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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1f8e1a0 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #69310 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/69310) diff --git a/old/69310-0.txt b/old/69310-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 0ef88f7..0000000 --- a/old/69310-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8641 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The wiser folly, by Leslie Moore - -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: The wiser folly - -Author: Leslie Moore - -Release Date: November 7, 2022 [eBook #69310] - -Language: English - -Produced by: D A Alexander and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team - at https://www.pgdp.net (Scans were provided by yhe New - York Public Library's Digital Collections) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WISER FOLLY *** - - - - - - _By Leslie Moore_ - - The Peacock Feather - The Jester - The Wiser Folly - - - - -[Illustration: “FOR ALL HIS OUTWARD CALM, FOR ALL HIS LEVEL, EASY, -CARELESS VOICE, HIS HEART WAS IN A TUMULT.” - -Drawn by D. C. Hutchison - - (_See Page 179_)] - - - - - THE WISER FOLLY - - BY - - LESLIE MOORE - - AUTHOR OF “THE PEACOCK FEATHER,” ETC. - - G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS - NEW YORK AND LONDON - The Knickerbocker Press - 1916 - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1916 - BY - LESLIE MOORE - - -The Knickerbocker Press, New York - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - PROLOGUE 1 - - CHAPTER - - I.--CONCERNING THE VILLAGE OF - MALFORD 5 - II.--A RUMOUR 17 - III.--A MEETING 20 - IV.--A BLACK AND WHITE GOAT 25 - V.--MURAL PAINTINGS 39 - VI.--MRS. TRIMWELL 46 - VII.--FLIGHTS OF FANCY 56 - VIII.--AN OLD PRIEST 61 - IX.--AN OLD-TIME TRAGEDY 74 - X.--CORIN THEORIZES 85 - XI.--IN AN OLD CHURCH 92 - XII.--THE WICKEDNESS OF MOLLY - BIDDULPH 105 - XIII.--AT DELANCEY CASTLE 113 - XIV.--A POINT OF VIEW 121 - XV.--JOHN PLAYS THE SAMARITAN 128 - XVI.--CORIN DISCOURSES ON KARMA 138 - XVII.--A RARE ABSURDITY 143 - XVIII.--IN FATHER MALONEY’S GARDEN 145 - XIX.--A BEWITCHING 152 - XX.--A VITAL QUESTION 156 - XXI.--A REQUEST 161 - XXII.--THE WONDERFUL WOMAN 162 - XXIII.--THE CACHE 167 - XXIV.--DAVID DINES AT THE CASTLE 181 - XXV.--JOHN MAKES A DISCOVERY 187 - XXVI.--A FUNNY WORLD 192 - XXVII.--THE OLD OAK 199 - XXVIII.--ON THE TERRACE 207 - XXIX.--AN UNEXPECTED LETTER 216 - XXX.--ELIZABETH ARRIVES ON THE - SCENE 222 - XXXI.--IN THE EARLY MORNING 226 - XXXII.--THE NOTE OF A BELL 233 - XXXIII.--THE GREEN MAN 235 - XXXIV.--ELIZABETH GIVES ADVICE 246 - XXXV.--THE BURDEN OF CONVENTIONALITY 255 - XXXVI.--CONSPIRATORS 261 - XXXVII.--CORIN TAKES A WALK 269 - XXXVIII.--CONCERNING AN ARGUMENT 277 - XXXIX.--A DUMB DOG-- 288 - XL.--SPEAKS-- 290 - XLI.--AT SOME LENGTH 291 - XLII.--A QUESTION OF IMPORTANCE 309 - XLIII.--MOLLY ARRANGES AFFAIRS 316 - XLIV.--AN ODD SENSATION 320 - XLV.--THE OAK FALLS 323 - XLVI.--TOLD IN THE STORM 325 - XLVII.--AFTER THE RAIN 328 - XLVIII.--IN SEARCH 331 - XLIX.--THE FALLEN OAK 345 - L.--A MIRACLE 347 - LI.--AND SO THE STORY ENDS 352 - - - - -The Wiser Folly - - - - -PROLOGUE - - -WHEN the Delancey affair had been brought to a conclusion, it was not -uninteresting to note the various opinions set forth regarding its -happy termination. - -Biddy, at once autocrat and indulger of at least three generations of -juvenile Delanceys, maintained, and stoutly, it was entirely due to -her own prayers to her patron saint. She took, so to speak, a monopoly -of the business as far as any human agency was concerned. But, as one -cannot, with any degree of modesty, parade one’s private devotions to -the world at large, it was hardly probable that this view of the matter -would be universal. - -The village in general, with the exception of Mrs. Trimwell, laid the -whole credit at the feet of Lady Mary Delancey. Doubtless this was -on account of the wave of relief which had surged over it, and which -exalted her ladyship, for the time being at least, to a pinnacle of -almost giddy height. - -Mrs. Trimwell had her own private views on the matter. What they were, -will, no doubt, be realized later. - -Corin Elmore believed the whole thing due to karma, though it is true -that this particular arrangement of karma puzzled him not a little. - -John Mortimer, while maintaining on the whole a strictly neutral -attitude, allowed his opinion of the credit due to sway slightly, if -it swayed at all, in the direction of his sister Elizabeth. And in so -doing, he swayed nearer the mark, if you will believe me, than the -majority of folk with opinions on the subject. - -Father Maloney was heard to announce that “surely to goodness the fella -himself might be allowed a taste of the credit.” The “fella” was David -Delancey. But more of him anon. Father Maloney made the announcement -with a twinkle in his eye, and a slight exchange of glances with Lady -Mary. That exchange of glances puzzled more than one of those who had -happened to surprise it. Its meaning, however, was never fathomed. -There was no question but that Lady Mary and the priest were past -masters in keeping their own counsel when they chose. He would be a -bold man who put any question savouring of impertinence to Lady Mary. -For my part, I had sooner face a whole battery of artillery than have -Lady Mary’s tortoiseshell-rimmed lorgnettes turned slowly upon me, her -grey eyes glinting through them with steely courtesy. The courtesy was -never absent, you may be sure, but then neither--on occasions--was the -steeliness. Nor would it be well, if you wished to retain the smallest -atom of self-respect, to question Father Maloney unduly. That soft -tongue and speech of his could shrivel your complacency to the likeness -of a withered leaf when you deserved it. And you may be very sure that, -when they did shrivel it, you were left in no manner of doubt as to -your deserts in the matter. - -Lady Mary herself never ventured the smallest hint of an opinion as -to whom the credit was due. In fact from first to last she kept a -dignified silence on the whole affair, save when sheer necessity -demanded speech from her. Her silence and dignity alone prevented it -from sinking to melodrama, and truth obliges me to confess that it -had more than once a distinctly suspicious flavour of that obnoxious -quality. - -But this is beginning at the wrong end of the skein, a proceeding which -will indubitably result in a most fearsome tangle. Therefore, with your -permission, I will break off and start anew. - - - - -CHAPTER I - -CONCERNING THE VILLAGE OF MALFORD - - -“YOUR idea,” said John meditatively, “as far as I can elucidate it from -your somewhat wordy discourse, is that I should accompany you to this -exceedingly out-of-the-way, this on your own showing entirely remote, -secluded, and sequestered spot, for the sole purpose of affording you -amusement in your so to speak out of work hours.” - -“That,” returned Corin admiringly, “is the idea _in toto_. It is -marvellous with what ease and skill you have grasped and summed up the -entire situation.” - -John sighed. - -“And might one be allowed to question what are the advantages to be -gained from such a sojourn? What manner of recreation can the place -afford? In a word, where do I come in?” - -“Advantages!” Corin raised his eyes to the cobwebby rafters. “Heavens -above! Isn’t my companionship an advantage? And for recreation what -more can you desire than the contemplation of country lanes and wide -moorland this glorious summer weather? Think of it, man! The earth -ablaze with purple heather, the sea blue and golden,--breathing, -living, colour. Anon there will be blackberries, great luscious -clusters of blue-black fruit hanging ready for the plucking in every -hedgerow. Again, I ask, what more can you desire?” - -John smiled grimly. - -“I am not, I would have you observe, either an artist or a boy. Your -inducements fail to move me.” - -“My companionship,” urged Corin. - -“The blatant conceit of the man,” sighed John. - -Corin changed his tone, descended to wheedling. “Consider my -loneliness,” he remarked pathetically. “From six o’clock--I can’t put -in more than an eight-hour day--till midnight alone and unoccupied. Six -hours!” - -“Go to bed at nine and reduce the six hours by a simple process -of subtraction to three, or play patience,” returned John -unsympathetically. - -“Inhuman brute,” mourned Corin. - -John merely laughed. - -He was a tall young man, thirty or thereabouts, clean-shaven, bronzed, -grey-eyed, and with a thin hooked nose. His mouth, below it, was -slightly grim in repose. But, when he smiled, you forgot the grimness, -and smiled involuntarily in response. Also, you found yourself watching -for the smile to come into play a second time. It had a curious manner -of leaping first to his eyes in a sudden and illuminating flash. -Deserting them, it passed equally suddenly to his mouth, leaving the -eyes sad. It was a disconcerting trick, a baffling magician’s trick, -and left you wondering. In the matter of dress he was fastidious to -a degree. At the moment his attire was the most immaculate suit of -London clothes, grey trousers, frock coat, and all the rest of the -paraphernalia. His silk hat, exceeding glossy, reposed on a worm-eaten -oak chair near him. He had removed a pile of sketch books and a bunch -of dilapidated lilies to make place for the hat. They lay now on the -floor. - -With Corin, by contrast, clothes were a matter of necessity as mere -covering, and no more. His tweed trousers and Norfolk jacket had an -out-all-night-in-the-wet-and-then-sat-upon air. In two words they -looked loosely crumpled. Paint spots adorned the left sleeve, in -the crook of the elbow where his palette was wont to rest. His soft -collar, attached to his shirt, was unbuttoned, and merely held together -by a smoke-grey tie. Briefly, in the matter of clothes, he was the -prototype of the modern novelist’s art-student,--the type that emerges -paint-stained, careless-clad, cheerfully Bohemian, from the chapters of -such novels as deal with the art world in Chelsea. - -But here it behoves me to walk warily lest I should hear a whisper of -“glass houses,” for does not this very Corin himself dwell in that most -fascinating region of London? Is not his studio within a bare five -minutes of the dirty, muddy, grey, but wholly adorable Thames, where -it drifts past Carlyle’s statue, smoke-grimed and weather-worn, and on -past the old herbalist’s garden set back across the street? - -In face, this same Corin was plump, smooth-skinned, rosy-cheeked, -fair-haired, with short-sighted blue eyes that gazed at you kindly from -behind gold-rimmed spectacles. His own appearance caused him moments -of acute anguish. - -“Look at me!” he would cry on occasions, having met his reflection in -some unexpected mirror in a friend’s house or studio, “Look at me! The -soul of an artist, and the appearance of a benign and grown-up baby! -If I didn’t know my own nature and character, I vow I’d be taken in. I -_am_ taken in when I come upon myself in this disgusting and unexpected -fashion. Who’s that odd, kindly, little pink-faced man? I ask myself. -And then I realize it’s me, _me_, ME! And, even while I’m swearing at -the sight of myself, I look no more than a cross baby yelling for its -feeding bottle. Talk of purgatory! I get ten years of it every time I -come opposite a looking-glass. The things ought to be abolished. They -ought to be ground to powder, scattered like dust to the four winds of -heaven. They merely pander to woman’s vanity. No man wants to look into -one. If he looks like a man he doesn’t bother about it. If he looks -like me--” At this juncture his anguish would become too acute for -further speech. - -There was a pause in the conversation, quite an appreciable pause, -seeing that it lasted at least two and three-quarter minutes. Then: - -“So the matter is definitely settled,” announced Corin with an air of -finality, “and on Tuesday next you and I, a couple of boon companions, -wend our way to the charming, the altogether adorable and old-world -village of Malford, situated, so the guide-books tell us, precisely -seven miles from Whortley station, as the crow flies. Why as the crow -flies,” he continued ruminatively, “I have never been able to fathom. -The information is of remarkably small use to the feathered species, -and I have not yet been able to grasp what precise and particular use -it is to mankind at large.” - -John, whose attention had been wandering, roused himself. - -“For sheer pertinacity,” he remarked suavely, “commend me to one, Corin -Elmore, painter, poet, musician, theosophist, and fortune-teller; in -short, dabbler in the arts and the occult sciences.” - -“At all events _you_ can hear Mass at Malford,” retorted Corin -succinctly. It would appear that “dabbler in the occult sciences” had -pricked. - -“Truly?” John’s tone was politely interrogative. “At what distance from -Malford, as the crow flies?” - -“You can hear Mass _in_ Malford, _in_ the Chapel, _in_ Delancey -Castle.” The statement was triumphant. - -“Delancey Castle!” ejaculated John. For the first time interest, -genuine interest, stirred in his voice. He began, in a manner of -speaking, to sit up and take notice. - -“Delancey Castle,” reiterated Corin. And then suspiciously, “But why -this sudden interest?” - -“Merely that I have heard of the place,” said John nonchalantly. - -“Who hasn’t?” Corin’s voice was faintly edged with scorn. “One of the -oldest baronial castles in England; situated in a park famed for its -oaks and copper beeches; Norman in origin, enlarged during the Tudor -period; minstrel’s gallery, secret chambers, terraced gardens. From all -accounts it breathes the very essence of romance and bygone forgotten -days. Heavens above! were there indeed tongues in trees, and sermons in -stones, I’ll swear there’s many a tale those old walls and the trees -around them might disclose.” - -“It is a matter for devout thanks,” returned John piously, “that the -tongue of Nature wags, in a manner of speaking, rather in accordance -with our mood of the moment than by any actual physical volition of its -own. We have quite enough to do to stop our ears to the human tongues -around us. But, seriously, I had no idea that Delancey Castle was -situated in this sequestered spot of yours.” - -“Sequestered spot of mine!” ejaculated Corin. “I lay no claim to the -spot. It exists not for my benefit, save in so far, I would have you -note, as certain pecuniary advantages will accrue to me for work done -in its lonely regions. Nevertheless Delancey Castle is situated there, -unless some good or evil genius has seen fit to remove it piecemeal -since last Thursday week. I saw it on that date with my own eyes, ‘set -on an eminence’--again the guide-books--‘above the small village of -Malford. Glimpses of its rugged grey towers may be observed among the -lordly oaks and magnificent copper beeches for which the park is justly -famed.’ I refer you to page one hundred and twenty-two of Sanderson’s -_Guide to Country Houses_ for the accuracy of my quotation.” He broke -off to light a fresh cigarette, then looked at John, challenging him -through his gold-rimmed spectacles. - -“Oh, I’ll not question the accuracy of your quotation,” retorted John. -“But how about your _former_ statement regarding the situation of the -Castle? You stated it was _in_ the village. Now I learn it is on an -eminence above it.” - -“Hark to the quibbler!” cried Corin. - -“Not at all,” returned John. “A Castle _on_ an eminence is a very -different pair of shoes from a Castle _in_ a village, especially when -it is incumbent upon one to seek that said Castle in order to fulfil -one’s devotional obligations.” - -“If,” said Corin reflectively, “I were a Catholic--don’t get excited, -there’s no smallest prospect of your ever claiming me as a convert--but -if I were a Catholic, I should not be so disgustingly slack about my -religion as to object to walking up a small hill in order to attend my -religious services.” - -“I never said I objected to walking up a small hill,” remarked John. “I -was merely pointing out the inaccuracy of your former statement.” - -Corin sighed patiently. “You make me tired with your quibbling. And -that last remark distinctly wanders from the truth.” - -John smiled, not deigning further reply. It began as a small pitying -smile for Corin’s weakness of retort, it continued with a hint of -pleasure, a tiny secret excitement as at the possibility of the -fulfilment of some concealed desire. His heart had beaten at least -three degrees quicker at the mention of Delancey Castle, and it had not -yet resumed its normal gentle throbbing. - -He waited silent. There was now but one thought uppermost in his mind. -Yet he could not voice it. The renewed suggestion--it surely would -be renewed--must come from Corin. For John to give spontaneous hint -of yielding in the matter of recent discussion would be to run the -risk--though possibly merely a faint risk--of giving himself away. -Faint or blatant, the risk was to be avoided at all cost. He smoked -on, therefore, imperturbable, his eyes for the most part on a desk in -a corner of the studio, an extremely untidy desk, covered with papers -that looked for all the world as if they had been tossed thereon by a -whirlwind, and then stirred by an exceedingly vigorous arm wielding a -pitchfork. Yet, for all that his eyes were upon the desk, his thoughts -were upon Corin. - -“Speak, man, speak,” he was urging him by that mental process which is -termed “willing.” “Renew your persuasions; beg me again to accompany -you on your lonely sojourn.” - -But either Corin was no medium, or John was no medium,--I have never -been fully able to fathom whether the willer, or the willed, or both -must be possessed of the mediumistic faculties for satisfactory results -to accrue,--certain it is that Corin sat placidly silent, apparently -entirely oblivious of John’s mental efforts in his direction. - -Willing can be an exhausting process, at all events to one who -is not an adept in the art. In John’s case, as the vigour of his -efforts increased, his muscles grew tighter and tighter, till his -very toes curled with spasmodic tension inside his shiny, polished, -patent-leather boots, while a portentous frown drew his eyebrows firmly -together till they practically met above his thin hooked nose. - -Corin, glancing suddenly in his direction, surprised an almost -anguished expression of countenance. - -“Are you ill?” he ejaculated dismayed, and with a swift half-movement -towards the cupboard where the brandy decanter was situated. - -John’s face relaxed on the instant. - -“Not in the least, thank you.” - -“Then what on earth were you making such faces about?” demanded Corin. - -“I was not aware that I was making faces,” said John with some dignity. -“I was merely thinking.” - -“Thinking!” Corin’s light arched eyebrows rose nearly to his fair hair. -“Then, man, for Heaven’s sake don’t do it again. It’s--it’s really -dangerous.” - -John heaved himself out of his chair, bitterly conscious of the -futility of his efforts. - -“Going?” said Corin. And then solicitously, “Sure you’re really all -right?” - -“Quite, thanks,” returned John with faint asperity. - -Corin strolled with him to the door. John was half-way down the stairs -when he heard a voice call after him: - -“I’ll let you know about the train on Tuesday.” - -John halted, turned. - -“Well, really!” he ejaculated. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -A RUMOUR - - -THAT evening John wrote a letter to his sister, Mrs. Darcy, who lived -in Ireland. The letter contained the following paragraphs: - - “I am going down to Malford on Tuesday, an out-of-the-way spot near - Whortley. Corin Elmore--the painter fellow, you know who I mean--has - bothered me into it. He has got a job there, uncovering and restoring - the mural paintings in a pre-reformation church. All seems grist - that comes to his mill. Apparently the only attractions the place - has to offer are gorgeous scenery, and later a superabundance of - blackberries, if I choose to await their ripening. I don’t know for - how long I shall find such attractions all-satisfying. - - “Address after Tuesday next till further notice, The White Cottage, - Malford, near Whortley. - - “I hope Maurice and the kiddies are flourishing. - - “Your loving brother, John.” - -The morning before he left town John received a reply to his letter. - - “A sojourn, even for a short space, in such a remote region sounds - extraordinarily unlike you. Perhaps it will have its compensations. - You will deserve them, as I am sure you are doing this entirely on Mr. - Elmore’s account. I wonder if you will chance to meet the Delanceys. - From all I have heard Lady Mary must be a charming woman, and I once - met her granddaughter, Rosamund Delancey. She is an exceedingly pretty - girl. Maurice raved about her in a way that might have made a younger, - and less experienced, woman than myself jealous. - - “I heard an extraordinary rumour some weeks ago regarding the Delancey - estate,--that an American claimant had turned up. Personally I gave - little credence to the report. It savours too much of melodrama for - this prosaic twentieth century. My informant had her facts pat enough, - though. But it is too long a story to deal with in a letter, certainly - too long when it is, as I believe, pure fiction. Anyhow there’s a - missing document, a murder, and a wolf-hound connected with it. True - Adelphi melodrama! - - “I hope you may chance to meet the Delanceys....” - -John glanced up at a small statue of Our Lady, which stood on his -mantelpiece. - -“Blessed Lady,” he said aloud in a tone at once respectful, fervent, -and charmingly friendly, “join your prayers to her hopes.” - - - - -CHAPTER III - -A MEETING - - -IT was midday in the month of August, the sun ablaze upon wood and -field. Only under the trees and hedges the shadows lay blue and -still,--intensely, deeply blue, the warm restful blue of summer -shadows. Overhead stretched another blue, a vault of brilliant azure, -a vast cup-shaped dome, spreading downwards from the illimitable space -above, to the hazy distant hills, to the far-off peacock-blue sea, -sun-kissed and radiant. The warm earth breathed forth the languorous -yet wide-eyed repose of perfect summer. Here was Nature at the -maturest moment of her beauty,--the fields golden with full-eared -corn, waiting in the richness of their dower for the first stroke of -the sickle; the moors purple with heather, and rich with a hidden -wealth of whortleberries; the hedges hung with clusters of scarlet -brambleberries, even now tinged with the deeper hue of ripeness. - -On a gate, set, after the general manner of gates in the west of -England, between two hedges, one to the right and another to the left, -sat our friend John. From the gate, a view stretched before him, which -many an artist might have been excused for attempting to seize and -transfer to canvas. - -In the foreground stood a birch tree, a slender, dainty, silver-barked -thing, rising straight out of a purple mass of heather. Its fairy -lightness was backgrounded by a wood of firs, while past it, to the -right, you got a stretch of undulating moorland across a valley, a -strip of blue sea, and a hazy coast line of white cliffs. - -“It really might be called a fine view,” said John aloud. And then he -broke off, for a voice had sounded behind him,--a very young voice, a -clear treble. - -“There’s a man sitting on the gate.” The statement was made with the -frank obviousness of childhood. - -John swung himself off the said gate, and turned. This latter -proceeding was distinctly simpler to accomplish from the safety of -solid earth than from the topmost of five bars. Doubtless his guardian -angel prompted the action, for, on the moment of turning, his heart -jumped, leaped, and pounded in a manner peculiarly perilous. Picture -his danger with a heart in this condition had he retained his former -attitude. - -On the other side of the gate, coming across the grass, and not more -than twenty paces from him, was a lady accompanied by two small boys. - -She was a young lady, tall and slender, in a white linen frock, and a -big shady straw hat. Her hair beneath it was red gold, like burnished -copper, a vivid note of colour. The two boys, one on either side of -her, were clad in emerald green knickerbockers, and soft white shirts. -Floppy straw hats were on their heads. Beneath the hats you caught a -glimpse of copper-coloured hair. A vivid, vital enough picture they -presented. The smaller boy, four years old or thereabouts, gazed -solemn-eyed towards the gate; the other, some two years or so his -senior, pointed towards our John, his face eager, alive. A stranger was -a bit of a rarity in those parts, it would appear. - -John saw the woman turn towards the child, caught a hint of murmured -words. The boy dropped the pointing hand. Doubtless she had made -the suggestion--delicately put of course--that it is not altogether -the best of manners to point at strangers, however unexpected their -appearance, as if they were some curious beast newly escaped from the -Zoo. - -The lapse of time, from the first acclamation of John’s position on -the gate, to the dropping of that accusing finger, had been of the -briefest, nevertheless it had allowed for a few further steps to be -taken across the grass, and the distance between John and the three -had, at the outset, been none so great. It was clearly obvious that the -intention of the three was to pass through the gate. Seeing this, John -bent to the fastening. By good luck it was not padlocked. Had it been, -it would have spoiled the dainty march of the procession, actually as -well as figuratively. He swung the gate open, raising his hat at the -same moment. She bent her head, a slight though entirely courteous -gesture, gave “thank-you” in a low round voice. - -“Now Heaven be praised,” murmured John, “that she did not say -‘thanks.’” By which token it will be seen that John was a trifle -fastidious as to modes of expression. - -The two boys, having defeated the difficulties of elastic beneath -the chin, had likewise removed their hats. They accomplished the -restoration of them to their heads with extraordinary dignity. John, -beholding the feat, marvelled. Then the little cavalcade of three -passed on across the heather. - -John gazed after them. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -A BLACK AND WHITE GOAT - - -JOHN gazed after them with longing in his eyes and resentment in his -heart. The longing was for the unattainable; the resentment that it -should be unattainable. - -What a crassly idiotic, what an altogether blindly stupid, doltish, -and utterly mulish thing was convention! Here were three young, gay, -and delightful creatures enjoying the summer day in company, together -revelling in the glowing sun, the caress of the air soft as thistledown -upon one’s face, the scent of the flowers and the warm earth, while -he--John--was condemned to loneliness, because, forsooth, of the lack -of four words. “May I introduce you.” - -There was the password, the magic utterance which would have smoothed -away all difficulties. It could be spoken carelessly as you please. -It could be spoken by his worst enemy with as great effect as by his -dearest friend. Without it a barrier, high as the highest peaks of the -Andes, loomed between him and them, a barrier to him insurmountable, -indestructible, and named, labelled, and placarded in letters at least -a foot long, Convention. Small wonder that John fumed inwardly, the -while his eyes gazed after the vanishing three, distilled essence of -concentrated longing in their depths. - -Chance alone could destroy the barrier,--Chance, the freakish, puckish -sprite, who sits with watchful eyes, smiling softly, impishly, till the -chosen moment arrives. Then, heigh presto! Chance springs light-footed -to your aid, is caught by you laughing, or in deadly earnest, according -to your needs. And if the latter, and your grasp is sure, you will -find it is no longer an impish, freakish sprite you hold, but a very -little demon, battling for you, trampling upon well-nigh incredible -difficulties, leading you triumphant to victory. - -We cannot see Chance coming in deadly earnest to John at the moment. -The imp came mischievous, laughing, and perched, if you will believe -me, between the horns of a goat,--a large, a black and white, an -over-playful goat. It came prancing over the purple crest of the hill, -and bounded, curved, and gavotted in the direction of the momentarily -unconscious three. - -The younger boy was the first to see it. He turned, startled atom, -to clutch at the lady’s white dress, thereby causing her to become -aware of the presence of the intruder on the scene. The elder boy, -likewise made aware of its presence, seized a small stick from among -the heather, a fragile enough weapon, but with it he stood his ground, -a veritable small champion, facing the enemy boldly. - -But think you that Chance, perched between those horns, was to be -daunted by a small boy in green knickerbockers, and holding a flimsy -stick? Not a bit of it! For no such paltry pretext would he desert our -John. I am very sure he but urged the goat forward, its advance in the -face of this defence lending greater colour to the danger. - -“Oh!” breathed the white-robed lady, her hands going out protectingly -to the little figure clutching at her skirts. And then, “Take care, -Tony,” on a note of intense anxiety. - -Here was the moment supplied by the mischievous imp. John recognized -the sprite’s wiles with fine intuition, cried him a fervent word of -thanks, and sprang to the rescue. - -That Chance had never intended the slightest peril to the three, you -may be certain; since, once seized laughing from his perch by John, he -joined with him in ordering the goat to retire. Slightly bewildered at -this change of front, the goat gazed for a moment with reproachful eyes. - -“I was but playing the game you told me to play,” you could fancy him -murmuring. Nevertheless, perceiving that the game was indubitably at -an end, he indulged in something very akin to a shake of his head, and -retired disconsolate whence he had come. - -“Oh, thank you,” breathed the lady in white fervently. “Boys, thank--” -she paused. “This gentleman” savours too largely of the shop-walker; -the word has long since lost its rightful meaning. “Our preserver” -smacks of the pedant. - -“My name is John Mortimer,” announced John, with one of his inimitable -smiles. - -“Mr. Mortimer,” she concluded, the word supplied. “I am Rosamund -Delancey, and this--” she indicated the whilom champion, “is Antony, -and this is Michael. It was very good of you to come to our rescue.” - -John murmured the usual polite formula. For the life of him he could -find no original observation to make. - -“Possibly,” continued Rosamund, half-meditative, a trifle rueful, “the -goat intended mere play. But as Biddy, our old nurse, often used to -say--and still does, for that matter--‘There’s play _and_ play, and if -one of the parties ceases to be liking it, it will be no play at all.’” -The little laugh in her eyes found reflection in John’s. - -“A very sound maxim,” quoth he. And inwardly he found himself -ejaculating, “What an adorable voice, what an altogether flexible, -musical and charming voice.” - -Rosamund was looking down the heather-covered slope. At the further -side, a quarter of a mile or so away, was a hedge, and in the hedge a -gate. Beyond the gate was a lane, which, after a series of turns, would -lead one eventually to the village and Delancey Castle. This latter, it -is perhaps somewhat obvious to remark, was her goal, and the way across -the heather towards the gate by far the nearest route to it. Yet how -attempt that route with the black and white goat still at large adown -the hill, eating sprays of heather--or what appeared to be sprays of -heather--in a deceitfully placid and amicable manner? - -“I wonder if that goat--” she began, her eyes vaguely troubled, her -brow slightly puckered. - -“Which way do you want to go?” demanded John promptly, the promptitude -mingled with a nice degree of deferential courtesy,--the courtesy quite -apparent, the deference a tiny subtle flavour. - -“To that gate.” She indicated it. - -“Then,” said John, “please allow me to accompany you. I think Antony -and I between us will prove a match for goats. I dare to boast on our -behalf, since we have already proved our prowess in the matter.” - -He threw Antony a glance, a little friendly, understanding glance. By -such glances are bonds established that will last a lifetime. - -“Me too,” quoth Michael, breaking silence for the first time. - -“In very sooth, you too,” said John. “Antony as advance guard,--not -more than a couple of paces advance, mind you,--Michael and I on -either side. Are we ready? Then, quick march.” - -This last was mere pandering to accepted custom. You cannot well say, -“Slow march,” though it is what your whole soul intends. Here is a fine -illustration of the fact that speech is but a poor mode of expressing a -man’s thoughts. And then an inspiration came to him. - -“Not too quickly,” said he to the advance guard. “If he thinks we -are attempting to elude him, he may pursue us. A nonchalant, a mere -careless strolling, will be our wisest course.” - -“Oh, do you think he might follow?” cried Rosamund. The suggestion had -evidently given cause for renewed anxiety. - -“It is possible,” returned John gravely, “though, I fancy, not -probable. However, we will take no risks.” - -Slowly, therefore, in mere dilatory fashion, they set forth. The goat -raised his read to look at them; but, having his orders, he dropped it -again towards the heather. - -Some hundred yards or so they walked in silence, two, at least, of the -party casting occasional furtive glances to the right. John was the -first to speak. - -“This,” he said, with the air of a man who has just made a discovery, -“is really beautiful country.” - -“It is your first visit to this neighbourhood?” queried Rosamund. - -“My first,” returned John, “but I dare swear it will not be my last. My -friend, Corin Elmore, dragged me down here, somewhat against my will -at the outset, I’ll allow. He’s uncovering the mural paintings in the -church down yonder.” - -“Ah!” Rosamund turned towards him, a light of interest in her eyes. -“Has he found much?” - -“He only started on the job this morning,” returned John. “We arrived -last night. But he’s full of confidence. There must be a curious -fascination in the work,--delving into the past, bringing traces of -bygone, forgotten ages into the light of day.” - -“And a certain sadness,” she suggested. - -“And a certain sadness,” echoed John, “though I doubt me if Corin -experiences it greatly. He’s an anomaly. For all that he’s a poet and a -bit of a dreamer, there’s a strain of the scientific dissector running -through him. It finds its outlet in theosophic tendencies.” John pulled -a wry face. - -He had forgotten that he was talking to an absolute stranger. Yet was -she a stranger in the true sense of the word? One afternoon--six months -ago as we crudely count and label time, though to John it was centuries -ago--he had had sight of her, a mere passing glimpse, truly, since it -was of length only sufficient to allow of her mounting the steps of the -Brompton Oratory, at a moment when John was about to descend them. He -had put a question to a friend who was with him. And thenceforth John’s -dreams had been coloured--I might almost say suffused--by one subject, -a face with dark eyes, framed in copper-coloured hair, and shadowed by -a largish black hat. Being, therefore, no stranger to his dreams in -spirit, it was small wonder that he regarded her as no stranger to his -perceptions in the flesh. - -Rosamund looked at him, half amused, half questioning. - -“But why theosophic tendencies?” she demanded. “I am,” she added, -“peculiarly ignorant of that trend of thought.” - -John laughed. - -“Nor am I vastly learned, for that matter. If I were to attempt to -define I think I should say that, where your scientist pure and simple -may deny the existence of God at all, your man, like Corin, with the -curious intermixture of a dreamer, acknowledges the existence of this -Supreme Power, even endows that Power with a certain mysticism, but -at the same time reduces--or attempts to reduce--all the actions and -manifestations of the Power to terms comprehensible by the finite -understanding.” - -“Yes?” she queried. It was evident she desired to hear more. - -“Oh,” smiled John, “it’s too complicated an affair to compress into -a sentence or two. But take, for instance, pain--the apparently -undeserved and ghastly suffering with which one is sometimes brought -in contact. Instead of saying, as we do, that there are endless -mysteries of pain and suffering which our finite minds cannot possibly -understand, they wish to find some quite definite and tangible -solution, therefore they adopt the Buddhistic theory of reincarnation -and karma. We work out, they say, our karma in each succeeding -incarnation for the sins of the last. There is, in their eyes, no such -thing as an innocent victim--with one exception. All suffering, even -that of the veriest babe, is the suffering it has deserved for former -sins.” - -“Oh!” A moment she was silent. “How about the exception?” - -“The exception, in their eyes, is any great teacher, who, having -fulfilled all his own karma, voluntarily returns to teach and aid those -in a lower state of evolution. You understand that, according to their -theory, a man is bound to return to this earth, whether he will or no, -till his debt of karma has been paid. It is only when that debt is -paid, that the return becomes voluntary; and, when sought, is purely -for the good of mankind.” - -She looked across the heather. - -“It would seem,” said she reflective, “that even that theory makes -something of a call upon faith.” - -“It does,” returned John. “And yet you must see that it reduces -the mystery of pain to terms capable of being grasped by the human -intelligence. It’s the same with every other mystery. There’s the -makeshift in the whole business. On the one hand they allow the -existence of a God presumably infinite; but, on the other hand, they -wish to reduce Him, and His dealings with creation, to terms capable -of understanding by their finite intelligence. But I forgot, strictly -speaking they would not, I suppose, consider their intelligence finite, -since, according to them, there is in every man the potential divinity.” - -“What do they mean?” she asked. “Are they talking about the soul?” - -“In a sense, yes,” returned John. “But the soul, apparently, has no -exact individuality of its own; at least, not a lasting individuality. -It is a spark, an atom, of the Great Whole, which when it has developed -to its utmost, and finished all its work, including possible return -in the body to the earth as a teacher, will eventually receive its -reward by becoming merged and absorbed in the Divine Whole from -whence it proceeded. Apparently, also, if a soul refuses to develop, -it can eventually be extinguished, or what is equivalent to being -extinguished.” - -“It doesn’t seem exactly a pleasant creed,” said she meditative. -“Absorption or extinction, as the two final alternatives, are not what -one might term precisely satisfactory to contemplate. It is certainly -nicer to believe that one retains one’s individuality.” - -“That,” John assured her, “is merely our unconquerable egotism.” - -“Then,” she retorted smiling, “let us hope that it is an egotism your -friend will shortly acquire.” - -There was a little silence. _Monsieur le Chèvre_ had been, for the -moment, forgotten. Certainly his own quiet self-effacement was -conducive to their forgetfulness of him. They were almost at the gate -before she spoke again. - -“I suppose,” she remarked tentatively, “your friend is not perverting -you to his theories.” - -“I trust not,” said John solemnly. And then he added, “I am a Catholic.” - -“Oh!” The ejaculation held the tiniest note of pleasure. Then, after a -second’s pause. “You know that we have a chapel at the Castle.” - -They had gained the lane by now. Antony, who had felt the full -responsibility of defence to rest on his shoulders from the moment -John’s attention had been occupied by a wholly unintelligible--and -probably, in Antony’s eyes, unintelligent--conversation, heaved a deep -sigh. - -“Goats,” said he, “are horrid things.” - -“Do you know,” quoth John, “I really have a slight partiality towards -goats myself.” - -Which speech would have savoured more strongly of truth had the -partiality remained unqualified. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -MURAL PAINTINGS - - -JOHN walked up the flagged path of the churchyard. Sounds of work came -to him through the little Norman doorway--the beating of hammers, the -rasping of saws, the jangle of buckets. - -Arrived at the doorway he paused for a moment to look at the scene -before him. It would seem almost incredible that order should ever be -abstracted from the present chaos, at all events in the space of time -proposed. Doorless, windowless,--in the matter of glass,--it was a mere -shell of a church, filled with scaffolding, planks, barrows, buckets; -echoing with the ceaseless sound of hammering, sawing, chiselling, -planing; while, within the shell, the creators of the various noises -moved and worked like a handful of restless ants. - -John looked towards the scaffolding surrounding the east window. -Perched high on a narrow planked platform was Corin, absorbed in his -work, entirely lost to the sounds around him. - -John picked his way among the scattered débris made for the chancel. -Here there was a ladder roped against a lower platform, from whence, by -means of a second ladder placed thereon, Corin’s eyrie might be gained. -John had his foot on a rung of the first ladder in a trice, swarmed up -it, and a second or so later was giving Corin warning of his approach -by: - -“Behold the little cherub perched aloft.” - -Corin turned. - -“Oh, it’s you, is it? Well, just come and look.” There was suppressed -exultation in his voice. - -John scrambled on to the platform, came alongside Corin,--Corin who -pointed with a triumphant chisel. - -Some half-dozen or so square yards of wall had been cleared of many -coats of plaster, and there, on the original groundwork, stood out thin -red lines vertical and horizontal, flowers in bold outline. - -“Masonry, they call it,” announced Corin, “and the flower is the herb -Robert. Isn’t it gorgeous?” - -Now to the purely uninitiated, to the mere casual observer, the adverb -might have appeared unduly extravagant. What, such a one might have -demanded, was there in a few crude brush lines to justify this mode of -speech? Yet John, artist though he was not, understood, and not only -understood, but endorsed to the full Corin’s rapture. Here was the work -of age-old centuries, the frank expression of some long-ago-forgotten -painter, brought once more to the light of day. Fresh as when first -limned the simple lines glowed crimson from the cream-coloured surface -of the wall. - -“It’s--it’s fine,” said John simply. - -Corin, radiant, beaming, waved his chisel in a comprehensive sweep -around the walls. - -“And think,” cried he exultant, “what more there may be, there -assuredly is, to find. Think what further glories this plaster hides. -Man, it’s hard to restrain one’s impatience and not hack, which would -be a truly disastrous proceeding.” - -John laughed. - -Then, “Try another spot,” he urged. “Here, close by the east window. -I’ll not divert the stroke of the chisel by the faintest whisper.” - -Pretending to a half-reluctance, though at heart, truly, he was nothing -loath to consent, Corin let himself be persuaded. He shifted his -position. By the outer edge of the window splay he raised his chisel -and set himself to work. - -The outer coats of plaster fell in thick flakes before that same -remorseless chisel; they crumbled on to the platform upon which Corin -stood. Below the plaster was a thin substance lying on the wall like a -film. Here the chisel came lightly into play; that film must be removed -carefully, with touch as delicate as the touch of a butterfly’s wing. -It entailed a suspension of breath, an excited prevention of the merest -involuntary quivering of a muscle. The film broke and powdered at the -lightest stroke, covering Corin’s hand and wrist with a soft grey dust. -Breathless he pursued his work; then, suddenly, he stopped, his eyes -gleaming with pleasure. - -John bent forward. Here assuredly was novelty,--no longer the crimson -masonry, but black chevrons set within two narrow black lines showed -on the cream-coloured wall, and extending, it was evident, around the -whole window. - -“Ah!” breathed John. - -Corin nodded, his chisel again raised. - -In places the plaster adhered like glue to the walls; it had to be -chipped away inch by inch, and through sheer force. Here it was that -the work required the greatest skill and dexterity. The pressure of -the chisel by an extra hair’s breadth would have meant the cutting -through of the film below the plaster, and destroying the painting that -lay beneath. It required a fine strength of wrist, the calculation -to a nicety of the depth to which to cut, above all, an infinity of -patience. Yet, again, there were patches where not only the plaster, -but the film with it, flaked away at the lightest stroke, and here the -painting was at its freshest. - -For full twenty minutes John gave close eye to the proceedings. At the -end of that time he sighed, a mere tiny sigh. If Corin heard, he heeded -not. Stepping back a pace he regarded his work, head on one side, soul -absorbed. - -John took him firmly by the arm. - -“I vowed I’d not divert the stroke of the chisel by the faintest -whisper,” he announced. “At the moment shouting would be harmless. -Therefore let me tell you in merely normal tones that I’m hungry.” - -“Hungry!” Corin blinked at him. “What’s the time?” - -“Long past the luncheon hour,” John assured him. “Come!” - -Corin reluctantly laid down his chisel, turned for a final look at -masonry, herb Robert, and chevrons. - -“And to think,” he ejaculated, “that the plaster hides all this! There -must be ten coats of plaster or thereabouts. After the first Goth, -the first horrible Philistine, plastered, no one can have known what -was hidden, and they just went on plastering at intervals. I’ve made -out six plasters for certain,--grey, green, white adorned with awful -scroll-work, purple, green again with more scroll-work, and then this -dingy brown,” he waved his hand towards the walls. “There are other -plasters so stuck together no one can distinguish them, and underneath -it all, this.” He touched a flower in a kind of subdued and dreamy -ecstasy. - -John took him once more kindly but firmly by the arm. - -“It’s extremely beautiful,” he said in a tone conciliatory. “Presently -you shall rhapsodize again to your heart’s content and I’ll help you. -At the moment,” he propelled him gently towards the ladder, “we leave -ecstasy for the mundane, the mere sordid occupation of eating.” - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -MRS. TRIMWELL - - -MRS. TRIMWELL, brisk, black eyed, white-aproned, entered with a covered -dish. - -Corin, deep in an armchair, was smoking a cigarette. - -“I wonder,” said he meditative, between the inhalations of smoke, “what -the old painter of the church down yonder thinks of our proceedings. -It would be interesting to hear his own reflections on the subject. -Presumably he does reflect. If his spirit haunts the church, possibly -some fine evening I shall see him. Then I shall put a question or two.” - -John merely laughed, and approached the table. Mrs. Trimwell, raising -a dish-cover, disclosed two golden-brown soles, perfect samples of her -culinary art. - -“I have never,” continued Corin, still reflective, “seen a spirit, but -I firmly believe that one might be seen under favourable conditions.” - -“Come and eat,” laughed John. - -Mrs. Trimwell eyed Corin for a moment in hesitating fashion. Then she -spoke with the air of one embarking on a weighty question, though -addressing herself to John. - -“There’s never no knowing, sir, what it mightn’t be given you nor any -one to see. I seed an angel myself once.” - -Corin paused in the act of handing John a plate on which reposed one of -the soles. - -“An angel!” he ejaculated. - -John took the plate. - -“An angel!” he echoed dubious. - -“I seed it,” reiterated Mrs. Trimwell, “as plain as I see you. I was -doing my bit of ironing, the baby--that’s the youngest, sir--asleep in -the cradle under the table, so as I could give the rocker a jog with my -foot now and again, and the angel comed in.” - -She paused, watching the effect of her words. - -“But how?” queried John busy with the sole. “Through the window, the -ceiling, or the floor? Angels, you know, are spirits, not corporeal -weighty humans like ourselves. They’d never,” concluded John gravely, -“make an ordinary, an expected entrance.” - -Corin glanced at him sternly. - -“I should have imagined you would have held the matter too sacred for -joking about,” he remarked. - -John smiled gently. - -“This one,” said Mrs. Trimwell firmly, “came through the door. I heard -the outer door click, and said I to myself, ‘That’s Robert for sure.’ -I thought he’d come home a bit earlier. Then the kitchen door clicked. -It opened just a little ways, and the beautifullest angel you ever seed -comed in all floaty-like. I was that scared I dropped my iron--there’s -the heat mark on the baby’s robe to this day--and I made a clean bolt -for the back door. I never thought of the baby nor nothing. And as I -bolted I squinnied over my shoulder, and I seed that angel by the table -all white and shiny.” - -Again she stopped, and regarded John, who was eating steadily. To -Corin, who was all agog for a continuance of the story, she perversely -paid no heed. - -“But--” began John dubious. - -“You may doubt me as much as you like, sir. I wasn’t going back to that -kitchen without a neighbour. I told Vicar myself, sir, and he didn’t -believe me neither, though I’m a truthful woman. For as I says to my -children: ‘You tell the truth at all costs. If you’re in a hole don’t -tell a lie to try and get out of it. Truth will always give you the -surest hand up even though her clutch is a bit severe.’ I’d not deceive -you, sir, and ’tis the truth I’ve spoken as I spoke it to Vicar. I seed -that angel.” - -Finality in her tone she stood there, slightly challenging, yet -respectful withal. - -“Hmm!” mused John. “Your integrity, Mrs. Trimwell, is, I am convinced, -above suspicion. Yet why, do you imagine, should the angel come? What, -do you take it, was the motive for his visit?” - -Mrs. Trimwell approached a step nearer. She lowered her voice to a -confidential whisper. - -“’Twas that day to the minute, sir, as my uncle died.” - -“Ah!” John’s eyes, non-committal in expression, sought the window. -Corin cast a look of scorn at him; then turned, eager, to Mrs. Trimwell. - -“Did you tell the Vicar that?” he demanded. - -“I did, sir,” replied Mrs. Trimwell, including him for the first time -within her range of vision. “But, Lor’, where’s the use of telling -things to he! He don’t understand no more than a Bishop.” - -“Why a Bishop?” thought John in parenthesis. - -“When my Tilda was down with pneumony,” pursued Mrs. Trimwell -reminiscent, “and the doctor said there wasn’t no chance for her, ‘I’ll -see about chances,’ says I. Vicar, he talked about the Will of the Lord -and submitting. ‘It’s not the minute to be talking about submitting -yet,’ says I to him. ‘The Lord may do the willing, and I’m not one to -deny it, but ’tis we do the doing, and it kind of fits in. And if you -think I’m going to leave off fighting for my Tilda till the time comes -as she’s ready to lay out, you’re much mistook.’ He was mistook, sir, -for she’s in the kitchen now a-minding of the baby.” She ended on a -note gloriously triumphant. - -The triumph found quick response in John’s eyes. I fancy he saw here -reflected the attitude of that old-time king, who strove in prayer for -his child, till striving and prayer were no longer of avail. - -“The fighting chance,” murmured Corin, swallowing his last mouthful of -sole. - -Mrs. Trimwell removed the plates and placed cold chicken and salad on -the table. - -“In a manner of speaking it was,” said she, eyeing him with approval. -She moved towards the door, then turned. - -“You will take coffee after lunch?” she asked. - -John looked his assent, yet left it to Corin, as in a manner host, to -give verbal reply to the query. - -“By all means,” replied Corin. “I need,” he assured her, “every atom of -support at your avail.” - -Mrs. Trimwell looked at him commiseratingly. - -“I’ll be bound it’s hard work down there,” said she sympathetically. -“How do you find it, sir?” - -“Interesting,” returned Corin, “distinctly interesting. I feel like an -explorer of bygone centuries penetrating through modern hideousity, -early Victorian crudeness, Puritan dreariness, and various other -glooms, to the sweet, kindly simplicity, the grace, the freshness, the -love of beauty, appertaining to the olden days. I am,” concluded Corin, -helping himself to salad, “crumbling to pieces that which has hidden -beauty, and exposing beauty to the light of day. In other words, I’m -scraping the plaster off the walls of the church, and enjoying myself.” - -Mrs. Trimwell nodded, frank approbation plainly visible on her face. - -“And time it was scraped, too. A mucky looking place it was with them -walls all stained and chipped and mildewed. Not that it hurt me much, -seeing as I never go inside it, except it’s for a christening or a -burial.” - -“Oh!” remarked Corin, and somewhat feebly, be it stated. - -John cast a whimsical look in his direction. - -“I don’t hold with church-going,” pursued Mrs. Trimwell calmly. “Say -your prayers at home if you want to say them, says I. And as for -sermons,--if you’ve heard Vicar talk out of the pulpit whether you will -or no, you don’t run off smiling to hear him talk in it. Leastways I -don’t. There’s some as does, I know.” - -“Oh!” said Corin again, and this time more feebly. (John, I fear me, -was laughing inwardly.) To disagree with Mrs. Trimwell would, Corin -felt, be tantamount to calling her a black kettle, setting up himself -the while as a shiny brass pot, to which title he knew he possessed no -manner of right. Yet to agree!