a long steep hill she ceased to notice it. After a while, -when there came a stronger puff than usual, she noticed that it was on -her back--the high hood of the car had protected her for some time -past. After a little however the old fear came back upon her. At the -present rate of progress to reach home at any time, however late, -seemed an impossibility. And all was so dark, and the fog was so -dense; and the road didn’t seem a bit like that they had come by -between Carlisle and the Border. All at once she found that she was -crying--crying bitterly. She did not want to stop the car, and so -dared not take her hands from the wheel, even to find her -pocket-handkerchief. She wept and wept; wept her heart out, whilst all -the time mechanically steering by the light of the lamps on the road. -Her weeping aided the density of the fog, and with her eyes set on the -road and the driving wheel in her hands she did not notice that she -was going between houses. She came to a bridge, manifestly of a little -more importance than the one she had already passed, and crossed it. -The road swayed away to the left; presently this was crossed by -another almost at right angles, but she kept straight on. There was no -one from whom to ask the way; and had there been anyone she probably -would not have seen him. A little way on there was another cross-road -but of minor importance; then further on she came to a place of -difficult choice. Another cross-road, again almost at right angles; -but the continuance of the road she was on showed it to be but a poor -road ill-kept. So, too, was that to her left; but the road to the -right was broad and well kept. It was undoubtedly the main road; and -so keeping to the rule she had hitherto obeyed, she followed it. - -She was now feeling somehow in better heart; the fit of crying had -relieved her, and some of her courage had come back. She wanted -comforting--wanted it badly; but those whose comfort only could -prevail were far away; one behind her in Scotland, the others still -far away at Ambleside. The latter thought made her desperate. She put -on more speed--and with her thoughts and anxieties not in the present -but the future, ran up a steep bank. There was a quick snap of -something in front of the car; the throbbing of the engine suddenly -ceased. With the shock she had been thrown forward upon the wheel, but -fortunately the speed had not been great enough to cause her serious -injury. The lamps made the fog sufficiently luminous for her -movements, and she scrambled out of the car. She knew she could do -nothing, for she was absolutely ignorant of the mechanism, and she had -no mechanical skill. The only thing she could do was to go along the -road on the blind chance of meeting or finding some one who could help -her, or who might be able to assist her in finding better help. And so -with a heavy heart, and feet that felt like lead, she went out into -the fog. It was a wrench for her to leave the car which in the -darkness and the unknown mystery of the fog seemed by comparison a -sort of home or shelter. It was an evidence of the mechanical habit of -the mind, which came back to her later, that through all her weariness -and distress she thought to pin up her white frock before setting out -on the dusty journey. - -It was astonishing how soon the little patch of light disappeared. -When she had taken but a few steps she looked back and found all as -dark as it was before her. One thing alone there was which saved her -from utter despair: the fog seemed not to be so absolutely dense. In -reality it was not that the fog had lessened, but that her eyes, so -long accustomed to the glare of the lamps which had prevented her -seeing beyond the radius of their power, had now come back to their -normal focus. Though the darkness seemed more profound than ever, -since there was no point of light whatever, she was actually able to -see better. After all, this fog was a sea mist unladen with city -smoke, and its darkness was a very different thing from the Cimmerian -gloom of a city fog. To her, not accustomed to winter fogs, it was -difficult and terrifying. When, however, she began to realise, though -unconsciously, that the nebulous wall in front of her fell back with -every step she took, her heart began to beat more regularly, and she -breathed more freely. It was a terrible position for a delicately -nurtured girl to be in. Though she was a brave girl with a full share -of self-reliance her absolute ignorance of all around her--even as to -what part of the country she was in--had a somewhat paralysing effect -upon her. However she had courage and determination. Her race as well -as her nature told for her. Her heart might beat hard and her feet be -heavy but at any rate she would go on her set road whilst life and -strength and consciousness remained to her. She shut her teeth, and in -blind despair moved forward in the fog. - -In all her after life Joy could never recall the detail of that -terrible walk. Like most American girls she was unused to long walks; -and after a couple of miles she felt wearied to death. The long -emotional strain of the day had told sorely on her strength, and the -hopeless nerve-racking tramp on the unknown road through the gloom and -mystery of the fog had sapped her natural strength. Looking back on -that terrible journey she could remember no one moment from the other, -from the time that she lost sight of the lamps until she found herself -in a dip in the road passing under a railway bridge. The recognition -of the fact reanimated her. It was an evidence that there was some -kind of civilisation somewhere--a fact that she had begun in a vague -way to doubt. She would follow that line if she could, for it must -lead her to some place where she might find help; where she could send -reassuring word to her father, and where there would be shelter. -Shelter! At the first gleam of hope her own deplorable position was -forced upon her, and she realised all at once her desperate weariness. -She could now hardly drag herself along. - -Beyond the railway there was a branch road to the left; and this she -determined to follow, rather than the main road which went away from -the line. She stumbled along it as well as she could. The time seemed -endless. In her weariness the flicker of hope which her juxtaposition -to the railway had given her died soon away. The fog seemed denser, -and the darkness blacker than ever. - -The road dipped again under the line; she was glad of that; manifestly -she was not straying from it. She hurried on instinctively; found the -road wider, and rougher with much use. Her heart beat hard once again, -but this time it was with hope. - -And then, right in front of her, was a dim gleam of light. This so -overcame her that she had to sit down for a moment on the road side. -The instant’s rest cheered her; she jumped to her feet as though her -strength had been at once restored. Feeling in her heart a prayer -which her lips had not time to utter, she climbed over a wire fence -between her and the light; stumbled across a rough jumble of sleepers -and railway irons. Then the light was over her head--the rays were -manifest on the fog. She called out: - -“Hullo! Hullo! Is there any one awake?” Almost instantly the window -through which the light shone was opened and a man looked out: - -“Aye! A’m awake! Did ye think A’d be sleepin’ on a nicht like this. -’Tis nae time for a signal-man to be aught but awake A’m tellin’ ye.” - -“Thank God, oh thank God!” Joy’s heart was too full for the moment to -say more. The man leaned further out: - -“Is yon a lassie? What are ye daein’ here a nicht like this? Phew! A -canna see ma ain hond!” - -“Yes, I’m a girl and I’m lost. Will you let me come in?” The man’s -voice became instantly suspicious. - -“Na! na! A canna let ye in. ’Tis no in accord wi’ the Company’s rules -to let a lassie intil the signal-box. Why don’t ye go intil the toon?” - -“Oh do let me in for a moment,” she pleaded. “I have been lost in the -fog, and my motor broke down. I have had to walk so far that I am -wearied and tired and frightened; and the sight of a light and the -hope of help has finished me!” She sat right down on the ground and -began to cry. He heard her sob, and it woke all the man in him. This -was no wandering creature whose presence at such a time and place -might make trouble for him. He knew from the voice that the woman was -young and refined. - -“Dinna greet puir lassie!--Dinna greet. A canna leave the box for an -instant lest a signal come. But go roond to the recht and ye’ll find a -door. Come recht up! Rules or no rules A’m no gangin’ to let ye greet -there all by yer lanes. There’s fire here, and when ye’re warmed A can -direct ye on yer way intil the toon!” - -With glad steps she groped her way to the door. A flood of light -seemed to meet her when she opened it, and she hurried up the steep -stairs to where the signal-man held open the upper door. - -“Coom in lassie an hae a soop o’ ma tea. ’Tis fine and warrm! … Coom -in and let me offer ye some refreshment, an’ if A may mak sae bold may -A offer ye all A hae that’ll warm ye? Coom in ma’am. Coom in ma -leddie!” he said in a crescendo of welcome and respect as he saw Joy’s -fine motor coat and recognised her air of distinction. - -Glad indeed was Joy to drink from the worthy fellow’s tin tea-bottle -which rested beside the stove; glad to sit down in front of the fire. -Then indeed she felt the magnitude of her weariness, and in a minute -would have been asleep. - -But the thought of her father, and all that depended on her action and -his knowledge, wakened her to full intellectual activity. She stood up -at once and said quickly: - -“What place is this?” - -“The signal-box of Castle Douglas Junction.” - -“And where is that? I think I have heard the name before.” - -“’Tis a toon as they ca’ it here. The junction is o’ the Glasgie an’ -South Western, the Caledonian, the Port Patrich an’ Wigtownshire, the -London an’ North Western, an’ the Midland lines. But for short there -are but twa. One frae Kirkcudbright, an’ th’ ither frae Newton -Stewart.” - -“In what country are we?” Seeing the astonishment in his face she went -on: “I am an American, and not familiar with the district. We came -from England this morning--from Westmoreland--from Ambleside--and I am -confused about the Border. I had to drive myself because my--we got -into trouble for driving fast, and I had to come on alone. And then -the fog overtook me. I went along as well as I could. Are we anywhere -near Carlisle?” Her face fell as she saw the shake of his head: - -“Eh ma leddie but ye’re mony a mile frae Carlisle. ’Tis over fifty -miles be the line. Ye maun hae lost yer way sair. Ye’re in -Kirkcudbright-shire the noo.” Her heart sank: - -“Oh I must send a telegram at once.” - -“Ye canna telegraph the nicht ma leddie! The office is closed till -eight the morn’s morn.” - -“My God! What shall I do. My father arrived from London to-night and -he does not know where I am. I came out for a drive and thought to be -back in good time to meet him. He will be in despair. Is there no way -in which I can send word? It is not a matter of expenses; I shall pay -anything if it can be done!” She looked at him in an agony of -apprehension. The man was stirred by the depth of emotion and by her -youth and beauty; and his clever Scotch brain began to work. His mouth -set fast in a hard line and his rough heavy brows began to wrinkle. -After a pause he said: - -“A’ll do what A can, ma leddie; though A can’t be sure if ’twill wark. -The telegraphs are closed. Even if we could find an operator it -wouldn’t be possible to get the wires. Our own lines are closed, for -we’ll hae no traffic till morn.” Here an idea struck Joy and she -interrupted him: - -“Could I not get a special train? I am willing to pay anything?” - -“Lord love ye, ma leddy, they don’t have specials on bit lines like -this. Ye couldn’t get one nigher than Glasgie, an’ not there at this -time o’ day. Let alone they’d no send in such a fog anyhow. But I’m -thinkin’ that A can telephone to Dumfries. The operator o’ oor line -there is a freend o’ mine, an’ if he’s on dooty he’ll telephone on to -Carlisle wheer there’s sure to be some one at the place. An’ mayhap -the latter’ll telephone on till Ambleside. So, if there be any awake -there, they’ll send to the hotel. Is it a hotel yer faither’ll be in?” - -“Oh thank you, thank you,” said Joy seizing his hand in a burst of -gratitude. “I’ll be for ever grateful to you if you’ll be so good!” - -“A’m thinkin’” he went on “that perhaps ’twill cost yer ladyship a -mickle--perhaps a muckle; but A dar say ye’ll no mind that …” - -“Oh no, no! It will be pleasure to pay anything. See, I have plenty of -money!” She pulled out her purse. - -“Na! na! Not yet ma leddie. ’Tis no for masel--unless yer ladyship -insists on it, later on. ’Tis for the laddies that will do what they -can. Ye see there may be some trouble o’er this. We signal-men and -offeecials generally are not supposed to attend to aught outside o’ -the routine. But if it should be that there is trouble to us puir -folk, A’m sure yer ladyship an’ some o’ yer graan’ freens’ll no see us -wranged!” - -“Oh no indeed. My father and Mr. ---- and all our friends will see to -it that you shall never suffer, no matter what happens.” - -“Well now, ma leddy--if ye’ll joost write down your message A’ll do -what A can. But ’twill be wiser if ye gang awa intil a hotel an’ rest -ye. A can send the message better when A’m quit o’ ye. Forbye ye see -’tis no quite respectable to hae a bonny lassie here ower lang. Ma -wife is apt to be a wee jalous; an’ it’s no wise to gie cause where -nane there is.” - -“But I do not know where to go--” she began. He interrupted her -hastily: - -“There’s a graan hotel i’ the toon--verra fine it is; but A’m thinkin’ -that yer ladyship, bein’ by yer lonesome, may rather care to go to a -quieter house. An’ as A’d recommend ye to seek the ‘Walter Scott’ -hotel. ’Tis kep by verra decent folk, an’ though small is verra -respectable an’ verra clean. Say that yer kent by Tammas Macpherson -an’ that will vouch for ye, seein’ that ye’re a bit lassie by yer -lanes. ’Tis a most decent place entirely, an’ A’m tellin’ ye that the -Sheriff o’ Galloway himsel’ aye rests there when he comes to the -toon.” - -Joy wrote her message on the piece of paper which he had provided -whilst speaking: - -“To Col. Ogilvie, Inn of Greeting, Ambleside: Dearest Daddy I have -been caught in a heavy fog and lost, but happily found my way here. I -shall return by the first train in the morning. Love to mother. I am -well and safe. Joy.” - -Then the signal man gave her explicit directions as to finding the -house. As she was going away he said with a diffident anxiety: - -“To what figure will yer ladyship gang in this--this meenistration? -A’d joost like to ken in case o’ neceesity?” She answered quickly: - -“Oh anything you like--twenty-five dollars--I mean five pounds--ten -pounds--twenty--a hundred, anything, anything so that my father gets -the message soon.” He looked amazed for a moment. Then as he held open -the door deferentially he said in a voice in which awe blended with -respect: - -“Dinna fash yerself more ma leddie. Yer message will gang for sure; -an’ gang quick. Ye may sleep easy the nicht, an’ wi’out a thocht o’ -doobt. An ’ll leave wi’ ma kinsman Jamie Macpherson o’ the Walter -Scott ma neem an’ address in case yer ladyship wishes me to send to -yon the memorandum o’ the twenty poons.” - -Joy found her way without much difficulty to the Walter Scott. The -house was all shut up, but she knocked and rang; and presently the -door was unchained and opened. The Boots looked for a moment doubtful -when he saw a lady alone; but when she said: - -“I am lost in the fog, and Mr. Thomas Macpherson of the railway told -me I should get lodging here,” he opened the door wide and she walked -in. He chained the door, and left her for a few minutes; but returned -with a young woman who eyed her up and down somewhat suspiciously. Joy -seemed to smell danger and said at once: - -“I got lost in the fog, and the motor met with an accident. So I had -to leave it on the road and walk on.” - -“An’ your shawfer?” asked the doubting young woman. - -“He got into trouble for driving too fast, and had to be left behind.” - -“Very weel, ma’am. What name shall A put down?” - -Joy’s mind had been working. Her tiredness and her sleepiness were -brushed aside by the pert young woman’s manifest suspicion. She -remembered Mr. Hardy’s caution not to give her own name; and now, face -to face with a direct query, remembered and used the one which had -been given to her on the _Cryptic_. It had this advantage that it -would put aside any suspicion or awkwardness arising from her -unprotected position, arriving as she did in such an un-accredited -way. So she answered at once: - -“Athlyne. Lady Athlyne!” The young woman seemed impressed. Saying: -“Excuse me a moment” she went into the bar where she lit a candle. She -came back in a moment and said very deferentially: - -“It’s ’all recht yer ladyship. There’s twa rooms, a sittin’-room an’ a -bed-room. They were originally kept for the Sheriff, but he sent word -that he was no comin’. So when the wire came frae th’ ither pairty the -rooms were kept for him. When no one arrived the name was crossed aff -the slate. But it’s a’ recht! Shall I light a fire yer Leddyship?” - -“Oh no! I only require a bedroom. I must get away by the first train -in the morning. I shall just lie down as I am. If you can get me a -glass of milk and a biscuit that is all I require. If it were possible -I should like the milk hot; but if that is not convenient it won’t -matter.” As they went upstairs the girl said: - -“Ye’ll forgie me yer Leddyship, but I didna ken wha ye were. Mrs. -Macpherson was early up to bed the nicht, when the fog had settled -doon and she knew there was no more traffic. To-morrow is a heavy day -here, and things keep up late; and she wanted to be ready for it. An’ -she’s michty discreet aboot ony comin’ here wi’oot--wi’oot----” She -realised that she was getting into deep water and turned the -conversation. “There is yer candle lit. The fire in the kitchen is -hearty yet, an’ I’ll bring yer milk hot in the half-o’ two-twos. I’ll -leave word that ye’re to be called in good time in the morn.” - -Within a few minutes she came back with the hot milk. Joy was too -tired and too anxious to eat; and refusing all proffers of service and -of help as to clothing, bade the girl good night. She just drank the -milk; and having divested herself of her shoes and stockings which -were soiled with travel and of all but her under-clothing, crept in -between the sheets. The warmth and the luxury of rest began to tell at -once; within a very few minutes she was sound asleep. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII. - THE SHERIFF - -It was late in the afternoon when the Sheriff rode into Dalry. The -police sergeant spoke to him, and he kindly came into the station. -There the sergeant put the matter before him. He was an elderly man, -hearty and genial and with a pleasant manner which made every man his -friend. When he heard the details of the case, regarding which the -policeman asked his advice, he smiled and took snuff and said -pleasantly to the officer: - -“I don’t think ye need be uneasy in your mind. After all ’tis only a -matter of a fine; and as the chauffeur is ready to pay it, whatever it -may be; and is actually in your custody having as you say more than -sufficient money upon him to pay the maximum penalty hereto inflicted -for furious driving in this shire, I think you will not get much blame -for allowing the lady to go away in the car to a ‘foreign country,’ as -you call it. I suppose sir” turning to Athlyne “you can get good bail -if required?” - -“I think so” said Athlyne smiling. “I suppose a Deputy Lieutenant of -Ross Shire is good enough;” whereupon he introduced himself to the -Sheriff. They chatted together a few minutes and then, as he went to -his horse which a policeman was holding at the door, he said to the -sergeant: - -“I must not, as Sheriff, be bail myself. But if any bail is required I -undertake to get it; so I think you needn’t detain his lordship any -longer. You’d better serve the summons on him for the next Session and -then everything will be in order.” - -Athlyne walked down the village with him, he leading his horse. When -he knew that Athlyne was going to walk to Castle Douglas so as to be -ready to catch his train to the south he said: - -“To-morrow is a busy day there and you may find it hard to get rooms -at the Douglas, especially as the fog will detain many travellers. Now -I had my rooms reserved at the Walter Scott, kept by an old servant of -mine, where I always stay. An hour gone I wired countermanding them as -I am going to stay the night with Mulgrave of Ennisfour where I am -dining; so perhaps you had better wire over and secure them. I shall -be there myself in the morning as I have work in Castle Douglas, but -that need not interfere with you. If you go early you may be off -before I get there.” - -“I do not want to go South very early; so I hope you will breakfast -with me if I am still there.” The genial old Sheriff shook his head: - -“No, no. You must breakfast with me. I am in my own bailiwick and you -must let me be your host.” - -“All right!” said Athlyne heartily. The old man who had been looking -at him kindly all the time now said: - -“Tell me now--and you won’t think me rude or inquisitive; but you’re a -young man and I’m an old one, and moreover sheriff--can I do anything -for you? The Sergeant told me you were in a state of desperate anxiety -to get away--or at any rate to let the lady get off; and I couldn’t -help noticing myself that you are still anxious. The policeman said -she was young, and much upset about it all. Can I serve you in any -way? If I can, it will I assure you be a pleasure to me.” He was so -frank and kind and hearty that Athlyne’s heart warmed to him. Moreover -he was upset himself, poor fellow; and though he was a man and a -strong one, was more than glad to unburden his heart to some one who -would be a sympathetic listener: - -“The fact is, sir, that the young lady who was with me came for a -drive from Ambleside and we came on here on the spur of the moment. -Her father had gone to London and returns this evening; and as no one -knew that I--that she had gone out motoring he will be anxious about -her. Naturally neither she nor I wish to make him angry. You will -understand when I tell you that she and I are engaged to be married. -He does not know this--though” here he remembered the letter he had -posted at Ambleside “he will doubtless know soon. Unhappily he had -some mistaken idea about me. A small matter which no one here would -give a second thought to: but he is a Kentuckian and they take some -things very much to heart. This was nothing wrong--not in any way; but -all the same his taking further offence at me, as he would do if he -heard from someone else that she had been motoring with me without his -sanction, might militate against her happiness--and mine. So you can -imagine Mr. Sheriff, how grateful I am to you for your kindness.” The -sheriff paused before replying. He had been thinking--putting two and -two together: “They are engaged--but her father doesn’t know it. Then -the engagement was made only to-day. No wonder they were upset and -anxious. No wonder he drove fast. … Ah, Youth! Youth!” … - -“I understand, my lord. Well, you did quite right to get the lady -away; though it was a hazardous thing for her to start off alone in -the mist.” - -“It hadn’t come on then, sir. Had it been so I should never have let -her go alone--no matter what the consequences might be! But I hope -she’s out of it and close to home by this time.” - -“Aye that’s so. Still she was wise to go. It avoids all possibility of -scandal. Poor bairn! I’m hoping she got off South before the fog came -on too thick. It’s drifting up from the Firth so that when once she -would have crossed the Border most like it would have been clear enow. -Anyhow under the circumstances you are right to stay here. Then there -can be no talk whatever. And her father will have had time to cool -down by the time ye meet. - -“We’re parting here, my Lord. Good-bye and let me wish ye both every -form of human happiness. Perhaps by morn you will have had some news; -and I’m hoping ye’ll be able to tell me of her safe arrival.” - -At the cross roads the men parted. The Sheriff rode on his way to -Ennisfour, and Athlyne went back to Dalry. He ordered his dinner, and -then went out to send a telegram at the little post office. His -telegram ran: - - -To Walter Scott Hotel Castle Douglas - -Keep rooms given up by Sheriff for to-night. - - Athlyne. - - -He had written the telegram through without a pause. The signature was -added unhesitatingly, though not merely instinctively. He had done -with falsity; henceforth he would use his own name, and that only. He -felt freer than he had done for many a day. - -He ate his dinner quietly; he was astonished at himself that he could -take matters so calmly. It was really that he now realised that he had -done all he could. There was nothing left but to wait. In the earlier -part of that waiting he was disturbed and anxious. Difficulties and -dangers and all possible matters of concern obtruded themselves upon -his thought in endless succession. But as time wore on the natural -optimism of his character began to govern his thinking. Reason still -worked freely enough, but she took her orders from the optimistic side -and brought up arrays of comforting facts and deductions. - -It was with renewed heart and with a hopeful spirit that he set out on -his road to Castle Douglas. He had deliberately chosen to walk instead -of taking a carriage or riding. He did not want to arrive early in the -evening, and he calculated that the sixteen miles would take him -somewhere about four hours to walk. The exercise would, whilst it -killed the time which he had to get through, give him if not ease of -mind at least some form of mental distraction. Such, he felt, must be -his present anodyne--his guarantee of sanity. As he had no luggage of -any kind he felt perfectly free; the only addition to his equipment -was a handful of cigars to last him during the long walk. - -He had left Dalry some miles behind him when he began to notice the -thickening of the mist. After a while when this became only too -apparent he began to hesitate as to whether it would not be wiser to -return. By this time he realised that it was no mere passing cloud of -vapour which was driving up from the south, but a sea fog led inward -through the narrowing Firth; he could smell the iodine of the sea in -his nostrils. But he decided to go on his way. He remembered fairly -well the road which he had traversed earlier in the day. Though a -rough road and somewhat serpentine as it followed the windings of the -Ken and the Dee, it was so far easy to follow that there were no -bifurcations and few cross-roads. And so with resolute heart--for -there was something to overcome here--and difficulty meant to him -distraction from pain--he pushed on into the growing obscurity of the -fog. - -On the high ground above Shirmers he felt the wind driving more keenly -in his face; but he did not pause. He trudged on hopefully; every step -he took was bringing him closer to England--and to Joy. Now it was -that he felt the value of the stout walking cudgel that he had -purchased from a passing drover. For in the fog he was like a blind -man; sight needed the friendly aid of touch. - -But it was dreadfully slow work, and at the end of a few hours he was -wearied out with the overwhelming sense of impotence and the ceaseless -struggling with the tiniest details of hampered movement. Being on -foot and of slow progress he had one advantage over travelling on -horseback or in a vehicle: he was able to take advantage of every -chance opportunity of enlightenment. From passing pedestrians and at -wayside cottages he gathered directions for his guidance. It was -midnight--the town clock was striking--when he entered Castle Douglas -and began to inquire his way to the Walter Scott hotel. - -After repeated knocking the door was opened by the Boots--a heavy, -thick-headed, sleepy, tousled man, surly and grudging of speech. -Athlyne pushed past him into the hall way and said: - -“I wired here in the afternoon to have kept for me the Sheriff’s -rooms. Did my telegram arrive.” - -“Aye. It kem a’recht. But that was all that kem. Ye was expectit, an’ -the missis kep the rooms for ye till late; but when ye didna come she -gied ye up an’ let anither pairty that was lost i’ the fog hae the -bedroom. All that’s left is the parlour, an that we can hae an ye -will. Forbye that ye’ll hae to sleep on the sofy. A’m thinkin’ it’s -weel it’s o’er long than ordinair’, for ye’re no a ween yersel. Bide -wheer y’ are, an’ A’ll fetch ye a rug or two an’ a cushion. Ye maun -put up wi’ them the nicht for ye’ll git nane ither here.” He left him -standing in the dark; and shuffled away down a dim stairway, to the -basement. - -In a few minutes he re-appeared with a bundle of rugs and pillows -under his arm; in his hand was a bottle of whiskey, with the drawn -cork partly re-inserted. With the deftness of an accomplished servitor -he carried in his other hand, together with the candle, a pitcher of -water and a tumbler. As he went up the staircase he said in a whisper: - -“Man, walk saft as ye gang; an’ dinna cough nor sneeze or mak’ a soond -in the room or ye’ll maybe waken th’ ither body. Joost gang like a man -at a carryin’. An’ mind ye dinna snore! Lie ye like a bairn! What time -shall A ca’ ye?” - -“I want to catch the morning train for the south.” - -“That’ll be a’recht. A’ll ca’ ye braw an’ airly!” - -“Good night!” said Athlyne as he softly closed the door. - -He spread one rug on the sofa, which supplemented by a chair, was of -sufficient length; put the other ready to cover himself, and fixed the -cushions. Having stripped to his flannels he blew out the candle, and, -without making a sound, turned in. He was wearied in mind and nerve -and body, and the ease of lying down acted like a powerful narcotic. -Within a minute he was sound asleep. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII. - PURSUIT - -Colonel Ogilvie found his wife in excellent health and spirits. The -cure had been effective, and the prospect of meeting Joy so filled her -with delight that her youth seemed to be renewed. He could see, when -the morning light was admitted to their bedroom, that her eyes were -bright and her cheeks rosy; and all her movements were alert and -springy. Judy too, when they went to breakfast, looked well and was in -good spirits; but there was something about her which he could not -understand. It was not that she was quick of intellect and speech, for -such had been always her habit; it was not that she was eager, for she -was not always so; it was not that she was exuberantly fond of -Joy--she had never been anything else. But there seemed now to be some -sort of elusive background to all her thoughts. He began to wonder in -a vague way if it were possible that she had fallen in love. She -asked, after her usual manner, a host of questions about Joy and about -the visit to the Lakes; where they had been and who they had seen; and -of all the little interests and happenings during the time of -separation. Colonel Ogilvie felt a little wearied of it all. He had -already covered the ground with the girl’s mother, for arriving in the -grey of the dawn, he had gone straight to his wife’s room where he had -rested till breakfast time. There he had told her all that he could -remember. With, however, the patient courtesy which had not as yet in -his life failed him with women he went over all the ground again with -Judy. He could not but be struck with Judy’s questioning on one -subject: whether they had met at Ambleside any special acquaintance. -He concluded that she meant Mr. Hardy, and asked her if such were the -case. She blushed so brightly when she admitted it that he conceived -the idea that the peccant Englishman was the object of her affection. -Then, as she dropped that subject of questioning, he, in order to draw -her out, went on: - -“But my dear Judy it was not possible that we could have seen him. He -has not seemed particularly anxious to meet us; and even if he was -anxious he could not have done it as he did not know where we were.” - -“Oh, yes he did!” The Colonel was surprised; the tone of her words -carried conviction of truthfulness. He answered quickly: - -“He did! How on earth do you know that?” Judy in her emotional -interest answered without thinking. - -“Because I told him so!” - -“Oh, you saw him then?” Again she answered without thought: - -“No, but I wrote to him.” - -“How do you know that he got your letter?” - -“Because he answered it!” She would have given all she possessed to -have been silent or to have answered more discreetly when she saw her -brother-in-law’s face wrinkle into a hard smile, and noted the cruel -keenness of his eyes and the cynical smile on his mouth. She answered -sharply; and, as is usual, began the instant after, to pay the penalty -for such sharpness. His voice seemed to rasp her very soul as he said: - -“I am glad to hear that the gentleman has consideration for some -one--even a lady--who writes to him. But to my mind such but -emphasises his rudeness--if for the moment I may call it so--of his -conduct to others. As for myself when I meet the gentleman--should I -ever have the good fortune to do so--I shall require him to answer for -this insult--amongst others!” - -“Insult?” murmured Judy in a panic of apprehension. - -“Yes, my dear Judith. There is no stronger word; had there been I -should have used it. When the same man who does _not_ answer my -letters, or write even to accept or decline my proffered hospitality -carries on at the same time a clandestine correspondence with ladies -of my family he shall have to answer to me for it. By God he shall!” -Judy thought silence wiser than any form of words, and remained mute. -Colonel Ogilvie went on in the same cold, rasping voice: - -“May I ask you, Miss Hayes,”--“Miss Hayes, my God!” thought poor Judy -trembling. He went on: “if my daughter has had any meeting or -correspondence with him?” - -“No! No! No!” cried Judy. “I can answer for that.” - -“Indeed! May I ask how you can speak with certainty on such a subject. -I thought you were in Italy and that my daughter had been with me.” In -despair she spoke impulsively: - -“I don’t _know_, Lucius. How could I--I only think so.” - -“Exactly! Then you are but giving your opinion! For that my dear -Judith I am much obliged; but it has been for so long my habit to -judge for myself in matters of those mutual relations between men -which we call ‘honour’ that I have somehow come to trust my own -opinion in preference to that of any one else--even you my dear -Judith--and to act upon it.” Then, seeing the red flush of anger and -humiliation in her cheeks whilst the tears seemed to leap into her -eyes, he felt that he had gone too far and added: - -“I trust that you will forgive me, my dear sister, if I have caused -you unnecessary pain. Unhappily pain must follow such dereliction of -duty as has been shown by that young man, and by you too; but believe -me I would spare you if I could. But I can promise--and do so -now--that I shall not again forget myself and speak bitterly, out of -the bitterness of my heart as I have done. I pray your forgiveness, -and trust that it may be extended to me.” The cynical words and tone -of his apology, however it may have been meant, only added fuel to her -anger. Words were inadequate, so she sought refuge in flight. As she -went out of the door she heard Colonel Ogilvie say as if to himself: - -“I may not know how to speak to women; but thank God, I do know how to -deal with that damned fellow!” - -Judy threw herself on her bed in a storm of futile passion. She could -not but feel that she had been brutally treated; but she was powerless -to either resent or explain. But well she knew that she had helped to -leave matters worse for poor Joy than they had been. All the anger -that Colonel Ogilvie had been repressing had now blazed out. He had -expressed himself, and she had never known such expression of his to -fail in tragic consequences. He would now never forgive Mr. Hardy for -his double sins of omissions and commission. She was sorry for the -young man’s sake; but was in anguish for the sake of the poor girl who -had, she felt and knew, set her heart upon him. Joy’s romance in which -her heart--her whole being and her future happiness--had been embarked -was practically over, though she did not know it as yet. All the -life-long brightness that even her father had ever hoped for her was -gone. Henceforth she would be only a poor derelict, like Judy herself, -wrecked on a lee shore! Judy had always pitied herself, but she had -never realized the cause of that pity as she did now, seen as it was -through the eyes of loving sympathy. - - “I pitied my own heart, - As if I held it in my hand, - Somewhat coldly,--with a sense - Of fulfilled benevolence, - And a ‘Poor thing’ negligence.” - -Colonel Ogilvie went out in a very militant humour to interview the -motor-agent. He felt angry with himself for having lost his -temper--and to a lady; and his anger had to be visited on some one. In -any case he considered that the motor people had treated him scurvily -and should suffer accordingly. In reality he was in a reaction from -great happiness. He was an affectionate husband who had been deeply -concerned at his wife’s long illness, and lonely and distraught in her -long absence. Only that morning he had met her again and had found her -quite restored to health and as though she had regained her youth. He -had shared in her pleasure at the good account he had to give of Joy. -It was, after all, perhaps natural to a man of his peculiar -temperament to visit heavily his displeasure on the man who had, to -his mind, ill-used him, and on all concerned with him in the doing. -Mr. Hardy it was who had jarred the wheels of his chariot of pleasure; -and Mr. Hardy it was who must ultimately answer to him for so doing. - -The expression of his opinions as to the moral and commercial worth of -the motor-agent and of the manufacturer with whom he dealt seemed to -relieve his feelings to some degree; he returned to Brown’s in a much -milder frame of mind than that in which he had gone out. He was kept -pretty busy till the time of departure, but in his secret heart--made -up to action during the time of his work--he determined to try to make -amends to Judy for the pain he had given her. He rejoiced now that his -wife had not been present at that scene which it already pained him to -look back upon. - -He was somewhat incensed that as he could not leave by his intended -train he would have to postpone the journey by several hours. He could -not now arrive at Ambleside till nearly midnight. - -In the train he took the first opportunity of making the _amende_ to -Judy. Mrs. Ogilvie had fallen asleep--she had been awake since very -early in the morning, so the Colonel said quietly to his -sister-in-law: - -“Judy I want you to forgive me, if you can.” She thrilled with -pleasure as he spoke her name in the familiar form. It seemed some -sort of presage of a change for the better, a sort of lifting of the -ban which had all day lain so heavy on her. As he went on her hopes -grew; there were possibilities that, after all, Joy was not yet -finally doomed to unhappiness. At all times Colonel Ogilvie was -impressive in his manner; the old-fashioned courtesy on which he had -long ago founded himself was permeated with conscious self-esteem. Now -when the real earnestness of the moment was grafted upon this -pronounced manner he seemed to the last degree dignified--almost -pompous: - -“I cannot tell you how sorry I am that I caused you pain this morning, -or how ashamed I am for having so lost my temper before you. For more -than twenty years I have honestly tried, my dear, to make you happy.” -Here she interrupted him: “And you succeeded Lucius!” He rose and -bowed gravely: - -“Thank you, my dear. I am grateful to you for that kindly expression. -It does much, I assure you, to mitigate the poignancy of my present -concern. It was too bad of me to let my bitterness so wound you. It -shall not occur again. Moreover I feel that I owe you something; and I -promise you that if I should be so--so overcome again by anger I shall -try to obey you to the best of my power. You shall tell me what you -wish me to do; and if I can I shall try to do it.” Here a look of -caution, rare to him, overspread his face: “I won’t promise to give up -a purpose of my life or brook any interference with the course of -honour--that I can promise to no one, not even to you my dear. But if -I can grant any consideration--or--or favour I shall certainly try to -do so!” - -Judy was not so well satisfied with the end of the promise as with the -beginning. But it was hopeful of better things for the future; so she -meekly and gratefully accepted it _en bloc_. - -When they arrived at Ambleside it was dark and the lamps of the -station lent but a dim light. It became evident to Mrs. Ogilvie and -Judy that Colonel Ogilvie was disappointed at not finding Joy awaiting -them on the platform. He had, during the journey, explained to them -with some elaboration that they were not to expect her as he had said -there was no need of her coming; but, all the same, he had himself -expected her. As the train drew up he had leaned out of the window -looking carefully along the whole range of the platform. When, -however, he ascertained that she was not there, he turned his -attention to Judy whom he observed prolonging the search. His mind at -once went back to his original concern that there was something -between her and Mr. Hardy. She heard him say to himself fiercely under -his breath: - -“That damned fellow again!” She did not of course understand that it -was with reference to herself, and took it that it presaged ill to -Joy. She knew from Colonel Ogilvie’s expression and bearing that the -man he had now grown to hate was in his mind, and with a heavy heart -she took her place in the waiting landau. - -When the carriage arrived at the hotel Colonel Ogilvie jumped out and -ran up the steps. This was so unlike his usual courtesy that it not -only pained the two ladies but made them anxious. When Colonel Ogilvie -forgot his habitual deference to women something serious indeed must -have been in his mind! When they followed, which they did as quickly -as they could, they found him in the hall reading a telegram. A -railway envelope lay on the table, and beside it a little pile of -letters. When he had finished reading the first telegram he opened the -second and read it also. All the time his face was set in a grim -frown, the only relief from which was the wrinkling of his forehead -which betrayed an added anxiety. He handed the two transcripts to his -wife, saying as he did so: - -“I have put them in order; one is a few hours earlier than the other!” -Mrs. Ogilvie read in silence and handed the forms to Judy, the Colonel -remaining grimly silent. Mrs. Ogilvie said nothing. When Judy had -turned over the last and looked at the back of it in that helpless -manner which betrays inadequate knowledge, Colonel Ogilvie said: - -“Well?” - -“I trust the poor child is not in any danger!” said the mother. - -“How thoughtful of her to have sent twice. She knew you would be so -anxious about her!” said the aunt, wishing to propitiate the angry -father. For fully a minute no more was said. Then the Colonel spoke: - -“She went motoring. In whose car? I have not yet got my own!” As he -was speaking the hotel proprietor came into the hall to pay his -respects, as he usually did with incoming guests. He heard the last -remark and said: - -“Pardon me, Colonel Ogilvie. But your car has arrived. The chauffeur -who had charge of it and came in the same train with it to Kirkby -Stephen drove it here some time ago!” Colonel Ogilvie bowed a slight -acknowledgment and turning to Judy said: - -“Then it could not be in that car she went. If not, whose car was it? -Whom did she go with? We know no one here who owns a car; and we did -not make any new acquaintances during our stay. Indeed none even of -our old acquaintances did us the honour of calling. But perhaps my -dear Judy,” he spoke with manifest and comforting self-restraint--“you -can enlighten us. Do you know if your friend Mr. Hardy whom you -informed of our being here has a motor car?” Judy feared to -precipitate disaster, and not knowing what to say answered feebly with -a query: - -“Why Colonel?” The storm cloud of the father’s wrath instantly broke: - -“Why, madam ‘why’!” he almost roared whilst the discreet proprietor -withdrew closing the inner door of the hall behind him--the luggage -was being taken in by the basement door: - -“I’ll tell you why if you wish--though perhaps you know it already. -Because I want to know under what circumstances my daughter has gone -out motoring with some stranger--though indeed it may be that he is -not quite a stranger--the moment my back was turned. Let me tell you -that it is not usual for unmarried young ladies to go out motoring -into far away places with men, unchaperoned. My honour--_my_ honour -through my daughter--is here concerned. And it is like that damned -fellow to take her away in such an underhand manner. You need say -nothing of him. It’s no use trying to palliate his conduct. True -enough I don’t know for certain that it is he, or that she is alone -with any man; but I have a conviction that it is so; and I tell you I -shall lose no time in putting my convictions to the test. I mean to -take no chances with regard to that damned fellow. I don’t trust him! -He has already affronted me, and has been tampering with the women of -my family. I have borne even that with what temper I could because I -was under obligation to him. But if, as it would seem, he has run away -with my daughter, I shall brook his insolence no longer. He shall -render me a full account of his doings with me and mine!” He crammed -his letters into his pocket and strode upstairs. There he rang the -bell in such a violent manner that the proprietor himself attended to -it. Colonel Ogilvie asked him to have the chauffeur sent up to him, -and requested the proprietor to come also himself as he wished to ask -him some questions on local matters. He had by now his temper in hand, -and was all the more dangerous because cold. In a few minutes the -proprietor brought in the chauffeur, a stolid, hard-featured, silent -man; manifestly one to obey orders and to stand any amount of fatigue. -When Colonel Ogilvie had looked at his credentials and asked him some -questions, all of which he did with perfect self-control and courtesy, -he turned to the proprietor and asked: - -“Can you tell me whereabout is a place called Castle Douglas?” - -“In Scotland, Colonel. In Galloway--the part of Scotland just beyond -the Firth of Solway. It is I think in Kirkcudbrightshire.” - -“How far from here?” - -“Something over a hundred miles I should say.” The father started: - -“Good God!” Judy’s heart sank at the exclamation and the tone; his -voice was laden with horror and despair. The new chauffeur’s mouth -opened. He spoke as if every word was grudgingly shot out: - -“It is exactly ninety-one and a half miles.” Colonel Ogilvie turned to -him quickly: - -“How do you know so accurately; have you driven it?” - -“Never sir!” - -“Then how do you know?” - -“In the train coming down I spent my time looking over the maps and -the distance as given in the books of the Motorists’ Touring Club. I -noted that.” - -“Had you any reason for examining that particular route?” asked the -Colonel suspiciously. He was obsessed by an idea that the “damned -fellow” was corrupting everybody so as to work against him, Colonel -Ogilvie. - -“None special; I was only trying to do my business well. I thought it -likely that you might want me to stay with you a short time until you -and your permanent chauffeur should become acquainted with the -mechanism of your new car. You see, I was told you were an American, -and the American makes differ somewhat from our own. And as I am -myself looking out for a permanent situation where I should be well -paid, made comfortable, and treated with whatever consideration is due -to a first-rate _mechanicien_ and driver I thought that if I showed -zeal in your temporary service you might wish to retain me -permanently. In a certain sense I took, I may say, special note of at -least part of that particular route.” - -“Why?” Colonel Ogilvie’s suspicions came up afresh at the admission. - -“Simply because I took it that you might want to drive into Scotland, -and Galloway is perhaps the most promising region for motoring on this -side of that country. All the motor roads from this side of England -run through Carlisle. Then you cross the Border close to Gretna Green. -…” - -“To where?” The Colonel’s voice was full of passion. The chauffeur -went on calmly and explicitly: - -“Gretna Green. That is where run-away marriages used to be made. That -place was usually chosen because it was the first across the Border -where Scotch law ruled. The simplifying of our marriage laws and the -growth of sanity amongst parents of marriageable daughters generally -has done away with the necessity of elopement. Now we go by there -without stopping, as Galloway is the modern objective. Indeed in going -there you do not go into Gretna at all; you pass it by on the right -when you have crossed the bridge over the Sark and are making for -Annan. And as to my knowledge of mileages that is a part of my trade. -It is my business to arrange for the amount of petrol necessary for -the run I am ordered to make. I don’t think that you need disturb -yourself about that one small item of my knowledge. It may set you -more at ease if I tell you that it is one hundred and thirty-six and a -half miles to Glasgow; a hundred and one to Abbotsford; seventy-five -and a half to Dumfries; a hundred and thirty-five and a half to -Edinburgh; two hundred and seventy-four and a half to Aberdeen; one -hundred and fifty-eight and three quarters to. …” - -“Stop! stop!” cried Colonel Ogilvie. “I am obliged to you for your -zeal in my service; and I think I can promise you that if in every way -you suit, you may look on the permanent post as your own. I shall want -you to begin your duties this very night. But this is a special job; -and with special reward, for it is difficult and arduous.” - -“I am willing sir, whatever it may be.” - -“That is well said. You are the sort of man I want.” - -“My orders sir?” - -“I want you to take me to Castle Douglas to-night--now--as soon as you -can get ready. I wish to get there as soon as I can. You will want to -have everything right, for we must have no break-down if we can help -it. And you must have good lamps.” - -“’Twill be all right, sir. We shan’t, I expect, break down. But if we -do--the motor is a new one and I did not make it--_I_ shall put it -right. I am a first-rate _mechanicien_ and an accomplished driver. -…” - -“All right; but don’t talk. Get the car ready, and we shall start at -once.” - -“We can start at once, so far as the car and I are concerned. But we -lack something as yet. We must have a pilot.” - -“A pilot! I thought you knew the way.” - -“On paper, yes; and I doubt not I could get there all right--in time. -But you want to go quick; and we would lose time finding out the way. -Remember we are going in the dark.” Then turning to the proprietor he -said: - -“Perhaps you can help us here, sir. Have you any one who can pilot?” - -“Not a chauffeur; but I have a coachman who knows all round here for a -couple of days’ journey. I have no doubt that he knows that road -amongst the others. He could sit beside you and direct you how to go!” - -“Right! Can you get him soon?” - -“At once. He lives over the stables. I shall send for him now.” He -rang the bell and when the servant came gave his message. And so that -matter was settled and the journey arranged. The chauffeur went to -have a last look over the motor car, and to bring it round to the -door. - -All the time of the interview Colonel Ogilvie stood silent, keeping -erect and rigid. He was so stern and so master of himself that Judy -wished now that he had less self-control. She feared the new phase -even more than the old. Then care for what had still to be done took -hold of her. She took her sister away to prepare a little basket of -food and wine for Colonel Ogilvie and the men with him; they would -need some sustenance on their long, arduous journey. Those kindly -offices kept both women busy whilst Colonel Ogilvie was putting on -warm clothes for the night travelling. Presently Mrs. Ogilvie joined -him. When they were alone she said to him somewhat timidly: - -“You will be tender, dear, with Joy? The child is young, and a harsh -word spoken in anger at a time when she is high-strung and nervous and -tired and frightened might be a lasting sorrow to her!” She half -expected that he would resent her speaking at all. She was surprised -as well as pleased when, putting his hands kindly on her shoulders, he -said: - -“Be quite easy in your mind on that subject, wife. Joy has all my -love; and, whatever comes, I shall use no harsh word to her. I love -her too well to give her pain, at the moment or to think of -afterwards. She shall have nothing but care and tenderness and such -words as you would yourself wish spoken!” The mother was comforted for -the moment. But then came a thought, born of her womanhood, that the -keenest pain which could be for the woman would be through her concern -for the man. She had little doubt as to what her husband’s action -would be if his surmises as to Mr. Hardy should prove to be correct. -And such would mean the blighting of poor Joy’s life. She would dearly -have loved to remonstrate with her husband on the subject; and she -would have done so, whatever might have been the consequences to -herself, but that she feared that any ill-timed expostulation might be -harmful to her daughter. All the motherhood in her was awake, and -nerved her to endure in silence. The only other words she said as she -kissed her husband were: - -“Good-bye for a while, dear. God keep you in all dangers of the -road--and--and in all the far greater dangers that may come to you at -the end of it. My love to Joy! Be good to her, and never forget that -she can suffer most through any one dear to her. Bring her home to me, -safe and--and happy! I …” Her voice broke and she wept on his -shoulder. Colonel Ogilvie was a determined man, and in some ways a -harsh and cruel one; but he was a man, and understood. He took his -wife in his arms and kissed her fondly, stroking her dark hair wherein -the silver threads were showing. Then he passed out in silence. - -By the door of the car he found Judy who said: - -“I have put in your supper--you will want it dear--and also supper for -the men. And oh! Lucius, don’t forget, for poor Joy’s sake, that this -day you hold her heart--which is her life--in your hand!” - -This added responsibility filled the cup of Colonel Ogilvie’s -indignation. Already his conscience was quickening and his -troubles--the agitation to his feelings--were almost more than he -could bear. He would have liked to make some cynical remark to Judy; -but before he could think of anything sufficiently biting, the motor -which had been throbbing violently started. - -Before the angry man could attempt to get back his self-possession he -was gazing past the two shrouded figures before him and across the -luminous arc of the lamps out into the night. The darkness seemed to -sweep by him as he rushed on his way to Scotland. - -When he had gone Judy turned to her sister and said: “I was going to -give him Joy’s dressing bag and a change of dress to take with him. -She will want them, poor dear, after a long day of travel and a night -in a strange place. But I have thought of a better plan.” - -“And that?” asked the anxious mother. - -“To take them myself! Moreover it won’t be any harm my being present -in case the Colonel gets on the rampage. It will restrain him some. -Now you go and lie down, dear. Don’t say anything--except your -prayers--in case you feel you must say something. But sleep will be -your best help in this pretty tough proposition. I’ll go and get a -hustle on that Dutch landlord. He’s got to find an automobile and a -chauffeur, and a pilot if necessary, for me too!” - - - - - CHAPTER XIX. - DECLARATION OF WAR - -Joy Ogilvie was so tired out that her body lay like a log all night. -How her mind was occupied she only knew afterwards. For the memory of -dreams is an unconscious memory at the time; it is only when there is -opportunity of comparison with actualities that dreams can be -re-produced. Then, as at first, the dreams are real--as they are -forever whilst memory lasts. Indeed regarding dreams and actualities, -one might almost appeal to scientific analogy; and in comparing the -world of imagination--which is the kingdom of dreams--with the -material world, might adduce the utterance of Sir Oliver Lodge in -comparing the density of aether with that of matter in the modern -scientific view: “Matter is turning out to be a filmy thing in -comparison with aether.” - -This might well serve as a scientific comparison. Nay more, it might -well be an induction. The analogies of nature are so marvellously -constant, as exemplified by the higher discoveries in physics, that we -might easily wander farther than in taking the inner world of Thought -as compared with the outer world of Physical Being, as an analogy to -the Seen and Unseen worlds. - -In the meantime we may take it that Joy’s dreams that night were in -some way reflective of the events of the day. No girl of healthy -emotional power could fail to be influenced by such a sequence of -experiences of passion and fear as she had gone through. The realized -hoping of love, the quick-answering abandonment of expressed passion; -long, long minutes of the bliss of communion with that other -soul--minutes whose sweetness or whose length could not be computed -until the leisure of thought gave opportunity. Unconscious cerebration -goes on unceasingly; and be sure that with such data as she had in her -mind, the workings of imagination were quick and by no means cold. -Again she lived the moments of responsive passion; but so lived them -that she had advanced further on the road to completed passion when -the unconsciousness to physical surroundings began to disappear and on -the senses the actualities began to consciously impress themselves. -The dawn, stealing in between the chinks of the folded shutters, made -strange lines on the floor without piercing through the walls of -sleep. The myriad sounds of waking life from distant field and -surrounding street brought no message to the closed eyes of weariness. -The sun rose, and rose, and rose; and still she lay there unmoving. - -At last that unaccountable impulse which moves all living things to -sentience at the ending of sleep, stirred her. The waking grew on her. -At first, when her eyes partially opened, she saw, but without -comprehending, the dim room with its low ceiling; the wide window, -masked in with shutters whose edges were brilliant with the early -light; the odd furniture and all the unfamiliar surroundings. Then -came the inevitable self-question: “where am I?” - -The realization of waking from such dreaming as hers is a rude and -jarring process, and when it does come, comes with something of a -shock. For what seemed a long time Joy lay in a sort of languorous -ecstasy whilst memory brought back to her those moments of the -previous day which were sweeter even than her dreams. Again she heard -the footsteps of the man she loved coming up rapidly behind her. Again -she saw as she turned, in obedience to some new impulse which swayed -her to surrender, the face of the man looking radiant with love and -happiness. Again she felt the sweet satisfaction of living and loving -when his arms closed round her and her arms closed round him and they -strained each other strictly. Again there came to her the thrill which -seemed to lift her from her earthly being as his mouth touched hers -and they kissed each other in the absolute self-abandonment of -reciprocated passion--the very passing memory of which set her blood -tingling afresh; the thrill which set her soul floating in the expanse -of air and made all conventions of the artificial world seen far below -seem small and miserable and of neither power nor import. Again she -was swept by that tide of wild desires, vague and nebulous as yet, -inchoate, elusive, expansive, all-absorbing, which proclaimed her -womanhood to herself. That desire of wife to husband, of sex to sex, -of woman to man, which is the final expression of humanity--the love -song of the children of Adam. It was as though memory and dreaming had -become one. As if the day had merged in the night, and the night again -in the coming day; each getting as it came all the thoughts and wishes -and fancies and desires which follow in the train of the -all-conquering Love-God. - -In such receptive mood Joy awoke to life. When she realized where she -was; and when the import of her new surroundings had broken in upon -her, all the forces of her youth and strength began at once to -manifest themselves. She slid softly from her bed--the instinct of -self protection forbade noise or else she would have jumped to the -floor. Doing must follow dreaming! The attitude of standing, once -again helped to recall the previous evening, and she remembered that -she had thought then that she must not open the windows in the morning -because they faced directly other windows across a narrow street. - -She remembered also that the next room, through which she had entered, -had windows on two sides. Those on one side opened as did her own; but -those on the other side looked out on an open space. And so, without -further thought, she opened the door between and passed into the outer -room. It too, like her own, was dark from the closed shutters. -Instinctively she went softly, her bare feet making no sound on the -carpet. With the same instinctive caution she had opened the door -noiselessly; when the self-protective instinct has once been awakened, -it does not easily relapse to sleep. She went over to one of the -windows and tried to look out through the chinks. The day was bright -outside and the sun was shining; the fog had entirely disappeared. In -the sudden desire to breathe the fresh morning air, and to free in the -sunlight her soul cramped by the long darkness of fog and night, she -threw open the heavy shutters. - - -Athlyne slept so soundly that he never stirred. He lay on the sofa on -his left side with his face out to the room. He too had been dreaming; -and to his dreams the happiness of the day had brought a vivifying -light. Through all his weariness of mind and body came to his spirit -the glow of those moments when he knew that his love was reciprocated; -when his call to his mate had been answered--answered in no uncertain -voice. And so he, too, had lain with bodily nature all quiescent, -whilst the emotional side of his mind ranged freely between memory and -expectation. And in due process the imaginative power of the mind had -worked on the nerves--and through them on the body--till he too lay in -a languorous semi-trance--the mind ranging free whilst the abnormally -receptive body quivered in unison. It was a dangerous condition of -being in which to face the situation which awaited him. - -The sound of the opening shutter wakened him, fully and all at once. -The moment his eyes opened he saw a figure between him and the window; -and at the knowledge that some stranger was in his room the habit of -quick action which had prevailed in his years of campaigning -re-asserted itself. On the instant he flung aside his blanket and -sprang from his bed. - -At the sound of a step on the floor Joy turned. The light streaming in -through the unshuttered window showed them in completeness each to the -other. The light struck Athlyne full in front. There was instant -recognition, even in the unaccustomed garb, of that tall lithe form; -of those fine aquiline features, of those dark flashing eyes. As to -Joy, who standing against the light made her own shadow, Athlyne could -have no doubt. He would have realized her presence in darkness and -silence. As she stood in her fine linen, the morning light making a -sort of nimbus round the opacity of the upper part of her body, she -looked to him like some fresh realization--some continuation in -semi-ethereal form--of the being of his dreams. There was no pause for -thought in either of the lovers. The instant of recognition was the -realization of presence--unquestioning and the most natural thing in -the world that the other should be there. Delight had sealed from -within the ears of Doubt. Unhesitatingly they ran to each other, and -before a second had passed were locked tightly in each other’s arms. - -In the secret belief of the Conventional world--that belief which is -the official teaching of the churches of an artificial society, and -not merely the world of Adam and Eve (and some others)--the ceremony -of Marriage in itself changes the entire nature of the contracting -parties. Whatever may have been the idiosyncrasies of these -individuals such are forthwith changed, foregone, or otherwise altered -to suit that common denominator of Human Nature which alone is -officially catalogued in the records of the Just. It were as though -the recorded promise of two love-stricken sufferers, followed by the -formal blessings of the Church in any of its differentiations--or of -the Registrar--should change baser mortals to more angelic -counterpart; just as the “Philosopher’s Stone” which the mediaeval -alchemist dreamed of and sought for, was expected to change baser -metals to gold. - -Perhaps it is because this transmutation is so complete that so many -of those marriages which the Church does sanctify turn out so -differently from the anticipations of the contractors and blessors! - -But Dame Nature has her own church and her own ritual. In her case the -Blessing comes before the Service; and the Benediction is but the -official recognition that two souls--with their attendant bodies--have -found a perfect communion for themselves. Those who believe in Human -Nature--and many of them are seriously minded people too--realize and -are thankful for the goodness of God who showers the possibilities of -happiness with no stinting and no uncertain hand. “After all” they say -“what about Eden?” There was no church’s blessing there--not even a -Registrar; and yet we hold that Adam and Eve were united in Matrimony. -Nor were their children or their children’s children made one with -organized formality. What was it then that on these occasions stood -between fornication and marriage? What could it be but the Blessing of -God! And if God could make marriage by His Blessing in Eden, when did -He forego that power. Or if indeed there be only a “Civil -Contract”--as so many hold to-day--what proofs or writings must there -be beyond that mere “parole” contract which is recognized in other -matters by the Law of the Land. - -So, the believers in natural religion and natural law--those who do -not hold that personal licence, unchecked and boundless, is an -appanage or logical result of freedom. To these, freedom is in itself -a state bounded on all sides by restrictive laws--as must ever be, -unless Anarchy is held to be the ultimate and controlling force. And -in the end Anarchy is the denial of all Cosmic law--that systematised -congeries of natural forces working in harmony to a common end. - -But law, Cosmic or Anarchic, (if there be such a thing, and it may be -that Hell--if there is one--has its own laws--) or any grade between -these opposites, is a matter for coolness and reflection. _Inter arma -silent leges_ is a maxim of co-ordinate rulings in the Court of Cosmic -law. And the principle holds whether the arms be opposed or locked -together in any form of passion. When Love lifts the souls, whose -bodies are already in earthly communion, Law ceases to be. From the -altitude of accomplished serenity the mightiest law is puny; just as -from a balloon the earth looks flat, and even steeples and towers have -no perspective. - -So it was with the two young people clasped in each other’s arms. The -world they lived in at the moment was _their_ world, bounded only by -the compass of their arms. After all what more did they want--what -could they want. They were together and alone. Shame was not for them, -or to them, who loved with all their hearts--whose souls already felt -as one. For shame, which is a conventional ordering of the blood, has -no place--not even a servitor’s--in the House of Love: that palace -where reigns the love of husbandhood and wifehood, of fatherhood and -motherhood--that true, realized Cosmos--the aim, the objective, the -heaven of human life. - -Their circumstances but intensified the pleasure of the embrace. -Athlyne and Joy had both felt the same communion of spirits when they -embraced at their first meeting out of Ambleside when their souls had -met. This had been intensified when they sat in close embrace after -lunch beyond Dalry, when heart consciously beat to heart. Now it was -completed in this meeting, unexpected and therefore more free and -unhampered by preparatory thoughts and intentions, when body met body -in a close if tentative communion. The mere paucity of raiment had -force and purpose. They could each feel as they hung together closely -strained, the beating of each other’s heart; the rising and falling of -each other’s lungs. Their breaths commingled as they held mouth to -mouth. In such delirious rapture--for these two ardent young people -loved each other with a love which both held to be but the very -beginning of an eternal bond and which took in every phase, actual and -possible, of human beings--there was no place for forethought or -afterthought. It was the hour of life which is under the guidance of -Nature; to be looked forward to with keen if ignorant anticipation; -and which is to be looked back on for evermore as a time when the very -heavens opened and the singing of the Angelic choir came through -unmuffled. - -For seconds, in which Time seemed to stand still, they stood body to -body and mouth to mouth. The first to speak was the man: - -“I thought you were in England by late in the evening--and you were -there all the time!” He indicated the direction by turning his eyes -towards her room. His words seemed to fire her afresh. Holding him -more closely to her, she leaned back from her hips and gazed at him -languorously; her words dropped slowly from her opened lips: - -“Oh-h! If we had only known!” What exactly was in her mind she did not -know--did not think of knowing--did not want to know. Perhaps she did -not mean anything definite. It was only an expression of some feeling, -of some want, some emotion, some longing--some primitive utterance -couched in words of educated thought, as sweet and spontaneous as the -singing of a bird in its native woods at springtime. - -Somehow, it moved Athlyne strangely. Moved the manhood of him in many -ways, chiefest among them his duty of protection. It is not a -commonly-received idea that man--not primitive man but the -partially-completed article of a partially-completed cosmic age--is -scrupulous with regard to woman. The general idea to the contrary -effect is true _en gros_ but not _en detaille_. True of women; not -true of a woman. An educated man, accustomed to judgment and action in -matters requiring thought, thinks, perhaps unconsciously, all round -him, backward as well as forward; but mainly forward. Present -surroundings form his data; consequences represent the conclusion. -Himself remains neutral, an onlooker, until he is called on for -immediate decision and consequent action. - -So it was with Athlyne. His instant ejaculation: - -“Thank God we didn’t know!” would perhaps have been understood by a -man. To a woman it was incomprehensible. Woman is, after all, more -primitive than man. Her instincts are more self-centred than his. As -her life moves in a narrower circle, her view is rather microscopic -than telescopic; whilst his is the reverse. Inasmuch then as he -naturally surveys a larger field, so his introspective view is wider. - -Joy loved the man; and so, since he had already expressed himself, -considered him as already her husband; or to speak more accurately -considered herself as already his wife. It was, therefore, with -something like chagrin that she heard his disavowal of her views. She -did not herself quite understand what those views were, but all the -same it was a disappointment that he did not really acquiesce in them; -nay more that he did not press them on his own account--press them -relentlessly, as a woman loves a man to do, even when his wishes are -opposed to her own. - -A woman’s answer to chagrin is ultimate victory of her purpose; and -the chagrin of love is perhaps the strongest passion with a purpose -that can animate her. - -When Joy became conscious, as she did in a few seconds, that her lover -following out his protective purpose was about to separate himself -from her--she quite understood without any telling or any experience -both motive and purpose--she opposed it on her part. As the strictness -of his embrace lessened, so in proportion did hers increase. Then came -to the man the reaction--he was only a man, after all. His ardour -redoubled, and her heart beat harder with new love as well as triumph -as he drew her closer to him in a pythonic embrace. Then she, too, -clung to him even closer than before. That embrace was all -lover-like--an agony of rapture. - -In its midst they were startled somewhat by the rumbling of a motor -driven fast which seemed to stop close to them. Instinctively Joy -tried to draw away from her lover; such is woman’s impulse. But -Athlyne held her all the tighter--his embrace was not all love now, -but the protection which comes from love. She understood, and resigned -herself to him. And so they stood, heart to heart, and mouth to mouth, -listening. - -There was a clatter of tongues in the hall. Joy thought she recognised -one voice--she could not be sure in the distance and through the -closed door--and her heart sank. She would again have tried to draw -away violently but that she was powerless. Her will was gone, like a -bird’s under the stare of the snake. Athlyne, too, was in suspense, -his heart beating wildly. He had a sort of presage of disaster which -seemed in a way to paralyse him. - -There were quick steps on the stairs. A voice said: “There” and the -door rattled. At this moment both the lovers were willing to separate. -But before they could do so, the door opened and the figure of Colonel -Ogilvie blocked the entrance. - -“Good God!” The old man’s face had grown white as though the sight had -on the instant frozen him. So pallid was he, all in that second, that -Joy and Athlyne received at once the same idea: that his moustache, -which they had thought of snowy whiteness, was but grey against the -marble face. - -The father’s instinct was protective too, and his action was quick. In -the instant, without turning his face, he shut the door behind him and -put his heel against it. - -“Quick, daughter, quick!” he said in a whisper, low but so fierce that -it cut the air like a knife, “Get into that room and dress yourself. -And, get out if you can, by another way without being noticed!” As he -spoke he pointed towards the open door through which in the darkened -room the bed with clothing in disarray could be dimly seen. Joy fled -incontinently. The movements of a young woman can be of extraordinary -quickness, but never quicker than when fear lends her wings. It seemed -to Athlyne that she made but one jump from where she stood through the -door-way. He could remember afterwards the flash of her bare heels as -she turned in closing the door behind her. - -“Now Sir!” Colonel Ogilvie’s voice was stern to deadliness as he -spoke. Athlyne realised its import. He felt that he was bound hand and -foot, and knew that his part of the coming struggle would have to be -passive. He braced himself to endure. Still, the Colonel’s question -had to be answered. The onus of beginning the explanation had been -thrust upon him. It was due to Joy that there should be no delay on -his part in her vindication. Almost sick at heart with apprehension he -began: - -“There has been no fault on Joy’s part!” The instant he had spoken, -the look of bitter haughtiness which came on Colonel Ogilvie’s face -warned him that he had made a mistake. To set the error right he must -know what he had to meet; and so he waited. - -“We had better, I think, leave Miss Ogilvie’s name out of our -conversation. … And I may perhaps remind you, sir, that I am the -best judge of my daughter’s conduct. When I have said anything to my -daughter’s detriment it will be quite time for a stranger to interfere -on her behalf. … It is of _your_ conduct, sir, that I ask--demand -explanation!” - -Athlyne would have liked to meet a speech of this kind with a blow. In -the case of any other man he would have done so: but this man was -Joy’s father, and in all circumstances must be treated as such. He -felt in a vague sort of way--a background of thought rather than -thought itself--that his manhood was being tested, and by a fiery -test. Come what might, he must be calm, or at least be master of -himself; or else bitter woe would come to Joy. Of course it would -come--perhaps had come already to himself; but to that he was already -braced. - -Colonel Ogilvie was skilled in the deadly preliminaries to lethal -quarrel. More than once when a foe had been marked down for vengeance -had he led him on to force the duel himself. In no previous quarrel of -his life had he ever had the good cause that he had now, and be sure -that he used that knowledge to the full. There was in his nature -something of that stoical quality of the Red Indian which enables him -to enjoy the torture of his foe, though the doing so entails a keen -anguish to himself. Perhaps the very air of the “dark and bloody -ground” of Kentucky was so impregnated with the passions of those who -made it so that the dwelling of some generations had imbued the -dwellers with some of the old Indian spirit. As Athlyne stood face to -face with him, watching for every sign of intention as a fencer -watches his opponent, he realised that there would be for him no pity, -no mercy, not even understanding. He would have to fight an uphill -contest--if Joy was to be saved even a single pang. What he could do -he would: sacrifice himself in any way that a man can accomplish it. -Life and happiness had for him passed by! One of his greatest -difficulties would be, he felt, that of so controlling himself that he -would not of necessity shut behind him, by anything which he might say -or do, the door of conciliation. He began at once, therefore, to -practice soft answering: - -“My conduct, sir, has been bad--so far as doing an indiscreet thing, -and in not showing to you that respect which is your due in any matter -in which Miss Ogilvie may be concerned.” For some reason which he -could not at the moment understand this seemed to infuriate the -Colonel more than ever. In quite a violent way he burst out: - -“So I am to take it that no respect is due to me in my own person! -Such, I gather from your words. You hint if you do not say that -respect is only my due on my daughter’s account!” At the risk of -further offence Athlyne interrupted him. It would not do for him to -accept this monstrous reading of what he meant for courtesy: - -“Not so, sir. My respect is to you always and for all causes. I did -but put it in that way as it is only in connection with your daughter -that I dared to speak at all.” Even this pacific explanation seemed to -add fuel to the old man’s choler: - -“Let me tell you, sir, that this has nothing whatever to do with my -daughter. Miss Ogilvie is my care. Her defence, if any be required, is -my duty--my privilege. And I quite know how to exercise--and to -defend--both.” - -“Quite so, sir. I realise that, and I have no wish to arrogate to -myself your right or your duty; for either of which I myself should be -proud to die!” Athlyne’s voice and manner were so suave and -deferential that Colonel Ogilvie began to have an idea that he was a -poltroon; and in this belief the bully that was in him began to -manifest itself. He spoke harshly, intending to convey this idea, -though as he did so his heart smote him. Even as he spoke there rose -before his bloodshot eyes the vision of a river shimmering with gold -as the sunset fell on it, and projected against it the figure of a -frightened woman tugging at the reins of a run-away mare; whilst close -behind her rode a valiant man guiding with left hand a splendid black -horse to her side, his right hand stretched out to drag her to his -saddle. Before them both lay a deadly chasm. In the pause Athlyne took -the opportunity of hurriedly putting on his outer clothing. - -But even that touching vision did not check the father’s rage. His -eyes were bloodshot and even such vision--any vision--could not linger -in them. It passed, leaving in its place only a red splotch--as of -blood; the emotion which the thought had quickened had become -divergent in its own crooked way. But in the pause Athlyne had time to -get in a word: - -“Sir, whatever fault there has been was mine entirely. I acted -foolishly perhaps, and unthinkingly. It placed us--placed me in such a -position that every accident multiplied possibilities of -misunderstanding. I cannot undo that now--I don’t even say that I -would if I could. But whatever may be my fate--in the result that may -follow my acts--I shall accept it without cavil. And may I say in -continuance and development of your own suggestion, that no other name -should be mentioned in whatever has to be spoken of between us.” As he -finished he unconsciously stood upon his dignity, drawing himself up -to his full height and standing in soldierly attitude. This had a -strange effect on Colonel Ogilvie. Realising that he could rely -implicitly on the dignity of the man before him, he allowed himself a -further latitude. He could afford, he felt, to be unrestrained in such -a presence; and so proceeded to behave as though he was stark, staring -raving mad. Athlyne saw the change and, with some instinct more -enlightening than his reason, realised that the change might later, -have some beneficent effect. More than ever did he feel now the need -for his own absolute self-control. It was well that he had made up his -mind to this, for it was bitterly tested in Colonel Ogilvie’s mad -outpour: - -“Do you dare, sir, to lecture me as to what I shall not say or shall -say about my own daughter. What shall I say to you who though you had -not the courtesy to even acknowledge the kindness shown you by her -parents, came behind my back when I was far away, and stole her from -my keeping. Who took her far away, to the risk even of her reputation. -Risk! Risk! When I find you here together, alone and almost naked in -each other’s arms! God’s Death! that I should have seen such a -thing--that such a thing should be. …” Here his hot wrath changed to -ice-cold deadly purpose, and he went on: - -“You shall answer me with your life for that!” He paused, still -glaring at the other with cold, deadly malevolence. Athlyne felt that -the hour of the Forlorn Hope had come to him at last--he had been hot -through all his seeming coolness at de Hooge’s Spruit. His -self-control, could, he felt never be more deeply tested than now; and -he braced himself to it. He had now to so bear himself that Joy would -suffer the minimum of pain. Pain she would have to endure--much pain; -he could not save her from it. He would do what he could; that was all -that remained. With real coolness he met the icy look of his -antagonist as he said with all the grace and courtesy of which he was -naturally master: - -“Sir, I answer for my deeds with my life. That life is yours now. Take -it, how and when you will! As to answering in words, such cannot be -whilst you maintain your present attitude. I have tried already to -answer--to explain.” - -“Explain sir! There is no explanation.” - -“Pardon me!” Athlyne’s voice was calm as ever; his dignity so superb -that the other checked the words on his lips as he went on: - -“There is an explanation to be made--and made it must be, for the sake -of … of another. I deny in no way your right of revenge. I think I -have already told you that my life is yours to take as you will. But a -dying man has, in all civilised places, a right to speak to the Court -which condemns him. Such privilege is mine. I claim it--if you will -force me to say so. And let me add, Colonel Ogilvie, that I hold it as -a part of my submission to your will. We are alone now and can speak -freely; but there must be a time--it will be for your own protection -from the legal consequences of my death--when others, or at least one -other, will know of your intention to kill. I shall speak then if I -may not now!” Here the Colonel, whose anger was rising at being so -successfully baffled, interrupted him with hard cynicism. - -“Conditions in an affair of honour! To be enforced in a court of law I -suppose.” He felt ashamed of himself as he made the remark which he -felt to be both ungenerous and untrue. He was not surprised when the -other answered his indignant irony with scorn: - -“No sir! No law! Not any more appeal to law in my defence than there -has been justice in your outrageous attack on me. But about that I -shall answer you presently. In the meantime I adhere to my conditions. -Aye, conditions; I do not hesitate to use the word.” - -Colonel Ogilvie, through all the madness of his anger, realised at -that moment that the man before him was a strong man, as fearless and -determined as he was himself. This brought back his duty of good -manners as a first instalment of his self-possession. For a few -seconds he actually withheld his speech. He even bowed slightly as the -other proceeded: - -“I have tried to explain. … My fault was in venturing to ask … a -lady to come for a ride in my car. I had no intention of evil. Nothing -more than a mere desire to renew and further an--a friendship which -had, from the first moment of my knowing her--or rather from the first -moment I set eyes on her, become very dear to me. It was a selfish -wish I know; and in my own happiness at her consent I -overlooked,--neglected--forgot the duty I owed to her father. For that -I am bitterly sorry, and I feel that I owe to him a debt which I can -never, never repay. But enough of that. … That belongs to a -different category, and it has to be atoned for in the only way by -which an honourable man can atone. … As I have already conceded my -life to him I need … can say no more. But from the moment when that -lady stepped into my car my respect has been for her that which I have -always intended to be given to whatever lady should honour me by -becoming my wife. Surely you, sir, as yourself an honourable man--a -husband and a father, cannot condemn a man for speaking an honourable -love to the woman to whom it has been given. When I have admitted that -the making of the occasion was a fault I have said all that I accept -as misdoing. …” He folded his arms and stood on his dignity. For a -few seconds, Colonel Ogilvie stood motionless, silent. He could not -but recognise the truth that underlay all the dignity of the other. -But he was in no way diverted by it from his purpose. His anger was in -no way mitigated; his intention of revenge lessened by no whit. He was -merely waiting to collect his thoughts so as to be in a position to -attack with most deadly effect. He was opening his lips to speak when -the other went on as though he had but concluded one section or -division of what he had to say: - -“And now sir as to the manifest doubt you expressed as to my _bona -fides_ in placing my life in your hands--your apprehension lest I -should try to evade my responsibility to the laws of honour by an -appeal in some way to a court of law. Let me set your mind at ease by -placing before you my views; and my views, let me tell you, are -ultimately my intentions. I have tried to assure you that with the -exception of waiting to ask your consent to taking … a certain -passenger for a drive, my conduct has from that moment been such as -you could not find fault with. I take it for granted that you--nor no -man--could honestly resent such familiarities as are customary to, and -consequent on, a man offering marriage to a lady, and pressing his -suit with such zeal as is, or should be, attendant on the expression -of a passion which he feels very deeply!” Even whilst he was speaking, -his subconsciousness was struck by his own coolness. He marvelled that -he could, synchronously with the fearful effort necessary to his -self-control and with despair gnawing at his heart, speak with such -cold blooded preciseness. As is usual in such psychical stresses his -memory took note for future reference of every detail. - -His opponent on the contrary burst all at once into another fit of -flaming passion. Athlyne’s very preciseness seemed to have inflamed -him afresh. He thundered out: - -“Familiarities sir, on offering marriage! Do you dare to trifle with -me at a time like this. When but a few minutes ago I saw you here in -this lonely place, at this hour of the morning after a night of -absence, undressed as you were, holding in your arms my daughter -undressed also… God’s death! sir, be careful or you shall rue it!” -He stopped almost choking with passion. Athlyne felt himself once more -overwhelmed with the cold wave of responsibility. “Joy! Joy! Joy!” he -kept repeating to himself as a sort of charm to keep off evil. To let -go his anger now might--would be fatal to her happiness. He marvelled -to himself as he went on in equal voice, seemingly calm: - -“That sir was with no intent of evil. ’Twas but a natural consequence -of the series of disasters which fell on the enterprise which had so -crowned my happiness. When I turned to come home so that … so that -the lady might be in time to meet her parents who were expected to -arrive at--at her destination, I forgot, in my eagerness to meet her -wishes, the regulations as to speed; and I was arrested for furious -driving. In my anxiety to save her from any form of exposal to -publicity, and in my perplexity as to how to manage it, I advised her -returning by herself in my motor, I remaining at Dalry. When she had -gone, and I had arranged for attending the summons served on me, I -wired over to this hotel to keep me rooms. I thought it better that as -J … that as the lady had gone to England I should remain in -Scotland. I started to walk here; but I was overtaken by a fog and -delayed for hours behind my time. The house was locked up--every one -asleep. The night porter who let me in told me that as I had not -arrived, as by my telegram, the bedroom I had ordered was let to some -one else who had arrived in a plight similar to my own. ‘Another -party’ were his words; I had no clue to whom or what the other visitor -was. The only place left in the house unoccupied--for there were many -unexpected guests through the fog--was that sofa. There I slept. Only -a few minutes ago I was waked by some one coming into the room. When -I saw that it was … when I saw who it was--the woman whom I loved -and whom I intended to marry--I naturally took her in my arms without -thinking.” Then without pausing, for he saw the anger in the Colonel’s -face and felt that to prolong this part of the narration was -dangerous, he went on quickly: - -“I trust that you understand, Colonel Ogilvie, that this explanation -in no way infringes your right of punishing me as you suggest. Please -understand--and this is my answer to your suggestion as to my -appealing to law--that I accept your wish to go through the form of a -duel!” He was hotly interrupted by the Colonel: - -“Form of a duel! Is this another insult? When I say fight I mean -fight--understand that. I fight _à l’outrance_; and that way only.” -Athlyne’s composure did not seem even ruffled: - -“Exactly! I took no other meaning. But surely I am entitled to take it -that even a real duel has the form of a duel!” - -“Then what do you mean sir by introducing the matter that way?” - -“Simply, Colonel Ogilvie, to protect myself from a later accusation on -your part--either to me or of me--of a charge of poltroonery; or even -a silent suspicion of it in your own mind!” - -“How do you mean?” - -“Sir, I only speak for myself. I have already said more than once that -I hold my life at your disposal. From that I do not shrink; I accept -the form of a duel for my execution.” - -“Your execution! Explain yourself, sir?” In a calm even voice came the -answer. - -“Colonel Ogilvie, I put it to you as man to man--if you will honour me -with so simple a comparison, or juxtaposition whichever you like to -consider it--how can I fight freely against the father of the woman -whom I love. Pray, sir,” for the Colonel made an angry gesture “be -patient for a moment. I intend no kind of plea or appeal. I feel -myself forced to let you know my position from my point of view. You -need bear no new anger towards me for this expression of my feelings. -I do so with reluctance, and only because you _must_ understand, here -and now, or it may make, later on, further unhappiness for some one -else--some one whom we both hold in our hearts.” Colonel Ogilvie -hesitated before replying. The bitter scowl was once again on his face -as he spoke: - -“Then I suppose I am to take it, sir, that you will begin our meeting -on the field of honour by putting me publicly--through the expression -of your intention--in the position of a murderer.” - -“Not so! Surely you know better than that. I did not think that any -honourable man could have so mistaken another. If I have to speak -explicitly on this point--on which for your own sake and the sake of -… of one dear to you, I would fain be reticent--let me reassure you -on one point: I shall play the game fairly. For this duel is a game, -and, so far as I am concerned at all events, one for a pretty large -stake. If indeed that can be called a ‘game’ which can only end in one -way. You need not, I assure you, feel the least uneasy as to my not -going through with it properly. I am telling you this now so that you -may not distort my intention yourself by some injudicious comment on -my conduct, or speech, or action, made under a misapprehension or from -distrust of me. Sir, your own honour shall be protected all along, so -far as the doing so possibly rests with me.” Here, seeing some new -misunderstanding in the Colonel’s eye he went on quickly: - -“I venture to say this because I am aware that you doubt my being able -to carry out my intention. When I say ‘rests with me,’ I mean the -responsibility of acting properly the rôle I have undertaken. I shall -conduct my part of the duel in all seriousness. It must be in some -other country; this for your sake. For mine it will not have mattered. -We have only to bear ourselves properly and none will suspect. I shall -go through all the forms--with your permission--of fighting _à -l’outrance_, so that no one can suspect. No one will be able -afterwards to say that you could have been aware of my intention. I -shall fire at you all right; but I shall not hit!” - -Instinctively Colonel Ogilvie bowed. He did not intend to do so. He -said no word. The rancour of his heart was not mitigated; his -intention to kill in no way lessened. His action was simply a -spontaneous recognition of the chivalry of another, and his -appreciation of it. - -Athlyne could not but be glad of even so slight a relaxation of the -horrible tension. He stood quite still. He felt that in some way he -had scored with his antagonist; and as he was fighting for Joy he was -unwilling to do anything which might not be good for her. He was -standing well out in the room with his back to the door of the -bedroom. As they stood he saw a look of surprise flash in Colonel -Ogilvie’s face. This changed instantly to a fixed one of horror. His -eyes seemed to look right through his antagonist to something beyond. -Instinctively he turned to see what it might be that caused that -strange look. And then he looked horrified himself. - -In the open door-way of the bedroom stood Joy. - - - - - CHAPTER XX. - KNOWLEDGE OF LAW - -All three stood stone still. Not a sound was heard except faint -quick breathing. Athlyne tried to think; but his brain seemed numb. He -knew that now was a crisis if not _the_ crisis of the whole affair. It -chilled him with a deathly chill to think that Joy must have heard all -the conversation between her father and himself. What a remembrance -for her in all the empty years to come! What sorrow, what pain! -Presently he heard behind him as he stood facing her a sound which was -rather a groan than an ejaculation--a groan endowed with articulated -utterance: - -“Good God!” Unconsciously he repeated the word under his breath: - -“Good God!” - -Joy, with a fixed high-strung look, stepped down into the room. She -stood beside Athlyne who, as she came close to him, turned with her so -that together they faced her father. Colonel Ogilvie said in a slow -whisper, the words dropping out one by one: - -“Have--you--been--there--all--the--time? -Did--you--hear--all--we--said?” She answered boldly: - -“Yes! I was there and heard everything!” Again a long pause of -silence, ended by Colonel Ogilvie’s next question: - -“Why did you stay?” Joy answered at once; her quick speech following -the slow tension sounded almost voluble. - -“I could not get away. I wanted to; but there is no other door to the -room. That is why I came out here when I woke. … I could not get my -boots which the maid had taken last night, and I wanted to get away as -quickly as possible. And, Father, being there, though I had to move -about dressing myself, I could not help hearing everything!” Her -father had evidently expected that she would say something more, for -as she stopped there he looked at her expectantly. There was a sort of -dry sob in his throat. Athlyne stood still and silent; he hardly dared -to breathe lest he should unintentionally thwart Joy’s purpose. For -with all his instincts he realised that she had a purpose. He knew -that she understood her father and that she was the most potent force -to deal with him; and knowing this he felt that the best thing he -could do would be to leave her quite free and unhampered to take her -own course. He kept his eyes on her face, gazing at her unwinkingly. -Her face was fixed--not stern but set to a purpose. Somehow at that -moment he began to realise how well he understood her. Without more -help than his eyes could give him, he seemed to follow the workings of -her mind. For her mind was changing. At the first her expression was -of flinty fixedness; but as she continued to look at the old man it -softened; and with the softening her intentioned silence gave way. Her -lover’s thoughts translated thus: - -“I will protect my--him against my father. He has threatened him; he -is forcing him to death. I shall not help him by sparing him a pang, -an awkwardness. And yet--why that? He is an old man--and my father! -That white hair demands respect. He is angry--hard and untender now; -but his life has been a tender one to me--and he is my father! Though -I am determined to save my lover--my husband, I need not in the doing -cause that white head to sink in shame; I can spare him the pang of -what he may think ingratitude in me. And, after all, he has what must -seem to him just cause of offence. … He cannot--will not understand. -… He is brave and proud, and has a code of honour which is more than -a religion. And he my lover--my husband is brave too. And as -unyielding as my father. And he is willing to die--for me. To die for -me--_my_ honour _my_ happiness. Though his dying is worse--far worse -than death to me. … But he is dying bravely, and I--that was to have -been his wife--must die bravely, worthily too. If he can suffer and -die in silence, so too must I. …” - -It seemed a natural sequence of thought when she said to her father: - -“Daddy, do you know you have not said a word to me yet. What have I -ever done in my life that you should not trust me now? Have I ever -lied to you that you cannot trust me to answer truly when you ask -me--ask me anything. Why don’t you ask me now? I know that things do -not look well. I realise that you must have been shocked when you came -into the room. But, Daddy dear, there are few things in the world that -cannot be explained--at any rate in part. Don’t forget that I am a -woman now. I am no longer a child whose ignorance is her innocence. -Speak to me! Ask me what you will, and I will answer you truly! Hear -me, even as you would listen to one dying! For indeed it is so. If you -carry out your intention, as I have heard it expressed, I shall no -longer live; there will be nothing for me to live for.” - -“Do you mean that you will commit suicide?” said her father. - -“Oh, no! I hope I have pluck enough to live--if I can. Do not fear for -me, Daddy! I shall play the game full, as he will do.” As she spoke, -she pointed a finger at Athlyne. She felt now, and for the first time, -acutely that she did not know what to call him before a third -person--even her father. Athlyne looked relieved by her words. When -she spoke of dying he had grown sadly white; he shared her father’s -apprehension. Colonel Ogilvie saw the change in his look, and took it -ill. As may be surmised a part of his anger towards Athlyne arose from -jealousy. Until this man had appeared upon the scene his “little girl” -was his alone; no other man shared in her affection. As she was an -only child all his parental affection had been centred in her. Though -he might have been prepared to see her mate with a man of his own -choosing--or at any rate of his acceptance, he was jealous of the man -who had stepped in, unaccredited and wanting in deference to himself. -It must have been a tinge of this jealousy which prompted his next -question. Turning with a bitter formality to Athlyne he said: - -“I suppose you are satisfied, now, sir. Whatever may come, my daughter -is estranged from me; and it is your doing!” In answer Joy and Athlyne -spoke together. Said the latter: - -“Oh sir!” There he stopped; he feared to say more lest his anger -should master him. But the protest was effective; the old man -flushed--over forehead and ears and neck. Joy spoke in a different -vein: - -“There is no estrangement, Daddy dear; and therefore it can be no -one’s doing. Least of all could such a thing come from this man who -loves me, and … and whom I love.” As she spoke she blushed divinely, -and taking her lover’s right hand between both her hands held it -tight. This seemed for some reason to infuriate her father afresh. He -strode forward towards Athlyne as though about to strike him. But at -the instant there came a quick rap on the door. Instinctively he drew -away, and, having called out “Come!” stood expectingly and seemingly -calm. The door opened slightly and the voice of the Sheriff was heard: - -“May I come in? I am Alexander Fenwick, Sheriff of Galloway!” As he -was speaking he entered the room with a formal bow to each in turn. He -continued to speak to Colonel Ogilvie: - -“You will pardon this intrusion I hope, sir. Indeed I trust you will -not look upon it as an intrusion at all when you know the reason of my -coming.” Colonel Ogilvie’s habit of old-fashioned courtesy came at -once to the fore with the coming of a stranger. With a bow which to -those reared in a newer and less formal school of manners seemed -almost grandiloquent he spoke: - -“I came here on some business, and on my arrival a few minutes ago was -asked by our landlady--an old servant of my own--who on that account -thought that she might ask what she thought a favour--to come up here. -She thought, poor anxious soul, that some unpleasantness might be -afoot as she heard high words, and feared a quarrel. All the more on -account of a sudden arrival of a gentleman who seemed somewhat -incensed. This I took from her description of the personality, to be -you sir. Indeed, I recognise all the points, except that of the -anger!” As he spoke he bowed with pleasant courtesy. The other bowed -too, partly in answer to the implied question and partly in -recognition of the expressed courtesy of the words and manner. - -Whilst he had been speaking, the Sheriff had been watching keenly -those around him. He had been for so long a time in the habit of -forming his opinion rather by looks than words that the situation -seemed to explain itself; young lovers, angry father. This opinion was -justified and sustained by the confidence which had been given to him -by Athlyne on the previous afternoon. He had been, on entering the -room, rather anxious at the state of affairs; but now he began to -breathe more freely. He felt that his experience of life and of law -might really be here of some service. But his profession had also -taught him wariness and caution; also not to speak on side issues till -he knew the ground thoroughly. Joy he read like an open book. There -was no mistaking her love, her anxiety, her apprehension. Athlyne he -knew something of already, but he now saw in his face a warning look -which bade him be silent regarding him. He diagnosed Colonel Ogilvie -as a proud, masterful, vain, passionate man; something of a prig; -tender, in a way he understood himself; faithful to his word; -relentless to an expressed intention; just--according to his own ideas -of right and wrong. Weighing these attributes for his own pacific -purposes he came to the conclusion that his first effort at -conciliation should be made with regard to the last-mentioned. So he -began, speaking in a manner of courtly and deferential grace: - -“I trust sir, you will yield to me the consideration often asked by, -and sometimes granted to a well-intentioned man, however bungling the -same might be in thought or method or manner.” Colonel Ogilvie -conceded the favour with a gracious bow. Thus emboldened, if not -justified, he went on: - -“I fain would ask that I might be allowed to make something in the -nature of a short statement, and to make it without interruption or -expostulation. You will understand why presently.” Again the gracious -acquiescence; he continued: - -“You are, I take it, a stranger to this country; though, if I am not -misled by name and lineament, claiming Scottish forbears?” Colonel -Ogilvie’s bow came more naturally this time. His in-lying pride was -coming to the rescue of common sense. The Sheriff understood, and went -on with better heart: - -“The experience which I have had in the performance of my duties as -sheriff has shewn me that such a group as I see before me--father, -daughter and lover, if I mistake not--is not uncommon in this part of -Scotland.” No one answered his bow this time. All were grimly silent -in expectancy. He felt that it was a dangerous topic; but the fact had -been stated without being denied. He hurried on: - -“Just across the Border, as we are, we have had very many occasions of -run-away marriages; I have had myself in earlier days to explain for -the good of all parties how the law stands in such matters. More than -once the knowledge enabled those interested in it to spare much pain -to others; generally to those whom they loved best. I trust that now -I may use that knowledge in your behalf--as a friend. I am not here in -my official capacity--or perhaps I might not be so free to advise as I -am now without, I trust, offence to any one.” Colonel Ogilvie’s -gracious bow here answered for all the party. The Sheriff felt more at -ease. He was now well into his subject; and the most difficult part of -his duty had been, he thought, passed. All three of his hearers -listened eagerly as he went on: - -“A knowledge of the law can hurt no one; though it may now and again -disappoint some one--when expounded too late. Well, there is a common -belief in South Britain--and elsewhere that the marriage law in -Scotland is a very filmy thing, with bounds of demarcation which are -actually nebulous. This doubtless arises from the fact that all such -laws are based on the theory that it is good to help such contracting -parties to the secure and speedy fulfilment of their wishes. But -anyone who thinks that they are loose in either purpose or action is -apt to be rudely enlightened. The Scots’ Marriage laws demand that -there be a manifest and honest intention of marriage on the part of -the contractors. This intention can be proved in many ways. Indeed the -law in certain cases is willing to infer it, when direct proof is not -attainable, from subsequent acts of the parties. I may fairly say that -in all such cases courts of law will hold that mutuality of intention -is of the essence of marriage rite. This followed by co-habitation -_is_ the marriage; though the latter to follow close on the -declaration is not always deemed necessary. In our law the marriage -may be either of two kinds. The most formal is that effected by a -minister or proper official after due calling of banns, or by notice -given to sheriff or registrar. The other form is by what is known in -the law as ‘Irregular marriage.’ This is in legal parlance--for which -I make no apology as it is necessary that all married folk, or those -intending to enter that honourable condition should understand it--is -known as ‘intention followed by copula.’ Now you must know that either -form of marriage is equally binding--equal in law and honour; and when -the conditions attached to each form have been duly fulfilled such -marriage is irrefragable. In old days this facility of marriage made -Gretna Green, which is the first place across the Border, the -objective for eloping lovers matrimonially inclined; and as till 1856 -no previous residence in Scotland was required, romance was supposed -to stop at the Border. That is, the marriage could be effected and -parental objections--did such exist--were overborne. There were many -cynical souls who held that repentance for the hasty marriage could -then begin. I feel bound to say that this is an opinion in which I do -not myself share. - -“In 1856 an Act of Parliament, 20th Vict. Cap. 96, was passed, by -which it became necessary for the validity of irregular marriage that -at least one of the two contractors should have his or her usual -residence in Scotland, or have been resident in Scotland for three -full weeks next preceding the marriage. - -“I thank you, Colonel Ogilvie, for having listened to me so patiently. -But as I have no doubt that you three have much to say to each other I -shall withdraw for the present. This will leave you free to discuss -matters. And perhaps I may say, as an old man as well as a responsible -officer of the Law, that I trust the effect will be to make for peace -and amity. I am staying here in the hotel and I shall take it as a -great pleasure and a great honour if you will breakfast with me in say -an hour’s time. All your family will be most welcome.” With a bow, in -which deference and geniality were mingled, he withdrew. - -Each of the three left kept looking at each other in silence. Joy drew -closer to Athlyne and took his hand. Colonel Ogilvie pretended not to -notice the act--an effort on his part which made his daughter radiant -with hope. The first words spoken were by the Colonel: - -“That man is a gentleman!” The two others felt that silence was -present discretion; to agree with Colonel Ogilvie in his present mood -was almost as dangerous as to disagree with him. His next words were -in no way conciliatory though the _arrière pensée_ made for hope. - -“Now sir, what have you to say for yourself in this unhappy matter? -Remember I in no way relax my intention of--of punishment; but I am -willing to hear what you have to say.” Athlyne winced at the word -“punishment,” which was not one which he was accustomed to hear -applied to himself. But for Joy’s sake he made no comment. He even -kept his face fixed so as not to betray his anger. He felt that any -change of subject, or drifting off that before them, must be for the -better; things could, he felt, hardly be worse than at present. -Moreover, it might smooth matters somewhat if Colonel Ogilvie could be -brought to recollect that he was not himself an undesirable person for -alliance, and that his intention of matrimony had been already brought -before Joy’s father. In this conviction he spoke: - -“As in this country, sir, intention counts for so much, may I crave -your indulgence for a moment and refer you back to my letter to you on -the subject of a very dear wish of mine--a wish put before you with a -very decided intention.” Colonel Ogilvie’s answer, given in manner of -equal suavity, was disconcerting; the bitterness behind it was -manifest. - -“I think sir, there must be some error--which is not mine. I never -received any letter from you! Your epistolary efforts seem to have -been confined to the ladies of my family.” With an effort Athlyne -restrained himself. When he felt equal to the task he spoke, still -with a manner of utmost deference: - -“An error there surely is; but it is not mine either. I posted -yesterday at the Ambleside post office a letter to you. …” He was -interrupted by Colonel Ogilvie who said bluntly: - -“I am not so sure, sir, that the fault of my not reading such a letter -was not yours; though perhaps not in the direct manner you mean. When -I arrived home last night and found the horrible state of things with -regard to my daughter’s rash act--due to you” this with a look of -actual malevolence “I was so upset that I did not look at the pile of -letters awaiting me. I only read Joy’s messages.” As he said this -Athlyne’s eyes flashed and there was an answering flash in the eyes of -the woman who looked so keenly at him; this was the first time since -his arrival that the father had condescended to even mention his -daughter’s name. There might be some softening of that hard nature -after all. Then the old man continued: - -“I put them in my pocket; here they are!”--Whilst he looked at the -envelopes in that futile way that some people unused to large -correspondence love, Joy said with an easy calmness which made her -lover glance at her in surprise: - -“Daddy, hadn’t you better read your letters now; we shall wait.” The -tone was so much that to which he was accustomed from her that he did -not notice the compromising “we” which would otherwise have inflamed -him afresh. Drawing a chair close to one of the windows he opened the -letters and began to read. Athlyne and Joy, instinctively and with -unity of thought, moved towards the other window which was behind him. -There they stood hand in hand, their eyes following every movement of -the old man. Joy did not know, of course, what was in the letter; but -she had seen it before in the garden at Ambleside and when he had -posted it before setting out on their motor ride. And so, piecing her -information with the idea conveyed by her lover’s recent words, she -was able to form some sort of idea of its general import. A soft, -beautiful blush suffused her face, and her eyes glistened as she stood -thinking; in the effort of thought she recalled many sweet passages. -She now understood in a vague way what was the restraining influence -which had moved her lover to reticence during all those hours when he -had tried to tell her of his love and his hopes without actually -speaking words, the knowledge of which given without his consent would -have incensed her father against him, and so wrought further havoc. So -moved was she that Athlyne, whose eyes were instinctively drawn to her -from the observation of her father, was amazed and not a little -disconcerted. There must be some strange undercurrent of feeling in -her which he could not understand. Joy saw the look on his face and -seemed to understand. She raised to her lips the hand that she so -strongly clasped in hers and kissed it. Then she raised a finger of -her other hand and touched her lips. Thus reassured of her love and -understanding, Athlyne followed with his eyes the trend of hers; and -so together they continued to watch her father, trying to gather from -his bearing some indication of his thoughts. Indeed this was not a -difficult matter. Colonel Ogilvie seemed to have lost himself in his -task, and expressed his comments on what he read by a series of -childlike movements and ejaculations. Athlyne who knew what the letter -contained could apply these enlightening comments, and even Joy in her -ignorance of detail could inferentially follow the text. Colonel -Ogilvie did say a word of definite speech, but the general tendency of -his comment was that of surprise--astonishment. When he had finished -reading Athlyne’s letter--it was the last of the batch--he sat for -quite half a minute quite still and silent, holding the paper between -finger and thumb of his dropped left hand. Then with a deep frown on -his forehead he began to read it again. He was evidently looking for -some passage, for when he had found it he stood up at once and turned -to them. By this time Joy, warned by the movement, had dropped her -lover’s hand and now stood some distance away from him. The old man -began: - -“Sir … There is a passage in a letter here which I understand to be -yours. So far I must acknowledge that I have been wrong. You evidently -_did_ send the letter, and I evidently received it. Listen to this: -‘Having heard in a roundabout way that there was a woman in New York -who was passing herself off as my wife I undertook a journey to that -City to make investigation into the matter; and in order to secure the -necessary secrecy as to my movements took for the time an assumed -name--or rather used as Christian and surname two of those names in -the middle of my full equipment which I do not commonly use.’ What -does all that mean? No, do not speak. Wait and I shall tell you. You -say the lady--woman you call her--took your name. For saying such a -thing, and for the disrespect in her description as a woman, you will -have to answer me. Either of them will cost you your life.” Athlyne -answered with a quiet, impressive dignity which helped in some degree -to reassure Joy who stood motionless in open-eyed wonder--her heart -seeming to her as cold as ice at the horror of this new phase of -danger. It was a veritable “bolt from the blue,” incomprehensible to -her in every way: - -“Colonel Ogilvie, I regret I shall be unable to meet your wishes in -this respect!” As the old man looked astonished in his turn, he -proceeded: - -“I already owe you a life on another count; and I have but one. But if -I had ten you should have them all, could they in any way assuage the -sorrow which it seems must follow from my thoughtless act. I have told -you already that I shall freely give my life in expiation of the wrong -I have--all unintentionally--done to your daughter and yourself. And -if any means could be found by which it could add to Joy’s happiness -or lessen her sorrow I should in addition and as freely give my soul!” - -Colonel Ogilvie’s reception of these words was characteristic of the -man, as he took himself to be. He drew himself up to his full height -and stood at attention. Then he saluted, and followed his salute with -a grave bow. The soldier in him spoke first, the man after. Both Joy -and Athlyne noticed with new hope that he allowed the speaking of her -name to pass unchallenged as a further cause of offence. Presently, -and in a new tone, he said: - -“I have taken it for granted from the allusions in your letter that -you are the writer; and from your mentioning an alias have not been -surprised at seeing a strange name in the signature. But I have been -and am surprised at the familiarity from a man of your years to a man -of mine of a mere Christian name.” - -It was now Athlyne’s turn to be surprised. - -“A Christian name!” he said with a puzzled pucker of his brows. “I am -afraid I don’t understand.” Then a light dawning on him he said with a -slight laugh: “But that is not my Christian name.” - -“Then your surname?” queried the Colonel. - -“Nor my surname either.” His laugh was now more pronounced, more -boyish. - -“Oh I see; still another alias!” The words were bitter; the tone of -manifest offence. - -Athlyne laughed again; it was not intentional but purely spontaneous. -He was recalled to seriousness by the look of pain and apprehension on -Joy’s face and by the Colonel’s angry words, given with a look of -fury: - -“I am not accustomed to be laughed at--and to my face Mr.--Mr.--Mr. -Richard Hardy Athlyne et cetera.” - -His apology for inopportune mirth was given with contrition--even -humbly: - -“I ask your pardon, Colonel Ogilvie, very deeply, very truly. But the -fact is that Athlyne is my proper signature, though it is neither -Christian name nor surname. I do hope you will attribute my rudeness -rather to national habit than to any personal wish to wound. Surely -you will see that I would at least be foolish to transgress in such a -direction, if it be only that I aim at so much that it is in your -power to grant.” There was reason in this which there was no -resisting. Colonel Ogilvie bowed--he felt that he could do no less. -Athlyne wisely said no more; both men regarded the incident as closed. - -With Joy it was different. The incident gave her the information she -lacked for the completion of the circle of her knowledge. As with a -flash she realised the whole secret: that this man who had saved her -life and whom now her father wanted to kill was none other than the -man whose name she had taken--at first in sport and only lately in -order to protect herself from troubles of inquisitiveness and scandal. -At the moment she was in reality the only one of the three--the only -one at all--who had in her hand all the clues. Neither her father nor -Athlyne knew that she had given to the maid at the hotel a name other -than her own. - -She began to have also an unconscious knowledge of something else. -Something which she could not define, some intuition of some coming -change; something which hinged on her giving of the name. Now, for the -first time she realised how dangerous it may be for any one to take -the name of any other person--for any purpose whatever, or from any -cause. She could not see the end. - -But though her brain did not classify the idea her blood did. She -blushed so furiously that she had serious thoughts of escaping from -the room. Nothing but the danger which might arise from such a step -kept her in her place. But something must, she felt, be done. Things -were so shaping towards reconciliation that it would be wise to -prevent matters slipping back. For an instant she was puzzled as to -what to do; then an inspiration came to her. Turning to her father she -said: - -“Daddy, let us ask the old Sheriff to come in again!” She felt that -she could rely on his discretion, and that in his hands things might -slide into calmer waters. Her father acquiesced willingly, and a -courteous message was sent through a servant. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI. - APPLICATION OF LAW - -Whilst the servant was gone there was a great clatter of arrival of -a motor at the hotel; but all in Athlyne’s room were too deeply -concerned with their own affairs to notice it. - -Presently there was a light tap at the door, and the Sheriff’s “May I -come in?” was heard. Colonel Ogilvie went himself to the door and -threw it open. Beside the Sheriff stood a lady, heavily clad and with -a motor veil. - -“Joy! Joy!” said the veiled figure, and Aunt Judy stepping forward -took the girl in her arms. In the meantime the Sheriff was explaining -the situation: - -“I was just coming from my room in obedience to your summons, when -this lady entered the hall. She was asking for you, Colonel, and for -Miss Ogilvie, as who she had learned at the railway station, was -stopping here. I ventured to offer my services, and as she was coming -up here, undertook to pilot her.” - -Joy was delighted to see Judy. She had so long been accustomed to look -with fixed belief on her love and friending that she now expected she -would be able to set matters right. Had she had any doubt of her -Aunt’s affection such must have soon disappeared in the warmth of the -embrace accorded by her. When this was concluded--which was soon for -it was short, if strenuous--she turned to Colonel Ogilvie and held out -her hand: - -“Good morning, Lucius. I see you got here all right. I hope you had a -good journey?” Then turning to Athlyne she said, as if in surprise: - -“Why, Mr. Hardy, how are you? And how do you come to be here? We -thought we were never going to see you again.” Then she rattled on; it -was evident to Joy, and to Colonel Ogilvie also, that she was -purposeful to baffle comment by flow of her own speech: - -“Lucius, you must thank this gentleman who is, as the landlady -whispered to me, the Sheriff of somewhere or other. He’s a nice man, -but a funny sort of Sheriff. When I asked him where was his posse he -didn’t know what I meant.” Here she was interrupted by the Sheriff who -said with a low bow to her: - -“It is enough for any man, dear lady, to be in _esse_ in such a -charming presence!” Judy did not comprehend the joke; but she knew, -being a woman, that some sort of compliment was intended; and, being a -woman, beamed accordingly: - -“Thank you, sir, both for your kindness in helping me and for your -pretty talk. Joy, I have brought your dressing bag and a fresh rig -out. You must need them, poor dear. Now you must tell me all your -adventures. I told them to bring the things presently to your room. I -shall then come with you whilst you are changing. Now, Mr. Sheriff, we -must leave you for a little; but I suppose that as you have to talk -business--you told me they had sent for you--you will doubtless prefer -to be without us?” - -“Your pardon,” said the Sheriff gracefully. “I hope the time will -never come when I shall prefer to be without such charming company!” -This was said with such a meaning look, and in such a meaning tone, -that Judy coloured. Joy, unseen by the others, smiled at her, -rejoicing. The Sheriff, thinking they were moving off, turned to the -Colonel saying: - -“Now, Colonel Ogilvie, I am at your disposal; likewise such knowledge -of law and custom as I possess.” He purposely addressed himself to -Colonel Ogilvie, evidently bearing in mind Athlyne’s look of warning -to silence regarding himself. - -Whilst he had been speaking, Joy stood still, holding Judy by the hand -and keeping her close to her. Judy whispered, holding her mouth close -to her ear and trying to avoid the observation of the others: - -“Come away dear whilst they are talking. They will be freer alone!” -Joy whispered in return: - -“No, I must not go. I must stay here, I am wanted. Do not say -anything, dear--not a word; but stay by me.” Judy in reply squeezed -her hand and remained silent. Colonel Ogilvie, with manifest -uneasiness and after clearing his throat, said to the Sheriff: - -“As you have been so good sir, as to tell me some matters of law; and -as you have very kindly offered us other services, may I trespass on -your kindness in enlightening me as to some matters of fact.” The -Sheriff bowed; he continued: - -“I must crave your indulgence, for I am in some very deep distress, -and possibly not altogether master of myself. But I need some advice, -or at any rate enlightenment as to some matters of law. And as I am -far from home and know no one here who is of legal authority--except -yourself,” this with a bow, “I shall be deeply grateful if I may -accept your kindness and speak to you as a friend.” Again the Sheriff -bowed, his face beaming. Colonel Ogilvie, with a swift, meaning glance -at each of the others in turn, went on: - -“I must ask you all to keep silent. I am speaking with this gentleman -for my own enlightenment, and require no comments from any of you. -Indeed, I forbid interruption!” Unpromising as this warning sounded, -both Joy and Athlyne took a certain comfort from it. The point they -both attached importance to was that Athlyne was simply classed with -the rest without differentiation. The Sheriff, who feared lest the -father’s domineering tone might provoke hostilities, spoke quickly: - -“Now, Colonel Ogilvie, I am at your disposal for whatever you may wish -to ask me.” - -“I suppose Mr. Sheriff, I need not say, that I trust you will observe -honourable silence regarding this whole painful affair; as I expect -that all present will.” This was said with a threatening smile. When -the Sheriff bowed acceptance of the condition he went on: - -“Since you spoke to us here a little while ago a strange enlightenment -has come to me. Indeed a matter so strange and so little in accord -with the experiences of my own life that I am in a quandary. I should -really like to know exactly how I--how we all stand at present. From -what you have said about the Scottish marriage laws I take it that you -have an inkling of what has gone on. And so, as you are in our -confidence, you will not perhaps mind if I confide further in you?” - -“I shall be deeply honoured, Colonel Ogilvie.” - -“Thank you again, sir. You are a true friend to a man in deep distress -and in much doubt … We are, as you perhaps know, Americans. My -daughter’s life was saved by a gentleman in New York. I think it right -to say that it was on his part a very gallant act, and that we were -all deeply grateful to him. He came to my house--at my own invitation; -and my wife and her sister, Miss Judith Hayes”--the Sheriff turned to -Judy and bowed as at an introduction; she curtsied in reply--“were -very pleased with him. But we never saw him again. He returned very -soon afterwards to England; and though we were coming to London he -never came near us. Indeed his neglect was marked; for though I -invited him to call, he ignored us.” As he said this he looked -straight at Athlyne with hard eyes. “I have reason to know that my -daughter was much interested in him. Ordinarily speaking I should not -mention a matter of this kind. But as I have received from him--it has -only been made known to me in the interval since our meeting--an -assurance of his affection and a proffer of marriage, I feel that I -may speak.” He turned away and began walking up and down the room as -though trying to collect his thoughts. - -As Joy heard him speak of her own interest in the man and of his -proposal of marriage she blushed deeply, letting her eyes fall. But -when, by some of the divine instinct of love, she knew that he was -looking ardently at her she raised them, swimming, to his. And so once -more they looked deep into each other’s souls. Judy felt the trembling -of the girl’s hand and held it harder with a sympathetic clasp, palm -to palm and with fingers interlaced. She felt that she understood; and -her eyes, too, became sympathetically suffused. The Sheriff had now no -eyes except for Judy. Whilst the Colonel had been speaking he had -looked at him of course--he knew well that it would be a cause of -offence if he did not. But the walking up and down gave him -opportunity for his wishes. Judy could not but recognise the ardour of -his glance, and she too blushed exceedingly. Somehow, she was glad of -it; she knew that blushing became her, and she felt that she would -like to look her best to the eyes of this fine, kindly old man. - -When Colonel Ogilvie began to speak again there was a change in him. -He seemed more thoughtful, more cautious, more self-controlled; -altogether he was more like his old self. There was even a note of -geniality in his voice. - -“What I want to ask you in especial is this: How can we avoid any sort -of scandal over this unhappy occurrence? My daughter has acted -thoughtlessly in going out alone in a motor with a gentleman. Through -a series of accidents it appears that that ride was unduly and -unintentionally prolonged, and ended in her being caught in a fog and -lost. By accident she came here, walking after the motor had broken -down. She slept last night in that room; and the man, who had also -found his way hither later, slept, unknowing of her proximity, in -this. I need not tell you that such a state of things is apt to lead -to a scandal. Now, and now only, is the time to prevent it” … He was -interrupted by the Sheriff who spoke hurriedly, as one who had already -considered the question and had his mind made up: - -“There will be no scandal!” He spoke in so decided a way that the -other was impressed. - -“How do you know? What ground have you for speaking so decidedly?” - -“It rests entirely on you--yourself, Colonel Ogilvie.” - -“What!” His tone was laden with both anger and surprise. “Do you think -I would spread any ill report of my own daughter? Sir, you must----” -Once more the Sheriff cut into his speaking: - -“You misapprehend me, Colonel Ogilvie. You misapprehend me entirely. -Why should I--how could I think such a thing! No! I mean that if you -accept the facts as they seem to me to be, no one--not you, nor any -one else, can make scandal; if you do not!” - -“Explain yourself,” he interrupted. “Nay, do not think me rude”--here -he put up a deprecating hand--“but I am so deeply anxious about my -daughter’s happiness--her future welfare and happiness,” he added as -he remembered how his violent attitude had, only a few minutes ago -imperilled--almost destroyed, that happiness. Joy had been, off and -on, whispering a word to her aunt so that the latter was now fairly -well posted in the late events. - -“Quite so! quite so, my dear sir. Most natural thing in the world,” -said the Sheriff soothingly. “Usual thing under the circumstances is -to kill the man; or want to kill him!” As he spoke he looked at -Athlyne meaningly. The other understood and checked the words which -were rising to his lips. Then, having tided over the immediate danger -of explosion, the Sheriff went on: - -“The fact is Colonel Ogilvie, that the series of doings (and perhaps -misdoings) and accidents, which have led to our all meeting here and -now, has brought about a strange conclusion. So far as I can -see”--here his manner grew grave and judicial--“these two young people -are at the present moment man and wife. Lawfully married according to -Scottish law!” - -The reception of this dictum was varied. Colonel Ogilvie almost -collapsed in overwhelming amazement. Joy, blushing divinely, looked at -her husband adoringly. Athlyne seemed almost transfigured and -glorified; the realisation of all his hopes in this sudden and -unexpected way showed unmistakably how earnest they had been. Judy, -alone of all the party, was able to express herself in conventional -fashion. This she did by clapping her hands and, then by kissing the -whole party--except the Sheriff who half stood forward as though in -hope that some happy chance might include him in the benison. She -began with Joy and went on to her brother-in-law, who accepted with a -better grace than she feared would have been accorded. When she came -to Athlyne she hesitated for a moment, but with a “now-or-never” rush -completed the act, and fell back shyly with a belated timorousness. - -The Sheriff, having paused for the completion of this little domestic -ceremony, went on calmly: - -“Since I left you a few minutes ago I have busied myself with making a -few necessary inquiries from my old servant Jane McBean, now -McPherson. I made them, I assure you Colonel Ogilvie, very discreetly. -Even Jane, who is in her way a clever woman, has no suspicion that I -was even making inquiry. The result has been to confirm me in my -original conjecture, which was to the effect that there has been -executed between these two people an ‘irregular’ marriage!” At the -mention of the words the Colonel exploded: - -“God’s death, sir, the women of the Ogilvies don’t make irregular -marriages!” The Sheriff went calmly on, only noticing the protest for -the sake of answering it. - -By this time Joy and Judith were close together, holding hands. -Insensibly the girl drew her Aunt over to where Athlyne was standing -and took him by the arm. He raised his other hand and with it covered -the hand that lay on his arm, pressing it closer as he listened -attentively to the Sheriff’s expounding of the law: - -“I gather that I did not express myself clearly when a short time ago -I spoke of the Scottish marriage laws. Let me now be more precise. And -as I am trying to put into words understandable by all a somewhat -complex subject I shall ask that no one present will make any remark -whatever till this part of my task has been completed. I shall then -answer to the best of my power any question or questions which any of -you may choose to ask me. - -“Let me begin by assuring you all that what in Scottish law we call an -‘irregular’ marriage is equally binding in every way with a ‘regular’ -marriage; the word only refers to form or method, and in no wise to -the antecedents or to the result. In our law ‘Mutual Consent’ -constitutes marriage. You will observe that I speak of marriage--not -the proof of it. Proof is quite a different matter; and as it is -formally to be certified by a Court it is naturally hedged in by -formalities. This consent, whether proved or not, whether before -witnesses or not, should of course be followed by co-habitation; but -even this is not necessary. The dictum of Scots’ law is ‘_Concensus -non concubitus facit matrimonium_.’ But I have a shrewd suspicion that -the mind of the Court is helped to a declaration of validity when -_concensus_ has been followed by _concubitus_. - -“Now let us take the present case and examine it as though testing it -in a Court of Law; for such is the true means to be exact. This man -and woman--we don’t know ‘gentleman’ and ‘lady’ in the Law--declared -in the presence of witnesses that they were man and wife. That is, the -man declared to the police sergeant at Dalry that the woman was his -wife; and the woman declared timeously to the police officer who made -the arrest that the man was her husband. These two statements, -properly set out, would in themselves be evidence not only of inferred -consent by declaration _de præsenti_ but of the same thing by ‘habit -and repute.’ The law has been thus stated: - - -“‘It may be held that a man and a woman, by living together and -holding themselves out as married persons, have sufficiently declared -their matrimonial consent; and in that case they will be declared to -be married although no specific promise of marriage or of _de -præsenti_ acknowledgement has been proved.’ - - -“But there is a still more cogent and direct proof, should such be -required. Each of these consenting parties to the contract of -‘marriage by consent,’ on coming separately to this hotel last night -gave to the servant of the house who admitted them the name by which I -hold they are now bound in honourable wedlock!” He spoke the last -sentences gravely and impressively after the manner of an advocate -pressing home on a jury the conclusion of an elaborate train of -reasoning. Whilst speaking he had kept his eyes fixed on Colonel -Ogilvie, who unconsciously took it that an exhortation on patience and -toleration was being addressed to him. The effect was increased by the -action of Joy, who seeing him all alone and inferring his spiritual -loneliness, left Judith but still holding Athlyne’s arm drew the -latter towards him. Then she took her father’s arm and stood between -the two men whom she loved. Judy quietly took Athlyne’s other arm, and -so all stood in line holding each other as they faced the Sheriff. No -one said a word; all were afraid to break the silence. - -“We now come to further proofs if such be required. The woman, who -arrived first, gave the name of Lady Athlyne.” Here Joy got fearfully -red; she was conscious of her father’s eyes on her, even before she -heard him say: - -“That foolish joke again! Did not I forbid you to use it daughter?” -She felt it would be unwise to answer, to speak at all just at -present. In desperation she raised her eyes to the face of her -lover--and was struck with a sort of horrified amazement. For an -instant it had occurred to him that Joy must have known his -identity--for some time past at all events. The thought was, however, -but momentary. Her eyes fell again quickly, and she stood in abashed -silence. There was nothing to do now but to wait. The calm voice of -the Sheriff went on, like the voice of Doom: - -“The man arrived later. He himself had wired in his own name for -rooms; but by the time he had arrived the possibility of his coming -had, owing to the fog, been given up. The other traveller had been -given the bedroom, and he slept on the sofa in the sitting-room--this -room.” As he spoke he went over to the door of communication between -the rooms and examined the door. There were no fastenings except the -ordinary latch; neither lock nor bolt. He did not say a word, but -walked back to his place. Judy could not contain her curiosity any -longer; she blurted out: - -“What name did he give?” The Sheriff looked at her admiringly as he -answered: - -“The name he gave, dear lady, was ‘Athlyne’!” - -“Is that your name?” she queried--this time to Athlyne. - -“It is!” He pulled himself up to his full height and stood on his -dignity as he said it. His name should not be dishonoured if he could -help it. - -Colonel Ogilvie stood by with an air of conscious superiority. He -already knew the name from Athlyne’s letter, though he had not up to -that moment understood the full import of it. He was willing to be -further informed through Judy’s questioning. - -“And you are Lord Athlyne--the Earl of Athlyne?” - -“Certainly!” - -To the astonishment of every one of the company Judy burst into a wild -peal of hysterical laughter. This closely followed a speech of broken -utterance which only some of those present understood at all--and of -those some only some few partly. “Athlyne!”--“kill him for -it!”--“calling herself by his name,”--“oh! oh! A-h-h!” There was a -prolonged screech and then hysterical laughter followed. At the first -this unseemly mirth created a feeling of repulsion in all who heard. -It seemed altogether out of place; in the midst of such a serious -conversation, when the lives and happiness of some of those present -were at stake, to have the train of thought broken by so inopportune a -cachinnation was almost unendurable. Colonel Ogilvie was furious. Well -was it for the possibilities of peace that his peculiar life and ideas -had trained him to be tolerant of woman’s weakness, and to be -courteous to them even under difficulties. For had he given any -expression to his natural enough feelings such would inevitably have -brought him into collision--intellectual if not physical--with both -Athlyne and the Sheriff; and either was to be deplored. Joy was in her -heart indignant, for several reasons. It was too hard that, just as -things were possibly beginning to become right and the fine edge of -tragedy to be turned, her father’s mind should be taken back to anger -and chagrin. But far beyond this on the side of evil was the fact that -it imperilled afresh the life of--of the man she loved, her … her -husband. Even the personal aspect to her could not be overlooked. The -ill-timed laughter prevented her hearing more of … of the man who it -now seemed was already her husband. However she restrained and -suppressed herself and waited, still silent, for the development of -things. But she did not consider looks as movements; she raised her -eyes to Athlyne’s adoringly, and kept them there. He in turn had been -greatly upset for the moment; even now, whilst those wild peals of -hysterical laughter continued to resound, he could not draw any -conclusions from the wild whirl of inchoate thoughts. There was just -one faint gleam of light which had its origin rather in instinct than -reason, that perhaps the interruption had its beneficial side which -would presently be made manifest. When Joy looked towards him there -was a balm for his troubled spirit. In the depths of her beautiful -eyes he lost himself--and his doubts and sorrows, and was content. - -The only one unmoved was the Sheriff. His mental attitude allowed him -to look at things more calmly than did those personally interested. -With the exception of one phase--that of concern that this particular -woman, who had already impressed her charming personality on his -heart, should be in such distress--he could think, untroubled, of the -facts before him. With that logical mind of his, and with his -experience of law and the passions that lead to law-invoking, he knew -that the realization of Athlyne’s name and position was a troublesome -matter which might have been attended with disastrous consequences. To -a man of Colonel Ogilvie’s courage and strong passion the presence of -an antagonist worthy of his powers is rather an incentive to quarrel -than a palliative. - -As to poor Judy she was in no position to think at all. She was to all -practical intents, except for the noise she was occasionally -making--her transport was subsiding--as one who is not. She continued -intermittently her hysterical phrenzy--to laugh and cry, each at the -top note--and commingling eternally. She struggled violently as she -sat on the chair into which she had fallen when the attack began; she -stamped her heels on the floor, making a sound like gigantic -castanets. The sound and restless movement made an embarrassing -_milieu_ for the lucid expression of law and entangled facts; but -through it all the Sheriff, whose purpose after all was to convince -Ogilvie, went on with his statement. By this time Joy, and Athlyne, -whom with an appealing look she had summoned to help, were -endeavouring to restore Judy. One at either side they knelt by her, -holding her hands and slapping them and exercising such other -ministrations as the girl out of her limited experience of such -matters could, happily to soothing effect, suggest. The Sheriff’s -voice, as calm voices will, came through the disturbance seemingly -unhindered: - -“Thus you will note that in all this transaction the Earl of Athlyne -had made no disguise of his purpose. To the police who arrested him he -at once disclosed his identity, which the sergeant told me was -verified by the name on his motor-driver’s license. He telegraphed to -the hotel by his title--as is fitting and usual; and he gave his title -when he arrived. As I have already said, he stated to the police, at -first on his own initiative and later when interrogated directly on -the point, that the woman in the motor was his wife. And the identity -of the woman in the motor and the woman in the hotel can easily be -proved. Thus on the man’s part there is ample evidence of that -matrimonial purpose which the law requires. All this without counting -the letter to the woman’s father, in which he stated his wish and -intention to marry her. - -“Now as to the woman--and I must really apologise to her for speaking -of the matter in her presence.”--Here Athlyne interrupted his -ministrations with regard to Judy in order to expostulate: - -“Oh, I say Mr. Sheriff. Surely it is not necessary.” But the Sheriff -shut him up quite shortly. He had a purpose in so doing: he wished in -his secret heart to warn both Athlyne and Joy not to speak a word till -he had indicated that the time had come for so doing. - -“There is nothing necessary, my Lord; except that both you and the -young lady should listen whilst I am speaking! I am doing so for the -good of you both; and I take it as promised that neither of you will -say a single word until I have told you that you may do so.” - -“Quite right!” this was said _sotto voce_ by Colonel Ogilvie. - -“You, young madam, have taken upon yourself the responsibilities of -wifehood; and it is right as well as necessary that you understand -them; such of them at least as have bearing upon the present -situation. - -“As to the woman. She, when questioned by the police as to her status -for the purpose of verification of Lord Athlyne’s statement, accepted -that statement. Later on, she of her own free will and of her own -initiative, gave her name as Lady Athlyne--only the bearer of which -could be the wife of the Defender; I mean of Lord Athlyne.” The -interruption this time came from Colonel Ogilvie. - -“If Lord Athlyne is Defender, who is the other party?” - -“Lady Athlyne, or Miss Ogilvie, in whichever name she might take -action, would be the Pursuer!” - -“Sir!” thundered the Colonel, going off as usual at half-cock, “do you -insinuate that my daughter is pursuer of a man?” He grew speechless -with indignation. The Sheriff’s coolness stood to him there, when the -fury of the Kentuckian was directed to him personally. In the same -even tone he went on speaking: - -“I must ask--I really _must_ ask that you do not be so hasty in your -conclusions whilst I am speaking, Colonel Ogilvie. You must understand -that I am only explaining the law; not even giving any opinion of my -own. The terminology of Scot’s Law is peculiar, and differs from -English law in such matters. For instance what in English law is -‘Plaintiff and Defendant’ becomes with us ‘Pursuer and Defender.’ -There may be a female as well as a male Pursuer. Thus on the grounds -of present consent as there is ample proof of Matrimonial Consent of -either and both parties--sufficient for either to use against the -other. I take it that the Court would hold the marriage proved; unless -_both_ parties repudiated the Intent. This I am sure would never be; -for if there were any mutual affection neither would wish to cause -such gossip as would inevitably ensue. And if either party preferred -that the union should continue, either from motives of love or -interest, the marriage could be held good. And I had better say at -once, since it is a matter to be considered by any parent, that should -there have been any valid ground for what you designate as ‘scandal,’ -such would in the eyes of the law be only the proper and necessary -completion of the act of marriage. And let me say also that the fact -of the two parties, thus become one by the form of Irregular Marriage, -having passed the night in this suite of rooms without bolt of -fastening on the connecting door would be taken by a Court as proof of -consummation. No matter by what entanglement of events--no matter how -or by what accident or series of accidents the two parties came into -this juxtaposition! - -“There is but one other point to be considered regarding the validity -of this marriage. It is that of compliance with the terms of Lord -Brougham’s Act of 1856. The man has undoubted domicile in Scotland for -certain legal purposes. But the marriage law requires a further and -more rigid reading of residence than mere possession of estates. The -words are that one of the parties to the marriage must ‘have his or -her usual place of residence’ in this Country. But as I have shown you -that in Lord Athlyne’s case his living in Scotland for several weeks -in one or other of his own houses would be certainly construed by any -Court as compliance with the Act, I do not think that any question of -legality could arise. Indeed it is within my own knowledge that as a -Scottish peer--Baron of Ceann-da-Shail--who declared Scottish domicile -on reaching his majority and whose ‘domicile of origin’ was not -affected by his absence as an officer in foreign service, his status -for the purpose of Scottish marriage is unassailable. - -“In fine let me point out that I am speaking altogether of _proof_ of -the marriage itself. The actual marriage is in law the consent of the -parties; and such has undoubtedly taken place. The only possible -condition of its nullity would be the repudiation of the implied -Consent by both of the parties. One alone would not be sufficient! - -“And now, Colonel Ogilvie, as I believe it will be well that you and -the two young people should consider the situation from this point of -view, will you allow me to withdraw--still on the supposition that you -will join me later at breakfast. And if this merry lady”--pointing to -Judy who had gained composure sufficiently to hear the end of his -explanation--“will honour me by coming to my sitting-room, just below -this, where breakfast will be served, it may perhaps be better. I take -it that you will be all able to speak more freely, you and your -daughter--and her husband!” - -He withdrew gracefully, giving his arm to Judy who having risen -bashfully had taken his extended arm. She was blushing furiously. - -The door closed behind him, leaving Joy standing between her father -and Athlyne, and holding an arm of each. - - - - - CHAPTER XXII. - THE HATCHET BURIED - -For a few minutes there was silence in the room; silence so profound -that every sound of the street was clearly heard. Even the shutting of -the Sheriff’s door in the room below was distinct. - -The first to speak was Colonel Ogilvie. Athlyne, who would have liked -to break the silence refrained through prudence; he feared that were -he to speak before Colonel Ogilvie did, that easily-irate gentleman -might take offence. He knew that this might be disastrous, for it -would renew the old strife in an acute form; as it was, there were -distinct indications of coming peace. Joy, and Joy alone, was to be -thought of now. By this time Athlyne was beginning to get the measure -of Colonel Ogilvie’s foot. He realised that the dictatorial, -vindictive, blood-thirsty old man would perhaps do much if left to -himself; but that if hindered or thwarted or opposed in any way his -pride or his vanity--and they were united in him--would force him to -keep his position at any cost. - -“Well, sir?” The tone was so peremptory and so “superior” that any man -to whom it had been used might well have taken offence; but Athlyne -was already schooled to bear, and moreover the statement made by the -Sheriff filled his heart with such gladness that he felt that he could -bear anything. As Joy was now his wife he _could_ not quarrel with her -father--nor receive any quarrel from him. Still, all the same, he felt -that he must support and maintain his own independent position; such -would be the best road to ultimate peace. Moreover, he had his own -pride; and as he had already made up his mind to die if need be for -Joy’s sake, he could not go back on that resolution without seeming to -be disloyal to her. There would--could--be no hiding anything from her -as she had already heard the whole of the quarrel and of his -acquiescence to her father’s challenge. No one, however, would have -thought he had any quarrel who heard his reply, spoken in exquisitely -modulated accents of respect: - -“Need I say, Colonel Ogilvie, that I am equally proud and happy in -finding myself allied with your House by my marriage with your -daughter. For, sir, I love her with all my soul, as well as with all -my heart and mind. She is to me the sweetest, dearest and best thing -in all the universe. I am proud of her and respect her as much as I -love her; and to you, her father, I hope I may say that I bless--and -shall ever bless for so long as I live--the day that I could call her -mine.” As he spoke, Joy’s hand on his arm, which had trembled at the -beginning, now gripped him hard and firmly. Turning his eyes to hers -he saw in them a look of adoration which made his heart leap and his -blood seem on fire. The beautiful eyes fell for an instant as a red -tide swept her face and neck; but in an instant more they were raised -to his eyes and hung there, beaming with pride and love and happiness. -This nerved and softened him at once, to even a gentler feeling -towards the old man; those lovely eyes had always looked trustingly -and lovingly into her father’s, and he would never disturb--so he -vowed to himself--if he could avoid it by any sacrifice on his part, -such filial and parental affection. And so, with gentler voice and -softened mien, he went on speaking. - -“Now I must ask you to believe, sir, that with the exception of that -one fault--a grave one I admit--of taking Miss Ogilvie out alone in my -motor I have not willingly or consciously been guilty of any other -disrespect towards you. You now understand, of course, that it was -that unhappy assumed name which prevented my having the pleasure of -visiting you and your family on this side of the Atlantic. No one can -deplore more than I do that unhappy alias. The other, though I -regret--and regret deeply--the pain it has caused, I cannot be sorry -for, since it has been the means of making Joy my wife.” - -Here he beamed down into the beautiful grey eyes of the said wife who -was still holding his arm. As he finished she pinched gently the flesh -of his arm. This sent a thrill through him; it was a kiss of sorts and -had much the same effect as the real thing. Joy noted the change in -his voice as he went on: - -“I so respected your wishes, sir, that I did not actually ask in words -Joy to be my wife until I should have obtained your permission to -address myself to her. If you will look at that letter you will see -that it was written at Ceann-da-Shail, my place in Ross-shire--days -before I posted it.” - -“Then if you did not ask her to marry you; how is it that you are now -married--according to the Sheriff?” He thought this a poser, and -beamed accordingly. Athlyne answered at once: - -“When two people love each other, sir, as Joy and I do, speech is the -least adequate form of expression. We did not want words; we knew!” -Again Joy squeezed his arm and they stood close together in a state of -rapture. The Colonel, with some manifest hesitation, said: - -“With regard to what the Sheriff spoke of as ‘real cause of scandal,’ -was there. …?” - -“That, sir,” said Athlyne interrupting with as fierce and truculent an -aspect as had been to the Colonel at any moment of the interview “is a -subject on which I refuse to speak, even to you.” Then after a pause -he added: - -“This I will say to you as her father who is entitled to hear it: -Joy’s honour is as clear and stainless as the sunlight. Whatever has -taken place has been my doing, and I alone am answerable for it.” -Whilst he was speaking Joy stood close to him, silent and with -downcast eyes. In the prolonged silence which ensued she raised them, -and letting go Athlyne’s arm stepped forward towards her father with -flashing eyes: - -“Father what he says is God’s truth. But there is one other thing -which you should know, and you must know it from me since he will not -speak. He is justified in speaking of my honour, for it was due--and -due alone--to his nobility of character that I am as I am. That and -your unexpected arrival. For my part I would have----” - -“Joy!” Athlyne’s voice though the tone was low, rang like a trumpet. -Half protest it was, half command. Instinctively the woman recognised -the tone and obeyed, as women have obeyed the commands of the men they -loved, and were proud to do so, from Eden garden down the ages. - -“Speak on, daughter! Finish what you were saying.” His voice was -strangely soft and his eyes were luminous beneath their shaggy white -brows. Joy’s answering tone was meek: - -“I cannot, father. My … Mr.--Lord Athlyne desires that I should be -silent.” She was astonished at his reply following: - -“Well, perhaps he is right. Better so!” Then in _sotto voce_ to -Athlyne: - -“Women should not be allowed to talk sometimes. They go too far when -they get to self-abasement!” Athlyne nodded. Again silence which -Colonel Ogilvie broke: - -“Well, sir. I suppose we must take it that the marriage is complete in -Scotch law. So far for the past. What of the future?” In a low voice -Athlyne replied: - -“Whose future?” - -“Yours--yours and my daughter’s.” He was amazed at Athlyne’s reply, -spoken in a voice both low and sad: so too was Joy: - -“Of that I cannot say. It does not rest with me.” - -“Not rest with you, sir? Then with whom does it rest.” Athlyne raised -his eyes and looked him straight in the face: - -“With you!” - -“With me?” the Colonel’s voice was faint with amazement. - -“Yes, with you! What future have I, already condemned to death! What -future has my wife, whose sentence of widowhood came even before the -knowledge of her marriage! Do you forget Colonel Ogilvie that my life -is pledged to you? On your own doing, I took that obligation; but -having taken it I must abide by it. Such future as may be for either -of us rests with you!” Colonel Ogilvie did not pause before answering. -He spoke quickly as one whose mind is made up: - -“But that is all over.” Athlyne said quietly: - -“You had not said so! In an affair of this kind the challenged man is -not free to act. Pacific overture must be with the one who considering -himself injured has sought this means of redress.” Joy listening, with -her heart sinking and her hand so trembling that she took it from his -arm lest it should upset him, was amazed. He was at least as -determined as her father. But she was rejoiced to see that his -stiffness was having its effect; her father was evidently respecting -this very quality so much that he was giving way to his opponent. -Seeing this, and recognising in her woman’s way for the first time in -her life this fundamental force, she made up her mind that she too -would on her side keep steadfastly to her convictions just as … as -… He had done. In silence she waited for what would follow this new -development going on before her eyes. Presently Colonel Ogilvie spoke: - -“I suppose Lord Athlyne you are satisfied with the validity of the -marriage?” He answered heartily: - -“Of course I am! The Sheriff was quite clear about it; and what he -says is sufficient for me.” - -“And your intention?” - -“Sir, from the first moment when my eyes lit on your daughter I had -only one intention, and that was to make her my wife. Be quite -satisfied as to me! I am fixed as Fate! If there is any hindrance to -my wishes it can only come from my wife. But understand this: that if -for any cause whatever she may wish this marriage annulled, or -consider that it has not been valid, she has only to indicate her wish -and I shall take any step in my power to set her free.” - -“Father!” Colonel Ogilvie turned in astonishment at the sound of his -daughter’s voice, which was in such tone as he had never heard from -her. It rang; her mind was made up: - -“Father, a while ago when you seemed in some grave trouble I asked you -why you did not ask me anything. I told you I had never lied to you -and should not do so then; but you asked me nothing. Why don’t you ask -me now?” - -“What should I ask you, little girl. You are married; and your duty is -to some one else whose name you bear. Besides, I don’t ask women -questions which may be painful to answer. Such I ask of men!” - -To this she spoke in a calm voice which made Athlyne uneasy. He could -not imagine what she was coming at; but he felt that whatever it might -be it was out of the truth of her nature, and that he must support -her. Her love he never doubted. In the meantime he must listen -patiently and learn what she had to say. - -“Well father, as you will not ask I must speak unasked. It is harder; -that is all. The Sheriff said that mutual intention was necessary for -marriage. Let me tell you that I had not then such intention! I must -say it. I have never lied to you yet; and I don’t intend to begin now. -Especially when I am entering on a new life with a man whom I love and -honour. For if this marriage be not good we shall soon have one that -is--if he will have me.” Athlyne took her hand; she sighed joyfully as -she went on: - -“I certainly did intend to marry Mr. … Lord Athlyne when … when he -should formally ask me; but I understood then that there was some -obstacle to his doing so. This I now know to be that he was wanting to -get your consent beforehand. But if I did not then intend that our -coming for a run in the motor together was to be marriage, how can I -by that act be married?” As she paused Athlyne realised what was the -cause of that vague apprehension which had chilled him. Colonel -Ogilvie was beset by a new difficulty by this new attitude of Joy. If -she repudiated intention such would nullify the marriage, since -Athlyne had signified his intention of letting her have her way. If -there were no marriage, then there would be scandal. So before -beginning to argue with his daughter on the subject of the validity of -the marriage, he thought it well to bring to the aid of reason the -forces of fear. He commenced by intimidation: - -“Of course you understand, daughter, that if you and Lord Athlyne were -not married through the accidents of your escapade, there will be -scandal from it; there is no other alternative. In that case, such -pacific measures as I have now acceded to will be abrogated; and the -gentleman who was the cause of the evil must still answer to me for -it.” At this threat Joy grew ghastly pale. Athlyne, wrung to the heart -by it, forgot his intention of discretion and said quickly and -sharply: - -“That is not fair, Colonel Ogilvie. She is a woman--if she _is_ your -daughter, and is not to be treated brutally. You must not strike at a -man through a woman. If you want to strike a man do so direct! I am -the man. Strike me, how and when you will; but this woman is my -wife--at least she is until she repudiates our marriage! But till then -by God! no man--not even her father himself--shall strike her or at -her, or through her!” Both he and Joy were surprised at the meek way -in which the old man received this tirade. But even whilst he had been -uttering the cruel threat both his conscience and his courage had been -against him. This, the man and the woman who heard could, from -evidence, divine. But there was another cause of which they had no -knowledge. The moment after speaking, when his blind passion began to -cool, the last words of his wife came back to his memory: “Be good to -her, and never forget that she can suffer most through any one dear to -her.” Furthermore, the recollection of Judy’s words as he was leaving -clinched the matter: “You hold poor Joy’s life--which is her heart--in -your hand!” He began his reply to Athlyne truculently--as was usual to -him; but melted quickly as he went on: - -“Hey-day my young bantam-cock; you flash your spurs boldly. … But I -don’t know but you’re right. I was wrong; I admit it! Joy my dear I -apologise for it; and to you too, sir, who stand up so valiantly and -so readily for your wife. I am glad my little girl has such a -defender; though it is and will be a sad thought to me that I was -myself the first to cause its evidence. But keep your hair on, young -man! Men sometimes get hurt by running up against something that’s -quite in its right place. … It’s my place to look after my little -girl--till such time as you have registered your bond-rights. And see, -doesn’t she declare she had no idea she was being married. However, -it’s all right in this case. I don’t mean her to give herself away -over this part of the job any more than you did a while ago when you -stopped her telling me something that it wouldn’t have been wise to -say. So, sir, guess we’ll call it quits this time. Well, little girl, -let me tell you that you’ve said all at once to me two different -things. You said you _didn’t_ intend to marry Lord Athlyne that time, -but that you _did_ at some other. If that last doesn’t make an -intention to marry I’m a Dutchman. I think we’d better let it rest at -that! Now as to you Lord Athlyne! You seem to want--and rightly enough -I’ll allow--that I make a formal retraction of my demand for your -life. Well I do so now. There’s my hand! I can give it to you freely, -for you are a brave man and you love my little girl; and my little -girl loves you. I’m right sorry I didn’t know you at the first as I do -now. But I suppose the fact is, I was jealous all along. You don’t -know--yet--what I know: that you were thrown at me in a lot of ways -before I ever saw you, by the joke that my little girl and Judy put up -on me. When I knew that my girl was calling herself by your name. …” - -“Daddy dear!” This was Joy’s protest. “Yes, little girl, I won’t give -you away; but your husband should know this fact lest he keep a grudge -in his heart against your old daddy--and I know you wouldn’t like -that. You can tell him, some of these days or nights, what you like -yourself about the whole thing from the first. I dare say he’ll want -to know, and won’t let you alone till you tell him. And I dare say not -then; for he’ll like--he’s bound to--all you can say. Here, Athlyne--I -suppose that’s what I am to call you since you’re my son now--at any -rate my daughter’s husband.” As he spoke he held out his hand. Athlyne -jumped forward and seized it warmly. The two men shook hands as do two -strong men who respect each other. Joy stepped forward and took the -clasped hands between her own. When the hands parted she kissed her -husband and then her father; she had accepted the situation. - -After a pause Athlyne said, quietly but with a very resolute look on -his face: - -“I understand, sir, that the hatchet is now buried. But I want to say -that this must be final. I do so lest you should ever from any cause -wish to dig it up again. Oh, yes I understand”--for the Colonel was -going to speak “but I have had a warning. Just now when it seemed that -Joy was going to repudiate--though happily as it turned out for only a -time--our marriage as an existing fact, you re-opened that matter -which I had then thought closed. Now as for the future Joy’s happiness -is my duty as well as my privilege and my pleasure, I must take all -precautions which I can to insure it. It would not do if she could -ever have in her mind a haunting fear that you and I could quarrel. I -know that for my own part I would be no party to a quarrel with you. -But I also have reason to know that a man’s own purpose is nothing -when some one else wants to quarrel with him. Therefore for our dear -Joy’s sake----” - -“Good!” murmured the Colonel. “_Our_ dear Joy’s sake!” Athlyne -repeated the phrase--he loved to do so: - -“For our dear Joy’s sake will you not promise that you will never -quarrel with me.” - -“Indeed I will give the promise--and more. Listen here, little girl, -for it is for your sake. I find I have been wrong to quarrel so -readily and without waiting to understand. If a nigger did it I think -I’d understand, for I don’t look for much from him. But I do expect -much from myself; and therefore I’ll go back a bit and go a bit -farther. Hear me promise, so help me God, I’ll never quarrel again! -Quarrel to kill I mean of course. Now, sir, are you satisfied!” Joy -flung herself into his arms cooing lovingly: - -“Dear, dear Daddy. Oh thank you so much; you have made me so happy! -That promise is the best wedding-gift you could possibly give me!” -Athlyne took the hand extended to him and wrung it heartily: - -“And I too, thank you, sir. And, as I want to share in all Joy’s -happiness and in her pleasant ways, I hope you will let me--as her -husband--call you Daddy too?” - -“Indeed you may, my boy; I’ll be right glad!” - -It was a happy trio that stood there, the two men’s right hands -clasping, and Joy once more holding the linked hands between hers. - -“We may go join the Sheriff and Judy I think, little girl!” said the -Colonel presently. He felt that he wanted to get back to himself from -the unaccustomed atmosphere of sentiment which encompassed him. - -“Just one moment--Daddy!” said Athlyne speaking the familiar name with -an effort and looking at Joy as he did so. The approval shining from -her beautiful eyes encouraged him, and he went on more freely: - -“Now that our dear Joy is my care I should like to make a proposition. -The Sheriff’s suggestion is good, and his reading of the law seems as -if it were all right; but, after all, there is no accounting for what -judges and juries may decide. Now I want--and we all want--that there -be no doubt about this marriage--now or hereafter. And I therefore -suggest that presently Joy and I shall again exchange Matrimonial -Intention and Consent, or whatever is the strongest way that can be -devised to insure a flawless marriage. We can even write this down and -both sign it, and you and the Sheriff and Judy shall witness. So that -whatever has been before--though this will not disturb it--will be -made all taut and secure!” Joy’s comment was: - -“And I shall be married to my husband a second time!” - -“Yes, darling” said Athlyne putting his arm round her and drawing her -close to him. She came willingly and put her arms round him. They -embraced and kissed each other and he said: - -“Yes darling; but wait a moment, I have a further suggestion. In -addition to this we can have a ‘regular’ marriage to follow these two -irregular ones. I shall go to London and get a special license from -the Archbishop of Canterbury, who is a connection of my own. With this -we shall have a religious marriage to supplement the civil ones. We -can be married, sir, in your own rooms, or in a church, just as Joy -wishes--and, of course, as her mother and her Daddy wish. We can be -married the third time, Joy darling, in Westminster Abbey if you so -desire!” - -“Anywhere you choose--darling!” she spoke the last word shyly “will be -what I wish. I am glad I am to be married three times to you.” - -“Why darling?” - -“Because darling” she spoke the word now without shyness or -hesitation. “I love you enough for three husbands; and now we must -have three honeymoons!” she danced about the room gaily, clapping her -hands like a happy child. - -When they were ready to go to breakfast Colonel Ogilvie instinctively -offered his arm to Joy, but catching sight of Athlyne drew back and -motioned to him to take the honourable place. The husband was pleased, -but seeing a new opening for conciliation he said heartily: - -“No, no. I hope the time will never come when my wife won’t love to go -with her father!” The old man was pleased and called to his daughter: - -“Come, little girl, you have got to take us both!” She took her -husband’s arm as well as her father’s; and all three moved towards the -door. When they got there, however, some change was necessary, for it -was not possible to pass through three abreast. Each of the men was -willing to give place to the other; but before either man could move, -or indeed before either had his mind made up what to do, the -quicker-witted woman slipped back behind them. There taking Athlyne’s -hand in hers she had placed it on her father’s arm. As they both were -about to protest against going in front of her she said hastily: - -“Please, please Daddy and … Husband I would really rather you two -went first, and arm in arm as father and son should go. For that is -what it is to be from this on; isn’t it? I would rather a thousand -times see the two men I love best in all the world going so, than walk -in front of them as a Queen.” - -“That’s very prettily said!” was the comment of her father. Then with -a fond look back at her he took the young man’s hand from his own arm -and placed his own hand on the other’s arm. “That’s better!” he said. -“Age leaning on Youth, and Beauty smiling on both!” - -And in this wise they entered the Sheriff’s room, in time to see him -sitting at one end of the sofa and Judy sitting at the furthest corner -away from him--blushing. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII. - A HARMONY IN GRAY - -As the trio entered the room Judy jumped from the sofa vivaciously. -The Sheriff followed with an agility wonderful in a man of his age; he -bade them all welcome with a compelling heartiness. Judy was full of -animation; indeed she out-did herself to a degree which made Joy raise -her eyebrows. Joy was a sympathetic soul, and unconsciously adapted -herself to her Aunt’s supra-vivacity. - -To Colonel Ogilvie, less enthusiastic by nature and concern, it -appeared that she was as he put it in his own mind “playing up to the -old girl.” He seemed to realise that the Sheriff was ardent in his -intentions; and, with the calm, business-like aptitude of a -brother-in-law to a not-young lady, had already made up his mind to -give his consent. - -Judy flew to Joy and kissed her fervently. The kisses were returned -with equal warmth, and the two women rocked in each other’s arms, to -the envy, if delight, of certain of the onlookers viewing the -circumstance from different standpoints. Judy took her niece to the -now-vacated sofa, and an animated whispering began between them. Joy’s -attention was, however, distracted; her senses had different -objectives. Her touch was to Judy sitting beside her and holding her -close in a loving embrace; her ears were to her father who was talking -to the Sheriff. But her eyes were all with her husband, devouring him. -There came a timid knock at the door, and in answer to the Sheriff’s -“Come in,” it was partly opened. The voice of the landlady was heard: -“May I speak with ye a moment, Sheriff?” He went over to the door, and -a whispered colloquy ensued, all his guests turning their eyes away -and endeavouring in that way, as usual, to seem not to be listening. -Then the Sheriff, having closed the door, said: - -“Our good hostess tells me that there will be a full half hour of -waiting before we can breakfast, if she is to have proper time to do -justice to the food which she wishes to place before us. So I must ask -pardon of you all.” - -“Capital! Capital!” said Colonel Ogilvie, “that half hour is just what -we want. Mr. Sheriff, we have a little ceremony to go through before -we breakfast. The fact is we are going to have an Irregular Marriage. -If you are able to take part in such a thing I hope you will assist -us.” Joy rose up and stood beside Athlyne. The Sheriff answered: - -“Be quite easy on that point, sir. I am not in my own shrieval -district, and so, even if such were contra to my duties at home, I am -free to act as an individual elsewhere. But who are the contracting -parties? You are married already; so too are your daughter and my Lord -Athlyne. Indeed it looks, Miss Hayes, as if you and I are the only -available parties left. But I fear such great happiness is not for me; -though I would give anything in the wide world to win it!” He bowed to -her gallantly and took her hand. She looked quite embarrassed--though -not distressed, and giggled like a schoolgirl. - -“Indeed, Mr. Sheriff!” she said, “this is very sudden. Affairs of the -heart seem to move quickly in this delightful country!” As she spoke -she looked at Joy and Athlyne who happened to be at the moment -standing hand in hand. Joy came over and sat beside her and kissed -her. Athlyne, in obedience to a look from his wife, kissed her too. -Then the Colonel gallantly followed suit. There was only the Sheriff -left, and he, after a pause, took advantage of the occasion and kissed -her also. Then to relieve her manifest embarrassment he spoke out: - -“I fear I have diverted your purpose, Colonel Ogilvie. I am not sorry -for it”--this with a look at Judy which made her blush afresh “but I -apologize. I take it that you were alluding to something in which I am -to have a less prominent part than I have suggested.” - -“The marriage, sir, is to be between Lord Athlyne and my daughter.” As -he spoke Athlyne went to a side table whereon were spread the -Sheriff’s writing materials. He took a sheet of paper and began to -write. Colonel Ogilvie went on: - -“We have come to the conclusion that, though the act of marriage which -has already taken place between these two young people is in your view -lawful and complete, it may be well to go through the ceremony in a -more formal manner. There are, we all know, intricacies and pitfalls -in law; and we are both agreed with the suggestion of my lord that it -would be well not to allow any loophole for after attack. Therefore in -your presence--if you will be so good,” the Sheriff bowed, “they shall -again pledge their mutual Matrimonial Consent. They will both sign the -paper to that effect which I see Lord Athlyne is preparing; and we -shall all sign it as witnesses. Then, when this new marriage is -complete--and irrefragable as I understand from what you said awhile -ago it will be--we shall be ready for breakfast. It will be more than -perhaps you expected when you so kindly asked us to be your guests: a -wedding breakfast!” - -Judy whispered to her niece. - -“Joy, you must come to your room and let me dress you properly. I have -brought a dress with me.” - -“What dress dear?” she asked. - -“The tweed tailor-made.” - -“But, Judy dear, I have on a white frock, and that is more suitable -for my wedding.” - -“That was all right yesterday, dear. But to-day you shall not wear -white. You are already a married lady; this is only a re-marriage.” A -beautiful blush swept over Joy’s face as she looked at her husband -writing away as hard as his pen could move. - -“I shall wear white to-day!” she said in the same whisper, and stood -up. - -Just at that moment a fly drove quickly past the window. It stopped at -the hotel door, and there was a sudden bustle of arrival. Voices -raised to a high pitch were heard outside. Various comments were heard -in the room. - -“That’s mother!” - -“My wife!” - -“Sally!” - -“Why Aunt Judy that’s the voice of Mrs. O’Brien!” - -“My Foster-mother!” - -The door opened, and in swept Mrs. Ogilvie who flew first to her -husband’s arms; and then, after a quick embrace, seemed to close round -Joy and obliterate her. A similar eclipse took place with regard to -Athlyne; for Mrs. O’Brien dashed into the room and calling out as -though invoking the powers of earth and heaven: “Me bhoy! me bhoy!” -fell upon him. He seemed really glad to see her, and yielded himself -to her embrace as freely as though he had been a child again. - -“Joy dear,” said Mrs. Ogilvie “I hope you are all right. After your -father and then Judy had gone, I was so anxious about you, that I got -the north mail stopped and caught it at Penrith. Just as I was going -to get ready for the journey Mrs. O’Brien came in. She had written to -me in London that she would like to pay her respects, and I had said -we were going on to Ambleside but would be glad if she would come and -see us there and spend a few days with us.” Mrs. O’Brien who was all -ears, here cut into the conversation: - -“Aye, an Miss Joy acushla,--my service to ye miss!--she sent me postal -ordhers to cover me railway fare an me expinces. Oh! the kind heart iv -her!” - -She had by now released Athlyne and stood back from him pointing at -him as she spoke: - -“An comin’ here through yer ladyship’s goodness who do I find but me -beautiful bhoy. Luk at him! Luk at him! Luk at him!” Her voice rose in -crescendo at each repetition. “The finest, dearest, sweetest, bonniest -child that ever a woman tuk to her breast. An now luk at him well. The -finest, up-standinest, handsomest, dearest, lovinest man that the -whole wurrld houlds. That doesn’t forget his ould fosther mother an -him an Earrll, wid castles iv his own, an medals on to him an Victory -Crasses. An it’s a gineral he ought to be. Luk at him, God bless him!” -She turned to one after another of the party in turn as though -inviting their admiration. Joy came and, putting her arms round the -old woman’s neck, hugged and kissed her. When she got free, Mrs. -O’Brien said to Athlyne: - -“An phwat are ye doin’ here me darlin’ acushla me lord--av I may make -so bould as t’ ask ye? How did ye come here; and phwat brung ye that -yer ould nurse might have her eyes made glad wid sight iv ye?” - -“I am here, my dear, because I am married to Joy Ogilvie, and we are -going to be married again!” - -Then the storm of comment broke, all the women speaking at once and in -high voices suitable to a momentous occasion: - -“What, what?” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “Married to my daughter! Colonel -Ogilvie, how is it that I was not informed of this coming event?” - -“Faith, my dear I don’t know” he answered “I never knew it--and--and I -believe they didn’t know it themselves … till the moment before it -was done.” He added the last part of the sentence in deference to the -Sheriff’s direction as to ‘intention.’ Fortunately the Sheriff had not -heard his remark. - -“Do explain yourself, Lucius. I am all anxiety.” - -“My dear, yesterday Joy made an irregular marriage with Lord Athlyne!” - -“Good God!” The exclamation gave an indication of the social value of -“irregular” marriage to persons unacquainted with Scottish law. Her -husband saw that she was pained and tried to reassure her: - -“You need not distress yourself, my dear. It is all right. ‘Irregular’ -is only a name for a particular form of marriage in this Country. It -is equally legal with any other marriage.” - -“But who is Lord Athlyne, and where is he? That is the name of the man -who Mrs. O’Brien told Joy was the only man good enough for her.” - -“Lord Athlyne” said Colonel Ogilvie “at present our son-in-law, is -none other than Mr. Richard Hardy with whom you shook hands just now!” - -“Lucius, I am all amazed! There seems to be a sort of network of -mystery all round us. But one thing: if Joy was married yesterday how -on earth can she be going to be married to-day?” - -“To avoid the possibility of legal complications later on! It is all -right, my dear. You may take it from me that there is no cause for -concern! But there were certain things, usually attended to -beforehand, which on this occasion--owing to ignorance and hurry and -unpremeditation--were not attended to. In order to prevent the -possibility of anything going wrong by any quibble, they are to be -married again just now.” - -“Where? when?” - -“Here, in this room!” - -“But where’s the clergyman; where is the license?” - -“There is neither. This is a Scottish marriage! Later on we can have a -regular church marriage with a bishop if you wish or an archbishop; in -a church or a room or a Cathedral--just as you prefer.” Mrs. Ogilvie -perceptibly stiffened as he spoke. Then she said, with what she -thought was dignified gravity, which seemed to others like frigid -acidity: - -“Do I understand, Colonel Ogilvie, that you are a consenting party to -another ‘irregular’”--she quivered as she said the word--“marriage? -And that my daughter is to be made a laughing stock amongst all our -acquaintances by _three_ different marriages?” - -“That is so, my dear. It is for Joy’s good!” - -“Her good? Fiddlesticks! But in that case I have nothing more to say!” -Some of her wrath seemed to be turned on both Athlyne and Joy; for she -did not say a single word to either of them. She simply relapsed into -stony silence. - -Mrs. O’Brien’s reception of the news afforded what might be termed the -“comic relief” of the strained situation. She raised her hands, as -though in protest to heaven for allowing such a thing, and emitted a -loud wail such as a “keener” raises at an Irish wake. Then she burst -into voluble speech: - -“Oh wirrasthrue me darlin’ bhoy, is it a haythen Turk y’ are becomin’, -to take another wife whin ye’ve got one already only a day ould. An -such a wan more betoken--the beautifullest darlinest young cratur what -iver I seen! Her that I picked out long ago as the only wan that ye -was good enough for. Shure, couldn’t ye rist content wid Miss Joy, me -darlin’? It’s lookin’ forward I was to nursin’ her childher, as I -nursed yerself me lord darlin’, her childher, an yours! An’ now it’s -another woman steppin’ in betune ye; an’ maybe there’ll be no childher -at all, at all. Wirrasthrue!” - -“But look here, Nanny,” said Athlyne with some impatience. “Can’t you -see that you’re all wrong. It is to Joy that I am going to marry -again! There’s no other woman coming in between us. ’Tis only the dear -girl herself!” - -“Ah, that’s all very well, me lord darlin’; but which iv them is to be -the mother? Faix but I’ll go an ax her Ladyship this minit!” And go -she did, to Athlyne’s consternation and Joy’s embarrassment. All in a -hurry she started up and went over to the sofa where Joy sat, and with -a bob curtesy said to her: - -“Me lady, mayn’t I have the nursin’ av yer childher, the way I had -their father before them? Though, be the same token, it’s not the same -nursin’ I can give thim, wid me bein’ ould an’ rhun dhry!” Joy felt -that the only thing to do was to postpone the difficulty to a more -convenient season, when there should not be so many eyes--some of them -strange ones--on her. To do this as kindly and as brightly as she -could, she said: - -“But dear Mrs. O’Brien, isn’t it a little soon to think--or at any -rate to speak--of such things?” - -“Wasn’t ye married yisterday?” interrupted the old woman. But looking -at her lady’s cheeks she went on in a different tone: - -“But me darlin’--Lady, it’s over bould an’ too contagious for me to -mintion such things, as yit. But I’ll take, if I may, a more -saysonable opportunity to ask ye to patthernise me. Some time whin -ye’re more established as a wife thin ye are now!” - -“Indeed” said Joy kindly. “I shall only be too happy to have you near -me. And if I--if we are ever blessed with a little son I hope you will -try to teach him to be as like his----” she stopped, blushing, but -after a short pause went on “as like my dear husband as ever you can!” -There was a break in her voice which moved the old woman strongly. She -lifted the slim fine young hand to her withered lips and kissed it -fervently. - -“Glory be to God! me Lady, but it’s the proud woman I’ll be to keep -and guard the young Earrll. An’ I’ll give my life for him if needs -be!” - -“Come now!” said the Sheriff who had been speaking with Colonel -Ogilvie and Athlyne, and who had read over the paper written by the -latter. “Come now all you good people! All sit round the room except -you two principals to this solemn contract. You two stand before me -and read over the paper. You, my Lord, read it first; and then you -too, my Lady, do the same!” They sat round as they wished. Joy and -Athlyne stood up before the Sheriff, who was also standing. -Instinctively they took hands, and Athlyne holding the paper in his -left hand, read as follows: - - -“We Calinus Patrick Richard Westerna Mowbray Hardy Fitzgerald, Earl of -Athlyne, Viscount Roscommon and Baron Ceann-da-Shail and Joy -Fitzgerald or Ogilvie late of Airlville in the State of Kentucky, -United States of America, agree that we shall be and are united in the -solemn bonds of matrimony according to the Law of Scotland and that we -being of one mind as to the marriage, are and hereby declare ourselves -man and wife. - -_Witness of above_ - -We the undersigned hereby declare that we have in the presence of the -above signatories and of each other seen the foregoing signatures -appended to this deed by the signatories themselves in our presence -and in the presence of each other. - -Alexander Fenwick (Sheriff of Galloway). - -Lucius Ogilvie (father of the bride). - -Mary Hayes Ogilvie (mother of the bride). - -Bedelia Ann O’Brien, widow (formerly nurse and foster mother to the -bridegroom). - -Judith Hayes (aunt of the bride).” - - -When the document was completed by the signatures the Sheriff, having -first scanned it carefully, offered it to Colonel Ogilvie, who raising -a protesting hand said: - -“No, no, Mr. Sheriff! I think we should all prefer that it should be -kept in your custody, if you will so oblige us.” - -“With the greatest pleasure” he said; and Athlyne and Joy having -consented to the scheme he folded the document and put it into his -pocket. Just then the landlady, having knocked and being bidden to -enter, came into the room followed by several maids and men bearing -dishes. - -“And now to breakfast” he went on. “Will the Bride kindly sit on my -right hand, with her Husband next her. Mrs. Ogilvie, will you honour -me by sitting on my left, with Colonel Ogilvie to support you on the -other side. Miss Hayes will you kindly sit on Lord Athlyne’s right.” -“And Mrs. … Mrs. O’Brien,” whispered Judy. He went on: - -“Mrs. O’Brien will you sit on Colonel Ogilvie’s left.” - -“’Deed an’ I’ll not!” said the Irishwoman sturdily. - -“Do you mean” asked Colonel Ogilvie icily “that you do not care to sit -next to me individually?” - -“Faix an’ I don’t mane anything so foolish yer ’ann’r. Why should the -likes o’ me dar to object to the likes iv you? All I mane, sorr, is -that an ould Biddy like me isn’t fit to sit down alongside the -quality--let alone an Earrll and his Laady whose unborn childher I’m -to nurse. An’, more betoken, on such an owdacious occasion--shure an I -don’t mane that but such a suspicious occasion.” - -“Mrs. O’Brien ma’am” said the Sheriff taking her hand “you’re going, I -hope to take your place at the table that all these good friends wish -you to take.” - -“In troth no yer”--whispering to Joy “what’s a Sheriff called Miss -Joy? Is he ‘yer Majesty’ or ‘me lord’ or ‘yer ann’r’ or what is he -anyhow?” “I think he is ‘yer honour’” said Joy. So Mrs. O’Brien -continued: “Yer Ann’r. Don’t ask me fur to sit down wid the quality -where I don’t belong. But let me give a hand to these nice girrls and -byes to shling the hash. Shure it’s a stewardess I am, an accustomed -to shovin’ the food.” - -“Nanny” said Athlyne kindly but in a strong voice “we all want you to -sit at table with us to-day. And I hope you won’t refuse us that -pleasure.” - -“Certainly me darlin’ lord!” she said instantly. “In coorse what -plases ye!” The Master had spoken; she was content to obey without -question. In the meantime Joy had been whispering to her mother who -now spoke out: - -“Mr. Sheriff, will you allow me to make a suggestion about the places -at table?” - -“With a thousand delights, madam. Pray make whatever disposition you -think best. I am only too grateful for your help.” - -“Thank you, sir. Well, if you do not mind I should like my sister, -Miss Hayes, placed next to you; then Colonel Ogilvie and myself. On -the other side if you will place next to my son-in-law his old nurse, -I am right sure that both will be pleased.” - -“Hear, hear!” said Athlyne. “Come along, Nanny, and sit next your boy! -Joy and I shall be delighted to have you close to us. Won’t you, -darling.” Joy’s answer was quite satisfactory to him: - -“Of course … Darling!” It was wonderful what a world of love she put -into the utterance of those two syllables. - -The breakfast was a great success, though but few of the party ate -heartily. Neither Athlyne nor Joy did justice to the provender. They -whispered a good deal and held hands surreptitiously under the table, -and their eyes met constantly. The same want of appetite seemed to -have affected both the Sheriff and Judy; but silence and a certain -restraint and primness were their characteristics. Mrs. O’Brien, -seated on the very edge of her chair, was too proud and too happy to -eat. But she was storing up for future enjoyment fond memories of -every incident, however trivial. - -It was mid-day before any move was made. There were no speeches--in -public, as all considered it would break the charm that was over the -occasion if anything so overt took place. When all is understood, -speech becomes almost banal. But there were lots of whisperings; -whispers as soft in their tone as their matter was sweet. No one -appeared to notice any one else at such moments; though be sure that -there were words and tones and looks that were remembered later by the -receivers, and looks and movements that were remembered by the others. -Judy and the Sheriff had much to say to each other. Ample opportunity -was given from the fact that the newly married pair found themselves -occupied with each other almost exclusively. Occasionally, of course, -Joy and the Sheriff conversed; but as a working rule he was quite -content to devote himself to Judy who seemed quite able to hold up her -end of the serious flirtation. When finally the party broke up, -preparatory to setting out for the south, the Sheriff asked Colonel -Ogilvie if it might be possible that he should join in travel with the -party, as he wished to spend a few days in Ambleside--a place which he -had not visited for many years. Colonel Ogilvie cordially acquiesced. -He was pretty sure by now that the meeting of Judy and this new friend -would end in a match, and he was glad to do anything which might -result in the happiness of his sister-in-law of whom he was really -fond. But it was not on this account only that he made him welcome. -The reaction from his evil temper was on him. Conscience was awake and -pricking into him the fact that he had behaved brutally. His mind did -not yet agree in the justice of the verdict; but that would doubtless -come later. He now wished to show to all that there was quite another -side of his character. In this view he pressed that the Sheriff should -be his guest. The other was about to object when he realised that by -accepting he would be one of the household, and so much closer to -Judy, and more and oftener in her society than would otherwise be -possible. So he accepted gladly, and he and the Colonel soon became -inseparable--except when Judy was speaking! In such case Colonel -Ogilvie often felt himself rather left out in the cold. At the -beginning of breakfast Athlyne had learned from Joy of the abandonment -of the motor, and he had accordingly sent his father-in-law’s -chauffeur, with his pilot, to bring it back. They had to travel in a -horse carriage; he could not drive two motors at once, and the pilot -could not drive one. In due course the motor was retrieved, and having -been made clean and taut by the “first-class _mechanicien_ and driver” -was ready for the road. Colonel Ogilvie’s motor was also ready, and as -the pilot could now be left to travel home by train so that the owner -could sit by his chauffeur, there would be room for the new guest to -sit between the two ladies in the tonneau. When he mentioned this -arrangement, however, the Sheriff did not jump at it, but found -difficulties in the way of incommoding the ladies. At last he said: - -“I hope you will excuse me, Ogilvie, but I had already formed a little -plan which I hoped with your sanction and that of your wife, to carry -out. Before breakfast I--Miss Hayes and I had been talking of the old -manner of posting. Her idea had, I think, been formed by seeing prints -of break-downs of carriages in run-away matches to Gretna Green, and I -suggested … In fact I ventured to offer to drive her in -old-fashioned postal style to Ambleside, and let her see what it was -like. I have in my house at Galloway a fine old shay that my father -and mother made their wedding trip in. It has always been kept in good -trim, and it is all right for the journey. As Sheriff I have post-boys -in my employ for great occasions and I have good horses of my own. So -when J … Miss Hayes accepted my offer … of the journey, I wired -off to have the trap sent down here. Indeed it should arrive within a -very short time. I have also wired for relays of horses to be ready at -Dumfries, Annan, Carlisle and Patterdale, so that when we start we -should go without a hitch. My boys know the road, and four horses will -spin us along in good style--even if we cannot keep up with your -motor.” So it was arranged that the pilot could occupy his old place -with the chauffeur; and the Colonel and Mrs. Ogilvie would travel in -the tonneau, Darby and Joan fashion. This settlement of affairs had -only been arrived at after considerable discussion. When her father -had told Joy that she was to ride with her mother, she had spoken out -at once--without arrangement with Athlyne or even consultation with -him: - -“Athlyne will drive me, and we can take Mrs. O’Brien with us. There is -stacks of room in the tonneau, and we have no luggage. I am sure my -husband would like to have her with us.” - -But when the arrangement was mentioned to the foster-mother she -refused absolutely to obey any such order: - -“What” she said “me go away in the coach wid the bride and groom! An -ould corrn-crake like me wid the quality; an this none other than me -own darlin’ lord and Miss Joy that I’m going to nurse the childher iv -her. No, my Lady, I’ll do no such thing! Do ye think I’m goin’ to -shpoil shport when me darlin’ does be drivin’ wid his beautiful wife -by him an’ him kissin’ her be the yard an’ the mile an’ the hour, an’ -huggin’ her be the ton, as he ought to be doin’, or he’s not the man -I’ve always tuk him for. Shure ma’am” this to Mrs. Ogilvie “this is -their day an’ their hour; an’ iviry minit iv it is goold an dimons to -them! I’m tellin’ ye, I’d liefer put me eyes on Styx than do such a -thing!” Mrs. Ogilvie, who recognised the excellence of her ideas, -said: - -“Then you must come with the Colonel and me. We’ve loads of room, and -we are all alone.” - -“An’ savin’ yer presence, so ye should be ma’am whin ye’re seein’ yer -daughter goin’ aff wid her man. There’s loads iv things you and your -man will want to be talkin’ about. Musha! if it’s only rememberin’ -what ye said an’ done whin ye was aff on yer own honeymoon. Mind ye, -ma’am, it’s not bad talkin’ or rememberin’, that’s not! No motors for -me, ma’am--to-day at any rate. I’ll go by the thrain that I kem’ by; -an’ when I get to yer hotel, if I’m before ye, I’ll shtraighten out -things for ye, an’ have the rooms nice an’ ready. For mind ye, ma’am, -me darlin’ Lord tould me that he’s goin’ to have a gran’ weddin’ to -Miss Joy whin he gets his license! Be the way, does he get that, can -ye tell me ma’am, from the polis or where the sheebeeners gits theirs? -An’ av there’s goin’ to be a weddin’ wid flowers an’ gowns an’ veils -an’ things in church, I suppose they won’t be too previous about -comin’ together. Musha! but’s it’s a quare sort iv ways the quality -has! Weddin’s here be the Sheriff, an’ thin be bishops, an’ wid -licenses. An’ him in Bowness--for that’s where he tells me he’s -shtoppin’--an’ his wife in Ambleside--on their weddin’ night! Begob! -Ireland’s changin’ fast, fur that usen’t to be the way. I’m thinkin’ -that the Shinn-Fayn’ll have to wake up a bit if that’s the way things -is going to go. Or else there’ll be millea murther, from the Giant’s -Causeway to Cape Clear!” As Mrs. Ogilvie did not wish to discuss this -part of the question herself, she beckoned over Athlyne and told him -that Mrs. O’Brien had refused to go in his motor. - -“Not even if I ask you or tell you to?” he said to the old woman, -having not the least intention of doing either. - -“Not even thin, me Lord darlin’” she said with a cheery smile. “An’ -I’m thinkin’ it’s thankin’ me--you an’ yer lovely wife too--’ll be -before ye’re well out of sight of this place. Faix it’s a nice sort iv -ould gooseberry I’d be, sittin’ in the carriage wid me arrums foulded, -wid me darlin’ Lord sittin’ in front dhrivin’ like a show-flure in a -shute iv leather. An’ his bride beside him, wid her arrums round him -bekase both his own is busy wid the little wheel; an’ her wondhrin’, -wid tears in her beautiful grey eyes, why he doesn’t kiss her what -she’s pinin’ fur. Augh! no! Not me, this time! I was a bride -meself--wanst. An’ I know betther nor me young Lady does now, what is -what on the weddin’ day afther the words is said. Though she’ll pick -up, so she will. She’s not the soort that’ll be long larnin’! Musha -…” Her further revelations and prophesyings were cut short by -Athlyne’s kissing her and saying “Good-bye!” - -If the journey up North had been Fairyland, the journey southward was -Heaven for both the young people. Athlyne felt all the triumph of a -conqueror. If he had sung out loud, as he would like to have done, his -song would have been a war-song rather than a love-song. There was the -_elan_ of the conqueror about him; the stress of love-longing and -love-pining were behind him. The battle was won, and his conqueror’s -booty was beside him, well content to be in his train. Still even -conqueror’s love has its duties as well as its right, and he was more -tender than ever to Joy. She, sitting beside him in all the radiancy -of her new found wifehood, felt that their hearts were beating -together; and that their thoughts swayed in unison. When her eyes -would be lifted from the lean, strong, brown hands gripping the -steering wheel--for in the rush of departure he had other things to -think of than putting on the gloves which were squeezed behind him in -his seat--and would look up into his face she would feel a sort of -electric shock as his eyes, leaving for a moment their steering duty, -would flash into hers with a look of love which made her quiver. But -presently when his yielding to affection had been tested, and even her -curiosity had been satisfied, she ceased such sudden looks. She -realized his idea of the gravity of the situation when she saw, as his -eyes returned to their necessary task, the hard look become fixed on -his eagle face--the look which to one engaged in his task means safety -to those under his care. She was all sympathy with him now. She was -content that his will should prevail; that his duty should be the duty -of both; that her service was to help him. And the first moment she -realized this, she sighed happily as she sank back in her seat, her -lover-rapture merged in wife-content. She had compensation for the -foregoing in the exercise of her own pride. From her present -standpoint all that came within the scope of her senses was supremely -beautiful. The mountains grey and mysterious in their higher and -further peaks; the dark woods running flamelike up into the glory of -the mountain colouring; the scent of the new-mown hay, drifted across -the track by the bracing winds sweeping over the hills; the glimmering -sapphire of the water as they swept by lake or river, or caught -flashes of the distant Forth through long green valleys. They went -fast; Athlyne’s wild excitement--the echo of the battle-phrenzy that -had won him distinction on the field--found some relief in speed. He -had thrown open the throttle of his powerful engine and swept along at -such a speed that the whole landscape seemed to fly by the rushing -car, giving only momentary glimpses of even the most far-flung beauty. -He did not fear police traps now. He did not fear anything! Even the -car seemed to have yielded itself like a living thing to the spell of -the situation. Its wheels purred softly as it swept along, and the -speed made a wind which seemed to roar in the ears of the two who were -one. - -Joy felt that she had a right to be content. This journey was of her -own choosing entirely. The manner of it had been this: when the party -had been arranged for starting her father had said to Athlyne: - -“When you get to Ambleside, as I suppose you will do before us, will -you give orders to have everything ready for our party. You can do -this before you drive over to Bowness. You can come over to dinner if -you like. I suppose you and Joy will want to see something of each -other--all you can indeed, before the wedding comes off. That can be -as soon as you like after you have got the license.” To this he had -replied: - -“I should like to--and shall--do anything I can, sir, to meet your -wishes. But I cannot promise to do anything now, on quite my own -initiative. You see our dear girl has to be consulted; and I need not -tell you that her wishes must prevail--so far as I am concerned!” - -“Quite right, my boy! Quite right!” said the old man. “Then we shall -leave the orders to her. Here, Joy!” she came over, and her father put -his suggestion to her. She hesitated gravely, and paused before she -spoke; she evidently intended that there should be no mistake as to -her deliberate intention: - -“No! Daddy, that won’t do; I’m going with my husband!” She took his -arm and clung to him lovingly, her finger tips biting sweetly into his -flesh. “But, Daddy dear, we’ll come over to-morrow and lunch or -breakfast with you, if we may. Call it early lunch or late breakfast. -We shall be over about noon. Remember we have to come from Bowness!” - -Athlyne seemed to float in air as he heard her. There was something so -sweetly--so truly wifely, in her words and attitude that it won to his -heart and set him in a state of rapture. - - -The late breakfast at Ambleside next day, though ostensibly a mere -family breakfast, was hardly to be classed in that category. It was in -reality regarded by all the family at present resident in that town as -a wedding breakfast. They had one and all dressed themselves for the -occasion. Not in complete marriage costume, which would have looked a -little overdone, but in a modified form which sufficiently expressed -in the mind of each the prevailing spirit of rejoicing. A few seconds -before noon the “toot toot” of Athlyne’s powerful hooter was heard -some distance off. All rushed to the windows to see the great red car -swing round the corner. The chauffeur was driving; the bride and groom -sat in the tonneau. As Athlyne was not driving he wore an ordinary -morning dress--a well-cut suit of light grey which set out well his -tall, lithe powerful figure. Joy was wrapped in a huge motor coat of -soft grey, with her head shrouded in a veil of the same colour. In the -hall they both took off their wraps, Athlyne helping his wife with the -utmost tenderness. When they came into the room they made a grey pair, -for with the exception of Athlyne’s brown eyes and hair and a scarlet -neck tie, and Joy’s dark hair and a flash of the same scarlet as her -husband’s on her breast, they were grey--all grey. It would seem as if -the whole colour-scheme of the couple had been built round Joy’s eyes. -She certainly looked lovely; there was a brilliant colour in her -cheeks, and between her scarlet lips her teeth, when she smiled, -flashed like pearls. She was in a state of buoyancy, seeming rather to -float about than to move like a being on feet. She was all sweetness -and affection, and flitted from one to another, leaving a wake of -beaming happiness behind her. - -Athlyne too was manifestly happy; but in quieter fashion, as is the -way of a man. He was not overt or demonstrative in his attention to -Joy; but his eyes followed her perpetually, and his ears seemed to -hear every whisper regarding her. Her eyes too, kept turning to him -wherever she might be or to whom speaking. Judy at first stood beaming -at the pair with a look of proprietary interest; but after a while she -began to be a trifle nettled by the husband’s absorption in her niece. -This feeling culminated when as Joy tripped slightly on the edge of -the hearth-rug her husband started towards her with a swift movement -and with that quick intake of breath which manifests alarmed concern. -Judy’s impulsiveness found its expression in a semi-humorous, -semi-sarcastic remark: - -“Why Athlyne you seem to look on the girl as if she was brittle! You -weren’t like that yesterday when you flashed her away from us at sixty -miles an hour!” For a moment there was silence and all eyes were fixed -on Joy who looked embarrassed and turn rosy-red. Athlyne to relieve -her drew their attention on himself: - -“No, my dear Judy--I’m not ever going to call you anything else you -know. She wasn’t my wife then!” - -“Wasn’t she!” came the answer tartly spoken. “She was just as much -your wife then. She had been married to you only twice! And the first -marriage was good enough for anything. I know that is so, for my -sheriff says so!--Oh …” The ejaculation was due to the shame of -sudden recognition of her confession. She blushed furiously; the -Sheriff, looking radiantly happy, stepped over to her, took her hand, -raised it to his lips, and kissed it. - -“I think my dear,” he said slowly and quietly, “that constitutes a -marriage--if you will have it so?” She looked at him shyly and said -quietly: - -“If you like to count it a step on the way--like Joy’s first marriage, -do so--dear! Then if you like we can make it real when Joy becomes a -wife--in the Church!” - -Everyone in the room was so interested in this little episode that two -of them only noticed a queer note of dissent or expostulation, coming -in the shape of a sort of modified grunt from the two matrons of the -party. Said Athlyne, still mindful of his intent to protect Joy: - -“All right, Judy. I’ll remember: ‘_my_ sheriff,’ if there’s any more -chaffing. It seems that he’ll be ‘brittle’ before long!” Judy flashed -one keen happy glance at him as she whispered close in his ear: - -“Don’t be ungenerous!” For reply he whispered back: - -“Forgive me--dear. I did not intend to be nasty. I’m too happy for -anything of that sort!” - -As breakfast wore on and the familiarity of domestic life followed -constraint, matters of the future came on the tapis. When Mrs. Ogilvie -asked the young couple if they had yet settled when the marriage--the -church marriage--was to come off, Joy looked down demurely at the -table cloth as her husband answered: - -“I go up to town early in the morning to get the License. It is all in -hand and there will be no hitch and no delay. I had a wire this -morning from my solicitor about it; and also one from the Archbishop -congratulating me. I shall be home by the ten ten train on Thursday -and we can have the wedding late that afternoon, if you will have the -church and the parson ready.” - -“But, my dear boy, isn’t that rather sudden?” - -“Not sudden enough for me! But really, so far as I am concerned, I -shall wait as long as Joy wishes. Now that we are married already, I -fancy it doesn’t much matter. Only that anything which could possibly -bind me closer to Joy will always be a happiness to me, I don’t care -whether we have a third marriage at all.” Mrs. Ogilvie caught her -daughter’s eye and answered at once: - -“So be it then! Thursday afternoon at six. I suppose there can be no -objection as to canonical hours?” The Sheriff answered: - -“I can tell you that. The License of the Archbishop goes through and -beyond all canonical hours and all places--in South Britain of course. -Armed with that instrument you can celebrate the marriage when and -where you will.” Joy and Athlyne were by this time holding hands and -whispering. - -“Of course Joy will stay with us till then--Athlyne.” Mrs. Ogilvie -spoke the last word with a pause; it was the first time she had used -his name. - -“Not ‘of course.’” he answered. “She is the head of her house now and -must be free to do as she please. But I am sure she will like to come -to you.” Joy made a protesting “_moue_” at him as she said: - -“Of course I’d like to be with Mother and Daddy, and Judy--if I--if I -am not to be with you--Oh, darling! you’re hurting me. You’re so -frightfully strong!” - -Breakfast being over, the party broke up and moved about the room. Joy -was sitting on the sofa with her Mother when Mrs. O’Brien came sidling -up by the wall. When she got close she curtsied and said: - -“Won’t ye tell me now, me Lady, if I’m to be the wan to nurse yer -childher?” - -“Oh dear! But Mrs. O’Brien, I said only yesterday that I’d tell you -that some other time. You _are_ previous!--Didn’t you hear that I am -to be married on Thursday. Later on …” - -“No time like the prisint, me Lady. It was yistherday ye shpoke; an -to-day’s to-day. Mayn’t I nurse yer ch …” - -“Tell her, dear--” her Mother had begun, when Judy joined the group. - -“What’s all this about? Whose children are you talking of?” began the -merry spinster. But her sister cut her short: - -“Never you mind, Judy! You just go and sit down and try and get -accustomed to silence so as to be ready to keep your Sheriff out of an -asylum.” Athlyne, too, with ears preternaturally sharp on Joy’s -account, had heard something of the conversation. Looking over at his -wife, he saw her face divinely rosy, and with a troubled, hunted look -in her eyes. He too instantly waded into the fray. - -“I say, let her alone you all! I hope they’re not teasing you -darling?” Joy, fearing that something unpleasant might be said, on one -side or the other, made haste to reassure him. - -Then she closed his mouth in the very best way that a young wife can -do--the way that seems to take his feet from earth and to raise him to -heaven. - -THE END - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES. - -Inconsistencies of the author that have been preserved: - -Missing commas from some direct addresses and quoted passages. - -Capitalization of he/him when referring to Lord Athlyne. - -Spelling and hyphenization of some words (_e.g._ cross-roads/cross -roads, doorway/door-way, Lake Country/Lake County, etc.). - -Alterations to the text: - -Minor punctuation fixes (missing periods, improperly paired quotation -marks, etc.). - -[Chapter I] - -Change “on the _nothern_ shore of Lake Superior” to _northern_. - -“We may be Americans; but _we’ve_ not to be played for suckers” to -_we’re_. - -[Chapter II] - -“Judy’s insight or _prophesy_ was being realised” to _prophecy_. -(_prophesy_ is a verb and thus doesn’t make sense). - -[Chapter IV] - -“without names or _indentification_ marks” to _identification_. - -[Chapter V] - -“she sank _sensless_ to the ground” to _senseless_. - -“When he saw that _he_ was only fainting” to _she_. (It was Joy who -fainted, not a male character.) - -[Chapter VI] - -“the overwhelming impulses of _mother-hood_” to _motherhood_. - -“he was _painfuly_ conscious of his” to _painfully_. - -[Chapter VII] - -“he felt horribly _dissappointed_” to _disappointed_. - -“She spoke in a gay _debonnair_ manner” to _debonair_. - -[Chapter VIII] - -“the forthcoming visit to _Eurpoe_” to _Europe_. - -“She’s the _letterwriter_ of the family” to _letter-writer_. - -[Chapter X] - -“have called _unconcious_ cerebration,” to _unconscious_. - -“She had to content _hersef_ with” to _herself_. - -“whom he wished to _propitate_” to _propitiate_. - -“the whole _word_ seemed to revolve round Joy” to _world_. - -[Chapter XI] - -“For my own part _of_ ever I fall in love” to _if_. - -“he met the _chaffeur_ whom he sent back” to _chauffeur_. - -“the personal _manisfestation_ of Nature’s God” to _manifestation_. - -“Then _impulvisely_ she put her hand” to _impulsively_. - -[Chapter XII] - -“with a trusty _chaffeur_ or by train” to _chauffeur_. - -“in London at Brown’s Hotel _Albermarle_ Street” to _Albemarle_. - -“at the station at _Windmere_” to _Windermere_. - -[Chapter XIII] - -“between which her inward _natured_ swayed pendulum-wise” to _nature_. - -[Chapter XIV] - -“hope that it _woud_ be in a spot” to _would_. - -“necessitated by the _eaboration_ of organised society” to -_elaboration_. - -“_uness_ we hear to the contrary” to _unless_. - -“Love surely was so _triumpahnt_” to _triumphant_. - -[Chapter XV] - -“was not due at _Windmere_ till seven” to _Windermere_. - -“while _she_ poor girl would have to bear all the brunt” to _the_. - -[Chapter XVI] - -“with as _brace_ a face and bearing as she could muster” to _brave_. - -[Chapter XVIII] - -“he _determind_ to try to make amends” to _determined_. - -(“Why, madam ‘why’” he almost roared whilst...) Change the passage -in quotes to an exclamation (because of the roaring). - -[Chapter XXI] - -“There was a prolonged _screceh_” to _screech_. - -“two parties came into this _juxta-position_” to _juxtaposition_. - -[Chapter XXII] - -“What of of the future?” delete one _of_. - -[Chapter XXIII] - -“our son-in-law, _in_ none other than Mr. Richard Hardy” to _is_. - -[End of Text] - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LADY ATHLYNE *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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 an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no - restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it - under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this - eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the - United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where - you are located before using this eBook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that: - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without -widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/65799-0.zip b/old/65799-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 167ca3b..0000000 --- a/old/65799-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/65799-h.zip b/old/65799-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 1d8472f..0000000 --- a/old/65799-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/65799-h/65799-h.htm b/old/65799-h/65799-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 4a622be..0000000 --- a/old/65799-h/65799-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,15301 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.1//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml11/DTD/xhtml11.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" version="-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.1//EN" xml:lang="en"> -<head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"/> - <title> - Lady Athlyne, by Bram Stoker - </title> - <style type="text/css"> - -/* Headers and Divisions */ - h1, h2, h3 {margin:2em 0em 1em 0em; page-break-before:always; text-align:center;} - - div.tp {text-align:center;} /* title page */ - - /* center a block of text */ - div.quote_o {font-size:95%; margin:0.5em 2em 0.5em 2em; text-align:center;} - div.quote_i {display:inline-block; text-align:left;} - -/* General */ - - body {margin:0% 5% 0% 5%;} - - .nobreak {page-break-before:avoid;} - - p {margin:0em 0em 0em 0em; text-align:justify; text-indent:2em;} - p.center {margin:0em 0em 0em 0em; text-align:center; text-indent:0em;} - p.noindent {text-indent:0em;} - p.sign2 {margin:0em 2em 0em 0em; text-align:right; text-indent:0em;} - p.spacer {margin:0.5em 0em 0.5em 0em; text-align:center; text-indent:0em;} - p.end {margin:1em 0em 0em 0em; text-align:center; text-indent:0em;} - - p.toc_1 {font-variant:small-caps; text-align:left; text-indent:0em;} - - div.letter {margin:1em 0em 1em 3em;} - - span.font80 {font-size:80%;} - - span.sc {font-variant:small-caps;} - - span.chap_sub {font-size:80%;} - -/* play/poetry indented verses */ - p.i0 {margin:0em 0em 0em 2em; text-indent:-2em;} - - </style> -</head> - -<body> - -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Lady Athlyne, by Bram Stoker</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Lady Athlyne</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Bram Stoker</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 8, 2021 [eBook #65799]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer.</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LADY ATHLYNE ***</div> - -<div class="tp"> -<h1> -LADY ATHLYNE -</h1> - -BY<br/> -BRAM STOKER -<br/><br/><br/><br/> -PAUL R. REYNOLDS<br/> -NEW YORK -</div> - - -<h2> -COPYRIGHT. -</h2> - -<p class="center"> -<span class="sc">Copyright</span>, 1908, by<br/> -BRAM STOKER -</p> - - -<h2> -CONTENTS. -</h2> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch01">I. On the “Cryptic”</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch02">II. In Italy</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch03">III. De Hooge’s Spruit</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch04">IV. The Bird-cage</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch05">V. An Adventure</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch06">VI. True Heart’s Content</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch07">VII. A Discussion</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch08">VIII. “Look at Me!”</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch09">IX. The Car of Destiny</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch10">X. A Letter</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch11">XI. The Beautiful Twilight</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch12">XII. Echo of a Tragedy</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch13">XIII. Instinctive Planning</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch14">XIV. A Banquet on Olympus</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch15">XV. “Stop!”</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch16">XVI. A Painful Journey</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch17">XVII. The Sheriff</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch18">XVIII. Pursuit</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch19">XIX. Declaration of War</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch20">XX. Knowledge of Law</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch21">XXI. Application of Law</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch22">XXII. The Hatchet Buried</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch23">XXIII. A Harmony in Gray</a> -</p> - - -<h2> -LADY ATHLYNE -</h2> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="ch01"> -CHAPTER I.<br/> -<span class="chap_sub">ON THE “CRYPTIC”</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">On</span> the forenoon of a day in February, 1899, the White Star S. S. -<i>Cryptic</i> forced her way from Pier No. 48 out into the Hudson River -through a mass of floating ice, which made a moving carpet over the -whole river from Poughkeepsie to Sandy Hook. It was little wonder that -the hearts of the outwardbound passengers were cheered with hope; -outside on the wide ocean there must be somewhere clear skies and blue -water, and perchance here and there a slant of sunshine. Come what -might, however, it must be better than what they were leaving behind -them in New York. For three whole weeks the great city had been -beleaguered by cold; held besieged in the icy grip of a blizzard -which, moving from northwest to south, had begun on the last day of -January to devastate the central North American States. In one place, -Breckenridge in Colorado, there fell in five days—and this on the top -of an accumulation of six feet of snow—an additional forty-five -inches. In the track swept by the cold wave, a thousand miles wide, -record low temperatures were effected, ranging from 15° below zero in -Indiana to 54° below at White River on the northern shore of Lake -Superior. -</p> - -<p> -In New York city the temperature had sunk to 6.2° below zero, the -lowest ever recorded, and an extraordinary temperature for a city -almost entirely surrounded by tidal currents. The city itself was in a -helpless condition, paralyzed and impotent. The snow fell so fast that -even the great snow-ploughs driven by the electric current on the tram -lines could not keep the avenues clear. And the cold was so great that -the street-clearing operations—in which eight thousand men with four -thousand carts dumping some fifty thousand tons of snow daily into the -river were concerned—had to be suspended. Neither men nor horses -could endure the work. The “dead boat” which takes periodically the -city’s unclaimed corpses to Potter’s Field on Hart’s Island was twice -beaten back and nearly wrecked; it carried on the later voyage 161 -corpses. Before its ghastly traffic could be resumed there were in the -city mortuaries over a thousand bodies waiting sepulture. The -“Scientific editor” of one of the great New York dailies computed that -the blanket of snow which lay on the twenty-two square miles of -Manhattan Island would form a solid wall a thousand feet high up the -whole sixty feet width of Broadway in the two and a half miles between -the Battery and Union Square, weighing some two and a half million -tons. Needless to say the streets were almost impassable. In the chief -thoroughfares were narrow passages heaped high with piled-up snow now -nearly compact to ice. In places where the falling snow had drifted it -reached to the level of, and sometimes above, the first floor windows. -</p> - -<p> -As the <i>Cryptic</i> forced her way through the rustling masses of -drifting ice the little company of passengers stood on deck watching -at first the ferry-boats pounding and hammering their strenuous way -into the docks formed by the floating guards or screens by whose aid -they shouldered themselves to their landing stages; and later on, when -the great ship following the wide circle of the steering buoys, opened -up the entrance of Sandy Hook, the great circle around them of Arctic -desolation. Away beyond the sweep of the river and ocean currents the -sea was frozen and shimmering with a carpet of pure snow, whose -luminous dreariness not even the pall of faint chill mist could -subdue. Here and there, to north and south, were many vessels frozen -in, spar and rope being roughly outlined with clinging snow. The hills -of Long Island and Staten Island and the distant ranges of New Jersey -stood out white and stark into the sky of steel. -</p> - -<p> -All was grimly, deadly silent so that the throb of the engines, the -rustle and clatter of the drifting ice-pack, as the great vessel, -getting faster way as the current became more open, or the hard -scrunch as she cut through some solid floating ice-field, sounded like -something unnatural—some sound of the living amid a world of the -dead. -</p> - -<p> -When the Narrows had been reached and passed and the flag of smoke -from the great chimney of the Standard Oil Refining Works lay far -behind on the starboard quarter; when Fire Island was dropping down on -the western horizon, all became changed as though the wand of some -beneficent fairy had obliterated all that was ugly or noxious in its -beneficent sweep. Sky and wave were blue; the sun beamed out; and the -white-breasted gulls sweeping above and around the ship seemed like -the spirit of nature freed from the thrall of the Ice Queen. -</p> - -<p> -Naturally the spirits of the travellers rose. They too found their -wings free; and the hum and clash of happy noises arose. Unconsciously -there was a general unbending each to the other. All the stiffness -which is apt to characterize a newly gathered company of travellers -seemed to melt in the welcome sunshine; within an hour there was -established an easiness of acquaintanceship generally to be found only -towards the close of a voyage. The happiness coming with the sunshine -and the open water, and the relief from the appalling gloom of the -blizzard, had made the freed captives into friends. -</p> - -<p> -At such moments like gravitates to like. The young to young; the grave -to the grave; the pleasure-lovers to their kind; free sex to its free -opposite. On the <i>Cryptic</i> the complement of passengers was so small -that the choice of kinds was limited. In all there were only some -thirty passengers. None but adventurous spirits, or those under stress -of need, challenged a possible recurrence of Atlantic dangers which -had marked the beginning of the month, when ship after ship of the -giant liners arrived in port maimed and battered and listed with the -weight of snow and frozen spray and fog which they carried. -</p> - -<p> -Naturally the ladies were greatly in the minority. After all, travel -is as a rule, men’s work; and this was no time for pleasure trips. The -dominant feeling on board on this subject was voiced in a phrase used -in the Chart room where the Captain was genially pointing out the -course to a tall, proud old man. The latter, with an uneasy gesture of -stroking his long white moustache, which seemed to be a custom or -habit at certain moments of emotion, said: -</p> - -<p> -“And I quite agree with you, seh; I don’t mind men travelling in any -weather. That’s man’s share. But why in hell, seh, women want to go -gallivantin’ round the world in weather that would make any -respectable dog want to lie quiet by the fireside, I don’t know. Women -should learn——” He was interrupted by a tall young girl who burst -into the room without waiting for a reply to her breathless: “May I -come in?” -</p> - -<p> -“I saw you go in, Daddy, and I wanted to see the maps too; so I raced -for all I was worth. And now I find I’ve come just in time to get -another lesson about what women ought to do!” As she spoke she linked -her arm in her father’s with a fearlessness and security which showed -that none of the natural sternness which was proclaimed in the old -man’s clear-cut face was specially reserved for her. She squeezed his -arm in a loving way and looked up in his face saucily—the way of an -affectionate young girl towards a father whom she loves and trusts. -The old man pulled his arm away and put it round her shoulder. With a -shrug which might if seen alone have denoted constraint, but with a -look in the dark eyes and a glad tone in the strong voice which -nullified it absolutely, he said to the Captain: -</p> - -<p> -“Here comes my tyrant, Captain. Now I must behave myself.” -</p> - -<p> -The girl standing close to him went on in the same loving -half-bantering way: -</p> - -<p> -“Go on, Daddy! Tell us what women should learn!” -</p> - -<p> -“They should learn, Miss Impudence, to respect their fathers!” Though -he spoke lightly in a tone of banter and with a light of affection -beaming in his eyes, the girl grew suddenly grave, and murmured -quickly: -</p> - -<p> -“That is not to be learned, Father. That is born with one, when the -father is like mine!” Then turning to the Captain she went on: -</p> - -<p> -“Did you ever hear of the Irishman who said: There’s some subjects too -sarious for jestin’; an’ pitaties is wan iv them? I can’t sauce my -father, or chaff him, or be impudent—though I believe he <i>likes</i> me -to be impudent—to him, when he talks of respect. He has killed men -before now for want of that. But he won’t kill me. He knows that my -respect for him is as big as my love—and there isn’t room for any -more of either of them in me. Don’t you Daddy?” -</p> - -<p> -For answer the old man drew her closer to him; but he said nothing. -Really there was no need for speech. The spirits and emotions of both -were somewhat high strung in the sudden change to brightness from the -gloom that had prevailed for weeks. At such times even the most staid -are apt to be suddenly moved. -</p> - -<p> -A diversion came from the Captain, a grave, formal man as indeed -becomes one who has with him almost perpetually the responsibility of -many hundreds of lives: -</p> - -<p> -“Did I understand rightly, Colonel Ogilvie that you have <i>killed</i> men -for such a cause?” The old gentleman lifted his shaggy white eyebrows -in faint surprise, and answered slowly and with an easiness which only -half hid an ineffable disdain: -</p> - -<p> -“Why, cert’nly!” The simple acceptance of the truth left the Captain -flabbergasted. He grew red and was beginning: “I thought”—when the -girl who considered it possible that a quick quarrel might arise -between the two strong men, interrupted: -</p> - -<p> -“Perhaps Captain, you don’t understand our part of the world. In -Kentucky we still hold with the old laws of Honour which we sometimes -hear are dead—or at any rate back numbers—in other countries. My -father has fought duels all his life. The Ogilvies have been fighters -way back to the time of the settlement by Lord Baltimore. My Cousin -Dick tells me—for father never talks of them unless he has to—that -they never forced quarrels for their own ends; though I must say that -they are pretty touchy”—She was in turn interrupted by her father who -said quickly: -</p> - -<p> -“‘Touchy’ is the word, my girl, though I fear you use it too lightly. -A man <i>should</i> be touchy where honour is concerned. For Honour is the -first thing in all the world. What men should live for; what men -should die for! To a gentleman there is nothing so holy. And if he -can’t fight for such a sacred thing, he does not deserve to have it. -He does not know what it means.” -</p> - -<p> -Through the pause came the grave voice of the Captain, a valiant man -who on state occasions wore on his right breast in accordance with the -etiquette of the occasion the large gold medal of the Royal Humane -Society: -</p> - -<p> -“There are many things that men should fight for—and die for if need -be. But I am bound to say that I don’t hold that the chiefest among -them is a personal grievance; even if it be on the subject of the -measure of one’s own self-respect.” Noticing the coming frown on the -Kentuckian’s face, he went on a thought more quickly: “But, though I -don’t hold with duelling, Colonel Ogilvie, for any cause, I am bound -to say that if a man thinks and believes that it is right to fight, -then it becomes a duty which he should fulfil!” -</p> - -<p> -For answer the Colonel held out his hand which the other took warmly. -That handshake cemented a friendship of two strong men who understood -each other well enough to tolerate the other’s limitations. -</p> - -<p> -“And I can tell you this, seh,” said Colonel Ogilvie, “there are some -men who want killing—want it badly!” -</p> - -<p> -The girl glowed. She loved to see her father strong and triumphant; -and when toleration was added to his other fine qualities, there was -an added measure in her pride of him. -</p> - -<p> -There came a tap on the panelling and the doorway was darkened by the -figure of a buxom pleasant-faced woman, who spoke in a strong Irish -accent: -</p> - -<p> -“I big yer pardon, Miss Ogilvie, but yer Awnt is yellin’ out for ye. -She’s thinkin’ that now the wather’s deep the ship is bound to go down -in it; an’ she sez she wants ye to be wid her whin the ind comes, as -she’s afeard to die alone!” -</p> - -<p> -“That’s very thoughtful of her! Judy was always an unselfish -creature!” said the Colonel with an easy sarcasm. “Run along to her -anyhow, little girl. That’s the sort of fighting a woman has to do. -And” turning to the Captain “by Ged, seh! she’s got plenty of that -sort of fighting between her cradle and her grave!” As she went out of -the door girl said over her shoulder: -</p> - -<p> -“That reminds me, daddy. Don’t go on with that lecture of yours of -what women should learn until I come back. Remember I’m only ‘a child -emerging into womanhood’—that’s what you wrote to mother when you -wouldn’t let me travel to her alone. Some one might kill me I suppose, -or steal me between this and Ischia. So it is well I should be -forewarned, and so forearmed, at all points!” -</p> - -<p> -The Captain looked after her admiringly; then turning to Colonel -Ogilvie he said almost unconsciously—he had daughters of his own: -</p> - -<p> -“I shouldn’t be surprised if a lot want to steal her, Colonel. And I -don’t know but they’d be right!” -</p> - -<p> -“I agree with you, by Ged, seh!” said the Colonel reflectively, as he -looked after his daughter pacing with free strides along the deck with -the stout little stewardess over whom she towered by a full head. -</p> - -<p> -Miss Ogilvie found her aunt, Miss Judith Hayes, in her bunk. From the -clothes hung round and laid, neatly folded, on the upper berth it was -apparent that she had undressed as for the night. When the young girl -realised this she said impulsively: -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, Aunt Judy, I hope you are not ill. Do come up on deck. The sun is -shining and it is such a change from the awful weather in New York. Do -come, dear; it will do you good.” -</p> - -<p> -“I am not ill Joy—in the way you mean. Indeed I was never in better -physical health in my life.” She said this with grave primness. The -girl laughed outright: -</p> - -<p> -“Why on earth Aunt Judy, if you’re well, do you go to bed at ten -o’clock in the morning?” Miss Hayes was not angry; there was a -momentary gleam in her eye as she said with a manifestedly exaggerated -dignity: -</p> - -<p> -“You forget my dear, that I am an old maid!” -</p> - -<p> -“What has old-maidenhood to do with it? But anyhow you are not an old -maid. You are only forty!” -</p> - -<p> -“Not forty, Joy! <i>Only</i> forty, indeed! My dear child when that unhappy -period comes a single lady is put on the shelf—out of reach of all -masculine humanity. For my part I have made up my mind to climb up -there, of my own accord, before the virginal undertakers come for me. -I am in for it anyhow; and I want to play the game as well as I can.” -</p> - -<p> -Joy bent down and kissed her affectionately. Then taking her face -between her strong young hands, and looking steadily in her eyes, she -said: -</p> - -<p> -“Aunt Judy you are not an old anything. You are a deal younger than I -am. You mustn’t get such ideas into your head. And even if you do you -mustn’t speak them. People would begin to believe you. What is forty -anyhow!” The other answered sententiously: -</p> - -<p> -“What is forty? Not old for a wife! Young for a widow! Death for a -maid!” -</p> - -<p> -“Really Aunt Judy” said the girl smiling “one would think you wish to -be an old maid. Even I know better than that—and Father thinks I am -younger and more ignorant than the yellow chick that has just pecked -its way out of the shell. The woman has not yet been born—nor ever -will be—who wants to be an old maid.” -</p> - -<p> -Judith Hayes raised herself on one elbow and said calmly: -</p> - -<p> -“Or a young one, my dear!” Then as if pleased with her epigram she -sank back on her pillow with a smile. Joy paused; she did not know -what to say. A diversion came from the stewardess who had all the time -stood in the doorway waiting for some sort of instructions: -</p> - -<p> -“Bedad, Miss Hayes, it’s to Ireland ye ought to come. A lovely young -lady like yerself—for all yer jabber about an ould maid iv -forty—wouldn’t be let get beyant Queenstown, let alone the Mall in -Cork. Bedad if ye was in Athlone its the shillelaghs that would be out -an’ the byes all fightin’ for who’d get the hould on to ye first. -Whisper me now, is it coddin’ us ye be doin’ or what?” Joy turned -round to her, her face all dimpled with laughter, and said: -</p> - -<p> -“That’s the way to talk to her Mrs. O’Brien. You just take her in -hand; and when we get to Queenstown find some nice big Irishman to -carry her off.” -</p> - -<p> -“Bedad I will! An sorra the shtruggle she’d make agin it anyhow I’m -thinkin’!” Aunt Judy laughed: -</p> - -<p> -“Joy” she said “you’d better be careful yourself or maybe she’d put on -some of her bachelor press-gang to abduct you.” -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t you be onaisy about that ma’am,” said Mrs. O’Brien quietly. -“I’ve fixed that already! When I seen Miss Joy come down the companion -shtairs I sez to meself: ‘There’s only wan man in Ireland—an that’s -in all the wurrld—that’s good enough for you, me darlin’. An he’ll -have you for sure or I’m a gandher!’” -</p> - -<p> -“Indeed!” said Joy, blushing in spite of herself. “And may I be -permitted to know my ultimate destination in the way of matrimony? You -won’t think me inquisitive or presuming I trust.” Her eyes were -dancing with the fun of the thing. Mrs. O’Brien laughed heartily; a -round, cheery, honest laugh which was infectious: -</p> - -<p> -“Wid all the plisure in life Miss. Shure there’s only the wan, an him -the finest and beautifullest young man ye iver laid yer pritty eyes -on. An him an Earrl, more betoken; wid more miles iv land iv his own -then there does be pitaties in me ould father’s houldin! Musha, he’s -the only wan that’s at all fit to take yer swate self in his charrge!” -</p> - -<p> -“H’m! Quite condescending of him I am sure. And now what may be his -sponsorial and patronymic appellatives?” Mrs. O’Brien at once became -grave. To an uneducated person, and more especially an Irish person, -an unknown phrase is full of mystery. It makes the listener feel small -and disconcerted, touching the personal pride which is so marked a -characteristic of all degrees of the Irish race. Joy, with the quick -understanding which was not the least of her endowments, saw that she -had made a mistake and hastened to set matters right before the -chagrin had time to bite deep: -</p> - -<p> -“Forgive me, but that was <i>my</i> fun. What I meant to ask are the name -and title of my destined Lord and Master?” The stewardess answered -heartily, the ruffle of her face softening into an amiable smile: -</p> - -<p> -“Amn’t I tellin’ ye miss. Shure there is only the wan!” -</p> - -<p> -“And who may he be?” -</p> - -<p> -“Faix he may be anything. It’s a King or a Kazer or an Imperor or a -Czaar he’d be if I had the ordherin’ iv it. But what he is is the -Right Honourable the Earl av Athlyne. Lord Liftinant av the County iv -Roscommon—an’ a jool!” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, an Irishman!” said Miss Judy. Mrs. O’Brien snorted; her national -pride was hurt: -</p> - -<p> -“An Irishman! God be thanked he is. But me Lady, av it’ll plaze ye -betther he’s an Englishman too, an’ a Welshman an’ a Scotchman as -well! Oh, th’ injustice t’ Ireland. Him borrn in Roscommon, an yit a -Scotchman they call him bekase his biggest title is Irish!” -</p> - -<p> -“Mrs. O’Brien, that’s all nonsense,” said Miss Judy tartly. “We may be -Americans; but we’re not to be played for suckers for all that! How -can a Scotchman have an Irish title?” -</p> - -<p> -“That’s all very well, Miss Hayes, yous Americans is very cliver; but -yez don’t know everything. An’ I may be an ignorant ould fool; but I’m -not so ignorant as ye think, ayther. Wasn’t there a Scotchman thit was -marrid on the granddaughther iv Quane Victory hersilf—An Errll begob, -what owned the size iv a counthry in Scotland. An him all the time wid -an Irish Errldom, till they turned him into a Sassenach be makin’ him -a Juke. Begorra! isn’t it proud th’ ould Laady should ha’ been to git -an Irishman iv any kind for the young girrl! Shure an isn’t Athlyne as -good as Fife any day. Hasn’t he castles an’ estates in Scotland an’ -England an Wales, as well as in Ireland. Isn’t he an ould Bar’n iv -some kind in Scotland an him but a young man! Begob! av it’s Ireland -y’ objict to ye can take him as Scotch—where they say he belongs an’ -where he chose to live whin he became a grown man, before he wint into -th’ Army!” -</p> - -<p> -Somehow or other the announcement and even the grandiose manner of its -making gave pleasure to Joy. After all, the compliment of the -stewardess was an earnest one. She had chosen for her the best that -she knew. What more could she do? With a sudden smile she made a -sweeping curtsey, the English Presentation curtsey which all American -girls are taught, and said: -</p> - -<p> -“Let me convey to you the sincere thanks of the Countess of Athlyne! -Aunt Judy do you feel proud of having a Peeress for a niece? Any time -you wish to be presented you can call on the services of Lady -Athlyne.” She suddenly straightened herself to her full height as Mrs. -O’Brien spoke with a sort of victorious howl: -</p> - -<p> -“Hurroo! Now ye’ve done it. Ye’ve said the wurrds yerself; an’ we all -know what that manes!” -</p> - -<p> -“What does it mean?” Joy spoke somewhat sharply, her face all aflame. -It appeared that she had committed some unmaidenly indiscretion. -</p> - -<p> -“It manes that it manes the same as if ye said ‘yis!’ to me gentleman -when persooin’ iv his shute. It’s for all the wurrld the same as bein’ -marrid on to him!” -</p> - -<p> -In spite of the ridiculousness of the statement Joy thrilled inwardly. -Unconsciously she accepted the position of peeress thus thrust upon -her. -</p> - -<p> -After all, the Unknown has its own charms for the human heart. Those -old Athenians who built the altars “To the Unknown God,” did but put -into classic phrase the aspirations of a people by units as well as in -mass. Mrs. O’Brien’s enthusiastic admiration laid seeds of some kind -in the young girl’s heart. -</p> - -<p> -Her instinct was, however, not to talk of it; and as a protective -measure she changed the conversation: -</p> - -<p> -“But you haven’t told me yet, Aunt Judy, why you went to bed in the -morning because you pretend to be an old maid.” The Irishwoman here -struck in: -</p> - -<p> -“I’m failin’ to comprehind that meself too. If ye was a young wife now -I could consave it, maybe. Or an ould widda-woman like meself that -does have to be gettin’ up in the night to kape company wid young -weemin that doesn’t like to die, alone …” she burst into hearty -laughter in which Miss Judith Hayes joined. Joy took advantage of the -general hilarity to try to persuade her aunt to come on deck. She -finished her argument: -</p> - -<p> -“And the Captain is such a nice man. He’s just a wee bit too grave. I -think he must be a widower.” Aunt Judy made no immediate reply; but -after some more conversation she said to the stewardess: -</p> - -<p> -“I think I will get up Mrs. O’Brien. Perhaps a chair on deck in the -sunshine will be better for me than staying down here. And, after all, -if I have to die it will be better to die in the open than in a bed -the size of a coffin!” -</p> - -<p> -When Joy rejoined her father in the Chart-room she said to the -Captain: -</p> - -<p> -“That stewardess of yours is a dear!” He warmly acquiesced: -</p> - -<p> -“She is really a most capable person; and all the ladies whom she -attends grow to be quite fond of her. She is always kind and cheery -and hearty and makes them forget that they are ill or afraid. When I -took command of the <i>Cryptic</i> I asked the company to let her come with -me.” -</p> - -<p> -“And quite right too, Captain. That brogue of hers is quite -wonderful!” -</p> - -<p> -“It is indeed. But, my dear young lady, its very perfection makes me -doubt it. It is so thick and strong and ready, and the way she twists -words into its strength and makes new ones to suit it give me an idea -at times that it is partly put on. I sometimes think it is impossible -that any one can be so absolutely and imperatively Irish as she is. -However, it serves her in good stead; she can say, without offence, -whatever she chooses in her own way to any one. She is a really clever -woman and a kind one; and I have the greatest respect for her.” -</p> - -<p> -When Aunt Judy was left alone with the stewardess, she asked: -</p> - -<p> -“Who is Lord Athlyne?—What kind of man is he? Where does he live?” -</p> - -<p> -“Where does he live?—Why everywhere! In Athlyne for one, but a lot iv -other places as well. He was brought up at the Castle where the ould -Earrl always lived afther he lift Parlimint; and whin he was a boy he -was the wildest young dare-devil iver ye seen. Faix, the County -Roscommon itself wasn’t big enough for him. When he was a young man he -wint away shootin’ lions and tigers and elephants and crockodiles and -such like. Thin he wint into th’ army an began to settle down. He has -a whole lot av different houses, and he goes to them all be times. He -says that no man has a right to be an intire absentee landlord—even -when he’s livin’ in his own house!” -</p> - -<p> -“But what sort of man is he personally?” she asked persistently. The -Irishwoman’s answer was direct and comprehensive: -</p> - -<p> -“The bist!” -</p> - -<p> -“How do you know that?” -</p> - -<p> -“An’ how do I know it! Amn’t I a Roscommon woman, borrn, an’ wan av -the tinants? Wouldn’t that be enough? But that’s only the beginnin’. -Shure wasn’t I his fosther-mother, God bless him! Wasn’t he like me -own child when I tuk him to me breast whin his poor mother died the -day he was borrn. Ah, Miss Hayes there’s nothin’ ye don’t know about -the child ye have given suck to. More, betoken, than if he was yer own -child; for he might be thinkin’ too much of <i>him</i> an puttin’ the bist -consthruction on ivery little thing he iver done, just because he was -yer own. Troth I didn’t want any tellin’ about Athlyne. The sweetest -wean that iver a woman nursed; the tindherest hearted, wid the wee -little hands upon me face an his rosebud av a mouth puttin’ up to me -for a kiss! An’ yit the pride av him; more’n a King on his throne. An’ -th’ indepindince! Him wantin’ to walk an’ run before he was able to -shtand. An’ ordherin’ about the pig an’ the gandher, let alone the -dog. Shure the masterfullest man-child that iver was, and the -masterfullest man that is. Sorra wan like him in the whole wide -wurrld!” -</p> - -<p> -“You seem to love him very much,” said Miss Hayes with grave approval. -</p> - -<p> -“In coorse I do! An’ isn’t it me own boy that was his fosther brother -that loves him too. Whin the Lard wint out to fight the Boors, Mick -wint wid him as his own body man until he was invalided home wid a bad -knee; an’ him a coachman now an’ doin’ nothin’ but take his wages; And -whin he kem to Liverpool to say good-bye when the <i>Cryptic</i> should -come in I tould him to take care of his Masther. ‘Av ye don’t,’ sez I, -‘ye’re no son iv mine, nor iv yer poor dear father, rest his sowl! -Kape betune him an’ any bullet that’s comin’ his way’ I sez. An’ wid -that he laughed out loud in me face. ‘That’s good, mother,’ sez he, -‘an iv coorse I’d be proud to; but I’d like to set eyes on the man -that’d dar to come betune Athlyne an’ a bullet, or to prevint him -cuttin’ slices from aff iv the Boors wid his big cav-a-lary soord,’ he -sez. ‘Begob,’ he sez, ‘t’would be worse nor fightin’ the Boors -themselves to intherfere wid him whin he’s set on his way!’” -</p> - -<p> -“That’s loyal stock! He’s a Man, that son of yours!” said Miss Judy -enthusiastically, forgetting her semi-cynical rôle of old maid in the -ardour of the moment. The stewardess seeing that she had a good -listener went on: -</p> - -<p> -“And ’tis the thoughtful man he is. He niver writes to me, bekase he -knows well I can’t read. But he sends me five pounds every Christmas. -On me birthday he gev me this, Lord love him!” She took a gold watch -from her bosom and showed it with pride. -</p> - -<p> -When she was dressed, Miss Hayes looked into the Library; and finding -it empty took down the “de Brett,” well thumbed by American use. Here -is what she saw on looking up “Athlyne.” -</p> - -<div class="letter"> - -<p class="center"> -ATHLYNE EARL OF FITZGERALD -</p> - -<p> -Calinus Patrick Richard Westerna Hardy Mowbray FitzGerald 2nd Earl of -Athlyne (in the Peerage of the United Kingdom). 2nd Viscount Roscommon -(in the Peerage of Ireland). 30th Baron Ceann-da-Shail (in the Peerage -of Scotland). b. 6 June 1875 s. 1886 ed. Eton and University of -Dublin; is D. L. for Counties of Ross and Roscommon: J. P. for -Counties of Wilts, Ross and Roscommon. -</p> - -<p> -<i>Patron of three livings</i>:—Raphoon, New Sands, and Politore. -</p> - -<p> -<i>Seats</i>. Ceann-da-Shail Castle and Castle of Elandonan in Ross-shire, -Athlyne Castle C. Roscommon. Travy Manor, Gloucestershire and The Rock -Beach, Cornwall, &c. &c. <i>Town Residence</i>. 40 St. James’s Square -S. W. -</p> - -<p> -<i>Clubs</i>. Reform. Marlborough. United Service. Naval and Military. -Garick. Arts. Bath &c. -</p> - -<p> -<i>Predecessors</i>. Sir Calinus FitzGerald—descended from Calinus -FitzGerald the first of the name settled in Ross-shire, to which he -came from Ireland in the XII century—was created by Robert the Bruce -Baron Ceann-da-Shail, 1314, and endowed with the Castle of Elandonan -(Gift of the King) as the reward of a bold rally of the Northern -troops at Bannockburn. Before his death in 1342 he built for himself a -strongly fortified Castle on the Island of Ceann-da-Shail (from which -his estate took its name) celebrated from time immemorial for a -wonderful spring of water. The Barony has been held in direct descent -with only two breaks. The first was in 1642 when direct male issue -having failed through the death of the only son of Calinus the XXth -Baron the Peerage and estates reverted to Robert Calinus e. s. of -James, 2nd s. of Robert XVIII Baron. The second was in 1826 when, -again through the early decease of an only son, the Barony reverted to -Robert e. s. of Malcolm 2nd s. of Colin XXVII Baron. The father of -this heritor, Malcolm FitzGerald, had settled in Ireland in 1782. -There he had purchased a great estate fronting on the River Shannon in -Roscommon on which he had built a castle, Athlyne. Malcolm FitzGerald -entered the Parliament of the United Kingdom in 1805 and sat for 22 -years when he was succeeded in Parliamentary honours by his son Robert -on his coming of age in 1827. Robert held his seat until the creation -of the Viscounty of Roscommon 1870. Three years after his retirement -from the House of Commons he was raised to an Earldom—Athlyne. -</p> - -</div> - -<p> -When she went out on deck she found her niece taking with her father -the beef tea which had just been brought round. She did not mention to -Colonel Ogilvie the little joke about Lady Athlyne, and strange to say -found that Joy to whom a joke or a secret was a matter of fungoid -growth, multiplying and irrepressible, had not mentioned it either. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch02"> -CHAPTER II.<br/> -<span class="chap_sub">IN ITALY</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">During</span> the voyage, which had its own vicissitudes, the joke was kept -up amongst the three women. The stewardess, seeing that the two ladies -only spoke of it in privacy, exemplified that discretion which the -Captain had commended. Only once did she forget herself, but even then -fortune was on her side. It was during a day when Joy was upset by a -spell of heavy weather and had to keep her cabin. In the afternoon her -father paid a visit to her; and Mrs. O’Brien in reporting progress to -him said that “her Ladyship” was now on the road to recovery and would -be on deck very shortly. Colonel Ogilvie made quite a lot of the error -which he read in his own way. He said to his sister-in-law as they -paced the deck together: -</p> - -<p> -“Capital woman that stewardess! There is a natural deference and -respect in her manner which you do not always find in people of her -class. Will you oblige me, Judy, by seeing, when the voyage is over, -that she gets an extra honorarium!” Judy promised, and deftly turned -the conversation; she felt that she was on dangerous ground. -</p> - -<p> -Judith Hayes called herself an old maid, not believing it to be true; -but all the same there was in her make-up a distinctive trait of it: -the manner in which she regarded a romance. Up to lately, romance -however unlikely or improbable, had a personal bearing; it did not -occur to her that it might not drift in her direction. But now she -felt unconsciously that such romance must have other objective than -herself. The possibility, therefore, of a romance for Joy whom she -very sincerely loved was a thing to be cherished. She could see, as -well as feel, that her niece by keeping it a secret from her father -had taken the matter with at least a phase of seriousness. This alone -was sufficient to feed her own imaginings; and in the glow her -sympathies quickened. She had instinctively at the beginning -determined not to spoil sport; now it became a conscious intention. -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. O’Brien, too, in her own way helped to further the matter. She -felt that she had a good audience for her little anecdotes of the -child whose infancy she had fostered, and towards whom in his -completed manhood she had a sort of almost idolatrous devotion. Seeing -the girl so sympathetic and listening so patiently, she too began to -see something like the beginnings of a fact. And so the game went -merrily on. -</p> - -<p> -The telegrams at Queenstown were not very reassuring, and Colonel -Ogilvie and his party pressed on at once to Sorrento whence his wife -had moved on the completion of her series of baths at Ischia. -Naturally the whole of the little party was depressed, until on -arrival they found Mrs. Ogilvie, who was something of a -valetudinarian, much better than they expected. The arrival of her -husband and daughter and sister seemed to complete her cure; she -brightened up at once, and even after a few days began to enjoy -herself. -</p> - -<p> -One day after lunch as she drove along the road to Amalfi with Judith -and Joy—the Colonel was lazy that day and preferred to sit on the -terrace over the sea and smoke—she began to ask all the details of -the journey. Judy who had not had a chance of speaking alone with -safety began to tell the little secret. Her method of commencement was -abrupt, and somewhat startling to the convalescent: -</p> - -<p> -“We’ve got a husband for Joy, at last!” -</p> - -<p> -“Gracious!” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “What do you mean, Judy? Is this one of -your pranks?” -</p> - -<p> -“Prank indeed!” she answered back, tossing her head. “A real live -lord! A belted Earl if you please—whatever that may mean.” -</p> - -<p> -“Is this true, Joy?” said her mother beaming anxiously on her—if such -a combination is understandable. Joy took her hand and stroked it -lovingly: -</p> - -<p> -“Do you think, Mother dear, that if there was such a thing I should -leave you all this time in ignorance of it. It is only a jest made up -by the stewardess who attended us on the <i>Cryptic</i>. Aunt Judy seems to -have taken it all in; I think dear you had better ask her; she seems -to know all about it—which is certainly more than I do.” -</p> - -<p> -“And how did this common woman dare to jest on such a subject. I don’t -think Judy that this would have happened had I been with her myself!” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh my dear, get off that high horse. There’s nothing to be alarmed -about. The stewardess—who is a most worthy and attentive person——” -</p> - -<p> -“She is a dear!” interrupted Joy. -</p> - -<p> -“—took such a fancy to Joy that she said there was only ‘wan’ in all -the world who was worthy of her—a young nobleman to whom she had been -foster-mother. It was certainly meant as a very true compliment, and I -am bound to say that if the young man merits a hundredth part of all -she said of him there’s certainly no cause of offence in the mere -mentioning his name.” -</p> - -<p> -“What is his name?” There was a shade of anxiety in the mother’s -voice. -</p> - -<p> -“Lord Athlyne!” -</p> - -<p> -“The Earl of Athlyne!” said Joy speaking without thought. Then she -turned quickly away to hide her blushing. -</p> - -<p> -“I—I—I really don’t understand!” said Mrs. Ogilvie, looking around -helplessly. Then with the shadow of a shade of annoyance in her voice -she went on: -</p> - -<p> -“I really think that in a serious matter of this kind I should have -been consulted. But I seem not to count for anything any more. Colonel -Ogilvie has not even mentioned the matter to me. I think I ought to -have some say in anything of importance relating to my little girl.” -</p> - -<p> -“Lord bless the woman!” said Aunt Judy throwing up her hands and -lifting her eyes. “Sally dear don’t you comprehend that this was all a -joke. We never saw this young Lord, never heard of him till the -stewardess mentioned him; and as for him he doesn’t know or care -whether there is such a person in the world as Joy Ogilvie——” The -mother interrupted hotly—it seemed want of respect to her child: -</p> - -<p> -“Then he ought to care. I’d like to know who he is to consider himself -so high and mighty that even my little girl isn’t … Oh! I have no -patience with him.” -</p> - -<p> -There was silence in the carriage. Mrs. Ogilvie had come to the end of -her remonstrance, and both the others were afraid to speak. It was all -so supremely ridiculous. And yet the mother was taking it all so -seriously that respect for her forbade laughter. The road was here -steep and the horses were laboriously climbing their way. Presently -Judy turned to Joy saying: -</p> - -<p> -“Wouldn’t you like to look at the view from the edge of the cliff?” As -she spoke she looked meaningly at her niece who took the hint and got -down. -</p> - -<p> -When she was out of earshot and the driver had stopped the horses Judy -turned to her sister and said with a quiet, incisive directness quite -at variance with all her previous moods: -</p> - -<p> -“Sally dear I want to speak a moment to you quite frankly and, believe -me, very earnestly. I know you don’t usually credit me with much -earnestness; but this is about Joy, and that is always earnest with -me.” All the motherhood in Mrs. Ogilvie answered to the call. She sat -up with eager intensity, receptive to the full and without any -disturbing chagrin. Judy went on: -</p> - -<p> -“You have been thinking of your ‘little girl’—and actually speaking -of her as such. That is the worst of mothers—their one fault. With -them time seems to stand still. The world goes flying by them, but in -their eyes the child remains the same. Gold hair or black turns to -white, wrinkles come, knees totter and steps become unsteady; but the -child goes on—still, in the mother’s eyes, dressing dolls and chasing -butterflies. They don’t even seem to realise facts when the child puts -her own baby into the grandmother’s arms. Look round for a moment -where Joy is standing there outlined against that Moorish tower on the -edge of the cliff. Tell me what do you see?” -</p> - -<p> -“I see my dear, beautiful little girl!” said the mother faintly. -</p> - -<p> -“Hm!” said Judy defiantly. “That’s not exactly what I see. I agree -with the ‘dear’ and ‘beautiful’; she’s all that and a thousand times -more.” -</p> - -<p> -“Tell me what you do see, Judy!” said the mother in a whisper as she -laid a gentle hand imploringly on her sister’s arm. She was trembling -slightly. Judy took her hand and stroked it tenderly. “I know!” she -said gently “I know. I know!” The mother took heart from her -tenderness and said in an imploring whisper: -</p> - -<p> -“Be gentle with me, Judy. She is all I have; and I fear her passing -away from me.” -</p> - -<p> -“Not that—not yet at all events!” she answered quickly. “The time is -coming no doubt. But it is because we should be ready for it that I -want to speak. We at least ought to know the exact truth!” -</p> - -<p> -“The exact truth … Oh Judy …!” -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t be frightened, dear. There is nothing to fear. The truth is all -love and goodness. But my dear we are all but mortal after all, and -the way to keep right is to think truly.” -</p> - -<p> -“Tell me exactly what you see! Tell me everything no matter how small. -I shall perhaps understand better that way!” -</p> - -<p> -Judy paused a while, looking at the young girl lovingly. Then she -spoke in a level absent voice as though unconsciously. -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t see a child—now. I see a young woman of twenty; and a fine -well-grown young woman at that. Look at her figure, straight and clean -as a young pine. Type of figure that is the most alluring of all to -men; what the French call <i>fausse maigre</i>. She has great gray eyes as -deep as the sky or the sea; eyes that can drag the soul out of a man’s -body and throw it down beneath her dainty feet. I may be an old maid; -but I know that much anyhow. Her hair is black—that isn’t black, but -with a softness that black cannot give. Her skin is like ivory seen in -the sunset. Her mouth is like a crimson rosebud. Her teeth are like -pearls, and her ears like pink shell. Her head is poised on her -graceful neck like a lily on its stem. Her nose is a fine -aquiline—that means power and determination. Her forehead can -wrinkle—that means thought, and may mean misery. Her hands are long -and fine; patrician hands that can endure—and suffer. Sally, there is -there the making of a splendid woman and of a noble life; she is not -out of her girlhood yet, but she is very near it. Ignorance is no use -to her. She <i>will</i> understand; and then she will take her own course. -She has feeling deep and strong in the very marrow of her bones. Ah! -my dear, and she has passion too. Passion that can make or mar. That -woman will do anything for love. She can believe and trust. And when -she believes and trusts she will hold the man as her master; put him -up on a pedestal and be content to sit at his feet and worship—and -obey … She …” -</p> - -<p> -Here the mother struck in with surprised consternation “How on earth -do you know all this?” Judy turned towards her with a light in her -eyes which her sister had never seen there: -</p> - -<p> -“How do I know it! Because she is of my blood and yours. Have I not -seen a lot of it in you in our babyhood. Have I not gone through it -all myself—the longing part of it—the wishing and hoping and praying -and suffering. Do you think Sally that I have arrived at old maidhood -without knowing what a young maid thinks and feels; without having any -share of the torture that women must bear in some form or another. I -know it all as well as though it was all fresh before me instead of a -lurid memory. Ah, my dear she has all our nature—and her father’s -too. And he never learned the restraint that we had to learn—and -practice. When she is face to face with passion she may find herself -constrained to take it as he has always done: for life or death!” … -She paused a moment, panting with the intensity of her feeling. Then -she went on more quietly: -</p> - -<p> -“Sally, isn’t it wiser to let her, in her youth and ignorance of -herself and the world, break herself in to passion and romance. It -would be hard to get a safer object for sentimental affection than a -man she never saw and is never likely to meet. After all, he is only -an idea; at best a dream. In good time he will pass out of her mind -and give place to something more real. But in the meantime she will -have learned—learned to understand, to find herself.” Then she sat -silent till Joy turned round and began to walk towards them. At this -the mother said quietly: -</p> - -<p> -“Thank you, dear Judy. I think I understand. You are quite right, and -I am glad you told me.” -</p> - -<p> -That journey round the Sorrentine Peninsula became a part of Joy’s -life. It was not merely that every moment was a new pleasure, a fresh -delight to the eye; her heart was in some mysterious way beginning to -be afire. Hitherto her thoughts of that abstract creation, Lord -Athlyne, had been impersonal: an objective of her own unconscious -desires, rather than a definite individuality. Up to now, though he -had been often in her thoughts, he had never taken shape there. The -image was so inchoate, indefinite, vague and nebulous. She had never -tried or even wished to find for him in her imagination features or -form. But now she had begun to picture him in various ways. As she -stood beside the Moorish tower looking down across the rugged slope of -rock and oleander at the wrinkled sea beneath, his image seemed to -flit before the eyes of her soul in kaleidoscopic form. It was an -instance of true feminine receptivity: the form did not matter, she -was content to accept the Man. -</p> - -<p> -The cause—the sudden cause of this change was her mother’s attitude. -She had accepted him as a reality and had not hesitated to condemn him -as though he was a conscious participant in what had passed. Joy had -found herself placed in a position in which she had to hear him -unfairly treated, without being able to make any kind of protest. It -was too ridiculous to argue. What on earth could her mother know about -him that she should take it for granted that he had done wrong? He who -had never seen her or even heard of her! He who was the very last man -in the world to be wanting to a woman in the way of respect—of -tenderness—of love. … Here she started and looked around cautiously -as one does who is suspicious of being watched. For it flashed across -her all at once that she knew no more of him than did her mother. As -yet he was only an abstraction; and her mother’s conception of him -differed from hers. And as she thought, and thought truly for she was -a clever girl, she began to realise that she had all along been -clothing an abstract individuality with her own wishes and dreams—and -hopes. … The last thought brought her up sharply. With a quick shake -of the head she threw aside for the present all thoughts on the -subject, and impulsively went back to the carriage. -</p> - -<p> -There were however a few root thoughts left which <i>would</i> not be -thrown aside. They could not be, for they were fixed in her womanhood. -Another woman had accepted her dream as a reality; and now, as that -reality was her doing, he was her own man. And he was misunderstood -and blamed and unfairly treated! It was her duty to protect him! -</p> - -<p> -Had Aunt Judy been aware of her logical process and its conclusion she -could have expressed it thus: -</p> - -<p> -“Hm! a man in her mind.—<i>Her</i> man. Her duty to protest. … We all -know what that means. He’s only in her mind at present … Hm!” -</p> - -<p> -The whole day was spent on the road, for the beauty was such that the -stoppages were endless. Joy, with the new-arisen soul which took her -out of her own thoughts, found delight in every moment. She could -hardly contain her rapture as fresh vistas of beauty burst upon her. -When the curve of the promontory began to cut off the view of Vesuvius -and the plain seaward of it, she got out of the carriage and ran back -to where she could have a full view. Underneath her lay the wonderful -scene of matchless beauty. To the right rose Vesuvius a mass of warm -colour, with its cinder cone staring boldly into the blue sky, a faint -cloud hanging over it like a flag. Below it was the sloping plain -dotted with trees and villas and villages, articulated in the clear -air like a miniature map. Then the great curve of the bay, the -sapphire sea marked clearly on the outline of the coast from Ischia -which rose like a jewel from a jewel. Past Naples, a clustering mass -with San Martino standing nobly out and the great fortress crowning -grimly the hill above it. Past Portici and the buried Herculaneum; -till getting closer the roofs and trees and gardens seemed to run up -to where she stood. To the left, a silhouette of splendid soft purple, -rose the island of Capri from the sea of sapphire which seemed to -quiver in the sunshine. Long she looked, and then closing her eyes to -prove that the lovely image still held in the darkness, she turned -with a long sigh of ecstasy and walked slowly to the waiting carriage. -</p> - -<p> -Again and again she stooped, till at last she made up her mind to walk -altogether until she should get tired. The driver took his cue from -her movements when to stop and when to go on. -</p> - -<p> -The road round the Peninsula runs high up the mountain side with -mostly a steep precipice to seaward and on the other hand towering -rocks. But such rocks! And so clad with the finest vegetation! Rocks -rich in colour and quaint in shape; with jagged points and deep -crevices in which earth could gather and where trees and shrubs and -flowers could cling. High over-head hung here and there a beautiful -stone-pine with red twisted trunk and spreading branches. Fig and -lemon trees rose in the sheltered angles, the long yellow shoots of -the new branches of the lemon cutting into the air like lances. -Elsewhere beech and chestnut, oak and palm. Trailing over the rock, -both seaward and landward, creepers of soft green and pink. And above -all, high up on the skyline, the semi-transparent, smoke-coloured -foliage of the olives that crowned the slopes. -</p> - -<p> -Then the towns! Maggiore and Amalfi quaint close-drawn irregular -relics of a more turbulent age, climbing up the chasms in the -hillside. Narrow streets, so steep as to look impossible to traffic. -Queer houses of all sorts of irregular design and variety of stone. -Small windows, high doors, steep, rugged irregularly-sloping steps as -though time and some mighty force had shaken the very rock on which -they were built. Joy felt as though she could stay there for ever, and -that each day would be a dream, and each fresh exploration a time of -delight. In her secret heart of hearts she registered a vow that if -ever she should go on a wedding journey it should be to there. -</p> - -<p> -At Amalfi they had tea, and then made up their minds that they would -drive on to Salerno and there take train home; for it would be time to -travel quick when so long a journey had been taken. -</p> - -<p> -When they were at the end of the peninsula a sudden storm came on. For -awhile they had seen far out at sea a dark cloud gathering, but it was -so far away that they did not think it would affect them. The driver -knew and began to make ready, for there was no escaping from it. He -turned his horses’ heads to the rock and wedged up the wheels of the -carriage with heavy stones so that in case the horses should get -frightened their plunging could not be too harmful. -</p> - -<p> -Heavier and heavier grew the cloud out at sea, and as it grew denser -it moved landward. Its grey changed to dark blue and then to a rich -purple, almost black. A keen coldness presaged a coming storm. -</p> - -<p> -There was stillness all round the mountain road; a positive desolation -of silence from which even the wondrous beauty of the scene could not -distract the mind. Joy absolutely refused to sit in the carriage which -was now properly hooded. She threw on the cloak which she had brought -with her and stood out on the open road where she could enjoy the -scene undisturbed by human proximity. As she stood, the velvet black -cloud was rent by a blinding sheet of lightning which seemed for a -moment to be shaped like a fiery tree, roots upward in the sky. Close -following came such a mighty peal of thunder that her heart shook. -Ordinarily Joy was not timorous, and for thunder she had no fear. But -this was simply terrific; it seemed to burst right over her head and -to roll around her in a prolonged titanic roar. She was about to run -to the carriage when she heard the shrieks of fear from the two women; -the driver was on his knees on the road praying. Joy felt that all she -could do to help her mother and aunt would be to keep calm—as calm as -she could. So she moved her hand and called out cheerfully: -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t be afraid! It is all right; the lightning has passed us!” As -she spoke the rain came down in torrents. It was tropical; in a few -seconds the open road was running like a river, ankle deep. By the -exercise of her will the girl’s courage had risen. She could now -actually enjoy what was before her. Far out to sea the black cloud -still hung, but it was broken up in great masses which seemed to dip -into the sea. It was almost as dark as night; so dark that the expanse -became lit by the lightning flashes. In one of these she saw three -separate water-spouts. The sea appeared to have risen as the cloud -sank, and now were far apart three great whirling pillars like -hour-glasses. And then, wonder of wonders, without turning her head -but only her eyes she could see away to the left a whole world of -green expanse backed up by the mountains of Calabria. With each second -the sinking sun brought into view some new hilltop flaming in the -glow. A little way in front of her at the southern side of the -peninsula the copper dome of the church at Vietri glowed like a ball -of fire. Away to the south on the edge of the sea rose the many -columns of the majestic ruins of Pæstum, standing still and solemn as -if untouchable by stress of storm or time. -</p> - -<p> -Joy stood entranced, as though the eyes of her soul had opened on a -new world. She hardly dared to breathe. The pelting of the rainstorm, -the rush of the water round her feet, the crash and roar of the -thunder or the hissing glare of the lightning did not move or disturb -her. It was all a sort of baptism into a new life. -</p> - -<p> -Joy Ogilvie, like all persons of emotional nature, had quick sympathy -with natural forces and the moods of nature. The experience of the -day, based on the superlative beauty around her, had waked all the -emotional nature within her. Naples is always at spring time; and the -young heart finding naturally its place amongst the things that -germinate and develop unconsciously, swayed with and was swayed by the -impulses of her sex. Beauty and manhood had twin position in her -virgin breast. -</p> - -<p> -Aunt Judy’s insight or prophecy was being realised quicker than she -thought. Joy’s sex had found her out! -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch03"> -CHAPTER III.<br/> -<span class="chap_sub">DE HOOGE’S SPRUIT</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">In</span> Italy Joy Ogilvie learned to the full, consciously and -unconsciously, all the lessons which a younger civilisation can learn -from an elder. To the sympathetic there are lessons in everything; -every spot that a stranger foot has pressed has something to teach. -Especially to one coming from the rush of strenuous life, which is the -note of America, the old-world calm and luxury of repose have lessons -in toleration which can hardly be otherwise acquired. In the great -battle of life we do not match ourselves against individuals but -against nations and epochs; and when it is finally borne in on us that -others, fashioned as we ourselves and with the same strength and -ambitions and limitations, have lived and died and left no individual -mark through the gathering centuries, we can, without sacrifice of -personal pride, be content to humbly take each his place. -</p> - -<p> -The month spent at and round Naples had been a never-ending dream of -delight; and this period of quiescence told on her naturally sensuous -nature. Already she had accepted the idea of a man worthy of love; and -the time went to the strengthening of the image. There was a subtle -satisfactoriness in the received idea; the wealth of her nature had -found a market—of a kind. That is to say: she was satisfied to -export, and that was the end of her thoughts—for the present. -Importation might come later, -</p> - -<div class="quote_o"> -“The mind’s Rialto hath its merchandise.” -</div> - -<p> -None of the family ever alluded to Lord Athlyne in the presence of her -father. Each in her own way knew that he would not like the idea; and -so the secret—it had by this very reticence grown to be a secret by -now—was kept. -</p> - -<p> -On the voyage back to New York Joy’s interest in Lord Athlyne became -revived by the surroundings. They had not been able to secure cabins -in the <i>Cryptic</i>; and so had come by the Hamburg-American Line from -Southampton. By this time Aunt Judy’s interest in the matter had begun -to wane. To her it had been chiefly a jest, with just that spice of -earnest which came from the effect which she supposed the episode -would have on Joy’s life. As Joy did not ever allude to the matter she -had almost ceased to remember it. -</p> - -<p> -It was Joy’s duty—she thought of it as her privilege—to make her -father’s morning cocktail which he always took before breakfast. One -morning it was brought by Judy. Colonel Ogilvie thanking her asked why -he had the privilege of her ministration. Unthinkingly she answered: -</p> - -<p> -“Oh it’s all right. The Countess made it herself, but she asked me to -take it to you as she is feeling the rolling of the ship and wants to -keep in bed.” -</p> - -<p> -“The who?” asked the Colonel his brows wrinkled in wonder. “What -Countess? I did not know we had one on board.” -</p> - -<p> -“Lady Athlyne of course. Oh!” she had suddenly recollected herself. As -she saw she was in for an explanation she faced the situation boldly -and went on: -</p> - -<p> -“That is the name you know, that we call Joy.” -</p> - -<p> -“The name you call Joy—the Countess! Lady Athlyne! What on earth do -you mean, Judy? I don’t understand.” In a laughing, offhand way, full -of false merriment she tried to explain, her brother-in-law listening -the while with increasing gravity. When she had done he said quietly: -</p> - -<p> -“Is this one of your jokes, Judy; or did this Countess make two -cocktails?” He stopped and then added: “Forgive me I should not have -said that. But is it a joke, dear?” -</p> - -<p> -“Not a bit!” she answered spiritedly. “That is, this particular -occasion is not a joke. It is the whole thing that is that.” -</p> - -<p> -“A joke to take … Is there a real man of the name of the Earl of -Athlyne?” -</p> - -<p> -“I believe so,” she said this faintly; she had an idea of what was -coming. -</p> - -<p> -“Then Judith I should like some rational explanation of how you come -to couple my daughter’s name in such a way with that of a strange man. -It is not seemly to say the least of it. Does my daughter allow this -to be done?” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh Colonel, it is only a joke amongst ourselves. I hope you won’t -make too much of it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Too much of it! I couldn’t make enough of it! If the damned fellow -was here I’d shoot him!” -</p> - -<p> -“But, my God, the man doesn’t know anything about it; no more than you -did a minute ago.” Miss Judith was really alarmed; she knew the -Colonel. He waved his hand as though dismissing her from the argument: -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t worry yourself, my dear: this is a matter amongst men. We know -how to deal with such things!” He said no more on the subject, but -talked during breakfast as usual. When he rose to go on deck Judy -followed him timidly. When they were away from the few already on deck -she touched him on the arm. -</p> - -<p> -“Give me just a minute?” she entreated. -</p> - -<p> -“A score if you like, my dear!” he answered heartily as he led her to -a seat in a sheltered corner behind the saloon skylight, and sat -beside her. “What is it?” -</p> - -<p> -“Lucius you have always been very good to me. All these years that I -have lived in your house as your very sister you never had a word for -me that wasn’t kind …” He interrupted her, laying his hand on hers -which was on the arm of her deck chair: -</p> - -<p> -“Why else, my dear Judy! You and I have always been the best of -friends. And my dear you have never brought anything but sunshine and -sweetness into the house. Your merriment has kept care away from us -whenever he tried to show his nose … Why my dear what is it? There! -You mustn’t cry!” As he spoke he had taken out a folded silk -pocket-handkerchief and was very tenderly wiping her eyes. Judy went -on sobbing a little at moments: -</p> - -<p> -“I have always tried to make happiness, and I have never troubled you -with asking favours, have I?” -</p> - -<p> -“No need to ask, Judy. All I have is yours just as it is Sally’s or -Joy’s.” Suddenly she smiled, her eyes still gleaming with recent -tears: -</p> - -<p> -“I am asking a favour now—by way of a change. Lucius on my -<i>honour</i>—and I know no greater oath with you than that—this has been -a perfectly harmless piece of fun. It arose from a remark of that nice -Irish stewardess on the <i>Cryptic</i> that no one was good enough to marry -Joy except one man: the young nobleman whom she had nursed. And she -really came to believe that it would come off. She says she has some -sort of foreknowledge of things.” The Colonel smiled: -</p> - -<p> -“Granted all this, my dear; what is it you want me to do?” -</p> - -<p> -“To do nothing!” she answered quickly. Then she went with some -hesitation: -</p> - -<p> -“Lucius you are so determined when you take up an idea, and I know you -are not pleased with this little joke. You are mixing it up with -honour—the honour that you fight about; and if you go on, it may -cause pain to us all. We are only a pack of women, after all, and you -mustn’t be hard on us.” -</p> - -<p> -“Judy, my dear, I am never hard on a woman, am I?” -</p> - -<p> -“No! Indeed you’re not,” she avowed heartily. “You’re the very -incarnation of sweetness, and gentleness, and tenderness, and chivalry -with them … But then you take it out of the men that cross you!” -</p> - -<p> -“That’s as a gentleman should be, I take it” he said reflectively, -unconsciously stroking his white moustache. Then he said briskly: -</p> - -<p> -“Now Judy seriously tell me what you wish me to do or not to do. I -must have <i>some</i> kind of clue to your wishes, you know.” As she was -silent for the moment he went on gravely. “I think I understand, my -dear. Be quite content, I take it all for a joke and a joke between us -it shall remain. But I must speak to Joy about it. There are some -things which if used as subjects for jokes lead to misunderstandings. -Be quite easy in your mind. You know I love my daughter too well to -give her a moment’s pain that I can spare her. Thank you Judy for -speaking to me. I might have misunderstood and gone perhaps too far. -But you know how sensitive—‘touchy’ Joy calls it—about my name and -my family I am; and I hope you will always bear that in mind. And -besides my dear, there is the other gentleman to be considered. He -too, may have a word to say. As he is a nobleman he ought to be -additionally scrupulous about any misuse of his name; and of course I -should have to resent any implication made by him against any member -of my family!” -</p> - -<p> -“Good Lord!” said Judy to herself, as he stood up and left her with -his usual courtly bow. “What a family to deal with. This poor little -joke is as apt to end in bloodshed as not. The Colonel is on the -war-path already; I can see that by his stateliness!” -</p> - -<p> -Colonel Ogilvie thought over the matter for a whole day before he -spoke to Joy; he was always very grave and serious regarding subjects -involving honour and duty. -</p> - -<p> -Joy knew that he had something on his mind from his abstraction, and -rather kept out of his way. This was not on her own account for she -had no idea that she was involved in the matter, but simply because it -was her habit to sympathise with him and to think of and for him. She -was just a little surprised when the next afternoon he said to her as -they stood together at the back of the wheel-house over the screw, the -quietest place on the ship for a talk: -</p> - -<p> -“Joy dear, I want you to listen to me a minute.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, Daddy!” -</p> - -<p> -“About that joke you had on the <i>Cryptic</i>.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, Daddy.” She was blushing furiously; she understood now. -</p> - -<p> -“My dear, I don’t object to your having any little harmless romance of -that kind. I don’t suppose it would make any difference if I did. A -young girl will have her dreaming quite independent of her old daddy. -Isn’t it so, little girl?” -</p> - -<p> -“I suppose so, dear Daddy, since you say it.” She nestled up close to -him comfortably as she spoke: this was nicer talk than she expected. -</p> - -<p> -“But there is one thing that you must be careful about: There must be -no names!” -</p> - -<p> -“How do you mean, Daddy?” -</p> - -<p> -“I gather that there has been a joke amongst some of you as to calling -you the Countess or Lady Athlyne, or some of that kind of foolishness. -My dear child, that is not right. You are not the Countess, nor Lady -Athlyne, nor Lady anything. A name my dear when it is an honourable -one is a very precious possession. A woman must cherish the name she -does possess as a part of her honour.” -</p> - -<p> -“I am proud of my name, Father, very, very proud of it; and I always -shall be!” She had drawn herself upright and had something of her -father’s splendid personal pride. The very use of the word ‘Father’ -instead of ‘Daddy’ showed that she was conscious of formality. -</p> - -<p> -“Quite right, little girl. That is your name now; and will in a way -always be. But you may marry you know; and then your husband’s name -will be your name, and you will on your side be the guardian of his -honour. We must never trifle with a name, dear. Those people who go -under an alias are to my mind the worst of criminals.” -</p> - -<p> -“Isn’t that rather strong, Daddy, when murder and burglary and theft -and wife-beating and cheating at cards are about!” She felt that she -was through the narrow place now and could go back to her raillery. -But her father was quite grave. He walked up and down a few paces as -though arranging his thoughts and words. When he spoke he did so -carefully and deliberately: -</p> - -<p> -“Not so, little girl. These, however bad they may be, are individual -offences and are punished by law. But a false name—even in jest, my -dear—is an offence against society generally, and hurts and offends -every one. And in addition it is every one of the sins you have named; -and all the others in the calendar as well.” -</p> - -<p> -“How on earth do you make out that, Daddy?” -</p> - -<p> -“Take them in order as you mentioned them. Murder, burglary, theft, -wife-beating, cheating at cards! What is murder? Killing without -justification! Does not one who approaches another in false guise kill -something? The murderer takes the life; the other kills what is often -more than life: self respect, belief in human nature, faith. One only -kills the body; but the other kills the soul. Burglary and theft are -the same offence differently expressed; theft is the meaner crime that -is all. Well, disguise is the thief’s method. Sometimes he relies on -absence of others, sometimes on darkness, sometimes on a mask, -sometimes on the appearance or identity of some one else. But he never -deals with the normal condition of things; pretence of some kind must -always be his aid. The man, therefore, who relies on pretence, when he -knows that the truth would be his undoing, is a thief.” -</p> - -<p> -“Daddy you argue as well as a Philadelphia lawyer!” -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t believe much in lawyers!” said the old man dryly. “As to -wife-beating!” -</p> - -<p> -“I’m afraid you’ve struck a snag there, Daddy! There isn’t much -pretence about that crime, anyhow!” -</p> - -<p> -“Not at all, my dear. That comes within the category of murder. The -man who descends to that abominable crime would kill the woman if he -dared. He is a coward as well as a murderer, and should be killed like -a mad dog!” -</p> - -<p> -“Bravo! Daddy. I wish there was a man like you to deal with them in -every county. But how about cheating at cards. <i>That’s</i> a poser, I -think!” -</p> - -<p> -“No trouble about that, Joy. It <i>is</i> cheating at cards.” -</p> - -<p> -“How do you argue that out, Daddy?” -</p> - -<p> -“Any game of cards is a game of honour. So many cards, so much skill -in playing them according to the recognised rules of the game; and, -over all, a general belief in the honour of all the players. I have -seen a man shot across a handkerchief—in honourable duel, my -dear—for hesitating markedly at poker when he stood pat on a ‘full -house.’ That was pretence, and against the laws of honour; and he paid -for it with his life.” Joy wrinkled her brows; “I see it’s quite -wrong, father, but I don’t quite see how it fits into the argument,” -she said. -</p> - -<p> -“That is simple enough, daughter. As I say, it is a pretence. Don’t -you see that after all a game of cards is a simple thing compared with -the social life of which it is only an occasional episode. If a -man,—or a woman either, Joy—misleads another it must be with some -intention to deceive. And in that deception, and by means of it, there -is some gain—something he or she desires and couldn’t otherwise get. -Isn’t that plain enough!” -</p> - -<p> -“All right, Father; I quite see. I understand now what you mean. I did -not ever look at things in quite that way. Thank you very much, dear, -for warning me so kindly too. I’ll stop the joke, and not allow it to -go on—so far as I can stop it.” -</p> - -<p> -“How do you mean? Does anyone else know it?” -</p> - -<p> -“I may have written to one or two girls at home, Daddy. You know girls -are always fond of such foolishness.” -</p> - -<p> -“Had you not better write to them and tell them not to mention it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Good Gracious! Why you dear, old goose of a Daddy it is evident you -don’t know girls. That would be the very way to make things buzz. Oh -no! we’ll simply drop it; and they’ll soon forget it. I may have to -tell them something else, though, to draw them away from it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Hm!” said her father. She looked at him with a sly archness: -</p> - -<p> -“I suppose, Daddy, it wouldn’t do to have it that an Italian Grand -Duke proposed for me—to you of course!” -</p> - -<p> -“Certainly not, Miss Impudence! I’m not to be drawn into any of your -foolish girls’ chatter. There, run away and let me smoke in peace!” -She turned away, but came back. -</p> - -<p> -“Am I forgiven, Daddy?” -</p> - -<p> -“Forgiven! Lord bless the child, why there’s nothing to forgive. I -only caution. I know well that my little girl is clear grit, straight -through; and I trust her as I do myself. Why Joy, darling” he put his -arm affectionately round her shoulder “you are my little girl! The -only one I have or ever shall have; and so, God willing, you shall be -to me to the end.” -</p> - -<p> -“Thank you dear, dear Daddy. And I pray so too. I shall always be your -little girl to you and shall come to you to cheer you or to be -comforted myself. Mother has of late taken to treating me like a -grown-up which she always keeps firing off at me so that I don’t know -whether I am myself or not. But whatever I am to anyone else, I never -shall be anything to you but your ‘little girl!’” -</p> - -<p> -And that compact was sealed then and there with a kiss. -</p> - -<p> -<br/> -</p> - -<p> -Nine months later whilst Colonel Ogilvie was in the library of his own -house, “Air” in Airlville, Joy came in and closed the door carefully; -she came close and whispered: -</p> - -<p> -“Am I still your little girl, Daddy?” -</p> - -<p> -“Always my dear! always!” -</p> - -<p> -“Then you don’t mind having a secret with me?” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>Mind</i> my dear! I love it. What is it you want to tell me?” She took -a folded newspaper from her pocket and handed it to him, saying: -</p> - -<p> -“I came across this in the New York <i>Tribune</i>. Read it!” Colonel -Ogilvie turned it over with a rueful look as he said: -</p> - -<p> -“The whole of it!” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh Daddy, don’t be tiresome; of course not.” Her father’s face -brightened: -</p> - -<p> -“Then you read what you want me to know. Your eyes are better than -mine!” Joy at once began to read: -</p> - -<p> -“From our own Correspondent, Capetown. Some details of the lamentable -occurrence at de Hooge’s Spruit which was heliographed from the front -yesterday have now come to hand. It appears that a battery of field -artillery was ordered to proceed from Bloomgroot to Neswick escorted -by a Squadron of mixed troops taken from the Scottish Horse and the -Mounted Yeoman. When they had begun to cross the river, which here -runs so rapidly that great care has to be observed lest the horses -should be swept away, a terrific fusillade from an entrenched force of -overwhelming numbers was opened on them. Colonel Seawright who -commanded ordered a retreat until the disposition of the enemy could -be ascertained. But before the manœuvre could be effected the British -force was half wiped out. Accurate fire had been concentrated on the -artillery horses, and as the guns were all on the river bank ready for -the crossing it was impossible to rescue them. Gallant efforts were -made by the gunners and the cavalry escort, but in the face of the -hail of bullets the only result was a terrible addition to the list of -killed and wounded. Seeing that the ground was partly clear, a number -of Boers crept out of cover and tried to reach the guns. At this our -troops made another gallant effort and the Boers disappeared. Still it -was almost hopeless to try to save the guns. One only of the battery -was saved and this by as gallant an effort on the part of one young -officer as has been as yet recorded in the war. Captain Lord Athlyne” -Here Joy looked up for an instant and saw a frown suddenly darken her -father’s brow—“who was tentatively in command of a yeomanry troop -took a great coil of rope one end of which was held by some of his -men. When he was ready he rode for the guns at a racing pace, loosing -the rope as he went. It was a miracle that he came through the -terrific fire aimed at him by the Boer sharp-shooters. Having gained -the last gun, behind which there was a momentary shelter, he attached -the end of the rope. Then mounting again he swept like a hurricane -across the zone of fire. There was a wild cheer from the British, and -a number of horsemen began to ride out whilst the firing ran along the -front of the waiting line. But the instant the rope was attached the -men began to pull and the gun actually raced along the open space. In -the middle of his ride home the gallant Irishman’s cap was knocked off -by a bullet. He reined up his charger, dismounted and picked up the -cap <i>and dusted it</i> with his handkerchief before again mounting. -Despite their wounds and the chagrin of defeat the whole force cheered -him as he swept into the lines. -</p> - -<p> -“Daddy I call that something like a man! Don’t you?” Her colour was -high and her eyes were blazing. She looked happy when her father -echoed her enthusiasm: -</p> - -<p> -“I do! daughter. That was the action of a gallant gentleman!” There -was a silence of perhaps half a minute. Then Colonel Ogilvie spoke: -</p> - -<p> -“But why, my dear, did you tell this to <i>me</i>?” -</p> - -<p> -“I had to tell some one, Daddy. It is too splendid to enjoy all one’s -self; and I was afraid if I told Mother she might not -understand—she’s only a woman you know, and might put a wrong -construction on my telling her, and so worry herself about me. And I -didn’t dare to tell Aunt Judy, for she’s so chock full of romance that -she would have simply gone crazy and chaffed me out of all reason. -There is no holding back Aunt Judy when she is chasing after a -romance! And besides, Daddy dear” here she took his arm and looked up -in his face “I wanted you to know that Lord Athlyne is a gentleman.” -Her father frowned: -</p> - -<p> -“Why should I know—or care?” -</p> - -<p> -“Not on your own part Daddy—but—but only because I want you to. It -is hard to explain, but I think you took a prejudice against him from -the first; and you see it makes it less awkward to be coupled with a -man’s name, when the name and the man are good ones.” The Colonel’s -frown was this time one of puzzlement. -</p> - -<p> -“I’m afraid I don’t understand. You never saw the man. Why should you -dislike less to be coupled with him because he did a brave thing? -Besides, the whole thing is mere nonsense.” -</p> - -<p> -“Of course it is, Daddy. All nonsense. But it is better to be good -nonsense than bad nonsense!” -</p> - -<p> -“Look here daughter—my little girl—I’m afraid you have got or may -get too fond of thinking of that fellow. Take care!” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, that’s all right, Daddy. He is only an abstraction to me. But -somehow he interests me. Don’t you be worrying about me. I promise you -solemnly that I will tell you everything I hear about him. Then you -can gauge my feelings, and keep tab of my folly.” -</p> - -<p> -“All right; little girl! There can’t be anything very dangerous when -you tell your father all about it.” -</p> - -<p> -<br/> -</p> - -<p> -It was three months before Joy mentioned the name of Lord Athlyne -again to her father. One morning she came to him as he sat smoking in -the garden at Air. Her eyes were glistening, and she walked slowly and -dejectedly. In her hand she held a copy of the New York <i>Tribune</i>. She -held it out, pointing with her finger to a passage. -</p> - -<p> -“Read it for me, little girl!” In answer she said with a break in her -voice: -</p> - -<p> -“You read it, Daddy. Don’t make me. It hurts me; and I should only -break down. It is only a dream I know; but it is a sad dream and is -over all too soon!” Colonel Ogilvie read the passage which was an -account of the fighting at Durk River in which numbers of the British -were carried away by the rapid stream, the hale and those wounded by -the terrible fire of the Boers alike. The list of the missing was -headed by a name he knew. -</p> - -<p> -“Major the Earl of Athlyne, of the Irish Hussars.” -</p> - -<p> -The old gentleman rose up as stiff as at the salute and raised his hat -reverently as he said: -</p> - -<p> -“A very gallant gentleman. My heart is with you, my little girl! A -dream it may have been; but a sad ending to any dream!” -</p> - -<p> -<br/> -</p> - -<p> -A week after Joy sought her father again, in the garden. This time her -step was buoyant, her face radiant, and her eyes bright. The moment -her father saw he felt that it had something to do with what he called -in his own mind “that infernal fellow.” When she was close to him she -said in a low voice that thrilled: -</p> - -<p> -“He is not dead, Daddy! He was wounded and carried down the river and -was captured by the Boers and taken up to Pretoria. They have put him -in the Birdcage. Beasts! It’s all here in the <i>Tribune</i>.” -</p> - -<p> -Colonel Ogilvie was distinctly annoyed. When he could look on Lord -Athlyne as dead he could admire his bravery, and even tolerate the -existence that had been. But this chopping and changing—this being -dead and coming to life again—was disturbing. What sort of fellow was -he that couldn’t make up his mind on any subject? Couldn’t he remain -dead like a gentleman? He had died like one; wasn’t that enough! Joy -saw that he was not pleased. She was too glad for the moment to take -her father’s attitude to heart; but every instinct in her told her not -to remain. So she laid the paper on his knee and said quietly: -</p> - -<p> -“I’ll leave it with you, Daddy. You can read it yourself; it’s worth -reading. You are glad, I know, because your little girl is glad that -there is one more brave man in the world.” -</p> - -<p> -Just as she was going her father called her back. When she was close -he said in a kindly manner but with great gravity: -</p> - -<p> -“No more mentioning names now, little girl!” She put her finger to her -lip as registering a vow of secrecy. Then she blew a kiss at him and -tripped away. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch04"> -CHAPTER IV.<br/> -<span class="chap_sub">THE BIRD-CAGE</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">The</span> “Bird-cage” at Pretoria was the enclosure wherein the captured -British officers were imprisoned during the second quarter of the year -1900. Here at the beginning of May two men were talking quietly as -they lay on the bare ground in the centre of the compound. The -Bird-cage was no home of luxury; but the men who had perforce to live -in it tried to make the best of things, and grumbling was tacitly -discountenanced. These two had become particular chums. For more than -a month they had talked over everything which seemed of interest. At -first of course it was the war and all connected with it which -interested them most. They were full of hope; for though six months of -constant reverses were behind them they could not doubt that Time and -General Roberts would prevail. These two items of expected success -were in addition to the British Army generally and the British -soldier’s belief in it. When every battle or engagement which either -of them had been in had been fought over again, and when their -knowledge of other engagements and skirmishes had come to an end they -fell back on sport. This subject held out for some time. The memories -of both were copious of pleasant days and interesting episodes; and -hopes ran high of repetitions and variations when the war should be -over and the Boers reduced to that acquiescence in British methods and -that loyalty to the British flag which British pride now demanded. -Then “woman” had its turn, and every flirtation with the bounds of -memory was recalled, without names or identification marks. -</p> - -<p> -Then, when they knew each other better, they talked of the future in -this respect. Young men, whatever exceptions these may be, are very -sentimental. They are at once imaginative and reticent. Unlike girls -their bashfulness is internal. The opening of their hearts, even in a -measure, to each other in this respect was the crowning of their -confidence. At this time they were occasionally getting letters. These -had of course gone through the hands of the censor and their virginity -thus destroyed; but the craving of all the prisoners for news of any -kind, from home or elsewhere, was such that every letter received -became in a measure common property. Even from intimate letters from -their own womenkind parts were read out that had any colourable -bearing on public matters. A few days before one of the men had a -letter from his wife who was in Capetown; a letter which though it was -nothing but a letter of affection from a loving wife, was before the -day was over read by every man in the place. It had puzzled the -husband at first, for though it was in his wife’s writing the manner -of it was not hers. It was much more carefully written than was her -wont. Then it dawned on him that it had a meaning. He thought over it, -till in a flash he saw it all. It was written by her, but she had -copied it for some one else and signed it. The passage of the letter -that now most interested him read: -</p> - -<div class="letter"> - -<p> -“I do so long to see you, my darling, that if I do not see you before, -I am going to ask to be allowed to come up to Pretoria and see you -there if I may, if it is only a glimpse through that horrid barbed -wire netting that we hear of. You remember my birthday is on Waterloo -day; and I am promising myself, as my birthday treat, a glimpse of the -face of my dear husband.” -</p> - -</div> - -<p> -It did not do to assemble together, for the eyes of the jailors were -sharp and an organized meeting of the prisoners was suspicious and -meant the tightening of bonds. So one by one he talked with his -fellows, telling them what he thought and always imploring them to -maintain the appearance of listless indifference which they had -amongst themselves decided was the attitude best calculated to avert -suspicion. Some did not at first understand the cryptic meaning; but -the general belief was that it was a warning that the capture of -Pretoria was expected not later than the fifteenth of June. This -created enormous hopes. Thenceforth all the talk in private was as to -what each would do when the relief came. -</p> - -<p> -To-day the conversation was mainly about Athlyne’s affairs. He had -been unfolding plans to his friend Captain Vachell of the Yeomanry and -the latter asked him suddenly: -</p> - -<p> -“By the way, Athlyne, are you married.” -</p> - -<p> -“What!—Me married! Lord bless you man, no! Why do you ask?” -</p> - -<p> -“I gathered so from what you have been saying just now. Don’t be -offended at my asking; but I have a special purpose.” -</p> - -<p> -“I’m not a bit offended; why should I be? Why do you ask me?” -</p> - -<p> -“That’s what I want to tell you. But old chap this is a delicate -subject and I want to clear the ground first. It is wiser.” Athlyne -sat up: -</p> - -<p> -“Look here, Vachell, this is getting interesting. Clear away!” The -other hesitated and then said suddenly: -</p> - -<p> -“You never went through a ceremony of marriage, or what professed to -be one, with anyone I suppose? I really do ask pardon for this.” -</p> - -<p> -“Honestly, Vachell, I’m not that sort of man. I have lots of sins on -me; more than my fair share perhaps. But whatever I have done has been -above board.” The other went on with dogged persistence: -</p> - -<p> -“You will understand when I explain why I ask; but this is your -matter, not mine, and I want to avoid making matters still more -complicated. That is of course if there should be any complication -that you may have overlooked or forgotten.” -</p> - -<p> -“Good God! man, a marriage is not a thing a man could overlook or -forget.” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh that’s all right with a real marriage; or even with a mock -marriage if a man didn’t make a practice of it. But there might be -some woman, with whom one had some kind of intrigue or irregular -union, who might take advantage of it to place herself in better -position. Such things have been you know, old chap!” he added -sententiously. Athlyne laughed. -</p> - -<p> -“Far be it from me to say what a woman might or might not do if she -took it into her pretty head; but I don’t think there’s any woman who -would, or who would ever think she had the right to, do that with me. -There are women, lots of them I am afraid, who answer the bill on the -irregular union or intrigue side; but I should certainly be astonished -if any of them ever set out to claim a right. Now I have made a clean -breast of it. Won’t you tell me what all this is about?” The other -looked at him steadily, as though to see how he took it, as he -answered: -</p> - -<p> -“There is, I am told, a woman in New York who is passing herself off -as your wife!” -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne sprang to his feet and cried out: -</p> - -<p> -“What!” -</p> - -<p> -“That’s what I took it to mean! By the way—” this was said as if it -was a sudden idea “I take it that your mother is not alive. I had it -in my mind that she died shortly after you were born?” -</p> - -<p> -“Unhappily that is so!” -</p> - -<p> -“There is no dowager Countess?” -</p> - -<p> -“Not for more than thirty years. Why?” -</p> - -<p> -“The letter says ‘Countess of Athlyne.’ I took it to be your wife.” -</p> - -<p> -“Let me see the letter.” He held out his hand. Vachell took from his -pocket—the only private storage a man had in the Bird-cage—an -envelope which he handed to his comrade, who took from it a torn -fragment of a letter. He read it then turned it over. As he did so his -eyes lit up; he had seen his own name. He read it over several times, -then he looked up: -</p> - -<p> -“Have you read it?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes. I was told to do so.” -</p> - -<p> -“All right! Then we can discuss it together.” He read it out loud: -</p> - -<p> -“So Athlyne is married. At least I take it so, for there is a woman in -New York, I am told, who calls herself the Countess of Athlyne. I know -nothing of her only this: a casual remark made in a gossipy letter.” -</p> - -<p> -“Now tell me, Vachell, can you throw any light on this?” -</p> - -<p> -“Not on the subject but only on the way it has come to you. I had -better tell you all I know from the beginning.” Athlyne nodded, he -went on: -</p> - -<p> -“Whilst we were in the trenches at Volks Spruit waiting for the attack -to sound, Meldon and I were together—you remember Meldon of the -Connaught Fusiliers?” -</p> - -<p> -“Well! We often hunted together.” -</p> - -<p> -“He asked me that if anything should happen to him I would look over -his things and send them home, and so forth. I promised, but I asked -him why he so cast down about the fight that was coming; was it a -presentiment or anything of that kind. ‘Not a bit,’ he said, ‘it’s not -spiritualism but logic! You see it’s about my turn next. All our lot -have been wiped out, going up the line in sequence. Rawson, my junior, -was last; and now I come on. And there is a message I want you to -carry on in case I’m done for. You will find among my papers an -envelope directed to Lord Athlyne. It has only a scrap of paper in it -so I had better explain. The last time I saw Ebbfleet of the -Guards—in Hospital just before he died—he asked me to take the -message. ‘You know Athlyne’ he said ‘I got a letter saying a woman in -New York was calling herself his wife, and as I know he is not married -I think it only right that he should know of this. It will put him on -his guard.’ Well you know poor Meldon went under at Sandaal; and so I -took over the message. When you and I met up here I thought we were in -for a long spell and as we couldn’t do anything I came to the -conclusion that there was no use giving you one more unpleasant thing -to think of and grind your teeth over. But now that we know Bobs and -Kitchener are coming up before long I want to hand over to you. It is -evident that they expect us to be ready to help the force from within -when they come, or else they wouldn’t run the chance of telling us. -Four thousand men, even without arms, are not to be despised in a -scrimmage. If the wily Boer tumbles to it they will take us up the -mountains in several sections, and I may not have another chance.” -</p> - -<p> -“That is all you know of the matter I take it?” -</p> - -<p> -“Absolutely! Of course should I hear anything more I shall at once let -you know. Though frankly I don’t see how that can be; both men who -sent the message are dead. I haven’t the faintest idea of who sent the -original report. Of course, old chap, I am mum on the subject unless -you ever tell me to speak.” -</p> - -<p> -“Thanks, old man. I fancy there won’t be much time for looking after -private affairs for a good spell to come after we have shifted our -quarters. There will be a devil of a lot of clearing up when the house -changes hands and continues to ‘run under new management,’ as Bung -says.” -</p> - -<p> -<br/> -</p> - -<p> -All that had been spoken of came off as arranged by the various -parties. On the fifth of June Roberts took Pretoria in his victorious -march. Mafeking and Ladysmith had been relieved, and Johannesberg had -fallen. Now, Kruger and the remainder of his forces were hurrying into -the Lydenburg mountains to make what stand they could; and not the -least keen of their foes were those who had been their guests in the -Bird-cage. Athlyne rejoined his regiment and was under Buller’s -command till the routed army escaped into Portuguese territory. Then -he was sent by Kitchener along the ranges of block houses whose -segregations slowly brought the war to an end. -</p> - -<p> -When his turn came for going home three years had elapsed. London and -his club claimed him for his spells of his short leave, for there was -still much work to be done with his regiment. When he began to tire of -the long round of work and distractions he commenced to think -seriously of a visit to America. -</p> - -<p> -His experience of the war had sobered him down. He was now thirty-two -years of age, the time when most men, who have not arrived there -already, think seriously of settling down to matrimony. In other -respects he wanted to be free. He was tired of obeying orders; even of -giving them. The war was over and Britain was at peace with the world. -Had there been still fighting going on anywhere such thought would not -have occurred to him; he would still have wanted to be in the thick of -it. But the long months of waiting and inactivity, the endless -routine, the impossibility of doing anything which would have an -immediate effect; all these things had worn out much of his patience, -and stirred the natural restlessness of his disposition. At home there -seemed no prospect of following soldiering in the way he wished: some -form in which excitement had a part. Indeed the whole scheme of War -and Army seemed to be shaping themselves on lines unfamiliar to him. -The idea of the old devil-may-care life which had first attracted him -and of which he had had a taste did not any longer exist, or, if it -existed it was not for him. Outside actual fighting the life of a -soldier was not now to consist of a series of seasonable amusements. -And even if it did the very routine of amusements not only did not -satisfy him, but became irksome. What, after all, he thought, was to a -grown man a life of games in succession. Polo and cricket, fishing, -shooting, hunting in due course; racquets and tennis, yachting and -racing were all very well individually. But they did not seem to lead -anywhere. -</p> - -<p> -In fact such pastimes now seemed inadequate to a man who had been -actively taking a part in the biggest game of them all, war! -</p> - -<p> -When once the idea had come to him it never left him. Each new -disappointment, the unfulfilled expectation of interest, drove it -further and further home. There was everywhere a lack of his old -companions; always a crowd of new faces. The girls he had known and -liked because they were likable, had got married within the few years -of his absence. The matrons had made fresh companionships which held -possession. Bridge had arisen as a new society fetish which drew to -itself the interests and time of all. A new order of “South African -Millionaires” had arisen who by their wealth and extravagance had set -at defiance the old order of social caste, and largely changed the -whole scheme of existing values. -</p> - -<p> -When he fled away from London he found something of the same changes -elsewhere. In the stir of war, and even in the long weariness of -waiting which followed it, the whirling along of the great world was, -if not forgotten, unthought of. The daily work and the daily interest -were so personal and so absorbing that abstract thinking was not. -</p> - -<p> -In the country, of course, the changes were less, but they were more -marked. The few years had their full tally of loss; of death, and -decay. The eyes that saw them were so far fresh eyes, that unchecked -memory had not a perpetual ease of comparison. -</p> - -<p> -For a while he tried hard to find a fresh interest in his work. But -here again was change with which he could feel neither sympathy nor -toleration. Great schemes of reform were on foot; schemes of -organization, of recruiting, of training. The ranks in the Service, of -which he had experience, were becoming more mechanical than ever. Had -he by this time acquired higher rank in the army it is possible that -he would have entered with ardour into the new conditions. He was -fitted for such; young, and energetic, and daring. Those in the -Cabinet or in the Army Council have material for exercising broader -views of the machinery of war, and to the eyes of such many things -which looked at in detail seem wrong or foolish stand out in their -true national importance. -</p> - -<p> -His dissatisfaction with the army changes was the last straw. He took -it into his head that in future the army had no place for him. The -idea multiplied day by day with an ever-increasing exasperation. At -last his mind was definitely made up. He sent in his papers; and in -due time retired. -</p> - -<p> -It is generally the way with human beings that they expect some -radical change in themselves and their surroundings to follow close on -some voluntary act. They cannot understand, at once at all events, -that the “eternal verities” are eternal. “I may die but the grass will -grow” says Tennyson in one of his songs. And this is the whole story -in epitome. After all, what is one life, howsoever perfect or noble it -may be, in the great moving world of fact. The great Globe floats in a -sea of logic which encompasses it about everywhere. What is ordained -is ordained to an end, and no puny hopes or fears or wishes of an -individual can sway or change its course. Conclusions follow premises, -results follow causes. We rebel against facts and conditions because -they are facts and conditions. Then for some new whim or purpose -entirely our own we take a new step—forward or backward it matters -not—and lo! we expect the whole world with its million years of slow -working up to that particular moment to change too. -</p> - -<p> -This belief that things <i>must</i> change in accordance with our desires -has its base deep down in our nature. At the lowest depth it is -founded on Vanity. We are so important to ourselves that we cannot but -think that that importance is sustained through all creation. -</p> - -<p> -For a little while Lord Athlyne tried to persuade himself that now, at -last, he was enjoying freedom. No more parades or early hours; no more -orderly rooms or mess dinners, or duties at functions; no more of the -bald, stale conventionalities of an occupation which had lost its -charm. He expected each day to be now joyous with the realization of -ancient hopes. -</p> - -<p> -But the expectations were not realized. The days seemed longer than -ever, and he actually yearned for something to fill up his time. -Naturally his thoughts turned, as in the case of sportsmen they ever -do, on big game. The idea took him and he began to plan out in his -mind where he would go. Africa for lions? No! no! He had had enough of -Africa to last him for some time. India for tigers; the Rockies for -bear? -</p> - -<p> -Happy thought. Bear would just suit. He could put in two things: look -up that woman in New York who claimed to be his wife and silence her. -He wouldn’t like such an idea to go abroad in case he should ever -marry. Then he would go on to the Rockies or Colorado and have a turn -at the grizzlies. -</p> - -<p> -He went straightway into the reading room of the club he was in and -began to study Bradshaw. -</p> - -<p> -At last he had found a new interest in life. For a week he devoted -himself to the work in hand, until his whole sporting outfit was -prepared. Then he began to think of the other quest; and the more he -thought of it the more it puzzled him. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch05"> -CHAPTER V.<br/> -<span class="chap_sub">AN ADVENTURE</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">With</span> regard to his quest after his alleged wife the first conclusion -Lord Athlyne came to was that he must go incognito—“under an alias” -he expressed it to himself. Otherwise he would give warning of his -presence, and that was the very thing which he wished to avoid. The -woman must be an unscrupulous one or she would not have entered on -such a scheme of fraud; and she would naturally be quick to protect -herself by concealment or flight. An ordinary individual would have -left such an investigation to his solicitors who would have procured -the services of local detectives. But then Athlyne was not an ordinary -individual. He liked to do things for himself in most matters which -interested him; and in this case there was so distinctly a personal -bearing that he would not have been satisfied to leave it to any one -else. -</p> - -<p> -When, however, he began to work out details of his alias he found that -he had landed in a perfect hornet’s nest of difficulties. The mere -matter of clothing and luggage was, he found, almost enough to turn -his hair prematurely grey. What was the use of taking a false name -when his true one was engraved on the brass plates of his portmanteaux -and bags so that every porter would know everything about him within -five minutes of his arrival; the chambermaid and laundress would see -the marking of his linen. He very soon found that he would have to set -about this branch of his effort very systematically if he did not want -to give himself away hopelessly even before he started. He had already -come to the conclusion that he must not take a valet with him. It -would be quite enough to support an alias amongst his equals, whose -habits and breeding had at least a certain amount of reticence, -without running the risk of the world of servants who were much more -inquisitive than their employers and much more skilled in matters of -suspicion and detection. -</p> - -<p> -First he had to decide on the name, and to get familiar with it in all -sorts of ways; speaking, writing, and hearing it spoken. The latter he -could only effect by hearing his own voice; he was conscious that he -must, for some time at all events, be open to the danger of a -surprise. He shrank in a certain way from using a name not his own; so -he salved his conscience by selecting two of the simplest of his many -names. Thus he became for his own purposes Richard Hardy. He fixed his -domicile as “Sands End,” a small place in the middle of Wiltshire -which he had inherited from his mother. It was too small to be -included in his ‘list of seats’ in Debrett, and thus answered his -purpose. Then he got quite fresh store of linen from a new shop and -had it marked ‘R. Hardy’ or ‘R. H.’ He bought new trunks and kit of -all kinds. He had them marked with the same letters, and sent to a -lodging which he had taken for the purpose under his new name. He had -cards printed and got plain notepaper as he had to avoid a crest. Then -he found that all his sporting things, which had already been packed, -had to be unpacked and overhauled lest the real name should remain -anywhere. When all this was done, and it took weeks to complete, he -began to feel an unmitigated fraud and a thorough scoundrel. To a man -who takes honour to be a part of a gentleman’s equipment any form of -dissimulation must always be obnoxious. -</p> - -<p> -One person alone he took into his confidence: his solicitor. It was -necessary that he should have a bank account opened in New York. Also -that in case of any unforeseen accident it would be at least advisable -to be able to explain his actions. When the solicitor remonstrated he -explained his purpose and made a special request that he should not be -subjected to any opposition. “I go to protect myself” he said. The -other shrugged his shoulders and remained silent. He arranged before -he terminated the interview that his letters should be sent to him -under cover to his new name at his bankers in New York. In due time an -account for a large sum was opened there. Then, when all was as -complete as he could think of, he took a cabin in one of the French -boats as he thought that in a foreign ship he would run less risk of -running up against some acquaintance than would be likely on a British -or American vessel. -</p> - -<p> -He had hardly got clear of land when he began to realize in what a -false position he had placed himself. He felt that any -acquaintanceship which he could make might possibly lead to some -imbroglio. To those who took him in good faith and made friends he -must either reveal his purpose or accept a false position from which -he might never be able to extricate himself. As the former was -impossible, without creating a suspicion which would destroy his -purpose, he had to take chance for the latter. The result was that had -to be aloof and unresponsive to any of the proffered friendlinesses of -the voyage; and seeing this the other passengers did not press -friendliness on him or even repeat their overtures. He felt this -acutely, for he had been always in the habit of making friends. Such -is one of the delights of travel, as all know who have been about the -world. Those who once “rub shoulders” in a casual way often make -acquaintanceships which ripen into friendship and are life-long. -Perhaps this is from the fact that in such cases each is taken from -the first on his personal merits. There being no foreknowledge there -cannot be any premeditation of purpose of gain of any kind. Like meets -like, recognises natural kinship; and union is the result. -</p> - -<p> -When after a somewhat tedious and uneventful voyage he landed in New -York he was altogether in a disappointed and a discontented frame of -mind. The acute cause of this was the filling up of the immigration -paper which is so exhaustive as to details as to become inquisitorial. -The answering of each question seemed to him like telling a lie—as -indeed it was. As, however, he had nothing to declare and was without -obvious objection he had no trouble. The only effect from the Customs -examination that he noticed on himself was that when he drove out of -the gates he felt somewhat as he had done when he passed from the -prison pen at Pretoria into the cheering ranks of the victorious -British army. He was lucky enough to escape from the ranks of the -journalists who make copy out of any stranger of distinction who -lands. His name was not sufficiently striking to even attract -attention. He took quiet rooms high up in the “Manhattan,” and for two -days kept his own company. -</p> - -<p> -The third day he went out. He walked through street after street; took -trolley-cars now and again; went “up town” and “down town” on the -road. Crossed the ferries to New Jersey and Long Island. Lunched at -Martin’s and dined at Delmonico’s; and returned to his hotel without -having made so far as he knew a step towards discovery. The only thing -which he brought back was a slight knowledge of local geography. He -had seen something of New York—from the streets; but except to ask -his way from policemen or for food from foreign waiters he had not -spoken to anybody. -</p> - -<p> -The next few days he spent in walking about the streets. In summing up -this afternoon he came to the conclusion that there was, for him, -nothing so bad in Pretoria. All the time he felt with increasing force -that he was a fraud, and constantly found himself evolving schemes as -to how he could shed his incognito. The question of clubs alone made -him unhappy. He had always been a clubbable man; in London he belonged -to a number of the best. Whenever he had been in any city where there -was a club its doors had always through the forethought of some friend -been thrown open to him. Here was a city so full of those masculine -refuges that it might be called the “City of Clubs.” In every -fashionable street was at least one, palatial places where men who -were of the great circle met their friends. And yet he felt like the -Peri outside the gates of Paradise. The feeling grew on him that he -could not enter any one of them, even if he got the chance. How could -he explain to men that he was not what he seemed—what he professed to -be. Club-land is in some ways to men holy ground. Here they can afford -to be natural—to be true. Except the club laws, written or unwritten, -there is no conventional demand. As a man who had grown old knowing -little of any other life put it; “In a club you can afford not to -lie.” (It is to be presumed, by the way, that the speaker did not take -a part in the conversations regarding episodes of fishing or <i>bonnes -fortunes</i>!) -</p> - -<p> -He could not see any way in which he could even <i>begin</i> to make his -inquiry; or he could get honestly within any house he had seen. He -became sorry he had ever thought of making the inquiry himself—that -he had ever come at all. Dimly at the back of his thoughts was an -intention to go back to London, resume his proper name, and then -perhaps return in an upright way—as a gentleman should. Still he was -a masterful man and did not like giving up… He thought a ride would -do him good; it would clear his mind and freshen him up. A horseman is -never lonely so long as he has a horse. -</p> - -<p> -He asked the hotel clerk where he would get one. The man gave him -several addresses. Then he added: -</p> - -<p> -“By the way do you want to buy or only to hire?” -</p> - -<p> -“Either. I should buy if I could get something exceptionally good.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then take my advice. Go up to Seventh Avenue right at the top near -the Park. There is an auction there this morning of fine horses. You -will I daresay get what you want; but you will doubtless have to pay -for it.” -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t mind that!” he smiled as he spoke; he did not remember that -he had smiled since he left London. The very prospect of a horse -brightened him up. -</p> - -<p> -Before going to the Auction he called at the bank and drew out a -handsome sum. In horse buying ready money is often a matter of -importance. -</p> - -<p> -At the Horse Exchange there was a good show, some of the horses being -of real excellence. Prices ran high for these, and competition was -spirited. But he got what he wanted: a big “Blue Grass” thoroughbred -well up to his weight. His warranty was complete. The Auctioneer at -his request brought to him presently a livery man on whom he might, he -said, depend; and with him he arranged for the proper keeping of the -horse. -</p> - -<p> -For a few days Athlyne was really happy. His horse was as good as it -looked, and had evidently been trained by some one who understood him. -His mouth was as fine as possible and he realized an inflexion of the -voice. Lord Athlyne rode well, and he knew it; and the horse knew it -too from the first moment when his hand touched the bridle. After the -first ride up the Riverside Drive the two became understanding -friends. -</p> - -<p> -The effect of the exercise on Lord Athlyne was to do away with his -intention of trying to discover the identity of the offending lady. He -would start soon for the Rockies and get after the grizzlies. Or -better still he would go home, shake off his alias, and return—a free -man. -</p> - -<p> -On the Sunday afternoon he went for a ride in the direction he liked -best, up the Riverside Drive. He went quietly till he got near the -University where there was a long stretch of proper riding ground. -There he let the black horse go, and the noble beast went along at a -splendid pace. It was still a little early, and though there were a -good many pedestrians there were but few persons in carriages or -“horsebacking” and so the “ride” was fairly free. Horse and man were a -noble pair. The one jet black, full of fire and mettle, every movement -charged with power and grace; the other tall and slim, hard as nails -with his long spell of South African soldiering, sitting like a -centaur. Man and horse together moved as one. All eyes were turned on -them as they swept by, with admiring glances from both women and men, -each in their respective ways. Two park policemen, a sergeant and a -roundsman, both finely mounted, were jogging quietly along. As the -black horse came dashing up the roundsman said: -</p> - -<p> -“Shall I stop him, sergeant?” The other looked on admiringly and -answered quietly: -</p> - -<p> -“Guess not! ’Twould be a burnin’ shame to stop them two. An there -won’t be any need neyther, <i>they</i> know what they’re doin, Halloran. -They ain’t goin’ to ride down nobody. Did ye iver see a finer seat. -I’d bet that’s an English cavalry man. Look at the spring of him. Be -the Lord I’d like to be in his shoes this minute!” -</p> - -<p> -Amongst the few riders Athlyne passed on his course were an old man -and a young woman. The man tall with a big white moustache, a haughty -bearing, and steely eyes under shaggy white brows. The girl tall and -slim and graceful with black hair and big gray eyes. Both were fairly -well mounted, but the girl’s mare was restive and shying at anything. -As the black horse came thundering along she had to use considerable -skill and force to keep her from bolting. Athlyne had just time for a -passing glance as he swept by; but in that instant the face and figure -became photographed on his memory. The girl turned and looked after -him; she was in the receptive period of her young womanhood when every -man has a charm, and when such a noble figure as was now presented is -a power. With a sigh she turned and said to her companion: -</p> - -<p> -“That is the horse that we saw sold at the Horse Exchange. I was -jealous of whoever bought it then. I’m not now; a man who can ride -like that deserves him. Daddy, don’t you think he is something like -what a man ought to be? I do!” -</p> - -<p> -“You’re right, little girl! But you’d better not say things like that -to any one else but me; they mightn’t understand!” Joy made no answer -but she smiled to herself. During the hour or two that followed she -chatted happily with her father. They had occasional canters and -gallops until the road got too crowded when they went along more -sedately. Whenever her father suggested turning homeward she always -pleaded for one more turn: -</p> - -<p> -“Just one more, Daddy. It is so delightful here; and the river is so -lovely.” Of course she had her way. The old man found more true -happiness in pleasing her than in any other way. In her heart, though -she did not tell her father for she felt that even he mightn’t -understand, she had a wish that the man on the black horse would -return the same way. She had a feeling that he would. -</p> - -<p> -<br/> -</p> - -<p> -After his gallop Athlyne went quietly along the road past Grant’s Tomb -and followed the course of the Drive. Here the road descended, -circling round the elevation on which the Tomb is erected. Below it is -the valley of some old watercourse into the Hudson. This valley has -been bridged by a viaduct over which the Drive continues its course up -the side of the river for many miles. To-day however, it was necessary -to make a detour, descend the steep on the hither side of the valley -and rise up the other side. Some settlement had affected the base of -the up-river end of the bridge and it had given way. The rock on which -New York is based is of a very soft nature, and rots slowly away, so -that now and again a whole front of a house will slide down a slope, -the underlying rock having perished. Not long before, this had -actually happened to a group of houses in Park Row. Now the bridge had -fallen away; the road ended abruptly, and below lay a great shapeless -mass of twisted metal and stone. The near end of the viaduct was -barred off with wooden rails, and in the centre was a great board with -a warning that the thoroughfare was closed. -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne rode up as far as the Up-Town Club, sat for awhile amongst the -trees on the river bank and thought of many things. Amongst these of -the girl with the gray eyes who looked so admiringly at his horse—or -himself. Perhaps he accepted the latter alternative, for as his -thoughts ran he smiled and stroked his big moustache. -</p> - -<p> -When he rode towards town again he kept a sharp look out, -unconsciously slackening speed when any old man and young woman riding -together came in sight. He had ascended the eastern side of the -valley, over which lay the broken viaduct, and commenced to traverse -the curved slope leading up to Grant’s Tomb when he heard a sudden -shouting on the road in front and saw a rush of people to both sides -and up the steps to the Tomb. An instant after a mounted constable -appeared urging his horse to a gallop as he cried out: -</p> - -<p> -“Clear the road! Clear the road! It’s a run-a-way!” Instinctively -Athlyne drew to the roadside, a double purpose in his mind; to keep -the way clear as directed, and to be able to render assistance if -possible. The noise and cries drew closer and there was on the hard -road a thunder of many hoof strokes. Then round the curve swept a -brown mare dashing madly in a frenzied gallop—the neck stretched out -and the eyes flaming. The woman who rode her, a tall girl with black -hair and great gray eyes, sat easily, holding her reins so as to be -able to use them when the time should come. She was in full possession -of herself. She did not look frightened, though her face was very -pale. Behind her but a little way off came two mounted policemen and -the old man with the big white moustache. Other men variously mounted -came hurrying in the background; beyond them a whole long series of -horse vehicles and motor cars. -</p> - -<p> -As he saw her Athlyne’s heart leaped. This was the girl whose face had -attracted him; his time had come quicker than he had dared to hope. He -shook his reins and started his horse, spurring him with his heels as -he did so. If he was to be of service he should be able to keep at -least equal pace; and that would require a quick start, for the -runaway was going at a great pace. -</p> - -<p> -And then a great fear fell on him, not for himself but for the girl. -He knew what perhaps she did not, that the viaduct was broken, and -that her course lay down the steep roadway to the bottom of the little -valley. He rode in earnest now; the sloping curved road was so short -that if he was to stop the mare the effort should be made at once. He -rode close by her, his powerful horse keeping pace almost without an -effort, and said quietly to the girl: -</p> - -<p> -“Try to hold her in if ever so little, there is a steep road which you -must go down. The viaduct is broken and the road barred.” -</p> - -<p> -“I can’t,” she said “she has the bit and I am powerless.” -</p> - -<p> -He struck his heels sharply and the black horse bounded forward. The -girl saw the movement and understood: -</p> - -<p> -“Take care” she said quickly. “One policeman tried that and was thrown -over, he may be killed.” As she spoke, the words died on her lips; -they had rounded the curve and the danger ahead lay open to them. It -was a choice of evils: a dash down the steep incline with a maddened -mare, or a crash against the barrier cutting off the viaduct. -</p> - -<p> -But the woman had no choice; the maddened mare took her own course. -Down the curving slope she dashed and went straight for the barrier. -This was made of heavy balks of timber below, but the rails above were -light. These she broke through as she leaped; hurling a cloud of -broken rails and splinters right and left. The girl had nerved herself -to the effort when she had seen what was coming and held up as at a -jump on the hunting field. -</p> - -<p> -The moment that Athlyne had realized the situation he too was ready. -Seeing that the mare was making for the right side of the barrier he -went for the left, and they leaped together. The instant they had -landed on the other side he was ready and rode alongside the mare. -Ahead of them was the chasm—with death beneath. The girl saw it and -her pale face grew ashy white. Athlyne, riding level and holding his -reins in his left hand, hurriedly cried: -</p> - -<p> -“Loose your stirrup and when I get my arm round you take hold of my -collar with your left hand. Then try to jump to me as I pull you -towards me.” -</p> - -<p> -The girl loosened her boot from the stirrup and let go her rein, -bending towards him as his arm went round her waist and catching his -collar as directed. -</p> - -<p> -“Go!” he cried and she sprang towards him as well as she could. He -drew her towards him with all his strength, and in a second the girl -was landed on the pommel of his saddle. She knew what she had to do: -to leave his right hand free, so she clasped both her arms round his -neck. He pulled at his reins with all his might—it was two lives -now—and cried to the horse. The noble animal seemed to understand and -threw himself back on his haunches. -</p> - -<p> -He stopped only a few yards from the open chasm, into which the mare -went with a wild rush. -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne slid from the saddle, holding the girl in his arms. As the -terrible danger came to an end her eyes closed and she sank senseless -to the ground. -</p> - -<p> -Then the deluge! -</p> - -<p> -Through the barrier, which appeared to melt away before them, came a -rush of people. Some were on horseback, some on foot, others in -buggies, carriages, motor cars. Foremost came Colonel Ogilvie who -leaped the broken barrier; then after him a policeman whose horse had -manifestly been trained to timber. At last several mounted police -fearing that some terrible accident might occur from the crowding on -the viaduct ranged themselves in front of the opening and protected it -till the coming of a sufficient number of policemen, on foot and -panting, had arrived to hold it. -</p> - -<p> -Colonel Ogilvie threw himself from his horse and knelt down beside -Joy. When he saw that she was only fainting he stood up and lifted his -hat to her rescuer: -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t know how to thank you, sir,” he said in a voice broken with -emotion. “’Twas a gallant act! Some day, when you have children of -your own, you may understand what it is to me!” Athlyne who was -kneeling, still holding up Joy’s head, said in the disconnected way -usual to such circumstances: -</p> - -<p> -“Do not mention it! It has been a pleasure to me to be of any -service,” and so forth. Then, seeing signs in the girl’s face of -returning animation, he said aloud so as to divert some of the -attention: -</p> - -<p> -“Has any one seen after the mare? The poor brute must be mangled, if -it has not been killed; it ought to be put out of pain.” -</p> - -<p> -The poor brute was indeed a pitiable sight; there was a sigh of relief -from the crowd round it down below when a policeman put it out of pain -with a revolver shot. -</p> - -<p> -Seeing that the lady was now recovering and in the charge of her -father, Athlyne wanted to get away. He hated all such fuss and -publicity. He could not let her go lest she should be hurt, but he -signed to her father who took his place; then he arose. The girl’s -eyelids quivered and she gave a heavy sigh. Then the eyes opened and -she stared wildly at the sea of faces around her. She seemed to recall -everything in an instant, and with a shudder and a violent movement -sprang to her feet. -</p> - -<p> -“Where is he?” she said anxiously. Then, recovering her full presence -of mind and seeing her father, she turned to him and putting her arms -round him began to cry on his shoulder. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch06"> -CHAPTER VI.<br/> -<span class="chap_sub">TRUE HEART’S-CONTENT</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">Athlyne’s</span> one idea was now to get away quickly. The crowd was -gathering closely and were beginning to ask questions. One big, -intelligent-looking sergeant of police had out his note-book. -</p> - -<p> -“May I ask your name, sorr?” -</p> - -<p> -“Is that necessary, my good man?” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, we have to report, sorr, but” this he said with a confidential -look “it mayn’t be necessary to make it public. You see, the lady’s -all right, and no one is goin’ to make trouble over a dead horse. -Though why any man would want to keep his name out of the papers for a -deed like <i>that</i>, bates me!” Athlyne beckoned him aside; they leaned -against the parapet with their faces towards the river. He had by now -taken out his pocket-book and handed the sergeant a bill with a yellow -back. The man’s eyes opened when he saw it; and there was more than -respect in his voice as he said: “Thank you very much, sorr! Be sure -I’ll do all I can. An’ I don’t know that we can’t pull it off nayther; -but ye must look out for them blasted kodaks!” -</p> - -<p> -“All right sergeant. I’m much obliged for the hint. By the way wasn’t -one of your men tumbled over?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, sorr; but I’m tould he wasn’t hurt, only a bruise or two an’ the -skin from off iv his nose.” -</p> - -<p> -“Good! You’ll tell the lady, she is sure to be distressed about him. -Give him this for me, please. And here is my card. I am at the -Manhattan.” -</p> - -<p> -“Thank you again, sorr. ’Tis mighty kind of ye. An’ sorr if I may make -so bould. If ye want not to be in all the paapers to-morra betther not -ride back. There’ll be a million kodaks on the Boulevard.” -</p> - -<p> -Just then a tall man raised his hat to Colonel Ogilvie and said: -</p> - -<p> -“My motor is here, sir, and I shall be very happy if you will use it -for the lady. The chauffeur will leave you where you wish.” -</p> - -<p> -“Thank you exceedingly. I shall be very grateful. I dare say I can get -somebody to bring my horse to the stables; I couldn’t leave my -daughter alone after such a shock.” -</p> - -<p> -“I’ll see to it, sorr,” said the sergeant, who had come close. Colonel -Ogilvie gave him his card and said: -</p> - -<p> -“We are at the Holland House. Come up and see me some time to-morrow -morning. I have some gratitude to express to you and your men!” -</p> - -<p> -Whilst this conversation was going on a slim young man came up to -Athlyne and raising his hat said: -</p> - -<p> -“Can I do anything for you, sir. It will be a pleasure I assure you.” -Athlyne summed him up a glance as a soldier. -</p> - -<p> -“Thanks, old fellow,” he said, impulsively holding out his hand. -“You’re a soldier aren’t you—a cavalry man?” -</p> - -<p> -“No. Field Artillery 27th Battery. But we’re all cavalry at West -Point. I knew you were a soldier when I saw you ride—let alone what -you did. What can I do?” -</p> - -<p> -“If it wouldn’t trouble you too much I wish you’d get some one to -bring my horse to the Exchange in Seventh Avenue. You see I want to -avoid all this fuss and kodaking.” -</p> - -<p> -“I should love to; what a noble animal he is. But I shan’t send him. -If you don’t mind I’ll ride him myself. Catch me missing a ride on a -horse like that. May I come and see you after.” -</p> - -<p> -“Delighted. Manhattan Hotel.” They bowed and parted. Athlyne went to -Colonel Ogilvie, he felt it would be indecorous to leave without a -word. -</p> - -<p> -“I hope your daughter is all right, sir.” -</p> - -<p> -“Thanks to you, my brave friend. I am Colonel Ogilvie of Airlville. -Joy this is Mr. ——” Athlyne felt in an instant like a cad. He -realised now, in all its force, the evil of deception. Silently he -handed his card. “Mr. Hardy” her father said. Joy held out her hand -and he took it. -</p> - -<p> -“I’m not able to thank you, now and here!” she said, raising to him -her glorious grey eyes. He mumbled out a few words in reply and raised -his hat to part. As he was turning away Joy whispered to her father: -</p> - -<p> -“Daddy, won’t you ask him to come to see us. Mother will want to thank -him too. Ask him to come to dinner to-night.” -</p> - -<p> -“My dear, you will be far too upset. Better——” -</p> - -<p> -“Nonsense, Daddy dear. I’m all right now. Indeed, dear, it will seem -strange if you don’t, after what he has done for—for you, Daddy -dear—and for me.” -</p> - -<p> -In his own formal and kindly way Colonel Ogilvie gave the invitation. -Athlyne answered with equal kindly ceremony; and they parted. -</p> - -<p> -By this time the stranger’s motor had been taken in through the broken -barrier. Colonel Ogilvie insisted that their host should not leave -them, and they drove off together. -</p> - -<p> -In the public excitement at their going Athlyne escaped unnoticed. He -took the street at right angles and shortly got a down-town West-End -Avenue car. -</p> - -<p> -An hour later he had a call from his military friend, who announced -himself as “Lootenant R. Flinders Breckenridge.” Athlyne had now made -up his mind how to meet him. He said at once: -</p> - -<p> -“I am going to try your patience, old chap, and perhaps your -friendship; but I want you to keep a secret. I can’t deceive a -comrade; and we military men are that to each other all the world -over. I am here under a false name. I had reasons for keeping my -identity concealed as I came for a special purpose. So I want you to -bear with me and keep even that much a secret between you and me.” -</p> - -<p> -“That’s all right!” said the boy with a hearty smile. “On my honour -I’ll keep your secret as my own.” -</p> - -<p> -“And when I can I’ll write and let you know!” And so a friendship -began. -</p> - -<p> -“Mr. Hardy” left word at the desk that he would not see any one, -especially any newspaper man. But on the Riverside Drive the kodaks -had been hard at work; the black horse was recognised, and the morning -papers had many execrable likenesses of Lootenant Breckenridge as he -appeared galloping. -</p> - -<p> -<br/> -</p> - -<p> -In the hall of the Holland House Lord Athlyne found Colonel Ogilvie -waiting for him with that old-fashioned hospitality which is still to -be found in the South. He cordially greeted his guest, and when they -had come from the elevator took his arm to lead him into his own -suite. Athlyne was quite touched with the greeting extended to him. He -had not for years been in the way of receiving anything of the nature -of family affection. But now when his host’s warmth was followed by a -tearful gratitude on the part of his wife which found expression of a -quick bending forward and kissing the hand which she held in hers—to -the great consternation of the owner thereof—he was sensible of -feeling foolish. -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, pray! pray!” he said, and then remained silent; for what could he -do but submit gracefully to such an overt outcome of the feelings of a -grateful mother. Joy was a girl in whom were the elements of passion; -was it strange that the same emotional yeast worked in her as in her -mother’s nature. -</p> - -<p> -The introduction to Miss Judith Hayes was a relief. She too felt -strongly; no less strongly when she realised that the valiant stranger -was so handsome and of so distinguished an appearance. But after all -the matter was not so vitally close to her. An aunt, howsoever loving -her nature may be, cannot be actuated by the overwhelming impulses of -motherhood. This very difference, however, made speech easier; she it -was who of all the grateful little party gave best verbal expression -to her feelings. In frank phrases, touched with the native warmth of -her heart and emphasised by the admiring glances of her fine eyes, she -told him of the gratitude which they all felt for his gallant rescue -of her dear niece. She finished up with an uncontrollable sob as she -said: -</p> - -<p> -“If it hadn’t been for your bravery and resource and strength there -would be no more sorrowful band of poor souls in all the wide world -than—than” she turned her head and walked over to the window. Athlyne -could see that for quite a minute or two afterwards her shoulders -shook. When at last she did turn round, her glassy eyes but ill -accorded with her incisive humorous phrases or her ringing laugh. The -effect on Athlyne was peculiar; without analysing the intellectual -process too closely, he felt in his mind with a secret exultation that -he had “found an ally.” It may have been the soldier instinct, to -which he had been so long accustomed, working in his mind; or it may -have had another basis. Anyhow he was content. -</p> - -<p> -His meeting with Joy surprised whilst it satisfied them both. They -looked into each other’s eyes for an instant, and to them both the -whole world became crystal. The “whole world” to them both—their -world—the only world that was to them at that moment, that ever could -be, that had been since the ordination of things. This is the true -heart’s-content. It is the rapture of hearts, the communion of souls. -Passion may later burn the rapture into fixed belief, as the furnace -fixes the painted design on the potter’s clay; but in that first -moment of eyes looking into answering eyes is the dawn of love—the -coming together of those twin halves of a perfect soul which was at -once the conception and realisation of Platonic belief. -</p> - -<p> -At dinner Athlyne was placed between Mrs. Ogilvie and Joy, Colonel -Ogilvie being next his daughter and Miss Hayes next her sister. Thus -Aunt Judy, being opposite both her niece and the guest, could watch -them both without seeming to stare. In the early part of the dinner -she was abnormally, for her, silent; but later on, when she felt that -things were going dully with some of the party, she manifested her -usual buoyancy of spirits. She had in the meantime come to certain -conclusions of her own. -</p> - -<p> -Somehow there was an air of constraint over all the party, but in -different ways and from different causes. Athlyne was ill at ease -because they all made so much of him; and as he was painfully -conscious of his false position in accepting the hospitality of such -persons under an alias, their kindness only emphasised to him his own -chagrin. Colonel Ogilvie conscious, rather by instinct than from any -definite word or action, that his guest was more reticent than he -would have thought a young man would be under the circumstances, was -rather inclined to resent it. The Ogilvies had from the earliest times -been very important people in their own place; and many generations of -them had grown up to the understanding that their friendship, even -their acquaintance, was an honour. Now when he had asked into his -family circle a young man known personally to him only by his visiting -card and by the fact that he had saved his daughter’s life—very -gallantly it was true—he found his friendly interest in his new -acquaintance was not received with equal heartiness. The truth was -that Athlyne was afraid. He felt instinctively that he was not his own -master whilst those great grey eyes were upon him—most certainly not -when he was looking into the mystery of their depths. And so he feared -lest he should become confused and weave himself into a further tangle -of falseness. In the background of his own mind he knew what he -wished—what he intended; that this beautiful grey-eyed girl should -become his wife. He knew that he must first get clear of his false -position; and he was determined at any cost not to let anything -interfere with this. At first Colonel Ogilvie’s allusions to his home -and his place in the world were purely kindly; he thought it only -right, under the circumstances of his great obligation, to show such -an interest as a man of his age might with another so much his junior. -But he could not help feeling that though his guest’s manner was all -that was winning and that though his words were adequate there was no -loosening of the strings of self-possession. Such a thing was new to -the Colonel, and new things, especially those that he could not -understand, were not pleasing to him. Still, the man was his guest; -and only a few hours before had rendered him the greatest service that -one could to another. He must not let him, therefore, feel that there -was any constraint on his part. And so he acted what was to him an -unfamiliar part; that of an exuberant man. -</p> - -<p> -Joy was constrained, for with her deep knowledge of her father’s -character she saw that he was upset by something; and, as that -something could only be in connection with the guest, she was uneasy. -She knew well what her opinion of that guest was; and she had a -feeling of what her hopes would be, dare she give them a voice. But -that must be postponed—till when she should be alone. In the meantime -she wanted to enjoy every moment when that guest was by her side. And -now her breast was stirred with some vague uneasiness. -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Ogilvie had her own disturbing cause. She could not but see that -her daughter was very much absorbed in this strange gentleman whom she -had not ever even seen till that afternoon, and she wanted to know -more of him before she could allow matters to become more definite. -She knew that he was brave and she could see that he was a gentleman -and a handsome one. But still—A mother’s heart has its own anxieties -about her child. And this mother knew that her child was of no common -nature, but had her own share of passions which might lead her into -unhappiness. Too well from herself she knew the urging of a passionate -nature. Joy had not been tested yet, as she had herself been. She had -not yet heard that call of sex which can alter a woman’s whole life. -</p> - -<p> -As to Judy her sympathy with romance in any form and her love for Joy -acted like the two ingredients in a seidlitz-powder. Each by itself -was placid and innocuous, but when united there was a boiling over. It -needed no spirit come from the grave, or from anywhere else, to tell -her of the power which this handsome, gallant, young man had already -over her niece. A single lifting of the girl’s eyes with that adorable -look which no habit of convenience could restrain; a single lifting or -falling of the silky black lashes; a single sympathetic movement of -the beautiful mouth in its receptive mood as she took in her -companion’s meaning told her all these things and a hundred -others—told her a story which brought back heart-aching reminiscence -of her own youth. She was not jealous, not a particle—honestly and -truly. But after all, life is a serious thing, serious to look back -on, though it seems easy enough to look forward to. The heart knoweth -its own bitterness. “A sorrow’s crown of sorrow is remembering happier -things.” -</p> - -<p> -So far, as to possibilities. Judith was much too clever and too -sympathetic a person to go wrong as to facts on which they were based. -She was a natural physiognomist, like other animals who have learned -to trust their instincts; and within a very few minutes had satisfied -herself as to the worthiness of “Joy’s man”—that is how she tabulated -him in her own mind. She felt quite satisfied as to her own judgment, -not always the case with her. In her own mind, living as she had done -for so long in a little world of her own thoughts, she was in the -habit of arguing out things just as she would were she talking with -some one else, a man for preference. She always wanted to know the -truth, even if she did not use it. She had once said to her sister -when they were considering how they should act with regard to a -scandal in a neighbouring family: -</p> - -<p> -“Well, Sally, it’s all very well not being inquisitive; but you know, -my dear, we can’t begin to lie properly till we know what we are to -lie about. There’s nothing so destructive of after happiness—no -kindliness so full of pitfalls, as a useless lie.” -</p> - -<p> -Now, her argument ran: -</p> - -<p> -“You can’t be all wrong about a man. You have thought too much on the -subject not to be able to form an opinion. And even if your old maid’s -instinct—for you are an old maid, my dear, despite your saying that -you are so to prove that you are not—warps your judgment in favour of -the man. The pride that is in that man’s features never came out of -merely one or two generations of command. It takes a couple of -centuries at any rate to put <i>that</i> stamp on a face. He is bold—well -we know that from to-day’s work; he is courtly—a man doesn’t do nice -things unconsciously, unless it has been his habit. He’s in love with -Joy—no doubt about that; and small blame to him for it. He’s in her -father’s house, an honoured guest as he should be. He’s sitting next -to her and she’s looking straight into his soul with those big lamps -of eyes of hers. He saved her life a few hours ago, and now he can -see—if he’s not a fool and he’s not that whatever else he may -be—that she adores him—and yet he’s not at his ease… What is it? -What does it mean? For Joy’s sake I must find that out. I may have to -lie a bit; but at least I’ll know what I am doing!” -</p> - -<p> -With this object in view she took, when the charm of the meeting began -to lose its lustre, the conversation in hand herself. She felt that -the time had come. Well she understood when she saw on Colonel -Ogilvie’s face the very faintest shade of a shadow of that dark look -which in earlier years had meant trouble for some one. “Lucius is -thinking!” was the way she put it to herself. To a woman of her -bringing up, the acts of the men of the family, and especially of its -head, were not within the women’s sphere. In the old slave-owning -families there was perpetuated something of the spirit of -subordination—some survival of old feudal principle. This was -especially so in everything relating to quarrels or fighting. It was -not women’s work, and women were trained not to take any part in it, -not even to manifest any concern. Indeed the free-spirited Judy having -lived so many years in that particular atmosphere, before being able -to look round her in wider communities, compared the dominance of view -of a man in his own family life to that of a cock who lords it over -the farmyard, struts about masterfully, and summons his household -round him with no other purpose than his own will. Woman-like she was -content to yield herself to the situation. -</p> - -<p> -“We’re all the same,” she once said to a farmer’s wife, “women or -hens. When the master clucks we come!” -</p> - -<p> -As it was quite apparent to her that both her sister and -brother-in-law were uneasy, she began to take on herself the -responsibility of action, even if it should have to be followed by the -odium. -</p> - -<p> -“What’s the use of being an old maid if you can’t do <i>something</i>!” she -said to herself as a sort of rallying cry to her own nerves. Such -gathering of one’s courage is not uncommon; it is, in unusual -circumstances, to many men and to most women. It does not as a rule -apply to professional or accustomed duties. To the soldier, the -lawyer, the engineer, the man of commerce, each as such, the faculties -which wait on the intelligence are already braced by habit. And to the -woman in her hours of social self-consciousness the same applies. When -a woman puts on her best frock she is armed and ready as completely as -is the cavalry man with the thunder of the squadron behind him; as the -artillery man when “Action!” has been sounded. Ordinarily Miss Judith -was equal to all demands made on her; now she was engaging in a matter -in which she did not thoroughly understand either the purpose or the -end. Now she spoke: -</p> - -<p> -“Have you been staying long in New York Mr. Hardy?” At the moment -Athlyne was talking with his hostess and did not seem to hear; but Joy -heard and said gently: “Mr. Hardy!” He turned suddenly red, even to -his ears. -</p> - -<p> -“I beg your pardon, I didn’t …” There he stopped, suddenly realizing -that he had almost betrayed himself. The fact was that he heard the -question but forgot for an instant the part he was playing. His ears -had been tuned to the music of Joy’s voice, and he did not wake at -once to the less welcome sound. Partly it was of course due to the -fact that as yet he had heard but little of Aunt Judy’s speech; her -intentional silence had a drawback as well as an advantage. He stopped -his explanation just in time to save suspicion from the rest of the -family, but not from Judy, who having an intention of her own was -alert to everything. She made a mental note to be afterwards -excogitated: “I didn’t—what?” -</p> - -<p> -She repeated the question. He answered with what nonchalance he could: -</p> - -<p> -“No. Only a few days.” -</p> - -<p> -“Do you remain long?” -</p> - -<p> -“I am sorry to say that I cannot. I had promised myself a few weeks -after grizzlies; but that has to be foregone for the present. -Something has happened which requires my going back at once. But I -hope to renew my visit before long.” He was pleased with himself for -the verbal accuracy of the statement, and this reassured him. -</p> - -<p> -“What a pity you have to give up your hunting,” said Colonel Ogilvie, -heartily. “You would find it really excellent sport. I haven’t had any -of it for twenty years; but I’d dearly like to have another turn at it -if I could.” -</p> - -<p> -“What boat do you go by?” asked Mrs. Ogilvie. -</p> - -<p> -“By the French boat. The <i>Mignonette</i> which sails on Saturday.” He -answered with confidence for he had spent a quarter of an hour looking -it up before he had dressed; and had already posted a letter to the -Office asking to have the best cabin open kept for him. -</p> - -<p> -“What a pity,” said Joy. “We are going on the <i>Graphic</i> on the -Wednesday after; you might have come with us.” She coloured up as she -became conscious of the dead silence—lasting for a few seconds—of -the rest of the party. -</p> - -<p> -“H’m!” said the Colonel. -</p> - -<p> -“Perhaps dear, Mr. Hardy has reasons of his own for choosing his own -route,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, determined that her daughter should not -appear to be too ardent in pressing the new acquaintanceship. -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne hastened to set matters right, as well as he could. He knew -from his own bringing up that such a request should come rather from -the parents than from the girl herself; but he understood and tried to -protect her. He addressed himself therefore to Mrs. Ogilvie and not -her daughter as he spoke: -</p> - -<p> -“It would I assure you, be a delight to me to go on your ship. But -unhappily it would not be possible. Some business matters, not -altogether my own, are dependent on my arriving in England. If I had -only known that you were going—Indeed I may say,” he added with a -smile which all three women accepted as “winning” “that if I had -known, to begin with, that such delightful people existed. … But -until that … that accident I had no such knowledge. I must not say -that ‘happy’ accident for it was fraught with such danger to one whom -you hold dear. But, that apart, it <i>was</i> a happy accident to me that -has given me the opportunity of making friends whom I already value so -highly!” This was for him quite a long speech; he breathed more freely -when it was over. -</p> - -<p> -When the ladies had gone, he and his host had a long chat over their -cigars. He was now more at ease, and as the conversation was all about -sport and horses, matters in which he was thoroughly at home, he could -speak more freely and more naturally than he had yet done. There was -not any personal element which would require him to be on guard and so -cause constraint. The result was that Colonel Ogilvie got quite over -his stiffness and began to warm to his genial influence. -</p> - -<p> -It was quite a sign of his existing attitude that he now took on -himself to say just what he had reprehended in his daughter: -</p> - -<p> -“I am really sorry you can’t come on the <i>Graphic</i> with us. It would -make the voyage a new pleasure for us all!” As he spoke he took the -young man’s arm in a most friendly way; and to Joy’s secret delight, -they came in this wise into the drawing-room. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch07"> -CHAPTER VII.<br/> -<span class="chap_sub">A DISCUSSION</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">On</span> reflection Lord Athlyne was glad that circumstances had not -allowed him to travel on the <i>Graphic</i> with his new friends. At first -he felt horribly disappointed; as if Fate had in a measure checkmated -him. Had he known that the Ogilvies were to travel on the White Star -boat he could have easily arranged his plans. The voyage would in some -ways—<i>one</i> way—have been delightful. Well he knew that; but as he -should have to keep up his alias he would have been in a perpetual -state of anxiety and humiliation. -</p> - -<p> -This feeling made it easier for him therefore to come to a definite -conclusion regarding his journey home: he would keep to himself, as -far as possible, during the journey and try to get at the earliest -possible moment out of his present humiliating position. Under any -ordinary circumstances he would have gone to Colonel Ogilvie and told -him frankly of the state of matters, relying on his good feeling to -understand and sympathise with his difficulty. Had there been -opportunity for reflection he would have done so; but all was so -hurried at the scene of the accident that there had not been time for -thought. He had accepted of necessity the invitation to dinner. Then, -or before going to the Holland House would have been his chance. But -again the Colonel meeting him and taking him at once to his family -made present explanation difficult. Dinner finished him. When first on -the Drive he had seen Joy he had thought her a beautiful girl. The act -of rescuing her had made her of the supremest interest to him. But it -was not till he had sat beside her and looked into her eyes that he -felt that love had come. No man could look into those beautiful eyes -and remain untouched. But this man, heart-hungry and naturally -susceptible after some years of campaigning, fell madly in love. His -very soul had gone down into the depths of those unfathomable eyes, -and come back purified and sweetened—like the smoke drawn through the -rosewater of a hookah. Every instant that he sat beside her the spell -grew upon him. Joy was a woman in whom the sex-instinct was very -strong. She was woman all over; type of woman who seems to draw man to -her as the magnet draws the steel. Athlyne was a very masculine person -and therefore peculiarly sensitive to the influence. That deep -thinking young madman who committed suicide at twenty-three, Otto -Weininger, was probably right in that wonderful guess of his as to the -probable solution of the problem of sex. All men and all women, -according to him, have in themselves the cells of both sexes; and the -accredited masculinity or femininity of the individual is determined -by the multiplication and development of these cells. Thus the ideal -man is entirely or almost entirely masculine, and the ideal woman is -entirely or almost entirely feminine. Each individual must have a -preponderance, be it ever so little, of the cells of its own sex; and -the attraction of each individual to the other sex depends upon its -place in the scale between the highest and the lowest grade of sex. -The most masculine man draws the most feminine woman, and <i>vice -versa</i>; and so down the scale till close to the border line is the -great mass of persons who, having only development of a few of the -qualities of sex, are easily satisfied to mate with any one. This is -the true principle of selection which is one of the most important of -Nature’s laws; one which holds in the lower as well as in the higher -orders of life, zoological and botanical as well as human. It accounts -for the way in which such a vast number of persons are content to make -marriages and even liaisons, which others, higher strung, are actually -unable to understand. -</p> - -<p> -As yet, of course, Joy being a young woman had not her power -developed. Such an unconscious power takes in the course of its -development its own time. Instinct is a directing principle, and -obedience can be given to it in many different ways. With Joy its -course had been slow, the growth of time alone. Up to now there had -been no disturbing element in her life; most of her years had been -spent in a quiet house in a quiet neighbourhood where there were but -few inhabitants of her own class; and where, therefore, the percentage -of eligible men was small. There was even to her, as there must be to -any girl like her, certain protecting oppositions. She was at once -practical and sentimental, sensuous and dainty. Her taste was her -first line of defence to the attacks of the baser qualities of her own -nature. Nothing could appeal to her thoroughly which did not answer -widely divergent conditions. Aunt Judy had summed her up well in -saying that she would, if she ever fell in love, give herself -absolutely. But it must be the right man to whom she did so give -herself; one who must comply with all the conditions which she had -laid down for herself. A girl of her up-bringing—with a father and -mother who adored her each in special way; with an aunt who -represented impulsive youth all the more actively because she -professed the staidness of age which is without hope; and with no -intimate relationships or friendships of the male kind—had not only a -leaning to, but a conviction of romance as a prime factor of life. -“Life” was to her not that which is, but that which is to be. As the -world of the present, where such thoughts are, is not one which is lit -and coloured by love, the world of the future is the World of Love. -The Fairy Prince who is to bring so much happiness—when he comes—is -no mere casual visitor to feminine childhood. He is as real to the -child’s imagination as the things of her waking life, though his -nodding plume has little in common with the material things which -surround her. As she grows older so does he change form, coming more -into harmony with living fact; till at last in some lofty moment, -whose memory is a treasure for after life, the ideal and the real -merge in one. -</p> - -<p> -To Joy the hour had come. The Prince Charming who had swept across her -path in such heroic fashion was all that she had ever longed for. He -was tall and strong and handsome and brave. He was a gentleman with -all a gentleman’s refined ways. He had taste and daintiness, though -they were expressed in masculine ways. He too had love and passion. -How could she not know it who had seen—had felt—his soul sink into -the deeps of her eyes, where mermaid-like her own soul peeping from -behind the foliage of the deep had smiled on him to lead him on. How -could she forget that strong arm which was thrown around her waist and -which tore her from her saddle just in time to save her from a -horrible death. How could she forget the seconds when she hung on to -him for life, her arms clasped around his neck. -</p> - -<p> -Whilst he was beside her at dinner she was in an ecstasy. Every fibre -of her being quivered in response to his. And yet, such is the -influence of teaching and convention, all this did not detract from -her outward calm. When the ladies had left the table she had gone out -with her arm round Aunt Judy’s waist as was the convention of the -time, and her smile had not lost its frank geniality. But in very -truth she did not feel like smiling. She would have given anything to -have stolen away to her own room and have lain on her bed, face down, -and have thought, and thought, and thought. The whole thing had come -on her so suddenly. Even the little preparation which she had had at -the auction—the beautiful horse and the fine-looking masterful man -who had bought him—did not seem to count. As he had swept past her in -the Drive, man and horse seen singly seemed superb; but together a -dream. Still there was nothing to fix it in her mind. There needs some -personal quality to fix a dream; just as the painter requires a -mordant to hold his colours to the canvas. But such luxury of thought -would have to be postponed. It would come, of course—later in the -night when there would be loneliness and silence. So she had to -contain herself, and wait. -</p> - -<p> -When “Mr. Hardy” came back to the drawing-room arm in arm with her -father her heart thrilled. It seemed like a promise of hope if not -hope itself. Aunt Judy, ever watchful, saw and understood. To her -seeing eyes and understanding nature there was no mistaking the -meaning of the girl’s unconscious pantomime—those impulsive -expressions of thought made through the nerves: the eager half turning -of the ear to catch the sound of the opening of the dining room door -and the passing of the feet in the passage way; the uplifting of the -head as the drawing-room door began to open; the glad look in the eyes -and the quick intake of the breath as she saw the attitude of the two -men, each to the other. -</p> - -<p> -As he came in Athlyne looked at her; a look that seemed to lay any -ghost of a doubt in her mind. She was glad when he went straight -across the room and began to talk with her mother. She was content to -wait till when, having done his social duties, he would find his way -to her. Mrs. Ogilvie had much to say and detained him, Judy thought, -unduly; but Joy gave no possible sign of impatience. When in due -course he spoke a few words to Judy herself that estimable young lady -managed to find something to say to her sister. -</p> - -<p> -When the guest was at last beside her in her corner of the room Joy -felt that all was right and becoming. No matter how willing a woman -may be to take steps to the accomplishment of her own wishes, it is an -added pleasure to her when she is the objective of man rather than his -pursuer. Even the placid pussy-cat when her thoughts tend to -flirtation runs—slowly—from her mate until she sees that he notices -her going. Then she stops and sings to him—in her own manner of -music—as he approaches. -</p> - -<p> -The two young people did not use many words in their speech; such -seemed inadequate for what they had to say. Suffice it that what they -did say was thoroughly understood. -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne did not prolong his stay, much as he would have enjoyed -staying. He felt that it would be better, in every way, if he did not -enforce his first opportunity. Mrs. Ogilvie very graciously hoped that -he would manage to make them a visit before sailing. Joy said -nothing—in words. He had a little conversation with Colonel Ogilvie -who was standing away from the rest and leaning on the chimney piece. -</p> - -<p> -When he had gone Joy said good-night to them all; she felt that at -present she <i>could</i> not talk the little commonplaces of affectionate -life; and she could not bear to hear “him” discussed. If that acute -reasoner on causes and effects in the female mind, Aunt Judy, had been -able to permeate her heart and brain she would at once have understood -that simple way of accepting a man’s personality—simulacrum. What -need is there to differentiate when there is but one. Names are given -as aids to memory; and at times memory ceases to be an important -matter. -</p> - -<p> -The next evening after dinner “Mr. Hardy” became the subject of -conversation, and Joy was not comfortable. She knew that there must be -divergent views regarding any one, and was content to let them all -have their own opinions. She had hers. Indeed she would not have been -wholly content to hear him praised even up to the perfection which she -allowed him. He was by far too personal a possession of her own to -share even community of feeling regarding him with any one. -</p> - -<p> -In the night that had passed her own feeling had grown, multiplied; -the feelings of the others had changed too, but in a different way. -The glamour which had become for her intensified had for them been -lost in the exactness of perspective. Perhaps it was that Joy’s night -had been different from theirs. To her had come all the evils of -reaction. Now and again with wearing recurrency came the exciting -memories of the day; but always with that kaleidoscopic inconsistency -which is the condition of dreaming. The brains of most people are not -accustomed to self-analysis, else we should perhaps more widely -understand that this very inconsistency is mere reproduction. Whilst -we think we do not think that we are thinking, and memory does not -adjust our thoughts to comparison. But, all the time, our thoughts are -really errant; reflections of the night, which seem to be -exaggerations or caricatures, are but just surveys taken from an -altitude which is not our own. In the day time thought is too often -initiated by carnal or material considerations. Selfishness, and need, -and ambition, and anxiety are bases on which thought is built in -working and waking hours. But in the dark and freedom of the night the -mind borrows the wings of the soul and soars away from the body which -is held down by all its weighty restraints. It is perhaps in such -moments that we realise that passion, however earthly may be its -exciting cause, is in itself an attribute or emanation of the Soul. -Over and over again did Joy live through the mad moments of that ride -towards death. Over and over again did that heroic figure sweep up -beside her out of the great unknown. She began to understand now -whence came her calmness and quickness of apprehension as she realised -his presence—the presence of a man who dominated her—even whose -horse in the easiness of its calm intention outstripped the wildness -of her own maddened steed. Here again the abstract mind was working -truly; the horse had its own proper place in her memories of the -heroic deed. Over and over again did that strong hand and arm seize -her; and over and over again did her body sway to him and yield itself -to the clasp, so that at his command it went to him as though of its -own volition. And then, over and over again, came the remembrance of -the poor mad mare disappearing over the edge; of the sickening crash -from below and the wild scream of agony; of the confused rush and -whirl; of the crowding in of people; of the vista of moving carriages -and crowds down the curve of the road. And then all kept fading away -into a blind half consciousness of the strong arm supporting her and -her wearied head resting on his shoulder. … -</p> - -<p> -This evening Mrs. Ogilvie was very quietly inclined to be tearful. She -too had had a bad night; constant wakings from vague apprehensions, -horrible imaginings of unknown dangers; dread that she could not -localise or specify. Altogether she was upset, something as one is in -the low stage following an attack of hysteria; nervous, weak, -apprehensive, inclined to misunderstand things on the melancholy side. -</p> - -<p> -Colonel Ogilvie was in that state of mind following a high pressure, -which is a masculine reaction. He was very hard to please about -anything. His wife always thought of this nervous and intellectual -condition as “one of Lucius’s humours,” to others she said “the -Colonel is worried about something.” Judy called it: “one of his -tantrums.” This however did not affect his manner, outwardly. At such -times he was perhaps even more precise than usual in his observance of -the little etiquettes and courtesies of social life. It had perhaps -been unfortunate that his household was exclusively female, for want -of opposition rather encouraged the tendency. In his club or amongst -men such irritation or ill feeling as he had found more outward -expression; and the need to keep himself so that standard of personal -hearing which his own self esteem had set, perpetually recalled him to -himself. But at home, this, though it would not have been possible for -a stranger to find fault with any part of his manner or bearing, still -kept the rest of the family in a sort of hushed self-surrender. Even -Judy the daring kept her natural exuberance in control at such times -and was content to rest in unnoticed quiet. Joy knew well the storm -signals and effaced herself as far as possible; she loved her father -too well and respected him too much to do or say anything which might -cause him disquiet or tend to lower him in his own eyes. -</p> - -<p> -Judy on this as on other occasions maintained a strictly neutral -position. But her wits were keener and her eyes more observant even -than usual on that very account. She did not know the cause of her -brother-in-law’s disturbance, but she understood it all the same. Few -things there are which lead so directly to the elucidation of truth as -a clever, unselfish woman on the watch. -</p> - -<p> -Silence rather than speech was the order of the day, and the talking, -such as it was, began with Colonel Ogilvie. Men when they are carrying -out a settled intention or policy can be more silent than women; their -nerves are stronger and their nature more fixed. But in the casual -matters of life they are children in the hands of women. Here were -three women, all of them clever, all of them attached to the man and -all respecting him; but they had only to remain neutral, each in her -individual way, and let him overcome the <i>vis inertia</i> as well as he -could. He could not but be aware that the subject of the guest of last -evening had been tacitly avoided. He had been conscious of such in his -own case, and with the egotism which was so marked a part of his own -character he took it for granted that the avoidance was with the -others due to the same cause as with himself. It was therefore with -something like complacency—if such a thing could be synchronous with -irritability, even if one of the two be in a latent condition—that he -began on the deferred subject: -</p> - -<p> -“I am afraid that our guest last night did not enjoy himself!” There -was silence for a few seconds. Then each of the three listeners, -feeling that some remark must be made by some one, spoke suddenly and -simultaneously: -</p> - -<p> -“Why, Lucius, what do you mean?” -</p> - -<p> -“You surprise me, Colonel!” -</p> - -<p> -“Is that so, Daddy!” -</p> - -<p> -He waited deliberately before saying more; he had been thinking over -the subject and knew what he wanted to say. Then he spoke with an air -of settled conviction: -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, my dear!” He spoke to Joy alone, and thus, to all three, -unconsciously gave away his purpose. “I thought so at the time, and -to-day, whenever I have considered the matter, the conviction has -increased.” Mrs. Ogilvie, seeing on her daughter’s face a certain -hardening of the muscles, took it for granted that it was some form of -chagrin; in a protective spirit she tried to make that matter right: -</p> - -<p> -“My dear Lucius, I really cannot see how you arrive at such a -conclusion. It seemed to me that the young man was in rather an -exalted condition of happiness. I could not help noticing the way he -kept looking at Joy. And indeed no wonder after the gallant way he had -saved her life.” She added the last sentence as a subtle way of -reminding her husband that they were all under obligation to the young -gentleman. Moreover there was in her heart as a mother—and all -mothers are the same in this respect—that feeling of pride in her -daughter which demands that all men shall be attracted by her charms. -No matter how detrimental a man may be, nor how determined she is that -his suit shall not be finally successful, a mother considers it the -<i>duty</i> of the young man to love her daughter and desire her. -</p> - -<p> -Joy somehow felt humiliated. It was not merely that she should be the -centre of such a discussion—for, after all, it was through rescuing -her that he was there at all; but she was hurt and disappointed that -this particular man should be discussed in any way. She had seen no -fault in him; nothing to discuss in his conduct or his bearing or his -words or his person. She herself had admired him immensely. He was -somehow different from all the other men she had ever seen. … Then -pride came to her rescue. Not pride for herself, but for him. In her -heart he was her man, and she had to protect his honour; and she would -do so, if necessary. This idea at once schooled her to restraint, and -steeled her to endure. With an unconscious shrug she remained silent. -</p> - -<p> -But Judy’s keen eyes had been on her, and both her natural sympathy -and the experience of her own heart allowed her to interpret pretty -well. She saw that for Joy’s sake—either now or hereafter—some -opposition to the Colonel’s idea was necessary. She had noticed the -settled look—it had not yet become a frown—which came over his face -when his wife spoke of his looking at Joy. In just such moments and on -subjects as this it is that a father’s and a mother’s ideas join -issue. Whilst the mother expects the singling out of the daughter for -devotion, the father’s first impulse is to resent it. Colonel -Ogilvie’s resentment had all his life been habitually expressed with -force and rapidity; even in a tender matter of this kind the habit -unconsciously worked. -</p> - -<p> -“All the more reason, Sarah, for his being candid about himself. For -my own part I can understand one attitude or the other; but certainly -not both at once!” -</p> - -<p> -Joy began to get seriously alarmed. The mere use of her mother’s -formal name was a danger-signal of rare use. By its light she could -realise that her father had what he considered in his own mind to be a -real cause of complaint. She did not like to speak herself; she feared -that just at present it might complicate matters. So she looked over -appealing at Judy, who understood and spoke: -</p> - -<p> -“What two attitudes? I’m afraid I for one, don’t understand. You <i>are</i> -talking in riddles to-night!” She spoke in a gay debonair manner so -like her usual self that her brother-in-law was unsuspicious of any -underlying intent of opposition. This was just the opportunity for -which he was waiting. With a sardonic smile he went on, singling out -Joy as before: -</p> - -<p> -“Your mother, my dear, has told us one of them. Perhaps the young man -did look at you. There’s little wonder in that. Were I a young man and -a stranger I should look at you myself; and I would also have looked -at any other man who dared to look at you too. If this is a man’s -attitude he should be more genial—more explicit—more open—less -constrained to her relatives. That my dear Judy,”—he turned to her as -he spoke “is the other attitude.” Mrs. Ogilvie answered—the -conversation to-night was decidedly oblique: -</p> - -<p> -“Really, Colonel, I can’t agree with you. For my own part I thought -his attitude towards her relatives was all that was courteous and -respectful. Certainly to her mother!” She bridled, and Joy grew more -serious. Her mother calling her husband “Colonel” was another -danger-signal; and she knew that if once her father and mother got to -loggerheads over him—“him” was her way of thinking of Mr. Hardy—it -might keep him away from her. She summoned up her courage and said -with all the affectionate raillery which was usually so effective with -her father: -</p> - -<p> -“Daddy dear do you remember Æsop’s fable about the Boy and the -Frogs?” -</p> - -<p> -“I suppose I ought to, little girl; but I’m afraid I have forgotten. -What was it about?” -</p> - -<p> -“The Boys were throwing stones at the Frogs, and when the Frogs -remonstrated the Boys said they were doing it for fun. So the Frogs -answered: ‘It may be fun to you; but it is death to us!’” Colonel -Ogilvie puckered up his eyebrows: -</p> - -<p> -“I remember, now, my dear; but for the life of me I don’t see its -application here.” Joy said with a preternatural demureness: -</p> - -<p> -“It means Daddy, that you are the Boy and I am the Frog!” Her father’s -gravity became intensified: -</p> - -<p> -“That does not help me much, daughter!” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, you see, Daddy, here are you and mother commenting on how a man -looked at me—and—so forth. But you don’t take into consideration the -sensitiveness of a woman’s heart—let alone her vanity. I think you’ve -forgotten that I am not now ‘merely a child emerging into -womanhood’—don’t you remember on the <i>Cryptic</i>—but a staid woman to -whose waning attractions everything relating to a man is sacred. One -who looks on man, her possible rescuer from the terrors of old -maidhood with the desperation of accomplished years.” As she had -spoken unthinkingly the word “rescuer” a hot tide of blood had rushed -to her face, but she went bravely on to the end of her sentence. There -was not one of the three who did not understand the meaning. Her -mother and aunt were concerned at the self-betrayal. Her father’s face -grew fixed, now to sternness. With a faint heart Joy felt that she had -made a terrible mistake, and inwardly condemned herself for its -foolishness. Colonel Ogilvie now went on with grave deliberateness, he -was determined that there should be no error regarding his -disapprobation. All the time he was inwardly fuming against Mr. Hardy -whom he held responsible: -</p> - -<p> -“As I was saying, that fellow’s attitude, as it appeared to me, was -wanting in both openness and that confidence which underlies respect.” -Here Joy quivered. Judy, watching her, noticed it and for a moment was -scared. But the girl at once forced herself into calm, and Judy’s -anxiety quite disappeared. She knew that Joy was now quite master of -herself, and would remain so. The Colonel, accepting the dejected -silence as a request to continue, went on: -</p> - -<p> -“Of course there is no need for me to say that he is a very gallant -fellow and a superb horseman, and that his manners are those of a -polished gentleman. Nor, further still, that I and mine are under a -deep debt of gratitude to him. But there are some things which a man -can do, or what is worse which he can leave undone, that show -distrust.” -</p> - -<p> -“What things, for instance?” It was Judy who asked the question -falteringly; but it was to Joy that the answer was directed: -</p> - -<p> -“Well, my dear, I shall illustrate. When I, wishing to show that we -all took an interest in him and his surroundings, mentioned Airlville -and spoke of clubs and such matters he did not proffer me any -information. Still, thinking that his reserve might be that usually -attributed to the stand-off-ness of the English as often accepted -here—that it was due to habit rather than intent—I asked him where -he lived in London. He wrote an address on one of his cards—which by -the way has no address graven on it—and handed it to me, saying: -‘That is only a lodging. I have not got a house yet.’ Then I asked -what clubs he belonged to; and he simply said ‘Several’ and began to -ask me questions about what sport we usually have in Kentucky. Now my -dear, I am not usually inquisitive; and as this man was my guest I -could not proceed in face of such a—a snub.” He winced at the word. -“But as I was really anxious that we should see more of one who had -rendered us so signal a service, I expressed a hope that when we were -in England in the summer we might have the pleasure of seeing him. I -am bound to say that he reciprocated the wish very eagerly. He asked -me a host of questions as to our plans; and I told him what we had -arranged about the Lake Country and the Border of which we have such -traditions in our family. He certainly has a very winning way with -him, and I quite forgot at the time his want of trust about his -residence and his clubs!” -</p> - -<p> -“Perhaps he may have no home; he may be a poor man,” suggested Aunt -Judy. The Colonel answered her, this time directly: -</p> - -<p> -“He may not be a rich man, but he is certainly not a poor one. You and -I” this to Joy “saw him pay three thousand for that horse. And he is -free with his money too in other ways. That police sergeant who was -with me this morning—and who, my dear, asked me to convey his -gratitude to you; I gave it for you—told me that the gentleman had -given him on the Viaduct a hundred dollars for himself, and then -another hundred for the officer who was run down.” -</p> - -<p> -“How generous!” said Judy. Joy said nothing; but she leaned forward, -gladness in her eyes. There is some chord in a woman’s heart which -sounds to any touch of generosity or even of liberality. It is some -survival of conditions of primitive life, and a permanent female -attribute. Judy, anxious to propitiate her brother-in-law, and to -preserve the absent man’s character, said as though it were the -conclusion of some process of reasoning: -</p> - -<p> -“He must be some important person who is here on private business.” -Ogilvie smiled genially: -</p> - -<p> -“Our dear Judy will find a romance in everything—even in a man’s -distrust!” Judy, somewhat nettled, felt like defending her own -position. This had nothing to do with Joy so she felt she could argue -freely about it: -</p> - -<p> -“It needn’t be a romance, Lucius, only fact!” -</p> - -<p> -“My dear Judy, I don’t see why a man should give so extravagantly -merely because he is on private business. Why, it is the very way to -attract attention.” Judy was made more obstinate by the apparent -appositeness of the remark and by the tolerant tone of the speaker. -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t mean that he gives <i>because</i> he is on private business, -surely you know that; but that he may be an important man who gives -handsomely as a habit. He may be keeping his identity concealed.” -</p> - -<p> -“How do you mean exactly. How keep his identity concealed? He never -told me; and he has been my guest!” Colonel Ogilvie had a puzzled look -on his face. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, for instance by taking another name for the occasion. -Perhaps—” Here she caught sight of the look of positive horror on -Joy’s face and stopped short. Joy had seen in what direction the -conversation was drifting, but was afraid to interfere lest she should -bring on the very catastrophe which she dreaded. She had never -forgotten her father’s expressions regarding an alias; and she had -reason to fear that should his suspicions be in any way directed -towards the new friend whose accidental acquaintanceship already -promised so much, some evil or hindrance must ensue. But her -hypothetical concern was lost in a real one. As Judy spoke, the -Colonel started to his feet, his manner full of suppressed fury. He -was bristling all over, preliminary of his most dangerous mood. -</p> - -<p> -Joy rose to the occasion. It was now or never. It was apparent that -her father had taken that form of offence which is generally expressed -in idiom or slang. Cornishmen call it a “scunner,” Cockneys “the -hump,” Irishmen “an edge,” Americans “shirty.” It is a condition -antecedent to active offence; a habitat of the germ of -misunderstanding; a searchlight for cause of quarrel. Joy felt cold, -into the very marrow of her bones; well she knew that her father would -never forgive any such offence to him as was implied in an assumed -name. His remarks on the subject flamed before her like fiery -handwriting on the walls of her memory. Moreover Judy’s incautious -remark had but echoed her own thought. All day she had been dreaming -of this man who had plunged so gallantly into her life. Naturally -enough to a young woman, she had been weaving romances in various -forms round that very identity which, even to her, had been -unexpressed if not hidden. Naturally her dreams had in them some -element of concealment; romances always have. She had in her secret -heart taken it for granted that this man must be distinguished—how -could he be otherwise; and now her father’s suspicion might result in -some breach which might result in her never seeing him again. … It -was a possible tragedy! To her, grim and real from her knowledge of -her own heart; and none the less a real tragedy or less potent because -its bounds were lost in the vagueness of mist and fear. … She was -pale and inwardly trembling; but, all the same, her light laugh rang -true; she was desperate and fighting for her man, and so was strung up -to nature’s pitch: -</p> - -<p> -“Why, Daddy, if you’re going to kill anyone it will have to be dear -Aunt Judy. She’s the one who has made the alias. The poor man -himself—who by the way is not here to answer for himself and -explain—hasn’t done any conceivable thing wrong that we know of—even -you Daddy know that; except not having a house and not bragging of his -clubs!” -</p> - -<p> -This seemed to strike her father; it touched him on the point of -Justice. The lightness of his daughter’s laugh reassured him. -</p> - -<p> -“True!” he said. “That is quite true. I was too hasty. And he saved my -little girl’s life!” He rose from the table and putting his arm round -her shoulders kissed her. Then they went into the drawing-room. -</p> - -<p> -Joy bore up bravely for the rest of the evening. But when she was in -bed and assured that she was alone, the reaction came. She was as cold -as a stone and trembled all over. Putting her face down into her -pillow she pulled the sheet over her head and wept her very heart out. -</p> - -<p> -“Oh what it might have been if all went well. But what might be if -Daddy took some queer idea … and quarrelled …!” -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch08"> -CHAPTER VIII.<br/> -<span class="chap_sub">“LOOK AT ME!”</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">When</span> on Tuesday afternoon “Mr. Hardy” visited at the Holland House -he found only the single ladies at home. Colonel Ogilvie had gone out -in the morning to see after several matters of business, both in -connection with Air and relating to the forthcoming visit to Europe. -He had said he would probably not be back till dinner time. Mrs. -Ogilvie had gone out after lunch for a drive and would pay some visits -before returning home. Joy pleaded headache as an excuse for remaining -at home. Indeed her excuse was quite real; no one can pass so -melancholy a part of a night as she had done without suffering the -next morning. As the day wore on, however, the headache insensibly -departed; something else had taken its place. Joy would not admit to -herself what that something was; but that afternoon she took unusual -pains with her toilet. Judy noticed it with her usual acute -observation, understood it with her understanding sympathy; with her -wonted discretion she remained silent. She felt, and rightly, that the -time had not yet come when she could either be serious with Joy or -jest with her on the subject nearest to her heart. One thing she did -which can never be out of place, especially when it is true: she -showed pleasure in her niece’s looks, taking care, however to put her -own reason for it on a non-offensive basis. -</p> - -<p> -“Joy,” she said “that terrible experience of Sunday has not told on -you a bit. You are looking simply lovely.” Ordinarily Joy would have -known it, and would not have shrunk from admitting it to herself, or -possibly even to her aunt; but to-day she was full of self doubting. -Her very flush of happy excitement when her aunt spoke would have -betrayed her secret to a much less sympathetic or experienced person -than Judy. -</p> - -<p> -It is love more than any other cause or emotion or feeling which -creates self-distrust with the young. And sometimes with the old, for -the matter of that. -</p> - -<p> -When she found that Aunt Judy did not “chaff” her or ask her -questions, which she rather feared would happen, Joy beamed. Indeed it -looked to Judy’s loving eyes as if she visibly blossomed. Judy spoke -of her dress, remarking how well the dark full-coloured green silk -became her slender figure; but she was careful not to overdo her -praise, or to suggest any special cause for so elaborate a toilet. -</p> - -<p> -But Judy was of a distinctly practical nature. She took care to send a -message to the hall that if any visitors should come, though both -Colonel and Mrs. Ogilvie were out, Miss Ogilvie and Miss Hayes were at -home. -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne found both ladies busily idle. Joy was reading a novel; which -by the way she put down hurriedly without as Judy noticed, marking the -place. Judy was knitting; that sort of heavy uninteresting knitting -which is manifestly for the poor! She was used to say that such was -the proper sort of occupation for an old maid. She, too, put down the -cause of her occupation, but deliberately; thereby giving time for the -guest to salute her niece without the need of interruption. It did not -matter, then, if Joy’s hand did remain an instant longer in his than -formality demanded, nor if—when released—it was white in patches as -when extra force is applied to delicate flesh. For a few minutes Judy -joined in the conversation with her usual brilliancy. But to-day she -was distinctly restless, sitting down and jumping up again; moving out -of the room quietly and coming back noisily—the proper way as she -said on an after occasion for all old maids to move. Whenever she came -back she would join in the conversation in a sort of butterfly fashion -till she flitted away again. -</p> - -<p> -In one of these trios when Mr. Hardy happened to remark that he would -like to know what the movements of the Ogilvies would be, and what -address they gave for letters when they were away, Joy answered: -</p> - -<p> -“Daddy always has our letters sent to Brown Shipleys in Pall Mall. But -we shall be moving about a good deal I expect. Mother has to take -baths at Ischia again, and one of us will stay with her; but Daddy -wants to go about a bit and see something of England. He is set on -seeing the Border counties this summer.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then how am I to know where you are?” he asked impulsively. With a -bright smile Joy nodded over to Miss Hayes: -</p> - -<p> -“You had better ask Aunt Judy. She might keep you advised. She’s the -letter-writer of the family!” -</p> - -<p> -When in her turn Joy had moved away on some little domestic duty he -turned to Judy and said: -</p> - -<p> -“Won’t you let me know the moves on the board, Miss Hayes. It would be -very kind of you.” He looked so earnest over it that she felt her -heart flutter. She said at once: -</p> - -<p> -“Of course I shall, if you will let me have an address to write to.” -He had evidently thought over this part of the matter, for he took -from his pocketbook a card on which he had written below his printed -name: care Jonathan Goldsworth, Solicitor. 47B Lincoln’s Inn Fields, -London, W. C. “That will always find me. I may be away or travelling; -but my letters are sent on every day.” -</p> - -<p> -Judy thanked him, and seeing that Joy was out of earshot added on her -own account: -</p> - -<p> -“It is only right that you, who did so much for my dear niece—and so -for us all—should know at least where she is.” -</p> - -<p> -“Thank you very, very much!” said Athlyne impulsively. He had all an -Irishman’s instinctive knowledge of woman’s character and felt that -Judy was to be trusted, that she was heart-wholly devoted to her -niece. On her part Judy <i>knew</i> that he could be trusted to the full, -especially where Joy was concerned. And from that moment she began to -take an interest in the love affair; an interest quite personal to -herself and independent of her love for the girl. She felt that she -was a participant in all schemes which were to be; and that, she came -to the conclusion, was about all the real romance that an old maid -could share in. “Thank God there’s that left at any rate!” was her -prayer of gratitude. -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne felt a powerful impulse to make a <i>confidante</i> of her. This -was the first chance he had of disclosing the reality of things, and -he was just about to begin when Joy returned. Once again did that -self-distrust, incidental to his state of mind, cramp him. He fancied -that it might be premature. Not knowing how deeply Joy cared for him -already, he was unwilling to take any chance which might militate -against his ultimate success. There was also another hampering feeling -coincident with the self-distrust: he thought it might be possible -that a confidence made to Judy might be embarrassing to her with her -own folk. Already his devotion was deep enough and pure enough to -prevent his doing intentionally anything which might cause her pain. -Could Aunt Judy have looked into his heart, as she could and would -have done had he been a woman, she would have been satisfied of the -genuineness of his affection; and so she would have had no doubts at -all as to the end of Joy’s love affair. -</p> - -<p> -Joy’s return, however, brought somehow a sense of restraint. She had -herself originated or initiated a mechanism of correspondence and she -feared that Mr. Hardy might notice that she had done so. In her -present state of feeling towards the man, the very idea of such a -thing was fraught with humiliation. It is extraordinary how much -people take to heart the belief on the part of others of that they -have intended. Truth, truly, is a bright weapon; even the flash of it -has its own terrors! -</p> - -<p> -Judy did not comprehend exactly what the trouble was. She could see -that there was restraint on both sides, and was wondering whether it -had been possible that he had been speaking too impulsively—“going -too quick” was the way she put it to herself—and that Joy had -resented or feared it. Not the fact but the rapidity. Well Judy knew -that in her youth a woman most holds back when the wildest desire of -her heart is to rush forward; that the instinct of woman being to draw -man on, she will spend the last ounce of her strength in pushing him -back. Judy had once said: -</p> - -<p> -“A woman wants a man to be master, and specially to be her master. She -wants to feel that when it comes to a struggle she hasn’t got a chance -with him, either to fight or to run away. That’s why we like to make a -man follow when in truth we are dying to run after him—and to catch -him up!” Some of her circle to whom the heterodox saying had been -repeated professed to be very indignant as well as horrified. This was -chiefly noticeable in such of the most elderly of the good ladies as -had a lurid past or a large family, or both. -</p> - -<p> -If, however, Judy had any doubts as to the cause she had none whatever -of the fact. There was no mistaking the droop of Joy’s eyes, or the -sudden lifting and quick dropping of the lids which makes the densest -man’s heart flutter; no mistaking his eager look; the glowing eyes -ranging over face and form when the windows of her soul were closed, -and entranced in their light when they were open. Judy herself knew -the power of those gray, deep eyes. Even when her niece had been a -baby there seemed something hypnotic about them. They could disarm -anger, or change the iron of theory into the water of fact. Often and -often after some such episode when she had thought the matter over she -had said to herself: -</p> - -<p> -“Lord! if she’s like that as a baby with me, what will she be with a -man when she’s a woman!” Judy who was a self-observer knew -instinctively that in Joy was an inherent influence over men. There -was some very subtle, delicate force which seemed to emanate from her; -some force at once compelling and tranquillizing, for the explanation -of which mere will-power was insufficient. The power was now in active -exercise; but it was turned inwards. Joy was in love! Judy knew it as -well as if she had herself acknowledged it; indeed better, for the -acknowledgment of such a secret, except to the man himself, is given -with reserve. And so she made up her mind to further the affair; but -to prevent Joy betraying herself unduly during such furtherance. By -“unduly” Judy really meant “unwisely” as to ultimate and most complete -efficacy. -</p> - -<p> -She had an idea that Joy herself would approve, at present, of such -discretion. It seemed a direct confirmation of such idea when -presently the girl said to her in a faint whisper: -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t go away again Aunt Judy!” -</p> - -<p> -When, however, in the course of conversation as the three sat chatting -together happily, Mr. Hardy mentioned that his ship sailed in the -early morning and she saw the colour leave the girl’s cheeks for a -moment, just as a white squall sweeps a sunlit sea, Judy’s heart -softened. She understood that retreating wave of colour. Nature has -its own analogies to its own anomalies; there is a white blackbird, -why not a white blush! So when the time drew near for the departure of -the visitor Judy slipped away for a minute. When she had gone the two -sat still. Athlyne’s eyes were on Joy, eager, burning. Her eyes were -down, the black lashes curling against her cheeks. In a voice rather -husky he said in a low tone: -</p> - -<p> -“Won’t you think of me sometimes till we meet again?” Her answer was -given in what she wished to be a matter-of-fact tone, but the slight -quaver in it told another story: -</p> - -<p> -“Of course I shall! How can I help it? You saved my life!” There was -an entrancing demureness in the downcast eyes. But it was not enough -for the man. He wanted to see the eyes, to gaze in them, to lose -himself in them once again. There is for each individual nature some -distinctive way of expressing itself. Sometimes it is the mouth which -tells the story; sometimes it is by simple existence such as the lines -of the nose or forehead, by the shape and movement of the hands; -sometimes by a characteristic habit. Joy’s nature spoke through the -eyes; perhaps it is, that intention is best given by the eyes. Anyhow -the lover wanted to see them. -</p> - -<p> -In a low voice—not a whisper—that thrilled with intensity he said: -</p> - -<p> -“Joy, look at me!” He spoke her name, though it was for the first -time, quite unconsciously. As she heard it Joy’s heart beat so that -she feared he would notice it, and all the self-protective instincts -of womanhood rose at the thought. For an instant her face glowed; then -it grew pale again. She did not hesitate, however. She raised her eyes -and looked him full in the face. Her cheeks were flaming now, but she -did not heed it. In the face of nature what, after all, is convention. -As Athlyne lost himself in those wonderful eyes he had a wild almost -over-mastering desire to take her in his arms and kiss her straight on -the beautiful mouth. He was bending towards her for the purpose, she -was swaying towards him, he believed; but for long afterwards he could -not be sure of the matter. -</p> - -<p> -But suddenly he saw a change in the girl’s face, a look of something -like terror which seemed in an instant to turn her to stone. It was -but a momentary change, however. The spasm passed, and, just as though -it was to his eyes as if he had waked from a dream, she was her -easeful self again. At the same moment the outer door of the <i>piece</i> -opened and Mrs. Ogilvie’s voice was heard as she entered: -</p> - -<p> -“Judy, I am so glad! I am told he has not gone yet. I should have been -so sorry if I had not seen him!” When she entered the room, three -seconds later, she found the two young people talking quietly -according to the demure common-place of convention. -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Ogilvie was very hearty in her manner; a little more hearty than -usual, for she had a sort of feeling as if something extra in the way -of civility was due to him after the way her husband had spoken of -him. This was illustrative of two things. First the woman’s -unconscious acceptance of an unfavourable criticism of an absent -person, as if it had been made to and not merely of him; second the -way the sternness of a man’s judgment is viewed by the females of his -family. She insisted that Mr. Hardy should stay for tea and asked Joy -to ring and order it. -</p> - -<p> -Joy had been at once relieved and disappointed by the sudden entry of -her mother. The maidenhood in her was glad of the postponement of the -necessity for her surrender; the womanhood in her was disappointed by -it. She was both maid and woman; let the female reader say, and the -male reader guess, which feeling most predominated. She was glad that -<i>he</i> was staying a little longer; for so she might at least feast her -eyes on him again; but it was at best a chastened gladness, for well -she knew that that thrilling moment would not come again—during that -interview. And he was going away next morning! -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne, too, was ill at ease. He, too, knew there would be no more -opportunity now to follow up his declaration. The chagrin of his -disappointment almost made him cross, such being the nature of man. -Here, however, both his breeding and the kindliness of his nature -stood to him; the shadow quickly passed. Later on in the evening, when -he was thinking the matter over, he came to the conclusion that the -interposition, though he did not attribute it to any divine origin, -was after all perhaps best. It could not, or might not, suit him to -declare himself so quickly. He felt that under the circumstances of -his false name it would be necessary, or at any rate wise, to take -Colonel Ogilvie into his confidence before declaring himself to his -daughter. -</p> - -<p> -It is thus that we poor mortals deceive ourselves. He had been just -about to declare himself in the most passionate and overt way a man -can; by taking the girl in his arms and kissing her, without even a -passing thought of her father. But now, from some other cause, quite -outside the girl and not even within her knowledge, he found his duty. -One might with this knowledge easily differentiate the values of -“necessary” and “wise” in his mind regarding his confession to her -father. -</p> - -<p> -Joy found a very distinct, though shy, pleasure in handing him tea and -cake. Judy as usual presided at the tea-table. She did not interfere -unduly with her niece’s ministrations, but she took care that she had -plenty of opportunities. “Joy dear won’t you see if Mr. Hardy will -take more tea?”—“has Mr. Hardy enough sugar?” and so forth. She had -noticed those sudden liftings of the girl’s eyes, and knew what they -meant to a woman—and to a man. Athlyne did not as a rule make tea a -“square” meal, but this time he got in that direction. He refused -nothing she offered. He would have accepted death at her hands now, if -it would have pleased her; and it was only the girl’s discretion which -saved the situation. -</p> - -<p> -In due time he made his adieux and took his leave. With Joy there was -no more than a handshake. It was perhaps part of a second longer than -customary, but the force with which the squeeze was given lingered -long in her memory. Perhaps it was the pain inflicted in the operation -which made her often during the evening, when she was alone, caress -the possibly wounded hand! That night she went to sleep with her right -hand pressed to her heart. -</p> - -<p> -Judy had a wild impulse to tell Joy to go to the door with the -departing guest, but in the presence of her mother she did not dare to -suggest it. Had she been alone she would probably have done so. -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne walked away with his mind in a whirl. In his heart was ever -surging up through all other thoughts that one sublime recognition -which comes to every man at least once in his life: that which Sir -Geraint voiced: -</p> - -<p> -“Here, by God’s rood is the one maid for me!” To this all other -thoughts gave way. It obsessed him. When he came to Forty Second -Street he did not turn towards the hotel but kept straight on up Fifth -Avenue till he reached Central Park. He felt the need of movement. He -wanted to be alone in the open. At Central Park his steps took him -seemingly of their own accord towards the Riverside Drive. When he -came to a place amongst trees seeming to hang over the river he sat on -a seat and gave way to his thoughts. There was no one near him. Below -him was the quiet river with its passing life; beyond, the Jersey -shore so distant that details of life were not apparent. He took off -his hat, more in reverence than for ease, as he thought of the -beautiful girl who had so strangely come into life. Over and over -again he said to himself in endless repetition: -</p> - -<p> -“Joy! Joy! Joy! Joy!” He sat till the light began to fail and for long -after the sudden darkness of the American night had swooped down. Then -he went home. -</p> - -<p> -In the hotel he found a visitor waiting for him. Mr. Breckenridge had -come to say good-bye. He did so with so much heartiness that Athlyne -could not bear to be aught but hearty himself. Though he longed to be -alone he insisted on the young fellow coming up to his own rooms. -</p> - -<p> -The boy was not quite at ease so Athlyne said to him: -</p> - -<p> -“There is something on your mind. What is it?” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, look here, sir,” he answered gravely. “You have treated me like -a comrade, and I want to treat you like one!” -</p> - -<p> -“Go on, old chap. I’m listening.” Not without some nervousness the -other proceeded: -</p> - -<p> -“I saw in the <i>Journal</i> last evening that you had dined on Sunday -evening in the Holland with Colonel Ogilvie.” -</p> - -<p> -“Those damned reporters!” interrupted Athlyne, but at once told him -with a wave of his hand to proceed: -</p> - -<p> -“That hung in my mind from something you said to me the other evening. -That confidence which I shall always value.” Athlyne nodded. He went -on: -</p> - -<p> -“I know something of that family. I’m from Kentucky myself; and I was -there for a while—that time of the nigger disturbance you know—and I -was quartered not far from Airlville. I have met Colonel Ogilvie; but -it was on duty and amongst a good many others so he would not remember -me. I never met any of his family; but I need not tell you that I fell -in love with Miss Ogilvie. No fellow could help that; one glimpse of -her is enough—— However—— I heard a lot down there about the old -man, and as I was keen about the girl I took it all in and remembered -it. I want to tell you this, because he is a very peculiar man. He is -a splendid old chap. As brave as a lion, and as masterful as Teddy -Roosevelt himself. But all the same he has his ideas which are hardly -up to date. He is as stern as Fate in matters of—of—well, social -matters. They told me a story of him which when I recalled it has -troubled me since I saw you. It was about a man whose identity he -mistook and who for a jest allowed the error to go, and kept it up. He -was a Northern of course, for a Southern would have understood, and -our boys are sometimes very keen on a joke. But it was no joke when -the old man tumbled to it. He called it an unforgivable outrage and -insisted on fighting over it. I tell you it nearly cost the joker his -life. He was drilled right through, and only escaped death by a -miracle. I tell you all this, sir, because of your confidence in me. -If I might make a suggestion—you won’t think it beastly presumptuous -of me will you?” Athlyne held out his hand; the other after shaking -it, went on: “I would venture to suggest that—of course if you have -not done so already—you should take him into your confidence before -leaving here. It might be awkward if the old man were to find out for -himself. He would think it a want of trust, and he might never forgive -it. I am sure you would like to meet him and his again—you know you -can’t save the life of a girl like that every day——” He stopped -there, confused and blushing. -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne was touched by the young man’s kindly frankness and sincerity. -He thanked him heartily but in a regretful way added: -</p> - -<p> -“Unfortunately I didn’t tell him. It was all so quick, and there was -no opportunity when we did meet; and now I may not have the chance for -some time. It would not do to write; I must see him and explain. And I -go away early to-morrow. But be sure of this: the very first chance I -get I shall tell him. I do wish for the friendship of him and his; and -I should be main sorry if any foolishness hindered it. I shall have to -do it carefully, I can see from what you tell me that he may construe -my accepting his hospitality in my assumed name as an offence.” He -went to the door with his friend, but before parting he said: -</p> - -<p> -“By the way I should like you to do something for me if you don’t -mind. I have asked the Horse Exchange people to get me another mount -of the same strain as my black, a mare this time. I have given them -full instructions, and if you will, I shall tell them that they must -have your approval. I want some one who knows a good horse; and as I -have given them carte blanche as to price it is right I should have -some one to refer to. They are to send it to England for me.” -</p> - -<p> -When Breckenridge was gone he set about his preparations for his early -start. Strange to say he never thought of dinner at all that day; the -omission may have been due to his hearty tea! As he worked he thought -gravely over what his young friend had told him. He could see good -cause for concern. Colonel Ogilvie’s attitude towards -misrepresentation only echoed his own feeling. He came to the -conclusion that there lay before him much thought; and possibly much -action. -</p> - -<p> -But all the same this branch of the subject did not monopolise his -thoughts that night. As he lay awake he kept repeating to himself -again, and again, and again: -</p> - -<p> -“Joy! Joy! Joy! Joy!” He fell asleep with the words on his lips. The -thought continued in his heart. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch09"> -CHAPTER IX.<br/> -<span class="chap_sub">THE CAR OF DESTINY</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">Athlyne</span> did not feel safe till the French vessel was dipping her -nose into the open Atlantic seas, and the Long Island Hills were a -faint blue line on the western horizon. The last dozen hours of his -stay in New York had been as though spent in prison. He knew well now -that he really loved Joy; that this was no passing fancy, no mere -desire of possession of a pretty woman. All phases of the passion of -love, from the solely physical to the purely spiritual, have their own -forces commanding different sets of nerves. Any one of these many -phases may be all-compelling—for a time. But it is rather the blind -dogged reckless pursuit of an immediate purpose than the total -abandonment to a settled conviction. All the passions—or rather the -phases of one passion—are separate and co-ordinate. Inasmuch as they -are centred in one physical identity they are correlated. Nature has -its own mysteries; and the inter-relations of various functions of a -human being form not the least of them. As there are broad divisions -of them—Christians accept three, the ancient Egyptians held to -eight—so must we accept their uses and consequences. “Body and soul,” -so runs the saying of the illiterate, not seldom used in objurgation. -“Body, mind and soul” says the quasi-thinker who believes that he has -grasped the truth of the great parcelling-out of qualities. “Heart, -soul and flesh” says the lover who knows that he understands. The -lover alone it is who knows as distinguished from believing. For his -world is complete; in it there is no striving after knowledge, no vain -desire of many things, no self-seeking. For the true lover’s one idea -is to give. In such a world there can be no doubting, no fearing, no -hoping. Before its creation Pandora’s box has been emptied to the -last. It may be that the lover’s world is only a phantasm, a -condition. It may be that it is a reality which can only be grasped by -those who have been gifted with special powers. It may be that it is -an orb as real as our own world, whirling in space in darkness, and -can only be seen by those who have a new sense of vision. Surely it is -not too much to believe, following the great analogies, that the soul -as well as the body has eyes, and that all eyes of all sorts and -degrees have vision of one kind or another; that there may be even a -power of choice. We know that in the great manifestation which we call -Light are various rays, each with its own distinctive powers and -limitations. When these are all classified and understood, then -science may take breathing time for its next great effort at -investigation. Why, then, may not certain visual organs be adapted to -specific purposes! We know through our sensoria that there is response -in various ways to seekings of our own; whatever be the means of -communication; whatever it be—electrical or magnetic, or through some -other of the occult root forces, the message is conveyed. Why may it -not be, again following the great analogies, that two forces of -varying kind coming together are necessary for creation of any kind. -We know it of lightning, we know it of protoplasm, and of whatever -lies between them of which we know anything. We find or have ground -for believing that the same conditions hold in all the worlds which -germinate and increase and multiply. May it then not be that in -love—“creation’s final law”—the meeting of the two forces of sex may -create a new light; a light strange to either sex alone; a light in -which that other world, spinning in the darkness through ether, swims -into view in that new-created light. -</p> - -<p> -In physical life when flesh touches flesh the whole body responds, -provided that the two are opposite yet sympathetic. When ideas are -exchanged, mind come forth to mind till each understands with a common -force. When soul meets soul some finer means of expression comes into -play. Something so fine and of condition so rare that other senses can -neither realise nor conceive. -</p> - -<p> -But in the lover all the voices speak, and speak simultaneously; the -soul and the mind and the body all call, each to its new-found mate. -What we call “heart” gives the note for that wonderful song of love; -that song of songs whose music is as necessary in a living world as -light or air, and which is more potent in the end than the forces of -winds or seas. -</p> - -<p> -To Athlyne this new world had dawned. In the light which made it -visible to him other things looked small; some of them base. And this, -though the consciousness of love was still wanting; it had only spoken -instinctively. The completeness only comes with that assurance of -reciprocity which need not be spoken in words. Athlyne had been very -close to it. The yearning of his own nature had spoken in that call -out of the depths of his heart: “Joy look at me!” And if there had -been time for the girl’s new-wakened love to surge up through the deep -waters of her virgin timidity his happiness might have been by now -complete. As yet he only believed that there might yet be happiness -for him; he did not know! Had he seen in Joy’s beautiful eyes the -answering look which he hoped for, he would have been justified in a -change of his plans. He would then have spoken to her father at the -earliest possible opportunity, have told him the entire story of his -visit to America under an assumed name, and trusted to his good -feeling to understand and absolve him. As it was he had to accept -existing circumstances; and so he prepared himself for the future. -First he would get rid of his alias; then he would try to see Joy -again and form some idea of his fate. After that he would make his -confession to Colonel Ogilvie; and if the latter still remained -friendly he would press his suit. -</p> - -<p> -If some impartial reasoner, like Judy for instance, had been summing -up the matter for him the same would have said: “What are you -troubling yourself about. You are as good as he is, you are a suitable -match for the girl in every way. You have a title, a large estate, a -fine social position personally. You have a more than good record as a -soldier. You are young, handsome, strong, popular. You saved the -girl’s life at the risk of your own. Then why, in the name of common -sense, are you worrying? The old man is not an ass; he will understand -at once that you had a good reason for assuming another name. He will -see that the circumstances of your meeting were such that you had no -time to undeceive him. He owes you already the deepest debt of -gratitude that a father can owe. The girl owes you also her life. What -in the world better chance do you want? You love the girl yourself -…” -</p> - -<p> -Aye! there it was. He loved the girl! That hampered him. -</p> - -<p> -During the whole time of the voyage he kept to himself. He made no new -friends, not even acquaintances; he had begun to feel that so long as -he remained under the shadow of that accursed alias each momentarily -pleasant episode of his life was only the beginning of a new series of -social embarrassments. When the ship arrived at Havre he got off and -went at once to London. There he stayed for a few days in the lodgings -which he had taken in the name of Hardy. He set himself gravely to -work to wipe out from his belongings every trace of the false name. It -was carefully cut or scraped from the new luggage, obliterated from -the new linen and underclothes by the simple process of scissors. The -cards and stationery were burned. It was with a sigh of relief that, -having discharged all his obligations, he drove to his chambers in the -Albany and resumed his own name and his old life. He was, however, -somewhat restless. He tried to satisfy himself with long rides, but -even the speed of the Kentucky horse who got more than his share of -work did not satisfy him. There was some new uneasiness in his life; -an overwhelming want which nothing of the old routine, no matter how -pleasant it might be, could fill. -</p> - -<p> -<br/> -</p> - -<p> -When “Mr. Hardy” had said good bye to her, Joy’s new life began. New -life indeed, for Love is a new birth, a re-creation. Whenever she -thought of herself she seemed to be leading a double life. All the -routine, the cares and the duties of the old life remained unchanged; -but superimposed on it was quite a new existence, one of -self-surrender, of infinite yearning, of infinite hope, of endless -doubting as to whether she was worthy of all that which she shyly -believed really existed. She was all sweetness to those around her, to -whom she seemed happy—but with a tinge of sadness. Both her father -and mother believed that she was feeling the reaction from the shock -of the Riverside adventure. Her mother possibly had at first an idea -that she had given some thought to the handsome young man who had -saved her; but when she herself reviewed in her mind how quietly, not -to say unconcernedly, the young man had taken the whole episode she -was content to let it take a minor place in both her concern and her -recollection. -</p> - -<p> -In due course the Ogilvie family set out on their European journey, -and in due course without any occurrence of note they arrived at their -destination. -</p> - -<div class="letter"> - -<p class="sign2"> -Hotel Bellevue,<br/> -Casamicciŏla, Ischia. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">Dear Mr. Hardy</span>: -</p> - -<p> -As I promised to write to you I now try to keep my word. I dare say -you will think that an old maid is glad to get a chance of writing to -a man! Perhaps she is! But I may say a word in your ear: the habit of -personal reticence begins younger and lingers longer than you would -think. However this is not the time or place—or weather for -philosophising. The scenery is far too lovely to think of anything -unpleasant. We got here all right after a voyage which was nice -enough, though rather dull, and with no opportunities of making new -friends. We can’t have runaway horses on shipboard! My sister will -remain here for some weeks and I shall stay with her as it wouldn’t do -to leave her all alone. It brought the whole caboodle of us hurrying -over from America through a blizzard the last time! No, thank you! And -Colonel Ogilvie doesn’t care to travel by himself. He is set on going -up to Westmoreland which he says is the original Country of his branch -of the Ogilvies. He is complaining of getting no riding here; and yet -he says that when he gets to London he will hire a motor. Men are -queer things, aren’t they? The rest of us are quite well and looking -forward to our English visit where we may meet some friends. How are -you? I suppose spending your time as usual galloping about like a -knight-errant on a big black horse rescuing distressed ladies. And -writing letters to a pack of women not <i>all</i> old maids! I suppose you -will spare a moment to write to one in answer to this, just to say -where you are and where you will be in the next few weeks. My -brother’s section of our party leaves here next week. As I am an old -maid I am shy of telling my sister, and most of the rest of us, that I -am writing to a gentleman; but if they knew it they too would send -their love. For my own part I must confine myself to kind remembrance. -</p> - -<p class="sign2"> -Believe me,<br/> -Yours faithfully,<br/> -<span class="sc">Judith Hayes</span>. -</p> - -<p> -P. S.—By the way, I forgot to say that the first contingent will -after a few days in London go on to Cumberland or Westmoreland—I know -it is the “Lake” country! -</p> - -</div> - -<p> -Athlyne read the letter eagerly; but when he had finished he dropped -it impatiently. There was not a thing in it that he wanted to -know—not once the name he wanted to see. He sat for a while thinking; -then he took it up again saying to himself: -</p> - -<p> -“She’s no fool; it must have taken her some pains to say so little.” -As he read it the second time, more carefully this time and not merely -looking for what he wished to find, the letter told its own story, and -in its own way. Then he smiled heartily as he sat thinking it over and -commenting to himself: -</p> - -<p> -“Not a word about her; not even her name! And yet she must know that -it would be of <i>some</i> interest to me to hear of her. I wonder if it -would do to run over to Ischia. There seems to be a party of them …” -He read over the letter again with a puzzled look, which all at once -changed to a smile. “Good old Judy! So that’s it is it! That’s not the -first letter Miss Judy has written with a double meaning in it. She -hasn’t those fine eyes and that quick wit for nothing. Why it’s as -clever and as secret as that sent to Basing at Pretoria.” For a good -while he pondered over it, making notes on the back of the envelope. -Then he read these over: -</p> - -<p> -“We are at Ischia. -</p> - -<p> -“I am writing because I promised. -</p> - -<p> -“The habit of personal reticence (that means not saying a thing for -yourself) is for both young and old. -</p> - -<p> -“Our voyage was dull, no adventure, no meeting any one like you. -</p> - -<p> -“Mrs. Ogilvie and Judy remain at Ischia some weeks. -</p> - -<p> -“Colonel Ogilvie doesn’t like going alone and goes to the Lake County -(who is to be with him but Joy?) -</p> - -<p> -“He wants to go motoring (seems more in this—think it over). -</p> - -<p> -<i>The rest of us</i>—(that can only mean Joy) are looking forward to -meeting friends in England—(that proves she is going with her -father). -</p> - -<p> -“Let me know where you will be during the coming weeks. -</p> - -<p> -“My brother’s section of our party—(He and Joy)—leave here next -week. -</p> - -<p> -“I haven’t told Mrs. Ogilvie <i>or most of the rest of us</i> (Besides Mrs. -O. there are only two so that <i>most</i> of them must mean the -bigger—that is Colonel Ogilvie—she has not told that one of the -two—then she <i>has</i> told the other. And the other is Joy!) -</p> - -<p> -“If any of those kept in ignorance knew they <i>too</i> would send their -love! -</p> - -<p> -“‘<i>Too!</i>’ Then one does. Judy sends her own ‘kind remembrance.’ The -only other one, Joy, sends her love—to me. -</p> - -<p> -“Joy sends her love to me!” -</p> - -<p> -He sat for a moment in an ecstasy, holding the letter loosely in his -hand. Then he raised it to his lips and kissed it. Then he kissed it a -second time, a lighter kiss, murmuring: -</p> - -<p> -“That’s for Aunt Judy!” He proceeded with his comment: -</p> - -<p> -“The postscript: ‘After a few days in London—will go on to Cumberland -or Westmoreland.’ No address in either place, what does that mean? She -has been so clever over the rest that she can’t be dull in this. She -<i>must</i> know the London address … she thinks it best not to tell it -to me—why?” -</p> - -<p> -That puzzled him. He could not make out any reason from her point of -view. He was willing to accept the fact and obey directions, but Judy -had been so subtle in the other matter that he felt she must have some -shrewd design in this. But the simple fact was that in this matter she -had no design whatever. She intended to write to him again on hearing -from him and to give him all details. -</p> - -<p> -But for his own part Athlyne had several reasons for not seeing -Colonel Ogilvie in London. Knowing that the father might make some -quarrel out of his coming to his home in a false name he wanted to -make sure of the daughter’s affection before explaining it to him. -Besides there was the matter of continuing the fraud—even to Judy. -Until things had been explained, meeting and any form of familiarity -or even of hospitality on either side was dangerous. He could neither -declare himself nor continue as they knew him. He was known in London -to too many people to avoid possible <i>contretemps</i>, even if he decided -to continue the alias with them and take chance, until he could seize -a favourable opportunity. And as he could not introduce the old -gentleman to his friends and his clubs it would be wiser not to see -him at all. When all was said and done the pain of patient waiting -might be the least of many ills. -</p> - -<p> -All the morning and afternoon he thought over the letter which he was -to write to Judy. He despaired of writing anything which could mean so -much; and beyond that again he felt that he could say nothing which -would be so important to its recipient as the message of Judy’s letter -had been to him. How could he hope for such a thing! The letter, which -just before the time of collection he posted with much trepidation, -ran: -</p> - -<div class="letter"> - -<p class="noindent"> -“<span class="sc">My Dear Miss Hayes</span>: -</p> - -<p> -“Thank you very much for your most kind letter and for all that you -have said and left unsaid. I too had a dull journey from New York and -found London duller still. As a town it seems to have fallen off; but -it will brighten up again I am sure before long! I am glad you are all -well. I suppose your party will re-unite after Mrs. Ogilvie’s cure has -been completed. It is strange how we are all taking to motor cars. I -am myself getting one, and I hope in the early summer to have some -lovely drives. I am looking out for a companion. But it is a difficult -thing to get exactly the one you want, and without such it is lonely -work. Even going the utmost pace possible could not keep one’s mind -away from the want. When I went to America that time I was feeling -lonely and dull; and I have felt lonelier and duller ever since. But -when I get my motor I hope all that will shortly cease. I hope that -when you arrive—if you and Mrs. Ogilvie do come over—that you will -honour my car by riding in it. I shall hope to have some one with me -whom you must like very much—you seem to like nice people and nice -people seem to be fond of you. I greatly fear it will not be possible -for me to see Colonel Ogilvie in London, for I have to be away very -shortly on some business, and I probably shall not be back in time; -but I am going up North in a few weeks—in my new car if it is -ready—and I shall hope to see my friends. Perhaps Colonel Ogilvie and -some of his friends will come for a drive with me. Won’t you let me -know where he will be staying after he leaves London. Please give, if -occasion serves, my warm remembrance to all. I have not forgotten that -delightful conversation we had before tea the day I called. Tell Miss -Joy that I wish we could renew and continue it. Miss Ogilvie must be a -very happy girl to have, in addition to such nice parents who love her -so much, an aunt like you so much her own age, so sympathetic, so -understanding. I cannot tell you how much I am obliged to you for -writing. I look eagerly for another letter. -</p> - -<p class="sign2"> -“Believe me,<br/> -Yours very sincerely.” -</p> - -</div> - -<p> -There he hesitated. He had meant never to write again the name Richard -Hardy. Here the letter seemed to demand it. He had already thought the -matter over in all ways and from all points of view and had, he -thought, made up his mind to go through with the fraud as long as it -was absolutely necessary. There was no other way. But now when he had -to write out the lie—as it appeared to him to be—his very soul -revolted at it. It seemed somehow to dishonour Joy. Since he had -looked into the depth of her eyes, scruples had come to him which had -not ever before troubled him. It was unworthy of her, and of himself, -to continue a lie. And so with him began again the endless circle of -reasoning on a basis of what was false. -</p> - -<p> -A lie, little or big, seems gifted with immortality. At its creation -it seems to receive that vitality which belongs to noxious things. The -germs which preserve disease survive the quick lime of the plague-pit -and continue after the seething mass of corruption has settled into -earthly dust; and when the very bones have been resolved into their -elements the waiting germs come forth on disturbance of the soil -strong and baneful as ever. -</p> - -<p> -Sometimes Athlyne grumbled to himself of the hardness of his lot. It -was too bad that from such a little thing as taking another name, and -merely for the purpose of a self-protective investigation of a lie, he -should find himself involved in such a net-work of deceit. Other -people did things a hundred times worse every day of their lives. He -had often done so himself; but nothing ever came of it. But now, when -his whole future might depend upon it, he was face to face with an -actual danger. If Colonel Ogilvie quarrelled with him about it that -would mean the end of all. Joy would never quarrel with her father; of -that he felt as surely as that he loved her. All unknown to himself -Athlyne had an instinctive knowledge of character. Any one who had -ever seen him exercise the faculty would have been astonished by the -rapidity of its working. The instant he had seen Joy he had recognised -her qualities. He had understood young Breckenridge at a glance; -otherwise he was too shrewd a man to trust him as he had done. It is -not often that a man will entrust the first comer in a crowd with a -valuable horse. To this man, too, an utter stranger, he had entrusted -his secret, the only person who now knew it on the entire American -continent. So also with Colonel Ogilvie. He was assured in his inner -consciousness that that old gentleman would be hard to convince of the -necessity for disguise. There was something about his fine stern-cut -features—so exquisitely modified in his daughter—and in his haughty -bearing which was obnoxious to any form of deceit. -</p> - -<p> -One of these grumbling fits came on him now, and so engrossed him that -he quite forgot to sign the letter. It was in the post box when he -recollected the omission. He rejoiced when he did so that he had not -written the lie. It was queer how sensitive his conscious was -becoming! -</p> - -<p> -One immediate effect of the awakened conscience was that he went about -a motor car that very afternoon. He had said to Miss Judy that he was -getting one, and his words had to be made good. Moreover he had, in -addition to the train of reasons induced by Miss Judy’s mention of -Colonel Ogilvie’s getting a car, a sort of intuition that it would be -of service to him. Of service to him, meant of course, in his present -state of mind with regard to Joy—of service in furthering his love -affair. He had wished for a horse and got one, and it had brought him -to Joy. Now he wanted a motor … The chain of reasoning seemed so -delightfully simple that it would be foolish to dispute it. -Sub-conscious intuition supplied all lacunæ. -</p> - -<p> -The logic of fact seemed to support that of theory. He looked in at -his club to find the name of a motor agency. There in the hall he met -an old diplomatic friend, who after greeting him said: -</p> - -<p> -“This is good-bye as well.” -</p> - -<p> -“How so?” he asked. -</p> - -<p> -“I am off for Persia. Ballentyre got a stroke just as he was starting -and they sent for me in a hurry and offered me the post. It is too -good to refuse, so I am booked for another three years. I was -promising myself a long rest, or a spell in a civilised place anyhow. -It is too bad, just when I was expecting home my new -Delaunay-Belleville car which has been nearly a year in hand.” -</p> - -<p> -“Do you take the car with you?” asked Athlyne feeling a queer kind of -beating of his heart. -</p> - -<p> -“No. It would be useless there; at all events until I see what the -country and the roads are like. I was just off to the agents to tell -them to sell it for me.” -</p> - -<p> -“Strange we should meet. I came here to look up the address of an -agent. I want to buy a car.” -</p> - -<p> -“Look here, Athlyne; why not take over this? I shall have to sell it -at a sacrifice, and why shouldn’t you have the advantage. I’ll let you -have it cheap; I would rather clear it all up before I go.” -</p> - -<p> -“All right, old chap. I’ll take it. What’s the figure?” -</p> - -<p> -“I agreed to pay £1,000. You may have it at what you think fair!” -</p> - -<p> -“All right. Can we settle it now?” -</p> - -<p> -“By all means.” Athlyne took out his cheque-book and wrote a cheque -which he handed to the other. -</p> - -<p> -“I say,” said Chetwynd. “You have made this for the full sum.” -</p> - -<p> -“Quite so! What else could I offer. Why man, do you think I would beat -you down because you are in a hurry. If there is any huckstering it is -I who should pay. I get my car at once, the very car I wanted. I -should have to wait another year.” -</p> - -<p> -Three days after, the car arrived. Athlyne had spent the time in -getting lessons at a garage and learning something of the mechanism. -He was already a fair mechanic and a fine driver of horses; so that -before another week was out he had learned to know his car. He got a -good chauffeur so that he would always have help in case of need; and -before the next letter arrived from Miss Judy he was able to fly about -all over the country. The new car was a beauty. It was 100-110 h. p. -and could do sixty miles an hour easily. -</p> - -<p> -The next letter which he received from Miss Hayes was short and -devoid, so far as he could discern after much study, of any cryptic -meaning whatever. She thus made allusion to the fact that he had not -signed his letter: -</p> - -<p> -“By the way I notice that you forgot to sign your letter. I suppose -you were thinking at the time of other things.” The later sentence was -underlined. The information in the letter was that Colonel Ogilvie and -“his daughter” expected to be in London on the Saturday following her -letter and would stay at Brown’s Hotel, Albemarle Street, “where I -have no doubt they will be happy to see you if you should chance to be -in London at the time. I think Lucius intends to write you.” -</p> - -<p> -The latter sentence was literally gall to him. He knew that he must -not be in London during their stay there. To be away was the only -decent way of avoiding meeting them. He must not meet Colonel Ogilvie -until he had made certain of Joy’s feeling towards him, for he could -not make his identity known till he had that certainty. He could then -explain his position … The rest of the possibilities remained -unspoken; but they were definite in his own mind. -</p> - -<p> -As he had to go away he thought it would be well to study up the -various branches of the Ogilvy as well as of the Ogilvie family. He -would then make a tour on his own account to the various places where -were their ancient seats. As Colonel Ogilvie was interested in the -matter some knowledge on his part might lead … somewhere. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch10"> -CHAPTER X.<br/> -<span class="chap_sub">A LETTER</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">Before</span> he set out for London, Colonel Ogilvie wrote a letter to “Mr. -Hardy” which he sent to the address given on the card handed to him at -New York. He had thought over the matter of writing with the -seriousness which he always gave to social matters. Indeed he was -careful to be even more punctilious than usual with this young man; -firstly because he had got the idea that his overtures had not been -cordially received and he wished to be just, secondly because he felt -he must not forget the great service rendered to his daughter and -himself. In his letter he apprised Mr. Hardy that with his daughter he -was coming to London for a week or more, that they would be staying at -Brown’s Hotel, Albemarle Street, and that they would be very pleased -to see him there if he would honour them with a visit, and that -perhaps he would make it convenient to dine with them any evening -which he himself might select. He also told him that Mrs. Ogilvie and -her sister were to remain some weeks longer in Italy, and that they -would join him in the North of England, whence they would go all -together to some bracing part of Scotland, to be decided later on when -the time came for the after-cure. Of course, as he did not know that -Athlyne was already in correspondence with Miss Judy, and was -particular to give details of his future movements. Before posting it -he showed the letter to Joy so that he might have her opinion as to -whether all was correct. Joy was secretly fluttered, but she preserved -admirably her self-control and came well through the ordeal, leaving -no suspicion in the mind of her father as to the real state of things. -She was now very deeply in love; the days that had passed had each and -all fed the flame of her incipient passion. Time and the brain working -together have a period of growth of their own which the -physiopsychists have called “unconscious cerebration,” a sort of -intellectual process whereby crude thoughts are throughout the -darkness of suspended effort developed into logical results. Again, -one of Nature’s mysterious workings; again one of her analogies to the -inner and outer worlds of growth. As the hibernating seed, as the -child in the womb, so the thought of man. Growth without ceasing, in -light or darkness. Logical development, from the gates of Life to the -gates of Death. -</p> - -<p> -Joy was so deeply in love that all her thoughts, all her acts, all her -hopings and fearings were tinged by it. Dreams need a physical basis -somewhere; and whatever is the outward condition of man or woman so -will be the mind. Whatever the inward, so will be the outward; each is -the true index to the other. Her father, though an acute enough man in -other respects, was sublimely unconscious of any change in his little -girl; indeed he held her in his mind as but a child to whom the -realities of life had not yet presented themselves. And yet even as a -father he was feeling the effects of her developed affection. All the -sweetness of her childhood had ripened. Somehow her nature had become -more buoyant, more elastic. Sweetness and thoughtful understanding of -his wishes seemed to breathe from her. Now and again were languorous -moments when her whole being seemed to yield itself involuntarily to a -wish outside her own. To a woman these are times of danger. For when -the will ceases, passivity is no longer negative; it is simply a -doubling of the external domination—as though an active spirit had -been breathed into inertness. There are many readings to any of the -Parables. When certain devils have been cast out and the house has -been swept and garnished may it not be that spirits other than devils -may find place therein. May it not also be that there is a virtue in -even selfishness; if only that its protective presence keeps out -devils that would fain enter the house where it abides. -</p> - -<p> -With a spirit of meekness Joy waited the coming of the friend who had -been bidden. She had every confidence that he would come. True that he -had not written to her; but she had seen his unsigned letter to Judy, -and into its barrenness had read meanings of her own. How could he -<i>not</i> come to her when she would have so gladly flown to him? Besides -there was always with her the memory of that rapturous moment when he -had spoken her name: “Joy look at me!” It was not hard to remember -that; it was the only time she had heard her name upon his lips. As -the weeks had gone by, that little sentence impulsively spoken had -arrived at the dignity of a declaration of passion. It had grown in -her mind from a request to a command; and she felt the sweetness of -being commanded by a man she loved. In that moment she had accepted -him as her Master; and that acceptance on a woman’s part remains as a -sacred duty of obedience so long as love lasts. This is one of the -mysteries of love. Like all other mysteries, easy of acceptance to -those who believe; an acceptance which needs no doubting -investigation, no proof, no consideration of any kind whatever. She -had faith in him, and where Faith reigns Patience ceases to be a -virtue. -</p> - -<p> -Her father waited also, though not in the same meekness of spirit. -Indeed his feeling was fast becoming an exasperation in which the -feeling of gratitude was merging. He felt that he had done all that -was right and correct with regard to the young man. He had gone out of -his way to be nice to him; but with only the result of insult—that -was the way in which he was beginning to construe the silence of Mr. -Hardy. Insult to his daughter as well as himself; and that was a thing -which could not be brooked from anyone no matter how strong or how -numerous were his claims for leniency! Joy saw that there was some -cause of displeasure with her father, and with a sinking heart had to -attribute it to the real cause. She knew—which her father did -not—from his letter to Judy that Mr. Hardy would have to be away from -London just at the time of their visit; but she was afraid to speak -lest she should precipitate catastrophe. It was not that she had fear -in the ordinary sense. Much as she loved her father she would face him -if necessary. But she felt that it would be unwise to force the issue -prematurely; her father was a man of such strong prejudices—he called -them convictions!—that once they were aroused they mastered his -judgment. What might happen if he should give them scope on this -occasion! Her heart sank more deeply still at the very thought. -</p> - -<p> -In her anxiety she took what was probably the wisest course; she kept -him perpetually busy, trotting about with her to see the sights of -London. This was a pleasure which she had long promised herself -with—since the adventure with the run-away horse—the added interest -of having present a nice Englishman to point out and explain. This -special charm had now to be foregone; and the denial made her secretly -sad. However, the best anodyne to pain is pain; her anxiety regarding -her father’s case was a counteractant to her own. Father and daughter -were so busy, morning noon and night, and the girl appeared to be so -tired when the day’s programme as laid down had been exhausted, that -occasion was lacking for consideration of a disagreeable subject. -Towards the end of the first week, however, Colonel Ogilvie’s patience -began to fail. He felt that he must speak of his annoyance to some -one, and there was no choice. Joy felt that the moment had come, and -she did not flinch. She had a grim foreboding that there would be -something said which would give her pain to hear. Her hands were tied. -She could not even mention that Mr. Hardy was away; her father would -be sure to ask how she knew it. If he did so, she would not dare to -tell him; for she knew well that if he learned that the man who had -not even answered his own letter was in secret correspondence with the -ladies of his own family—that is how he would put it—the fact would -add fuel to the flame, would change chagrin to fury. And so she -steeled herself to the quiet endurance of suffering. -</p> - -<p> -The blow fell at breakfast time when her father had looked through the -few letters which lay beside his plate. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, I do think that that young man’s rudeness is unpardonable!” -</p> - -<p> -Joy looked up with a pleasant smile which belied the chilly feeling -about her heart. She felt that she must pretend ignorance; her father -might, later on, hold a too ready acceptance as suspicious: -</p> - -<p> -“What, Daddy? Who? Whose rudeness?” -</p> - -<p> -“That—that gentleman whom I asked to dine with us. Mr. Hardy.” -</p> - -<p> -“Perhaps he may not have got your letter.” -</p> - -<p> -“How do you mean, daughter? He must have got it; I directed it to the -address he gave me himself.” -</p> - -<p> -“But Daddy, he may be away. You remember he told you at dinner that -day in the Holland that he had important business. It may have been -prolonged you know. He may not even be in London.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then he should see that his letters are duly sent on to him.” -</p> - -<p> -“Certainly he ought. But perhaps Daddy he’s not as careful as we are. -He may not be a man of business!” Colonel Ogilvie smiled: -</p> - -<p> -“I’m afraid that is a very bad argument my dear. You have just used -the opposite!” -</p> - -<p> -“How so, Daddy?” she asked wrinkling up her brows. -</p> - -<p> -“You said he might be away on business!” He was so pleased with his -combating of her argument that her purpose was effected; he abandoned -the subject—for a time. -</p> - -<p> -The next morning, however, he renewed it again under similar -circumstances: -</p> - -<p> -“I think, my dear, that we had better give up any idea of keeping that -young man on the list of our friends. It is quite evident that he does -not care to continue our acquaintanceship!” Joy suffered much this -time; all the more because there was nothing that she could say which -would be wise. She had to content herself with a commonplace -acceptance of his views. So she answered with as steady a voice as she -could manage: -</p> - -<p> -“Of course, Daddy! Whatever you think right!” The answer pleased her -father; he showed it in his reply: -</p> - -<p> -“I am sorry about it, my dear; for he seemed a fine young fellow, and -he saved you very bravely. However we cannot help it. <i>We</i> did all we -could to make him welcome; but we can’t force him to come to us. It -isn’t an occasion for wain-ropes!” After a pause she ventured to say -meekly: -</p> - -<p> -“Yes. It would be a pity if we had to quarrel with a man who did so -much for us. I suppose if he <i>could</i> show that he did not get your -letter, then it would be—you could forgive him.” -</p> - -<p> -“Of course I would, my dear. But these English are so stand-off that -there is no understanding them. I wanted to be friends with the man -who saved my little girl … But there, it is no use wishing anything -when people are pig-headed …” -</p> - -<p> -His words somehow made Joy’s heart glow. It might be all right yet, if -only … -</p> - -<p> -But the present was sadly un-right. The suspense, the uncertainty, the -waiting in the dark were hard to bear. It was little wonder that in -the middle of the following week her father noticed that she had grown -pale and listless. Deep down in his mind he connected it somehow with -“that damned fellow” but he took care not to betray his thought to his -daughter in any way. His present wish was that even the existence of -the fellow should fall out of the memory of his family. As for himself -he never let a grievance fall out of his memory; there had to be a day -of reckoning for all concerned in such. -</p> - -<p> -He quietly made preparations for their northern tour, and when all was -ready told Joy who joined with alacrity in the move. London was now -growing hateful to her. -</p> - -<p> -<br/> -</p> - -<p> -In the meantime Athlyne, living either in his castle of -Ceann-da-Shail—which he had long looked on as his home—as a centre, -was flying about in his new motor, learning each day fresh mysteries -of driving. The speeds of the motor are so much above those of other -vehicles that a driver, howsoever experienced he may be in other ways, -seems here to be dealing with a new force. The perspective changes so -fast as the machine eats up the space that the mind requires to be -practised afresh in judging distances and curves. It had been a bitter -regret to him that he had to keep out of London just when Joy had come -to it. His mind was always running on what a delight it would be to be -with her when all the interesting things came before her; to note the -sudden flushes of delight, to see the quick lifting of the beautiful -eyes, to look into their mysterious, bewildering depths. At first when -such ideas took him whilst driving, he nearly ran into danger. -Unconsciously his hands would turn the wheel for speed, and in his -eagerness he would make such swerves and jumps that undesirable things -almost happened. However, after a few such experiences his nerves -learned their own business. It is part of the equipment of a chauffeur -to be able to abstract and control his driving senses from all other -considerations; and such dual action of the mind requires habit and -experience for its realisation. The constant watchfulness and anxiety -had at least this beneficent use: that for a part of the day at all -events his mind was kept from brooding over his personal trouble. -</p> - -<p> -The arrival of Colonel Ogilvie’s letter, sent on to him from London, -made in a way a new trouble for him; for whilst he was delighted to -get so friendly an overture it was he saw but another difficulty ahead -of him. He must either reply in his false name, which was now hateful -to him; or he must leave the letter, for the present, unanswered. This -latter alternative would be dangerous with a man so sensitive and so -punctilious; but, all told, it was the lesser evil. He had had -opportunity to make up his mind on the subject before the letter came, -for Aunt Judy had said in her last letter that Colonel Ogilvie had -spoken about writing to him before they should arrive in London. Still -it was a sore trial to him to be so discourteous, with the added -chagrin that it might—probably would—stand in his way with the one -man in the world whom he wished to propitiate. -</p> - -<p> -As he did not know anything about the history of Colonel Ogilvie’s -family he went to the peerage books and made lists of the bearers of -that name in its different spellings; and then as he decided to go to -many of the places named, he made runs into Perthshire and Forfar. He -came to the conclusion that he must have misunderstood Colonel Ogilvie -in alluding to the “Border Counties.” He laid up, however, a good deal -of local information which might be pleasing to his prospective -father-in-law. -</p> - -<p> -One morning he had a letter which quite fluttered him. It was from -Aunt Judy telling him that Colonel Ogilvie had announced his intention -of starting on the then coming Thursday for the north, and that he had -given as the direction of his letters till further notice the “Inn of -Greeting,” Ambleside. The unqualified pleasure which he received from -this news was neutralised by the postscript: -</p> - -<div class="letter"> - -<p> -“By the way—this of course in your private ear, now and -hereafter—Colonel Ogilvie is vastly disappointed that you have not -been to see him in London, and that you have not even replied to his -letter. Surely there must be some mistake about this. I sincerely hope -so, for he looks on any breach of courtesy, or any defect in it, as an -unpardonable sin. I know from the fact of his mentioning it to his -womenkind that he has taken it to heart. Do, do my dear friend, who -have done so much for us and whose friendship we wish to hold, repair -this without delay. He is an old man and may possibly expect more from -a younger man than from one of his own standing. I am sure that if -there has been any omission there is on your part a good reason for -it. But do not lose any time. If you wish to please us <i>all</i>—and I am -sure you do—you would do well to go up to Ambleside—if you have not -seen him already—and call on him there. And do like a dear man drop -me a line at once to say you have received this and telling me what -you intend to do.” -</p> - -</div> - -<p> -He sat for a while quite still, putting his thoughts in order. It was -now Monday so that Colonel Ogilvie would have been already some days -at Ambleside. He took it for granted that Joy was with him, but he -could not help a qualm of doubt about even that. Aunt Judy had not -mentioned her in the matter. The only possible allusion was in the -underlining of the word “all.” Otherwise the letter was too direct and -too serious for any cryptic meaning. -</p> - -<p> -He came to the conclusion that his best plan would be to go at once to -some place on Windermere, and from there go quietly to Ambleside and -find out for himself how things lay. The best place for him to stay at -would, for his purposes, be Bowness. There he would leave his car with -the chauffeur and drive in a carriage to Ambleside. When there he -would contrive to meet if possible Joy alone. He would surely be able -to form from her attitude some opinion of her disposition towards him. -If he were satisfied as to this he would at once go to her father, -tell him the whole story, and place himself in his hands. -</p> - -<p> -But then he thought that if he were so near, his name might become -known to Colonel Ogilvie; that infernal alias seemed to be always -standing in his way! He was so obsessed by the subject that at times -he quite overlooked the fact that neither the Colonel nor any of his -family knew anything whatever of the matter. It took him an hour’s -hard thought before this idea presented itself to him. It took a -weight off his mind. If by any chance Colonel Ogilvie should hear that -an individual called Lord Athlyne was in the neighbourhood it would -mean nothing to him. Nothing except the proximity of one more of that -“bloated aristocracy,” which one class of Americans run down—and -another run after. -</p> - -<p> -He was then up in Ross. As he did not wish to “rush” matters he -decided to start next day. When that time came he had fully made up -his plan of action. As the Ogilvies were at Ambleside he would go to -Bowness. As there was a service of public coaches he could go between -the places mentioned—without even the isolation of a carriage for his -sole use. He would go quietly to the Inn of Greeting and learn what he -could about their movements. The rest must depend on circumstances. -But there must be no hurry; the matter was too serious now and the -issue too important to take any risk. But when he should have seen Joy -and knew, or believed, or understood … Then he would lose not a -moment in seeing her father. But he might not get a chance of seeing -him alone and under circumstances favourable to his purpose. He must -be ready. All at once an idea struck him … -</p> - -<p> -All these weeks Athlyne had now and again had a vague feeling of -uneasiness which he could not understand: a sort of feeling that he -would some time wake and wonder what he had been fretting and fuming -about. Why could he not have written to Colonel Ogilvie at any time? -Even before he had left New York, or whilst he had been on board ship, -or whilst the American family had been in Italy, or even when the -Colonel had been in London? Why not now? After all, there was nothing -in any way wrong; nothing to be ashamed of. He was of good social -position; at least as good as Joy’s father was. He was himself rich -and wanted no fortune with his wife. He had won certain honours—a man -to whose name had been suffixed V.C. and D.S.O. must be considered -personally adequate for ordinary purposes. And so on. Vanity and -self-interest, in addition to the working of the higher qualities, -supplied many good reasons. -</p> - -<p> -And yet! … He was always being brought up against one of two things: -Colonel Ogilvie’s peculiar views and character, or his own position -towards him with regard to the alias. He could always find in either -of these something which might cause pain or trouble to Joy. Moreover -there was another matter which was a powerful factor in his -conclusions, although it was one which he did not analyse or even -realise. It was one that worked unconsciously; a disposition rather -than an activity; a tendency rather than a thought. Lord Athlyne was -Scotch and Irish; a Celt of Celts on his mother’s side. He had all -that underlying desire of the unknown which creates sentiment, and -which is so pronounced a part of the Celtic character. This it is -whence comes that clinging to the place of birth which has made the -peasantry of the Green Isle for seven hundred years fight all opposing -forces, from hunger to bayonets, to hold possession of their own. This -it is which animated a race, century after century, to suffer and -endure from their Conquerors of a more prosaic race all sorts of pain -and want, and for reasons not understandable by others. Those who have -lived amongst those Celts of the outlying fringes, amongst whom racial -tendencies remain unaltered by changing circumstances, and by whom -traditions are preserved not by historical purpose but by the exercise -of faith, know that there is a Something which has a name but no -external bounds or limitations, no quick principle, no settled -purpose. Something which to an alien can only be described by -negatives; if any idea can at all be arrived at by such—any idea -however rudimentary, phantasmal or vague—it can only be acquired at -all by a process of exclusions. The name is “The Gloom”; the rest is a -birthright. Those who can understand it need no telling or explaining; -others can no more understand it than those born without eyes can see. -It is a quality opposed to no other; it can exist with any. It can -co-exist with fighting, with song, with commerce. It makes no change -in other powers or qualities of the children of Adam. Those who -possess it can be good or bad, clever or silly, heroic or mean. It can -add force to imagination, understand nature, give quiet delight or -spiritual pain. And the bulk of those who have it do not think of it -or even know it: or if they do, hardly ever speak of it. -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne had his full share of it. Being young and strong and of a -class in life which seldom lacks amusement he had not been given to -self-analysis. But all the same, though he did not think of it, the -force was there. In his present emotional crisis it brought the lover -in him up to the Celtic ideal. An ideal so strangely saturated with -love that his whole being, his aims and ambitions, his hopes and -fears, his pleasures and pains yielded place to it and for the time -became merged in it. To him the whole world seemed to revolve round -Joy as a pivotal point. Nothing could be of any use or interest which -did not have touch of her or lead to her. So, he wanted to know beyond -the mere measure of intellectual belief if Joy loved him or was on the -way to doing so. When he was satisfied as to this he would be free to -act; but not before. -</p> - -<p> -On the journey he had allowed the chauffeur to drive, as he wanted to -think over the whole matter without fear of interruption. He had sat -in the tonneau and made from time to time notes in his pocket-book. He -had now made up his mind that he would write a letter to Colonel -Ogilvie telling him the whole circumstances. This he would keep in his -pocket so that at the first moment when he was satisfied as to Joy’s -views he could post it, in case he could not have the opportunity of a -personal explanation. After dinner the second night of the journey and -then in his bedroom he sat up writing the letter and then copying it -out on his own note paper of which he had for the purpose brought a -supply with him. When it was completed it left nothing that he could -think of open to doubt. When he had got this off his mind sleep came -to him. -</p> - -<p> -Next day he took the wheel himself; and that day when there was -fitting opportunity the car hummed along merrily at top speed. Before -sunset they arrived at Bowness. There he left the car in charge of the -chauffeur, on whom he again impressed the necessity for absolute -silence. The man was naturally discreet, and he saw that he was in a -good situation. Athlyne was satisfied on leaving him that his orders -would be thoroughly carried out. -</p> - -<p> -In the forenoon of the next day he took the steamer which plies along -the Lake, and in due course landed at Ambleside. His heart beat -quickly now and his eyes searched keenly all around him as he moved. -He would not miss a chance of seeing Joy. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch11"> -CHAPTER XI.<br/> -<span class="chap_sub">THE BEAUTIFUL TWILIGHT</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">The</span> first couple of days at Ambleside were a delight to Joy. In the -change from the roar and ceaseless whirl of London was such a sense of -peace that it influenced even the pain of her heart-hunger. Here in -this lovely place, where despite the life and movement of the little -town nature seemed to reign, was something to calm nerves overstrung -with waiting and apprehension. It was a relief to her at first, a -pleasure later, to walk about the pleasant roads with her father; to -take long drives beneath shady trees or up on the hillside where the -lake lay below like a panorama; to sit on the steamer’s deck and drift -along the beautiful lake. -</p> - -<p> -Her father was now and again impatient, not with her but because of -the non-arrival of the motor which he had ordered in London. It had -not been quite ready when they left and so it was arranged that it -should follow them. He wanted to have it in possession so that they -could fly all over the region; the American in him was clamorous for -movement, for speed and progress! He kept up an endless telegraphing -with the motor people in London, and when at last they wired that the -car was nearly ready he got a map and traced out the route. Each day -he marked out a space that he thought it ought to have covered, -crediting it for every hour of daylight with top speed. After all, no -matter what our ages may be, we are but children and the new toy but -renews the old want and the old impatience; bringing in turn the old -disillusionment and the old empty-hearted discontent. And the new toy -may be of any shape: even that of a motor-car—or a beating human -heart. -</p> - -<p> -Partly out of affection for her father and so from sympathy with him, -and partly as a relief to herself, Joy looked eagerly for the coming -of the car. She used to go with him to the post office when he was -sending his telegrams. Indeed she never left him; and be sure he was -glad of her companionship. Now and again would come over her an -overwhelming wave of disappointment—grief—regret—she knew not -what—when she thought of the friendship so romantically begun but -failing so soon. The letters from Aunt Judy used to worry and even -humiliate her. For Judy could not understand why there was no meeting; -and her questions, made altogether for the girl’s happiness but made -in the helplessness of complete ignorance, gave her niece new concern. -She had to give reasons, invent excuses. This in itself, for she was -defending the man, only added fuel to her own passion. Joy’s love was -ripening very fast; all her nature was yielding to it. Each day seemed -to make her a trifle thinner. Her eyes seemed to grow bigger and at -times to glow like lamps. Whenever she could, she kept looking out on -the road by which He might come. Walking or driving or in the hotel it -was all the same. In the sitting-room her seat was near the window, -her place at table where she could command a view. All this added to -her beauty and so her father took no concern from it. He thought she -was looking well; and as she was hearty and always, whilst with him, -in good spirits and vivacious and even eager in her movements, he was -more than satisfied. -</p> - -<p> -One morning as she was sitting alone close to the window, presumably -reading for she had a book in her lap, she caught sight with the tail -of her eye of a figure that she knew. There was no mistaking on her -part that tall, upright man with the springy step; the image was too -deeply burned into her heart for that. For a fraction of a second her -heart stood still; and then the wave of feeling went over her. -Instinctively she drew back and kept her head low so that only her -eyes were over the line of the window sill. She did not wish to be -recognised—all at once. With the realisation of her woman’s wishes -came all the instinctive exercise of her woman’s wiles. He was walking -so slowly that she had time to observe him fully, to feast her eyes on -him. He was looking up at the hotel, not eagerly she thought, but -expectantly. This, though it did not chill her, somehow put her on -guard. She slipped behind the window curtain and peeped cautiously. As -he came closer to the hotel he went still more slowly. He did not come -to the door as she expected, but moved along the street. -</p> - -<p> -This all puzzled her; puzzled her very much. She knew that Judy had -written to him of their coming to London, she had seen his reply to -her letter; and Judy with her usual thoughtful kindness had -mentioned—as though by chance, for she was the very soul of kindly -discretion—that when she knew what locality and hotel had been fixed -on for the visit to the Lakes she would tell him. It was evident, that -he knew they were there and in the hotel; why, then, did he not come -to see them. How she would have hurried, she thought, had she been the -man and loved as she did! She had no doubting whatever of his good -faith. “Perfect love casteth out fear.” And doubt is but fear in a -timid form. She accepted in simple good faith that he had some purpose -or reason of his own. Her manifest duty to him, therefore, was not to -let any wish or act of hers clash with it. So she set herself to think -it all out, feeling in reality far happier than she had done for many -weeks. It was not merely that she had, after long waiting, seen the -man; but she was now able to do something for him—if indeed it was -only the curbing of her own curiosity, her own desires. -</p> - -<p> -She rose quietly and went to her bed-room which was at another side of -the house—on the side towards which He had passed. Her father was -writing letters and would not want her; he had said at breakfast that -he would not be able to go out for an hour or two. In her room she -went cautiously to her window and, again hiding behind the curtains, -glanced into the street. She felt quite sad when she only saw his back -as he walked slowly along. Every now and again he would stop and look -round him as though admiring the place and the views as the openings -between the houses allowed him to see the surrounding country. Once or -twice she could see him look out under his eyebrows as though watching -the hotel without appearing to do so. Presently he turned the corner -of the next street to the left, moving as though he wished to go all -round the hotel. -</p> - -<p> -She sat down and thought, her heart beating hard. Her face was covered -with both her hands. Forehead and cheeks and neck were deeply flushed; -and when she took away her hands her eyes were bright and seemed to -glow. She seemed filled with happiness, but all the same looked -impossibly demure; as is woman’s nature, playing to convention even -when alone. -</p> - -<p> -Before she left her room she had changed her clothes, putting on after -several experiments the frock which she thought the most becoming. She -did not send for her maid, but did everything for herself; even to -hanging up the discarded frocks. Then she went back to the sitting -room and took as before her seat at the window, keeping however a -little more in the background. She wanted to see rather than to be -seen. With her eyes seemingly on her book, but in reality sweeping -under her lashes the approaches to the hotel like searchlights, she -sat quite quietly for some time. At length the eyes suddenly fell for -an instant under an uncontrollable wave of diffidence; she had seen -Him pass into the garden opposite to the hotel and go secretively -behind some lilac bushes opposite the doorway. But after that one -droop of the eyes, there was scarce even the flicker of an eyelid; she -did not want to lose a single glimpse of him. -</p> - -<p> -Sitting by the window, where he could see her, for a full hour until -her father appeared, she thought over the new phase of the matter. If -she had ever had any real doubt as to whether Mr. Richard Hardy loved -her it was all resolved now. For certain he loved her—and as much, -she hoped, as she loved him! He had sought her out at Ambleside; for -even in her own secret mind she never went through the pretence of -trying to persuade herself that it may have been some one else that he -was looking for. -</p> - -<p> -But why was he so secret? Why did he not come at once into the hotel -and ask to see her father. He had been invited to come; he had been -made a welcome guest at the Holland. He knew their movements; he had -written to Judy. But why did he keep so aloof? If he wanted to avoid -them altogether he had only to keep away. Why then did he keep coming -round the house and looking at it secretively? She was absolutely at a -standstill every time her thinking led her to this <i>impasse</i>. But, all -the same, she never questioned or doubted the man. In her own mind she -was sure that he had some good reason for all he did; and it was her -duty not to thwart but to help him. -</p> - -<p> -She had already accepted the position of a true wife, a true lover: -The man’s will was law! -</p> - -<p> -Then her thoughts turned as to how best she could help him. Here all -her brains as well as all the instincts of her womanhood came into -play; and this is a strong combination in a man’s service. Her -arguments ran: -</p> - -<p> -As he evidently wishes his presence to be unknown she must not seem to -know of it. -</p> - -<p> -As he evidently wanted to know something about her she would take care -that he knew what he wished, so far as she could know or effect it. -</p> - -<p> -As (perhaps) he wished to see her (from afar, or at all events without -proclaiming himself) she would take care that he would have plenty of -opportunities. -</p> - -<p> -But as he did not want Daddy to see him—at present (this last -qualification she insisted on to herself) she would have to be careful -that her father did not notice his presence. This she felt would be -difficult, and might be dangerous; she feared that if the two men -should meet just at present (another qualification equally insisted -on) her father might make some quarrel or trouble. -</p> - -<p> -As Daddy might make trouble this way, she must keep very close to him. -She might thus be able to smooth matters, or do <i>something</i> if any -occasion came. -</p> - -<p> -<i>And</i> she must be careful that he did not notice that she saw him. -This argument came straight out of her sex-artfulness. Every instinct -of her being told her that such would be the most effective way of -bringing the man to her. And Oh! but she did long to see him, close to -her where they could see each other clearly. “Look at me!” seemed to -throb through her every nerve, and make a clang of great music in her -brain. -</p> - -<p> -When presently Colonel Ogilvie, having finished his letters, asked her -what she would like to do that morning she said she would like to go -for a drive. She knew that there would be more security in the -isolation of a carriage than when walking, where a chance meeting -might occur at any moment. -</p> - -<p> -When Athlyne, who was watching the hotel from the garden where the -shrubs gave him cover, saw the landau at the door he thought he would -wait and see if by any chance it might be for the Ogilvies’ use. His -hopes were justified when he saw Joy follow her father from the -doorway. She looked radiantly beautiful; so beautiful that all his -love and passion surged up in him till he felt almost suffocated. He -had quite a good view of her, for she stood for a minute or two in -front of the horses giving them lumps of sugar and stroking their -noses. He heard the voices of both father and daughter. Colonel -Ogilvie’s was strong and resonant; Joy’s was sweet and clear. -Moreover, she spoke on purpose a little more loudly than usual; she -knew that He was listening and would like to hear her voice. -</p> - -<p> -“Tell him where you would like to go, little girl.” -</p> - -<p> -“Anywhere you think best, coachman; provided we get a good view. We -had better be back here in about an hour. Then, Daddy, we shall keep -quiet after lunch—if that will suit you, dear. After tea we can go -out again and have a long drive and come back in the lovely English -twilight. Of course if you would like to, Daddy. I must say there is -one institution that I wish we had in America.” -</p> - -<p> -“And what is that daughter?” -</p> - -<p> -“The twilight! Since I have seen it, our own night seems very cruel! -It shuts down too fast. For my own part if ever I fall in love——” -here the words became indistinct; she was entering the carriage. -</p> - -<p> -She had chosen her words on purpose. She wished to let Him know the -plans for the day. She knew well that at the end of the hour he would -be waiting, hidden in the garden, to see their return. Thus he would -see her again, and she by going quickly to the window would perhaps -see him again. She had spoken of not going out again till after tea, -because she did not wish to keep him all day at his post; she knew -that this would happen if he were in ignorance of her movements. He, -poor fellow! would have to get lunch. … She was exercising for him -already the solicitude of a wife for a husband. As to the remarks -about twilight, that had a double origin. Firstly it was quite true; -she had long had it in her mind. Secondly it was a sort of <i>ballon -d’essai</i>; it might point or lead somewhere. Where that might be she -knew not; but she had a vague hopeful feeling that there was an -answer—somewhere. -</p> - -<p> -As to the remark about ever loving. Well! she could not have explained -that herself. All she knew was that she had a sudden desire to mention -the word. … -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne profited by the lesson; but his acts were not quite what Joy -had anticipated. She, thinking from the feminine standpoint, had taken -it that he would remain at his post until the return and then avail -himself of the longer period for rest and food. But Athlyne was a -soldier and had as such long ago learned the maxim that in route -marching the camp should be set beyond the bridge. Moreover in the -strenuous life of the Boer war he had superadded the wisdom of taking -his meal at the first opportunity. As soon as the carriage had -disappeared from view he went straight into the hotel and ordered his -lunch in the Coffee-room. He was really hungry, and the lamb and salad -were excellent; but had he not been hungry, and had the food been -poor, he would have enjoyed it without knowing its inferiority. -Everything was good to him this morning; he had seen Joy! -</p> - -<p> -He was out in the garden in good time. Fortunately so, from his point -of view. For Joy, believing that he would be still waiting, kept the -coachman up to time. It might well have been that they had met in the -hall. -</p> - -<p> -The drive had increased the girl’s loveliness, if such were possible. -Her eyes were bright, there was fine colour in her cheeks, and her -voice and manner were full of vivacity. The bright sun and the sweet, -strong air had braced her; and perhaps some inward emotion had -exercised the same effect. One quick glance under her eyelashes as -they drove towards the hotel had shewn her the outline of a tall -figure close to the lilacs in the garden. As her father helped her -from the carriage with all his habitual gallantry of manner she said -in a clear voice—Athlyne across the street heard every word: -</p> - -<p> -“That drive was exquisite! Wasn’t it Daddy? Thank you so much for it! -The lights and shadows on the hills were simply divine. It would be -nice to go again to-morrow in something of the same direction. We -might go about the same hour, if it would suit you, and see the same -effects again!” -</p> - -<p> -When they had gone in Athlyne waited a little while in the garden. He -sat in the sunshine on a garden seat placed in the centre of the grass -plot. He was not afraid of being seen at present, and as he knew that -Joy and her father were in the house he did not even try to look for -them. Had he chosen a position for the purpose of giving Joy pleasure -he could not have done better than this. From behind her window -curtain she could see him plainly. To her he made a beautiful picture, -of which the natural setting was complete: the background of sweet -pale lilac, the dropping gold of the laburnum and the full red of -scarlet hawthorn; his feet in the uncut grass starred with daisies. -She had a long, long view of him, watching every movement and -expression with eager eyes. One thing he did which she could not -understand. He took from his breast pocket an envelope; this he opened -and took from it a letter. Instead of reading it, however, he sat for -a long time with it in his hand. Then with a quick movement he put it -back in the envelope, moistened the flap with his lips and closed it. -Joy’s idea had been that it might have been Judy’s letter which he had -intended to re-read; but this could not be. For an instant a spasm of -pain had gripped her heart as the thought came that it might have been -from some other woman. But that idea she swept aside imperiously. Now -she knew that it was some letter of his own, and the questioning of -her brain began to assail her heart: -</p> - -<p> -Whom could he be writing to? What could he be writing about? Why did -he have a finished letter in his pocket, not even sealed up? -</p> - -<p> -If she had known the truth she would have sat quiet, not with -perturbation but in a silent ecstasy. Athlyne had made up his mind -that if occasion did not serve for his seeing Joy alone he would send -the letter to Colonel Ogilvie and risk being refused. In such case he -would have to take another course, and try to obtain her consent in -spite of her father’s wishes. He did not, however, intend to send the -letter yet. His first hope was too sweet to abandon without good -cause. His closing the letter was but an impulsive expression of his -feeling. -</p> - -<p> -Suddenly he stood up and moved out of the garden. This did not puzzle -her, but awoke all her curiosity. She had a wild desire to see where -he was going; but as she could not follow him she made up her mind to -present patience. She watched from her window till he had passed out -of sight. She was glad that she was concealed behind the curtain when -she saw him at the furthest point of sight turn and give a long look -back at the hotel. Then she went to her room to get ready for lunch. -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne felt that he must do something to let off steam. Movement of -some kind was necessary in his present frame of mind. For his pleasure -was not unmixed. He had seen Joy, and she was looking more radiantly -beautiful than ever. But she had said one thing that sent a pang -through him: “if I ever fall in love.” There could hardly be any doubt -of her sincerity; she was talking to her father quite alone and -unconscious that he of all men was within earshot. “If I ever fall in -love,” that meant that she had not yet done so. It would be wise to -wait before sending the letter so that he might see if that happy time -had come or had even begun to peep above the horizon. Unconsciously he -took from his pocket the letter and his pocket-book, put the former -into the latter and returned it to its place. -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne was no fool; but he was only a man, and as such took for -gospel every word spoken by the woman he loved. Had Joy been present -and known his difficulty, and had cared to express herself then as she -would have done later, she would have smiled at him as she said: -</p> - -<p> -“Why you dear old goose how could I fall in love with you when I had -done that already!” -</p> - -<p> -Had Aunt Judy been commenting on the comment she would have said in -her genial cynicism: -</p> - -<p> -“A woman—or a man either—can only fall in love once in a life time; -with the same person!” -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne telephoned his chauffeur to whom he had already sent a wire to -be prepared, and in a time to be computed by minutes met him outside -Ambleside. There he took the wheel himself, telling the man to meet -him a little before five o’clock. He felt that he must be alone. He -went slowly so long as he was near the town; but when he found himself -on a clear road, over which he could see for a long way ahead, the -index went round to “speed” and as the car swept over the ground its -rush kept pace with his own thoughts. -</p> - -<p> -He went about a hundred miles before he regained anything like calm. -Trying afterwards to recall the sequence of his thoughts he never -could arrive at any sort of conclusion regarding them. -</p> - -<p> -The only thing definite in his mind was that he wanted to see Joy -again, and soon. He knew they would be starting out after tea time -which meant, he knew, something after five o’clock; and not for a -world of chrysolite would he miss being there. Outside Ambleside he -met the chauffeur whom he sent back to Bowness; he did not want his -car to be too much <i>en evidence</i> at Ambleside at present. He had a -wash and a cup of tea at another hotel; and at five strolled back to -his nook in the garden. -</p> - -<p> -By this time Joy had made up her mind that he <i>might</i> come back that -evening though—with still her protective instinct, partly for herself -but more for him—she had quite made up her mind that even if he -should not come she would not be disappointed. He was not to be blamed -in any way, now or hereafter. How could he be? It would not be fair. A -few minutes before five she took her place at the window, but sitting -so far back this time that she could not be seen from without. She -herself could see out, but only by raising her head high. This she did -now and again, but very cautiously. She felt a sort of diffidence, a -certain measure of shamefacedness lest he should see her again and -suspect anything. We are very sensitive as to the discovery of truth -by others when we are ourselves trying to deceive ourselves! The few -minutes passed slowly, very slowly. Then when once more she looked out -a great thrill of joy shook her. He <i>had</i> come. If doubt there had -been, it could no longer exist. Her heart beat, her face flushed, she -trembled with a sort of ecstasy; the waves of high passion swept her. -She was half inclined to stand boldly in the window and let him see -her; to let him see that she saw him; to run out to him and fall into -his arms. There is no boldness that love will not commit when it is -true! She felt this, though not consciously. There was no need for -consciousness, for thought, for argument. She knew! -</p> - -<p> -It was perhaps just as well that her father came into the room. He -brought a sense of sanity with him; she felt that consciously enough. -Her mere faint sigh of regret was sufficient proof. -</p> - -<p> -Joy did not walk down the staircase; she floated, as though matter had -ceased to exist and the soul was free. She stood for a minute on the -step looking out at the view; but presently kept changing her pose so -that her face might be seen with both profiles, as well as the full -face. If He had come there to see her He should not be -disappointed—if she could help it. -</p> - -<p> -That drive was a dream, an ecstasy. At first there was a miserable -sense that each turn of the wheels took them farther apart; but -shortly this was lost in the overwhelming sense of gladness. She could -have sung—danced—shouted. She wanted some physical expression of her -feeling. Then the excitement settled down to a quiet tingling -happiness, a sense of peace which was ineffable and complete. -</p> - -<div class="quote_o"><div class="quote_i"> -<p class="i0">“… if that all of animated nature</p> -<p class="i0">Be but organic harps diversely framed</p> -<p class="i0">That tremble into thought as o’er them sweeps</p> -<p class="i0">Plastic and vast one intellectual breeze</p> -<p class="i0">At once the soul of each and God of all.”</p> -</div></div> - -<p class="noindent"> -So sung, a century before, a poet of that sweet cult of the school -centred in the very area in which she moved; and if his thoughts were -true there was a true act of worship that sunny afternoon on the -rising hills beyond the lakehead. For happiness is not merely to be at -rest. It is to be with God, to carry out to the full His wish that His -children should appreciate and enjoy the powers and good things given -them by His hands. And when that happiness is based on love—and there -is no true happiness on aught that is not high—the love itself is of -the soul and quivers with the flapping of its wings. Then indeed can -we realize that marvellous promise of the words of the Master: -</p> - -<p> -“Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God.” Wordsworth and -those who held with him saw God and worshipped Him in those myriad -beauties of the lake they loved; and as the beauty and its immortal -truth soothed and purified their souls, so was the spirit of the -love-sick girl cleansed of all dross. How at such a time, when the -soul swam free in grateful worship, was there place for anything that -was not clean? Her father thought, as he looked at her and heard the -ring of her voice, that he had never seen her look better or happier. -She was full of spirits, gay, sweet, tender; and yet there was over -her such a grace of gentle gravity that the old man felt himself -saying to himself: -</p> - -<p> -“My little girl is a woman!” -</p> - -<p> -That mellow afternoon was to her lovely; the trees and shrubs, the -flowers, the fields. The singing of the birds was ethereal music; the -lights and shadows were the personal manifestation of Nature’s God. -Her heart, her sympathy, her nature were at full tide; all overflowing -and in their plenitude full. -</p> - -<p> -The long summer afternoon faded into the softness of twilight during -the homeward journey. Perhaps it was the yielding to its mysterious -influence which made Joy so still; perhaps it was that she was drawing -nearer to the man whom she adored. Her father neither knew nor took -note of it. He saw that his little girl was silent in an ecstasy of -happiness in that soft twilight of which she had spoken so tenderly; -and he was content. He too sat silent, yielding himself to the -influence of the beauty around him. -</p> - -<p> -When they reached the hotel Joy seemed to wake from a dream; but she -lost none of her present placidity, none of her content. One form of -happiness had given way to another, that was all. As she stood on the -steps, waiting whilst her father was giving the coachman his -instructions for the morrow, she tried to peer into the lilac bushes -in the garden. She had a sort of intuition—nay more that an -intuition, an actual certainty—that He was again behind them. And -once more she so stood and moved that he might see her face as he -would. When her father turned to come in she took his arm and pointed -to the sky: -</p> - -<p> -“Oh look, Daddy, the beautiful twilight! Is it not exquisite!” Then -impulsively she put her hand to her lips and threw a kiss to it—over -the square by way of the lilacs. Her voice was languishing music as -she said softly, but clearly enough to heard in the garden: -</p> - -<p> -“Good night; Good night beloved! Good night! Good night!” -</p> - -<p> -And Athlyne peering through the bushes heard the words with a beating -of his heart which made his temples throb. His only wish at the moment -was that it might have been that the words had been addressed to him. -</p> - -<p> -That evening before going to dress for dinner Joy went to the window -and pulled aside the blind so that she stood outside it. The dusk was -now thick; the day had gone, but the moon had not yet risen. It was -impossible to see much; only the outline of the trees, and out on the -grass the shadowy form of a man seated. There was one faint red spark -of brightness, face high, such as might be the tip of a cigar. -</p> - -<p> -When she came back into the room her father raised his face from his -book: -</p> - -<p> -“Why how pale you are little girl. I am afraid that long drive must -have tired you. You were quite rosy when we arrived home. You had -better sleep it out in the morning. If mother sees you pale she will -blame me, you know. And Judy—well Judy will be Judy in her own way.” -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch12"> -CHAPTER XII.<br/> -<span class="chap_sub">ECHO OF A TRAGEDY</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">Athlyne</span> had one other day almost similar to the last. This time he -came to Ambleside a little earlier; fortunately so, for Joy had got up -early. When he came into the square she was standing in the window -looking out. Not in his direction; did a woman ever do such a stupid -thing when at the first glance she had caught sight of the man far -off. No, this time she appeared to be eagerly watching two tiny -children toddling along the street hand in hand. He had time for a -good look at her before she changed her position. This was only when -the children had disappeared—and he had gained the shelter of the -lilacs. -</p> - -<p> -Love is a blindness—in certain ways. It never once occurred to -Athlyne that Joy might have seen him, might have even known of his -being at Ambleside or in its neighbourhood. Any independent onlooker -or any one not bound by the simplicity and unquestioning faith of -ardent love would at least have doubted whether there was not some -possible intention in Joy’s movements. His faith however saved him -from pain, that one pain from which true love can suffer however -baseless it may be—doubt. Early morning took him to Ambleside; he -only went back to Bowness when those windows of the hotel which he -knew were darkened for the night. -</p> - -<p> -The second day of waiting and watching was just like the first, with -only the addition that the hearts of both the young people were more -clamant, each to each; and that the rising passion of each was harder -to control. The same routine of going out and returning was observed -by the Ogilvies, and each of the lovers had tumultuous moments when -the other was within view. More than once Athlyne was tempted to put -his letter in the post or to leave it at the hotel; but each time -Joy’s chance phrase: “If I ever fall in love” came back to him as a -grim warning. He knew that if he once declared himself to Colonel -Ogilvie the whole truth must come out, and then his title and fortune -might be extraneous inducements to the girl. Whenever he came to this -point in his reasoning he thrust the letter deeper into his pocket and -his lips shut tight. He would win Joy on his mere manhood and his -manhood’s love—if at all! -</p> - -<p> -By the post next morning Colonel Ogilvie and Joy both got letters from -Italy. That of the former was from his wife who announced that they -were just starting for London where they wished to remain for a few -days in order to do some shopping. When this was done she would wire -him and he could run up to London and bring them down with him. This -pleased him, for he was certain that by then he would have his -automobile. He felt in a way that his pride was at stake on this -point. He had told his women folk that the car would be ready, and he -wished to justify. He wired off at once to the agents, in even a -sterner spirit than usual, as to the cause of delay. For excuses had -come in a most exasperating way. Long after it had been reported that -the car had started and had even proceeded a considerable distance on -the way he was told that there had been an error and that by some -strange mistake the progress made by a car long previously ordered by -another customer had been reported; but that Colonel Ogilvie’s -esteemed order was well in hand and that delivery of the car was -daily—hourly—expected; and that at once on its receipt by the writer -it would be forwarded to Ambleside either with a trusty chauffeur or -by train as the purchaser might wish. Colonel Ogilvie fumed but was -powerless. He wanted the car and at once; so it was useless for him to -cancel the contract. He could only wait and hope; and console himself -with such attenuated expressions of disapproval as were permissible in -the ethics of the telegraphic system. -</p> - -<p> -Joy’s letter was from Judy. It was in her usual bright style and full -of affection, sympathy and understanding, as was customary in her -letters to her niece. Judy had of late been much disturbed in her mind -about the future, and as she feared Joy might be taking to heart the -same matters as she did and in the same way, she tried to help the -other. She knew from Colonel Ogilvie’s letters to his wife which they -talked over together that he was seriously hurt and pained by the -neglect of Mr. Hardy. Indeed in his last letter he had declared that -in spite of the high opinion he had formed of him from his brave and -ready action he never wished to see his face again. To Judy this meant -much, the most that could be of possible ill; Joy’s happiness might be -at stake. The aunt, steeped through and through with knowledge of the -world and character—a knowledge gained from her own heart, its hopes -and pains and from bitter experience of the woes of others—knew that -her niece would suffer deeply in case of any rupture between her -father and the man who had saved her life. It was not merely from -imaginative sympathy that she derived her belief. She had had many and -favourable opportunities of studying Joy closely, and she had in her -own mind no doubt whatever that the girl’s affections were given -beyond recall to the handsome stranger. So in her letter she tried to -guard her from the pain of present imaginings and yet to prepare her -subtly for the possibility of disappointment in the future. Her letter -in its important part ran: -</p> - -<div class="letter"> - -<p> -“Your father is undoubtedly very angry with Mr. Hardy; and though I -believe that his anger may have a slight basis it is altogether -excessive. We do not know yet what Mr. Hardy’s limitations of freedom -may be. After all, darling, we do not know anything as yet of his -circumstances or his surroundings. He may have a thousand calls on his -time which we neither know nor understand. For all we can tell he may -have a wife already—though this I do not believe or accept for a -moment. And you don’t either, my dear! Of course this is all a joke. -We <i>know</i> he is free as to marriage, though I don’t believe his heart -is—Eh! Puss! But seriously if you ever get a chance tell him to try -to be very nice to your father. Old men are often more sensitive in -some things that young ones, more sensitive than even we women are -supposed to be. So when he does come to see you both—for he <i>will</i> -come soon (if he hasn’t come already)—don’t keep him all to yourself, -but contrive somehow that your father can have a little chat with him. -You needn’t go altogether away you know, my dear. Don’t sit so far -away that he can’t see you nor you him (this is a whisper expressed in -writing) and I dare say you will like to hear all they say to each -other. But if he says a word about seeing your daddy alone for a -moment, if he begins to look ill at ease or to get red and then pale -and red again, or stammers and clears his throat do you just get up -quietly and go out of the room without a word in the most natural way -in the world, just as if you were doing some little household duty. I -suppose I needn’t tell you this; you know it just as well as I do, -though I have known it by experience and you can not. You know how I -know it darling though I never told you this part of it. Women are -Cowards. <i>We</i> know it though we don’t always say so, and we even -disguise it from others now and then. But in such a time as I have -mentioned we are <i>all</i> Cowards. We couldn’t stay if we would. We -<i>want</i> to get away and hide our heads just as we do when it thunders. -But what an awful lot of <i>rot</i> I am talking. When Mr. Hardy and your -father meet they will, I am sure, have plenty to talk about without -either you or me being the subject of it. They are both sportsmen and -fond of horses—and a lot of things. It is only if they don’t meet -that I am afraid of. I am writing by the way to Mr. Hardy this post to -know where he is at present and where he has been. I shall of course -write you when I hear; or if there be anything important I shall wire. -We are off to London and it is possible that whilst we are there we -may have unexpected meetings with all sorts of friends and calls from -them. I hope, darling, that by the time we reach Ambleside we shall -find you <i>blooming</i>, full of happiness and health and freshness, the -very embodiment of your name.” -</p> - -</div> - -<p> -The letter both disquieted Joy and soothed her. There were suggestions -of fear, but there was also a consistent strain of hope. Judy would -never have said such things if she did not believe them. Moreover she -herself knew what Judy did not; her aunt hadn’t peeped from behind -window blinds at a tall figure behind lilac bushes or sitting in the -darkness with only a fiery cigar tip to mark his presence. Poor Judy! -The girl’s sympathetic heart, made more sympathetic by her own burning -love, ached when she thought of the older woman’s lonely, barren life. -She too had loved—and been loved; had hoped and feared, and waited. -The very knowledge of how a woman would feel when the man was asking -formally for parental sanction disclosed something of which the girl -had never thought. She had always known Judy in such a motherly and -elderly aspect that she had never realised the possibility of her -having ever been in love; any more that she had given consideration to -the love-making of her own mother. Now she was surprised to find that -she too had been young, had loved, and had pleasures and heart-pains -of her own. This set her thinking. The process of thought was silent, -but its conclusion found outward expression; the girl understood now. -The secret of her life—the true secret was unveiled at last: -</p> - -<p> -“Poor Aunt Judy. Oh, poor Aunt Judy!” -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne’s letter reached him a day later, having been sent on from -London. It was a fairly bulky one, with a good many sheets of foreign -post, written hastily in a large bold hand. -</p> - -<div class="letter"> - -<p class="noindent"> -“<span class="sc">My Dear Friend</span>: -</p> - -<p> -I have been, and am, much concerned about you. I gather from his -letters that Colonel Ogilvie has been much disappointed at not having -heard from you. And I want, if you will allow me to take the liberty, -to speak to you seriously about it. You will give me this privilege I -know—if only for the fact that I am an old maid; for the same Powers -that made me an old maid have made me an old woman, and such is -entitled, I take it, to forbearance, if not to respect. You -should—you really should be more considerate towards Colonel Ogilvie. -He is an old man—much older than you perhaps think, for he bears -himself as proudly as in his younger days. But the claim on you is not -merely from his years; that claim must appeal to all. From you there -is one more imperative still, one which is personal and paramount: he -is under so very deep an obligation to you. A matter which from -another would pass unconsidered as an act of thoughtfulness must now, -when it is due to you, seem to him like a studied affront. I put it -this way because I know you are a man of noble nature, and that -generosity is to such even a stronger urge than duty—if such a thing -be possible. In certain matters he is sensitive beyond belief. Even to -a degree marked in a place where men still hold that their lives rest -behind every word and deed, every thought or neglect towards another. -I have some hesitation in mentioning this lest you should think I am -summoning Fear to the side of Duty. But you are above such a -misunderstanding, I am sure. Oh my dear friend do think of some of the -rest of us. You have saved the life of our darling Joy—the one -creature in whom all our loves are centred. Naturally we all want to -see you again—to make much of you—to show you in our own poor way -how deeply we hold you in our hearts. But if Colonel Ogilvie thinks -himself insulted—that is how he regards any neglect however -trivial—he acts on that belief, and there is no possible holding him -back. He looks on it as a sacred duty to avenge affront. You must not -blame him for it. In your peaceful English life you have I think no -parallel to the ungovernable waves of passion that rage in the hearts -of Kentuckians when they consider their honour is touched. Ah! we poor -women know it who have to suffer in silence and wait and wait, and -wait; and when the worst is made known to us, to seal up the founts of -our grief and pretend that we too agree with the avenging of wrong. -For it is our life to be silent in men’s quarrels. We are not given a -part—any part. We are not supposed to even look on. It is another -world from ours, and we have to accept it so. Please God may you never -know what it is to be in or on the fringe of a Feud. Well I know its -dread, its horror! My own life that years ago was as bright and -promising as any young life can be; when the Love that had dawned on -my girlhood rose and beat with noonday heat on my young-womanhood made -it seem as if heaven had come down to earth. And then the one moment -of misunderstanding—the quick accusation—the quicker retort—and my -poor heart lying crushed between the bodies of two men whom I loved -each in his proper way… Think of what I say, if only on account of -what I have suffered. -</p> - -<p> -“Forgive me! But my anxiety lest any such blight should come across a -young life that I love far far beyond my own is heavy on me. I have -lost myself in sad thoughts of a bitter past… Indeed you must take -it that my earnestness in this matter is shown in the lurid light of -that past. I have been silent on it always. Never since the black -cloud burst over me have I said a word to a soul—not to my -sister—nor to Joy whom I adore and whose questioning to me of my -‘love affair’—as they still call it when they speak of it—is so -sweet a tightening bond between us. I have only said to her: ‘and then -he died,’ and my heart has seemed to stop beating. Be patient with me -and don’t blame me. You are a man and can be tolerant. Think not of me -or any gloom of my life but only that makes me sadly, grimly, terribly -in earnest when I see similar elements of tragedy drawing close to -each other before my eyes. You may be inclined to laugh at me—though -I know you will not—and to put down my thinking of possible great -quarrels arising from such small causes as ‘an old maid’s’ fears. But -when I have known the awful effect of a mere passing word, -misunderstood to such disastrous result, no wonder that I have fears. -It is due to that very cause that my fears are those of an old maid. I -suppose I need not ask you to be sure to keep all this locked in your -own breast. It is my secret; I have shared it with you because I deem -such necessary for the happiness of—of others. I have kept it so -close that not even those nearest and dearest to me have even -suspected it. The rowdiness of spirit—as it seems to me—which other -friends call fun and brightness and high spirits and other such -insulting terms—has been my domino as I have passed through the -hollow hearted carnival of life. Judge then how earnest I am when I -put it aside and raise my mask for you a stranger whom I have seen but -twice; I who even then was but an accessory—a super on the little -stage where we began to act our little—comedy or tragedy which is it -to be? -</p> - -<p> -“There! I have opened to you my memory, not my heart. That you have no -use for. After such a letter as this I shall not pretend to go back to -the Proprieties, the <i>Convenances</i>. If I am right in my surmise—you -can guess what that is or why have you written to the old rowdy aunt -instead… there is every reason why I should be frank. But remember -that I hold—and have hitherto held—what I believe to be your secret -as sacredly as I hope you will hold mine. And if I am right—and from -my knowledge and insight won by past suffering I pray to God that I -am—you have no time to lose to make matters right, and possibly to -save the world one more sorrowful heart like my own. It is only a word -that is wanted—a morning call—a visit of ceremony. Anything that -will keep open the doors of friendship which you unlocked by your own -bravery. We are going in a day or two to Ambleside. In the meantime we -shall be in London at Brown’s Hotel Albemarle Street where my sister, -and incidentally myself, shall be glad to see you. … -</p> - -<p> -“Won’t you let me have a line as soon as you can after you get this. I -am torn with anxiety till I know what you intend to do about visiting -Colonel Ogilvie. Again forgive me, -</p> - -<p class="sign2"> -Your true friend,<br/> -<span class="sc">Judy</span>. -</p> - -<p> -“P. S.—I shall not dare to read this over, lest when I had I should -not have courage to send it. Accept it then with all its faults and be -tolerant of them—and of me.” -</p> - -</div> - -<p> -Athlyne read the letter through without making a pause or even an -internal comment. That is how a letter should be read; to follow the -writer’s mind, not one’s own, and so take in the sequence of thoughts -and the general atmosphere as well as the individual facts. As he read -he felt deeply moved. There was in the letter that manifest sincerity -which showed that it was straight from the heart. And heart speaks to -heart, whatever may be the medium, if the purpose is sincere. It was a -surprise to him to learn that Miss Judy’s high and volatile spirits -rested on so sad a base. His appreciation of her worthiness came in -his unconscious resolution that when he and Joy were married Aunt Judy -should be an honoured guest in the house, and that they would try to -lighten, with what sympathy and kindness they could, the dark shadows -of her life. -</p> - -<p> -He sat with the letter in his hand for some time. He was sitting in -the window of the hotel at Bowness looking out on the lake. It was -still early and the life of the day had hardly begun. At Bowness the -life was that of the tourists and visitors and it would still be an -hour or more before they began to move out on their objectives. He had -very many various and whirling thoughts, but supreme amongst them was -one: Time was flying. He must not delay, for every hour was more and -more jeopardising his chance of winning the woman he loved. He -realized to the full that his neglect of Colonel Ogilvie, for so it -was being construed, was making—had made—a difficulty for him. Each -day, perhaps each hour, was widening the breach; if he did not take -care he might end with the door permanently closed against him. As he -came to the conclusion of his reasoning he drew once more from his -pocket the sealed letter to Colonel Ogilvie, and stood up. He fancied -that his determination was made that he would see Colonel Ogilvie as -soon as possible and broach the subject to him. As however he went -towards the boat—for he was going to Ambleside by water—he postponed -the intention of an immediate interview. He would wait this one day -and see what would turn up. If nothing happened likely to further his -wishes he would whilst at Ambleside the next morning put the letter in -the post. Then he would hold himself ready for the interview with -Joy’s father for which the letter asked. -</p> - -<p> -At Ambleside he took his place behind the lilacs in the garden and -kept watch on the window where Joy was wont to appear. A little before -breakfast-time she appeared there for a brief space, and then moved -back into the room. He waited with what patience he could till nearly -eleven o’clock when the same carriage which they used drove up to the -door; waiting became then an easier task. Presently Colonel Ogilvie -came out and stood on the steps. Athlyne wondered; this was the first -time that Joy had not been before him. Throwing his eyes around in -vague wondering as to the cause he saw Joy standing in the window -dressed and pulling on her gloves. She was radiantly beautiful. Her -colour was a little heightened and her lovely grey eyes shone like -stars. Her gaze was fixed so that her eyes seemed to look straight -before her but beyond him. The look made him quiver as though he felt -it were directed at him, and his knees began to tremble with a mighty, -vague longing. For quite a minute she stood there, till her eyes -falling she caught sight of her father standing by the carriage below. -She drew back quickly and almost immediately appeared at the -hall-door, saying: -</p> - -<p> -“I am so sorry, Daddy. I hope I did not keep you waiting too long!” -</p> - -<p> -“Not a bit little girl. It is a pleasure to me to wait for you; to do -anything for you, my dear. Whatever else is the use of being a -father.” -</p> - -<p> -“You dear! May we go to-day up the mountain road where we can look -over the lake. I want you to have a nice glimpse of it again before -you go.” -</p> - -<p> -Here Athlyne’s heart sank for an instant. This was the first idea he -had of any intention of moving, and it actually shook him. Joy had as -usual a handful of sugar for the horses. She went to the off side -horse first and gave him his share. Then when she stood at the head of -the other, her face toward the lilacs, she turned to her father and -said in a low, thrilling tone: -</p> - -<p> -“Daddy, am I nice to-day? <i>Look at me!</i>” She stood still whilst the -old man looked at her admiringly, proudly, fondly. -</p> - -<p> -“You are peerless, little girl. Peerless! that’s it!” She was -evidently pleased at the compliment, for her colour rose to a deep -flush. Her grey eyes shone through it like two great grey suns. Whilst -her father was speaking to the coachman she gave the other horse, now -impatient, his share of the sugar and stood looking across the road. -Athlyne could hardly contain himself. The few seconds, although flying -so fast, were momentous. Past and present rushed together to the -creation of a moment of ecstasy. The sound of the words swept him; the -idea and all it rewoke and intensified, transfigured his very soul. -And then he heard her say in a low, languorous voice which vibrated: -</p> - -<p> -“Thank you Daddy for such a sweet compliment. I am glad I said ‘<i>Look -at me!</i>’” As she spoke it seemed to Athlyne that her eyes fixed across -the road sent their lightnings straight into his heart. And yet it did -not even occur to him at the moment that the words could have been -addressed to him. -</p> - -<p> -During the drive Joy kept her father interested in all around them. He -saw that she was elated and happy, and it made his heart glad to that -receptive mood which is the recrudescence of youth. In the girl’s mind -to-day several trains of thought, all of them parental of action, went -on together. She did not analyze them; indeed she was hardly conscious -of them. The mechanism of mind was working to a set purpose, but one -which was temperamental rather than intentional—of sex and individual -character rather than of a studied conclusion. For that morning was to -her momentous. She knew it with all her instincts. Unconsciously she -drew conclusions from facts without waiting to develop their logical -sequence. -</p> - -<p> -A telegram had arrived from Mrs. Ogilvie saying that she and Judy were -now ready to leave London and, as her husband had said that he wished -to escort them to Ambleside, they would be prepared on his coming to -leave on the next morning or whatever later time he might fix. After a -glance at the time-table he had wired back that he would go up on that -night, and that they would all start on the following morning. Joy had -offered to accompany him, but he would not have it: “No, little girl,” -he said. “Travel at night is all very well for men; but it takes it -out of women. I want your mother to see the bright, red-cheeked girl -that has been with me for the last week, and not a pale, worn-out -draggled young woman with her eyes heavy with weariness. You stay -here, my dear, and get plenty of air and sunshine. You will not be -afraid to be here alone with your maid!” Joy smiled: -</p> - -<p> -“Not a bit, Daddy! I shall walk and drive all day and perhaps go down -the Lake in a boat. If I do the latter I shall take Eugenie with me -and we shall lunch down at Newby Bridge. We shall be home here in good -time to drive over and meet you all at the station at Windermere.” -</p> - -<p> -From that moment Joy hardly left her father out of her sight. -Instinctively she knew that the chance of her life had come. She had a -conviction—it was more than a mere idea or even a belief—that if she -were alone whilst her father was up in London or on the way down, that -figure which even now was hidden by the lilacs would abandon secretive -ways and come out into the open where she could see him close, and -hear the sound of his voice—that voice whose every note made music in -her ears. It was the presence of her father which kept him hidden. It -was imperative, both in accordance with his wishes as well as from her -own apprehensions of what might happen if they should meet -unexpectedly before she had time to warn him, that no mischance should -prevent an early meeting, free from any suspicion between herself and -Mr. Hardy. When Daddy was well on his way. … Here she would close -her eyes; definite thought was lost in a languorous ecstasy. The -coming day would mean to her everything or. … -</p> - -<p> -The drive was a fairly long one and they did not get back till nearly -one o’clock. Colonel Ogilvie had said to Joy: -</p> - -<p> -“I shall have a good time to-day, have plenty of fresh air and be -ready for sleep when I get into the train. As I shall arrive early in -the morning I shall have time to express my opinions on their conduct -to those automobile people. They won’t expect my coming and be able to -get out of the way. I fancy it will do me good to say what I feel; or -at any rate enough to give them some indication of what I could say, -and shall say if there is any further delay in the matter.” -</p> - -<p> -When they arrived Joy went at once into the hotel leaving her father -to tell the coachman at what hour to be ready for the afternoon drive. -She went straight to the window and, keeping as usual behind the -curtain, looked over at the lilac bushes. She could see through the -foliage that there was <i>some one</i> there, and that satisfied her. She -would have liked to have instructed the driver herself so that she -would have been sure that he knew; but on this occasion a wave of -diffidence suddenly overwhelmed her. Times were coming when she would -not be able to afford the luxury of such an emotion, so she grasped it -whilst she could. -</p> - -<p> -Colonel Ogilvie was to catch the train from Windermere at nine -o’clock, so the second drive should come after lunch and not after -tea; and when she was in her own room, Joy feared that He might miss -them. When, however, before going downstairs she looked out of the -window she saw that he was still at his post. Athlyne’s campaigning -experience had had its own psychology. Seeing that there was some -change in the Ogilvie day he had arranged his own plans to meet it. -Whilst they had been taking their morning drive he had provided -himself with some sandwiches; he had determined not to leave his post -until he knew more. Joy’s words had all day rung in his ears, and he -was now and again distracted with doubts. Was it possible that there -had been any meaning or intention in her words more than was apparent? -Was the spontaneity consequent on some deep feeling which evoked -memory? Could he believe that she really. … He would wait now before -sending the letter, whatever came. In that he was adamant. -</p> - -<p> -During the drive Joy was mainly silent. It was not the silence of -thought; it was simply spiritual quiescence. She knew that the rest of -the day was so laid out that it was unlikely it could be marred by an -untoward accident. There was this in His persistent waiting that she -had come to trust it. There was some intention, so manifest, though -what it was was unknown to her, that it was hardly to be disturbed by -any sudden exigency. She lived at the moment in a world of calm, a -dream-world of infinite happiness. Now and again she woke to the -presence of her father and then poured on him in every way in which a -young woman can all the treasures of her thought and affection. This -made the old man so happy that he too was content to remain silent -when she ceased to speak. -</p> - -<p> -When they got back to the hotel, she spoke to the driver: -</p> - -<p> -“You will be here at eight o’clock please, as you will have to drive -Colonel Ogilvie to the station at Windermere in good time to catch the -nine o’clock train. I shall not want you in the morning as I intend to -take a walk; but you must be at Windermere to meet my father at five -o’clock. If to-morrow afternoon there is any change in his plans he -will wire the hotel people and they will let you know. Perhaps you had -better call here on your way to Windermere as I may go over in the -carriage. But if I am not here do not wait for me; I may possibly walk -over. When you have left Colonel Ogilvie at Windermere to-night you -will have to leave me back here. I am going to the depot with him.” -</p> - -<p> -Then she went into the doorway, and hurried to the sitting-room where -she looked out into the garden—where the lilacs grew. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch13"> -CHAPTER XIII.<br/> -<span class="chap_sub">INSTINCTIVE PLANNING</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">Man’s</span> unconscious action is a strange thing. Athlyne had just heard -words which took from him a strain under which he had suffered for a -whole week of waiting and watching; words which promised him the -opportunity for which he had longed for many weeks. His nerves had -been strung to tension so high that now it would seem only natural if -the relief sent him into a sort of delirium. But he quietly lit a -cigar, taking care that it was properly cut and properly lit, and -smoked luxuriously as he moved across the garden and into the street. -Joy from her window saw him go, and her admiration of his ease and -self possession and magnificent self-reliance sent fresh thrills -through her flesh. -</p> - -<p> -When Athlyne went out of the garden he had evidently made up his mind, -consciously or unconsciously, to some other point in connection with -the motor for he visited such shops as were open and made some -purchases—caps, veils, cloaks and such like gear suitable for the use -of a tall young lady. These he took with him in a hired carriage to -the hotel at Bowness, where he added them to certain others already -sent from London. Then he told the chauffeur to give the car a careful -overhauling so that it be in perfect order, and went for a stroll up -the Lake. -</p> - -<p> -Shortly he was in a mental and physical tumult; the period which had -elapsed since he heard the news of Colonel Ogilvie’s coming departure -had been but the prelude to the storm. At first he could not think; he -had no words, no sequence of ideas, not even vague intentions. He had -only sensations; and these though they moved and concentrated every -nerve in his body were without even physical purpose. He went like one -in a dream. But in the background of his mind was a fact which stood -out firm and solid like the profile of a mountain seen against the -glow of a western sunset. Joy would be alone to-morrow; the -opportunity he waited for was at last at hand! The recognition of this -seemed to pull him together, to set all his faculties working -simultaneously; and as each had a different method the tumult was in -reducing them to unison—in achieving one resultant from all the -varying forces. Gradually out of the chaos came the first clear -intent: he must so master the whole subject that when the opportunity -had come he should be able to avail himself of it to the full. From -this he proceeded to weigh the various possibilities, till gradually -he began to realise what vague purpose had been behind his wish to -have his automobile in perfect working order. It did not even occur to -him that with such machinery at his command he might try to carry her -off, either without her consent or with it. All that he wanted in the -first instance was to have fitting opportunity of discovering how Joy -regarded him. The last twenty-four hours had opened to his mind such -glorious possibilities that every word she had said, every look on her -eloquent face (though such looks had manifestly not been intended for -him) had a place in a chain which linked her heart to his. “Look at -me!” “I am glad I asked you to look at me!” though spoken to her -father seemed to have another significance. It was as though an eager -thought had at last found expression. “Good night! Good night, -beloved!” though ostensibly spoken to the twilight was breathed with -such fervour, with such languishing eyes and with such soft pouting of -scarlet lips that it seemed impossible that it should have other than -a human objective. These thoughts swept the man into a glow of -passion. He was young and strong and ardent, and he loved the woman -with all his heart; with all his soul; with all the strength of human -passion. It is a mistake to suppose—as some abstract thinkers seem to -do always, and most people at some moment of purely spiritual -exaltation—that the love of a man and a woman each for the other is, -even at its very highest, devoid of physical emotion. The original -Creator did not manifestly so intend. The world of thought is an -abstract world whose inner shrine is where soul meets soul. The world -of life is the world of the heart, and its beating is the sway of the -pendulum between soul and flesh. The world of flesh is the real world; -wrought of physical atoms in whose recurrent groupings is the -elaborated scheme of nature. Into this world has been placed Man to -live and rule. To this end his body is fixed with various powers and -complications and endurances; with weaknesses and impulses and -yieldings; with passions to animate, with desires to attract, and -animosities to repel. And as the final crowning of this wondrous work, -the last and final touch of the Creator’s hand, Sex for the eternal -renewing of established forces. How can souls be drawn to souls when -such are centred in bodies which mutually repel? How can the heart -quicken its beats when it may not come near enough to hear the -answering throb? No! If physical attraction be not somewhere, naught -can develop. Judy, the outspoken, had once almost horrified a little -group of matrons who were discussing the interest which a certain -young cleric was beginning to take in one of the young female -parishioners. When one of them said, somewhat sanctimoniously, that -his interest was only in the salvation of her immortal soul, that he -was too good a man to ever think of falling in love as ordinary men -do, the vivacious old maid replied: -</p> - -<p> -“Not a bit of it, my dear! When a man troubles himself about an -individual young woman’s soul you may be quite certain that his eyes -have not neglected her body. And moreover you will generally, if not -always, find that she has a pair of curving red lips, or a fine bust, -or a well-developed figure somewhere!” -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne loved Joy in all ways, so that the best of his nature -regulated the standard of his thoughts. His love was no passing fancy -which might or might not develop, flame up, and fade away. He had, he -felt, found the other half of him, lost in the primeval chaos; and he -wanted the union to be so complete that it would outlive the clashing -of worlds in the final cataclysm. Healthy people are healthy in their -loves and even in their passions. These two young people were both -healthy, both red-blooded, both of ardent, passionate nature; and they -were drawn together each to each by all the powers that rule sex and -character. To say that their love was all of earth would be as absurd -as to say that it was all of heaven. It was human, all human, and all -that such implies. Heaven and earth had both their parts in the -combination; and perhaps, since both were of strong nature and marked -individuality, Hell had its due share in the amalgam. -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne thought, and thought, and thought; till the length of his own -shadow recalled the passing of time. He postponed the thinking over -his plans for to-morrow—the active part of them, and hastened back to -his place behind the lilacs. -</p> - -<p> -He was just in time. The carriage stood at the door with Colonel -Ogilvie’s “grip-sack” at the driver’s feet. Then the Boots ran down -the steps and held the carriage door open. Joy came holding her -father’s arm. They got into the carriage and drove away. Athlyne -waited, sitting on the seat on the grass lawn smoking luxuriously. He -forgot that he was hungry and thirsty, forgot everything except that -he would before long see Joy again, this time <i>alone</i>. His thoughts -were evidently pleasant, for the time flew fast. Indeed he must have -been in something like a waking dream which absorbed all his faculties -for he did not notice the flight of time at all. It was only when, -recalled to himself by the passing of a carriage, he looked up and saw -Joy that he came back to reality. To his disappointment her head was -turned away. When within sight of the garden, she had noticed him and -as she did not wish him, just yet, to know that she knew of his -presence, she found her eyes fixed on the other side of the street. It -was the easiest and most certain way of avoiding complexities. He -slipped over to the lilacs to see her alight. When she had done so she -turned to the coachman and said: -</p> - -<p> -“You understand I shall not want you in the morning as I shall be out -walking; but if I don’t send for you in the afternoon, or if you don’t -get any message you will meet my father at Windermere station at a -quarter to five.” -</p> - -<p> -She went to the front of the carriage and stroked the horses’ noses -and necks after her usual fashion. He had as good a view of her -profile as the twilight would allow. Then with a pleasant “Good -evening!” to the coachman she tripped up the steps and disappeared. -For more than a quarter of an hour Athlyne watched the windows; but -she did not appear. This was natural enough, for she was behind the -curtains peeping out to see if he went back to his seat on the lawn. -</p> - -<p> -When she saw that he did not return Joy, with a gentle sigh, went to -her room. -</p> - -<p> -That sigh meant a lot. It was the reaction from an inward struggle. -All day she had been suffering from the dominance of two opposing -ideas, between which her inward nature swayed pendulum-wise. This -“inward nature” comprised her mind, her reason, her intelligence, her -fears, her hopes, her desires—the whole mechanism and paraphernalia -of her emotional and speculative psychology. She would fain have gone -out boldly into the garden and there met Mr. Hardy face to face—of -course by pure accident. But this vague intention was combated by a -maiden fear; one of those delicious, conscious apprehensions made to -be combated unless thoroughly supported by collateral forces; one of -those gentle fears of sex which makes yielding so sweet. Following -this came the fixed intention of that walk to be taken in the morning. -The morning was still far off and its apprehensive possibilities were -not very dreadful. Indeed she did not really fear them at all for she -had privately made up her mind that, fear or no fear, she was going on -that walk. The only point left open was its direction. The hour was -positively settled; an hour earlier than that at which for the past -few days she had driven out with Daddy! Even to herself she would not -admit that her choice of time was in any way controlled or influenced -by the fact that it was the same hour about which Mr. Hardy made his -appearance in the garden. -</p> - -<p> -But all the same her thoughts and her intentions were becoming -conscious. For good or evil she was getting more reckless in her -desires; passion was becoming dominant—and she knew it. -</p> - -<p> -This is perhaps the most dangerous phase of a woman’s trial. She knows -that there is at work a growing desire for self-surrender which it is -her duty to combat. She knows that all contra reasons which can be -produced will be—must be—overcome. She knows with all the subtle -instincts of her sex that she is deliberately setting her feet on a -slope down which some impulse, perhaps but momentary, will carry her -with resistless force. It is the preparatory struggle to defeat; the -clearing away of difficulties which might later be hampering or even -obstructive; the clamant <i>wish</i> for defeat which makes for the -conquered the satisfaction if not the happiness of finality. To all -children of Adam, of either sex, this phase may come. To the strongest -and most resolute warrior must be a moment when he can no more; when -the last blow has been struck and the calling of another world is -ringing in his ears; to the resolute amongst men this moment is the -moment of death. To women it is surrender of self; surrender to the -embrace of Death—or to the embrace of Love. It is the true end of the -battle. The rest is but the carrying out of the Treaty of Peace, the -Triumph of the Victory in which she is now proud to have a part—if it -be only that of captive! -</p> - -<p> -There was no sleep for Joy that night. She heard the hours strike one -after the other, never missing one. She was not restless. She lay -still, and quiet, and calm; patient with that patience which is an -acceptance that what is to come is good. In all the long vigil she -never faltered in her intention to take that walk in the forenoon. -What was to happen in it she did not guess. She had a conviction that -that tall figure would follow her discreetly; and that when she was -alone they would somehow meet. It might be that she would hear his -voice before she saw him; that was most likely, indeed almost certain, -for she would not turn till he had spoken … or at any rate till she -knew that he was close behind her. … Here her thoughts would stop. -She would lie in a sort of ecstasy … whatever might come after that -would be happiness. She would see Him … look into His eyes. … -“Look at me, Joy!” seemed to sound in her ears in sweet low music like -a whisper. Then she would close her eyes and lie motionless, passive, -breathing as gently as a child; high-strung, conscious, awake and -devoid of any definite intent. -</p> - -<p> -When she was dressing for the day she put on one of the simplest and -prettiest of her dresses, one which she had directed over night to be -got ready; a sort of heavy gauze of dull white which fell in long full -folds showing her tall slim figure to its perfect grace. Her maid who -was a somewhat silent person, not given to volubility unless -encouraged, looked at her admiringly as she said: -</p> - -<p> -“I do think miss that is the most becoming of all your frocks!” This -pleased her and sent a red glow through her cheeks. Then, fearing if -she seemed to think too much of the matter it might seem suspicious as -to some purpose, she said quietly: -</p> - -<p> -“Perhaps then it would be better if I put on one of the lawn dresses. -I am going for a walk this morning and as it may be dusty a frock that -will not catch the dust may be better.” -</p> - -<p> -“It does seem a pity miss to wear such a pretty frock and spoil it -when there is no one here to see it; not even your father.” This gave -Joy an opening of which she quickly availed herself. She had not the -least intention of changing the frock or of looking, if she could -avoid it, one whit below her best. -</p> - -<p> -“Fie, Eugenie! one doesn’t put on frocks to attract. If you think that -way, I shall wear it; even if it is to get dusty.” The Abigail who was -a privileged person answered gravely: -</p> - -<p> -“That’s quite true, Miss, exactly as you say it. <i>One</i> doesn’t put on -nice frocks to attract; and that one is yourself. But all the rest -do!” Joy’s merry laugh showed the measure of her ebullient happiness. -</p> - -<p> -“Dear me! Eugenie. You are quite an orthoëpist—indeed a -precisionist. I shall have to polish up my grammar. However I’ll keep -on the frock if only in compliment to your sense of terminological -exactitude!” -</p> - -<p> -A little after breakfast, when the time for starting on the walk drew -nigh, Joy did not feel so elated. Woman-like she was not anxious to -begin. It was not that she in any way faltered in her purpose, but -merely that she was suffering from the nervousness which comes to -those of high strung temperaments in momentous crises. Humming merrily -she put on her hat and finished her toilet for her walk. In the -sitting room from the shelter of the curtain she looked out of the -window, as she tried to think, casually. Her eyes turned towards the -lilac bushes, but caught no indication of the tall figure that she -sought. Her heart fell. But a second later it leaped almost painfully -as she saw Mr. Hardy sitting out openly on the seat, and strange to -say—for she had come to identify that seat with the practice—not -smoking. He evidently had no present thought of being concealed. Why? -The answer to her own question came in a rush of blood to her face, a -rush so quick and thorough that it seemed for the moment to deplete -her heart which beat but faintly… When she looked again he had risen -and was moving toward the lilacs. -</p> - -<p> -Without a word she walked downstairs and out through the hall-door. -</p> - -<p> -<br/> -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne had not slept either that night. But the manner and range of -his thoughts showed the difference between the sexes. Both his -imagining and his reasoning were to practical purpose. He wanted to -see Joy, to speak with her, to prove to himself if his hoping was in -any way justified by fact. He had for so long been concentrating his -thoughts on one subject that doubts at first shadowy had become real. -It seemed therefore to him that in his planning for the morrow he was -dealing with real things, not imaginative ones. And, after all, there -is nothing more real than doubt—so far as it goes. Victor Cousin took -from its reality his subtlest argument for belief: “At this point -scepticism itself vanishes; for if a man doubt everything else, at -least he cannot doubt that he doubts.” So with Athlyne. By accepting -doubt as reality he began the experiment for its cure. -</p> - -<p> -In the silence of the night, with nerves high-strung and with brain -excited he tried in those most earnest hours of his life, when for -good or ill he was to organise his intellectual forces, to arrange -matters so that at the earliest time he might with certainty learn his -fate. He had an idea that in such a meeting as was before him he must -not be over-precipitated. And yet he must not check impulsiveness as -long as its trend was in the right direction. He knew that a woman’s -heart is oftener won by assault than by siege. For himself he had -plenty of patience as well as a sufficiency of spirit; his task at -present therefore was one of generalship alone: the laying out of the -battle plans, the disposition of his forces. As he thought, and as his -ideas and his intentions came into order, he began to understand -better the purpose of those two preparations of his which were already -complete: the overhauling of his automobile, and the supplying it with -female wraps. He intended by some means or other, dependent on -developing opportunity, to bring her for a ride in the motor. There, -all alone, he would be able to learn, perhaps at first from her -bearing and then from her own lips, how she regarded him. -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne was a young man, a very young man in his real knowledge of the -sex. There are hundreds, thousands, of half-pulseless boys, flabby of -flesh and pallid with enervating dissipation, who would have smiled -cynically—they have not left in them grit enough for laughter—at his -doubting. -</p> - -<p> -He would not frighten her at first. Here for a time he took himself to -task for seeming to plot against the woman he loved. Surely it would -be better to treat her with perfect fairness; to lay his heart at her -feet; tell her with all the passionate force that swept him how he -loved her—tell it with what utterance he had. Then he should wait her -decision. No, not decision! That was too cold a word—thought. If -indeed there was any answering love to his, little decision would be -required. Had <i>he</i> made any decision! From the first moment he had -looked in her beautiful grey eyes and lost himself in their depths, -his very soul had gone out to her. And it might be that she too had -felt something of the same self-abandonment. He could never forget how -on that afternoon visit at the Holland she had raised her eyes to his -in answer to his passionate appeal: “Joy, Look at me!” Then at that -memory, and at the later memory when she had spoken the words herself -only the day before—the sweetness of her voice was still tingling in -his ears, a sort of tidal wave of lover’s rapture swept over him. It -overwhelmed him so completely that it left him physically gasping for -breath. He was in a tumult; he could not lie in bed. He leaped to his -feet and walked to and fro with long, passionate strides. He threw up -the lower sash of the window and looked out into the moonlight, -craning his neck round to the right so that his eyes were in the -direction of Ambleside as though the very ardour of his gaze could -pierce through distance and stone walls and compel Joy’s white eyelids -to raise so that he might once more lose himself in those grey deeps -wherein his soul alone found peace. -</p> - -<p> -In this passion of adoration all his doubts seemed to disappear, as -the sun drinks up the mist. He felt as though uplifted. At the very -idea of Joy’s loving him as he loved her he felt more worthy, more -strong, and with a sense of triumph which had no parallel in his life. -He stood looking out at the beauty of the scene before him, till -gradually it became merged in his thoughts with Joy and his hopes -which the morrow might realise. He never knew exactly how long he -stood there. It must have been a long time, for when he realised any -sense of time at all he was cramped and chill; and the forerunner of -the morning light coming from far away behind him was articulating the -fields on the hill-slopes across the lake. -</p> - -<p> -He was then calm. All the thinking and reasoning and planning and -passion of the night had been wrought into unity. His mind was made up -as to the first stage of his undertaking. He would bring the car to -Ambleside and leave it with the chauffeur outside the town. Then he -would take his place in the garden and wait till she came out for that -walk of which she had told her father. He would cautiously follow her; -and when there was a fair opportunity for uninterrupted speech would -come to her. If he found there was no change in her manner to him—and -here once again the memory of those lifting eyes made him tremble—he -would try to get her to come for a ride in his car. There, wrapped in -the glory of motion and surrounded by all the grandeur of natural -beauty, he would pour out his soul to her and put his fate to the -touch. Then if all were well he would send on the letter to her father -and would pay his formal visit as soon as might be. He would take care -to have ready a luncheon basket so that if she would ride with him -they might have together an ethereal banquet. -</p> - -<p> -It is strange that even those who are habitually cautious, whose -thoughts and deeds alike are compelled and ruled by reason, will in -times of exaltation forget their guiding principle. They will refuse -to acknowledge the existence of chance; and will proceed calmly on -their way as though life was as a simple cord, with Inclination -pulling at one end of it and Fact yielding at the other. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch14"> -CHAPTER XIV.<br/> -<span class="chap_sub">A BANQUET ON OLYMPUS</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">On</span> this occasion Athlyne did not continue to sit out on the lawn. -Now that he wished to overtake Joy unawares he was as careful to hide -his presence from her as he had previously hidden it from her father. -He had hardly ensconced himself in his usual cover when Joy came out -on the steps. Her maid was with her and together they stood on the -steps speaking. As she turned to come down the steps Joy said: -</p> - -<p> -“Perhaps I had better arrange to come back after a short walk; there -might be some telegram from father to be attended to. If there is not, -I can then go for a real, long walk.” She did not say more but moved -briskly down the roadway without ever turning her head. Athlyne -slipped through the gate of the garden, following at such distance -that he could easily keep out of view in case she should turn. When -she had cleared the straggling houses which made the outskirts of the -little town she walked slowly, and then more slowly still. Finally she -sat on a low wall by the roadside with her back partially turned to -Ambleside and looked long at the beautiful view before her where, -between the patches of trees which here shut out the houses altogether -and heightened the air of privacy of the bye road, the mountain slopes -rose before her. -</p> - -<p> -This was the opportunity for which Athlyne was waiting. He had hardly -dared to hope that it would be in a spot so well adapted to his -wishes. Dear simple soul! he never imagined that it had been already -chosen—marked down by a keener intellect than his own, and that -intellect a woman’s! -</p> - -<p> -Joy knew that he was coming; that he was drawing closer; that he was -at hand. It was not needed that she had now and again thrown a half -glance behind her at favourable moments as she went. There was at work -a subtler sense than any dealing with mere optics; a sense that can -float on ether waves as surely as can any other potent force. Nay, may -it not be the same sense specialised. The sense that makes soul known -to soul, sex to sex; that tells of the presence of danger; that calls -kind to kind, and race to race, from the highest of creation to the -lowest. And so she was prepared and waited, calm after the manner of -her sex. For when woman waits for the coming of man her whole being is -in suspense. Though in secret her heart beat painfully Joy did not -look round, made no movement till the spoken words reached her: -</p> - -<p> -“Miss Ogilvie is it not!” -</p> - -<p> -Slowly she turned, as to a voice but partly heard or partly -remembered. Athlyne felt his heart sink down, down as he saw the -slowness of the movement and realised the absence of that quick -response which he had by long and continuous thinking since last night -encouraged himself to expect. The quick gleam of pleasure in the face -as she turned, the light in her marvellous grey eyes, the gentle blush -which despite herself passed like an Alpenglow from forehead to neck -did not altogether restore his equanimity or even encourage him -sufficiently to try to regain that pinnacle of complacent hope on -which up to then he had stood. -</p> - -<p> -“Why Mr. Hardy,” she said warmly as she rose quickly to her feet. -“This is real nice. I was afraid we were not going to see you whilst -we were in England.” -</p> - -<p> -It was beautifully done; no wonder that some women can on the stage -carry a whole audience with them, when off it so many can deceive -intellects more powerful than their own. And yet it was not all -acting. She did not intend it as such; not for a moment did she wish -or intend to deceive. It was only the habit of obedience to convention -which was guiding natural impulse into safe channels. For who shall -say where nature—the raw, primeval crude article—ends or where -convention, which is the artfulness necessitated by the elaboration of -organised society, begins. A man well known in New York used to say: -“All men are equal after the fish!” Kipling put the same idea in -another way: … “the Colonel’s Lady an’ Judy O’Grady are sisters -under their skins!” -</p> - -<p> -When Athlyne looked into Joy’s eyes—and there was full opportunity -for so doing—all his intentions of reserve went from him. He was -lover all over; nothing but lover, with wild desire to be one with her -he loved. His eyes began to glow, his knees to tremble, then every -muscle of his body became braced; and when he spoke his voice at once -deepened and had a masterful ring which seemed to draw Joy’s very soul -out towards him. Well it was for her main purpose that her instinct -had given that first chill of self-possession; had the man been able -to go on from where he had first started nothing that she knew of -reserve or self-restraint could have prevented her from throwing -herself straightway into his arms. Had Athlyne not begun with that -same chill, which to him took the measure of a repulse, he would have -caught her to him with all the passions of many kinds which were -beginning to surge in him. -</p> - -<p> -But what neither of them could effect alone, together they did. The -pause of the fraction of a second in the springing of their passion -made further restraint possible. There is no fly-wheel in the -mechanism of humanity to carry the movement of the crank beyond its -level. Such machinery was not invented at the time of the organisation -of Eden. -</p> - -<p> -“I have longed for this moment more than I can say; more than words -can tell!” His voice vibrated with the very intensity of his truth. -Joy’s eyes, despite her efforts to keep them fixed, fell. Her bosom -rose and fell quickly and heavily with the stress of her breathing. -Her knees trembled and a slow pallor took the place of the flush on -her face. Seemingly unconsciously she murmured so faintly that only a -lover’s ear could hear or follow it: -</p> - -<p> -“I have longed for it too—oh so much!” The words dropped from her -lips like faint music. Instinctively she put her hand on the wall -beside her to steady herself; she feared she was going to faint. -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne, seeing and hearing, thrilled through to the very marrow of -his bones. His great love controlled, compelled him. He made no -movement towards her but looked with eyes of rapture. Such a moment -was beyond personal satisfaction; it was of the gods, not of men. And -so they stood. -</p> - -<p> -Then the tears welled over in Joy’s eyes beneath the fallen lids. They -hung on the dark, curly lashes and rolled like silver beads down the -softness of her cheeks. Still Athlyne made no sign; he felt that the -time had not yet come. The woman was his own now, he felt -instinctively; and it was his duty—his sacred privilege to protect -her. Unthinkingly he moved a step back on the road he had come. -Instinctively Joy did the same. It was without thought or intention on -the part of either; all instinctive, all natural. The usage of the -primeval squaw to follow her master outlives races. -</p> - -<p> -Then he paused. She came up to him and they walked level. Not another -word had been spoken; but there are silences that speak more than can -be written in ponderous tomes. These two—this man and this -woman—<i>knew</i>. They had in their hearts in those glorious moments all -the wisdom won by joy and suffering through all the countless ages -since the Lord rested on that first Sabbath eve and felt that His -finished work was good. -</p> - -<p> -When, keeping even step, they had taken a few quiet paces, Athlyne -spoke in a soft whisper that thrilled: -</p> - -<p> -“Joy, look at me!” -</p> - -<p> -Without question or doubt of any kind she raised her shining eyes to -his. And then, slowly and together as though in obedience to some -divine command, their lips met in a long, loving kiss in which their -very souls went out each to the other. -</p> - -<p> -When their mouths parted, with a mutual sigh, each gave a quick glance -up and down the road; neither had thought of it before. -</p> - -<p> -The tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil did not die in Eden bower. -It flourishes still in even the most unlikely places all the wide -world over. And they who taste its fruit must look with newly-opened -eyes on the world around them. -</p> - -<p> -Together, still keeping step, not holding each other, not touching -except by the chance of movement, they walked to where the bye-road -joined the main one. As yet they had spoken between them less than -threescore words. They wondered later in the day when they talked -together how so much as they had thought and felt and conveyed had -been packed into such compass. Now, as they paused at the joining of -the roads, Athlyne said—and strange to say it was in an ordinary -commonplace voice: -</p> - -<p> -“Joy won’t you come with me for a ride. I have my motor here, and we -can go alone. There is much I want to say to you—much to tell you, -and the speed will help us. I want to rush along—to fly. Earth is too -prosaic for me—now!” Joy looking softly up caught the lightning that -flashed from his eyes, and her own fell. A tide of red swept her face; -this passed in a moment, however, leaving a divine pink like summer -sunset on snowy heights. Her voice was low and thrilling as she -answered with eyes still cast down. -</p> - -<p> -“I’ll go with you where you will—to the end of the world—or Heaven -or Hell if you wish—now!” -</p> - -<p> -And then as if compelled by a force beyond control she raised her eyes -to his. -</p> - -<p> -“Shall you come with me to the car; or shall I bring it to the hotel?” -He spoke once more in something like his ordinary voice. -</p> - -<p> -“Neither!” she answered with her eyes still fixed on his -unflinchingly. He felt their witchery run through him like fire now; -his blood seemed to boil as it rushed through his veins. Love and -passion were awake and at one. -</p> - -<p> -“I must go back to see if there is any wire from Daddy, and to leave -word that I am going for a drive. I shall tell my maid that I shall -return in good time. Father and Mother and Aunt Judy are to arrive at -Windermere at five o’clock unless we hear to the contrary. You bring -up the motor to—to there where we met.” Her eyes burned through him -as without taking them from his she raised an arm and pointed -gracefully up the bye-road, towards where they had sat. -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t come with me,” she said as he moved with her. “It will be -sweeter to keep our secret to ourselves.” -</p> - -<p> -And so, he raising his cap as he stood aside, she passed on after -sending one flashing look of love right through him. -</p> - -<p> -At the hotel she found a wire from her father to the effect that they -would not be able to leave Euston at 11.30 as intended but that they -hoped to reach Windermere at 7.05. This pleased her, for it gave her -another two hours for that motor drive to which she looked forward -with beating heart. She told her maid that she would be out till late -in the afternoon as she was going motoring with a friend; and that -she, Eugenie, could please herself as to how she would pass the time. -When the maid asked her what she wished as to lunch she answered: -</p> - -<p> -“I shall not want any lunch; but if we feel hungry we can easily get -some on the way.” -</p> - -<p> -“Which way shall you be going, Miss, in case any one should ask.” -</p> - -<p> -“I really don’t know Eugenie. I just said I would join in the drive. I -daresay it is up somewhere amongst the lakes. That is where the fine -scenery is.” -</p> - -<p> -“And what about wraps, miss? You will want something warm for -motoring. That dress you have on is rather thin for the purpose.” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh dear; oh dear!” she answered with chagrin. “This will do well -enough, I think. We shall not, I expect, be going very far. If I find -I want a wrap I can borrow one.” And off she set for the rendezvous. -</p> - -<p> -In the meantime Athlyne had found the car, and had given instructions -to the chauffeur to remain at an inn at Ambleside which he had already -noted for the purpose and where a telegram would find him in case it -might be necessary to give any instructions. He had made sure that the -luncheon basket which he had ordered at Bowness was in its place. Then -he had driven back to the bye-road and waited with what patience he -could for the coming of Joy. -</p> - -<p> -She came up the bye-road walking fast enough. Up to that point she had -walked leisurely, but when she saw the great car all flaming -magnificently in scarlet and gold she forgot everything in the way of -demureness, and hurried forward. She had also seen Mr. Hardy. That -morning he had put on his motor clothes, for he knew he had to look -forward to a long spell of hard work before him—work of a kind which -needs special equipment. More than ever did he look tall and lithe and -elegant in his well-fitting suit of soft dark leather. When he caught -sight of Joy and saw that she was still in her pretty white frock he -began to lift from the bottom of the tonneau a pile of wraps which he -spread on the side. Joy did not notice the things at first; her eyes -were all for him. He stepped forward to meet her and, after a quick -glance round to see that they were alone, took her in his arms and -kissed her. She received the kiss in the most natural way—as if it -was a matter of course, and returned it. It is surprising what an easy -art to learn kissing is, and how soon even the most bashful of lovers -become reconciled to its exacting rules! -</p> - -<p> -Then she began to admire his car, partly to please him, partly because -it was really a splendid machine admirably wrought to its special -purpose—speed. He lifted a couple of coats and asked: -</p> - -<p> -“Which will you wear?” -</p> - -<p> -“Must I wear one? It is warm enough isn’t it without a coat?” -</p> - -<p> -“At present, yes! But when our friend here” he slapped the car -affectionately “wakes up and knows who he has the honour of carrying -you’ll want it. You have no idea what a difference a fifty or sixty -mile breeze makes.” -</p> - -<p> -“I’ll take this one, please,” she said without another word; a ready -acquiescence to his advice which made him glow afresh. One after -another she took all the articles which his loving forethought had -provided, and put them on prettily. She felt, and he felt too, that -each fresh adornment was something after the manner of an embrace. At -the last he lifted the motor cap and held it out to her. She took it -with a smile and a blush. -</p> - -<p> -“I really quite forgot my hat,” she said. “’Tis funny how your memory -goes when you’re very eager!” This little speech, unconsciously -uttered, sent a wave of sweet passion through the man. “Very Eager!” -She went on: -</p> - -<p> -“But where on earth am I to put it? I think I had almost better hide -it here behind the hedge and retrieve it when we get back!” Athlyne -smiled superiorly—that sort of affectionate tolerant superiority -which a woman admires in a man she loves and which the least -sentimental man employs unconsciously at times. He stooped into the -tonneau and from under one of the seats drew out a leather bonnet-box -which ran in and out on a slide. As he touched a spring this flew -open, showing space and equipment for several hats and a tiny dressing -bag. -</p> - -<p> -“Why, dear, there is everything in the world in your wonderful car.” -</p> - -<p> -How he was thrilled by her using the word—the first time her lips had -used it to him. It was none the less sweet because spoken without -thought. She herself had something of the same feeling. She quivered -in a languorous ecstasy. But she did not even blush at the thought; it -had been but the natural expression of her feeling and she was glad -she had said it. Their eyes searched each other and told their own -eloquent tale. -</p> - -<p> -“Darling!” he said, and bending over kissed again the rosy mouth that -was pouted to meet him. -</p> - -<p> -In silence he opened the door of the tonneau. She drew back. -</p> - -<p> -“Must I go in there—alone?” -</p> - -<p> -“I can’t go with you, darling. I must sit in the seat to drive. Unless -you would rather we had the chauffeur!” -</p> - -<p> -“You stupid old … <i>dear</i>!” this in a whisper. “I want to sit beside -you—as close as I can … <i>darling</i>!” She sank readily into the arms -which instinctively opened. -</p> - -<p> -True love makes its own laws, its own etiquettes. When lovers judge -harshly each the conduct of the other it is time for the interference -or the verdict of strangers. But not till then. -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne took the wheel, feeling in a sort of triumphant glory; in -every way other than he had expected. He thought that he would be -ardent and demonstrative; he was protective. The very trustfulness of -her reception of his caresses and her responsiveness to them made for -a certain intellectual quietude. -</p> - -<p> -Joy too was in a sort of ecstatic calm. There was such completeness -about her happiness that all thought of self disappeared. She did not -want anything to be changed in the whole universe. She did not want -time to fly betwixt now and her union with the man she loved. That -might—would—come later; but in the meanwhile happiness was so -complete as to transcend ambition, hope, time. -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne, who had made up his mind as to the direction of the drive, -came down on the high road and drove at moderate speed to Ambleside; -he thought that it would be wise to go slowly so as not to be too -conspicuous. He had given Joy a dust-veil but she had not yet adjusted -it. The present pace did not require such protection, and the idea of -concealing her identity did not even enter into her head. When they -were passing the post-office a sudden recollection came to Athlyne, -and he stopped the car suddenly. Joy for an instant was a little -alarmed and looked towards him inquiringly. -</p> - -<p> -“Only a letter which I want to post!” he said in reply as he stepped -down on the pavement. He opened his jacket and took from his pocket a -letter which he placed in the box. Joy surmised afresh about the -letter; she vaguely wondered if it was the same that she had seen him -close and put into his pocketbook. The thought was, however, only a -passing one. She had something else than other people’s letters to -think about at present. -</p> - -<p> -Just as he was turning back from the post box Eugenie, who was taking -advantage of her freedom, passed along the pavement. She stopped to -admire the tall chauffeur whom she thought the handsomest man she had -ever seen. She did not know him. Her service with Miss Ogilvie had -only commenced with the visit to London: up to the time of her leaving -Italy Mrs. Ogilvie’s maid had attended to Joy. She stood back and -pretended to be looking in at a window as she did not care to be seen -staring openly at him. Then she saw that he was no ordinary chauffeur. -It was with a sigh that she said to herself: -</p> - -<p> -“<i>Voila! Un vrai Monsieur!</i>” Her eyes following him as he turned the -starting handle and took his seat behind the wheel, she saw that his -companion was her mistress. Not wishing to appear as if prying on her -either, she instinctively turned away. -</p> - -<p> -As Athlyne was arranging himself to his driving work he said quietly -to Joy: -</p> - -<p> -“Sorry for delaying, but it was a most important letter, which I want -to be delivered to-night. It might be late if it was not posted till -Carlisle.” This was the first knowledge Joy had of the direction of -the journey. Eugenie heard only the last word as the car moved off. -</p> - -<p> -The pace was comparatively slow until the outskirts of Ambleside had -been passed; then he told Joy to put on her spectacles and donned his -own. When they were both ready he increased the pace, and they flew up -to the shores of Rydal Water. At Joy’s request they slowed down whilst -the lake was in sight; but raced again till the road ran close to the -peaceful water of Grasmere. But when Grasmere with its old church and -Coleridge’s tomb lay away to their left they flew again up the steep -road to Thirlmere. Athlyne was a careful driver and the car was a good -hill climber. It was only when the road was quite free ahead that they -went at great speed. They kept steadily on amongst the rising -mountains, only slackening as they passed to Thirlmere and dropped -down to Keswick. They did not stop here, but passing by the top of -Derwentwater drew up for a few minutes to look down the lake whose -wooded islands add so much to the loveliness of the view. Then on -again full speed by the borders of Bassenthwaite Lake and on amongst -the frowning hills to Cockermouth. -</p> - -<p> -Joy was in a transport of delight the whole time. Her soul seemed to -be lifted by the ever-varying beauty of the panorama as they swept -along; and the rushing speed stirred her blood. She was silent, save -at ecstatic moments when she was quite unable to control herself. -Athlyne was silent too. He had been over the ground already, and -besides such driving required constant care and attention. He was more -than ever careful in his work, for was not Joy—his Joy!—his -passenger. -</p> - -<p> -They did not stop at Cockermouth but turned into the main road and, -passing Bride-kirk—and Bothel, flew up to Carlisle. As he slowed down -at the city wall Athlyne looking at his watch said quietly: -</p> - -<p> -“An hour and a half and some fifty miles. Let us go on and eat our -lunch in Scotland.” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh do! Go on! Go on—darling! I forgot to tell you that I have had a -wire; they don’t get in till seven; so we have two more hours,” cried -Joy enthusiastically. This time she used the word of endearment -instinctively and without a pause. “Practice makes perfect” says the -old saw. -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne controlled himself and went at quiet pace through the -Cumberland capital. He would like to have put the engine at full -speed; the last word had fired him afresh. However, he did not want to -get into police trouble. When he came out on the Northern road and -climbed the steep hill to Stanwix he felt freer. The road was almost a -dead level and there was little traffic, only a stray cart here and -there. Then he let go, and the car jumped forward like an eager horse. -Athlyne felt proud of it, just as though it had an intention of its -own—that it wanted to show Joy how it loved to carry her. Joy almost -held her breath as they swept along here. The wind whistled around her -head and she had to keep her neck stiff against the pressure of the -fifty-mile breeze. They slowed at the forking of the road beyond -Kingstown; and at the Esk bridge and its approaches; otherwise they -went at terrific speed till they reached the border where the road -crossed the Sark. Then, keeping the Lochberie road to the right, they -rushed away through Annan towards Dumfries. -</p> - -<p> -Joy did not know that at that turning off to Annan they were almost in -touch with Gretna Green. Athlyne did not think of it at the time. Had -the knowledge or the thought of either been engaged on the subject the -temptation it would have brought might have been too much for lovers -in their rapturous condition … and the course of this history might -have been different. -</p> - -<p> -The run to the outskirts of Dumfries, where the traffic increased, was -another wild rush which wrought both the occupants of the car to a -high pitch of excitement. -</p> - -<p> -To Joy it seemed a sort of realisation. On the drive to Carlisle, and -from that on over the Border, the fringing hills of the Solway had -been a dim and mystery-provoking outline. But now the hills were at -hand, before them and to the north; whilst far across the waste of -banks and shoals of Solway Frith rose the Cumberland mountains, a -mighty piling mass of serrated blue haze. It was a convincing -recognition of the situation; this was Scotland, and England was far -behind! Instinctively she leaned closer to her companion at the -thought. -</p> - -<p> -Between Dumfries and Castle Douglas was a long hill to climb within a -stretch of seven miles. But the Delaunay-Belleville breasted it nobly -and went up with unyielding energy. Then, when the summit at -Crocketford was reached, she ran down the hill to Urr Water with a -mighty rush which seemed to carry her over the lesser hill to Castle -Douglas. From thence the road to Dalry was magnificent for scenery. At -Crossmicheal it came close to the Ken whose left bank it followed -right up by Parton to “St. John’s Town of Dalry” where it crossed the -river. Athlyne had intended to rest a while somewhere about here; but -the old coach road, winding with the curves of the river, looked so -inviting that he ran a few miles up north towards Carsphairn. Coming -to a bye-road where grew many fine trees of beech and stone pine which -gave welcome shade, he ran up a few hundred yards to where the road -curved a little. Here was an ideal spot for a picnic, and especially -for a picnic of two like the present. -</p> - -<p> -The curving of the road made an open space, which the spreading trees -above shaded. Deep grass was on the wide margin of the flat road which -presently dipped to cross a shallow rill of bright water which fell -from a little rocky ledge, tinkling happily through the hum of summer -insect life. Wildflowers grew everywhere. It was idyllic and -delightful and beautiful in every way, even to where, towering high -above a Druidic ruin in the foreground, the lofty hills of Carsphairn -rose far away between them and the western sky. In itself the scene -wanted for absolute perfection some figures in the foreground. And -presently it had them in a very perfect form. Joy clapped her hands -with delight like a happy child as she glanced around her. Athlyne -drew up sharp, and jumping from his seat held out his hand to Joy who -sprang beside him on the road. As they stood together when Joy’s wrap -had been removed they made a handsome couple. Both tall and slim and -elegant and strong. Both straight as lances; both bright and eager; -with the light of love and happiness shining on them more notably than -even the flicker of sunlight between the great stems and branches of -the trees. His brown hair seemed to match her black; the brown eyes -and the grey both were lit with a “light that never came from land or -sea!” Joy’s eyes fell under the burning glances of her lover; the time -had not yet come for that absolutely fearless recognition which, being -a man’s unconscious demand, a woman instinctively resists. Athlyne -recognised the delicacy and acquiesced. All this without a single -spoken word. Then he spoke: -</p> - -<p> -“Was there ever such a magnificent run in the world. More than a -hundred miles on end without a break or pause. And every moment a -lifetime of bliss—to me at all events—Darling!” -</p> - -<p> -“And to me!” Joy’s eyes flashed grey lightning as she raised them for -a moment to his, and held them there. Athlyne’s knees trembled with -delight; his voice quivered also as he spoke: -</p> - -<p> -“And all the time I never left my duty once for an instant. I think I -ought to get a medal!” -</p> - -<p> -“You should indeed, darling. And I never once distracted you from it -did I?” -</p> - -<p> -“Unhappily, no!” His eyes danced. -</p> - -<p> -“So I ought to get more than a medal!” -</p> - -<p> -“What? What should you get—now?” His voice was a little hoarse. He -drew closer to her. She made no answer in words; but her eyes were -more eloquent. With a mutual movement she was in his arms and their -mouths met. -</p> - -<p> -“And now for lunch!” he said as after a few entrancing seconds she -drew her face away. “I am sure you must be starving.” -</p> - -<p> -“I <i>am</i> hungry!” she confessed. Her face was still flushed and her -eyes were like stars. She bustled about to help him. He took the seats -and cushions from the tonneau and made a comfortable nest for her, -with a seat for himself close, very close beside her. He lifted off -the luncheon basket and unstrapped it. Whilst she took out the plates -and packets and spread the cloth he put a bottle of champagne and one -of fizzy water in the cool of the running stream. -</p> - -<p> -They may have had some delightful picnics on Olympus in the days of -the old gods who were so human and who loved so much—and so often. -But surely there was none so absolutely divine as on that day that -under the trees, looking over at the grey piling summits of the -mountains of Carsphairn. The food was a dream, the wine was nectar. -The hearts of the two young people beat as one heart. Love surely was -so triumphant that there never could come a cloud into the sky which -hung over them like a blue canopy. Life and nature and happiness and -beauty and love took hands and danced around them fairy-like as they -sat together, losing themselves and their very souls in the depths of -each other’s eyes. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch15"> -CHAPTER XV.<br/> -<span class="chap_sub">“STOP!”</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">Under</span> the shading trees the time flew fast. It is ever thus in the -sylvan glades where love abides: -</p> - -<div class="quote_o"><div class="quote_i"> -<p class="i0">“… The halcyon hours with double swiftness run</p> -<p class="i0">And in the splendour of Arcadian summers</p> -<p class="i0">The quicker climb the coursers of the sun.”</p> -</div></div> - -<p> -Athlyne and Joy sat in a gentle rapture of happiness. She had made him -draw up his cushion close to her so that she could lean against him. -They sat hand in hand for a while, and then one arm stole round her -and drew her close to him. She came yieldingly, as though such a -moment had been ordained since the beginning of the world. Her hand -stole inside his arm and held him tight; and so they sat locked -together, with their faces so close that their mouths now and again -met in long, sweet kisses. More than once was asked by either the old -question of lovers—which has no adequate or final answer: “Do you -love me?” And at each such time the answer was given in the fashion -which ruled in Eden—and ever since. -</p> - -<p> -Presently Athlyne, drawing Joy closer than ever to him, said: -</p> - -<p> -“Joy darling there is something I want to say to you!” He paused; she -drew him closer to her, and held him tighter. She realised that his -voice had changed a little; he was under some nervousness or anxiety. -This woke the protective instinct which is a part of woman’s love. -</p> - -<p> -“We love each other?” -</p> - -<p> -“I do!” As she spoke she looked at him with her great gray eyes -blazing. He kissed her: -</p> - -<p> -“And I love you, my darling, more than I have words to say. More than -words can express. I am lost in you. You are my world, my hope, my -heaven! Beyond measure I love you, and honour you, and trust you; and -now that I feel you love me too … My dear! … my dear! the whole -world seems to swim around me and the heavens to open …” -</p> - -<p> -“Dear, go on. It is music to me—all music—that I have so longed -for!” -</p> - -<p> -“Darling! It seems like sacrilege to say anything just -now—but—but—You know I love you?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes!” The simple word was stronger than any embellishment; it was of -the completeness, the majesty, of sincerity in its expression. -</p> - -<p> -“Then there is no need to say more of that now … But before I say -something else which I long to hear—in words, dear, for its truth is -already in my heart …” -</p> - -<p> -“Darling!” she spoke the word lingeringly as though grudging that its -saying must end … -</p> - -<p> -“Before such time I must speak with your father!” He spoke the words -with a gravity which brought a chill to her heart; her face blanched -suddenly as does liquid in the final crystallization of frost. Her -voice was faint—she was only a girl after all, despite her pride and -bravery—as she asked: -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, I hope it is nothing. …” -</p> - -<p> -“Nothing, darling” he said as he stroked tenderly the hand that lay in -his—he had taken his arm from her waist to do it—“except the -courtesy which is due to an old man … and one other thing, small in -itself—absolutely nothing in my own mind—which makes it necessary in -respect to his … his … his convictions that I should speak to him -before …” He stopped suddenly, remembering that if he went on he -must betray the secret which as yet he wished to keep. Not on his own -account did he wish to keep it. But there was Joy’s happiness to be -considered. Until he knew how Colonel Ogilvie would take the knowledge -of his having introduced himself under a false name he must not do or -say anything which might ultimately make difference between her and -her father. -</p> - -<p> -Joy erred in her interpretation of his embarrassment, of his sudden -stopping. Again the pallor grew over her face which had under her -lover’s earlier words regained its normal colour. More faintly even -than before she whispered: -</p> - -<p> -“It is nothing I hope that would keep us …” He saw her distress and -cut quickly into her question: -</p> - -<p> -“No! No! No! Nothing that could ever come between you and me. It is -only this, Joy darling. Your father belongs to another country from my -own and an older generation than mine. His life has been different, -and the ideas that govern him are very masterful in their convention. -Were I to neglect this I might make trouble which would, without our -wish or part, come between us. Believe me, dear, that in this I am -wise.” Then seeing the trouble still in her eyes he went on: “I know -well, Joy, that it is not necessary for me to justify myself in your -eyes.” Here she strained him a little closer and held his arm and his -hand harder “but my dearest, I am going to do it all the same. I want -to say something, but which I mustn’t say yet, so that you must be -tolerant with me if I say unneeded things which are still open to me. -Truly, darling, there is absolutely nothing which could possibly come -between you and me. I have done no wrong—in that way at all events. -There should be no more difference between you and me for anything -that is now in my mind than there is between your soul and the blue -sky above us; between you and heaven. …” She put her hand over his -mouth: -</p> - -<p> -“Oh hush, hush, dear. … By the way what am I to call you—darling?” -For the moment he was taken aback. To give her his own name as yet -would be to break the resolution of present secrecy; to give her a -false name now would be sacrilege. His native Irish wit stood him in -good stead: -</p> - -<p> -“That is the name for to-day—darling. There can be none like -that—for to-day. We began with it. It took me on its wings up to -heaven. Let me stay there—for to-day. For to-day we are true husband -and wife—are we not?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes dear!” she answered simply. He went on: -</p> - -<p> -“To-morrow … we can be grave to-morrow; and then I can give you -another name to use—if you wish it!” -</p> - -<p> -“I do!” she said with reverence. She accepted and returned the kiss -which followed. This closed the incident, and for a little space they -sat hand in hand, his arm again round her whilst again she had linked -her arm in his. Presently he said: -</p> - -<p> -“And now Joy dear, won’t you tell me all about yourself. You know that -as yet you and I know very little about each other’s surroundings. I -want specially to know to-day dear, for to-morrow I want to see your -father and it will be better to go equipped.” Joy felt quite in a -flutter. At last she was going to learn something about the man she -loved. She would tell him everything, and he would … Her thoughts -were interrupted by her companion going on: -</p> - -<p> -“And then to-morrow when we have talked I can tell you everything. -…” -</p> - -<p> -“Everything!” then there was something to conceal! Her heart fell. But -as the man continued, her train of thought was again interrupted: -</p> - -<p> -“When you see him to-night you had better …” -</p> - -<p> -Suddenly she jumped to her feet in a sort of fright. Seeing her face -he too sprang up, giving, with the instinct of his campaigning a quick -look around as though some danger threatened: -</p> - -<p> -“What is it Joy? What is wrong? …” She almost gasped out: -</p> - -<p> -“My father! He will be home by seven! It must be late in the afternoon -now and we are more than a hundred miles from home! …” Athlyne in -turn was staggered. In his happiness in being with Joy and talking of -love he had quite overlooked the passing of time. Instinctively he -looked at his watch. It was now close on four o’clock. … Joy was the -first to speak: -</p> - -<p> -“Oh do let us hurry! No one knows where I am; and if when Daddy gets -home and finds I am not there he will be alarmed—and he may be upset. -And Mother and Aunt Judy too! … Oh do not lose a moment! If we do -not get home before they arrive … and Daddy finds I have been out -all day with you … Oh, hurry, hurry!” -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne had been thinking hard whilst she spoke, and his thoughts had -been arranging themselves. His intelligence was all awake now. He -could see at a glance that Joy’s absence might make trouble for all. -Colonel Ogilvie was a man of covenance, and his daughter’s going out -with him in such a way was at least unconventional. She <i>must</i> get -back in time! His conclusion was reached before she had finished -speaking. His military habit of quick action asserted itself; already -he was replacing the things in the carriage. Joy saw, and with -feverish haste began to help him. When he saw her at work he ran to -the engine and began to prepare for starting. When that was ready he -held Joy’s coat for her and helped her into her seat. As he took the -wheel he said as he began to back down the road which was hardly wide -enough to turn in: -</p> - -<p> -“Forgive me, dear. It was all my selfish pleasure. But we shall do all -we can. Bar accident we may do it; we have over three hours!” He set -his teeth as he saw the struggle before him. It would be a glorious -run … and there was no use forestalling trouble. … Joy saw the -smile on his face, recognised the man’s strength, and was comforted. -</p> - -<p> -They backed into the road and sprang southward. Without taking his -eyes off his work, Athlyne said: -</p> - -<p> -“Tell me dear as we go along all that I must bear in mind in speaking -to your father of our marriage. …” -</p> - -<p> -There! It was out unconsciously. Joy thrilled, but he did not himself -seem to notice his self-betrayal. He went on unconcernedly: -</p> - -<p> -“It may be a little uphill at first if we do not get in line in time.” -Joy looked under her lashes at the strong face now set as a stone to -his work and kept silence as to the word. She was glad that she could -blush unseen. After a little pause she said in a meek voice: -</p> - -<p> -“Very well, dear. I shall tell you whenever we are on a straight bit -of road, but I will be silent round the curves.” They were then flying -along the old coach road. The road was well-made, broad and with good -surface and they went at a terrific pace. Athlyne felt that the only -chance of reaching Ambleside was by taking advantage of every -opportunity for speed. Already he knew from the morning’s journey that -there were great opportunities as long stretches of the road were -level and in good order and were not unduly impeded with traffic. The -motor was running splendidly, it seemed as if the run in the morning -had put every part of it in good working order. He did not despair of -getting to Ambleside in time. The train was not due at Windermere till -seven. And it might be a little late. In any case it would take the -arriving party a little while to get their things together and then -drive to Ambleside. As they were sweeping down towards the bridge at -Dalry he said to Joy without looking round: -</p> - -<p> -“It will be all right. I have been thinking it over. We can do it!” -</p> - -<p> -“Thank God!” she exclaimed fervently. She too had been thinking. -</p> - -<p> -“Stop!” -</p> - -<p> -The voice rang out imperiously; and a policeman, stepping from behind -the trunk of a great beech, held up his hand. Instinctively Athlyne -began to slow. He shouted back “All right!” He had grasped the -situation and as they were out of earshot of the policeman said -quickly to Joy: -</p> - -<p> -“We are arrested! Oh, I am sorry darling. If they won’t let me pay a -fine and go at once you must take the car on. I shall try to arrange -that. But do be cautious dear—you are so precious to me. If you are -delayed anywhere and can’t make it in time wire to your father tell -him you are motoring and have been delayed. It will soften matters, -even if he is angry. I shall go on by train in the morning. And -darling if you are not getting on as you wish, take a train the best -you can—a special. Don’t stop at any expense. But get on! And don’t -tell your name to any one, under any circumstances. Don’t forget the -telegram if delayed.” As he was speaking the car was slowing and the -panting policeman was coming up behind. When the car stopped, Athlyne -jumped out and walked towards the officer; he wanted to be as -conciliatory as possible. -</p> - -<p> -“I am very sorry, officer. That beautiful bit of road tempted me; and -being all quite clear I took a skim down it?” -</p> - -<p> -“Ye did! Man, but it was fine! But I hae to arrest ye all the same. -Duty is duty!” -</p> - -<p> -“Certainly. I suppose the station is across the bridge?” -</p> - -<p> -“Aye sir.” The policeman, who at first sight had from his dress taken -him for a chauffeur, had by now recognised him as a gentleman. -</p> - -<p> -“Will you come in the car? It’s all right. I’ll go slow.” -</p> - -<p> -“Thank ye sir. I’ve had a deal o’ walkin’ the day!” When the man was -in the tonneau Athlyne who had been thinking of what was to be done -said to him affably: -</p> - -<p> -“It was silly of me going at such a pace. But I wanted my wife to see -how the new car worked.” He had a purpose in saying this: to emphasise -to Joy the necessity of not mentioning her name. It was the only way -to keep off the subject when they should get to the station. Joy -turned away her head. She did not wish either man to see her furious -blushing at hearing the word. She took the hint; silence was her cue. -</p> - -<p> -At the station Joy sat in the car whilst Athlyne went inside with the -officer. The sergeant was a grave elderly man, not unkindly. He too -recognised, but at once, that the chauffeur was a gentleman. There was -an air of distinction about Athlyne which no one, especially an -official, could fail to appreciate. He was not surprised when he read -the card which Athlyne handed to him. He frowned a little and -scratched his head. -</p> - -<p> -“I fear this’ll be a bit awkward my lord. Ye come frae o’er the Border -and ye’ll hae to attend the summons at New Galloway. I dinna want to -inconvenience you and her ladyship but …” -</p> - -<p> -“Will it not be possible to let the car go on. My wife has to meet her -father and mother who are coming up to Ambleside to-night, and they -will be so disappointed. Her mother is an invalid and is coming from -Italy. I shall be really greatly obliged if it can be managed.” -</p> - -<p> -The sergeant shook his head and said slowly: -</p> - -<p> -“’Tis a fine car. A valuable commodity to take out of the jurisdiction -and intil a foreign country.” Athlyne had already taken out his -pocket-book. Fortunately he had provided himself well with money -before coming north. -</p> - -<p> -“I paid a thousand pounds for the car. Will it not suit if I leave -that amount in your custody.” The official was impressed. -</p> - -<p> -“Losh! man what wad I be daen wi’ a thoosan poons in a wee bit station -like this, or carryin’ it aboot in me claes. Na! na! if ye’ll -de-po-sit say a ten poon note for the guarantee I’m thinkin’ ’twill be -a’ reet. But how can the leddy get ava; ye’ll hae to bide till the -morn’s morn.” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh that’s all right, officer, she’s a licensed driver. Unhappily she -has not got her license with her. She left it in Ambleside as I was -driving myself and had mine.” He said this to avert her being -questioned on the neglect; in which case there might be more trouble -about the pace. -</p> - -<p> -“Ooh! aye. Then that’s a’ reet! A maun ax her masel forbye she mayn’t -hae the license aboot her. Wimmen is feckless cattle anyhow!” -</p> - -<p> -“Do you think sergeant she may get away at once. It is a long drive, -and the day is getting on. I shall be very grateful indeed if you can -manage it!” The sergeant was still impressed by the pocket book. -</p> - -<p> -“Weel A’ll see what A can dae!” He went outside with Athlyne to the -automobile, and touching his cap said: -</p> - -<p> -“Yer pardon ma leddy, ye’re the wife o’ the defender?” Joy was glad -that she had put on the motor veil attached to her cap. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes! My husband told you, did he not?” she said. The thrill that came -to her with the speaking of the word “husband” she kept for later -thought. The sergeant answered respectfully: -</p> - -<p> -“He did ma leddy. But as an offeecial o’ the law I hae to make sure as -ye’re aboot to travel oot o’ the jurisdiction. He says ye hae left yer -licence at hame; but as ye hae answered me that ye are his wife I will -accept it, an’ ye may go. The defender remains here; but I’m thinkin’ -there’s a chance that he may no hae to remain so lang as he’s fearin! -Ma service to ye ma leddy.” He touched his cap and went back into the -station. -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne came forward and said in a low voice, for the policeman who -had effected the arrest was now standing outside the door: -</p> - -<p> -“You will be careful darling. You may be able to do it. But if you are -late and your father be angry say as little as you can. Unhappily I -must remain here, but I shall do all I possibly can to settle things -quietly. I shall follow in the morning; but not too early. Don’t -forget to wire your father if you are delayed anywhere, or are certain -to be late. For my own part I shall leave proof everywhere of my own -presence as we shall be in different countries!” He said this as it -occurred to him that if she should be delayed it might later avert a -scandal. Then he spoke up for the benefit of the policeman: -</p> - -<p> -“As the time is so short, and we have learned the lesson of the danger -of going too fast, you might ask when you get to Carlisle whether it -is not quicker to return by Penrith and Patterdale. That way is some -miles shorter.” The policeman who had heard—and had also seen the -pocket-book—came close and said with a respectful touch of his cap: -</p> - -<p> -“If A may make sae bold, the leddy can save a wheen o’ miles by takin’ -the road to Dumfries by Ken Brig an’ Crocketford up yon. A saw ye the -morn comin’ up there.” Athlyne nodded and touched his pocket; the man -drew back into the station. One last word to Joy: -</p> - -<p> -“I wish you knew the machine darling. But we must take chance for all -going well.” As he spoke he was turning the starting handle. Joy in a -low voice said: -</p> - -<p> -“Good bye my darling!” Resolutely she touched the levers, and the car -moved off quietly to the “God bless you!” of each. -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne watched the car as long as it was in sight; then he went back -into the station. He spoke at once to the sergeant. -</p> - -<p> -“Now sergeant is there nothing that can possibly be done to hasten the -matter. You see I have done all I can to obey rules—once having -broken them. I am most anxious to get back home as I have some very -important business in the morning. I shall of course do exactly as is -necessary; but I shall be deeply obliged if I can get away quietly, -and double deeply to you if you can arrange it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well ma lord I dinna think ye’ll hae much trouble or be delayed o’er -lang neither. For masel A canna do aught; but A’m thinkin that the -Sheriff o’ Galloway himsel will be here ony moment. He nearly always -rides by when the fair at Castle Douglas is on, as it is to be in the -morn. A’ll hae a sharp look oot for him. He’s a kind good man; an A’m -thinkin that he’ll no fash yer lordship. He can take responsibeelity -that even a sargeant o’ polis daurn’t. So it’s like ye’ll get ava -before the nicht.” -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne sat himself down to wait with what patience he could muster. -Once again nature’s pendulum began to swing in his thoughts; on one -side happiness, on the other anxiety. The delight of the day wherein -he had realised to the full that Joy indeed loved him, even as he -loved her; the memory of those sweet kisses which still tingled on his -lips and momentarily exalted him to a sort of rapture; and then the -fear which was manifold, selfish and unselfish. She might get into any -one of many forms of trouble if only from her anxiety to reach home -before the arrival of her parents. She was, after all, not a practiced -driver; and was in control of the very latest type of machine of whose -special mechanism she could know nothing. If she should break down far -from any town she would be in the most difficult position possible: a -girl all alone in a country she did not know. And all this apart from -the possibility of accident, of mischance of driving; of the act of -other travellers; of cattle on the road; of any of the countless -mishaps which can be with so swift and heavy a machine as a motor. And -then should she not arrive in time, what pain or unpleasantness might -there not be with her father. He would be upset and anxious at first, -naturally. He might be angry with her for going out on such a long -excursion with a man alone; he would most certainly be angry with him -for taking her, for allowing her to go. And at such a time too! Just -when everything was working—had worked towards the end he aimed at. -He knew that Colonel Ogilvie was and had been incensed with him for a -neglect which under the circumstances was absolute discourtesy. And -here he bitterly took himself to task for his selfishness—he realised -now that it was such—in wanting to make sure of Joy’s love before -consulting her father, or even explaining to him the cause of his -passing under a false name. Might it not be too late to set that right -now. … And there he was, away in Scotland, kicking his heels in a -petty little police station, while the poor girl would have to bear -all the brunt of the pain and unpleasantness. And that after a long, -wearying, wearing drive of a hundred miles, with her dear heart -eternally thumping away lest she might lose in her race against Time. -And what was worse still that it would all follow a day which he did -not attempt to doubt had been, up to the time of the arrest, one of -unqualified happiness. -</p> - -<div class="quote_o"><div class="quote_i"> -<p class="i0">“… nessun maggoir dolore</p> -<p class="i0">Che ricordasi del tempo felice</p> -<p class="i0">Nella miseria.”</p> -</div> -<br/> -(“A sorrow’s crown of sorrow is remembering happier things.”) -</div> - -<p class="noindent"> -The contrast would be terrible. He knew what the thought of it was to -him; what would it be to her! Her sweet, gentle, loving heart would be -hurt, crushed to the very dust. -</p> - -<p> -He sprang to his feet and walked about the room, till noticing the -sergeant was watching him with surprise and suspicion, he controlled -himself. -</p> - -<p> -He talked with the sergeant for a while genially. It was positively -necessary that there should not be any doubt in the mind of the latter -when the Sheriff should arrive. This episode took the strain from his -mind—for a time. He expressed to the officer how anxious he was to -get on and interested the worthy man so much that he sent over to the -hotel to borrow a time-table. There Athlyne learned that it would be -practically impossible for him to get on to Ambleside that night. Not -even if he could get a special train at Carlisle—there was no -possibility of getting one from a nearer place. When he asked the -sergeant his opinion, that grave individual condescended to smile: -</p> - -<p> -“Losh! man they don’t run specials on these bit lines. ’Tis as much as -they can do to run a few trains a day. A’m thinkin’ that if ye asked -the stationmaster anywheer along the Dumfries and Kircudbright line -for a special he’d hae ye in the daft-hoose, or he’d be there himsel!” -Athlyne went back to his seat; once again the pendulum of his thoughts -swung to and fro. -</p> - -<p> -He was now face to face with one certainty amongst many possibilities: -Whatever befel he could not give any immediate help to Joy. She, poor -dear, must fend for herself and if need be, fight her battle alone. He -could only try to make it up to her afterwards. And yet what could he -do for her, what more give to her who had already all that was his! -And here again he lost himself in memories of the immediate past; -which presently merged into dreams of the future which has no end. -</p> - -<p> -But again swung the pendulum with the thought of what he was next day -to do which might help Joy. He began to realise out of the intensity -of his thought, which was now all unselfish, in what a danger of -misconception the girl stood already and how such might be multiplied -by any accident of her arrival. In the eyes of her friends her very -character might be at stake! And now he made up his mind definitely as -to how he would protect her in that way. He could prove his time of -leaving Ambleside by his chauffeur, the time of that swift journey -would be its own proof; the time of his arrest was already proved. -Likewise of Joy’s departure for home. Henceforward till he should meet -her father he would take care that his movements were beyond any -mystery or suspicion whatever. In any case—even if she did not arrive -at home till late—Joy would be actually in another country from that -which held him, and the rapidity of her journey would in itself -protect. He would stay in some hotel in a place where he could get a -suitable train in the morning; and would arrange that his arrival and -departure were noted. -</p> - -<p> -Naturally the place he would rest for the night, if he should succeed -in getting away, would be Castle Douglas; for here lines from -Kirkcudbright, from Stranraer, and from Glasgow made junction so that -he had a double chance of departure. If he were detained at Dalry the -police themselves would be proof of his presence there. -</p> - -<p> -He felt easier in his mind after this decision, and was able to await -with greater patience the coming of the Sheriff. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch16"> -CHAPTER XVI.<br/> -<span class="chap_sub">A PAINFUL JOURNEY</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">Joy</span> started on her long journey in a very agitated frame of mind; -though the habit of her life and her concern for her lover enabled her -to so bear herself that she appeared calm. To start with, she was full -of fears; some of them natural, others of that class which is due to -the restrictions and conventions of a woman’s life. She was by no -means an expert driver. She merely had some lessons and was never in -an automobile by herself before. Moreover she was not only in a -country strange to her, but even the road to Dumfries on which she was -started was absolutely new to her. In addition to it all she was—as -an American—handicapped by the difference in the rules of the road. -In America they follow the French and drive on the off side: in -England the “on” rule is correct. -</p> - -<p> -She had no option, however; she dared not make any difficulty or even -ask advice or help, for such might betray her and she might not be -allowed to proceed at all. So with as brave a face and bearing as she -could muster, but with a sinking heart, she started on her journey, -praying inwardly that she might not meet with any untoward accident or -difficulty. For she did not know anything about mechanism; the use of -the wheel and the levers in driving was all that had been embraced in -her lessons. -</p> - -<p> -At first all went well enough. The road was clear and she felt that -she had the machine well in hand. As far as Balmaclellan she went -slowly, carefully, climbing laboriously up the steep zig-zag road; and -presently she began to feel in good heart. She did not know the name -of the place; had never heard of it. But it was somewhere; one stage -at least on the way home. When the village lay behind her she began to -put on more speed. With the apprehension gone of not being able to get -on at all, she began to think of her objective and of how long was the -journey before it could be revealed. With increased speed, however, -came fresh fears. The importance of the machine began to be manifest; -such force and speed needed special thought. The road changed so -rapidly that she felt that she wanted another pair of eyes. The wheel -alone, with its speed and steering indices, took all attention. She -hardly dared to look up from it. And yet if she did not how could she -know the road to take; how could she look out for danger. Happily the -mere movement was a tonic; the rush through the air braced her. -Otherwise she would have been shortly in a state of panic. -</p> - -<p> -Very soon she began to realise the difficulty of driving on an unknown -road, when one is not skilled in the art. So many things have to be -considered all at once, and the onus of choosing perpetually is of -nightmare shadow. The openings of bye-roads and cross-roads are so -much more important than is suspected that there is a passing doubt as -to direction; and country roads generally wind about so that distant -land-marks, which can guide one in general direction, come and go with -embarrassing suddenness. At first every cart-track or farm-road made -such doubts, and even when she got to understand such minor trends she -got confused over bye-roads of more importance. Cross-roads there were -before long, right or left making shortcuts for those who knew. These -she had to pass; she could judge only of her course by the excellence -of the main road—not always a safe guide in remote agricultural -districts. One thing told in her favour: the magnificent bracing air -of that splendid high-hung moor through which she passed. By the time -she got to Corsock, however, she was beginning to feel the strain -severely. She was hot and nervous and wearied; only the imperative -need of getting on, and getting on quickly, enabled her to keep up at -all. At Corsock she stopped to ask the way, but found it hard to -understand the Lowland Scotch in which directions for her guidance -were given. The result was that she started afresh with a blank -despair gripping at her heart. Already she felt that her effort to -reach home in time was destined to failure. The time seemed to fly so -fast, the miles to be so long. She even began to feel a nervous doubt -as to whether she should even be able to send word to her father. East -of Corsock the nature of the road is confusing to a stranger. There -are bye-roads leading south and up northwards into the mountains; and -Urr Water has to be crossed. Joy began to lose the perspective of -things; her doubts as to whether she was on the right road became -oppressive. Somehow, things were changing round her. Look where she -would, she could not see the hill tops that had been her landmarks. A -mist was coming from the right hand—that was the south, where was -Solway Firth. Then she gave up heart altogether. There came to her -woman’s breast the reaction from all the happy excitement of the day. -It was too bright to last. And now came this shadow of trouble worse -even than the mist which seemed to presage it … Oh, if only He were -with her now … He! … Strange it was that in all that day she had -not once spoken to him by name. “Dear” or “Darling” seemed more -suitable when her hand was in his; when he was kissing her. She closed -her eyes in an ecstasy of delightful remembrance … She was recalled -to herself by a sudden jar; in her momentary forgetfulness she had run -up a bank. -</p> - -<p> -It was a shock to her when her eyes opened to see how different were -her surroundings from her thoughts. Those hours when they sat together -where the sunbeams stole through the trees would afford her many a -comparison in the time to come. All was now dark and dank and chill. -The mist was thickening every instant; she could hardly see the road -ahead of her. -</p> - -<p> -However, she had to go on, mist or no mist; at least till she should -reach some place whence she could telegraph to her father. With a pang -she realised that she must not wire also to Him as she would have -loved to have done. It would only upset and alarm him, poor fellow! -and he had quite anxiety enough in thinking of her already! … With a -heavy heart she crawled along through the mist, steering by the -road-bed as well as she could, keeping a sharp look-out for -cross-roads and all the dangers of the way. -</p> - -<p> -The time seemed to fly, but not the car; the road appeared to be -endless. Would she never come to any hospitable place! … It was a -surprise to her when she came on straggling cottages, and found -herself between double rows of houses. Painted over a door she saw -“Crocketford Post-Office.” In her heart she thanked God that she was -still on the right road, though she had only as yet come some dozen or -more miles. It seemed as if a week had passed since she left Dalry … -and … She drew up to the post-office and went in. There she sent a -wire: -</p> - -<p> -“Went out motoring caught here in mist am going on however but must -arrive very late so do not be anxious about me. Love to Mother and -Aunt Judy and dear Daddy. Joy.” -</p> - -<p> -When she had handed it in she looked at her watch. It was only -half-past five o’clock! -</p> - -<p> -It was still therefore on the verge of possibility that she might get -back in time. She hurried out. Several people had gathered round the -motor, which was throbbing away after the manner of motors, as though -impatient to get to real work. A policeman who was amongst them, -seeing that she was about to go on, suggested that she should have her -lamps lit as it would be a protection as well as a help to her in the -mist. She was about to say that she thought it would be better not; -for she did not know anything about acetylene lamps and feared to -expose her ignorance, when he very kindly offered to light them for -her: -</p> - -<p> -“’Tis no wark for a bonny leddy!” he said in self-justification of -bending his official dignity to the occasion. She felt that his -courtesy demanded some explanation, and also that such explanation -would, be accounting for her being all alone, avoid any questioning. -So said sweetly: -</p> - -<p> -“Thank you so much, officer. I really do not know much about lamps -myself and I had to leave my … my husband, who was driving, at -Dalry. He was going too fast, and your people had a word to say to -him. However, I can get on all right now. This is a straight road to -Dumfries is it not?” The road was pointed out and instructions given -to keep the high road to Dumfries. With better heart and more courage -than heretofore she drove out into the mist. There was comfort for her -in the glare of the powerful lights always thrown out in front of her. -</p> - -<p> -All went well now. The road was distinctly good, and the swift smooth -motion restored her courage. When in about half an hour she began to -note the cottages and houses grouping in the suburbs of Dumfries she -got elated. She was now well on the way to England! She knew from -experience that the road to Annan, by which they had come, was fairly -level. She did not mind the mist so much, now that she was accustomed -to it; and she expected that as it was driving up northwards from the -Firth she would be free from it altogether when she should have passed -the Border and was on her way south to Carlisle. -</p> - -<p> -In the meanwhile she was more anxious than as yet. The mist seemed to -have settled down more here than in the open country. There were -lights in many windows in the suburbs, and the street lamps were lit. -It is strange how the perspective of lines of lamps gets changed when -one is riding or driving or cycling in mist or fog. If one kept the -centre of the road it would be all right; but as one keeps of -necessity to the left the lines between the lamps which guide the eye -change with each instant. The effect is that straight lines appear to -be curved; and if the driver loses nerve and trusts to appearances he -will soon come to grief. This was Joy’s first experience of driving in -mist, and she naturally fell into the error. She got confused as to -the right and wrong side of the road. She had to fight against the -habit of her life, which instinctively took command when her special -intention was in abeyance. She knew that from Dumfries the road -dropped to the south-east and as the curve seemed away to the left -from her side of the road she, thinking that the road to the left was -the direct road, naturally inclined towards the right hand, when she -came to a place where there were roads to choose. There was no one -about from whom to ask the way; and she feared to descend from the car -to look for a sign-post. The onus of choice was on her, and she took -the right hand thinking it was straight ahead. For some time now she -had been going slow, and time and distance had both spun out to -infinitude; she had lost sense of both. She was tired, wearied to -death with chagrin and responsibility. Everything around her was new -and strange and unknown, and so was full of terrors. She did not know -how to choose. She feared to ask lest the doing so might land her in -new embarrassments. She knew that unless she got home in something -like reasonable time her father would be not only deeply upset but -furiously angry—and all that anger would be visited on Him. Oh she -must get on! It was too frightful to contemplate what might happen -should she have to be out all night … and after having gone out with -a man against whom her father had already a grievance, though he owed -him so much! -</p> - -<p> -The change in the road, however, gave her some consolation; it was -straight and smooth, and as the wind was now more in her face she felt -that she was making southward. But her physical difficulties were -increasing. The wind was much stronger, and the mist came boiling up -so fast that her goggles got blurred more than ever. Everything around -her was becoming wet. -</p> - -<p> -For a few miles—she could only guess at the distance—all went well, -and she got back some courage. She still went slowly and carefully; -she did not mean to have any mischance now if she could help it. It -would not be so very long before she was over the Border. Then most -likely she would be out of the mist and she could put on more speed. -</p> - -<p> -Presently she felt that the car was going up a steep incline. When it -had been running swiftly she had not felt such, but now it was -apparent. It was not a big hill, however, and the run down the other -side was exhilarating, though the fear of some obstacle in front -damped such pleasure as there was. Even then the pace was not fast; -ordinarily it would have been considered as little better than a rapid -crawl. For a while, not long but seeming more than long, the road was -up-and-down till she saw in the dimness of the mist glimpses of -houses, then a few gleams of light from the chinks of shut windows. -Here she went very slowly and tooted often. She feared she might do -some harm; and the slightest harm now might mean delay. She breathed -more freely when she was out in the open again. That episode of the -arrest and the prolonged agitation which followed it had unnerved her -more than she had thought; and now the mist and the darkness and the -uncertainty were playing havoc with her. It was only when she was long -past the little place that she regretted she had not stopped to ask if -she was on the right road. There was nothing for it, however, but to -go on. The road was all up and down, up and down; but the surface was -fairly good, and as the powerful lamps showed her sufficient space -ahead to steer she moved along, though it had to be with an agonising -slowness. How different it all was, she thought, from that -fairy-chariot driving with Him in the morning. The road then seemed -straight and level, and movement was an undiluted pleasure! For an -instant she closed her wearied eyes as she sighed at the change—and -ran off the road-bed. -</p> - -<p> -Happily she was going slowly and recovered herself before more than -the front wheels were on the rough mass of old road-scrapings. In a -couple of seconds she had backed off and was under way again. She was -preternaturally keen now in her outlook. She felt the strain acutely; -for the road seemed to be always curving away from her. Moreover there -was another cause of concern. Night was coming on. Even in the densest -mist or the blackest fog the light or darkness of the sky is to some -degree apparent. Now the sense came on her that over the thick mist -was darkness. She stopped a moment and getting out looked at her watch -in the light of the lamps. -</p> - -<p> -Her heart fell away, away. It was now close to <i>eight</i> o’clock. There -was no use worrying she felt; nothing to be done but to go on, -carefully for the present. When she made up her mind to the worst, her -courage began to come back and she could think. She felt that as the -wind was now strongly in her face she must be nearing the Firth, and -that in time she would pass the Border and be heading for home and -father. She jumped into her seat and was off again. -</p> - -<p> -The fog—she realised now that it was not mist but fog—was thicker -than ever; the wind being strongly in her face, it seemed above the -glare of the powerful lamps, to come boiling up out of the roadway -which she could see but dimly. Fear, vague and gaunt, began to -overshadow her. But there was no use worrying or thinking of anything -except the immediate present which took the whole of her thought and -attention. In the face of her surroundings she dared not go fast, -dared not stop. And so for a time that seemed endless she pressed on -through the fog. Presently she became aware that the wind was now not -so much in her teeth. As she was steering by the road-bed she did not -notice curves; there was no doubt as to her route, as there did not -seem to be any divergent roads at all. On, on, on, on! A road full of -hills, not very high nor especially steep but enough to keep a driver -on constant watch-out. -</p> - -<p> -At last she felt that she was close to the sea. The wind came -fiercely, and the drifting fog seen against the luminous area round -the lamps seemed like a whirlpool. There was a salt smell in the air. -This gave her some hope. If this were the Firth she must be close to -the Border and would soon be at the bridge over which they had entered -Scotland. Instinctively she went forward faster. And at last there -surely was a bridge. A narrow enough bridge it was; as she went slowly -across it she wondered how it was that they had seemed to fly over it -in the morning. -</p> - -<p> -However she could go on now in new hope. She was in England and bye -and bye she would come through the fog-belt, and having passed -Carlisle would drop down through the Lake roads to Ambleside. Though -the fog was dense as ever she did not feel the wind so much; she -crowded on—she did not dare go much faster as yet and as she was now -climbing a long steep hill she ceased to notice it. After a while, -when there came a stronger puff than usual, she noticed that it was on -her back—the high hood of the car had protected her for some time -past. After a little however the old fear came back upon her. At the -present rate of progress to reach home at any time, however late, -seemed an impossibility. And all was so dark, and the fog was so -dense; and the road didn’t seem a bit like that they had come by -between Carlisle and the Border. All at once she found that she was -crying—crying bitterly. She did not want to stop the car, and so -dared not take her hands from the wheel, even to find her -pocket-handkerchief. She wept and wept; wept her heart out, whilst all -the time mechanically steering by the light of the lamps on the road. -Her weeping aided the density of the fog, and with her eyes set on the -road and the driving wheel in her hands she did not notice that she -was going between houses. She came to a bridge, manifestly of a little -more importance than the one she had already passed, and crossed it. -The road swayed away to the left; presently this was crossed by -another almost at right angles, but she kept straight on. There was no -one from whom to ask the way; and had there been anyone she probably -would not have seen him. A little way on there was another cross-road -but of minor importance; then further on she came to a place of -difficult choice. Another cross-road, again almost at right angles; -but the continuance of the road she was on showed it to be but a poor -road ill-kept. So, too, was that to her left; but the road to the -right was broad and well kept. It was undoubtedly the main road; and -so keeping to the rule she had hitherto obeyed, she followed it. -</p> - -<p> -She was now feeling somehow in better heart; the fit of crying had -relieved her, and some of her courage had come back. She wanted -comforting—wanted it badly; but those whose comfort only could -prevail were far away; one behind her in Scotland, the others still -far away at Ambleside. The latter thought made her desperate. She put -on more speed—and with her thoughts and anxieties not in the present -but the future, ran up a steep bank. There was a quick snap of -something in front of the car; the throbbing of the engine suddenly -ceased. With the shock she had been thrown forward upon the wheel, but -fortunately the speed had not been great enough to cause her serious -injury. The lamps made the fog sufficiently luminous for her -movements, and she scrambled out of the car. She knew she could do -nothing, for she was absolutely ignorant of the mechanism, and she had -no mechanical skill. The only thing she could do was to go along the -road on the blind chance of meeting or finding some one who could help -her, or who might be able to assist her in finding better help. And so -with a heavy heart, and feet that felt like lead, she went out into -the fog. It was a wrench for her to leave the car which in the -darkness and the unknown mystery of the fog seemed by comparison a -sort of home or shelter. It was an evidence of the mechanical habit of -the mind, which came back to her later, that through all her weariness -and distress she thought to pin up her white frock before setting out -on the dusty journey. -</p> - -<p> -It was astonishing how soon the little patch of light disappeared. -When she had taken but a few steps she looked back and found all as -dark as it was before her. One thing alone there was which saved her -from utter despair: the fog seemed not to be so absolutely dense. In -reality it was not that the fog had lessened, but that her eyes, so -long accustomed to the glare of the lamps which had prevented her -seeing beyond the radius of their power, had now come back to their -normal focus. Though the darkness seemed more profound than ever, -since there was no point of light whatever, she was actually able to -see better. After all, this fog was a sea mist unladen with city -smoke, and its darkness was a very different thing from the Cimmerian -gloom of a city fog. To her, not accustomed to winter fogs, it was -difficult and terrifying. When, however, she began to realise, though -unconsciously, that the nebulous wall in front of her fell back with -every step she took, her heart began to beat more regularly, and she -breathed more freely. It was a terrible position for a delicately -nurtured girl to be in. Though she was a brave girl with a full share -of self-reliance her absolute ignorance of all around her—even as to -what part of the country she was in—had a somewhat paralysing effect -upon her. However she had courage and determination. Her race as well -as her nature told for her. Her heart might beat hard and her feet be -heavy but at any rate she would go on her set road whilst life and -strength and consciousness remained to her. She shut her teeth, and in -blind despair moved forward in the fog. -</p> - -<p> -In all her after life Joy could never recall the detail of that -terrible walk. Like most American girls she was unused to long walks; -and after a couple of miles she felt wearied to death. The long -emotional strain of the day had told sorely on her strength, and the -hopeless nerve-racking tramp on the unknown road through the gloom and -mystery of the fog had sapped her natural strength. Looking back on -that terrible journey she could remember no one moment from the other, -from the time that she lost sight of the lamps until she found herself -in a dip in the road passing under a railway bridge. The recognition -of the fact reanimated her. It was an evidence that there was some -kind of civilisation somewhere—a fact that she had begun in a vague -way to doubt. She would follow that line if she could, for it must -lead her to some place where she might find help; where she could send -reassuring word to her father, and where there would be shelter. -Shelter! At the first gleam of hope her own deplorable position was -forced upon her, and she realised all at once her desperate weariness. -She could now hardly drag herself along. -</p> - -<p> -Beyond the railway there was a branch road to the left; and this she -determined to follow, rather than the main road which went away from -the line. She stumbled along it as well as she could. The time seemed -endless. In her weariness the flicker of hope which her juxtaposition -to the railway had given her died soon away. The fog seemed denser, -and the darkness blacker than ever. -</p> - -<p> -The road dipped again under the line; she was glad of that; manifestly -she was not straying from it. She hurried on instinctively; found the -road wider, and rougher with much use. Her heart beat hard once again, -but this time it was with hope. -</p> - -<p> -And then, right in front of her, was a dim gleam of light. This so -overcame her that she had to sit down for a moment on the road side. -The instant’s rest cheered her; she jumped to her feet as though her -strength had been at once restored. Feeling in her heart a prayer -which her lips had not time to utter, she climbed over a wire fence -between her and the light; stumbled across a rough jumble of sleepers -and railway irons. Then the light was over her head—the rays were -manifest on the fog. She called out: -</p> - -<p> -“Hullo! Hullo! Is there any one awake?” Almost instantly the window -through which the light shone was opened and a man looked out: -</p> - -<p> -“Aye! A’m awake! Did ye think A’d be sleepin’ on a nicht like this. -’Tis nae time for a signal-man to be aught but awake A’m tellin’ ye.” -</p> - -<p> -“Thank God, oh thank God!” Joy’s heart was too full for the moment to -say more. The man leaned further out: -</p> - -<p> -“Is yon a lassie? What are ye daein’ here a nicht like this? Phew! A -canna see ma ain hond!” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, I’m a girl and I’m lost. Will you let me come in?” The man’s -voice became instantly suspicious. -</p> - -<p> -“Na! na! A canna let ye in. ’Tis no in accord wi’ the Company’s rules -to let a lassie intil the signal-box. Why don’t ye go intil the toon?” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh do let me in for a moment,” she pleaded. “I have been lost in the -fog, and my motor broke down. I have had to walk so far that I am -wearied and tired and frightened; and the sight of a light and the -hope of help has finished me!” She sat right down on the ground and -began to cry. He heard her sob, and it woke all the man in him. This -was no wandering creature whose presence at such a time and place -might make trouble for him. He knew from the voice that the woman was -young and refined. -</p> - -<p> -“Dinna greet puir lassie!—Dinna greet. A canna leave the box for an -instant lest a signal come. But go roond to the recht and ye’ll find a -door. Come recht up! Rules or no rules A’m no gangin’ to let ye greet -there all by yer lanes. There’s fire here, and when ye’re warmed A can -direct ye on yer way intil the toon!” -</p> - -<p> -With glad steps she groped her way to the door. A flood of light -seemed to meet her when she opened it, and she hurried up the steep -stairs to where the signal-man held open the upper door. -</p> - -<p> -“Coom in lassie an hae a soop o’ ma tea. ’Tis fine and warrm! … Coom -in and let me offer ye some refreshment, an’ if A may mak sae bold may -A offer ye all A hae that’ll warm ye? Coom in ma’am. Coom in ma -leddie!” he said in a crescendo of welcome and respect as he saw Joy’s -fine motor coat and recognised her air of distinction. -</p> - -<p> -Glad indeed was Joy to drink from the worthy fellow’s tin tea-bottle -which rested beside the stove; glad to sit down in front of the fire. -Then indeed she felt the magnitude of her weariness, and in a minute -would have been asleep. -</p> - -<p> -But the thought of her father, and all that depended on her action and -his knowledge, wakened her to full intellectual activity. She stood up -at once and said quickly: -</p> - -<p> -“What place is this?” -</p> - -<p> -“The signal-box of Castle Douglas Junction.” -</p> - -<p> -“And where is that? I think I have heard the name before.” -</p> - -<p> -“’Tis a toon as they ca’ it here. The junction is o’ the Glasgie an’ -South Western, the Caledonian, the Port Patrich an’ Wigtownshire, the -London an’ North Western, an’ the Midland lines. But for short there -are but twa. One frae Kirkcudbright, an’ th’ ither frae Newton -Stewart.” -</p> - -<p> -“In what country are we?” Seeing the astonishment in his face she went -on: “I am an American, and not familiar with the district. We came -from England this morning—from Westmoreland—from Ambleside—and I am -confused about the Border. I had to drive myself because my—we got -into trouble for driving fast, and I had to come on alone. And then -the fog overtook me. I went along as well as I could. Are we anywhere -near Carlisle?” Her face fell as she saw the shake of his head: -</p> - -<p> -“Eh ma leddie but ye’re mony a mile frae Carlisle. ’Tis over fifty -miles be the line. Ye maun hae lost yer way sair. Ye’re in -Kirkcudbright-shire the noo.” Her heart sank: -</p> - -<p> -“Oh I must send a telegram at once.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ye canna telegraph the nicht ma leddie! The office is closed till -eight the morn’s morn.” -</p> - -<p> -“My God! What shall I do. My father arrived from London to-night and -he does not know where I am. I came out for a drive and thought to be -back in good time to meet him. He will be in despair. Is there no way -in which I can send word? It is not a matter of expenses; I shall pay -anything if it can be done!” She looked at him in an agony of -apprehension. The man was stirred by the depth of emotion and by her -youth and beauty; and his clever Scotch brain began to work. His mouth -set fast in a hard line and his rough heavy brows began to wrinkle. -After a pause he said: -</p> - -<p> -“A’ll do what A can, ma leddie; though A can’t be sure if ’twill wark. -The telegraphs are closed. Even if we could find an operator it -wouldn’t be possible to get the wires. Our own lines are closed, for -we’ll hae no traffic till morn.” Here an idea struck Joy and she -interrupted him: -</p> - -<p> -“Could I not get a special train? I am willing to pay anything?” -</p> - -<p> -“Lord love ye, ma leddy, they don’t have specials on bit lines like -this. Ye couldn’t get one nigher than Glasgie, an’ not there at this -time o’ day. Let alone they’d no send in such a fog anyhow. But I’m -thinkin’ that A can telephone to Dumfries. The operator o’ oor line -there is a freend o’ mine, an’ if he’s on dooty he’ll telephone on to -Carlisle wheer there’s sure to be some one at the place. An’ mayhap -the latter’ll telephone on till Ambleside. So, if there be any awake -there, they’ll send to the hotel. Is it a hotel yer faither’ll be in?” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh thank you, thank you,” said Joy seizing his hand in a burst of -gratitude. “I’ll be for ever grateful to you if you’ll be so good!” -</p> - -<p> -“A’m thinkin’” he went on “that perhaps ’twill cost yer ladyship a -mickle—perhaps a muckle; but A dar say ye’ll no mind that …” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh no, no! It will be pleasure to pay anything. See, I have plenty of -money!” She pulled out her purse. -</p> - -<p> -“Na! na! Not yet ma leddie. ’Tis no for masel—unless yer ladyship -insists on it, later on. ’Tis for the laddies that will do what they -can. Ye see there may be some trouble o’er this. We signal-men and -offeecials generally are not supposed to attend to aught outside o’ -the routine. But if it should be that there is trouble to us puir -folk, A’m sure yer ladyship an’ some o’ yer graan’ freens’ll no see us -wranged!” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh no indeed. My father and Mr. —— and all our friends will see to -it that you shall never suffer, no matter what happens.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well now, ma leddy—if ye’ll joost write down your message A’ll do -what A can. But ’twill be wiser if ye gang awa intil a hotel an’ rest -ye. A can send the message better when A’m quit o’ ye. Forbye ye see -’tis no quite respectable to hae a bonny lassie here ower lang. Ma -wife is apt to be a wee jalous; an’ it’s no wise to gie cause where -nane there is.” -</p> - -<p> -“But I do not know where to go—” she began. He interrupted her -hastily: -</p> - -<p> -“There’s a graan hotel i’ the toon—verra fine it is; but A’m thinkin’ -that yer ladyship, bein’ by yer lonesome, may rather care to go to a -quieter house. An’ as A’d recommend ye to seek the ‘Walter Scott’ -hotel. ’Tis kep by verra decent folk, an’ though small is verra -respectable an’ verra clean. Say that yer kent by Tammas Macpherson -an’ that will vouch for ye, seein’ that ye’re a bit lassie by yer -lanes. ’Tis a most decent place entirely, an’ A’m tellin’ ye that the -Sheriff o’ Galloway himsel’ aye rests there when he comes to the -toon.” -</p> - -<p> -Joy wrote her message on the piece of paper which he had provided -whilst speaking: -</p> - -<p> -“To Col. Ogilvie, Inn of Greeting, Ambleside: Dearest Daddy I have -been caught in a heavy fog and lost, but happily found my way here. I -shall return by the first train in the morning. Love to mother. I am -well and safe. Joy.” -</p> - -<p> -Then the signal man gave her explicit directions as to finding the -house. As she was going away he said with a diffident anxiety: -</p> - -<p> -“To what figure will yer ladyship gang in this—this meenistration? -A’d joost like to ken in case o’ neceesity?” She answered quickly: -</p> - -<p> -“Oh anything you like—twenty-five dollars—I mean five pounds—ten -pounds—twenty—a hundred, anything, anything so that my father gets -the message soon.” He looked amazed for a moment. Then as he held open -the door deferentially he said in a voice in which awe blended with -respect: -</p> - -<p> -“Dinna fash yerself more ma leddie. Yer message will gang for sure; -an’ gang quick. Ye may sleep easy the nicht, an’ wi’out a thocht o’ -doobt. An ’ll leave wi’ ma kinsman Jamie Macpherson o’ the Walter -Scott ma neem an’ address in case yer ladyship wishes me to send to -yon the memorandum o’ the twenty poons.” -</p> - -<p> -Joy found her way without much difficulty to the Walter Scott. The -house was all shut up, but she knocked and rang; and presently the -door was unchained and opened. The Boots looked for a moment doubtful -when he saw a lady alone; but when she said: -</p> - -<p> -“I am lost in the fog, and Mr. Thomas Macpherson of the railway told -me I should get lodging here,” he opened the door wide and she walked -in. He chained the door, and left her for a few minutes; but returned -with a young woman who eyed her up and down somewhat suspiciously. Joy -seemed to smell danger and said at once: -</p> - -<p> -“I got lost in the fog, and the motor met with an accident. So I had -to leave it on the road and walk on.” -</p> - -<p> -“An’ your shawfer?” asked the doubting young woman. -</p> - -<p> -“He got into trouble for driving too fast, and had to be left behind.” -</p> - -<p> -“Very weel, ma’am. What name shall A put down?” -</p> - -<p> -Joy’s mind had been working. Her tiredness and her sleepiness were -brushed aside by the pert young woman’s manifest suspicion. She -remembered Mr. Hardy’s caution not to give her own name; and now, face -to face with a direct query, remembered and used the one which had -been given to her on the <i>Cryptic</i>. It had this advantage that it -would put aside any suspicion or awkwardness arising from her -unprotected position, arriving as she did in such an un-accredited -way. So she answered at once: -</p> - -<p> -“Athlyne. Lady Athlyne!” The young woman seemed impressed. Saying: -“Excuse me a moment” she went into the bar where she lit a candle. She -came back in a moment and said very deferentially: -</p> - -<p> -“It’s ’all recht yer ladyship. There’s twa rooms, a sittin’-room an’ a -bed-room. They were originally kept for the Sheriff, but he sent word -that he was no comin’. So when the wire came frae th’ ither pairty the -rooms were kept for him. When no one arrived the name was crossed aff -the slate. But it’s a’ recht! Shall I light a fire yer Leddyship?” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh no! I only require a bedroom. I must get away by the first train -in the morning. I shall just lie down as I am. If you can get me a -glass of milk and a biscuit that is all I require. If it were possible -I should like the milk hot; but if that is not convenient it won’t -matter.” As they went upstairs the girl said: -</p> - -<p> -“Ye’ll forgie me yer Leddyship, but I didna ken wha ye were. Mrs. -Macpherson was early up to bed the nicht, when the fog had settled -doon and she knew there was no more traffic. To-morrow is a heavy day -here, and things keep up late; and she wanted to be ready for it. An’ -she’s michty discreet aboot ony comin’ here wi’oot—wi’oot——” She -realised that she was getting into deep water and turned the -conversation. “There is yer candle lit. The fire in the kitchen is -hearty yet, an’ I’ll bring yer milk hot in the half-o’ two-twos. I’ll -leave word that ye’re to be called in good time in the morn.” -</p> - -<p> -Within a few minutes she came back with the hot milk. Joy was too -tired and too anxious to eat; and refusing all proffers of service and -of help as to clothing, bade the girl good night. She just drank the -milk; and having divested herself of her shoes and stockings which -were soiled with travel and of all but her under-clothing, crept in -between the sheets. The warmth and the luxury of rest began to tell at -once; within a very few minutes she was sound asleep. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch17"> -CHAPTER XVII.<br/> -<span class="chap_sub">THE SHERIFF</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">It</span> was late in the afternoon when the Sheriff rode into Dalry. The -police sergeant spoke to him, and he kindly came into the station. -There the sergeant put the matter before him. He was an elderly man, -hearty and genial and with a pleasant manner which made every man his -friend. When he heard the details of the case, regarding which the -policeman asked his advice, he smiled and took snuff and said -pleasantly to the officer: -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t think ye need be uneasy in your mind. After all ’tis only a -matter of a fine; and as the chauffeur is ready to pay it, whatever it -may be; and is actually in your custody having as you say more than -sufficient money upon him to pay the maximum penalty hereto inflicted -for furious driving in this shire, I think you will not get much blame -for allowing the lady to go away in the car to a ‘foreign country,’ as -you call it. I suppose sir” turning to Athlyne “you can get good bail -if required?” -</p> - -<p> -“I think so” said Athlyne smiling. “I suppose a Deputy Lieutenant of -Ross Shire is good enough;” whereupon he introduced himself to the -Sheriff. They chatted together a few minutes and then, as he went to -his horse which a policeman was holding at the door, he said to the -sergeant: -</p> - -<p> -“I must not, as Sheriff, be bail myself. But if any bail is required I -undertake to get it; so I think you needn’t detain his lordship any -longer. You’d better serve the summons on him for the next Session and -then everything will be in order.” -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne walked down the village with him, he leading his horse. When -he knew that Athlyne was going to walk to Castle Douglas so as to be -ready to catch his train to the south he said: -</p> - -<p> -“To-morrow is a busy day there and you may find it hard to get rooms -at the Douglas, especially as the fog will detain many travellers. Now -I had my rooms reserved at the Walter Scott, kept by an old servant of -mine, where I always stay. An hour gone I wired countermanding them as -I am going to stay the night with Mulgrave of Ennisfour where I am -dining; so perhaps you had better wire over and secure them. I shall -be there myself in the morning as I have work in Castle Douglas, but -that need not interfere with you. If you go early you may be off -before I get there.” -</p> - -<p> -“I do not want to go South very early; so I hope you will breakfast -with me if I am still there.” The genial old Sheriff shook his head: -</p> - -<p> -“No, no. You must breakfast with me. I am in my own bailiwick and you -must let me be your host.” -</p> - -<p> -“All right!” said Athlyne heartily. The old man who had been looking -at him kindly all the time now said: -</p> - -<p> -“Tell me now—and you won’t think me rude or inquisitive; but you’re a -young man and I’m an old one, and moreover sheriff—can I do anything -for you? The Sergeant told me you were in a state of desperate anxiety -to get away—or at any rate to let the lady get off; and I couldn’t -help noticing myself that you are still anxious. The policeman said -she was young, and much upset about it all. Can I serve you in any -way? If I can, it will I assure you be a pleasure to me.” He was so -frank and kind and hearty that Athlyne’s heart warmed to him. Moreover -he was upset himself, poor fellow; and though he was a man and a -strong one, was more than glad to unburden his heart to some one who -would be a sympathetic listener: -</p> - -<p> -“The fact is, sir, that the young lady who was with me came for a -drive from Ambleside and we came on here on the spur of the moment. -Her father had gone to London and returns this evening; and as no one -knew that I—that she had gone out motoring he will be anxious about -her. Naturally neither she nor I wish to make him angry. You will -understand when I tell you that she and I are engaged to be married. -He does not know this—though” here he remembered the letter he had -posted at Ambleside “he will doubtless know soon. Unhappily he had -some mistaken idea about me. A small matter which no one here would -give a second thought to: but he is a Kentuckian and they take some -things very much to heart. This was nothing wrong—not in any way; but -all the same his taking further offence at me, as he would do if he -heard from someone else that she had been motoring with me without his -sanction, might militate against her happiness—and mine. So you can -imagine Mr. Sheriff, how grateful I am to you for your kindness.” The -sheriff paused before replying. He had been thinking—putting two and -two together: “They are engaged—but her father doesn’t know it. Then -the engagement was made only to-day. No wonder they were upset and -anxious. No wonder he drove fast. … Ah, Youth! Youth!” … -</p> - -<p> -“I understand, my lord. Well, you did quite right to get the lady -away; though it was a hazardous thing for her to start off alone in -the mist.” -</p> - -<p> -“It hadn’t come on then, sir. Had it been so I should never have let -her go alone—no matter what the consequences might be! But I hope -she’s out of it and close to home by this time.” -</p> - -<p> -“Aye that’s so. Still she was wise to go. It avoids all possibility of -scandal. Poor bairn! I’m hoping she got off South before the fog came -on too thick. It’s drifting up from the Firth so that when once she -would have crossed the Border most like it would have been clear enow. -Anyhow under the circumstances you are right to stay here. Then there -can be no talk whatever. And her father will have had time to cool -down by the time ye meet. -</p> - -<p> -“We’re parting here, my Lord. Good-bye and let me wish ye both every -form of human happiness. Perhaps by morn you will have had some news; -and I’m hoping ye’ll be able to tell me of her safe arrival.” -</p> - -<p> -At the cross roads the men parted. The Sheriff rode on his way to -Ennisfour, and Athlyne went back to Dalry. He ordered his dinner, and -then went out to send a telegram at the little post office. His -telegram ran: -</p> - -<div class="letter"> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">To Walter Scott Hotel Castle Douglas</span> -</p> - -<p> -Keep rooms given up by Sheriff for to-night. -</p> - -<p class="sign2"> -<span class="sc">Athlyne</span>. -</p> - -</div> - -<p> -He had written the telegram through without a pause. The signature was -added unhesitatingly, though not merely instinctively. He had done -with falsity; henceforth he would use his own name, and that only. He -felt freer than he had done for many a day. -</p> - -<p> -He ate his dinner quietly; he was astonished at himself that he could -take matters so calmly. It was really that he now realised that he had -done all he could. There was nothing left but to wait. In the earlier -part of that waiting he was disturbed and anxious. Difficulties and -dangers and all possible matters of concern obtruded themselves upon -his thought in endless succession. But as time wore on the natural -optimism of his character began to govern his thinking. Reason still -worked freely enough, but she took her orders from the optimistic side -and brought up arrays of comforting facts and deductions. -</p> - -<p> -It was with renewed heart and with a hopeful spirit that he set out on -his road to Castle Douglas. He had deliberately chosen to walk instead -of taking a carriage or riding. He did not want to arrive early in the -evening, and he calculated that the sixteen miles would take him -somewhere about four hours to walk. The exercise would, whilst it -killed the time which he had to get through, give him if not ease of -mind at least some form of mental distraction. Such, he felt, must be -his present anodyne—his guarantee of sanity. As he had no luggage of -any kind he felt perfectly free; the only addition to his equipment -was a handful of cigars to last him during the long walk. -</p> - -<p> -He had left Dalry some miles behind him when he began to notice the -thickening of the mist. After a while when this became only too -apparent he began to hesitate as to whether it would not be wiser to -return. By this time he realised that it was no mere passing cloud of -vapour which was driving up from the south, but a sea fog led inward -through the narrowing Firth; he could smell the iodine of the sea in -his nostrils. But he decided to go on his way. He remembered fairly -well the road which he had traversed earlier in the day. Though a -rough road and somewhat serpentine as it followed the windings of the -Ken and the Dee, it was so far easy to follow that there were no -bifurcations and few cross-roads. And so with resolute heart—for -there was something to overcome here—and difficulty meant to him -distraction from pain—he pushed on into the growing obscurity of the -fog. -</p> - -<p> -On the high ground above Shirmers he felt the wind driving more keenly -in his face; but he did not pause. He trudged on hopefully; every step -he took was bringing him closer to England—and to Joy. Now it was -that he felt the value of the stout walking cudgel that he had -purchased from a passing drover. For in the fog he was like a blind -man; sight needed the friendly aid of touch. -</p> - -<p> -But it was dreadfully slow work, and at the end of a few hours he was -wearied out with the overwhelming sense of impotence and the ceaseless -struggling with the tiniest details of hampered movement. Being on -foot and of slow progress he had one advantage over travelling on -horseback or in a vehicle: he was able to take advantage of every -chance opportunity of enlightenment. From passing pedestrians and at -wayside cottages he gathered directions for his guidance. It was -midnight—the town clock was striking—when he entered Castle Douglas -and began to inquire his way to the Walter Scott hotel. -</p> - -<p> -After repeated knocking the door was opened by the Boots—a heavy, -thick-headed, sleepy, tousled man, surly and grudging of speech. -Athlyne pushed past him into the hall way and said: -</p> - -<p> -“I wired here in the afternoon to have kept for me the Sheriff’s -rooms. Did my telegram arrive.” -</p> - -<p> -“Aye. It kem a’recht. But that was all that kem. Ye was expectit, an’ -the missis kep the rooms for ye till late; but when ye didna come she -gied ye up an’ let anither pairty that was lost i’ the fog hae the -bedroom. All that’s left is the parlour, an that we can hae an ye -will. Forbye that ye’ll hae to sleep on the sofy. A’m thinkin’ it’s -weel it’s o’er long than ordinair’, for ye’re no a ween yersel. Bide -wheer y’ are, an’ A’ll fetch ye a rug or two an’ a cushion. Ye maun -put up wi’ them the nicht for ye’ll git nane ither here.” He left him -standing in the dark; and shuffled away down a dim stairway, to the -basement. -</p> - -<p> -In a few minutes he re-appeared with a bundle of rugs and pillows -under his arm; in his hand was a bottle of whiskey, with the drawn -cork partly re-inserted. With the deftness of an accomplished servitor -he carried in his other hand, together with the candle, a pitcher of -water and a tumbler. As he went up the staircase he said in a whisper: -</p> - -<p> -“Man, walk saft as ye gang; an’ dinna cough nor sneeze or mak’ a soond -in the room or ye’ll maybe waken th’ ither body. Joost gang like a man -at a carryin’. An’ mind ye dinna snore! Lie ye like a bairn! What time -shall A ca’ ye?” -</p> - -<p> -“I want to catch the morning train for the south.” -</p> - -<p> -“That’ll be a’recht. A’ll ca’ ye braw an’ airly!” -</p> - -<p> -“Good night!” said Athlyne as he softly closed the door. -</p> - -<p> -He spread one rug on the sofa, which supplemented by a chair, was of -sufficient length; put the other ready to cover himself, and fixed the -cushions. Having stripped to his flannels he blew out the candle, and, -without making a sound, turned in. He was wearied in mind and nerve -and body, and the ease of lying down acted like a powerful narcotic. -Within a minute he was sound asleep. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch18"> -CHAPTER XVIII.<br/> -<span class="chap_sub">PURSUIT</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">Colonel Ogilvie</span> found his wife in excellent health and spirits. The -cure had been effective, and the prospect of meeting Joy so filled her -with delight that her youth seemed to be renewed. He could see, when -the morning light was admitted to their bedroom, that her eyes were -bright and her cheeks rosy; and all her movements were alert and -springy. Judy too, when they went to breakfast, looked well and was in -good spirits; but there was something about her which he could not -understand. It was not that she was quick of intellect and speech, for -such had been always her habit; it was not that she was eager, for she -was not always so; it was not that she was exuberantly fond of -Joy—she had never been anything else. But there seemed now to be some -sort of elusive background to all her thoughts. He began to wonder in -a vague way if it were possible that she had fallen in love. She -asked, after her usual manner, a host of questions about Joy and about -the visit to the Lakes; where they had been and who they had seen; and -of all the little interests and happenings during the time of -separation. Colonel Ogilvie felt a little wearied of it all. He had -already covered the ground with the girl’s mother, for arriving in the -grey of the dawn, he had gone straight to his wife’s room where he had -rested till breakfast time. There he had told her all that he could -remember. With, however, the patient courtesy which had not as yet in -his life failed him with women he went over all the ground again with -Judy. He could not but be struck with Judy’s questioning on one -subject: whether they had met at Ambleside any special acquaintance. -He concluded that she meant Mr. Hardy, and asked her if such were the -case. She blushed so brightly when she admitted it that he conceived -the idea that the peccant Englishman was the object of her affection. -Then, as she dropped that subject of questioning, he, in order to draw -her out, went on: -</p> - -<p> -“But my dear Judy it was not possible that we could have seen him. He -has not seemed particularly anxious to meet us; and even if he was -anxious he could not have done it as he did not know where we were.” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, yes he did!” The Colonel was surprised; the tone of her words -carried conviction of truthfulness. He answered quickly: -</p> - -<p> -“He did! How on earth do you know that?” Judy in her emotional -interest answered without thinking. -</p> - -<p> -“Because I told him so!” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, you saw him then?” Again she answered without thought: -</p> - -<p> -“No, but I wrote to him.” -</p> - -<p> -“How do you know that he got your letter?” -</p> - -<p> -“Because he answered it!” She would have given all she possessed to -have been silent or to have answered more discreetly when she saw her -brother-in-law’s face wrinkle into a hard smile, and noted the cruel -keenness of his eyes and the cynical smile on his mouth. She answered -sharply; and, as is usual, began the instant after, to pay the penalty -for such sharpness. His voice seemed to rasp her very soul as he said: -</p> - -<p> -“I am glad to hear that the gentleman has consideration for some -one—even a lady—who writes to him. But to my mind such but -emphasises his rudeness—if for the moment I may call it so—of his -conduct to others. As for myself when I meet the gentleman—should I -ever have the good fortune to do so—I shall require him to answer for -this insult—amongst others!” -</p> - -<p> -“Insult?” murmured Judy in a panic of apprehension. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, my dear Judith. There is no stronger word; had there been I -should have used it. When the same man who does <i>not</i> answer my -letters, or write even to accept or decline my proffered hospitality -carries on at the same time a clandestine correspondence with ladies -of my family he shall have to answer to me for it. By God he shall!” -Judy thought silence wiser than any form of words, and remained mute. -Colonel Ogilvie went on in the same cold, rasping voice: -</p> - -<p> -“May I ask you, Miss Hayes,”—“Miss Hayes, my God!” thought poor Judy -trembling. He went on: “if my daughter has had any meeting or -correspondence with him?” -</p> - -<p> -“No! No! No!” cried Judy. “I can answer for that.” -</p> - -<p> -“Indeed! May I ask how you can speak with certainty on such a subject. -I thought you were in Italy and that my daughter had been with me.” In -despair she spoke impulsively: -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t <i>know</i>, Lucius. How could I—I only think so.” -</p> - -<p> -“Exactly! Then you are but giving your opinion! For that my dear -Judith I am much obliged; but it has been for so long my habit to -judge for myself in matters of those mutual relations between men -which we call ‘honour’ that I have somehow come to trust my own -opinion in preference to that of any one else—even you my dear -Judith—and to act upon it.” Then, seeing the red flush of anger and -humiliation in her cheeks whilst the tears seemed to leap into her -eyes, he felt that he had gone too far and added: -</p> - -<p> -“I trust that you will forgive me, my dear sister, if I have caused -you unnecessary pain. Unhappily pain must follow such dereliction of -duty as has been shown by that young man, and by you too; but believe -me I would spare you if I could. But I can promise—and do so -now—that I shall not again forget myself and speak bitterly, out of -the bitterness of my heart as I have done. I pray your forgiveness, -and trust that it may be extended to me.” The cynical words and tone -of his apology, however it may have been meant, only added fuel to her -anger. Words were inadequate, so she sought refuge in flight. As she -went out of the door she heard Colonel Ogilvie say as if to himself: -</p> - -<p> -“I may not know how to speak to women; but thank God, I do know how to -deal with that damned fellow!” -</p> - -<p> -Judy threw herself on her bed in a storm of futile passion. She could -not but feel that she had been brutally treated; but she was powerless -to either resent or explain. But well she knew that she had helped to -leave matters worse for poor Joy than they had been. All the anger -that Colonel Ogilvie had been repressing had now blazed out. He had -expressed himself, and she had never known such expression of his to -fail in tragic consequences. He would now never forgive Mr. Hardy for -his double sins of omissions and commission. She was sorry for the -young man’s sake; but was in anguish for the sake of the poor girl who -had, she felt and knew, set her heart upon him. Joy’s romance in which -her heart—her whole being and her future happiness—had been embarked -was practically over, though she did not know it as yet. All the -life-long brightness that even her father had ever hoped for her was -gone. Henceforth she would be only a poor derelict, like Judy herself, -wrecked on a lee shore! Judy had always pitied herself, but she had -never realized the cause of that pity as she did now, seen as it was -through the eyes of loving sympathy. -</p> - -<div class="quote_o"><div class="quote_i"> -<p class="i0">“I pitied my own heart,</p> -<p class="i0">As if I held it in my hand,</p> -<p class="i0">Somewhat coldly,—with a sense</p> -<p class="i0">Of fulfilled benevolence,</p> -<p class="i0">And a ‘Poor thing’ negligence.”</p> -</div></div> - -<p> -Colonel Ogilvie went out in a very militant humour to interview the -motor-agent. He felt angry with himself for having lost his -temper—and to a lady; and his anger had to be visited on some one. In -any case he considered that the motor people had treated him scurvily -and should suffer accordingly. In reality he was in a reaction from -great happiness. He was an affectionate husband who had been deeply -concerned at his wife’s long illness, and lonely and distraught in her -long absence. Only that morning he had met her again and had found her -quite restored to health and as though she had regained her youth. He -had shared in her pleasure at the good account he had to give of Joy. -It was, after all, perhaps natural to a man of his peculiar -temperament to visit heavily his displeasure on the man who had, to -his mind, ill-used him, and on all concerned with him in the doing. -Mr. Hardy it was who had jarred the wheels of his chariot of pleasure; -and Mr. Hardy it was who must ultimately answer to him for so doing. -</p> - -<p> -The expression of his opinions as to the moral and commercial worth of -the motor-agent and of the manufacturer with whom he dealt seemed to -relieve his feelings to some degree; he returned to Brown’s in a much -milder frame of mind than that in which he had gone out. He was kept -pretty busy till the time of departure, but in his secret heart—made -up to action during the time of his work—he determined to try to make -amends to Judy for the pain he had given her. He rejoiced now that his -wife had not been present at that scene which it already pained him to -look back upon. -</p> - -<p> -He was somewhat incensed that as he could not leave by his intended -train he would have to postpone the journey by several hours. He could -not now arrive at Ambleside till nearly midnight. -</p> - -<p> -In the train he took the first opportunity of making the <i>amende</i> to -Judy. Mrs. Ogilvie had fallen asleep—she had been awake since very -early in the morning, so the Colonel said quietly to his -sister-in-law: -</p> - -<p> -“Judy I want you to forgive me, if you can.” She thrilled with -pleasure as he spoke her name in the familiar form. It seemed some -sort of presage of a change for the better, a sort of lifting of the -ban which had all day lain so heavy on her. As he went on her hopes -grew; there were possibilities that, after all, Joy was not yet -finally doomed to unhappiness. At all times Colonel Ogilvie was -impressive in his manner; the old-fashioned courtesy on which he had -long ago founded himself was permeated with conscious self-esteem. Now -when the real earnestness of the moment was grafted upon this -pronounced manner he seemed to the last degree dignified—almost -pompous: -</p> - -<p> -“I cannot tell you how sorry I am that I caused you pain this morning, -or how ashamed I am for having so lost my temper before you. For more -than twenty years I have honestly tried, my dear, to make you happy.” -Here she interrupted him: “And you succeeded Lucius!” He rose and -bowed gravely: -</p> - -<p> -“Thank you, my dear. I am grateful to you for that kindly expression. -It does much, I assure you, to mitigate the poignancy of my present -concern. It was too bad of me to let my bitterness so wound you. It -shall not occur again. Moreover I feel that I owe you something; and I -promise you that if I should be so—so overcome again by anger I shall -try to obey you to the best of my power. You shall tell me what you -wish me to do; and if I can I shall try to do it.” Here a look of -caution, rare to him, overspread his face: “I won’t promise to give up -a purpose of my life or brook any interference with the course of -honour—that I can promise to no one, not even to you my dear. But if -I can grant any consideration—or—or favour I shall certainly try to -do so!” -</p> - -<p> -Judy was not so well satisfied with the end of the promise as with the -beginning. But it was hopeful of better things for the future; so she -meekly and gratefully accepted it <i>en bloc</i>. -</p> - -<p> -When they arrived at Ambleside it was dark and the lamps of the -station lent but a dim light. It became evident to Mrs. Ogilvie and -Judy that Colonel Ogilvie was disappointed at not finding Joy awaiting -them on the platform. He had, during the journey, explained to them -with some elaboration that they were not to expect her as he had said -there was no need of her coming; but, all the same, he had himself -expected her. As the train drew up he had leaned out of the window -looking carefully along the whole range of the platform. When, -however, he ascertained that she was not there, he turned his -attention to Judy whom he observed prolonging the search. His mind at -once went back to his original concern that there was something -between her and Mr. Hardy. She heard him say to himself fiercely under -his breath: -</p> - -<p> -“That damned fellow again!” She did not of course understand that it -was with reference to herself, and took it that it presaged ill to -Joy. She knew from Colonel Ogilvie’s expression and bearing that the -man he had now grown to hate was in his mind, and with a heavy heart -she took her place in the waiting landau. -</p> - -<p> -When the carriage arrived at the hotel Colonel Ogilvie jumped out and -ran up the steps. This was so unlike his usual courtesy that it not -only pained the two ladies but made them anxious. When Colonel Ogilvie -forgot his habitual deference to women something serious indeed must -have been in his mind! When they followed, which they did as quickly -as they could, they found him in the hall reading a telegram. A -railway envelope lay on the table, and beside it a little pile of -letters. When he had finished reading the first telegram he opened the -second and read it also. All the time his face was set in a grim -frown, the only relief from which was the wrinkling of his forehead -which betrayed an added anxiety. He handed the two transcripts to his -wife, saying as he did so: -</p> - -<p> -“I have put them in order; one is a few hours earlier than the other!” -Mrs. Ogilvie read in silence and handed the forms to Judy, the Colonel -remaining grimly silent. Mrs. Ogilvie said nothing. When Judy had -turned over the last and looked at the back of it in that helpless -manner which betrays inadequate knowledge, Colonel Ogilvie said: -</p> - -<p> -“Well?” -</p> - -<p> -“I trust the poor child is not in any danger!” said the mother. -</p> - -<p> -“How thoughtful of her to have sent twice. She knew you would be so -anxious about her!” said the aunt, wishing to propitiate the angry -father. For fully a minute no more was said. Then the Colonel spoke: -</p> - -<p> -“She went motoring. In whose car? I have not yet got my own!” As he -was speaking the hotel proprietor came into the hall to pay his -respects, as he usually did with incoming guests. He heard the last -remark and said: -</p> - -<p> -“Pardon me, Colonel Ogilvie. But your car has arrived. The chauffeur -who had charge of it and came in the same train with it to Kirkby -Stephen drove it here some time ago!” Colonel Ogilvie bowed a slight -acknowledgment and turning to Judy said: -</p> - -<p> -“Then it could not be in that car she went. If not, whose car was it? -Whom did she go with? We know no one here who owns a car; and we did -not make any new acquaintances during our stay. Indeed none even of -our old acquaintances did us the honour of calling. But perhaps my -dear Judy,” he spoke with manifest and comforting self-restraint—“you -can enlighten us. Do you know if your friend Mr. Hardy whom you -informed of our being here has a motor car?” Judy feared to -precipitate disaster, and not knowing what to say answered feebly with -a query: -</p> - -<p> -“Why Colonel?” The storm cloud of the father’s wrath instantly broke: -</p> - -<p> -“Why, madam ‘why’!” he almost roared whilst the discreet proprietor -withdrew closing the inner door of the hall behind him—the luggage -was being taken in by the basement door: -</p> - -<p> -“I’ll tell you why if you wish—though perhaps you know it already. -Because I want to know under what circumstances my daughter has gone -out motoring with some stranger—though indeed it may be that he is -not quite a stranger—the moment my back was turned. Let me tell you -that it is not usual for unmarried young ladies to go out motoring -into far away places with men, unchaperoned. My honour—<i>my</i> honour -through my daughter—is here concerned. And it is like that damned -fellow to take her away in such an underhand manner. You need say -nothing of him. It’s no use trying to palliate his conduct. True -enough I don’t know for certain that it is he, or that she is alone -with any man; but I have a conviction that it is so; and I tell you I -shall lose no time in putting my convictions to the test. I mean to -take no chances with regard to that damned fellow. I don’t trust him! -He has already affronted me, and has been tampering with the women of -my family. I have borne even that with what temper I could because I -was under obligation to him. But if, as it would seem, he has run away -with my daughter, I shall brook his insolence no longer. He shall -render me a full account of his doings with me and mine!” He crammed -his letters into his pocket and strode upstairs. There he rang the -bell in such a violent manner that the proprietor himself attended to -it. Colonel Ogilvie asked him to have the chauffeur sent up to him, -and requested the proprietor to come also himself as he wished to ask -him some questions on local matters. He had by now his temper in hand, -and was all the more dangerous because cold. In a few minutes the -proprietor brought in the chauffeur, a stolid, hard-featured, silent -man; manifestly one to obey orders and to stand any amount of fatigue. -When Colonel Ogilvie had looked at his credentials and asked him some -questions, all of which he did with perfect self-control and courtesy, -he turned to the proprietor and asked: -</p> - -<p> -“Can you tell me whereabout is a place called Castle Douglas?” -</p> - -<p> -“In Scotland, Colonel. In Galloway—the part of Scotland just beyond -the Firth of Solway. It is I think in Kirkcudbrightshire.” -</p> - -<p> -“How far from here?” -</p> - -<p> -“Something over a hundred miles I should say.” The father started: -</p> - -<p> -“Good God!” Judy’s heart sank at the exclamation and the tone; his -voice was laden with horror and despair. The new chauffeur’s mouth -opened. He spoke as if every word was grudgingly shot out: -</p> - -<p> -“It is exactly ninety-one and a half miles.” Colonel Ogilvie turned to -him quickly: -</p> - -<p> -“How do you know so accurately; have you driven it?” -</p> - -<p> -“Never sir!” -</p> - -<p> -“Then how do you know?” -</p> - -<p> -“In the train coming down I spent my time looking over the maps and -the distance as given in the books of the Motorists’ Touring Club. I -noted that.” -</p> - -<p> -“Had you any reason for examining that particular route?” asked the -Colonel suspiciously. He was obsessed by an idea that the “damned -fellow” was corrupting everybody so as to work against him, Colonel -Ogilvie. -</p> - -<p> -“None special; I was only trying to do my business well. I thought it -likely that you might want me to stay with you a short time until you -and your permanent chauffeur should become acquainted with the -mechanism of your new car. You see, I was told you were an American, -and the American makes differ somewhat from our own. And as I am -myself looking out for a permanent situation where I should be well -paid, made comfortable, and treated with whatever consideration is due -to a first-rate <i>mechanicien</i> and driver I thought that if I showed -zeal in your temporary service you might wish to retain me -permanently. In a certain sense I took, I may say, special note of at -least part of that particular route.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why?” Colonel Ogilvie’s suspicions came up afresh at the admission. -</p> - -<p> -“Simply because I took it that you might want to drive into Scotland, -and Galloway is perhaps the most promising region for motoring on this -side of that country. All the motor roads from this side of England -run through Carlisle. Then you cross the Border close to Gretna Green. -…” -</p> - -<p> -“To where?” The Colonel’s voice was full of passion. The chauffeur -went on calmly and explicitly: -</p> - -<p> -“Gretna Green. That is where run-away marriages used to be made. That -place was usually chosen because it was the first across the Border -where Scotch law ruled. The simplifying of our marriage laws and the -growth of sanity amongst parents of marriageable daughters generally -has done away with the necessity of elopement. Now we go by there -without stopping, as Galloway is the modern objective. Indeed in going -there you do not go into Gretna at all; you pass it by on the right -when you have crossed the bridge over the Sark and are making for -Annan. And as to my knowledge of mileages that is a part of my trade. -It is my business to arrange for the amount of petrol necessary for -the run I am ordered to make. I don’t think that you need disturb -yourself about that one small item of my knowledge. It may set you -more at ease if I tell you that it is one hundred and thirty-six and a -half miles to Glasgow; a hundred and one to Abbotsford; seventy-five -and a half to Dumfries; a hundred and thirty-five and a half to -Edinburgh; two hundred and seventy-four and a half to Aberdeen; one -hundred and fifty-eight and three quarters to. …” -</p> - -<p> -“Stop! stop!” cried Colonel Ogilvie. “I am obliged to you for your -zeal in my service; and I think I can promise you that if in every way -you suit, you may look on the permanent post as your own. I shall want -you to begin your duties this very night. But this is a special job; -and with special reward, for it is difficult and arduous.” -</p> - -<p> -“I am willing sir, whatever it may be.” -</p> - -<p> -“That is well said. You are the sort of man I want.” -</p> - -<p> -“My orders sir?” -</p> - -<p> -“I want you to take me to Castle Douglas to-night—now—as soon as you -can get ready. I wish to get there as soon as I can. You will want to -have everything right, for we must have no break-down if we can help -it. And you must have good lamps.” -</p> - -<p> -“’Twill be all right, sir. We shan’t, I expect, break down. But if we -do—the motor is a new one and I did not make it—<i>I</i> shall put it -right. I am a first-rate <i>mechanicien</i> and an accomplished driver. -…” -</p> - -<p> -“All right; but don’t talk. Get the car ready, and we shall start at -once.” -</p> - -<p> -“We can start at once, so far as the car and I are concerned. But we -lack something as yet. We must have a pilot.” -</p> - -<p> -“A pilot! I thought you knew the way.” -</p> - -<p> -“On paper, yes; and I doubt not I could get there all right—in time. -But you want to go quick; and we would lose time finding out the way. -Remember we are going in the dark.” Then turning to the proprietor he -said: -</p> - -<p> -“Perhaps you can help us here, sir. Have you any one who can pilot?” -</p> - -<p> -“Not a chauffeur; but I have a coachman who knows all round here for a -couple of days’ journey. I have no doubt that he knows that road -amongst the others. He could sit beside you and direct you how to go!” -</p> - -<p> -“Right! Can you get him soon?” -</p> - -<p> -“At once. He lives over the stables. I shall send for him now.” He -rang the bell and when the servant came gave his message. And so that -matter was settled and the journey arranged. The chauffeur went to -have a last look over the motor car, and to bring it round to the -door. -</p> - -<p> -All the time of the interview Colonel Ogilvie stood silent, keeping -erect and rigid. He was so stern and so master of himself that Judy -wished now that he had less self-control. She feared the new phase -even more than the old. Then care for what had still to be done took -hold of her. She took her sister away to prepare a little basket of -food and wine for Colonel Ogilvie and the men with him; they would -need some sustenance on their long, arduous journey. Those kindly -offices kept both women busy whilst Colonel Ogilvie was putting on -warm clothes for the night travelling. Presently Mrs. Ogilvie joined -him. When they were alone she said to him somewhat timidly: -</p> - -<p> -“You will be tender, dear, with Joy? The child is young, and a harsh -word spoken in anger at a time when she is high-strung and nervous and -tired and frightened might be a lasting sorrow to her!” She half -expected that he would resent her speaking at all. She was surprised -as well as pleased when, putting his hands kindly on her shoulders, he -said: -</p> - -<p> -“Be quite easy in your mind on that subject, wife. Joy has all my -love; and, whatever comes, I shall use no harsh word to her. I love -her too well to give her pain, at the moment or to think of -afterwards. She shall have nothing but care and tenderness and such -words as you would yourself wish spoken!” The mother was comforted for -the moment. But then came a thought, born of her womanhood, that the -keenest pain which could be for the woman would be through her concern -for the man. She had little doubt as to what her husband’s action -would be if his surmises as to Mr. Hardy should prove to be correct. -And such would mean the blighting of poor Joy’s life. She would dearly -have loved to remonstrate with her husband on the subject; and she -would have done so, whatever might have been the consequences to -herself, but that she feared that any ill-timed expostulation might be -harmful to her daughter. All the motherhood in her was awake, and -nerved her to endure in silence. The only other words she said as she -kissed her husband were: -</p> - -<p> -“Good-bye for a while, dear. God keep you in all dangers of the -road—and—and in all the far greater dangers that may come to you at -the end of it. My love to Joy! Be good to her, and never forget that -she can suffer most through any one dear to her. Bring her home to me, -safe and—and happy! I …” Her voice broke and she wept on his -shoulder. Colonel Ogilvie was a determined man, and in some ways a -harsh and cruel one; but he was a man, and understood. He took his -wife in his arms and kissed her fondly, stroking her dark hair wherein -the silver threads were showing. Then he passed out in silence. -</p> - -<p> -By the door of the car he found Judy who said: -</p> - -<p> -“I have put in your supper—you will want it dear—and also supper for -the men. And oh! Lucius, don’t forget, for poor Joy’s sake, that this -day you hold her heart—which is her life—in your hand!” -</p> - -<p> -This added responsibility filled the cup of Colonel Ogilvie’s -indignation. Already his conscience was quickening and his -troubles—the agitation to his feelings—were almost more than he -could bear. He would have liked to make some cynical remark to Judy; -but before he could think of anything sufficiently biting, the motor -which had been throbbing violently started. -</p> - -<p> -Before the angry man could attempt to get back his self-possession he -was gazing past the two shrouded figures before him and across the -luminous arc of the lamps out into the night. The darkness seemed to -sweep by him as he rushed on his way to Scotland. -</p> - -<p> -When he had gone Judy turned to her sister and said: “I was going to -give him Joy’s dressing bag and a change of dress to take with him. -She will want them, poor dear, after a long day of travel and a night -in a strange place. But I have thought of a better plan.” -</p> - -<p> -“And that?” asked the anxious mother. -</p> - -<p> -“To take them myself! Moreover it won’t be any harm my being present -in case the Colonel gets on the rampage. It will restrain him some. -Now you go and lie down, dear. Don’t say anything—except your -prayers—in case you feel you must say something. But sleep will be -your best help in this pretty tough proposition. I’ll go and get a -hustle on that Dutch landlord. He’s got to find an automobile and a -chauffeur, and a pilot if necessary, for me too!” -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch19"> -CHAPTER XIX.<br/> -<span class="chap_sub">DECLARATION OF WAR</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">Joy Ogilvie</span> was so tired out that her body lay like a log all night. -How her mind was occupied she only knew afterwards. For the memory of -dreams is an unconscious memory at the time; it is only when there is -opportunity of comparison with actualities that dreams can be -re-produced. Then, as at first, the dreams are real—as they are -forever whilst memory lasts. Indeed regarding dreams and actualities, -one might almost appeal to scientific analogy; and in comparing the -world of imagination—which is the kingdom of dreams—with the -material world, might adduce the utterance of Sir Oliver Lodge in -comparing the density of aether with that of matter in the modern -scientific view: “Matter is turning out to be a filmy thing in -comparison with aether.” -</p> - -<p> -This might well serve as a scientific comparison. Nay more, it might -well be an induction. The analogies of nature are so marvellously -constant, as exemplified by the higher discoveries in physics, that we -might easily wander farther than in taking the inner world of Thought -as compared with the outer world of Physical Being, as an analogy to -the Seen and Unseen worlds. -</p> - -<p> -In the meantime we may take it that Joy’s dreams that night were in -some way reflective of the events of the day. No girl of healthy -emotional power could fail to be influenced by such a sequence of -experiences of passion and fear as she had gone through. The realized -hoping of love, the quick-answering abandonment of expressed passion; -long, long minutes of the bliss of communion with that other -soul—minutes whose sweetness or whose length could not be computed -until the leisure of thought gave opportunity. Unconscious cerebration -goes on unceasingly; and be sure that with such data as she had in her -mind, the workings of imagination were quick and by no means cold. -Again she lived the moments of responsive passion; but so lived them -that she had advanced further on the road to completed passion when -the unconsciousness to physical surroundings began to disappear and on -the senses the actualities began to consciously impress themselves. -The dawn, stealing in between the chinks of the folded shutters, made -strange lines on the floor without piercing through the walls of -sleep. The myriad sounds of waking life from distant field and -surrounding street brought no message to the closed eyes of weariness. -The sun rose, and rose, and rose; and still she lay there unmoving. -</p> - -<p> -At last that unaccountable impulse which moves all living things to -sentience at the ending of sleep, stirred her. The waking grew on her. -At first, when her eyes partially opened, she saw, but without -comprehending, the dim room with its low ceiling; the wide window, -masked in with shutters whose edges were brilliant with the early -light; the odd furniture and all the unfamiliar surroundings. Then -came the inevitable self-question: “where am I?” -</p> - -<p> -The realization of waking from such dreaming as hers is a rude and -jarring process, and when it does come, comes with something of a -shock. For what seemed a long time Joy lay in a sort of languorous -ecstasy whilst memory brought back to her those moments of the -previous day which were sweeter even than her dreams. Again she heard -the footsteps of the man she loved coming up rapidly behind her. Again -she saw as she turned, in obedience to some new impulse which swayed -her to surrender, the face of the man looking radiant with love and -happiness. Again she felt the sweet satisfaction of living and loving -when his arms closed round her and her arms closed round him and they -strained each other strictly. Again there came to her the thrill which -seemed to lift her from her earthly being as his mouth touched hers -and they kissed each other in the absolute self-abandonment of -reciprocated passion—the very passing memory of which set her blood -tingling afresh; the thrill which set her soul floating in the expanse -of air and made all conventions of the artificial world seen far below -seem small and miserable and of neither power nor import. Again she -was swept by that tide of wild desires, vague and nebulous as yet, -inchoate, elusive, expansive, all-absorbing, which proclaimed her -womanhood to herself. That desire of wife to husband, of sex to sex, -of woman to man, which is the final expression of humanity—the love -song of the children of Adam. It was as though memory and dreaming had -become one. As if the day had merged in the night, and the night again -in the coming day; each getting as it came all the thoughts and wishes -and fancies and desires which follow in the train of the -all-conquering Love-God. -</p> - -<p> -In such receptive mood Joy awoke to life. When she realized where she -was; and when the import of her new surroundings had broken in upon -her, all the forces of her youth and strength began at once to -manifest themselves. She slid softly from her bed—the instinct of -self protection forbade noise or else she would have jumped to the -floor. Doing must follow dreaming! The attitude of standing, once -again helped to recall the previous evening, and she remembered that -she had thought then that she must not open the windows in the morning -because they faced directly other windows across a narrow street. -</p> - -<p> -She remembered also that the next room, through which she had entered, -had windows on two sides. Those on one side opened as did her own; but -those on the other side looked out on an open space. And so, without -further thought, she opened the door between and passed into the outer -room. It too, like her own, was dark from the closed shutters. -Instinctively she went softly, her bare feet making no sound on the -carpet. With the same instinctive caution she had opened the door -noiselessly; when the self-protective instinct has once been awakened, -it does not easily relapse to sleep. She went over to one of the -windows and tried to look out through the chinks. The day was bright -outside and the sun was shining; the fog had entirely disappeared. In -the sudden desire to breathe the fresh morning air, and to free in the -sunlight her soul cramped by the long darkness of fog and night, she -threw open the heavy shutters. -</p> - -<p> -<br/> -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne slept so soundly that he never stirred. He lay on the sofa on -his left side with his face out to the room. He too had been dreaming; -and to his dreams the happiness of the day had brought a vivifying -light. Through all his weariness of mind and body came to his spirit -the glow of those moments when he knew that his love was reciprocated; -when his call to his mate had been answered—answered in no uncertain -voice. And so he, too, had lain with bodily nature all quiescent, -whilst the emotional side of his mind ranged freely between memory and -expectation. And in due process the imaginative power of the mind had -worked on the nerves—and through them on the body—till he too lay in -a languorous semi-trance—the mind ranging free whilst the abnormally -receptive body quivered in unison. It was a dangerous condition of -being in which to face the situation which awaited him. -</p> - -<p> -The sound of the opening shutter wakened him, fully and all at once. -The moment his eyes opened he saw a figure between him and the window; -and at the knowledge that some stranger was in his room the habit of -quick action which had prevailed in his years of campaigning -re-asserted itself. On the instant he flung aside his blanket and -sprang from his bed. -</p> - -<p> -At the sound of a step on the floor Joy turned. The light streaming in -through the unshuttered window showed them in completeness each to the -other. The light struck Athlyne full in front. There was instant -recognition, even in the unaccustomed garb, of that tall lithe form; -of those fine aquiline features, of those dark flashing eyes. As to -Joy, who standing against the light made her own shadow, Athlyne could -have no doubt. He would have realized her presence in darkness and -silence. As she stood in her fine linen, the morning light making a -sort of nimbus round the opacity of the upper part of her body, she -looked to him like some fresh realization—some continuation in -semi-ethereal form—of the being of his dreams. There was no pause for -thought in either of the lovers. The instant of recognition was the -realization of presence—unquestioning and the most natural thing in -the world that the other should be there. Delight had sealed from -within the ears of Doubt. Unhesitatingly they ran to each other, and -before a second had passed were locked tightly in each other’s arms. -</p> - -<p> -In the secret belief of the Conventional world—that belief which is -the official teaching of the churches of an artificial society, and -not merely the world of Adam and Eve (and some others)—the ceremony -of Marriage in itself changes the entire nature of the contracting -parties. Whatever may have been the idiosyncrasies of these -individuals such are forthwith changed, foregone, or otherwise altered -to suit that common denominator of Human Nature which alone is -officially catalogued in the records of the Just. It were as though -the recorded promise of two love-stricken sufferers, followed by the -formal blessings of the Church in any of its differentiations—or of -the Registrar—should change baser mortals to more angelic -counterpart; just as the “Philosopher’s Stone” which the mediaeval -alchemist dreamed of and sought for, was expected to change baser -metals to gold. -</p> - -<p> -Perhaps it is because this transmutation is so complete that so many -of those marriages which the Church does sanctify turn out so -differently from the anticipations of the contractors and blessors! -</p> - -<p> -But Dame Nature has her own church and her own ritual. In her case the -Blessing comes before the Service; and the Benediction is but the -official recognition that two souls—with their attendant bodies—have -found a perfect communion for themselves. Those who believe in Human -Nature—and many of them are seriously minded people too—realize and -are thankful for the goodness of God who showers the possibilities of -happiness with no stinting and no uncertain hand. “After all” they say -“what about Eden?” There was no church’s blessing there—not even a -Registrar; and yet we hold that Adam and Eve were united in Matrimony. -Nor were their children or their children’s children made one with -organized formality. What was it then that on these occasions stood -between fornication and marriage? What could it be but the Blessing of -God! And if God could make marriage by His Blessing in Eden, when did -He forego that power. Or if indeed there be only a “Civil -Contract”—as so many hold to-day—what proofs or writings must there -be beyond that mere “parole” contract which is recognized in other -matters by the Law of the Land. -</p> - -<p> -So, the believers in natural religion and natural law—those who do -not hold that personal licence, unchecked and boundless, is an -appanage or logical result of freedom. To these, freedom is in itself -a state bounded on all sides by restrictive laws—as must ever be, -unless Anarchy is held to be the ultimate and controlling force. And -in the end Anarchy is the denial of all Cosmic law—that systematised -congeries of natural forces working in harmony to a common end. -</p> - -<p> -But law, Cosmic or Anarchic, (if there be such a thing, and it may be -that Hell—if there is one—has its own laws—) or any grade between -these opposites, is a matter for coolness and reflection. <i>Inter arma -silent leges</i> is a maxim of co-ordinate rulings in the Court of Cosmic -law. And the principle holds whether the arms be opposed or locked -together in any form of passion. When Love lifts the souls, whose -bodies are already in earthly communion, Law ceases to be. From the -altitude of accomplished serenity the mightiest law is puny; just as -from a balloon the earth looks flat, and even steeples and towers have -no perspective. -</p> - -<p> -So it was with the two young people clasped in each other’s arms. The -world they lived in at the moment was <i>their</i> world, bounded only by -the compass of their arms. After all what more did they want—what -could they want. They were together and alone. Shame was not for them, -or to them, who loved with all their hearts—whose souls already felt -as one. For shame, which is a conventional ordering of the blood, has -no place—not even a servitor’s—in the House of Love: that palace -where reigns the love of husbandhood and wifehood, of fatherhood and -motherhood—that true, realized Cosmos—the aim, the objective, the -heaven of human life. -</p> - -<p> -Their circumstances but intensified the pleasure of the embrace. -Athlyne and Joy had both felt the same communion of spirits when they -embraced at their first meeting out of Ambleside when their souls had -met. This had been intensified when they sat in close embrace after -lunch beyond Dalry, when heart consciously beat to heart. Now it was -completed in this meeting, unexpected and therefore more free and -unhampered by preparatory thoughts and intentions, when body met body -in a close if tentative communion. The mere paucity of raiment had -force and purpose. They could each feel as they hung together closely -strained, the beating of each other’s heart; the rising and falling of -each other’s lungs. Their breaths commingled as they held mouth to -mouth. In such delirious rapture—for these two ardent young people -loved each other with a love which both held to be but the very -beginning of an eternal bond and which took in every phase, actual and -possible, of human beings—there was no place for forethought or -afterthought. It was the hour of life which is under the guidance of -Nature; to be looked forward to with keen if ignorant anticipation; -and which is to be looked back on for evermore as a time when the very -heavens opened and the singing of the Angelic choir came through -unmuffled. -</p> - -<p> -For seconds, in which Time seemed to stand still, they stood body to -body and mouth to mouth. The first to speak was the man: -</p> - -<p> -“I thought you were in England by late in the evening—and you were -there all the time!” He indicated the direction by turning his eyes -towards her room. His words seemed to fire her afresh. Holding him -more closely to her, she leaned back from her hips and gazed at him -languorously; her words dropped slowly from her opened lips: -</p> - -<p> -“Oh-h! If we had only known!” What exactly was in her mind she did not -know—did not think of knowing—did not want to know. Perhaps she did -not mean anything definite. It was only an expression of some feeling, -of some want, some emotion, some longing—some primitive utterance -couched in words of educated thought, as sweet and spontaneous as the -singing of a bird in its native woods at springtime. -</p> - -<p> -Somehow, it moved Athlyne strangely. Moved the manhood of him in many -ways, chiefest among them his duty of protection. It is not a -commonly-received idea that man—not primitive man but the -partially-completed article of a partially-completed cosmic age—is -scrupulous with regard to woman. The general idea to the contrary -effect is true <i>en gros</i> but not <i>en detaille</i>. True of women; not -true of a woman. An educated man, accustomed to judgment and action in -matters requiring thought, thinks, perhaps unconsciously, all round -him, backward as well as forward; but mainly forward. Present -surroundings form his data; consequences represent the conclusion. -Himself remains neutral, an onlooker, until he is called on for -immediate decision and consequent action. -</p> - -<p> -So it was with Athlyne. His instant ejaculation: -</p> - -<p> -“Thank God we didn’t know!” would perhaps have been understood by a -man. To a woman it was incomprehensible. Woman is, after all, more -primitive than man. Her instincts are more self-centred than his. As -her life moves in a narrower circle, her view is rather microscopic -than telescopic; whilst his is the reverse. Inasmuch then as he -naturally surveys a larger field, so his introspective view is wider. -</p> - -<p> -Joy loved the man; and so, since he had already expressed himself, -considered him as already her husband; or to speak more accurately -considered herself as already his wife. It was, therefore, with -something like chagrin that she heard his disavowal of her views. She -did not herself quite understand what those views were, but all the -same it was a disappointment that he did not really acquiesce in them; -nay more that he did not press them on his own account—press them -relentlessly, as a woman loves a man to do, even when his wishes are -opposed to her own. -</p> - -<p> -A woman’s answer to chagrin is ultimate victory of her purpose; and -the chagrin of love is perhaps the strongest passion with a purpose -that can animate her. -</p> - -<p> -When Joy became conscious, as she did in a few seconds, that her lover -following out his protective purpose was about to separate himself -from her—she quite understood without any telling or any experience -both motive and purpose—she opposed it on her part. As the strictness -of his embrace lessened, so in proportion did hers increase. Then came -to the man the reaction—he was only a man, after all. His ardour -redoubled, and her heart beat harder with new love as well as triumph -as he drew her closer to him in a pythonic embrace. Then she, too, -clung to him even closer than before. That embrace was all -lover-like—an agony of rapture. -</p> - -<p> -In its midst they were startled somewhat by the rumbling of a motor -driven fast which seemed to stop close to them. Instinctively Joy -tried to draw away from her lover; such is woman’s impulse. But -Athlyne held her all the tighter—his embrace was not all love now, -but the protection which comes from love. She understood, and resigned -herself to him. And so they stood, heart to heart, and mouth to mouth, -listening. -</p> - -<p> -There was a clatter of tongues in the hall. Joy thought she recognised -one voice—she could not be sure in the distance and through the -closed door—and her heart sank. She would again have tried to draw -away violently but that she was powerless. Her will was gone, like a -bird’s under the stare of the snake. Athlyne, too, was in suspense, -his heart beating wildly. He had a sort of presage of disaster which -seemed in a way to paralyse him. -</p> - -<p> -There were quick steps on the stairs. A voice said: “There” and the -door rattled. At this moment both the lovers were willing to separate. -But before they could do so, the door opened and the figure of Colonel -Ogilvie blocked the entrance. -</p> - -<p> -“Good God!” The old man’s face had grown white as though the sight had -on the instant frozen him. So pallid was he, all in that second, that -Joy and Athlyne received at once the same idea: that his moustache, -which they had thought of snowy whiteness, was but grey against the -marble face. -</p> - -<p> -The father’s instinct was protective too, and his action was quick. In -the instant, without turning his face, he shut the door behind him and -put his heel against it. -</p> - -<p> -“Quick, daughter, quick!” he said in a whisper, low but so fierce that -it cut the air like a knife, “Get into that room and dress yourself. -And, get out if you can, by another way without being noticed!” As he -spoke he pointed towards the open door through which in the darkened -room the bed with clothing in disarray could be dimly seen. Joy fled -incontinently. The movements of a young woman can be of extraordinary -quickness, but never quicker than when fear lends her wings. It seemed -to Athlyne that she made but one jump from where she stood through the -door-way. He could remember afterwards the flash of her bare heels as -she turned in closing the door behind her. -</p> - -<p> -“Now Sir!” Colonel Ogilvie’s voice was stern to deadliness as he -spoke. Athlyne realised its import. He felt that he was bound hand and -foot, and knew that his part of the coming struggle would have to be -passive. He braced himself to endure. Still, the Colonel’s question -had to be answered. The onus of beginning the explanation had been -thrust upon him. It was due to Joy that there should be no delay on -his part in her vindication. Almost sick at heart with apprehension he -began: -</p> - -<p> -“There has been no fault on Joy’s part!” The instant he had spoken, -the look of bitter haughtiness which came on Colonel Ogilvie’s face -warned him that he had made a mistake. To set the error right he must -know what he had to meet; and so he waited. -</p> - -<p> -“We had better, I think, leave Miss Ogilvie’s name out of our -conversation. … And I may perhaps remind you, sir, that I am the -best judge of my daughter’s conduct. When I have said anything to my -daughter’s detriment it will be quite time for a stranger to interfere -on her behalf. … It is of <i>your</i> conduct, sir, that I ask—demand -explanation!” -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne would have liked to meet a speech of this kind with a blow. In -the case of any other man he would have done so: but this man was -Joy’s father, and in all circumstances must be treated as such. He -felt in a vague sort of way—a background of thought rather than -thought itself—that his manhood was being tested, and by a fiery -test. Come what might, he must be calm, or at least be master of -himself; or else bitter woe would come to Joy. Of course it would -come—perhaps had come already to himself; but to that he was already -braced. -</p> - -<p> -Colonel Ogilvie was skilled in the deadly preliminaries to lethal -quarrel. More than once when a foe had been marked down for vengeance -had he led him on to force the duel himself. In no previous quarrel of -his life had he ever had the good cause that he had now, and be sure -that he used that knowledge to the full. There was in his nature -something of that stoical quality of the Red Indian which enables him -to enjoy the torture of his foe, though the doing so entails a keen -anguish to himself. Perhaps the very air of the “dark and bloody -ground” of Kentucky was so impregnated with the passions of those who -made it so that the dwelling of some generations had imbued the -dwellers with some of the old Indian spirit. As Athlyne stood face to -face with him, watching for every sign of intention as a fencer -watches his opponent, he realised that there would be for him no pity, -no mercy, not even understanding. He would have to fight an uphill -contest—if Joy was to be saved even a single pang. What he could do -he would: sacrifice himself in any way that a man can accomplish it. -Life and happiness had for him passed by! One of his greatest -difficulties would be, he felt, that of so controlling himself that he -would not of necessity shut behind him, by anything which he might say -or do, the door of conciliation. He began at once, therefore, to -practice soft answering: -</p> - -<p> -“My conduct, sir, has been bad—so far as doing an indiscreet thing, -and in not showing to you that respect which is your due in any matter -in which Miss Ogilvie may be concerned.” For some reason which he -could not at the moment understand this seemed to infuriate the -Colonel more than ever. In quite a violent way he burst out: -</p> - -<p> -“So I am to take it that no respect is due to me in my own person! -Such, I gather from your words. You hint if you do not say that -respect is only my due on my daughter’s account!” At the risk of -further offence Athlyne interrupted him. It would not do for him to -accept this monstrous reading of what he meant for courtesy: -</p> - -<p> -“Not so, sir. My respect is to you always and for all causes. I did -but put it in that way as it is only in connection with your daughter -that I dared to speak at all.” Even this pacific explanation seemed to -add fuel to the old man’s choler: -</p> - -<p> -“Let me tell you, sir, that this has nothing whatever to do with my -daughter. Miss Ogilvie is my care. Her defence, if any be required, is -my duty—my privilege. And I quite know how to exercise—and to -defend—both.” -</p> - -<p> -“Quite so, sir. I realise that, and I have no wish to arrogate to -myself your right or your duty; for either of which I myself should be -proud to die!” Athlyne’s voice and manner were so suave and -deferential that Colonel Ogilvie began to have an idea that he was a -poltroon; and in this belief the bully that was in him began to -manifest itself. He spoke harshly, intending to convey this idea, -though as he did so his heart smote him. Even as he spoke there rose -before his bloodshot eyes the vision of a river shimmering with gold -as the sunset fell on it, and projected against it the figure of a -frightened woman tugging at the reins of a run-away mare; whilst close -behind her rode a valiant man guiding with left hand a splendid black -horse to her side, his right hand stretched out to drag her to his -saddle. Before them both lay a deadly chasm. In the pause Athlyne took -the opportunity of hurriedly putting on his outer clothing. -</p> - -<p> -But even that touching vision did not check the father’s rage. His -eyes were bloodshot and even such vision—any vision—could not linger -in them. It passed, leaving in its place only a red splotch—as of -blood; the emotion which the thought had quickened had become -divergent in its own crooked way. But in the pause Athlyne had time to -get in a word: -</p> - -<p> -“Sir, whatever fault there has been was mine entirely. I acted -foolishly perhaps, and unthinkingly. It placed us—placed me in such a -position that every accident multiplied possibilities of -misunderstanding. I cannot undo that now—I don’t even say that I -would if I could. But whatever may be my fate—in the result that may -follow my acts—I shall accept it without cavil. And may I say in -continuance and development of your own suggestion, that no other name -should be mentioned in whatever has to be spoken of between us.” As he -finished he unconsciously stood upon his dignity, drawing himself up -to his full height and standing in soldierly attitude. This had a -strange effect on Colonel Ogilvie. Realising that he could rely -implicitly on the dignity of the man before him, he allowed himself a -further latitude. He could afford, he felt, to be unrestrained in such -a presence; and so proceeded to behave as though he was stark, staring -raving mad. Athlyne saw the change and, with some instinct more -enlightening than his reason, realised that the change might later, -have some beneficent effect. More than ever did he feel now the need -for his own absolute self-control. It was well that he had made up his -mind to this, for it was bitterly tested in Colonel Ogilvie’s mad -outpour: -</p> - -<p> -“Do you dare, sir, to lecture me as to what I shall not say or shall -say about my own daughter. What shall I say to you who though you had -not the courtesy to even acknowledge the kindness shown you by her -parents, came behind my back when I was far away, and stole her from -my keeping. Who took her far away, to the risk even of her reputation. -Risk! Risk! When I find you here together, alone and almost naked in -each other’s arms! God’s Death! that I should have seen such a -thing—that such a thing should be. …” Here his hot wrath changed to -ice-cold deadly purpose, and he went on: -</p> - -<p> -“You shall answer me with your life for that!” He paused, still -glaring at the other with cold, deadly malevolence. Athlyne felt that -the hour of the Forlorn Hope had come to him at last—he had been hot -through all his seeming coolness at de Hooge’s Spruit. His -self-control, could, he felt never be more deeply tested than now; and -he braced himself to it. He had now to so bear himself that Joy would -suffer the minimum of pain. Pain she would have to endure—much pain; -he could not save her from it. He would do what he could; that was all -that remained. With real coolness he met the icy look of his -antagonist as he said with all the grace and courtesy of which he was -naturally master: -</p> - -<p> -“Sir, I answer for my deeds with my life. That life is yours now. Take -it, how and when you will! As to answering in words, such cannot be -whilst you maintain your present attitude. I have tried already to -answer—to explain.” -</p> - -<p> -“Explain sir! There is no explanation.” -</p> - -<p> -“Pardon me!” Athlyne’s voice was calm as ever; his dignity so superb -that the other checked the words on his lips as he went on: -</p> - -<p> -“There is an explanation to be made—and made it must be, for the sake -of … of another. I deny in no way your right of revenge. I think I -have already told you that my life is yours to take as you will. But a -dying man has, in all civilised places, a right to speak to the Court -which condemns him. Such privilege is mine. I claim it—if you will -force me to say so. And let me add, Colonel Ogilvie, that I hold it as -a part of my submission to your will. We are alone now and can speak -freely; but there must be a time—it will be for your own protection -from the legal consequences of my death—when others, or at least one -other, will know of your intention to kill. I shall speak then if I -may not now!” Here the Colonel, whose anger was rising at being so -successfully baffled, interrupted him with hard cynicism. -</p> - -<p> -“Conditions in an affair of honour! To be enforced in a court of law I -suppose.” He felt ashamed of himself as he made the remark which he -felt to be both ungenerous and untrue. He was not surprised when the -other answered his indignant irony with scorn: -</p> - -<p> -“No sir! No law! Not any more appeal to law in my defence than there -has been justice in your outrageous attack on me. But about that I -shall answer you presently. In the meantime I adhere to my conditions. -Aye, conditions; I do not hesitate to use the word.” -</p> - -<p> -Colonel Ogilvie, through all the madness of his anger, realised at -that moment that the man before him was a strong man, as fearless and -determined as he was himself. This brought back his duty of good -manners as a first instalment of his self-possession. For a few -seconds he actually withheld his speech. He even bowed slightly as the -other proceeded: -</p> - -<p> -“I have tried to explain. … My fault was in venturing to ask … a -lady to come for a ride in my car. I had no intention of evil. Nothing -more than a mere desire to renew and further an—a friendship which -had, from the first moment of my knowing her—or rather from the first -moment I set eyes on her, become very dear to me. It was a selfish -wish I know; and in my own happiness at her consent I -overlooked,—neglected—forgot the duty I owed to her father. For that -I am bitterly sorry, and I feel that I owe to him a debt which I can -never, never repay. But enough of that. … That belongs to a -different category, and it has to be atoned for in the only way by -which an honourable man can atone. … As I have already conceded my -life to him I need … can say no more. But from the moment when that -lady stepped into my car my respect has been for her that which I have -always intended to be given to whatever lady should honour me by -becoming my wife. Surely you, sir, as yourself an honourable man—a -husband and a father, cannot condemn a man for speaking an honourable -love to the woman to whom it has been given. When I have admitted that -the making of the occasion was a fault I have said all that I accept -as misdoing. …” He folded his arms and stood on his dignity. For a -few seconds, Colonel Ogilvie stood motionless, silent. He could not -but recognise the truth that underlay all the dignity of the other. -But he was in no way diverted by it from his purpose. His anger was in -no way mitigated; his intention of revenge lessened by no whit. He was -merely waiting to collect his thoughts so as to be in a position to -attack with most deadly effect. He was opening his lips to speak when -the other went on as though he had but concluded one section or -division of what he had to say: -</p> - -<p> -“And now sir as to the manifest doubt you expressed as to my <i>bona -fides</i> in placing my life in your hands—your apprehension lest I -should try to evade my responsibility to the laws of honour by an -appeal in some way to a court of law. Let me set your mind at ease by -placing before you my views; and my views, let me tell you, are -ultimately my intentions. I have tried to assure you that with the -exception of waiting to ask your consent to taking … a certain -passenger for a drive, my conduct has from that moment been such as -you could not find fault with. I take it for granted that you—nor no -man—could honestly resent such familiarities as are customary to, and -consequent on, a man offering marriage to a lady, and pressing his -suit with such zeal as is, or should be, attendant on the expression -of a passion which he feels very deeply!” Even whilst he was speaking, -his subconsciousness was struck by his own coolness. He marvelled that -he could, synchronously with the fearful effort necessary to his -self-control and with despair gnawing at his heart, speak with such -cold blooded preciseness. As is usual in such psychical stresses his -memory took note for future reference of every detail. -</p> - -<p> -His opponent on the contrary burst all at once into another fit of -flaming passion. Athlyne’s very preciseness seemed to have inflamed -him afresh. He thundered out: -</p> - -<p> -“Familiarities sir, on offering marriage! Do you dare to trifle with -me at a time like this. When but a few minutes ago I saw you here in -this lonely place, at this hour of the morning after a night of -absence, undressed as you were, holding in your arms my daughter -undressed also… God’s death! sir, be careful or you shall rue it!” -He stopped almost choking with passion. Athlyne felt himself once more -overwhelmed with the cold wave of responsibility. “Joy! Joy! Joy!” he -kept repeating to himself as a sort of charm to keep off evil. To let -go his anger now might—would be fatal to her happiness. He marvelled -to himself as he went on in equal voice, seemingly calm: -</p> - -<p> -“That sir was with no intent of evil. ’Twas but a natural consequence -of the series of disasters which fell on the enterprise which had so -crowned my happiness. When I turned to come home so that … so that -the lady might be in time to meet her parents who were expected to -arrive at—at her destination, I forgot, in my eagerness to meet her -wishes, the regulations as to speed; and I was arrested for furious -driving. In my anxiety to save her from any form of exposal to -publicity, and in my perplexity as to how to manage it, I advised her -returning by herself in my motor, I remaining at Dalry. When she had -gone, and I had arranged for attending the summons served on me, I -wired over to this hotel to keep me rooms. I thought it better that as -J … that as the lady had gone to England I should remain in -Scotland. I started to walk here; but I was overtaken by a fog and -delayed for hours behind my time. The house was locked up—every one -asleep. The night porter who let me in told me that as I had not -arrived, as by my telegram, the bedroom I had ordered was let to some -one else who had arrived in a plight similar to my own. ‘Another -party’ were his words; I had no clue to whom or what the other visitor -was. The only place left in the house unoccupied—for there were many -unexpected guests through the fog—was that sofa. There I slept. Only -a few minutes ago I was waked by some one coming into the room. When -I saw that it was … when I saw who it was—the woman whom I loved -and whom I intended to marry—I naturally took her in my arms without -thinking.” Then without pausing, for he saw the anger in the Colonel’s -face and felt that to prolong this part of the narration was -dangerous, he went on quickly: -</p> - -<p> -“I trust that you understand, Colonel Ogilvie, that this explanation -in no way infringes your right of punishing me as you suggest. Please -understand—and this is my answer to your suggestion as to my -appealing to law—that I accept your wish to go through the form of a -duel!” He was hotly interrupted by the Colonel: -</p> - -<p> -“Form of a duel! Is this another insult? When I say fight I mean -fight—understand that. I fight <i>à l’outrance</i>; and that way only.” -Athlyne’s composure did not seem even ruffled: -</p> - -<p> -“Exactly! I took no other meaning. But surely I am entitled to take it -that even a real duel has the form of a duel!” -</p> - -<p> -“Then what do you mean sir by introducing the matter that way?” -</p> - -<p> -“Simply, Colonel Ogilvie, to protect myself from a later accusation on -your part—either to me or of me—of a charge of poltroonery; or even -a silent suspicion of it in your own mind!” -</p> - -<p> -“How do you mean?” -</p> - -<p> -“Sir, I only speak for myself. I have already said more than once that -I hold my life at your disposal. From that I do not shrink; I accept -the form of a duel for my execution.” -</p> - -<p> -“Your execution! Explain yourself, sir?” In a calm even voice came the -answer. -</p> - -<p> -“Colonel Ogilvie, I put it to you as man to man—if you will honour me -with so simple a comparison, or juxtaposition whichever you like to -consider it—how can I fight freely against the father of the woman -whom I love. Pray, sir,” for the Colonel made an angry gesture “be -patient for a moment. I intend no kind of plea or appeal. I feel -myself forced to let you know my position from my point of view. You -need bear no new anger towards me for this expression of my feelings. -I do so with reluctance, and only because you <i>must</i> understand, here -and now, or it may make, later on, further unhappiness for some one -else—some one whom we both hold in our hearts.” Colonel Ogilvie -hesitated before replying. The bitter scowl was once again on his face -as he spoke: -</p> - -<p> -“Then I suppose I am to take it, sir, that you will begin our meeting -on the field of honour by putting me publicly—through the expression -of your intention—in the position of a murderer.” -</p> - -<p> -“Not so! Surely you know better than that. I did not think that any -honourable man could have so mistaken another. If I have to speak -explicitly on this point—on which for your own sake and the sake of -… of one dear to you, I would fain be reticent—let me reassure you -on one point: I shall play the game fairly. For this duel is a game, -and, so far as I am concerned at all events, one for a pretty large -stake. If indeed that can be called a ‘game’ which can only end in one -way. You need not, I assure you, feel the least uneasy as to my not -going through with it properly. I am telling you this now so that you -may not distort my intention yourself by some injudicious comment on -my conduct, or speech, or action, made under a misapprehension or from -distrust of me. Sir, your own honour shall be protected all along, so -far as the doing so possibly rests with me.” Here, seeing some new -misunderstanding in the Colonel’s eye he went on quickly: -</p> - -<p> -“I venture to say this because I am aware that you doubt my being able -to carry out my intention. When I say ‘rests with me,’ I mean the -responsibility of acting properly the rôle I have undertaken. I shall -conduct my part of the duel in all seriousness. It must be in some -other country; this for your sake. For mine it will not have mattered. -We have only to bear ourselves properly and none will suspect. I shall -go through all the forms—with your permission—of fighting <i>à -l’outrance</i>, so that no one can suspect. No one will be able -afterwards to say that you could have been aware of my intention. I -shall fire at you all right; but I shall not hit!” -</p> - -<p> -Instinctively Colonel Ogilvie bowed. He did not intend to do so. He -said no word. The rancour of his heart was not mitigated; his -intention to kill in no way lessened. His action was simply a -spontaneous recognition of the chivalry of another, and his -appreciation of it. -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne could not but be glad of even so slight a relaxation of the -horrible tension. He stood quite still. He felt that in some way he -had scored with his antagonist; and as he was fighting for Joy he was -unwilling to do anything which might not be good for her. He was -standing well out in the room with his back to the door of the -bedroom. As they stood he saw a look of surprise flash in Colonel -Ogilvie’s face. This changed instantly to a fixed one of horror. His -eyes seemed to look right through his antagonist to something beyond. -Instinctively he turned to see what it might be that caused that -strange look. And then he looked horrified himself. -</p> - -<p> -In the open door-way of the bedroom stood Joy. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch20"> -CHAPTER XX.<br/> -<span class="chap_sub">KNOWLEDGE OF LAW</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">All</span> three stood stone still. Not a sound was heard except faint -quick breathing. Athlyne tried to think; but his brain seemed numb. He -knew that now was a crisis if not <i>the</i> crisis of the whole affair. It -chilled him with a deathly chill to think that Joy must have heard all -the conversation between her father and himself. What a remembrance -for her in all the empty years to come! What sorrow, what pain! -Presently he heard behind him as he stood facing her a sound which was -rather a groan than an ejaculation—a groan endowed with articulated -utterance: -</p> - -<p> -“Good God!” Unconsciously he repeated the word under his breath: -</p> - -<p> -“Good God!” -</p> - -<p> -Joy, with a fixed high-strung look, stepped down into the room. She -stood beside Athlyne who, as she came close to him, turned with her so -that together they faced her father. Colonel Ogilvie said in a slow -whisper, the words dropping out one by one: -</p> - -<p> -“Have—you—been—there—all—the—time? -Did—you—hear—all—we—said?” She answered boldly: -</p> - -<p> -“Yes! I was there and heard everything!” Again a long pause of -silence, ended by Colonel Ogilvie’s next question: -</p> - -<p> -“Why did you stay?” Joy answered at once; her quick speech following -the slow tension sounded almost voluble. -</p> - -<p> -“I could not get away. I wanted to; but there is no other door to the -room. That is why I came out here when I woke. … I could not get my -boots which the maid had taken last night, and I wanted to get away as -quickly as possible. And, Father, being there, though I had to move -about dressing myself, I could not help hearing everything!” Her -father had evidently expected that she would say something more, for -as she stopped there he looked at her expectantly. There was a sort of -dry sob in his throat. Athlyne stood still and silent; he hardly dared -to breathe lest he should unintentionally thwart Joy’s purpose. For -with all his instincts he realised that she had a purpose. He knew -that she understood her father and that she was the most potent force -to deal with him; and knowing this he felt that the best thing he -could do would be to leave her quite free and unhampered to take her -own course. He kept his eyes on her face, gazing at her unwinkingly. -Her face was fixed—not stern but set to a purpose. Somehow at that -moment he began to realise how well he understood her. Without more -help than his eyes could give him, he seemed to follow the workings of -her mind. For her mind was changing. At the first her expression was -of flinty fixedness; but as she continued to look at the old man it -softened; and with the softening her intentioned silence gave way. Her -lover’s thoughts translated thus: -</p> - -<p> -“I will protect my—him against my father. He has threatened him; he -is forcing him to death. I shall not help him by sparing him a pang, -an awkwardness. And yet—why that? He is an old man—and my father! -That white hair demands respect. He is angry—hard and untender now; -but his life has been a tender one to me—and he is my father! Though -I am determined to save my lover—my husband, I need not in the doing -cause that white head to sink in shame; I can spare him the pang of -what he may think ingratitude in me. And, after all, he has what must -seem to him just cause of offence. … He cannot—will not understand. -… He is brave and proud, and has a code of honour which is more than -a religion. And he my lover—my husband is brave too. And as -unyielding as my father. And he is willing to die—for me. To die for -me—<i>my</i> honour <i>my</i> happiness. Though his dying is worse—far worse -than death to me. … But he is dying bravely, and I—that was to have -been his wife—must die bravely, worthily too. If he can suffer and -die in silence, so too must I. …” -</p> - -<p> -It seemed a natural sequence of thought when she said to her father: -</p> - -<p> -“Daddy, do you know you have not said a word to me yet. What have I -ever done in my life that you should not trust me now? Have I ever -lied to you that you cannot trust me to answer truly when you ask -me—ask me anything. Why don’t you ask me now? I know that things do -not look well. I realise that you must have been shocked when you came -into the room. But, Daddy dear, there are few things in the world that -cannot be explained—at any rate in part. Don’t forget that I am a -woman now. I am no longer a child whose ignorance is her innocence. -Speak to me! Ask me what you will, and I will answer you truly! Hear -me, even as you would listen to one dying! For indeed it is so. If you -carry out your intention, as I have heard it expressed, I shall no -longer live; there will be nothing for me to live for.” -</p> - -<p> -“Do you mean that you will commit suicide?” said her father. -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, no! I hope I have pluck enough to live—if I can. Do not fear for -me, Daddy! I shall play the game full, as he will do.” As she spoke, -she pointed a finger at Athlyne. She felt now, and for the first time, -acutely that she did not know what to call him before a third -person—even her father. Athlyne looked relieved by her words. When -she spoke of dying he had grown sadly white; he shared her father’s -apprehension. Colonel Ogilvie saw the change in his look, and took it -ill. As may be surmised a part of his anger towards Athlyne arose from -jealousy. Until this man had appeared upon the scene his “little girl” -was his alone; no other man shared in her affection. As she was an -only child all his parental affection had been centred in her. Though -he might have been prepared to see her mate with a man of his own -choosing—or at any rate of his acceptance, he was jealous of the man -who had stepped in, unaccredited and wanting in deference to himself. -It must have been a tinge of this jealousy which prompted his next -question. Turning with a bitter formality to Athlyne he said: -</p> - -<p> -“I suppose you are satisfied, now, sir. Whatever may come, my daughter -is estranged from me; and it is your doing!” In answer Joy and Athlyne -spoke together. Said the latter: -</p> - -<p> -“Oh sir!” There he stopped; he feared to say more lest his anger -should master him. But the protest was effective; the old man -flushed—over forehead and ears and neck. Joy spoke in a different -vein: -</p> - -<p> -“There is no estrangement, Daddy dear; and therefore it can be no -one’s doing. Least of all could such a thing come from this man who -loves me, and … and whom I love.” As she spoke she blushed divinely, -and taking her lover’s right hand between both her hands held it -tight. This seemed for some reason to infuriate her father afresh. He -strode forward towards Athlyne as though about to strike him. But at -the instant there came a quick rap on the door. Instinctively he drew -away, and, having called out “Come!” stood expectingly and seemingly -calm. The door opened slightly and the voice of the Sheriff was heard: -</p> - -<p> -“May I come in? I am Alexander Fenwick, Sheriff of Galloway!” As he -was speaking he entered the room with a formal bow to each in turn. He -continued to speak to Colonel Ogilvie: -</p> - -<p> -“You will pardon this intrusion I hope, sir. Indeed I trust you will -not look upon it as an intrusion at all when you know the reason of my -coming.” Colonel Ogilvie’s habit of old-fashioned courtesy came at -once to the fore with the coming of a stranger. With a bow which to -those reared in a newer and less formal school of manners seemed -almost grandiloquent he spoke: -</p> - -<p> -“I came here on some business, and on my arrival a few minutes ago was -asked by our landlady—an old servant of my own—who on that account -thought that she might ask what she thought a favour—to come up here. -She thought, poor anxious soul, that some unpleasantness might be -afoot as she heard high words, and feared a quarrel. All the more on -account of a sudden arrival of a gentleman who seemed somewhat -incensed. This I took from her description of the personality, to be -you sir. Indeed, I recognise all the points, except that of the -anger!” As he spoke he bowed with pleasant courtesy. The other bowed -too, partly in answer to the implied question and partly in -recognition of the expressed courtesy of the words and manner. -</p> - -<p> -Whilst he had been speaking, the Sheriff had been watching keenly -those around him. He had been for so long a time in the habit of -forming his opinion rather by looks than words that the situation -seemed to explain itself; young lovers, angry father. This opinion was -justified and sustained by the confidence which had been given to him -by Athlyne on the previous afternoon. He had been, on entering the -room, rather anxious at the state of affairs; but now he began to -breathe more freely. He felt that his experience of life and of law -might really be here of some service. But his profession had also -taught him wariness and caution; also not to speak on side issues till -he knew the ground thoroughly. Joy he read like an open book. There -was no mistaking her love, her anxiety, her apprehension. Athlyne he -knew something of already, but he now saw in his face a warning look -which bade him be silent regarding him. He diagnosed Colonel Ogilvie -as a proud, masterful, vain, passionate man; something of a prig; -tender, in a way he understood himself; faithful to his word; -relentless to an expressed intention; just—according to his own ideas -of right and wrong. Weighing these attributes for his own pacific -purposes he came to the conclusion that his first effort at -conciliation should be made with regard to the last-mentioned. So he -began, speaking in a manner of courtly and deferential grace: -</p> - -<p> -“I trust sir, you will yield to me the consideration often asked by, -and sometimes granted to a well-intentioned man, however bungling the -same might be in thought or method or manner.” Colonel Ogilvie -conceded the favour with a gracious bow. Thus emboldened, if not -justified, he went on: -</p> - -<p> -“I fain would ask that I might be allowed to make something in the -nature of a short statement, and to make it without interruption or -expostulation. You will understand why presently.” Again the gracious -acquiescence; he continued: -</p> - -<p> -“You are, I take it, a stranger to this country; though, if I am not -misled by name and lineament, claiming Scottish forbears?” Colonel -Ogilvie’s bow came more naturally this time. His in-lying pride was -coming to the rescue of common sense. The Sheriff understood, and went -on with better heart: -</p> - -<p> -“The experience which I have had in the performance of my duties as -sheriff has shewn me that such a group as I see before me—father, -daughter and lover, if I mistake not—is not uncommon in this part of -Scotland.” No one answered his bow this time. All were grimly silent -in expectancy. He felt that it was a dangerous topic; but the fact had -been stated without being denied. He hurried on: -</p> - -<p> -“Just across the Border, as we are, we have had very many occasions of -run-away marriages; I have had myself in earlier days to explain for -the good of all parties how the law stands in such matters. More than -once the knowledge enabled those interested in it to spare much pain -to others; generally to those whom they loved best. I trust that now -I may use that knowledge in your behalf—as a friend. I am not here in -my official capacity—or perhaps I might not be so free to advise as I -am now without, I trust, offence to any one.” Colonel Ogilvie’s -gracious bow here answered for all the party. The Sheriff felt more at -ease. He was now well into his subject; and the most difficult part of -his duty had been, he thought, passed. All three of his hearers -listened eagerly as he went on: -</p> - -<p> -“A knowledge of the law can hurt no one; though it may now and again -disappoint some one—when expounded too late. Well, there is a common -belief in South Britain—and elsewhere that the marriage law in -Scotland is a very filmy thing, with bounds of demarcation which are -actually nebulous. This doubtless arises from the fact that all such -laws are based on the theory that it is good to help such contracting -parties to the secure and speedy fulfilment of their wishes. But -anyone who thinks that they are loose in either purpose or action is -apt to be rudely enlightened. The Scots’ Marriage laws demand that -there be a manifest and honest intention of marriage on the part of -the contractors. This intention can be proved in many ways. Indeed the -law in certain cases is willing to infer it, when direct proof is not -attainable, from subsequent acts of the parties. I may fairly say that -in all such cases courts of law will hold that mutuality of intention -is of the essence of marriage rite. This followed by co-habitation -<i>is</i> the marriage; though the latter to follow close on the -declaration is not always deemed necessary. In our law the marriage -may be either of two kinds. The most formal is that effected by a -minister or proper official after due calling of banns, or by notice -given to sheriff or registrar. The other form is by what is known in -the law as ‘Irregular marriage.’ This is in legal parlance—for which -I make no apology as it is necessary that all married folk, or those -intending to enter that honourable condition should understand it—is -known as ‘intention followed by copula.’ Now you must know that either -form of marriage is equally binding—equal in law and honour; and when -the conditions attached to each form have been duly fulfilled such -marriage is irrefragable. In old days this facility of marriage made -Gretna Green, which is the first place across the Border, the -objective for eloping lovers matrimonially inclined; and as till 1856 -no previous residence in Scotland was required, romance was supposed -to stop at the Border. That is, the marriage could be effected and -parental objections—did such exist—were overborne. There were many -cynical souls who held that repentance for the hasty marriage could -then begin. I feel bound to say that this is an opinion in which I do -not myself share. -</p> - -<p> -“In 1856 an Act of Parliament, 20th Vict. Cap. 96, was passed, by -which it became necessary for the validity of irregular marriage that -at least one of the two contractors should have his or her usual -residence in Scotland, or have been resident in Scotland for three -full weeks next preceding the marriage. -</p> - -<p> -“I thank you, Colonel Ogilvie, for having listened to me so patiently. -But as I have no doubt that you three have much to say to each other I -shall withdraw for the present. This will leave you free to discuss -matters. And perhaps I may say, as an old man as well as a responsible -officer of the Law, that I trust the effect will be to make for peace -and amity. I am staying here in the hotel and I shall take it as a -great pleasure and a great honour if you will breakfast with me in say -an hour’s time. All your family will be most welcome.” With a bow, in -which deference and geniality were mingled, he withdrew. -</p> - -<p> -Each of the three left kept looking at each other in silence. Joy drew -closer to Athlyne and took his hand. Colonel Ogilvie pretended not to -notice the act—an effort on his part which made his daughter radiant -with hope. The first words spoken were by the Colonel: -</p> - -<p> -“That man is a gentleman!” The two others felt that silence was -present discretion; to agree with Colonel Ogilvie in his present mood -was almost as dangerous as to disagree with him. His next words were -in no way conciliatory though the <i>arrière pensée</i> made for hope. -</p> - -<p> -“Now sir, what have you to say for yourself in this unhappy matter? -Remember I in no way relax my intention of—of punishment; but I am -willing to hear what you have to say.” Athlyne winced at the word -“punishment,” which was not one which he was accustomed to hear -applied to himself. But for Joy’s sake he made no comment. He even -kept his face fixed so as not to betray his anger. He felt that any -change of subject, or drifting off that before them, must be for the -better; things could, he felt, hardly be worse than at present. -Moreover, it might smooth matters somewhat if Colonel Ogilvie could be -brought to recollect that he was not himself an undesirable person for -alliance, and that his intention of matrimony had been already brought -before Joy’s father. In this conviction he spoke: -</p> - -<p> -“As in this country, sir, intention counts for so much, may I crave -your indulgence for a moment and refer you back to my letter to you on -the subject of a very dear wish of mine—a wish put before you with a -very decided intention.” Colonel Ogilvie’s answer, given in manner of -equal suavity, was disconcerting; the bitterness behind it was -manifest. -</p> - -<p> -“I think sir, there must be some error—which is not mine. I never -received any letter from you! Your epistolary efforts seem to have -been confined to the ladies of my family.” With an effort Athlyne -restrained himself. When he felt equal to the task he spoke, still -with a manner of utmost deference: -</p> - -<p> -“An error there surely is; but it is not mine either. I posted -yesterday at the Ambleside post office a letter to you. …” He was -interrupted by Colonel Ogilvie who said bluntly: -</p> - -<p> -“I am not so sure, sir, that the fault of my not reading such a letter -was not yours; though perhaps not in the direct manner you mean. When -I arrived home last night and found the horrible state of things with -regard to my daughter’s rash act—due to you” this with a look of -actual malevolence “I was so upset that I did not look at the pile of -letters awaiting me. I only read Joy’s messages.” As he said this -Athlyne’s eyes flashed and there was an answering flash in the eyes of -the woman who looked so keenly at him; this was the first time since -his arrival that the father had condescended to even mention his -daughter’s name. There might be some softening of that hard nature -after all. Then the old man continued: -</p> - -<p> -“I put them in my pocket; here they are!”—Whilst he looked at the -envelopes in that futile way that some people unused to large -correspondence love, Joy said with an easy calmness which made her -lover glance at her in surprise: -</p> - -<p> -“Daddy, hadn’t you better read your letters now; we shall wait.” The -tone was so much that to which he was accustomed from her that he did -not notice the compromising “we” which would otherwise have inflamed -him afresh. Drawing a chair close to one of the windows he opened the -letters and began to read. Athlyne and Joy, instinctively and with -unity of thought, moved towards the other window which was behind him. -There they stood hand in hand, their eyes following every movement of -the old man. Joy did not know, of course, what was in the letter; but -she had seen it before in the garden at Ambleside and when he had -posted it before setting out on their motor ride. And so, piecing her -information with the idea conveyed by her lover’s recent words, she -was able to form some sort of idea of its general import. A soft, -beautiful blush suffused her face, and her eyes glistened as she stood -thinking; in the effort of thought she recalled many sweet passages. -She now understood in a vague way what was the restraining influence -which had moved her lover to reticence during all those hours when he -had tried to tell her of his love and his hopes without actually -speaking words, the knowledge of which given without his consent would -have incensed her father against him, and so wrought further havoc. So -moved was she that Athlyne, whose eyes were instinctively drawn to her -from the observation of her father, was amazed and not a little -disconcerted. There must be some strange undercurrent of feeling in -her which he could not understand. Joy saw the look on his face and -seemed to understand. She raised to her lips the hand that she so -strongly clasped in hers and kissed it. Then she raised a finger of -her other hand and touched her lips. Thus reassured of her love and -understanding, Athlyne followed with his eyes the trend of hers; and -so together they continued to watch her father, trying to gather from -his bearing some indication of his thoughts. Indeed this was not a -difficult matter. Colonel Ogilvie seemed to have lost himself in his -task, and expressed his comments on what he read by a series of -childlike movements and ejaculations. Athlyne who knew what the letter -contained could apply these enlightening comments, and even Joy in her -ignorance of detail could inferentially follow the text. Colonel -Ogilvie did say a word of definite speech, but the general tendency of -his comment was that of surprise—astonishment. When he had finished -reading Athlyne’s letter—it was the last of the batch—he sat for -quite half a minute quite still and silent, holding the paper between -finger and thumb of his dropped left hand. Then with a deep frown on -his forehead he began to read it again. He was evidently looking for -some passage, for when he had found it he stood up at once and turned -to them. By this time Joy, warned by the movement, had dropped her -lover’s hand and now stood some distance away from him. The old man -began: -</p> - -<p> -“Sir … There is a passage in a letter here which I understand to be -yours. So far I must acknowledge that I have been wrong. You evidently -<i>did</i> send the letter, and I evidently received it. Listen to this: -‘Having heard in a roundabout way that there was a woman in New York -who was passing herself off as my wife I undertook a journey to that -City to make investigation into the matter; and in order to secure the -necessary secrecy as to my movements took for the time an assumed -name—or rather used as Christian and surname two of those names in -the middle of my full equipment which I do not commonly use.’ What -does all that mean? No, do not speak. Wait and I shall tell you. You -say the lady—woman you call her—took your name. For saying such a -thing, and for the disrespect in her description as a woman, you will -have to answer me. Either of them will cost you your life.” Athlyne -answered with a quiet, impressive dignity which helped in some degree -to reassure Joy who stood motionless in open-eyed wonder—her heart -seeming to her as cold as ice at the horror of this new phase of -danger. It was a veritable “bolt from the blue,” incomprehensible to -her in every way: -</p> - -<p> -“Colonel Ogilvie, I regret I shall be unable to meet your wishes in -this respect!” As the old man looked astonished in his turn, he -proceeded: -</p> - -<p> -“I already owe you a life on another count; and I have but one. But if -I had ten you should have them all, could they in any way assuage the -sorrow which it seems must follow from my thoughtless act. I have told -you already that I shall freely give my life in expiation of the wrong -I have—all unintentionally—done to your daughter and yourself. And -if any means could be found by which it could add to Joy’s happiness -or lessen her sorrow I should in addition and as freely give my soul!” -</p> - -<p> -Colonel Ogilvie’s reception of these words was characteristic of the -man, as he took himself to be. He drew himself up to his full height -and stood at attention. Then he saluted, and followed his salute with -a grave bow. The soldier in him spoke first, the man after. Both Joy -and Athlyne noticed with new hope that he allowed the speaking of her -name to pass unchallenged as a further cause of offence. Presently, -and in a new tone, he said: -</p> - -<p> -“I have taken it for granted from the allusions in your letter that -you are the writer; and from your mentioning an alias have not been -surprised at seeing a strange name in the signature. But I have been -and am surprised at the familiarity from a man of your years to a man -of mine of a mere Christian name.” -</p> - -<p> -It was now Athlyne’s turn to be surprised. -</p> - -<p> -“A Christian name!” he said with a puzzled pucker of his brows. “I am -afraid I don’t understand.” Then a light dawning on him he said with a -slight laugh: “But that is not my Christian name.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then your surname?” queried the Colonel. -</p> - -<p> -“Nor my surname either.” His laugh was now more pronounced, more -boyish. -</p> - -<p> -“Oh I see; still another alias!” The words were bitter; the tone of -manifest offence. -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne laughed again; it was not intentional but purely spontaneous. -He was recalled to seriousness by the look of pain and apprehension on -Joy’s face and by the Colonel’s angry words, given with a look of -fury: -</p> - -<p> -“I am not accustomed to be laughed at—and to my face Mr.—Mr.—Mr. -Richard Hardy Athlyne et cetera.” -</p> - -<p> -His apology for inopportune mirth was given with contrition—even -humbly: -</p> - -<p> -“I ask your pardon, Colonel Ogilvie, very deeply, very truly. But the -fact is that Athlyne is my proper signature, though it is neither -Christian name nor surname. I do hope you will attribute my rudeness -rather to national habit than to any personal wish to wound. Surely -you will see that I would at least be foolish to transgress in such a -direction, if it be only that I aim at so much that it is in your -power to grant.” There was reason in this which there was no -resisting. Colonel Ogilvie bowed—he felt that he could do no less. -Athlyne wisely said no more; both men regarded the incident as closed. -</p> - -<p> -With Joy it was different. The incident gave her the information she -lacked for the completion of the circle of her knowledge. As with a -flash she realised the whole secret: that this man who had saved her -life and whom now her father wanted to kill was none other than the -man whose name she had taken—at first in sport and only lately in -order to protect herself from troubles of inquisitiveness and scandal. -At the moment she was in reality the only one of the three—the only -one at all—who had in her hand all the clues. Neither her father nor -Athlyne knew that she had given to the maid at the hotel a name other -than her own. -</p> - -<p> -She began to have also an unconscious knowledge of something else. -Something which she could not define, some intuition of some coming -change; something which hinged on her giving of the name. Now, for the -first time she realised how dangerous it may be for any one to take -the name of any other person—for any purpose whatever, or from any -cause. She could not see the end. -</p> - -<p> -But though her brain did not classify the idea her blood did. She -blushed so furiously that she had serious thoughts of escaping from -the room. Nothing but the danger which might arise from such a step -kept her in her place. But something must, she felt, be done. Things -were so shaping towards reconciliation that it would be wise to -prevent matters slipping back. For an instant she was puzzled as to -what to do; then an inspiration came to her. Turning to her father she -said: -</p> - -<p> -“Daddy, let us ask the old Sheriff to come in again!” She felt that -she could rely on his discretion, and that in his hands things might -slide into calmer waters. Her father acquiesced willingly, and a -courteous message was sent through a servant. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch21"> -CHAPTER XXI.<br/> -<span class="chap_sub">APPLICATION OF LAW</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">Whilst</span> the servant was gone there was a great clatter of arrival of -a motor at the hotel; but all in Athlyne’s room were too deeply -concerned with their own affairs to notice it. -</p> - -<p> -Presently there was a light tap at the door, and the Sheriff’s “May I -come in?” was heard. Colonel Ogilvie went himself to the door and -threw it open. Beside the Sheriff stood a lady, heavily clad and with -a motor veil. -</p> - -<p> -“Joy! Joy!” said the veiled figure, and Aunt Judy stepping forward -took the girl in her arms. In the meantime the Sheriff was explaining -the situation: -</p> - -<p> -“I was just coming from my room in obedience to your summons, when -this lady entered the hall. She was asking for you, Colonel, and for -Miss Ogilvie, as who she had learned at the railway station, was -stopping here. I ventured to offer my services, and as she was coming -up here, undertook to pilot her.” -</p> - -<p> -Joy was delighted to see Judy. She had so long been accustomed to look -with fixed belief on her love and friending that she now expected she -would be able to set matters right. Had she had any doubt of her -Aunt’s affection such must have soon disappeared in the warmth of the -embrace accorded by her. When this was concluded—which was soon for -it was short, if strenuous—she turned to Colonel Ogilvie and held out -her hand: -</p> - -<p> -“Good morning, Lucius. I see you got here all right. I hope you had a -good journey?” Then turning to Athlyne she said, as if in surprise: -</p> - -<p> -“Why, Mr. Hardy, how are you? And how do you come to be here? We -thought we were never going to see you again.” Then she rattled on; it -was evident to Joy, and to Colonel Ogilvie also, that she was -purposeful to baffle comment by flow of her own speech: -</p> - -<p> -“Lucius, you must thank this gentleman who is, as the landlady -whispered to me, the Sheriff of somewhere or other. He’s a nice man, -but a funny sort of Sheriff. When I asked him where was his posse he -didn’t know what I meant.” Here she was interrupted by the Sheriff who -said with a low bow to her: -</p> - -<p> -“It is enough for any man, dear lady, to be in <i>esse</i> in such a -charming presence!” Judy did not comprehend the joke; but she knew, -being a woman, that some sort of compliment was intended; and, being a -woman, beamed accordingly: -</p> - -<p> -“Thank you, sir, both for your kindness in helping me and for your -pretty talk. Joy, I have brought your dressing bag and a fresh rig -out. You must need them, poor dear. Now you must tell me all your -adventures. I told them to bring the things presently to your room. I -shall then come with you whilst you are changing. Now, Mr. Sheriff, we -must leave you for a little; but I suppose that as you have to talk -business—you told me they had sent for you—you will doubtless prefer -to be without us?” -</p> - -<p> -“Your pardon,” said the Sheriff gracefully. “I hope the time will -never come when I shall prefer to be without such charming company!” -This was said with such a meaning look, and in such a meaning tone, -that Judy coloured. Joy, unseen by the others, smiled at her, -rejoicing. The Sheriff, thinking they were moving off, turned to the -Colonel saying: -</p> - -<p> -“Now, Colonel Ogilvie, I am at your disposal; likewise such knowledge -of law and custom as I possess.” He purposely addressed himself to -Colonel Ogilvie, evidently bearing in mind Athlyne’s look of warning -to silence regarding himself. -</p> - -<p> -Whilst he had been speaking, Joy stood still, holding Judy by the hand -and keeping her close to her. Judy whispered, holding her mouth close -to her ear and trying to avoid the observation of the others: -</p> - -<p> -“Come away dear whilst they are talking. They will be freer alone!” -Joy whispered in return: -</p> - -<p> -“No, I must not go. I must stay here, I am wanted. Do not say -anything, dear—not a word; but stay by me.” Judy in reply squeezed -her hand and remained silent. Colonel Ogilvie, with manifest -uneasiness and after clearing his throat, said to the Sheriff: -</p> - -<p> -“As you have been so good sir, as to tell me some matters of law; and -as you have very kindly offered us other services, may I trespass on -your kindness in enlightening me as to some matters of fact.” The -Sheriff bowed; he continued: -</p> - -<p> -“I must crave your indulgence, for I am in some very deep distress, -and possibly not altogether master of myself. But I need some advice, -or at any rate enlightenment as to some matters of law. And as I am -far from home and know no one here who is of legal authority—except -yourself,” this with a bow, “I shall be deeply grateful if I may -accept your kindness and speak to you as a friend.” Again the Sheriff -bowed, his face beaming. Colonel Ogilvie, with a swift, meaning glance -at each of the others in turn, went on: -</p> - -<p> -“I must ask you all to keep silent. I am speaking with this gentleman -for my own enlightenment, and require no comments from any of you. -Indeed, I forbid interruption!” Unpromising as this warning sounded, -both Joy and Athlyne took a certain comfort from it. The point they -both attached importance to was that Athlyne was simply classed with -the rest without differentiation. The Sheriff, who feared lest the -father’s domineering tone might provoke hostilities, spoke quickly: -</p> - -<p> -“Now, Colonel Ogilvie, I am at your disposal for whatever you may wish -to ask me.” -</p> - -<p> -“I suppose Mr. Sheriff, I need not say, that I trust you will observe -honourable silence regarding this whole painful affair; as I expect -that all present will.” This was said with a threatening smile. When -the Sheriff bowed acceptance of the condition he went on: -</p> - -<p> -“Since you spoke to us here a little while ago a strange enlightenment -has come to me. Indeed a matter so strange and so little in accord -with the experiences of my own life that I am in a quandary. I should -really like to know exactly how I—how we all stand at present. From -what you have said about the Scottish marriage laws I take it that you -have an inkling of what has gone on. And so, as you are in our -confidence, you will not perhaps mind if I confide further in you?” -</p> - -<p> -“I shall be deeply honoured, Colonel Ogilvie.” -</p> - -<p> -“Thank you again, sir. You are a true friend to a man in deep distress -and in much doubt … We are, as you perhaps know, Americans. My -daughter’s life was saved by a gentleman in New York. I think it right -to say that it was on his part a very gallant act, and that we were -all deeply grateful to him. He came to my house—at my own invitation; -and my wife and her sister, Miss Judith Hayes”—the Sheriff turned to -Judy and bowed as at an introduction; she curtsied in reply—“were -very pleased with him. But we never saw him again. He returned very -soon afterwards to England; and though we were coming to London he -never came near us. Indeed his neglect was marked; for though I -invited him to call, he ignored us.” As he said this he looked -straight at Athlyne with hard eyes. “I have reason to know that my -daughter was much interested in him. Ordinarily speaking I should not -mention a matter of this kind. But as I have received from him—it has -only been made known to me in the interval since our meeting—an -assurance of his affection and a proffer of marriage, I feel that I -may speak.” He turned away and began walking up and down the room as -though trying to collect his thoughts. -</p> - -<p> -As Joy heard him speak of her own interest in the man and of his -proposal of marriage she blushed deeply, letting her eyes fall. But -when, by some of the divine instinct of love, she knew that he was -looking ardently at her she raised them, swimming, to his. And so once -more they looked deep into each other’s souls. Judy felt the trembling -of the girl’s hand and held it harder with a sympathetic clasp, palm -to palm and with fingers interlaced. She felt that she understood; and -her eyes, too, became sympathetically suffused. The Sheriff had now no -eyes except for Judy. Whilst the Colonel had been speaking he had -looked at him of course—he knew well that it would be a cause of -offence if he did not. But the walking up and down gave him -opportunity for his wishes. Judy could not but recognise the ardour of -his glance, and she too blushed exceedingly. Somehow, she was glad of -it; she knew that blushing became her, and she felt that she would -like to look her best to the eyes of this fine, kindly old man. -</p> - -<p> -When Colonel Ogilvie began to speak again there was a change in him. -He seemed more thoughtful, more cautious, more self-controlled; -altogether he was more like his old self. There was even a note of -geniality in his voice. -</p> - -<p> -“What I want to ask you in especial is this: How can we avoid any sort -of scandal over this unhappy occurrence? My daughter has acted -thoughtlessly in going out alone in a motor with a gentleman. Through -a series of accidents it appears that that ride was unduly and -unintentionally prolonged, and ended in her being caught in a fog and -lost. By accident she came here, walking after the motor had broken -down. She slept last night in that room; and the man, who had also -found his way hither later, slept, unknowing of her proximity, in -this. I need not tell you that such a state of things is apt to lead -to a scandal. Now, and now only, is the time to prevent it” … He was -interrupted by the Sheriff who spoke hurriedly, as one who had already -considered the question and had his mind made up: -</p> - -<p> -“There will be no scandal!” He spoke in so decided a way that the -other was impressed. -</p> - -<p> -“How do you know? What ground have you for speaking so decidedly?” -</p> - -<p> -“It rests entirely on you—yourself, Colonel Ogilvie.” -</p> - -<p> -“What!” His tone was laden with both anger and surprise. “Do you think -I would spread any ill report of my own daughter? Sir, you must——” -Once more the Sheriff cut into his speaking: -</p> - -<p> -“You misapprehend me, Colonel Ogilvie. You misapprehend me entirely. -Why should I—how could I think such a thing! No! I mean that if you -accept the facts as they seem to me to be, no one—not you, nor any -one else, can make scandal; if you do not!” -</p> - -<p> -“Explain yourself,” he interrupted. “Nay, do not think me rude”—here -he put up a deprecating hand—“but I am so deeply anxious about my -daughter’s happiness—her future welfare and happiness,” he added as -he remembered how his violent attitude had, only a few minutes ago -imperilled—almost destroyed, that happiness. Joy had been, off and -on, whispering a word to her aunt so that the latter was now fairly -well posted in the late events. -</p> - -<p> -“Quite so! quite so, my dear sir. Most natural thing in the world,” -said the Sheriff soothingly. “Usual thing under the circumstances is -to kill the man; or want to kill him!” As he spoke he looked at -Athlyne meaningly. The other understood and checked the words which -were rising to his lips. Then, having tided over the immediate danger -of explosion, the Sheriff went on: -</p> - -<p> -“The fact is Colonel Ogilvie, that the series of doings (and perhaps -misdoings) and accidents, which have led to our all meeting here and -now, has brought about a strange conclusion. So far as I can -see”—here his manner grew grave and judicial—“these two young people -are at the present moment man and wife. Lawfully married according to -Scottish law!” -</p> - -<p> -The reception of this dictum was varied. Colonel Ogilvie almost -collapsed in overwhelming amazement. Joy, blushing divinely, looked at -her husband adoringly. Athlyne seemed almost transfigured and -glorified; the realisation of all his hopes in this sudden and -unexpected way showed unmistakably how earnest they had been. Judy, -alone of all the party, was able to express herself in conventional -fashion. This she did by clapping her hands and, then by kissing the -whole party—except the Sheriff who half stood forward as though in -hope that some happy chance might include him in the benison. She -began with Joy and went on to her brother-in-law, who accepted with a -better grace than she feared would have been accorded. When she came -to Athlyne she hesitated for a moment, but with a “now-or-never” rush -completed the act, and fell back shyly with a belated timorousness. -</p> - -<p> -The Sheriff, having paused for the completion of this little domestic -ceremony, went on calmly: -</p> - -<p> -“Since I left you a few minutes ago I have busied myself with making a -few necessary inquiries from my old servant Jane McBean, now -McPherson. I made them, I assure you Colonel Ogilvie, very discreetly. -Even Jane, who is in her way a clever woman, has no suspicion that I -was even making inquiry. The result has been to confirm me in my -original conjecture, which was to the effect that there has been -executed between these two people an ‘irregular’ marriage!” At the -mention of the words the Colonel exploded: -</p> - -<p> -“God’s death, sir, the women of the Ogilvies don’t make irregular -marriages!” The Sheriff went calmly on, only noticing the protest for -the sake of answering it. -</p> - -<p> -By this time Joy and Judith were close together, holding hands. -Insensibly the girl drew her Aunt over to where Athlyne was standing -and took him by the arm. He raised his other hand and with it covered -the hand that lay on his arm, pressing it closer as he listened -attentively to the Sheriff’s expounding of the law: -</p> - -<p> -“I gather that I did not express myself clearly when a short time ago -I spoke of the Scottish marriage laws. Let me now be more precise. And -as I am trying to put into words understandable by all a somewhat -complex subject I shall ask that no one present will make any remark -whatever till this part of my task has been completed. I shall then -answer to the best of my power any question or questions which any of -you may choose to ask me. -</p> - -<p> -“Let me begin by assuring you all that what in Scottish law we call an -‘irregular’ marriage is equally binding in every way with a ‘regular’ -marriage; the word only refers to form or method, and in no wise to -the antecedents or to the result. In our law ‘Mutual Consent’ -constitutes marriage. You will observe that I speak of marriage—not -the proof of it. Proof is quite a different matter; and as it is -formally to be certified by a Court it is naturally hedged in by -formalities. This consent, whether proved or not, whether before -witnesses or not, should of course be followed by co-habitation; but -even this is not necessary. The dictum of Scots’ law is ‘<i>Concensus -non concubitus facit matrimonium</i>.’ But I have a shrewd suspicion that -the mind of the Court is helped to a declaration of validity when -<i>concensus</i> has been followed by <i>concubitus</i>. -</p> - -<p> -“Now let us take the present case and examine it as though testing it -in a Court of Law; for such is the true means to be exact. This man -and woman—we don’t know ‘gentleman’ and ‘lady’ in the Law—declared -in the presence of witnesses that they were man and wife. That is, the -man declared to the police sergeant at Dalry that the woman was his -wife; and the woman declared timeously to the police officer who made -the arrest that the man was her husband. These two statements, -properly set out, would in themselves be evidence not only of inferred -consent by declaration <i>de præsenti</i> but of the same thing by ‘habit -and repute.’ The law has been thus stated: -</p> - -<div class="letter"> <p> -“‘It may be held that a man and a woman, by living together and -holding themselves out as married persons, have sufficiently declared -their matrimonial consent; and in that case they will be declared to -be married although no specific promise of marriage or of <i>de -præsenti</i> acknowledgement has been proved.’ -</p> </div> - -<p> -“But there is a still more cogent and direct proof, should such be -required. Each of these consenting parties to the contract of -‘marriage by consent,’ on coming separately to this hotel last night -gave to the servant of the house who admitted them the name by which I -hold they are now bound in honourable wedlock!” He spoke the last -sentences gravely and impressively after the manner of an advocate -pressing home on a jury the conclusion of an elaborate train of -reasoning. Whilst speaking he had kept his eyes fixed on Colonel -Ogilvie, who unconsciously took it that an exhortation on patience and -toleration was being addressed to him. The effect was increased by the -action of Joy, who seeing him all alone and inferring his spiritual -loneliness, left Judith but still holding Athlyne’s arm drew the -latter towards him. Then she took her father’s arm and stood between -the two men whom she loved. Judy quietly took Athlyne’s other arm, and -so all stood in line holding each other as they faced the Sheriff. No -one said a word; all were afraid to break the silence. -</p> - -<p> -“We now come to further proofs if such be required. The woman, who -arrived first, gave the name of Lady Athlyne.” Here Joy got fearfully -red; she was conscious of her father’s eyes on her, even before she -heard him say: -</p> - -<p> -“That foolish joke again! Did not I forbid you to use it daughter?” -She felt it would be unwise to answer, to speak at all just at -present. In desperation she raised her eyes to the face of her -lover—and was struck with a sort of horrified amazement. For an -instant it had occurred to him that Joy must have known his -identity—for some time past at all events. The thought was, however, -but momentary. Her eyes fell again quickly, and she stood in abashed -silence. There was nothing to do now but to wait. The calm voice of -the Sheriff went on, like the voice of Doom: -</p> - -<p> -“The man arrived later. He himself had wired in his own name for -rooms; but by the time he had arrived the possibility of his coming -had, owing to the fog, been given up. The other traveller had been -given the bedroom, and he slept on the sofa in the sitting-room—this -room.” As he spoke he went over to the door of communication between -the rooms and examined the door. There were no fastenings except the -ordinary latch; neither lock nor bolt. He did not say a word, but -walked back to his place. Judy could not contain her curiosity any -longer; she blurted out: -</p> - -<p> -“What name did he give?” The Sheriff looked at her admiringly as he -answered: -</p> - -<p> -“The name he gave, dear lady, was ‘Athlyne’!” -</p> - -<p> -“Is that your name?” she queried—this time to Athlyne. -</p> - -<p> -“It is!” He pulled himself up to his full height and stood on his -dignity as he said it. His name should not be dishonoured if he could -help it. -</p> - -<p> -Colonel Ogilvie stood by with an air of conscious superiority. He -already knew the name from Athlyne’s letter, though he had not up to -that moment understood the full import of it. He was willing to be -further informed through Judy’s questioning. -</p> - -<p> -“And you are Lord Athlyne—the Earl of Athlyne?” -</p> - -<p> -“Certainly!” -</p> - -<p> -To the astonishment of every one of the company Judy burst into a wild -peal of hysterical laughter. This closely followed a speech of broken -utterance which only some of those present understood at all—and of -those some only some few partly. “Athlyne!”—“kill him for -it!”—“calling herself by his name,”—“oh! oh! A-h-h!” There was a -prolonged screech and then hysterical laughter followed. At the first -this unseemly mirth created a feeling of repulsion in all who heard. -It seemed altogether out of place; in the midst of such a serious -conversation, when the lives and happiness of some of those present -were at stake, to have the train of thought broken by so inopportune a -cachinnation was almost unendurable. Colonel Ogilvie was furious. Well -was it for the possibilities of peace that his peculiar life and ideas -had trained him to be tolerant of woman’s weakness, and to be -courteous to them even under difficulties. For had he given any -expression to his natural enough feelings such would inevitably have -brought him into collision—intellectual if not physical—with both -Athlyne and the Sheriff; and either was to be deplored. Joy was in her -heart indignant, for several reasons. It was too hard that, just as -things were possibly beginning to become right and the fine edge of -tragedy to be turned, her father’s mind should be taken back to anger -and chagrin. But far beyond this on the side of evil was the fact that -it imperilled afresh the life of—of the man she loved, her … her -husband. Even the personal aspect to her could not be overlooked. The -ill-timed laughter prevented her hearing more of … of the man who it -now seemed was already her husband. However she restrained and -suppressed herself and waited, still silent, for the development of -things. But she did not consider looks as movements; she raised her -eyes to Athlyne’s adoringly, and kept them there. He in turn had been -greatly upset for the moment; even now, whilst those wild peals of -hysterical laughter continued to resound, he could not draw any -conclusions from the wild whirl of inchoate thoughts. There was just -one faint gleam of light which had its origin rather in instinct than -reason, that perhaps the interruption had its beneficial side which -would presently be made manifest. When Joy looked towards him there -was a balm for his troubled spirit. In the depths of her beautiful -eyes he lost himself—and his doubts and sorrows, and was content. -</p> - -<p> -The only one unmoved was the Sheriff. His mental attitude allowed him -to look at things more calmly than did those personally interested. -With the exception of one phase—that of concern that this particular -woman, who had already impressed her charming personality on his -heart, should be in such distress—he could think, untroubled, of the -facts before him. With that logical mind of his, and with his -experience of law and the passions that lead to law-invoking, he knew -that the realization of Athlyne’s name and position was a troublesome -matter which might have been attended with disastrous consequences. To -a man of Colonel Ogilvie’s courage and strong passion the presence of -an antagonist worthy of his powers is rather an incentive to quarrel -than a palliative. -</p> - -<p> -As to poor Judy she was in no position to think at all. She was to all -practical intents, except for the noise she was occasionally -making—her transport was subsiding—as one who is not. She continued -intermittently her hysterical phrenzy—to laugh and cry, each at the -top note—and commingling eternally. She struggled violently as she -sat on the chair into which she had fallen when the attack began; she -stamped her heels on the floor, making a sound like gigantic -castanets. The sound and restless movement made an embarrassing -<i>milieu</i> for the lucid expression of law and entangled facts; but -through it all the Sheriff, whose purpose after all was to convince -Ogilvie, went on with his statement. By this time Joy, and Athlyne, -whom with an appealing look she had summoned to help, were -endeavouring to restore Judy. One at either side they knelt by her, -holding her hands and slapping them and exercising such other -ministrations as the girl out of her limited experience of such -matters could, happily to soothing effect, suggest. The Sheriff’s -voice, as calm voices will, came through the disturbance seemingly -unhindered: -</p> - -<p> -“Thus you will note that in all this transaction the Earl of Athlyne -had made no disguise of his purpose. To the police who arrested him he -at once disclosed his identity, which the sergeant told me was -verified by the name on his motor-driver’s license. He telegraphed to -the hotel by his title—as is fitting and usual; and he gave his title -when he arrived. As I have already said, he stated to the police, at -first on his own initiative and later when interrogated directly on -the point, that the woman in the motor was his wife. And the identity -of the woman in the motor and the woman in the hotel can easily be -proved. Thus on the man’s part there is ample evidence of that -matrimonial purpose which the law requires. All this without counting -the letter to the woman’s father, in which he stated his wish and -intention to marry her. -</p> - -<p> -“Now as to the woman—and I must really apologise to her for speaking -of the matter in her presence.”—Here Athlyne interrupted his -ministrations with regard to Judy in order to expostulate: -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, I say Mr. Sheriff. Surely it is not necessary.” But the Sheriff -shut him up quite shortly. He had a purpose in so doing: he wished in -his secret heart to warn both Athlyne and Joy not to speak a word till -he had indicated that the time had come for so doing. -</p> - -<p> -“There is nothing necessary, my Lord; except that both you and the -young lady should listen whilst I am speaking! I am doing so for the -good of you both; and I take it as promised that neither of you will -say a single word until I have told you that you may do so.” -</p> - -<p> -“Quite right!” this was said <i>sotto voce</i> by Colonel Ogilvie. -</p> - -<p> -“You, young madam, have taken upon yourself the responsibilities of -wifehood; and it is right as well as necessary that you understand -them; such of them at least as have bearing upon the present -situation. -</p> - -<p> -“As to the woman. She, when questioned by the police as to her status -for the purpose of verification of Lord Athlyne’s statement, accepted -that statement. Later on, she of her own free will and of her own -initiative, gave her name as Lady Athlyne—only the bearer of which -could be the wife of the Defender; I mean of Lord Athlyne.” The -interruption this time came from Colonel Ogilvie. -</p> - -<p> -“If Lord Athlyne is Defender, who is the other party?” -</p> - -<p> -“Lady Athlyne, or Miss Ogilvie, in whichever name she might take -action, would be the Pursuer!” -</p> - -<p> -“Sir!” thundered the Colonel, going off as usual at half-cock, “do you -insinuate that my daughter is pursuer of a man?” He grew speechless -with indignation. The Sheriff’s coolness stood to him there, when the -fury of the Kentuckian was directed to him personally. In the same -even tone he went on speaking: -</p> - -<p> -“I must ask—I really <i>must</i> ask that you do not be so hasty in your -conclusions whilst I am speaking, Colonel Ogilvie. You must understand -that I am only explaining the law; not even giving any opinion of my -own. The terminology of Scot’s Law is peculiar, and differs from -English law in such matters. For instance what in English law is -‘Plaintiff and Defendant’ becomes with us ‘Pursuer and Defender.’ -There may be a female as well as a male Pursuer. Thus on the grounds -of present consent as there is ample proof of Matrimonial Consent of -either and both parties—sufficient for either to use against the -other. I take it that the Court would hold the marriage proved; unless -<i>both</i> parties repudiated the Intent. This I am sure would never be; -for if there were any mutual affection neither would wish to cause -such gossip as would inevitably ensue. And if either party preferred -that the union should continue, either from motives of love or -interest, the marriage could be held good. And I had better say at -once, since it is a matter to be considered by any parent, that should -there have been any valid ground for what you designate as ‘scandal,’ -such would in the eyes of the law be only the proper and necessary -completion of the act of marriage. And let me say also that the fact -of the two parties, thus become one by the form of Irregular Marriage, -having passed the night in this suite of rooms without bolt of -fastening on the connecting door would be taken by a Court as proof of -consummation. No matter by what entanglement of events—no matter how -or by what accident or series of accidents the two parties came into -this juxtaposition! -</p> - -<p> -“There is but one other point to be considered regarding the validity -of this marriage. It is that of compliance with the terms of Lord -Brougham’s Act of 1856. The man has undoubted domicile in Scotland for -certain legal purposes. But the marriage law requires a further and -more rigid reading of residence than mere possession of estates. The -words are that one of the parties to the marriage must ‘have his or -her usual place of residence’ in this Country. But as I have shown you -that in Lord Athlyne’s case his living in Scotland for several weeks -in one or other of his own houses would be certainly construed by any -Court as compliance with the Act, I do not think that any question of -legality could arise. Indeed it is within my own knowledge that as a -Scottish peer—Baron of Ceann-da-Shail—who declared Scottish domicile -on reaching his majority and whose ‘domicile of origin’ was not -affected by his absence as an officer in foreign service, his status -for the purpose of Scottish marriage is unassailable. -</p> - -<p> -“In fine let me point out that I am speaking altogether of <i>proof</i> of -the marriage itself. The actual marriage is in law the consent of the -parties; and such has undoubtedly taken place. The only possible -condition of its nullity would be the repudiation of the implied -Consent by both of the parties. One alone would not be sufficient! -</p> - -<p> -“And now, Colonel Ogilvie, as I believe it will be well that you and -the two young people should consider the situation from this point of -view, will you allow me to withdraw—still on the supposition that you -will join me later at breakfast. And if this merry lady”—pointing to -Judy who had gained composure sufficiently to hear the end of his -explanation—“will honour me by coming to my sitting-room, just below -this, where breakfast will be served, it may perhaps be better. I take -it that you will be all able to speak more freely, you and your -daughter—and her husband!” -</p> - -<p> -He withdrew gracefully, giving his arm to Judy who having risen -bashfully had taken his extended arm. She was blushing furiously. -</p> - -<p> -The door closed behind him, leaving Joy standing between her father -and Athlyne, and holding an arm of each. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch22"> -CHAPTER XXII.<br/> -<span class="chap_sub">THE HATCHET BURIED</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">For</span> a few minutes there was silence in the room; silence so profound -that every sound of the street was clearly heard. Even the shutting of -the Sheriff’s door in the room below was distinct. -</p> - -<p> -The first to speak was Colonel Ogilvie. Athlyne, who would have liked -to break the silence refrained through prudence; he feared that were -he to speak before Colonel Ogilvie did, that easily-irate gentleman -might take offence. He knew that this might be disastrous, for it -would renew the old strife in an acute form; as it was, there were -distinct indications of coming peace. Joy, and Joy alone, was to be -thought of now. By this time Athlyne was beginning to get the measure -of Colonel Ogilvie’s foot. He realised that the dictatorial, -vindictive, blood-thirsty old man would perhaps do much if left to -himself; but that if hindered or thwarted or opposed in any way his -pride or his vanity—and they were united in him—would force him to -keep his position at any cost. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, sir?” The tone was so peremptory and so “superior” that any man -to whom it had been used might well have taken offence; but Athlyne -was already schooled to bear, and moreover the statement made by the -Sheriff filled his heart with such gladness that he felt that he could -bear anything. As Joy was now his wife he <i>could</i> not quarrel with her -father—nor receive any quarrel from him. Still, all the same, he felt -that he must support and maintain his own independent position; such -would be the best road to ultimate peace. Moreover, he had his own -pride; and as he had already made up his mind to die if need be for -Joy’s sake, he could not go back on that resolution without seeming to -be disloyal to her. There would—could—be no hiding anything from her -as she had already heard the whole of the quarrel and of his -acquiescence to her father’s challenge. No one, however, would have -thought he had any quarrel who heard his reply, spoken in exquisitely -modulated accents of respect: -</p> - -<p> -“Need I say, Colonel Ogilvie, that I am equally proud and happy in -finding myself allied with your House by my marriage with your -daughter. For, sir, I love her with all my soul, as well as with all -my heart and mind. She is to me the sweetest, dearest and best thing -in all the universe. I am proud of her and respect her as much as I -love her; and to you, her father, I hope I may say that I bless—and -shall ever bless for so long as I live—the day that I could call her -mine.” As he spoke, Joy’s hand on his arm, which had trembled at the -beginning, now gripped him hard and firmly. Turning his eyes to hers -he saw in them a look of adoration which made his heart leap and his -blood seem on fire. The beautiful eyes fell for an instant as a red -tide swept her face and neck; but in an instant more they were raised -to his eyes and hung there, beaming with pride and love and happiness. -This nerved and softened him at once, to even a gentler feeling -towards the old man; those lovely eyes had always looked trustingly -and lovingly into her father’s, and he would never disturb—so he -vowed to himself—if he could avoid it by any sacrifice on his part, -such filial and parental affection. And so, with gentler voice and -softened mien, he went on speaking. -</p> - -<p> -“Now I must ask you to believe, sir, that with the exception of that -one fault—a grave one I admit—of taking Miss Ogilvie out alone in my -motor I have not willingly or consciously been guilty of any other -disrespect towards you. You now understand, of course, that it was -that unhappy assumed name which prevented my having the pleasure of -visiting you and your family on this side of the Atlantic. No one can -deplore more than I do that unhappy alias. The other, though I -regret—and regret deeply—the pain it has caused, I cannot be sorry -for, since it has been the means of making Joy my wife.” -</p> - -<p> -Here he beamed down into the beautiful grey eyes of the said wife who -was still holding his arm. As he finished she pinched gently the flesh -of his arm. This sent a thrill through him; it was a kiss of sorts and -had much the same effect as the real thing. Joy noted the change in -his voice as he went on: -</p> - -<p> -“I so respected your wishes, sir, that I did not actually ask in words -Joy to be my wife until I should have obtained your permission to -address myself to her. If you will look at that letter you will see -that it was written at Ceann-da-Shail, my place in Ross-shire—days -before I posted it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then if you did not ask her to marry you; how is it that you are now -married—according to the Sheriff?” He thought this a poser, and -beamed accordingly. Athlyne answered at once: -</p> - -<p> -“When two people love each other, sir, as Joy and I do, speech is the -least adequate form of expression. We did not want words; we knew!” -Again Joy squeezed his arm and they stood close together in a state of -rapture. The Colonel, with some manifest hesitation, said: -</p> - -<p> -“With regard to what the Sheriff spoke of as ‘real cause of scandal,’ -was there. …?” -</p> - -<p> -“That, sir,” said Athlyne interrupting with as fierce and truculent an -aspect as had been to the Colonel at any moment of the interview “is a -subject on which I refuse to speak, even to you.” Then after a pause -he added: -</p> - -<p> -“This I will say to you as her father who is entitled to hear it: -Joy’s honour is as clear and stainless as the sunlight. Whatever has -taken place has been my doing, and I alone am answerable for it.” -Whilst he was speaking Joy stood close to him, silent and with -downcast eyes. In the prolonged silence which ensued she raised them, -and letting go Athlyne’s arm stepped forward towards her father with -flashing eyes: -</p> - -<p> -“Father what he says is God’s truth. But there is one other thing -which you should know, and you must know it from me since he will not -speak. He is justified in speaking of my honour, for it was due—and -due alone—to his nobility of character that I am as I am. That and -your unexpected arrival. For my part I would have——” -</p> - -<p> -“Joy!” Athlyne’s voice though the tone was low, rang like a trumpet. -Half protest it was, half command. Instinctively the woman recognised -the tone and obeyed, as women have obeyed the commands of the men they -loved, and were proud to do so, from Eden garden down the ages. -</p> - -<p> -“Speak on, daughter! Finish what you were saying.” His voice was -strangely soft and his eyes were luminous beneath their shaggy white -brows. Joy’s answering tone was meek: -</p> - -<p> -“I cannot, father. My … Mr.—Lord Athlyne desires that I should be -silent.” She was astonished at his reply following: -</p> - -<p> -“Well, perhaps he is right. Better so!” Then in <i>sotto voce</i> to -Athlyne: -</p> - -<p> -“Women should not be allowed to talk sometimes. They go too far when -they get to self-abasement!” Athlyne nodded. Again silence which -Colonel Ogilvie broke: -</p> - -<p> -“Well, sir. I suppose we must take it that the marriage is complete in -Scotch law. So far for the past. What of the future?” In a low voice -Athlyne replied: -</p> - -<p> -“Whose future?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yours—yours and my daughter’s.” He was amazed at Athlyne’s reply, -spoken in a voice both low and sad: so too was Joy: -</p> - -<p> -“Of that I cannot say. It does not rest with me.” -</p> - -<p> -“Not rest with you, sir? Then with whom does it rest.” Athlyne raised -his eyes and looked him straight in the face: -</p> - -<p> -“With you!” -</p> - -<p> -“With me?” the Colonel’s voice was faint with amazement. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, with you! What future have I, already condemned to death! What -future has my wife, whose sentence of widowhood came even before the -knowledge of her marriage! Do you forget Colonel Ogilvie that my life -is pledged to you? On your own doing, I took that obligation; but -having taken it I must abide by it. Such future as may be for either -of us rests with you!” Colonel Ogilvie did not pause before answering. -He spoke quickly as one whose mind is made up: -</p> - -<p> -“But that is all over.” Athlyne said quietly: -</p> - -<p> -“You had not said so! In an affair of this kind the challenged man is -not free to act. Pacific overture must be with the one who considering -himself injured has sought this means of redress.” Joy listening, with -her heart sinking and her hand so trembling that she took it from his -arm lest it should upset him, was amazed. He was at least as -determined as her father. But she was rejoiced to see that his -stiffness was having its effect; her father was evidently respecting -this very quality so much that he was giving way to his opponent. -Seeing this, and recognising in her woman’s way for the first time in -her life this fundamental force, she made up her mind that she too -would on her side keep steadfastly to her convictions just as … as -… He had done. In silence she waited for what would follow this new -development going on before her eyes. Presently Colonel Ogilvie spoke: -</p> - -<p> -“I suppose Lord Athlyne you are satisfied with the validity of the -marriage?” He answered heartily: -</p> - -<p> -“Of course I am! The Sheriff was quite clear about it; and what he -says is sufficient for me.” -</p> - -<p> -“And your intention?” -</p> - -<p> -“Sir, from the first moment when my eyes lit on your daughter I had -only one intention, and that was to make her my wife. Be quite -satisfied as to me! I am fixed as Fate! If there is any hindrance to -my wishes it can only come from my wife. But understand this: that if -for any cause whatever she may wish this marriage annulled, or -consider that it has not been valid, she has only to indicate her wish -and I shall take any step in my power to set her free.” -</p> - -<p> -“Father!” Colonel Ogilvie turned in astonishment at the sound of his -daughter’s voice, which was in such tone as he had never heard from -her. It rang; her mind was made up: -</p> - -<p> -“Father, a while ago when you seemed in some grave trouble I asked you -why you did not ask me anything. I told you I had never lied to you -and should not do so then; but you asked me nothing. Why don’t you ask -me now?” -</p> - -<p> -“What should I ask you, little girl. You are married; and your duty is -to some one else whose name you bear. Besides, I don’t ask women -questions which may be painful to answer. Such I ask of men!” -</p> - -<p> -To this she spoke in a calm voice which made Athlyne uneasy. He could -not imagine what she was coming at; but he felt that whatever it might -be it was out of the truth of her nature, and that he must support -her. Her love he never doubted. In the meantime he must listen -patiently and learn what she had to say. -</p> - -<p> -“Well father, as you will not ask I must speak unasked. It is harder; -that is all. The Sheriff said that mutual intention was necessary for -marriage. Let me tell you that I had not then such intention! I must -say it. I have never lied to you yet; and I don’t intend to begin now. -Especially when I am entering on a new life with a man whom I love and -honour. For if this marriage be not good we shall soon have one that -is—if he will have me.” Athlyne took her hand; she sighed joyfully as -she went on: -</p> - -<p> -“I certainly did intend to marry Mr. … Lord Athlyne when … when he -should formally ask me; but I understood then that there was some -obstacle to his doing so. This I now know to be that he was wanting to -get your consent beforehand. But if I did not then intend that our -coming for a run in the motor together was to be marriage, how can I -by that act be married?” As she paused Athlyne realised what was the -cause of that vague apprehension which had chilled him. Colonel -Ogilvie was beset by a new difficulty by this new attitude of Joy. If -she repudiated intention such would nullify the marriage, since -Athlyne had signified his intention of letting her have her way. If -there were no marriage, then there would be scandal. So before -beginning to argue with his daughter on the subject of the validity of -the marriage, he thought it well to bring to the aid of reason the -forces of fear. He commenced by intimidation: -</p> - -<p> -“Of course you understand, daughter, that if you and Lord Athlyne were -not married through the accidents of your escapade, there will be -scandal from it; there is no other alternative. In that case, such -pacific measures as I have now acceded to will be abrogated; and the -gentleman who was the cause of the evil must still answer to me for -it.” At this threat Joy grew ghastly pale. Athlyne, wrung to the heart -by it, forgot his intention of discretion and said quickly and -sharply: -</p> - -<p> -“That is not fair, Colonel Ogilvie. She is a woman—if she <i>is</i> your -daughter, and is not to be treated brutally. You must not strike at a -man through a woman. If you want to strike a man do so direct! I am -the man. Strike me, how and when you will; but this woman is my -wife—at least she is until she repudiates our marriage! But till then -by God! no man—not even her father himself—shall strike her or at -her, or through her!” Both he and Joy were surprised at the meek way -in which the old man received this tirade. But even whilst he had been -uttering the cruel threat both his conscience and his courage had been -against him. This, the man and the woman who heard could, from -evidence, divine. But there was another cause of which they had no -knowledge. The moment after speaking, when his blind passion began to -cool, the last words of his wife came back to his memory: “Be good to -her, and never forget that she can suffer most through any one dear to -her.” Furthermore, the recollection of Judy’s words as he was leaving -clinched the matter: “You hold poor Joy’s life—which is her heart—in -your hand!” He began his reply to Athlyne truculently—as was usual to -him; but melted quickly as he went on: -</p> - -<p> -“Hey-day my young bantam-cock; you flash your spurs boldly. … But I -don’t know but you’re right. I was wrong; I admit it! Joy my dear I -apologise for it; and to you too, sir, who stand up so valiantly and -so readily for your wife. I am glad my little girl has such a -defender; though it is and will be a sad thought to me that I was -myself the first to cause its evidence. But keep your hair on, young -man! Men sometimes get hurt by running up against something that’s -quite in its right place. … It’s my place to look after my little -girl—till such time as you have registered your bond-rights. And see, -doesn’t she declare she had no idea she was being married. However, -it’s all right in this case. I don’t mean her to give herself away -over this part of the job any more than you did a while ago when you -stopped her telling me something that it wouldn’t have been wise to -say. So, sir, guess we’ll call it quits this time. Well, little girl, -let me tell you that you’ve said all at once to me two different -things. You said you <i>didn’t</i> intend to marry Lord Athlyne that time, -but that you <i>did</i> at some other. If that last doesn’t make an -intention to marry I’m a Dutchman. I think we’d better let it rest at -that! Now as to you Lord Athlyne! You seem to want—and rightly enough -I’ll allow—that I make a formal retraction of my demand for your -life. Well I do so now. There’s my hand! I can give it to you freely, -for you are a brave man and you love my little girl; and my little -girl loves you. I’m right sorry I didn’t know you at the first as I do -now. But I suppose the fact is, I was jealous all along. You don’t -know—yet—what I know: that you were thrown at me in a lot of ways -before I ever saw you, by the joke that my little girl and Judy put up -on me. When I knew that my girl was calling herself by your name. …” -</p> - -<p> -“Daddy dear!” This was Joy’s protest. “Yes, little girl, I won’t give -you away; but your husband should know this fact lest he keep a grudge -in his heart against your old daddy—and I know you wouldn’t like -that. You can tell him, some of these days or nights, what you like -yourself about the whole thing from the first. I dare say he’ll want -to know, and won’t let you alone till you tell him. And I dare say not -then; for he’ll like—he’s bound to—all you can say. Here, Athlyne—I -suppose that’s what I am to call you since you’re my son now—at any -rate my daughter’s husband.” As he spoke he held out his hand. Athlyne -jumped forward and seized it warmly. The two men shook hands as do two -strong men who respect each other. Joy stepped forward and took the -clasped hands between her own. When the hands parted she kissed her -husband and then her father; she had accepted the situation. -</p> - -<p> -After a pause Athlyne said, quietly but with a very resolute look on -his face: -</p> - -<p> -“I understand, sir, that the hatchet is now buried. But I want to say -that this must be final. I do so lest you should ever from any cause -wish to dig it up again. Oh, yes I understand”—for the Colonel was -going to speak “but I have had a warning. Just now when it seemed that -Joy was going to repudiate—though happily as it turned out for only a -time—our marriage as an existing fact, you re-opened that matter -which I had then thought closed. Now as for the future Joy’s happiness -is my duty as well as my privilege and my pleasure, I must take all -precautions which I can to insure it. It would not do if she could -ever have in her mind a haunting fear that you and I could quarrel. I -know that for my own part I would be no party to a quarrel with you. -But I also have reason to know that a man’s own purpose is nothing -when some one else wants to quarrel with him. Therefore for our dear -Joy’s sake——” -</p> - -<p> -“Good!” murmured the Colonel. “<i>Our</i> dear Joy’s sake!” Athlyne -repeated the phrase—he loved to do so: -</p> - -<p> -“For our dear Joy’s sake will you not promise that you will never -quarrel with me.” -</p> - -<p> -“Indeed I will give the promise—and more. Listen here, little girl, -for it is for your sake. I find I have been wrong to quarrel so -readily and without waiting to understand. If a nigger did it I think -I’d understand, for I don’t look for much from him. But I do expect -much from myself; and therefore I’ll go back a bit and go a bit -farther. Hear me promise, so help me God, I’ll never quarrel again! -Quarrel to kill I mean of course. Now, sir, are you satisfied!” Joy -flung herself into his arms cooing lovingly: -</p> - -<p> -“Dear, dear Daddy. Oh thank you so much; you have made me so happy! -That promise is the best wedding-gift you could possibly give me!” -Athlyne took the hand extended to him and wrung it heartily: -</p> - -<p> -“And I too, thank you, sir. And, as I want to share in all Joy’s -happiness and in her pleasant ways, I hope you will let me—as her -husband—call you Daddy too?” -</p> - -<p> -“Indeed you may, my boy; I’ll be right glad!” -</p> - -<p> -It was a happy trio that stood there, the two men’s right hands -clasping, and Joy once more holding the linked hands between hers. -</p> - -<p> -“We may go join the Sheriff and Judy I think, little girl!” said the -Colonel presently. He felt that he wanted to get back to himself from -the unaccustomed atmosphere of sentiment which encompassed him. -</p> - -<p> -“Just one moment—Daddy!” said Athlyne speaking the familiar name with -an effort and looking at Joy as he did so. The approval shining from -her beautiful eyes encouraged him, and he went on more freely: -</p> - -<p> -“Now that our dear Joy is my care I should like to make a proposition. -The Sheriff’s suggestion is good, and his reading of the law seems as -if it were all right; but, after all, there is no accounting for what -judges and juries may decide. Now I want—and we all want—that there -be no doubt about this marriage—now or hereafter. And I therefore -suggest that presently Joy and I shall again exchange Matrimonial -Intention and Consent, or whatever is the strongest way that can be -devised to insure a flawless marriage. We can even write this down and -both sign it, and you and the Sheriff and Judy shall witness. So that -whatever has been before—though this will not disturb it—will be -made all taut and secure!” Joy’s comment was: -</p> - -<p> -“And I shall be married to my husband a second time!” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, darling” said Athlyne putting his arm round her and drawing her -close to him. She came willingly and put her arms round him. They -embraced and kissed each other and he said: -</p> - -<p> -“Yes darling; but wait a moment, I have a further suggestion. In -addition to this we can have a ‘regular’ marriage to follow these two -irregular ones. I shall go to London and get a special license from -the Archbishop of Canterbury, who is a connection of my own. With this -we shall have a religious marriage to supplement the civil ones. We -can be married, sir, in your own rooms, or in a church, just as Joy -wishes—and, of course, as her mother and her Daddy wish. We can be -married the third time, Joy darling, in Westminster Abbey if you so -desire!” -</p> - -<p> -“Anywhere you choose—darling!” she spoke the last word shyly “will be -what I wish. I am glad I am to be married three times to you.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why darling?” -</p> - -<p> -“Because darling” she spoke the word now without shyness or -hesitation. “I love you enough for three husbands; and now we must -have three honeymoons!” she danced about the room gaily, clapping her -hands like a happy child. -</p> - -<p> -When they were ready to go to breakfast Colonel Ogilvie instinctively -offered his arm to Joy, but catching sight of Athlyne drew back and -motioned to him to take the honourable place. The husband was pleased, -but seeing a new opening for conciliation he said heartily: -</p> - -<p> -“No, no. I hope the time will never come when my wife won’t love to go -with her father!” The old man was pleased and called to his daughter: -</p> - -<p> -“Come, little girl, you have got to take us both!” She took her -husband’s arm as well as her father’s; and all three moved towards the -door. When they got there, however, some change was necessary, for it -was not possible to pass through three abreast. Each of the men was -willing to give place to the other; but before either man could move, -or indeed before either had his mind made up what to do, the -quicker-witted woman slipped back behind them. There taking Athlyne’s -hand in hers she had placed it on her father’s arm. As they both were -about to protest against going in front of her she said hastily: -</p> - -<p> -“Please, please Daddy and … Husband I would really rather you two -went first, and arm in arm as father and son should go. For that is -what it is to be from this on; isn’t it? I would rather a thousand -times see the two men I love best in all the world going so, than walk -in front of them as a Queen.” -</p> - -<p> -“That’s very prettily said!” was the comment of her father. Then with -a fond look back at her he took the young man’s hand from his own arm -and placed his own hand on the other’s arm. “That’s better!” he said. -“Age leaning on Youth, and Beauty smiling on both!” -</p> - -<p> -And in this wise they entered the Sheriff’s room, in time to see him -sitting at one end of the sofa and Judy sitting at the furthest corner -away from him—blushing. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch23"> -CHAPTER XXIII.<br/> -<span class="chap_sub">A HARMONY IN GRAY</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">As</span> the trio entered the room Judy jumped from the sofa vivaciously. -The Sheriff followed with an agility wonderful in a man of his age; he -bade them all welcome with a compelling heartiness. Judy was full of -animation; indeed she out-did herself to a degree which made Joy raise -her eyebrows. Joy was a sympathetic soul, and unconsciously adapted -herself to her Aunt’s supra-vivacity. -</p> - -<p> -To Colonel Ogilvie, less enthusiastic by nature and concern, it -appeared that she was as he put it in his own mind “playing up to the -old girl.” He seemed to realise that the Sheriff was ardent in his -intentions; and, with the calm, business-like aptitude of a -brother-in-law to a not-young lady, had already made up his mind to -give his consent. -</p> - -<p> -Judy flew to Joy and kissed her fervently. The kisses were returned -with equal warmth, and the two women rocked in each other’s arms, to -the envy, if delight, of certain of the onlookers viewing the -circumstance from different standpoints. Judy took her niece to the -now-vacated sofa, and an animated whispering began between them. Joy’s -attention was, however, distracted; her senses had different -objectives. Her touch was to Judy sitting beside her and holding her -close in a loving embrace; her ears were to her father who was talking -to the Sheriff. But her eyes were all with her husband, devouring him. -There came a timid knock at the door, and in answer to the Sheriff’s -“Come in,” it was partly opened. The voice of the landlady was heard: -“May I speak with ye a moment, Sheriff?” He went over to the door, and -a whispered colloquy ensued, all his guests turning their eyes away -and endeavouring in that way, as usual, to seem not to be listening. -Then the Sheriff, having closed the door, said: -</p> - -<p> -“Our good hostess tells me that there will be a full half hour of -waiting before we can breakfast, if she is to have proper time to do -justice to the food which she wishes to place before us. So I must ask -pardon of you all.” -</p> - -<p> -“Capital! Capital!” said Colonel Ogilvie, “that half hour is just what -we want. Mr. Sheriff, we have a little ceremony to go through before -we breakfast. The fact is we are going to have an Irregular Marriage. -If you are able to take part in such a thing I hope you will assist -us.” Joy rose up and stood beside Athlyne. The Sheriff answered: -</p> - -<p> -“Be quite easy on that point, sir. I am not in my own shrieval -district, and so, even if such were contra to my duties at home, I am -free to act as an individual elsewhere. But who are the contracting -parties? You are married already; so too are your daughter and my Lord -Athlyne. Indeed it looks, Miss Hayes, as if you and I are the only -available parties left. But I fear such great happiness is not for me; -though I would give anything in the wide world to win it!” He bowed to -her gallantly and took her hand. She looked quite embarrassed—though -not distressed, and giggled like a schoolgirl. -</p> - -<p> -“Indeed, Mr. Sheriff!” she said, “this is very sudden. Affairs of the -heart seem to move quickly in this delightful country!” As she spoke -she looked at Joy and Athlyne who happened to be at the moment -standing hand in hand. Joy came over and sat beside her and kissed -her. Athlyne, in obedience to a look from his wife, kissed her too. -Then the Colonel gallantly followed suit. There was only the Sheriff -left, and he, after a pause, took advantage of the occasion and kissed -her also. Then to relieve her manifest embarrassment he spoke out: -</p> - -<p> -“I fear I have diverted your purpose, Colonel Ogilvie. I am not sorry -for it”—this with a look at Judy which made her blush afresh “but I -apologize. I take it that you were alluding to something in which I am -to have a less prominent part than I have suggested.” -</p> - -<p> -“The marriage, sir, is to be between Lord Athlyne and my daughter.” As -he spoke Athlyne went to a side table whereon were spread the -Sheriff’s writing materials. He took a sheet of paper and began to -write. Colonel Ogilvie went on: -</p> - -<p> -“We have come to the conclusion that, though the act of marriage which -has already taken place between these two young people is in your view -lawful and complete, it may be well to go through the ceremony in a -more formal manner. There are, we all know, intricacies and pitfalls -in law; and we are both agreed with the suggestion of my lord that it -would be well not to allow any loophole for after attack. Therefore in -your presence—if you will be so good,” the Sheriff bowed, “they shall -again pledge their mutual Matrimonial Consent. They will both sign the -paper to that effect which I see Lord Athlyne is preparing; and we -shall all sign it as witnesses. Then, when this new marriage is -complete—and irrefragable as I understand from what you said awhile -ago it will be—we shall be ready for breakfast. It will be more than -perhaps you expected when you so kindly asked us to be your guests: a -wedding breakfast!” -</p> - -<p> -Judy whispered to her niece. -</p> - -<p> -“Joy, you must come to your room and let me dress you properly. I have -brought a dress with me.” -</p> - -<p> -“What dress dear?” she asked. -</p> - -<p> -“The tweed tailor-made.” -</p> - -<p> -“But, Judy dear, I have on a white frock, and that is more suitable -for my wedding.” -</p> - -<p> -“That was all right yesterday, dear. But to-day you shall not wear -white. You are already a married lady; this is only a re-marriage.” A -beautiful blush swept over Joy’s face as she looked at her husband -writing away as hard as his pen could move. -</p> - -<p> -“I shall wear white to-day!” she said in the same whisper, and stood -up. -</p> - -<p> -Just at that moment a fly drove quickly past the window. It stopped at -the hotel door, and there was a sudden bustle of arrival. Voices -raised to a high pitch were heard outside. Various comments were heard -in the room. -</p> - -<p> -“That’s mother!” -</p> - -<p> -“My wife!” -</p> - -<p> -“Sally!” -</p> - -<p> -“Why Aunt Judy that’s the voice of Mrs. O’Brien!” -</p> - -<p> -“My Foster-mother!” -</p> - -<p> -The door opened, and in swept Mrs. Ogilvie who flew first to her -husband’s arms; and then, after a quick embrace, seemed to close round -Joy and obliterate her. A similar eclipse took place with regard to -Athlyne; for Mrs. O’Brien dashed into the room and calling out as -though invoking the powers of earth and heaven: “Me bhoy! me bhoy!” -fell upon him. He seemed really glad to see her, and yielded himself -to her embrace as freely as though he had been a child again. -</p> - -<p> -“Joy dear,” said Mrs. Ogilvie “I hope you are all right. After your -father and then Judy had gone, I was so anxious about you, that I got -the north mail stopped and caught it at Penrith. Just as I was going -to get ready for the journey Mrs. O’Brien came in. She had written to -me in London that she would like to pay her respects, and I had said -we were going on to Ambleside but would be glad if she would come and -see us there and spend a few days with us.” Mrs. O’Brien who was all -ears, here cut into the conversation: -</p> - -<p> -“Aye, an Miss Joy acushla,—my service to ye miss!—she sent me postal -ordhers to cover me railway fare an me expinces. Oh! the kind heart iv -her!” -</p> - -<p> -She had by now released Athlyne and stood back from him pointing at -him as she spoke: -</p> - -<p> -“An comin’ here through yer ladyship’s goodness who do I find but me -beautiful bhoy. Luk at him! Luk at him! Luk at him!” Her voice rose in -crescendo at each repetition. “The finest, dearest, sweetest, bonniest -child that ever a woman tuk to her breast. An now luk at him well. The -finest, up-standinest, handsomest, dearest, lovinest man that the -whole wurrld houlds. That doesn’t forget his ould fosther mother an -him an Earrll, wid castles iv his own, an medals on to him an Victory -Crasses. An it’s a gineral he ought to be. Luk at him, God bless him!” -She turned to one after another of the party in turn as though -inviting their admiration. Joy came and, putting her arms round the -old woman’s neck, hugged and kissed her. When she got free, Mrs. -O’Brien said to Athlyne: -</p> - -<p> -“An phwat are ye doin’ here me darlin’ acushla me lord—av I may make -so bould as t’ ask ye? How did ye come here; and phwat brung ye that -yer ould nurse might have her eyes made glad wid sight iv ye?” -</p> - -<p> -“I am here, my dear, because I am married to Joy Ogilvie, and we are -going to be married again!” -</p> - -<p> -Then the storm of comment broke, all the women speaking at once and in -high voices suitable to a momentous occasion: -</p> - -<p> -“What, what?” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “Married to my daughter! Colonel -Ogilvie, how is it that I was not informed of this coming event?” -</p> - -<p> -“Faith, my dear I don’t know” he answered “I never knew it—and—and I -believe they didn’t know it themselves … till the moment before it -was done.” He added the last part of the sentence in deference to the -Sheriff’s direction as to ‘intention.’ Fortunately the Sheriff had not -heard his remark. -</p> - -<p> -“Do explain yourself, Lucius. I am all anxiety.” -</p> - -<p> -“My dear, yesterday Joy made an irregular marriage with Lord Athlyne!” -</p> - -<p> -“Good God!” The exclamation gave an indication of the social value of -“irregular” marriage to persons unacquainted with Scottish law. Her -husband saw that she was pained and tried to reassure her: -</p> - -<p> -“You need not distress yourself, my dear. It is all right. ‘Irregular’ -is only a name for a particular form of marriage in this Country. It -is equally legal with any other marriage.” -</p> - -<p> -“But who is Lord Athlyne, and where is he? That is the name of the man -who Mrs. O’Brien told Joy was the only man good enough for her.” -</p> - -<p> -“Lord Athlyne” said Colonel Ogilvie “at present our son-in-law, is -none other than Mr. Richard Hardy with whom you shook hands just now!” -</p> - -<p> -“Lucius, I am all amazed! There seems to be a sort of network of -mystery all round us. But one thing: if Joy was married yesterday how -on earth can she be going to be married to-day?” -</p> - -<p> -“To avoid the possibility of legal complications later on! It is all -right, my dear. You may take it from me that there is no cause for -concern! But there were certain things, usually attended to -beforehand, which on this occasion—owing to ignorance and hurry and -unpremeditation—were not attended to. In order to prevent the -possibility of anything going wrong by any quibble, they are to be -married again just now.” -</p> - -<p> -“Where? when?” -</p> - -<p> -“Here, in this room!” -</p> - -<p> -“But where’s the clergyman; where is the license?” -</p> - -<p> -“There is neither. This is a Scottish marriage! Later on we can have a -regular church marriage with a bishop if you wish or an archbishop; in -a church or a room or a Cathedral—just as you prefer.” Mrs. Ogilvie -perceptibly stiffened as he spoke. Then she said, with what she -thought was dignified gravity, which seemed to others like frigid -acidity: -</p> - -<p> -“Do I understand, Colonel Ogilvie, that you are a consenting party to -another ‘irregular’”—she quivered as she said the word—“marriage? -And that my daughter is to be made a laughing stock amongst all our -acquaintances by <i>three</i> different marriages?” -</p> - -<p> -“That is so, my dear. It is for Joy’s good!” -</p> - -<p> -“Her good? Fiddlesticks! But in that case I have nothing more to say!” -Some of her wrath seemed to be turned on both Athlyne and Joy; for she -did not say a single word to either of them. She simply relapsed into -stony silence. -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. O’Brien’s reception of the news afforded what might be termed the -“comic relief” of the strained situation. She raised her hands, as -though in protest to heaven for allowing such a thing, and emitted a -loud wail such as a “keener” raises at an Irish wake. Then she burst -into voluble speech: -</p> - -<p> -“Oh wirrasthrue me darlin’ bhoy, is it a haythen Turk y’ are becomin’, -to take another wife whin ye’ve got one already only a day ould. An -such a wan more betoken—the beautifullest darlinest young cratur what -iver I seen! Her that I picked out long ago as the only wan that ye -was good enough for. Shure, couldn’t ye rist content wid Miss Joy, me -darlin’? It’s lookin’ forward I was to nursin’ her childher, as I -nursed yerself me lord darlin’, her childher, an yours! An’ now it’s -another woman steppin’ in betune ye; an’ maybe there’ll be no childher -at all, at all. Wirrasthrue!” -</p> - -<p> -“But look here, Nanny,” said Athlyne with some impatience. “Can’t you -see that you’re all wrong. It is to Joy that I am going to marry -again! There’s no other woman coming in between us. ’Tis only the dear -girl herself!” -</p> - -<p> -“Ah, that’s all very well, me lord darlin’; but which iv them is to be -the mother? Faix but I’ll go an ax her Ladyship this minit!” And go -she did, to Athlyne’s consternation and Joy’s embarrassment. All in a -hurry she started up and went over to the sofa where Joy sat, and with -a bob curtesy said to her: -</p> - -<p> -“Me lady, mayn’t I have the nursin’ av yer childher, the way I had -their father before them? Though, be the same token, it’s not the same -nursin’ I can give thim, wid me bein’ ould an’ rhun dhry!” Joy felt -that the only thing to do was to postpone the difficulty to a more -convenient season, when there should not be so many eyes—some of them -strange ones—on her. To do this as kindly and as brightly as she -could, she said: -</p> - -<p> -“But dear Mrs. O’Brien, isn’t it a little soon to think—or at any -rate to speak—of such things?” -</p> - -<p> -“Wasn’t ye married yisterday?” interrupted the old woman. But looking -at her lady’s cheeks she went on in a different tone: -</p> - -<p> -“But me darlin’—Lady, it’s over bould an’ too contagious for me to -mintion such things, as yit. But I’ll take, if I may, a more -saysonable opportunity to ask ye to patthernise me. Some time whin -ye’re more established as a wife thin ye are now!” -</p> - -<p> -“Indeed” said Joy kindly. “I shall only be too happy to have you near -me. And if I—if we are ever blessed with a little son I hope you will -try to teach him to be as like his——” she stopped, blushing, but -after a short pause went on “as like my dear husband as ever you can!” -There was a break in her voice which moved the old woman strongly. She -lifted the slim fine young hand to her withered lips and kissed it -fervently. -</p> - -<p> -“Glory be to God! me Lady, but it’s the proud woman I’ll be to keep -and guard the young Earrll. An’ I’ll give my life for him if needs -be!” -</p> - -<p> -“Come now!” said the Sheriff who had been speaking with Colonel -Ogilvie and Athlyne, and who had read over the paper written by the -latter. “Come now all you good people! All sit round the room except -you two principals to this solemn contract. You two stand before me -and read over the paper. You, my Lord, read it first; and then you -too, my Lady, do the same!” They sat round as they wished. Joy and -Athlyne stood up before the Sheriff, who was also standing. -Instinctively they took hands, and Athlyne holding the paper in his -left hand, read as follows: -</p> - -<div class="letter"> - -<p> -“We Calinus Patrick Richard Westerna Mowbray Hardy Fitzgerald, Earl of -Athlyne, Viscount Roscommon and Baron Ceann-da-Shail and Joy -Fitzgerald or Ogilvie late of Airlville in the State of Kentucky, -United States of America, agree that we shall be and are united in the -solemn bonds of matrimony according to the Law of Scotland and that we -being of one mind as to the marriage, are and hereby declare ourselves -man and wife. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Witness of above</i> -</p> - -<p> -We the undersigned hereby declare that we have in the presence of the -above signatories and of each other seen the foregoing signatures -appended to this deed by the signatories themselves in our presence -and in the presence of each other. -</p> - -<p> -Alexander Fenwick (Sheriff of Galloway). -</p> - -<p> -Lucius Ogilvie (father of the bride). -</p> - -<p> -Mary Hayes Ogilvie (mother of the bride). -</p> - -<p> -Bedelia Ann O’Brien, widow (formerly nurse and foster mother to the -bridegroom). -</p> - -<p> -Judith Hayes (aunt of the bride).” -</p> - -</div> - -<p> -When the document was completed by the signatures the Sheriff, having -first scanned it carefully, offered it to Colonel Ogilvie, who raising -a protesting hand said: -</p> - -<p> -“No, no, Mr. Sheriff! I think we should all prefer that it should be -kept in your custody, if you will so oblige us.” -</p> - -<p> -“With the greatest pleasure” he said; and Athlyne and Joy having -consented to the scheme he folded the document and put it into his -pocket. Just then the landlady, having knocked and being bidden to -enter, came into the room followed by several maids and men bearing -dishes. -</p> - -<p> -“And now to breakfast” he went on. “Will the Bride kindly sit on my -right hand, with her Husband next her. Mrs. Ogilvie, will you honour -me by sitting on my left, with Colonel Ogilvie to support you on the -other side. Miss Hayes will you kindly sit on Lord Athlyne’s right.” -“And Mrs. … Mrs. O’Brien,” whispered Judy. He went on: -</p> - -<p> -“Mrs. O’Brien will you sit on Colonel Ogilvie’s left.” -</p> - -<p> -“’Deed an’ I’ll not!” said the Irishwoman sturdily. -</p> - -<p> -“Do you mean” asked Colonel Ogilvie icily “that you do not care to sit -next to me individually?” -</p> - -<p> -“Faix an’ I don’t mane anything so foolish yer ’ann’r. Why should the -likes o’ me dar to object to the likes iv you? All I mane, sorr, is -that an ould Biddy like me isn’t fit to sit down alongside the -quality—let alone an Earrll and his Laady whose unborn childher I’m -to nurse. An’, more betoken, on such an owdacious occasion—shure an I -don’t mane that but such a suspicious occasion.” -</p> - -<p> -“Mrs. O’Brien ma’am” said the Sheriff taking her hand “you’re going, I -hope to take your place at the table that all these good friends wish -you to take.” -</p> - -<p> -“In troth no yer”—whispering to Joy “what’s a Sheriff called Miss -Joy? Is he ‘yer Majesty’ or ‘me lord’ or ‘yer ann’r’ or what is he -anyhow?” “I think he is ‘yer honour’” said Joy. So Mrs. O’Brien -continued: “Yer Ann’r. Don’t ask me fur to sit down wid the quality -where I don’t belong. But let me give a hand to these nice girrls and -byes to shling the hash. Shure it’s a stewardess I am, an accustomed -to shovin’ the food.” -</p> - -<p> -“Nanny” said Athlyne kindly but in a strong voice “we all want you to -sit at table with us to-day. And I hope you won’t refuse us that -pleasure.” -</p> - -<p> -“Certainly me darlin’ lord!” she said instantly. “In coorse what -plases ye!” The Master had spoken; she was content to obey without -question. In the meantime Joy had been whispering to her mother who -now spoke out: -</p> - -<p> -“Mr. Sheriff, will you allow me to make a suggestion about the places -at table?” -</p> - -<p> -“With a thousand delights, madam. Pray make whatever disposition you -think best. I am only too grateful for your help.” -</p> - -<p> -“Thank you, sir. Well, if you do not mind I should like my sister, -Miss Hayes, placed next to you; then Colonel Ogilvie and myself. On -the other side if you will place next to my son-in-law his old nurse, -I am right sure that both will be pleased.” -</p> - -<p> -“Hear, hear!” said Athlyne. “Come along, Nanny, and sit next your boy! -Joy and I shall be delighted to have you close to us. Won’t you, -darling.” Joy’s answer was quite satisfactory to him: -</p> - -<p> -“Of course … Darling!” It was wonderful what a world of love she put -into the utterance of those two syllables. -</p> - -<p> -The breakfast was a great success, though but few of the party ate -heartily. Neither Athlyne nor Joy did justice to the provender. They -whispered a good deal and held hands surreptitiously under the table, -and their eyes met constantly. The same want of appetite seemed to -have affected both the Sheriff and Judy; but silence and a certain -restraint and primness were their characteristics. Mrs. O’Brien, -seated on the very edge of her chair, was too proud and too happy to -eat. But she was storing up for future enjoyment fond memories of -every incident, however trivial. -</p> - -<p> -It was mid-day before any move was made. There were no speeches—in -public, as all considered it would break the charm that was over the -occasion if anything so overt took place. When all is understood, -speech becomes almost banal. But there were lots of whisperings; -whispers as soft in their tone as their matter was sweet. No one -appeared to notice any one else at such moments; though be sure that -there were words and tones and looks that were remembered later by the -receivers, and looks and movements that were remembered by the others. -Judy and the Sheriff had much to say to each other. Ample opportunity -was given from the fact that the newly married pair found themselves -occupied with each other almost exclusively. Occasionally, of course, -Joy and the Sheriff conversed; but as a working rule he was quite -content to devote himself to Judy who seemed quite able to hold up her -end of the serious flirtation. When finally the party broke up, -preparatory to setting out for the south, the Sheriff asked Colonel -Ogilvie if it might be possible that he should join in travel with the -party, as he wished to spend a few days in Ambleside—a place which he -had not visited for many years. Colonel Ogilvie cordially acquiesced. -He was pretty sure by now that the meeting of Judy and this new friend -would end in a match, and he was glad to do anything which might -result in the happiness of his sister-in-law of whom he was really -fond. But it was not on this account only that he made him welcome. -The reaction from his evil temper was on him. Conscience was awake and -pricking into him the fact that he had behaved brutally. His mind did -not yet agree in the justice of the verdict; but that would doubtless -come later. He now wished to show to all that there was quite another -side of his character. In this view he pressed that the Sheriff should -be his guest. The other was about to object when he realised that by -accepting he would be one of the household, and so much closer to -Judy, and more and oftener in her society than would otherwise be -possible. So he accepted gladly, and he and the Colonel soon became -inseparable—except when Judy was speaking! In such case Colonel -Ogilvie often felt himself rather left out in the cold. At the -beginning of breakfast Athlyne had learned from Joy of the abandonment -of the motor, and he had accordingly sent his father-in-law’s -chauffeur, with his pilot, to bring it back. They had to travel in a -horse carriage; he could not drive two motors at once, and the pilot -could not drive one. In due course the motor was retrieved, and having -been made clean and taut by the “first-class <i>mechanicien</i> and driver” -was ready for the road. Colonel Ogilvie’s motor was also ready, and as -the pilot could now be left to travel home by train so that the owner -could sit by his chauffeur, there would be room for the new guest to -sit between the two ladies in the tonneau. When he mentioned this -arrangement, however, the Sheriff did not jump at it, but found -difficulties in the way of incommoding the ladies. At last he said: -</p> - -<p> -“I hope you will excuse me, Ogilvie, but I had already formed a little -plan which I hoped with your sanction and that of your wife, to carry -out. Before breakfast I—Miss Hayes and I had been talking of the old -manner of posting. Her idea had, I think, been formed by seeing prints -of break-downs of carriages in run-away matches to Gretna Green, and I -suggested … In fact I ventured to offer to drive her in -old-fashioned postal style to Ambleside, and let her see what it was -like. I have in my house at Galloway a fine old shay that my father -and mother made their wedding trip in. It has always been kept in good -trim, and it is all right for the journey. As Sheriff I have post-boys -in my employ for great occasions and I have good horses of my own. So -when J … Miss Hayes accepted my offer … of the journey, I wired -off to have the trap sent down here. Indeed it should arrive within a -very short time. I have also wired for relays of horses to be ready at -Dumfries, Annan, Carlisle and Patterdale, so that when we start we -should go without a hitch. My boys know the road, and four horses will -spin us along in good style—even if we cannot keep up with your -motor.” So it was arranged that the pilot could occupy his old place -with the chauffeur; and the Colonel and Mrs. Ogilvie would travel in -the tonneau, Darby and Joan fashion. This settlement of affairs had -only been arrived at after considerable discussion. When her father -had told Joy that she was to ride with her mother, she had spoken out -at once—without arrangement with Athlyne or even consultation with -him: -</p> - -<p> -“Athlyne will drive me, and we can take Mrs. O’Brien with us. There is -stacks of room in the tonneau, and we have no luggage. I am sure my -husband would like to have her with us.” -</p> - -<p> -But when the arrangement was mentioned to the foster-mother she -refused absolutely to obey any such order: -</p> - -<p> -“What” she said “me go away in the coach wid the bride and groom! An -ould corrn-crake like me wid the quality; an this none other than me -own darlin’ lord and Miss Joy that I’m going to nurse the childher iv -her. No, my Lady, I’ll do no such thing! Do ye think I’m goin’ to -shpoil shport when me darlin’ does be drivin’ wid his beautiful wife -by him an’ him kissin’ her be the yard an’ the mile an’ the hour, an’ -huggin’ her be the ton, as he ought to be doin’, or he’s not the man -I’ve always tuk him for. Shure ma’am” this to Mrs. Ogilvie “this is -their day an’ their hour; an’ iviry minit iv it is goold an dimons to -them! I’m tellin’ ye, I’d liefer put me eyes on Styx than do such a -thing!” Mrs. Ogilvie, who recognised the excellence of her ideas, -said: -</p> - -<p> -“Then you must come with the Colonel and me. We’ve loads of room, and -we are all alone.” -</p> - -<p> -“An’ savin’ yer presence, so ye should be ma’am whin ye’re seein’ yer -daughter goin’ aff wid her man. There’s loads iv things you and your -man will want to be talkin’ about. Musha! if it’s only rememberin’ -what ye said an’ done whin ye was aff on yer own honeymoon. Mind ye, -ma’am, it’s not bad talkin’ or rememberin’, that’s not! No motors for -me, ma’am—to-day at any rate. I’ll go by the thrain that I kem’ by; -an’ when I get to yer hotel, if I’m before ye, I’ll shtraighten out -things for ye, an’ have the rooms nice an’ ready. For mind ye, ma’am, -me darlin’ Lord tould me that he’s goin’ to have a gran’ weddin’ to -Miss Joy whin he gets his license! Be the way, does he get that, can -ye tell me ma’am, from the polis or where the sheebeeners gits theirs? -An’ av there’s goin’ to be a weddin’ wid flowers an’ gowns an’ veils -an’ things in church, I suppose they won’t be too previous about -comin’ together. Musha! but’s it’s a quare sort iv ways the quality -has! Weddin’s here be the Sheriff, an’ thin be bishops, an’ wid -licenses. An’ him in Bowness—for that’s where he tells me he’s -shtoppin’—an’ his wife in Ambleside—on their weddin’ night! Begob! -Ireland’s changin’ fast, fur that usen’t to be the way. I’m thinkin’ -that the Shinn-Fayn’ll have to wake up a bit if that’s the way things -is going to go. Or else there’ll be millea murther, from the Giant’s -Causeway to Cape Clear!” As Mrs. Ogilvie did not wish to discuss this -part of the question herself, she beckoned over Athlyne and told him -that Mrs. O’Brien had refused to go in his motor. -</p> - -<p> -“Not even if I ask you or tell you to?” he said to the old woman, -having not the least intention of doing either. -</p> - -<p> -“Not even thin, me Lord darlin’” she said with a cheery smile. “An’ -I’m thinkin’ it’s thankin’ me—you an’ yer lovely wife too—’ll be -before ye’re well out of sight of this place. Faix it’s a nice sort iv -ould gooseberry I’d be, sittin’ in the carriage wid me arrums foulded, -wid me darlin’ Lord sittin’ in front dhrivin’ like a show-flure in a -shute iv leather. An’ his bride beside him, wid her arrums round him -bekase both his own is busy wid the little wheel; an’ her wondhrin’, -wid tears in her beautiful grey eyes, why he doesn’t kiss her what -she’s pinin’ fur. Augh! no! Not me, this time! I was a bride -meself—wanst. An’ I know betther nor me young Lady does now, what is -what on the weddin’ day afther the words is said. Though she’ll pick -up, so she will. She’s not the soort that’ll be long larnin’! Musha -…” Her further revelations and prophesyings were cut short by -Athlyne’s kissing her and saying “Good-bye!” -</p> - -<p> -If the journey up North had been Fairyland, the journey southward was -Heaven for both the young people. Athlyne felt all the triumph of a -conqueror. If he had sung out loud, as he would like to have done, his -song would have been a war-song rather than a love-song. There was the -<i>elan</i> of the conqueror about him; the stress of love-longing and -love-pining were behind him. The battle was won, and his conqueror’s -booty was beside him, well content to be in his train. Still even -conqueror’s love has its duties as well as its right, and he was more -tender than ever to Joy. She, sitting beside him in all the radiancy -of her new found wifehood, felt that their hearts were beating -together; and that their thoughts swayed in unison. When her eyes -would be lifted from the lean, strong, brown hands gripping the -steering wheel—for in the rush of departure he had other things to -think of than putting on the gloves which were squeezed behind him in -his seat—and would look up into his face she would feel a sort of -electric shock as his eyes, leaving for a moment their steering duty, -would flash into hers with a look of love which made her quiver. But -presently when his yielding to affection had been tested, and even her -curiosity had been satisfied, she ceased such sudden looks. She -realized his idea of the gravity of the situation when she saw, as his -eyes returned to their necessary task, the hard look become fixed on -his eagle face—the look which to one engaged in his task means safety -to those under his care. She was all sympathy with him now. She was -content that his will should prevail; that his duty should be the duty -of both; that her service was to help him. And the first moment she -realized this, she sighed happily as she sank back in her seat, her -lover-rapture merged in wife-content. She had compensation for the -foregoing in the exercise of her own pride. From her present -standpoint all that came within the scope of her senses was supremely -beautiful. The mountains grey and mysterious in their higher and -further peaks; the dark woods running flamelike up into the glory of -the mountain colouring; the scent of the new-mown hay, drifted across -the track by the bracing winds sweeping over the hills; the glimmering -sapphire of the water as they swept by lake or river, or caught -flashes of the distant Forth through long green valleys. They went -fast; Athlyne’s wild excitement—the echo of the battle-phrenzy that -had won him distinction on the field—found some relief in speed. He -had thrown open the throttle of his powerful engine and swept along at -such a speed that the whole landscape seemed to fly by the rushing -car, giving only momentary glimpses of even the most far-flung beauty. -He did not fear police traps now. He did not fear anything! Even the -car seemed to have yielded itself like a living thing to the spell of -the situation. Its wheels purred softly as it swept along, and the -speed made a wind which seemed to roar in the ears of the two who were -one. -</p> - -<p> -Joy felt that she had a right to be content. This journey was of her -own choosing entirely. The manner of it had been this: when the party -had been arranged for starting her father had said to Athlyne: -</p> - -<p> -“When you get to Ambleside, as I suppose you will do before us, will -you give orders to have everything ready for our party. You can do -this before you drive over to Bowness. You can come over to dinner if -you like. I suppose you and Joy will want to see something of each -other—all you can indeed, before the wedding comes off. That can be -as soon as you like after you have got the license.” To this he had -replied: -</p> - -<p> -“I should like to—and shall—do anything I can, sir, to meet your -wishes. But I cannot promise to do anything now, on quite my own -initiative. You see our dear girl has to be consulted; and I need not -tell you that her wishes must prevail—so far as I am concerned!” -</p> - -<p> -“Quite right, my boy! Quite right!” said the old man. “Then we shall -leave the orders to her. Here, Joy!” she came over, and her father put -his suggestion to her. She hesitated gravely, and paused before she -spoke; she evidently intended that there should be no mistake as to -her deliberate intention: -</p> - -<p> -“No! Daddy, that won’t do; I’m going with my husband!” She took his -arm and clung to him lovingly, her finger tips biting sweetly into his -flesh. “But, Daddy dear, we’ll come over to-morrow and lunch or -breakfast with you, if we may. Call it early lunch or late breakfast. -We shall be over about noon. Remember we have to come from Bowness!” -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne seemed to float in air as he heard her. There was something so -sweetly—so truly wifely, in her words and attitude that it won to his -heart and set him in a state of rapture. -</p> - -<p> -<br/> -</p> - -<p> -The late breakfast at Ambleside next day, though ostensibly a mere -family breakfast, was hardly to be classed in that category. It was in -reality regarded by all the family at present resident in that town as -a wedding breakfast. They had one and all dressed themselves for the -occasion. Not in complete marriage costume, which would have looked a -little overdone, but in a modified form which sufficiently expressed -in the mind of each the prevailing spirit of rejoicing. A few seconds -before noon the “toot toot” of Athlyne’s powerful hooter was heard -some distance off. All rushed to the windows to see the great red car -swing round the corner. The chauffeur was driving; the bride and groom -sat in the tonneau. As Athlyne was not driving he wore an ordinary -morning dress—a well-cut suit of light grey which set out well his -tall, lithe powerful figure. Joy was wrapped in a huge motor coat of -soft grey, with her head shrouded in a veil of the same colour. In the -hall they both took off their wraps, Athlyne helping his wife with the -utmost tenderness. When they came into the room they made a grey pair, -for with the exception of Athlyne’s brown eyes and hair and a scarlet -neck tie, and Joy’s dark hair and a flash of the same scarlet as her -husband’s on her breast, they were grey—all grey. It would seem as if -the whole colour-scheme of the couple had been built round Joy’s eyes. -She certainly looked lovely; there was a brilliant colour in her -cheeks, and between her scarlet lips her teeth, when she smiled, -flashed like pearls. She was in a state of buoyancy, seeming rather to -float about than to move like a being on feet. She was all sweetness -and affection, and flitted from one to another, leaving a wake of -beaming happiness behind her. -</p> - -<p> -Athlyne too was manifestly happy; but in quieter fashion, as is the -way of a man. He was not overt or demonstrative in his attention to -Joy; but his eyes followed her perpetually, and his ears seemed to -hear every whisper regarding her. Her eyes too, kept turning to him -wherever she might be or to whom speaking. Judy at first stood beaming -at the pair with a look of proprietary interest; but after a while she -began to be a trifle nettled by the husband’s absorption in her niece. -This feeling culminated when as Joy tripped slightly on the edge of -the hearth-rug her husband started towards her with a swift movement -and with that quick intake of breath which manifests alarmed concern. -Judy’s impulsiveness found its expression in a semi-humorous, -semi-sarcastic remark: -</p> - -<p> -“Why Athlyne you seem to look on the girl as if she was brittle! You -weren’t like that yesterday when you flashed her away from us at sixty -miles an hour!” For a moment there was silence and all eyes were fixed -on Joy who looked embarrassed and turn rosy-red. Athlyne to relieve -her drew their attention on himself: -</p> - -<p> -“No, my dear Judy—I’m not ever going to call you anything else you -know. She wasn’t my wife then!” -</p> - -<p> -“Wasn’t she!” came the answer tartly spoken. “She was just as much -your wife then. She had been married to you only twice! And the first -marriage was good enough for anything. I know that is so, for my -sheriff says so!—Oh …” The ejaculation was due to the shame of -sudden recognition of her confession. She blushed furiously; the -Sheriff, looking radiantly happy, stepped over to her, took her hand, -raised it to his lips, and kissed it. -</p> - -<p> -“I think my dear,” he said slowly and quietly, “that constitutes a -marriage—if you will have it so?” She looked at him shyly and said -quietly: -</p> - -<p> -“If you like to count it a step on the way—like Joy’s first marriage, -do so—dear! Then if you like we can make it real when Joy becomes a -wife—in the Church!” -</p> - -<p> -Everyone in the room was so interested in this little episode that two -of them only noticed a queer note of dissent or expostulation, coming -in the shape of a sort of modified grunt from the two matrons of the -party. Said Athlyne, still mindful of his intent to protect Joy: -</p> - -<p> -“All right, Judy. I’ll remember: ‘<i>my</i> sheriff,’ if there’s any more -chaffing. It seems that he’ll be ‘brittle’ before long!” Judy flashed -one keen happy glance at him as she whispered close in his ear: -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t be ungenerous!” For reply he whispered back: -</p> - -<p> -“Forgive me—dear. I did not intend to be nasty. I’m too happy for -anything of that sort!” -</p> - -<p> -As breakfast wore on and the familiarity of domestic life followed -constraint, matters of the future came on the tapis. When Mrs. Ogilvie -asked the young couple if they had yet settled when the marriage—the -church marriage—was to come off, Joy looked down demurely at the -table cloth as her husband answered: -</p> - -<p> -“I go up to town early in the morning to get the License. It is all in -hand and there will be no hitch and no delay. I had a wire this -morning from my solicitor about it; and also one from the Archbishop -congratulating me. I shall be home by the ten ten train on Thursday -and we can have the wedding late that afternoon, if you will have the -church and the parson ready.” -</p> - -<p> -“But, my dear boy, isn’t that rather sudden?” -</p> - -<p> -“Not sudden enough for me! But really, so far as I am concerned, I -shall wait as long as Joy wishes. Now that we are married already, I -fancy it doesn’t much matter. Only that anything which could possibly -bind me closer to Joy will always be a happiness to me, I don’t care -whether we have a third marriage at all.” Mrs. Ogilvie caught her -daughter’s eye and answered at once: -</p> - -<p> -“So be it then! Thursday afternoon at six. I suppose there can be no -objection as to canonical hours?” The Sheriff answered: -</p> - -<p> -“I can tell you that. The License of the Archbishop goes through and -beyond all canonical hours and all places—in South Britain of course. -Armed with that instrument you can celebrate the marriage when and -where you will.” Joy and Athlyne were by this time holding hands and -whispering. -</p> - -<p> -“Of course Joy will stay with us till then—Athlyne.” Mrs. Ogilvie -spoke the last word with a pause; it was the first time she had used -his name. -</p> - -<p> -“Not ‘of course.’” he answered. “She is the head of her house now and -must be free to do as she please. But I am sure she will like to come -to you.” Joy made a protesting “<i>moue</i>” at him as she said: -</p> - -<p> -“Of course I’d like to be with Mother and Daddy, and Judy—if I—if I -am not to be with you—Oh, darling! you’re hurting me. You’re so -frightfully strong!” -</p> - -<p> -Breakfast being over, the party broke up and moved about the room. Joy -was sitting on the sofa with her Mother when Mrs. O’Brien came sidling -up by the wall. When she got close she curtsied and said: -</p> - -<p> -“Won’t ye tell me now, me Lady, if I’m to be the wan to nurse yer -childher?” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh dear! But Mrs. O’Brien, I said only yesterday that I’d tell you -that some other time. You <i>are</i> previous!—Didn’t you hear that I am -to be married on Thursday. Later on …” -</p> - -<p> -“No time like the prisint, me Lady. It was yistherday ye shpoke; an -to-day’s to-day. Mayn’t I nurse yer ch …” -</p> - -<p> -“Tell her, dear—” her Mother had begun, when Judy joined the group. -</p> - -<p> -“What’s all this about? Whose children are you talking of?” began the -merry spinster. But her sister cut her short: -</p> - -<p> -“Never you mind, Judy! You just go and sit down and try and get -accustomed to silence so as to be ready to keep your Sheriff out of an -asylum.” Athlyne, too, with ears preternaturally sharp on Joy’s -account, had heard something of the conversation. Looking over at his -wife, he saw her face divinely rosy, and with a troubled, hunted look -in her eyes. He too instantly waded into the fray. -</p> - -<p> -“I say, let her alone you all! I hope they’re not teasing you -darling?” Joy, fearing that something unpleasant might be said, on one -side or the other, made haste to reassure him. -</p> - -<p> -Then she closed his mouth in the very best way that a young wife can -do—the way that seems to take his feet from earth and to raise him to -heaven. -</p> - -<p class="end"> -THE END -</p> - - -<h2> -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES. -</h2> - -<p class="noindent"> -<b>Inconsistencies of the author that have been preserved:</b> -</p> - -<p> -Missing commas from some direct addresses and quoted passages. -</p> - -<p> -Capitalization of he/him when referring to Lord Athlyne. -</p> - -<p> -Spelling and hyphenization of some words (<i>e.g.</i> cross-roads/cross -roads, doorway/door-way, Lake Country/Lake County, etc.). -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<b>Alterations to the text:</b> -</p> - -<p> -Minor punctuation fixes (missing periods, improperly paired quotation -marks, etc.). -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -[Chapter I] -</p> - -<p> -Change “on the <i>nothern</i> shore of Lake Superior” to <i>northern</i>. -</p> - -<p> -“We may be Americans; but <i>we’ve</i> not to be played for suckers” to -<i>we’re</i>. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -[Chapter II] -</p> - -<p> -“Judy’s insight or <i>prophesy</i> was being realised” to <i>prophecy</i>. -(<i>prophesy</i> is a verb and thus doesn’t make sense). -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -[Chapter IV] -</p> - -<p> -“without names or <i>indentification</i> marks” to <i>identification</i>. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -[Chapter V] -</p> - -<p> -“she sank <i>sensless</i> to the ground” to <i>senseless</i>. -</p> - -<p> -“When he saw that <i>he</i> was only fainting” to <i>she</i>. (It was Joy who -fainted, not a male character.) -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -[Chapter VI] -</p> - -<p> -“the overwhelming impulses of <i>mother-hood</i>” to <i>motherhood</i>. -</p> - -<p> -“he was <i>painfuly</i> conscious of his” to <i>painfully</i>. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -[Chapter VII] -</p> - -<p> -“he felt horribly <i>dissappointed</i>” to <i>disappointed</i>. -</p> - -<p> -“She spoke in a gay <i>debonnair</i> manner” to <i>debonair</i>. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -[Chapter VIII] -</p> - -<p> -“the forthcoming visit to <i>Eurpoe</i>” to <i>Europe</i>. -</p> - -<p> -“She’s the <i>letterwriter</i> of the family” to <i>letter-writer</i>. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -[Chapter X] -</p> - -<p> -“have called <i>unconcious</i> cerebration,” to <i>unconscious</i>. -</p> - -<p> -“She had to content <i>hersef</i> with” to <i>herself</i>. -</p> - -<p> -“whom he wished to <i>propitate</i>” to <i>propitiate</i>. -</p> - -<p> -“the whole <i>word</i> seemed to revolve round Joy” to <i>world</i>. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -[Chapter XI] -</p> - -<p> -“For my own part <i>of</i> ever I fall in love” to <i>if</i>. -</p> - -<p> -“he met the <i>chaffeur</i> whom he sent back” to <i>chauffeur</i>. -</p> - -<p> -“the personal <i>manisfestation</i> of Nature’s God” to <i>manifestation</i>. -</p> - -<p> -“Then <i>impulvisely</i> she put her hand” to <i>impulsively</i>. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -[Chapter XII] -</p> - -<p> -“with a trusty <i>chaffeur</i> or by train” to <i>chauffeur</i>. -</p> - -<p> -“in London at Brown’s Hotel <i>Albermarle</i> Street” to <i>Albemarle</i>. -</p> - -<p> -“at the station at <i>Windmere</i>” to <i>Windermere</i>. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -[Chapter XIII] -</p> - -<p> -“between which her inward <i>natured</i> swayed pendulum-wise” to <i>nature</i>. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -[Chapter XIV] -</p> - -<p> -“hope that it <i>woud</i> be in a spot” to <i>would</i>. -</p> - -<p> -“necessitated by the <i>eaboration</i> of organised society” to -<i>elaboration</i>. -</p> - -<p> -“<i>uness</i> we hear to the contrary” to <i>unless</i>. -</p> - -<p> -“Love surely was so <i>triumpahnt</i>” to <i>triumphant</i>. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -[Chapter XV] -</p> - -<p> -“was not due at <i>Windmere</i> till seven” to <i>Windermere</i>. -</p> - -<p> -“while <i>she</i> poor girl would have to bear all the brunt” to <i>the</i>. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -[Chapter XVI] -</p> - -<p> -“with as <i>brace</i> a face and bearing as she could muster” to <i>brave</i>. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -[Chapter XVIII] -</p> - -<p> -“he <i>determind</i> to try to make amends” to <i>determined</i>. -</p> - -<p> -(“Why, madam ‘why’” he almost roared whilst...) Change the passage -in quotes to an exclamation (because of the roaring). -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -[Chapter XXI] -</p> - -<p> -“There was a prolonged <i>screceh</i>” to <i>screech</i>. -</p> - -<p> -“two parties came into this <i>juxta-position</i>” to <i>juxtaposition</i>. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -[Chapter XXII] -</p> - -<p> -“What of of the future?” delete one <i>of</i>. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -[Chapter XXIII] -</p> - -<p> -“our son-in-law, <i>in</i> none other than Mr. Richard Hardy” to <i>is</i>. -</p> - -<p class="end"> -[End of Text] -</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LADY ATHLYNE ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. -</div> - -<div style='margin:0.83em 0; font-size:1.1em; text-align:center'>START: FULL LICENSE<br /> -<span style='font-size:smaller'>THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE<br /> -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK</span> -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project -Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person -or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the -Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when -you share it without charge with others. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work -on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the -phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: -</div> - -<blockquote> - <div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most - other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions - whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms - of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online - at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you - are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws - of the country where you are located before using this eBook. - </div> -</blockquote> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project -Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg™ License. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format -other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain -Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -provided that: -</div> - -<div style='margin-left:0.7em;'> - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation.” - </div> - - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ - works. - </div> - - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - </div> - - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works. - </div> -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right -of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™ -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread -public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state -visit <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/donate/">www.gutenberg.org/donate</a>. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. -</div> - -</div> - -</body> -</html> |