--Well, Corin’s conscience, some hidden -fragment of convention--call it what you will--felt a slight hint of -repugnance at her sentiments. - -There is your man, your male individual, all over. Dogmatic -religion--however vague the dogma--church-going is often outside his -own category, yet for his women folk--any women folk--to speak against -it holds for him a hint of distaste. It just serves to destroy that -soft light of idealism with which he loves to surround women. Every man -has one woman, at least, in this idealistic shrine, or, if he has not, -he is of all men most miserable. And here it is that your adherents -to the old Faith--the oldest Faith in Christendom--have a pull over -your so-called enlightened individual. There is always One Woman to -whom those of that old Faith can turn, one for whom no shrine is too -fair, too lofty,--can be bedecked with no too costly wealth of love and -homage. Here, in this shrine, at her feet, may every idealistic thought -of man towards woman be placed, preserved, and cherished. - -Corin, as already stated, said “Oh!” an ejaculation at once feeble, -utterly lacking in significance of any kind, a mere signal that his -ears had received the speech. - -“Miss Rosamund don’t hold with my views,” went on Mrs. Trimwell, while -John’s heart gave a sudden throb. “Not that I pays over-much heed to -her, being a Papist what’s bound to go to Church and obey their priests -if they don’t want any little unpleasantness in the next world, which -I takes it may be a considerable more unpleasantness than you nor I -would suppose. Still I will say she has a wonderful way of talking a -thing clear, and if I didn’t _know_ that popery was no better than a -worshipping of graven images, I might go for to believe her.” - -Corin glanced anxiously in the direction of John,--John who was eating -chicken with an expressionless face, though I’ll not vouch that his -shoulders didn’t shake a little now and then. - -“Not that Miss Rosamund talks goody talk,” pursued Mrs. Trimwell, -“which is a thing I never could abide in grown-up or child, and burnt -them little tracty books they give my Tilda up to Sunday-school, -setting of her off to talk texes to me and her father, which we didn’t -smack her for though she deserved it. But there, she’d have been -thinking she was an infant prodigal and a Christian martyr if we had. -No; I just said how if she was so fond of texes she could learn a few -more instead of going along blackberrying with the other children, and -I sets her down to get a chapter of the Gospels by heart. We didn’t -hear no more of texes after that, didn’t me and her father,” concluded -Mrs. Trimwell dryly. - -Indubitably the corners of John’s mouth were twitching now. Then Mrs. -Trimwell’s eye caught his. Laughter came, whole-heartedly to John, to -Mrs. Trimwell first with a note of half apology, over which the entire -humour of the reminiscence presently got the upper hand. Corin joined -in somewhat relieved. He had feared lest John’s feelings might be hurt. - -“When I thinks of Tilda setting there not knowing whether to sulk or -pretend she liked it!” ejaculated Mrs. Trimwell after a moment. She -wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes with her apron. “But there, -it was coffee I was going after, and not memories of my Tilda.” - -Mrs. Trimwell vanished. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -FLIGHTS OF FANCY - - -CORIN looked dubiously at John. - -“She talks a good deal,” quoth he tentatively. - -“I have,” returned John, “conceived a great affection for Mrs. -Trimwell. Her ideas are original. She has, also, a distinct prejudice -in favour of speaking her mind with a candour and verve which I find -undeniably refreshing. Yes; certainly I have conceived an affection for -her.” - -Corin snorted. - -“Every man to his own taste,” said he. “For my part I find her -over-fluent of speech.” - -“That,” replied John, “arises merely from a tendency I have frequently -noted in you to monopolize the whole conversation; to mop it, so to -speak, into your own sponge, thereby leaving the sponges of others bone -dry.” - -“I have never,” retorted Corin, “observed that your sponge lacked -moisture, if you will use terms of parable instead of straightforward -words. But to leave Mrs. Trimwell for the moment. How did you enjoy -the morning? Did I expand one whit too freely on the glories of the -surrounding country? Is there not colour,--radiant, vital colour at -every turn?” - -“I’ll allow there’s sufficient beauty hereabouts,” conceded John. - -“And you had a pleasant time? Own to the truth. It was worth while -sacrificing sun-baked streets for wide stretches of glorious moorland?” - -“Oh, I’ll own to the worth whileness of it,” laughed John, hugging a -delicious secret to his heart. - -Corin shrugged his shoulders. - -“You might be a trifle more expansive,” he grumbled. “You might give -me an epitome of your morning’s experiences. There was I, perched -like a hen on a henroost, slaving my life out for four hours, while -you were enjoying glorious freedom. I said to myself, he’ll return -enthusiastic. I’ll have, at least, a second-hand experience of purple -moorland, sun-kissed sea, and cool green woods. And all the man has -done is to smile oracularly, and admit to beauty when the admission -was fairly dragged from his lips. No; don’t begin to rhapsodize now. -It’s too late. I wanted spontaneity, a first fine careless rapture. And -by dragging, pulling, and tugging, I get a bare admission of beauty -grudgingly made.” - -John laughed again. It must be confessed that he was in a peculiarly -lighthearted mood. - -“I’ll attempt no rhapsody, no poetic flights of fancy, since the -psychological moment for so doing has, according to you, passed. I’ll -give you the mere salient facts of the morning, the chiefest being that -I played St. George to the dragon.” - -Corin eyed him suspiciously. - -“I have an idea I heard you remark ‘no poetic flights of fancy,’ a -moment agone,” he suggested. - -“I did,” retorted John, “and I adhere to that remark. Here is fact -pure and simple. But, for your better convincing, I will state that -the dragon had for the moment disguised itself as a goat,--a large, a -playful, black and white goat. The disguise was good, I’ll allow, but,” -concluded John dramatically, “I penetrated it.” - -Corin sighed. - -“If you could divest your speech of symbolism,” said he pathetically, -“and give me facts in plain English.” - -“No symbolism I assure you,” protested John. “It was a goat,--a black -and white goat. It curved, it gavotted, it gambolled, thereby causing -much distress to a fair lady and her two attendant knights, who were, -believe me, hardly of an age to deal convincingly with either goats or -dragons. Then, behold, enter St. George.” He struck himself upon the -chest. - -“Oh!” Corin began to find a thread of reasonableness among the -nonsense. “Who was the lady, I wonder?” - -“She told me,” said John, “that her name was Miss Rosamund Delancey.” -He experienced a strange sensation of pleasure in pronouncing the words. - -“Oh!” said Corin a second time. “From the Castle.” - -“From the Castle,” echoed John. - -Corin reflected, mused. Finally, seeing that John had come to an end of -the repast, he pushed back his chair, rose from the table, and lighted -a cigarette. - -“I have heard a rumour,” said he, the cigarette lighted, “that they -are shortly leaving the Castle on account of some claimant who has -turned up. I can’t remember the whole story. I know it struck me as -sufficiently melodramatic at the moment,--murders, missing documents, -and little Adelphi touches of that kind were mixed up in it. But I -daresay it’s nothing but a rumour.” - -“Let us trust so,” said John devoutly. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -AN OLD PRIEST - - -FATHER MALONEY was in a mood, which, it must be confessed, was -distinctly unfavourable to his peace of mind. And not only his peace -of mind, but his appetite had suffered considerably thereby. Cold -corned beef and plum tart had been so much sawdust between his lips, -flavourless and exceeding dry. Even his after-luncheon pipe failed to -rouse him to a cheerier outlook on life in general. Now, when the joys -of tobacco had ceased to woo him, matters had, indeed, come to a pretty -pass. Anastasia, his housekeeper, clearing away the débris of the meal, -eyed him solicitously. - -“You’re not ill, Father?” she asked, her black eyes snapping anxiety in -his direction. - -For a moment he roused himself. - -“Not at all, not at all,” he responded with a show of briskness, only -to relapse once more into gloom. - -Anastasia shook her head. - -“It’ll be that moidering business up to the Castle, I’m thinking,” -quoth she to herself, her lips tightening in a manner that would have -augured ill for the author of the business had he been anywhere within -sighting distance. - -Returning to the kitchen she addressed a fervent, and, it must be -confessed, slightly authoritative decade of the rosary to Our Blessed -Lady, before beginning to wash up plates and dishes. To her mind -_something_ had to be done. Herein her mind and that of old Biddy the -nurse up at the Castle were distinctly in accord. - -For one hour--two hours, perhaps--Father Maloney sat in his old -armchair. During that time he endeavoured, with some degree of success, -to say his office with attention. Then he once more lapsed into gloomy -retrospection and anticipation. - -Since midday the world--the pleasant, material, sunny world--had been -turned upside down for him. It is true that this inversion had been -looked for, feared, for the last six months, but that fact did not -prevent the present phenomenon from being any the less unpleasant when -it actually occurred. It requires a peculiarly level head, not to say -a certain degree of something almost akin to callousness, to regard -matters from so totally different a point of view. It is a position to -which you cannot readily adjust yourself. At all events Father Maloney -found it one to which he could not readily adjust himself. It required -a supreme effort on his part merely to hang on, so to speak. - -“Sure, and I ought to have been more prepared for it,” he muttered to -himself. - -Getting out of his chair he went into the little hall, reached down his -hat, and took his stick from the stand. Anastasia saw him through the -open door of the kitchen. She came to it, a small dried-up woman. - -“You’re not going out without your tea, Father,” she protested. “The -water in the kettle is boiling this very minute.” - -“I’ll not be wanting any tea,” returned Father Maloney opening the -front door. - -Anastasia went back into the kitchen, shaking her head sorrowfully at -the steaming kettle on the stove. - -Father Maloney went slowly down the lane. It was powdered thickly with -white dust, since, for a fortnight past at least, the sky by day had -been blue and brazen, at night starlit and cloudless. - -Two small girls passed him, belonging to his own flock. They dipped him -profound curtseys, glancing at him with bright bird-like eyes. He gave -but abstracted response to their salutation, which fact elicited from -them surprised and regretful comment as soon as he was out of earshot. -Though, for that matter, they might, at the moment, have reproached him -under his very nose, and gained no hearing. - -Leaving the lane presently, he turned through a gate, and up the slope -of a grassy field. He had need of wider expanses than the hedged-in -lane afforded him. - -He climbed slowly, pausing every now and then to take breath. At last -he gained the summit. Finding the sun distinctly warm, and being heated -by the ascent, he lowered himself slowly on to the short dry grass. So -busy was he with his own reflections, that he did not perceive a young -man lying in the shade of a blackberry bush some hundred or so paces -to his right. But it is very certain that the young man saw him; and, -seeing him, observed him intently. - - * * * * * - -When Corin had returned to his work, John had again betaken himself to -the open. - -It was fairly obvious, so concluded John shrewdly, that a route -chosen for a morning ramble was not likely to be again sought in the -afternoon. The proceeding would savour too strongly of unoriginality of -ideas. But, so he pondered within his mind, it was just possible that -some other route might be chosen, and that by the favour of the gods he -might hit upon it. Therefore he had set out, leaving matters to those -same gods. - -Having, after circumlocutious and disappointed walking, gained -his present post of eminence, he had lain down in the shadow of a -blackberry bush to muse over, and carp at, the fickleness of the gods -to whom he had trusted, and incidentally to survey the surrounding -country for a moving white-robed figure. - -Till this present, no figure of any kind had come within his range of -vision; then, five minutes or so agone, turning his eyes leftwards, he -had perceived a stout elderly priest climbing the hillside towards him. - -Here was some solace. If it were not the rose herself, it was at -least one who, it might pretty safely be concluded, was tolerably -well acquainted with the rose. A small backwater of a place, such as -Malford, does not, he might suppose, yield many priests, nor even, -presumably, more than one. There was little doubt in his mind but that -the approaching figure was the priest who officiated at Delancey Chapel. - -John observed him intently, as I have said. He saw him lower himself on -to the grass with the slow deliberate movement of a stoutish man, saw -him gazing straight in front of him. From his position John had a view -of his face in something less than profile, but it was the dejection of -his attitude, rather than his face, that at the moment impressed our -John. He watched him, intent, absorbed. - -“Something,” observed John mentally, “has recently upset his -equilibrium. Like a wise man he has come into the open to gain -restoration of balance.” - -Which mental observation showed John to be possessed of no little -shrewdness, as you will perceive. And then, by a really marvellous leap -of intuition, he bounced straight into the heart of affairs, went in -with a splash, and came up gasping. - -“Oh!” cried John to his soul, “that rumour, that obnoxious and -detestable rumour is true, and he has just been made aware of the -unassailable fact. The poor old fellow!” - -No wonder he looked dejected, no wonder he gazed with all his eyes in -the direction of the towers of Delancey Castle plainly visible above -the distant trees. If the rumour were true, and John was now very -certain of its truth, it was enough to wring tears from the heart of a -flint, to call forth protestation from the tongueless trees and mute -stones of the old Castle itself. - -An American claimant to that place! that utterly and entirely English -place! Its very walls, its surrounding trees and fields, were so -unmistakably and undeniably English. You might have taken up the whole -thing and planted it down in any remote and unexpected quarter of the -globe that you had chosen, and its whole atmosphere would have shrieked -its English origin dumbly, but quite, quite explicitly, at you. At any -time its origin would have been unassailable, and truly fifty times -more so at this present moment, as it lay serene and peaceful in the -blue and golden warmth of an August afternoon. - -And now it was to be claimed by an American. - -John suffered from no racial prejudice, I would have you to believe; -but there were some things that could be, and some things that could -not be. And for Delancey Castle to be in any but English hands would -be, to his way of thinking, a thing as incongruous and impossible as -that a Chinese should don the kilt of the Highlander, or that a South -Sea Islander should assume the Irish brogue. Oh, it was preposterous, -preposterous, preposterous. It was altogether unthinkable and -unimaginable. - -And then suddenly he was aware of a difference in the old priest’s -attitude. It was a tiny difference, a subtle and quite inexplicable -difference, nevertheless it existed. And all at once John felt himself -a bit of an intruder, looking at what he had no atom of right to see. -Had he not feared that movement would make his presence known, he would -have moved on the instant. As it was he became absorbed in pulling up -small blades of grass from the ground. He pulled at them fiercely, his -eyes fixed upon them, the while he was most intensely aware of that -motionless old figure a hundred paces from him. - -At length a sound--it might have been a half cough--caused him to raise -his eyes again. He saw the old priest pulling a pipe and tobacco pouch -from his pocket. - -John watched him. The pipe filled, and the pouch replaced, Father -Maloney still fumbled at his pockets. It would appear that something -was missing. - -“Matches!” said John. And cautiously he heaved himself to his feet. -Softly he advanced some steps, came to a line directly behind the old -priest, then marched boldly forward. - -“Can I be of any use?” John held out a box towards him. - -Father Maloney looked up surprised. - -“I’m much obliged. Where did you appear from?” - -“From over there.” John waved his hand in a backward and non-committal -direction. “I saw you intended lighting your pipe, but your intentions -were being frustrated.” - -“Can’t think how I forgot them,” said Father Maloney pulling at his -pipe. - -John dropped on to the ground beside him. - -“What a view!” he announced in a pleasantly conversational tone. “And -what a day!” - -“It is that indeed,” returned Father Maloney cheerfully. - -John hugged himself inwardly. - -“He’s got the hang of things again, brave old fellow!” he ejaculated -mentally. “But I’d give a very great deal to know the veritable -standpoint of affairs.” - -Aloud he said. “Am I right in imagining that you are the chaplain of -Delancey Castle?” - -“I am,” said Father Maloney. “What made you think so?” - -“Well,” said John airily, “one does not expect to see a superabundance -of priests in a Protestant country, and when it comes to a minute spot -such as this, where you happen to know there is one priest,--well, when -you see him, you imagine he’s the one,” concluded John explicitly. - -Father Maloney’s eyes twinkled. - -“Under the circumstances, as stated by you, the inference might be -drawn,” quoth he. - -And then followed a little silence. Both men were looking towards -Delancey Castle, and it may be pretty safely conjectured that the -thoughts of both were occupied by that same Castle. - -John, if the truth be known, was longing--fervently longing--that the -old priest should give voice to that matter, which, he was fully aware, -was uppermost in their minds. For him to broach the subject would, he -feared, savour too strongly of impertinence on the part of a complete -stranger. Yet it is very certain that, without any undue curiosity on -his part, he desired intensely to know the actual rights of the case, -to arrive at the veritable truth of the rumour which had twice reached -his ears. - -Now whether John’s desire was sufficiently intense to communicate -itself to Father Maloney, or whether it was that the subject which -so absorbed the old priest’s mind was bound to find an outlet in -speech, you may settle as best pleases you. For my part, I have no -definite opinion to offer on the matter, though I sway slightly in -favour of the latter conclusion. When every nook and cranny of the -mind is filled with a thought which increases in volume the more it is -absorbed, there comes a point when an outlet in speech is practically -a necessity, and, to my thinking, this point had been reached in the -present case of Father Maloney’s mind. Also it is quite possible that -he recognized the silent and unobtrusive sympathy of John. Certain it -is that he began to speak. - -“I suppose you’ll have heard the news of yonder Castle?” he asked, -pulling at his pipe. - -“I’ve heard rumours,” acquiesced John, “which I devoutly trusted were -nothing more.” - -“I trusted that myself,” said Father Maloney grimly. “But the truth of -them is clinched now, and that’s a fact.” - -“Ah!” said John quietly. And then, “Would you tell me the story? I -should like to hear it, if you wouldn’t mind telling it.” - -“Not at all, since you’d be caring to hear it But it’s a longish tale, -and a bit complicated at that. It might be boring you.” - -“Not a bit of it,” declared John fervently. “I’ve been wanting to hear -the truth of the matter ever since the first rumour reached my ears. -Honestly,” he continued smiling, “it has been nothing but the fear of a -snub that prevented me from broaching the subject the first moment I -dropped on the grass beside you.” - -Father Maloney smiled. - -“Ah, well,” he said. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -AN OLD-TIME TRAGEDY - - -AFTER a moment, during which Father Maloney was, I imagine, sorting -his ideas, seeking for the best beginning to the promised complicated -story, he began to speak. - -“Well, you’ll know, of course, that the Delanceys are a very old -family. The baronetcy dates back to the time of the Crusaders. The -family have never lost the Faith, as we Catholics say. The matter which -has given rise to the present upset happened in the year seventeen -hundred and thirteen. The then baronet was one Sir Michael Delancey, -his wife, Helen, _née_ Montgomery. But sure that’s nothing to do with -the tale at all. There were three children by the marriage, Henry, -Antony, and Rosamund. It was with Henry that the difficulty arose. -He was--well, I fear there’s no denying that he was a rogue, with no -decent feeling in him at all. A card-playing, drinking fella he was, -and not above doing a thought of cheating if it happened that the luck -was going against him. Well, it was in one of these card routs that -things came to a crisis. There was cheating and quarrelling and what -not, and at the end a duel. Henry killed his man, and raced off to his -home to lie low a bit in hiding. The old man--Sir Michael--was sick -of him and his ways by that time, I’m thinking. Anyhow he agreed to -smuggle him out of the country, but on one condition, and here’s the -first, and, for that matter, the whole point of the business. Before he -was shipped off he had to sign some paper or other renouncing all claim -to the property, indeed disinheriting himself in favour of his younger -brother, Antony. Somehow it seems that the old man had not the right to -disinherit him himself.” - -“Entail, I suppose,” said John lighting a fresh cigarette. - -“Something of the kind, I’ve no doubt,” returned Father Maloney. -“Legally, I’m thinking, he’d still have inherited the title, but -the bargain was that he was to go off for ever, be, in a manner of -speaking, dead to the heritage of his forebears in any shape or form. -And his heirs to be dead to it likewise. Be that as may be, he went -off, having renounced all claim to the property. Five years later his -brother Antony succeeded to it.” - -Father Maloney paused, then a moment later resumed his tale. - -“Antony married Margaret de Courcey, a fine woman from all accounts, -and by her he had four children, Antony, Richard, Rosamund, and -Michael. Now comes along the next point of interest. Ten years after -Sir Antony had succeeded to the property and title, Henry reappeared -upon the scene. There’s no doubt but that he had it in his mind to -make matters as unpleasant for Antony as might be. He was married, so -he said, and had two sons. Margaret was away from home at the time, -and the whole business is clearly shown in letters she received from -her husband, Sir Antony. The letters are still in existence. In them -Sir Antony tells her of Henry’s reappearance, and sets forth his -reluctance to do the obvious thing and inform the law his brother has -returned,--which would have been mightily unpleasant for Henry, I’m -thinking. Sure, he must have been a daring fella to have come back to -England at all. Sir Antony tells her, too, clearly enough, Henry’s -motive in coming, and it’s one a blind man might be seeing without -over-much difficulty. It was the paper he’d signed he was after. If he -could destroy that, why, it would leave his son free to inherit the -title and property at his death. He couldn’t think to be getting them -himself without more of a boggle than he’d have a liking for. But it -would be another matter for his son. You’ll be finding all this in the -first two letters Sir Antony wrote to Margaret, as well as the whole -history of the signing of the paper. Perhaps after a fashion she knew -of that before, but not over-definitely. Anyhow Sir Antony writes it -all down, and it is from that letter we know of the matter. A third -letter, and a shorter one, shows that Sir Antony is getting a trifle -uneasy with Henry hanging around, and that he means to remove the paper -from the strong box, where it was kept, to some hiding-place of sorts. -But never a hint did he give of where that hiding-place would be at -all.” - -“Possibly,” remarked John shrewdly, “he had no mind to put his ideas on -paper.” - -“’Tis more than likely,” returned Father Maloney grimly, “but it’s -a deal of trouble he’d have been saving if he’d given the merest -suspicion of a hint. A fourth letter was sent to Margaret Delancey, -written by one Francis Raymond, a priest. ’Tis a sad letter, and a -fine letter too, for that matter. He begs her to come home without -delay, and tells her of her husband’s death. He goes straight at what -he has to say, and then gives her the comfort the poor soul would -be needing,--though it’s plain he knows the manner of woman she is, -and the courage of her. There’s a hint in his letter of foul play of -some kind. Other papers, Margaret’s own diary among them, tell what -that foul play was. Sir Antony had been found in the park, under an -oak tree, shot through the head. Henry was lying near him, a pistol -not ten inches from his hand, and his throat torn out by Sir Antony’s -wolf-hound.” - -“What a ghastly business!” ejaculated John, as Father Maloney stopped. - -“You may well say that,” remarked Father Maloney. “The matter was plain -enough. Henry had shot his brother with the idea of getting hold of -that precious paper unhindered, but he had forgotten--or, maybe, never -realized--the presence of Sir Antony’s wolf-hound, Gelert. The dog -wasn’t one to let his master’s murderer go unpunished.” - -Again there was a little pause. Father Maloney refilled his pipe. - -“Well,” he said after a minute, “after Sir Antony’s death, his son -Antony came into possession. But--” Father Maloney emphasized the word -with an emphatic movement of his pipe, “that paper desired by Henry had -vanished. Wherever Sir Antony had hidden it, the hiding-place was a bit -too good. It has never been found.” - -“Perhaps,” suggested John tentatively, “Henry had destroyed it.” - -Father Maloney shook his head. - -“Not a bit of it. If Henry had destroyed it before he shot his brother -there’d have been no need for the shooting at all. He shot his brother -to get at the paper, but Gelert was one too many for him. And never a -scrap of paper was found upon, or near him.” - -“And,” said John ruminatively, “that has proved an awkward business.” - -“It has that,” said Father Maloney drily. “A claimant has turned up.” - -“Yes,” said John quietly. - -“Oh, ’tis a pretty boggle,” went on Father Maloney, “it is that. This -fella, this David Delancey arrives from Africa----” - -“Africa!” interrupted John. “I heard he was an American?” - -“Well, ’tis Africa he has come from,” said Father Maloney. “He arrives -as cool as a cucumber. ‘I’m the rightful owner of this place,’ says he -in a letter to Lady Mary. ‘I’ve every proof, and send copies of them.’ -’Tis a long rigmarole how he got hold of them. Of course there was -a lawyers’ investigation. That’s been going on for months. But ’tis -proved now beyond no manner of doubt that he is the direct descendant -of that scoundrel Henry, and not a scrap of legal proof have we got on -our side that Henry ever renounced the claim to the property. There’s -the whole business. Lady Mary got the letter from the lawyer fellas -this morning. ’Tis full of their jargon, but the meaning is plain -enough through it all. David Delancey is the rightful heir, and no -vestige of right has this little Antony here to stick or stone of the -old place.” - -Father Maloney stopped. - -“It’s--it’s preposterous!” ejaculated John hotly. - -Father Maloney smiled, an untranslatable, an enigmatic smile. - -“When does he take possession?” demanded John. - -“Oh, he’s written a decent enough letter,” responded Father Maloney. -“He says there can be time enough taken for the handing over of the -property. ‘Take six months, or a year about it, for that matter,’ says -he. He’ll be coming down here in a day or so to the inn to look around -and get the hang of affairs, though he’s in no way anxious to intrude.” - -“Intrude!” snorted the wrathful John. - -“Well, well,” interpolated Father Maloney soothingly, “he’ll be within -his rights according to those lawyer fellas.” - -John gazed sternly before him. - -“I don’t believe he has an atom of right,” he announced emphatically. - -Again Father Maloney smiled. - -“Well, I’ll allow we’re all of us for that way of thinking ourselves. -But private opinion has never overridden the law yet, without proof in -the plainest black and white to back it up.” - -John heaved a portentous sigh. - -Here, at least, was fact indisputable. Matters for the present -inhabitants of Delancey Castle were at a deadlock, a deadlock of the -tightest and most emphatic kind. There was no denying that a stoic -philosophy was the only course open to them. - -But stoic philosophy on such a matter! How was any living human -creature possessed of a drop of warm tingling blood in his veins to -encompass such a state of being? He saw the trio as they had come -towards him in the August sunshine that morning,--the girl tall, -graceful, breathing vitality, temperament; the merest casual observer -must have felt her extraordinary capacity for feeling things intensely. -Oh, it was no imagination on his part, imagination fed by the white -light of idealism with which he had surrounded her. Verily was there no -imagination on his part. She would suffer in every fibre of her being. -It would be to her like tearing her heart from her. And she would -suffer smiling, he knew that. That’s where the pain would be the more -intense. Those who can bedew a wound with tears bring easing to its -agony. And he told himself she would never shed one tear. He knew he -wasn’t being sentimental. It was the hard bed-rock truth. - -And the boys too! Antony, gay, debonair, valiant little champion! -Michael, a mere clinging, cuddlesome baby! And there was Delancey -Castle before him in the sunlight. - -Of course he didn’t know the place, he was perfectly aware of that -fact, but imagination could well make up for lack of knowledge. In -imagination he saw the gardens, the terraces, the old grey walls, the -dark interior lit by diamond-paned casement windows; he saw the blend -of harmonious colours; he smelt the old-time smell of century-mellowed -oak and leather, the fragrant scents of lavender and _pot-pourri_. -And it was this--this absolutely perfect and fitting frame for that -adorable trio (he had forgotten Lady Mary for the moment) that was -to be snatched from them, and made the frame for a modern, hustling, -nasal-voiced American. - -“What do you think about it?” demanded John sternly, his eyes towards -the distant Castle, but his words intended for the old priest. - -“Sure, I was thinking every bit the same as you’re thinking, till -twenty minutes or so agone,” responded Father Maloney. - -“And now?” demanded John. - -“Glory be to God, is it a sermon you’re wanting?” asked Father Maloney -with a little twinkle in his eyes. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -CORIN THEORIZES - - -CORIN, from the depths of one armchair, regarded John in the depths of -another. - -“For sheer, racy, brilliant conversation commend me to you,” he -remarked sarcastically. “For the last hour at least--I’ve had my eye on -the clock--you’ve uttered no single word. You’ve rivalled the immortal -William’s lover in your sighs. Talk of _a_ furnace, it’s like ten -furnaces you’ve been. Sigh, sigh, and again sigh. What’s the matter -with you, man? Is it love, sorrow, or remorse for an ill-spent youth? -Come, out with it. Disburden your soul of the worm i’ the bud which is -feeding on your damask cheek. Speak, I implore you.” - -John roused himself. - -“Oh,” he responded airily enough, “in the matter of conversation -I fancied we’d had enough of it at dinner--supper--whatever the -original, but wholly appetizing meal might be called. We conversed -pretty tolerably, I fancy.” - -“Conversation!” Corin’s voice expressed a depth of utter scorn. -“Conversation! If that’s what he calls the airy, frothy, soap-bubble -words which fell from his lips! Oh, you didn’t deceive me. I saw -in them the mere cloak to an aching heart. You just over-did the -lighthearted careless rôle. You’ve said fifty times more in the last -hour. But now I want the translation, the interpretation. Where’s the -use of first frivolling, and then glooming? Strike the happy medium. -Come, consider me a confidant,” he ended on a note of coaxing. - -John laughed. Then he relapsed into gloom, frowning. - -“It’s no laughing matter,” he said. - -“It wasn’t I who laughed,” urged Corin gently. “Come, tell me.” - -“Oh, well,” said John stretching out his legs. And forthwith he set -himself to speak, succinctly, concisely. - -“Bless the man!” cried Corin at the end of the recital, “so it’s that -that’s weighing on his mind.” - -“Well?” demanded John surprised, and not a little injured. “And isn’t -it enough to weigh on a man’s mind? Isn’t it an entirely unparalleled -situation? Isn’t it an unthinkable, inconceivable situation?” - -Corin waved his cigarette in the air. - -“Oh, I’ll grant you all that. But you’re too susceptible. You’re -too--too ultra-sympathetic. It isn’t _your_ Castle. It isn’t _your_ -relation that has appeared unwanted from the other side of Nowhere. It -isn’t _you_ who have got to take a back seat and see Americans vault -over your head into the position you have just vacated.” He stopped. - -“Oh, well,” said John frigidly, “if that’s the way you look at things.” - -Corin sighed. - -“It’s the only sensible way.” - -“Hang sense,” muttered John. - -“My dear fellow,” urged Corin soothingly, “look at matters in a -reasonable light. Here are you sighing, frowning, suffering real -mental pain on behalf of a family--a quite picturesque and interesting -family, I’ve no doubt, but one with which you have the barest bowing -acquaintance, the merest superficial knowledge. Your attitude isn’t -reasonable, it’s altogether exaggerated and beside the mark.” - -“It’s merely ordinary decent human sympathy,” retorted John. - -Corin raised his light arched eyebrows till they nearly touched his -light straight hair. - -“Then,” he remarked coolly, “defend me from your company when you are -suffering from extraordinary human sympathy. Seriously, though,” he -went on, “aren’t you being a trifle _exalté_ in the matter? Aren’t you -plunging the sword of sympathy a bit too deeply into your heart? For a -moment--just for one brief infinitesimal moment--consider facts as they -are. Here are we two, dropped by the merest chance upon this place, -fallen upon it by the merest freak of fortune--three weeks ago I’d -never even heard of its existence--and we’ve really no more individual -connection with it than with--with Mount Popocatepetl. What possible -reason, or, I might say, what right or justification, has either one of -us to take to heart the private and personal trials of a family living -here. It’s--it’s almost an impertinence. We aren’t in the picture at -all. We’re altogether superfluous to them. Look at the whole thing -from the point of view of an audience,” continued Corin blandly. “A -month or two hence the curtain will have fallen on this little drama, -as far as we are concerned. We aren’t on the stage at all.” - -John smiled, a little grim smile, provoked, no doubt, by the eminent -common-sense of Corin’s statement. - -“You have a really wonderfully level way of regarding matters,” he -remarked. - -“Isn’t it common-sense?” demanded Corin. - -“Oh, yes, it’s common-sense right enough,” conceded John airily. - -“You see,” continued Corin, secretly immensely pleased with what he -considered the success of his theorems, “you see it is absolutely and -entirely impossible for us as individuals to take to heart, deeply to -heart, each individual grief of each individual person in the world. -Consider, man, if one did, every perusal of the daily papers would be -fraught with soul-agonizings, with horrible heart-burnings. It would -become a sheer wasting of the nervous tissues, an utter and entire -uneconomic expenditure of the sympathies. Also,” concluded Corin, -speaking now at top speed, “though you, in your isolated superiority of -an orthodox religion, refuse to admit my theories, it is nevertheless -a fact that all suffering is the outcome of justice, in a word, of -karma, the inevitable demand for the payment of those debts which every -individual has at one time or another voluntarily contracted.” - -John grinned. - -“I’ve heard that theory of yours before,” he remarked. - -“Oh, I know your didymusical tendencies,” retorted Corin. - -John laughed. - -“I should have supposed,” quoth he, “that the shoe fitted another foot.” - -But in his heart he was considering three points--three questions -raised by a previous speech in the foregoing conversation. Firstly, was -it a mere freak of fortune that had brought him to Malford? Secondly, -would the curtain presently fall on the drama so far as he was -concerned? Thirdly, had Father Maloney considered his palpable sympathy -in the business an impertinence? - -To firstly and secondly his heart cried an emphatic negative. Thirdly, -after all, was a minor consideration; but, having in mind Father -Maloney’s shrewd old eyes, John was disposed to answer that question -likewise in the negative. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -IN AN OLD CHURCH - - -THE next two days were _dies non_ as far as John was concerned, since -never a glimpse did he obtain of white-robed figure or attendant -knights, despite sun-baked rambles along dusty roads, deep lanes, and -over purple moorland. - -He began to carp at that freakish sprite Chance. Matters might have -been so differently arranged by him. Taking them in hand at all, they -could have been conceived with so infinitely greater diplomacy. Where, -after all, had been the use of a mere goat? Why could not a bull--a -ferocious, snorting, pawing bull--have been brought on to the stage. -A bull must have entailed some further acknowledgment of the heroic -rescue. He might even have been slightly injured in the course of that -same rescue. In that case inquiries would have followed as a matter -of course, maybe even a visit of sympathetic and grateful condolence. -But a goat! a mere goat! With time and safety in which to consider the -situation, it had doubtless presented itself to the lady’s mind as one -of ridiculous insignificance. Her alarm was, probably, by now almost -laughable in her own eyes; and, in the face of this calm consideration, -John’s advance to the rescue would, therefore, have savoured somewhat -what of an intrusion. Verily had Chance been freakish and ill-advised. - -“Could I but build me a willow cabin at her gates,” sighed John. “But -to sit on the sun-baked road would undoubtedly gain one the reputation -of a madman in these prosaic, self-contained days.” - -Nevertheless he wandered past those same gates more times than I will -venture to record, and gazed ardently along the avenue of oaks and -beeches, but with no reward for his pains. - -To bring solace to his soul, he bethought himself of Sunday. Sight of -her, at least, must be then permitted him; speech with her, though a -good devoutly to be desired, was not probable of consummation. Also, -with distinct and genuine success he interested himself in Corin’s -labours. - -The work in the church progressed. Daily the plaster fell before that -remorseless chisel, daily new delights shone forth to the light of -day. The tracery of the east window was uncovered; showing brilliant -blue-green, with glowing ruby eyes. Great splashes of colour, bold yet -simple outline, transformed the dreary, hitherto plastered place into -a thing of mediæval beauty. The progress of time vanished with the -falling plaster. You found yourself back in the old centuries, the dead -years revitalized. - -John sought the church most willingly when the workmen’s hours were -over, when silence lay upon the place, when the only sounds that -came to him were the falling of fragments from the walls, the echo -of Corin’s foot upon the plank as he shifted his position, and the -twittering and chirping of the birds from the bushes in the sunny -churchyard without. - -At such time imagination ran riot. - -He pictured the village folk coming up the path among the lengthening -shadows, saw them entering by the little Norman doorway, taking holy -water from the stoup, then kneeling before Christ in the Blessed -Sacrament. To him the church was no longer an empty shell, but a place -of crimson draperies, dark oak pews, scattered shrines; with here and -there a kneeling figure; and above all, superseding all, the quiet -strength and peace of the Hidden Presence. - -Presently he began to individualize his village folk. There was a -fair-haired girl who came to pray for her lover, to commend him -specially to Our Lord and St. Joseph, since he--her man--was a -carpenter. There was a dark-eyed woman who came to plead for the life -of her child lying sick of a fever; there was a young man who came -to dedicate his youth and strength to God; and there was an old, old -woman, who, having no living to pray for, came daily to pray for the -holy dead. The present had vanished, merged and absorbed in the past. -Despite all that has been lost, removed, abandoned, despite the denial -of entry to that Gracious Presence, does there not still linger in -these old churches some faint sweet breath, some hidden fragrance of -that which once has been? - -You would never have imagined, seeing John sitting there in his most -immaculate suit of grey flannels, that such thoughts as these were -passing through his mind. But I have observed, and you may take my -observation for what it is worth, that to attempt to guess at the -minds of one’s fellow humans by their clothes and their superficial -appearance, is a distinctly dangerous task. To do so must inevitably -result in a series of vast surprises when the truth becomes known. - -To my thinking it would be not unlike marching into some great clothing -emporium to examine coats. There they hang,--tweed coats, frieze coats, -fur coats, silk coats, velvet coats, satin coats, tinsel coats, even -second-hand and shop-worn coats. You turn them to look at the linings. -Now, here the shock begins. Where you expected to find warm linings you -find calico; where good material, rags; where flimsy useless linings, -cloth of gold and soft fur; where soiled linings, the most exquisite -satins. Therefore, if you desire to make a guess at the substance of -these coats, without actual knowledge of their linings, take them from -their peg and weigh them. A discrepancy between their weight and your -expectation of it may lead you nearer a fair guess at the lining. - -I’ll be bound, that, on mere superficial observation, you’d have taken -our John for a mere summer coat of little substance and no weight; -but assuredly you’d find your mistake when you had examined a bit -closer. It is an idiosyncrasy of human nature, perhaps intentional -on the part of the individual, perhaps unavoidable, that the vast -majority invariably deceives the casual observer. No doubt this lends -interest to our acquaintanceships and friendships; often, too, lends -disappointment; and occasionally unexpected pleasure; but interest -certainly. - -Here, however, I have advanced somewhat with John’s meditations, -carried them beyond those first days of which I began to speak. -Therefore to return on our traces. - -That first Saturday afternoon John, sitting on an overturned -wheelbarrow, began something of those thoughts of which I have given -you the greater elaboration. I don’t believe for a moment that he knew -that he was thinking them. There’s the curious joy of such thoughts. -There is no conscious effort on your part. You don’t map out a route -in your mind resolving your progress along it, a conscientious -observance of the milestones you may pass. Insensibly you drift into -peaceful glades, silent and very sweet. Their atmosphere steals upon -you, holding your spirit in a breathless charm. Happiness, a strange -wonderful happiness, falls upon you. You accept it in its entirety, -taking, at the moment, no note of details. Later, returning to more -material consciousness and surroundings, the details present themselves -to your memory, and you then realize your awareness of them, even while -they were submerged in the whole. - - * * * * * - -It was cool in the church, in marked contrast to the heat without. -Being Saturday afternoon, John and Corin had the place to themselves. -Corin, up aloft, chiselled with vigour, or with suspended breath, -as the exigencies of the work demanded; John, on the overturned -wheelbarrow, was lost in thought. - -Suddenly a slight sound made him raise his head. For a moment, for one -brief instant, he still remained in the past, almost believing his -thoughts to have materialized before him. - -In the shadow of the little Norman doorway stood a white-robed figure. -Still half dreaming he looked to see her take holy water from the -stoup. Then actualities rushed upon him. His heart jumped; pleasure, -undeniable radiant pleasure, shone from his face. He got to his feet. - -“Oh,” said Rosamund perceiving him. And she stopped, half hesitating. - -John made her a little courtly bow. - -“I thought,” said she smiling, “I should have found the place deserted. -It is Saturday afternoon.” - -“It is deserted,” John assured her, “but for me and Corin.” He -indicated the indefatigably industrious figure aloft. - -She smiled. - -“I came,” said she, “with the intention of having a private view, a -little secret examination of the paintings Mr. Elmore was uncovering.” - -“Oh!” said John. And then dubiously, “The uncovered paintings are, as -you see, at a goodly height above us.” - -“Yes.” Her voice was regretful. - -John heard the regret. - -“I wonder--” he began. - -“I _could_,” she assured him, with swift realization of his unspoken -thought. - -He glanced towards the ladder. - -“Really?” he queried. - -She nodded. “Really. I am sure I could.” - -“Come then,” said John. - -They advanced towards the ladder. At the foot thereof she paused. - -“Shan’t we be disturbing him?” she queried. - -“Not a bit of it,” laughed John. “He’ll merely be flattered at your -interest. He’ll adore an audience.” - -The situation had for him the hint of an adventure. To have told her -curtly,--or suavely, for that matter,--that it was impossible for her -to see those paintings would have resulted in her leaving the church. -There could have been no possible excuse for her remaining. This -thought justified him in suggesting the venture. Naturally it was an -infinitely greater venture in his eyes than in Rosamund’s. That is -probably understood without need of my mentioning the fact. - -John, in advance, reached the first platform; turned, took her hand -firmly in his, and drew her to safety. A second time was this feat -accomplished in like manner. - -“Hullo!” exclaimed Corin, surprised at the double apparition. - -“Allow me,” said John, “to present my friend, Mr. Elmore. Miss Delancey -wanted to see the paintings.” - -“Therein,” quoth Corin bowing, “she shows her judgment. Behold!” He -waved his chisel towards the wall. - -“Oh!” breathed Rosamund. Just that, and no more. - -Corin hugged himself with delight. - -“Isn’t it gorgeous!” he ejaculated. “Isn’t it superb, adorable, and -dreamy! And heaven knows what more this plaster hides. The unutterable -Philistines who smeared and daubed it over from the light of day!” - -“Is it not,” suggested Rosamund, “a matter for thankfulness that they -did merely smear and daub? It is possible, it is quite conceivable, -that they might have scraped.” - -Corin shuddered. - -“Don’t suggest such a possibility,” he implored. “I’ll confess my -thankfulness for the daubing.” - -She barely heard him. She was engrossed in the work before her,--red, -black, turquoise blue, and crimson, she revelled in its colour. Daring -enough it was in parts, in others almost crude in its simplicity. She -was drawn, as John had been drawn, back into the bygone ages. Their -atmosphere enfolded her, enwrapped her. She saw in the work before -her, almost without realizing her thoughts, the interpretation of the -mind of the painter. Here was nothing petty, nothing niggled; it was -frank, simple, childlike. It was extraordinarily unselfconscious. -Therein lay its subtle charm. There was no intricacy of expression; -nothing laboured; almost, one might say, nothing preconceived. - -“Well?” queried John at last. - -“Oh,” she cried, turning towards him, “it’s--it’s so deliciously -simple, so utterly unstudied. It’s almost untutored in its crudeness, -and yet--I wonder wherein exactly the charm lies?” - -“In its simplicity,” returned Corin promptly. “Whoever painted this -worked for pure pleasure. There’s--well, there’s so extraordinarily -little hint of even the thought of an audience. Do you know what I -mean?” - -“Isn’t it,” she said laughing, “the entire expression of ‘when the -world was so new and all’?” - -“_Exactly!_” cried Corin. “In those eight little words Kipling carried -us back into a clean fresh world with its face all washed and smiling; -when we laughed for the mere joy of laughter; when we wept if we wanted -to weep--only I believe we didn’t want to; when the tiresome stupid -phrases ‘What will people think? What will people say?’ were unknown in -the language; when we danced, and ate, and played in the sunshine for -the mere joy of living.” - -“Only that?” she queried, her eyebrows raised. - -“Only that,” said Corin firmly. “Kipling is a glorious pagan.” - -“Oh!” She was dubious. “I wonder.” - -“And this painter,” pursued Corin unheeding, “splashed his colours on -the walls, his blacks, his reds, his blues, his lines and curves, and -he laughed as he worked, and I think he sang too, and he didn’t care -one jot what people thought about him or his painting. He loved it, and -so--” He broke off with a gesture. - -“But,” quoth she demurely, “I suppose you don’t intend to infer that -_he_ was a pagan?” - -“Oh, you can _call_ him what you like,” returned Corin magnanimously, -“I only know that his mind was as untrammelled as his work.” - -“I see.” She shot him a little quizzical glance. - -Ten minutes later, standing once more on the floor of the church, she -said to John, smiling: - -“I suppose Mr. Elmore considers your mind, and my mind, and, for the -matter of that, the mind of every Catholic in a kind of strait-jacket?” - -“You’re not far beside the mark,” returned John laughing. - -He went with her to the door. A moment she stood there; and, turning, -looked back into the church. - -“After all, it’s sad,” she said. - -“I know,” replied John. - -“It’s--it’s the sense of loss.” - -“I know,” said John again, “the sense of loss, in spite of the faint -fragrance that still lingers.” - -She nodded, then turned towards the sunshine without. - -“By the way,” said she suddenly reminiscent, “I left a note for you at -the White Cottage. My grandmother would be very pleased if you and Mr. -Elmore would lunch with us tomorrow at one o’clock. She would like to -thank you in person for your intervention on our behalf the other day. -Can you come?” - -“With the greatest pleasure in the world,” returned John. And there is -no question but that his heart was in his voice. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -THE WICKEDNESS OF MOLLY BIDDULPH - - -YOU perceive, therefore, that Chance had truly played the game well. -John--a radiant John--apologized within his soul for his one-time -doubt of the Sprite’s arrangement of affairs. The sun immediately -shone brighter, the sky was bluer, the earth an altogether fairer and -lovelier place. - -He made his way swiftly back to the White Cottage. There, in the -parlour, he found what he sought, a pale grey envelope lying on the -table. Quickly he broke the seal, perused the opening words: - -“My grandmother desires me....” - -John’s heart thumped madly. It was exactly as he had hoped,--her -handwriting, her signature! The faintest scent of lavender was wafted -to him from the paper. - -“We shall be lunching at Delancey Castle tomorrow,” said John, with -a fine air of casualness, to Mrs. Trimwell, who was setting out the -tea-things. Inwardly he was aware that an almost idiotic smile of -pleasure was wreathing itself about his lips. - -Mrs. Trimwell beamed. You might have fancied, seeing her, that the -invitation had been extended to herself. - -“I’m glad,” said she, heartily and concisely. “You need cheering up a -bit.” - -“I do?” John was surprised. - -“Yes,” replied Mrs. Trimwell. “I’ve noticed well enough that you’ve -been down on your luck like these last three days, and no wonder with -not a soul to speak to except Mr. Elmore, and him everlasting on -ladders chiselling of the walls, which it isn’t the easiest way to be -talking at the same time, I’ll be bound. You’ve done nothing but wear -yourself out a-trapezing round the country in the heat, and come home -that tired you’ve no stomach for your food. I’ve eyes in my head.” Mrs. -Trimwell nodded emphatically. - -“Oh, but really--” began John feebly, and with something like a queer -sense of guilt, “I haven’t----” - -“You’ve been dull,” reiterated Mrs. Trimwell firmly, “and if you _say_ -you haven’t you don’t deceive me, no more than my Tilda did when she -come into the house half an hour agone looking for all the world like -a choir boy a-singing of hymns. ‘Where ha’ you been, Tilda?’ says I. -Tilda, she glinted at me out of the corner of her eye. ‘Oh, round and -about, mother,’ says she. ‘And ’tis round and about with Molly Biddulph -you’ve been then,’ I says. And Tilda, she begins to snivel, knowing -I’ve told her times out of number I won’t have her going around with -Molly, who’s the worst young limb of mischief to the village. There’s -nothing that child won’t do, from getting unbeknownst into Jane Kelly’s -shop and changing the salt and sugar in the jars, to tampering with the -very books in the church itself. Did I ever tell you about her and the -banns of marriage, sir?” - -“You did not,” replied John. - -“It was her cousin from Dublin what helped her, I know,” announced Mrs. -Trimwell, “being a boy, and good at writing, and old enough to think of -the wickedness. But ’twas Molly stole the key, as Father Maloney got -her to own, and seeing she goes to his church, being Irish papists, I -wonder he don’t keep her in better order. Vicar, he was away for a -Sunday or two, and got another parson what he called a lokomtinum to -come down. Molly, she stole the key of the vestry from Henry Davies -what’s the verger, and used to keep the key in a china cat on his -parlour mantelpiece, but has carried it tied to his watch chain ever -since, and her and Patsie sneaked off down to the church when Vicar had -gone, and got the book of banns to be called. There wasn’t but one bann -to be called, Lily Morton’s, her that married the blacksmith over to -Bradbury three months agone. Patsie and Molly wrote down the rest. They -coupled off Mr. Healy and Miss Sweeting, and Mr. Porter and Miss Janet -Cray, and Mr. Lethbury and Miss Martha Bridges, what’s all over fifty -if they’re a day, and the respectablest spinsters for miles round, and -Mr. Healey he’s in his dotage, and Mr. Porter what’s afraid to look a -woman in the face, and Mr. Lethbury a married man with a wife a bit of -a termagent. They said afterwards--Molly and Patsie--they had to give -Miss Martha Bridges to somebody, and there wasn’t no unmarried men but -Mr. Healey and Mr. Porter, and they’d fixed them to Miss Sweeting and -Miss Janet Cray. Well, the lokomtinum he don’t know no more than Adam -who the people in the village are, and when it come to the banns, out -he reads the sinfulness them two have written down. Mrs. Morton, the -butcher’s wife, she was there, and she told me afterwards you might ha’ -heard the gasp that went round the church up to the Castle. Mr. Porter -took and bolted, and hasn’t been seen outside his gates yet. Mr. Healey -wasn’t there, and Mr. Lethbury he sat with his jaw dropped and his eyes -a-sticking out of his head. Miss Martha Bridges had hysterics, and the -only ones that seemed a bit pleased and fluttery-like was Miss Sweeting -and Miss Janet Cray, specially Miss Janet. Suppose them two thought it -was a new kind o’ way of proposing, not having the courage to do it -otherways.” Mrs. Trimwell stopped. - -“What happened?” asked John trying to keep his voice steady. - -“Happened!” said Mrs. Trimwell. “There was talk enough in the village -that Sunday and a week after to last most people for a lifetime and -then them feel a bit of chatterboxes. Henry Davies he was mad, feeling -responsible like as verger. He guessed ’twas Molly at the bottom of it -as she’s at the bottom of all the mischievousness in the place and -her only eleven. But he couldn’t prove nothing finding the key in the -china cat Sunday morning same as it always was, Molly having put it -back. He ask her, and she up and lied straight. She’ll tell you a lie -and look you in the face as innocent as a dove. But I knows when she’s -lying for that she always turns her toes in when she lies. But I don’t -think other folk have noticed that, and for all she’s a bad child I’ll -not give her away that much. Henry Davies he went up to Father Maloney, -and he sent for Molly and Patsie, being a knowing man like, and the -sinfulness a bit beyond Molly’s years. They told him the truth fast -enough. I’ll say that for Molly, she don’t never lie to Father Maloney, -that I knows. And then all they’d say, as brazen as you please, was -that they were sorry they couldn’t have heard the banns read, because -’twould be a sin in them to go to a Protestant church. Henry Davies -said Father Maloney was that angry with them for such a speech he just -turned his back straight on them and walked over to the window. And -presently he said in a queer sort of voice that if Henry Davies would -go away for a bit he’d talk to Patsie and Molly. Henry Davies was -sure he was so upset at the wickedness of them being responsible for -their souls like that he couldn’t abide to have any one see what he was -feeling.” - -“It would be a grief to him,” announced John gravely. “Did--did his -lecture have any effect?” - -“Well,” said Mrs. Trimwell, “in a manner of speaking you might say -it had. Father Maloney went with Molly and Patsie to them six they’d -insulted--Father Maloney said ’twas an insult--and to Henry Davies and -the lokomtinum, and they apologized. Though Molly said afterwards that -Miss Janet and the lokomtinum were the only ones it had been worth -while apologizing to. She said it in Henry Davies’s hearing, which it -wasn’t pleasant for him to hear, and he’d have gone to Father Maloney -again but that Mrs. Davies persuaded him to let well alone seeing he -might ha’ been a bit to blame for not keeping the key safer. Father -Maloney made them own up to Vicar too, and say they were sorry. But -sorriness with Molly is water on a duck’s back and no more and no less. -And I’ve told my Tilda fifty times if I’ve told her once, that I’ll not -have her go with Molly. But it’s awful the way Molly gets a hold on -children with her coaxing ways.” - -John shook his head in commiseration. Words, it would appear, failed -him at the moment. - -Two minutes later, Mrs. Trimwell having departed, he betook himself to -a careful re-perusal of that pale grey letter. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -AT DELANCEY CASTLE - - -“I SAW a new man in the park today.” - -This statement, clear, emphatic, came from Antony’s lips. Sheer -courtesy had suppressed it long enough to allow of Father Maloney’s -saying grace, then it had shot forth, somewhat after the manner of a -stone from a catapult. - -The hour was one of the clock; the place was the dining hall -at Delancey Castle. John, on entering it, had swept it with a -comprehensive glance. It was old-world, supremely, superbly old-world. -He had taken in the atmosphere in one delicious draught. - -It was a dark place, oak-panelled, yet, so he assured himself, it was -utterly devoid of grimness. It was mellow, harmonious, softly shadowed. -High up on the oak walls, set against their darkness, were splashes of -colour,--shields of the houses with which the Delanceys had married. -Over the great fireplace was the Delancey shield itself, _Arg. a pile -azure between six and charged with three escallops counterchanged_. -The sunlight fell through long casement windows, patterning the floor -with diamond-shaped splotches of gold. At one end of the hall were two -steps leading to a little arched door. Through this you entered the -chapel. At the other end was the minstrels’ gallery. John could fancy -it peopled with musicians, heard in imagination the soft strains of the -harp and lute. - -The table, uncovered, shone with the polishing of generations; silver, -glass, and red roses, were reflected in its glossy surface. At one end -sat Lady Mary. Her white hair, covered with lace, cobwebby, filmy, was -backgrounded by the darkness of her chair. Facing her was Rosamund, -white-robed, lovely, cordial. Opposite to John was Corin flanked on -either side by Antony and Michael; on his right was Father Maloney. - -To John’s mind, he and Corin alone brought the twentieth century into -the dark old place; yet, bringing it, they failed to destroy the -abiding atmosphere. Of course the other five at the table did not date -back to their setting itself,--they were somewhere about eighteenth -century he conjectured,--but they linked on without a break to the -remoter ages; his thoughts ran smoothly from them to the past. In a -word, they and their setting “belonged,” and that, to him, summed up -the whole essence of harmony. He felt himself in a new old world,--new -to him, and yet old as Time itself. The day was centuries old, caught -out of the forgotten past, set down, sweet, fragrant with memories, -into the midst of this twentieth century. And the twentieth century -with all its movement, with all its modern innovations, fell away from -him, dissolved, vanished like fog wreaths before the sun. - -“I saw a new man in the park today.” - -The remark dropped into the harmony like a pebble into a still lake. -Why the simile presented itself to his mind at the moment, John could -not have told you; nevertheless it did present itself. - -“And what manner of man may a new man be?” demanded Father Maloney. - -Antony knitted his brows. - -“Mr. Mortimer was a new man on Wednesday,” quoth he serious. “Mr. -Elmore is the newest of all.” - -“Ah!” said Father Maloney, his eyes twinkling, “now we see daylight. -And what was this other new man doing in the park at all?” - -“I think,” quoth Antony solemn, “he was trying to look at the Castle, -but he didn’t want any one to see him. Least I don’t think he did.” - -“Hum!” said Father Maloney. “What makes you think that?” - -“’Cos,” said Antony calmly, “when I said ‘Hullo,’ he jumped an’ said -‘Great snakes!’ I told him,” he continued carefully, “that there -weren’t any snakes in the park. Least not big ones anyway. An’ he said -he hadn’t concluded there were. He’d said ‘Great snakes!’ ’cos I made -him jump. S’pose it was same as Biddy says ‘Saints alive!’ an’ you say -‘Glory be to God!’” - -Father Maloney looked down the table at Lady Mary. The glance was a -trifle grim. - -“Did he say anything else?” asked Lady Mary in a level voice. - -“He asked me who I was. An’ I told him my name was Antony Joseph -Delancey. An’ he said he reckoned I was the owner of the place. An’ I -said no, it was Granny’s place now, but I was going to have it when I -was a man. An’ he said, ‘Oh, you are, are you?’ An’ then he whistled.” - -There was a little curious silence. As we calculate time it endured, -perhaps, not longer than two or three seconds, yet to John it -seemed interminable. It was broken by Antony’s voice, pursuing his -reminiscences the while he was busy with roast chicken and bread sauce. - -“He talked quite a lot,” pursued Antony, cheerfully reflective. “He -asked me how old I was, an’ how long I’d lived here, an’ if I liked it. -An’ he wanted to know why we had a chapel built on to the Castle, an’ -he said he hadn’t been inside a church for years, ’cos there weren’t -any churches where he lived, an’ when he came into a town he felt like -a fish out of water if he went inside one. An’ he lives in a house that -hasn’t got any stairs, an’ there’s mountains round it, an’ there’s -baboons what come down from the mountains to steal the mealies. Mealies -are Indian corn, he says. An’ he says lilies grow in the ditches in his -country, an’ great tall flowers grow in his garden,--I don’t remember -the name,--an’ wild canaries fly about among them. An’ he says the -sunshine out there is all hot an’ gold, an’ the shadows are blue as -blue. An’ he says we don’t know what sunshine is in England, ’cos even -when it’s sunny it’s like a gauze veil hung over the sun. An’ he’s shot -leopards, an’ little tiny deer, an’ killed big snakes. An’ he asked me -honest injun what I thought about him, an’ I said I liked him. An’ he -said perhaps I wouldn’t like him very long. An’ I said ‘Why?’ An’ he -laughed, an’ shook hands, an’ went away. An’ that,” concluded Antony -with satisfaction, “is all.” - -Again there fell a little silence. It was probably infinitely more -poignant to John than to the other members of the luncheon table. -That is the worst of being possessed of a sensitive and imaginative -temperament. Your suffering is invariably duplex. You suffer for -yourself and the other, or others, as the case may be. And, in -suffering for others, your imagination, as often as not, passes the -bounds of actualities, for the very excellent reason that you possess -no real knowledge to bring it to a halt. - -Corin, though certainly less imaginative, felt the slight tension. -He leaped to break it, in a manner highly praiseworthy, if slightly -abrupt. What his remark was precisely, John did not fully grasp, but it -certainly had his work in the church for a foundation. The leap taken, -he burbled joyously, expounding, theorizing. There was no egotistical -note in his expounding. After all, as he assured them, the work was not -his. He was, in a manner of speaking, but a digger, a scraper. The fact -left him free to be enthusiastic at will, and enthusiastic he veritably -was. - -Possibly mere politeness first urged three of the elder members of the -party to suitable rejoinders. I omit John from the number. Later they -may have been fired by Corin’s exceeding enthusiasm. Be that as it -may, the tension was distinctly relieved. Conversation flowed easily, -smoothly. Dessert had been reached before it was suddenly jerked back -to dangerous quarters. - -“I wonder,” said Antony, surveying a bunch of raisins on his plate, -“who he is?” There was, you can guess, no need for a more detailed -explanation. - -“I think,” said Lady Mary quietly, “it was Sir David Delancey.” - -It was out now. The words were spoken. To John, they somehow struck -the last nail in the coffin of his hopes. - -“Same name as us?” queried an astonished Antony. - -“Yes,” said Lady Mary. - -“I liked him,” said Antony cheerfully. “Do you s’pose he’s staying -here? Do you s’pose I shall see him again?” - -John caught his breath. Once more there was the fraction of a pause, a -little tense silence. - -Then came Lady Mary’s well-bred voice. - -“I think you will see him again. I shall ask him to come and see the -Castle before long.” - -John looked up, amazed. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -A POINT OF VIEW - - -“OF course,” said John to himself, “I see her point of view.” - -It was, be it stated, at least the fiftieth time in the course of -the last four and twenty hours that he had assured himself of the -perspicacity of his vision. Also, it must be observed, it was because -his own point of view was so diametrically opposed to hers that he -found the assurance necessary. It emphasized, in a measure, his own -broadness of mind, his ability to perceive another’s standpoint even -while he disagreed with it _in toto_. You will doubtless have observed -this attitude of mind in such persons as are fully determined to adhere -to their own opinions. - -Of course he realized Lady Mary’s point of view, her quixotic -determination to recognize the interloper as one of the family, now -that his claim to recognition had been fully established. Of course -it was noble, chivalrous, Christian to a very fine degree of nicety; -but it was, to John’s way of thinking, ultra-quixotic, unnecessary, -save to aspirers after saintship. And John, from a delightfully human -standpoint, saw no reason to imagine Lady Mary as an aspirer to this -exalted degree of perfection. Therefore, from a human standpoint, her -determination was tinged, distinctly tinged, with absurdity. - -It was one thing, argued John, to bear a treacherous dog’s bite with -courage and equanimity, it was quite another to welcome and caress -the dog that has bitten you. There was treachery, unfairness, in the -whole business as far as the interloper was concerned; that fact made -John’s point of view the justifiable, and, indeed, the only sane one. -He saw precisely how he would have acted in the matter. He would -have given a dignified refusal to permit the interloper to put so -much as his nose inside the Castle, till such time as he himself and -his belongings had made a dignified exit from it. There was dignity -enough in John’s attitude, you may be sure. In fact it was a dignity -which, for the time being, entirely overrode his quite abundant -sense of humour. Therefore, you perceive, that the dignity was -coloured by a very decided sense of ill-temper. This last quality and -self-appreciation--and I believe our John was modest enough--alone are -capable of subordinating such humour. - -“Of course,” said John again, “I see her point of view, but it’s such a -confoundedly quixotic one. It isn’t level; it isn’t sane; it--it won’t -work.” And then John frowned fiercely, and gazed glumly before him. - -He was sitting in the shadow of a haystack, the afternoon being -intensely hot. The sleepy air was curiously still. Had John not been -entirely engrossed in his own reflections, it is possible he might have -read something ominous in this stillness. It is certain that he would -have done so had he looked past the haystack behind him, and seen the -purple-black clouds gradually massing up on the distant horizon. Before -him, however, all was serene, sunny, and drowsy; therefore he continued -to dream. - -His thoughts leaving, for a time at least, a subject at once unfruitful -and irritating, they rambled over the incidents of the last few days. -Undercurrently, as a kind of connecting link to the scattered beads of -incident, was a half-wondering reflection on the inscrutable leadings -of Fate, Providence,--call it what you will. And if it wasn’t Fate -which had led him here, it was Providence, and if it was Providence -there was no gainsaying the plan, and so--and so-- He broke off. - -Oh, he’d follow up the leading fast enough. It was his one whole and -sole desire. Hadn’t he had this desire for months past? Hadn’t it been -his one dream since five minutes to four precisely one windy March -afternoon? He’d follow hot afoot fast enough. The whole question was, -Would she come the merest fraction of a step towards him? Would she -even pause to await his coming? Or would he come to the end of the -pathway to find that she had eluded him,--a locked gate the end of his -quest? And there must be no stumbling, no clumsy blundering on that -pathway. Despite his desire for swiftness, he must walk warily. And -then his thoughts came to a halt, overcome, I fancy, by some suspicion -of their presumption. For a moment he staggered mentally, yet but for -a moment. Courage called high-handed to his heart. “On, man, and take -the risk,” she cried. “Cowardice and false modesty never yet led to a -fair goal.” - -Now his thoughts went back slowly step by step, dwelling with interest -on each little incident that had brought him to his present vantage -point. It being a vantage point, this method of thought had its -fascination. It was pleasant enough to give mental fingering to each -little bead of incident, to marvel at their connection with each other. -Truly there are times when such a process brings pain, when each bead -will hold a tiny poisoned prick. But why think of such times? To John, -each bead was carved in happiness. - -And then, suddenly, he was aware that the physical sunshine around him -had dimmed. Glancing upwards he saw the edge of a dark cloud. He got to -his feet and came out from the shelter of the haystack. - -Rolling up from the westward, thunderous, leaden, were great massive -clouds. The air below was extraordinarily still; he was aware now of -something electric in its stillness. Overhead there was unquestionably -wind, since the clouds rolled up and spread with rapidity. - -“We’re in for a deluge,” said John, making for the high road. - -It led downhill, straight, dusty, and very white, flanked on either -side by high hedges, dust-sprinkled. John made his way down it at a -fine pace. A thin flannel suit would be poor enough protection against -the torrent that was at hand. - -Nearing the bottom of the hill, he heard the sharp ting of a bicycle -bell behind him. The next instant the bicycle and its rider flashed -past. - -“Crass idiot to ride at that pace,” ejaculated John against the hedge. -The machine had been within a couple of inches of his arm. - -And then came the first drops of rain, splashing down, splotching dark -spots on the dusty road. White a moment agone, in a second it was -brown. The rain hissed down upon the earth. Truly there was the sound -of its abundance. - -John took to his heels and ran. As he turned at the bottom of the hill, -he came to a sudden halt. By the roadside, half sitting, half lying, -was a man; a bicycle, wheels in the air, reposed disconsolately in a -ditch. - -“Hurt?” demanded John as he came abreast of him. - -“Twisted my ankle,” was the laconic response. - -John glanced along the road. A hundred yards or so ahead, through the -downpour, he could see the White Cottage. - -“I can give you an arm to shelter if you can manage to hobble,” he -announced, indicating the house. - -The man scrambled to his feet with a grimace of pain. Together, in -halting fashion, they made their way towards the cottage. Conversation -there was none. John expressed a consolatory remark or two at -intervals, to which his companion replied, “All right. Not much. Brake -broke,” as the case might be. - -Even in these few words there was something in the inflexion of his -voice which perplexed John. Undercurrently he found himself demanding -what it was, but the exigencies of the moment disallowed of the query -coming uppermost. Also, at the moment, John happened to be suffering -from one of those lapses into obtuseness to which even the most -intelligent of us are liable on occasions. - -It was with a sigh of relief that he pushed open the door of his -sitting-room. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -JOHN PLAYS THE SAMARITAN - - -THERE is no question but that Mrs. Trimwell could rise to an emergency -when it presented itself before her. In fifteen, perhaps no more than -ten, minutes from their entry, she had the drenched couple into dry -garments; the injured ankle was bound in soft bandages, tea was in -preparation. - -But why, marvelled John, should her beneficent services have been -dispensed with a face as sour as a crab-apple? Why should her whole -mien have been as stiff, unbending, and unyielding as the proverbial -poker? The disapproval of her attitude was so marked as to be -impossible to ignore. John, in the position of host, felt some sort of -an apology necessary. Mrs. Trimwell departed, he stumbled one forth, -wondering, as he endeavoured at lightness, whether he were not, after -all, a bit of a fool for his pains; whether, by remarking on her -taciturn grimness, he were not emphasizing it more crudely. - -“She doesn’t mean to be abrupt,” he concluded, holding his cigarette -case towards the stranger. - -The man took a cigarette, and glanced at John. - -“Oh, yes, I guess she does,” he remarked drily. - -John looked at him. Obtuseness still had him in her clutch. - -“She knows who I am,” said the man coolly, “and--well, I fancy most -folk round here are not predisposed in my favour. My name, by the way, -is David Delancey.” - -John gasped, frankly gasped. He was amazed, dumbfounded. Running -through the amazement was, I fancy, something like annoyance; though -superseding it was a sense of the ludicrous, a realization of the -absurdity of the situation. And this brought him to something -perilously near a titter. - -The man looked at him. - -“Look here,” he said deliberately, though with a gleam of amusement in -his own eyes, “if you feel the same way about things, I’ll move on now. -I’ll make shift to hobble to the inn if you’ll lend me a couple of -sticks.” - -John experienced a sudden sensation of shame. Perhaps it was by reason -of the quick interpretation of his unspoken thoughts, perhaps it was -something in the other’s steady grey eyes. - -“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” he said quickly. And then he laughed. - -“What’s funny?” demanded David. - -“Oh, the whole blessed kaboodle,” returned John, still laughing softly. -“Here was I half an hour agone inveighing against you for all I was -worth, and now--well, the rôle of good Samaritan strikes me as a bit -humorous, that’s all.” - -He held a lighted match towards his guest. David took it. After a -moment he spoke. - -“Then you know them up at the Castle?” - -“I do,” said John. - -David glanced at him, then turned to a contemplation of his cigarette. - -“I had a note from the old lady today,” he said ruminatively. “She has -asked me to dine on Thursday. Now, I call that sporting of her. I guess -I’d be more like sticking a knife into me than asking me to share her -salt. It’s the way she’s worded the note, too, that I’m stuck on. I’d -give a good many dollars to get my tongue and pen around words in that -fashion. I reckon I shall shake hands with her cordially.” - -John eyed him curiously. His preconceived notions of hostility were -undergoing an extraordinary change, a change at once rapid, and, to -him, amazing, incomprehensible. I fancy he tried to rein them back, -to bring them to a standstill, while he took a calmer survey of the -situation, but, for all his endeavours, he found they had suddenly got -beyond his control. - -“I wonder,” hazarded he, “if you’d mind my asking you something. What -gave you the first clue--the idea of starting out on this quest of -yours?” - -“The clue?” David laughed. “It’s a bit of a yarn, I can tell you. You -want it? Sure?” - -John nodded. - -“Well,” quoth David, “you can call it luck, chance if you like. We’ve -always known we hailed as a family originally from England. That -knowledge has been handed down to us as a bit of tradition. I was born -in Philadelphia, and riz there, as they say in the States, till I was -going ten. Then my father made for Africa. There’s no need to enter -into the details of that move; they’re beside the mark. He took a small -farm in the Hex River Valley. He had a few old things that belonged -to his father and grandfather before him. They were stored away in a -chest. I used to look inside it when I was a youngster, and see coats, -and waistcoats, and neck stocks, and a fusty old book or two lying in -it. I never smell camphor without thinking of that chest. - -“As I grew older, I left it alone, didn’t think about it. I guess my -father hadn’t bothered about it much more than I did. He died when I -was fifteen, and my mother ran the farm. She was a capable woman. I -helped her all I could, and there were men to do the work. But she -was boss till I was one and twenty. Then she turned it over to me to -run,--root, stock, and barrel. She was cute, though, the way she’d talk -things over with me, telling me all the time what was best to do, and -making me think that I had figured out the plans. Later on she left it -really to me, not just in the name of it. That was when I’d got the -right hang of things. - -“Then she dropped suddenly out of all the man way of thinking, and just -sat knitting and smiling in the chimney corner, or letting me drive her -around in the buggy, with never a talk of business unless I began the -subject. It’s seven years ago that she died.” He stopped. - -John was silent. - -“I missed her,” went on David presently, “I missed her badly. The -place wasn’t the same. I went roving around trying to think she wasn’t -gone--but I’ll get maudlin if I go on with that. It wasn’t the bit I -set out to tell you, anyway. One afternoon I was in the lumber room -feeling lonesomer than ever. I don’t know what took me there if it -wasn’t just fate. Then I looked at that chest again. I opened it, and -the smell of camphor rushed out at me, making me think more than ever -of my mother. She was mad after camphor, putting it among everything to -keep away the moth. - -“To get away from my thoughts I began pulling out the things in the -box, stuffy books, coats, waistcoats, and all. There was one coat, -a snuff-coloured one, that might have been worn in the time of the -Georges, I calculated. I sat looking at it, and wondering which of my -grandparents had worn it, and what kind of a man he was, and all the -things a fellow does think when he’s got his grandsire’s stuff before -him. After a bit I began going through the pockets. I found a tiny horn -snuff-box in one, and that set me off searching closer. I’d come to the -last pocket, when I found what gave me that clue you were asking about. -I found a letter.” - -John looked up quickly. - -“It was torn, and not over-easy to read,” went on David. “I’ve got it -here. You can read it if you like.” - -He felt in his waistcoat pocket and pulled out his pocket-book. From it -he took a letter. - -John took the yellow paper with its faded ink lines. As he touched it -he thought of the queer twists fate gives to the wheel of our life. -Less than a fortnight ago he had set eyes but momentarily upon one of -the Delancey family, and now here he was, thrown into their midst, made -participator even in their extraordinary history. It was, so mused -John, a bit of a marvel. - -Here is the letter he read. - - “MY DEAR SON RICHARD: - - “I am about to set forth on the journey of which you know the purpose. - If I am successful you will claim your birthright. Though I sold mine, - after the manner of Esau, for a mess of red pottage, being forced - thereto by harshness, yet I forfeited it for myself alone. - - “Your mother and brother do not know of the purpose of my journey to - England. I think it well that it should remain known to us two alone - till my return. - - “Your affectionate father, - “HENRY DELANCEY.” - -John slowly deciphered the faint lines. Silently he tendered the letter -again. - -“It set me thinking,” said David reminiscently. “I was in that lumber -room for more than two hours reading that letter again and again. It -was clear that there was something belonging to us that we hadn’t got; -something that, as far as I could see, we had the right to have, though -I didn’t just know what it was. It struck me as queer that the Richard -who had had the letter hadn’t had a try for it. I know now that he died -of some kind of fever after his father had been gone six weeks. His -father didn’t return.” David’s voice was grim. - -“I know,” said John. - -“You’ve heard the story?” demanded David. - -“That part of it. But go on.” - -“Well,” continued David, “whether no one else knew of the letter, or -whether they thought that trying for their rights was a fool game, I -don’t know. There were times when I was after it that I thought it a -fool game myself. But I’d set out on it, and somehow I never find it -easy to turn back on any job I’ve set out on. If the others didn’t -think our birthright worth a bit of a fight I did. It took me five -years to trace up the family, but I got on the track, back to the -certificate of Henry Delancey’s marriage to Marie Courtoise, daughter -of a Brussels lace merchant. It was their grandson who first settled in -the States. With that I came to England, and followed up the clue here. -Then I understood exactly what I was after. They can’t deny that Henry -was the eldest son, and though they say he signed away the property -from himself and his heirs they haven’t got that document. This letter, -too,” he tapped it gently, “shows that though he may have signed it -away from himself, he did not touch the birthright of his heirs. See?” - -“Yes, I see,” returned John a trifle drily. - -Oh, he saw fast enough. Also, he saw pretty plainly that Henry Delancey -had been no fool in the game of swindling. - -David looked at him. - -“You’re on the side of the occupants of the Castle,” he said. It was -statement rather than query. - -“I am,” said John coolly. His eyes held something of a challenge. - -“Hum,” remarked David. - -And then Mrs. Trimwell entered with the tea, and an aspect of rigid -disapproval. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -CORIN DISCOURSES ON KARMA - - -“I LIKE that man,” announced Corin succinctly. - -John grunted. - -“I like him,” announced Corin again, stirring his coffee. - -“I’ve heard you make that remark at least ten times since his -departure,” quoth John, and somewhat sarcastically, be it stated. - -“It is possible,” returned Corin coolly, “that you will hear me make -it at least ten times more. Of course I’ll allow that he isn’t in -the picture. In fact he’s entirely out of the picture; he strikes an -incongruous note. It requires a readjustment of all one’s preconceived -notions to see him in that old-world setting up yonder.” - -John groaned inwardly. - -“Yet you cannot deny,” pursued Corin, “that there is a pleasing -strength and virility about him. I had allowed myself to imagine him as -a small hustling man, a cross between the brisk commercial traveller -and the hard-headed mechanic, with perhaps a touch of the oily waiter -thrown in. And now,” went on Corin musingly, “I perceive that he is a -big man----” - -“Your eyesight would be strangely deficient if you didn’t perceive it,” -broke in John. - -“A silent man----” - -“He hadn’t a chance of getting a word in edgeways when you appeared -upon the scene,” interpolated John. - -“A thoughtful man----” - -“It is to be hoped he was able to assimilate a few of the thoughts you -thrust down his throat,” quoth John grimly. - -“Hang the stupid little complications of life,” he was thinking. There -was a tiny note of trouble in his eyes. - -“If you mean that I thrust my ideas upon him unwanted,” said Corin -with dignity, “allow me to remark that you are mistaken. I observed -interest, intelligent interest, in his face.” - -“And you pretend to being short-sighted,” interposed John. - -“The idea,” continued Corin, “of his having worked out his debt of -karma for sins committed in former lives, and being, therefore, now -able to enter upon his birthright, appealed to him. It distinctly -appealed to him. He said, ‘I guess that’s a new handle to take hold -of,’ more than once.” - -“That doesn’t say it was an inviting one,” retorted John. - -“I’m a fool to be worried about such a trifling absurdity,” he thought. - -“There is much,” said Corin didactically, “that is uninviting at the -outset, but which, on further acquaintance, proves of extraordinary -interest. Also, for my part, rather let me grasp Truth however -uninviting she may appear, than dally with the most pleasing of lies.” - -John laughed. - -“I wonder,” went on Corin, “what precise debt of karma the family at -the Castle owes this man, that he is to be the instrument for their -unseating.” - -“According to you,” returned John, “since he has paid off his own debt, -and gained reward, he is obliged to unseat someone.” - -Corin sighed. - -“I fear,” he said, “that I shall never be able to make you perceive -the law and order, the strict justice in the universe. If reward is -gained at the expense of another, it is merely because that other -deserves that the reward should be so gained.” - -John laughed a second time. Argument in this quarter was futile, and -he knew it. His friendship with Corin was always a matter of some -slight amusement and puzzlement to him, when he chanced to consider -the subject. It is certainly somewhat difficult to conceive wherein -precisely the attraction between them existed, having in view their -diametrically opposite opinions. - -“Confound the man,” thought John, and it was not on Corin those -thoughts were centred, “why couldn’t he have been all that I had -pictured him?” - -“You can laugh,” said Corin severely, “but it is very certain that you -can bring no arguments to refute mine.” - -“My dear man,” responded John, “I could bring twenty million, but it’s -like pouring water into a sieve to propound them to you. I believe I -have heard a tale of a monk being once sent by a saint to fetch water -in a sieve; and when, at the end of several journeys, he ventured to -remonstrate at the futility of the journey, it was pointed out to him -that at all events the sieve had been cleansed by the process. I don’t -know whether my arguments would have a like effect on your mind, but I -confess I am too lazy to try.” - -“Your simile savours of an insult,” retorted Corin. “But I’ll leave you -to your own mode of thought. I know it to be hide-bound, iron-cast. -Now, in this man I see plastic material; he needs but careful moulding. -I shall pursue my acquaintance with him with interest.” - -John laughed a third time. But behind the laughter in his eyes was -still that little indefinable note of trouble. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -A RARE ABSURDITY - - -NOW, to your calm, collected, and reasonable individual, John’s little -trouble may appear nothing but rank absurdity. It probably will appear -nothing but rank absurdity, seeing that it had existence merely in the -fact that he had felt a certain attraction towards the man, whom fate -had that evening thrown in his path. - -And why on earth shouldn’t he feel attraction!--so your reasonable -individual may exclaim. - -But John was not reasonable. He was one of your ultra-sensitive -characters, to whom the merest dust speck may prove, at moments, -a source of perpetual annoyance. He desired to feel nothing but a -whole-hearted detestation of this interloper. - -I am not defending John’s desires,--they certainly cannot be termed -precisely Christian,--I merely state them as existing. Their fulfilment -would have left him entirely free to draw a line between himself and -the one who had arisen to harass the inhabitants of Delancey Castle. -He would have felt utterly and entirely established beside them. He -was established beside them, yet this tiny attraction sent forth an -irritating little lay across the barrier. He felt it, in a measure, -disloyal. He disliked it; and yet, for the life of him, he could not -prevent its existence. - -I am well aware of the absurdity of his annoyance; but it merely -characterizes John. It shows him to be what he was,--ultra-quixotic -in his friendships, sensitive to a degree of fastidiousness where he -fancied his loyalty to be in the smallest measure at fault. - -Not that John was blind to the imperfections of his friends (and here I -use the word in its full meaning),--those few--they were few--whom he -had admitted, or who had somehow found entrance, to the inner shrine of -his heart. But I could fancy him shielding those imperfections from the -eyes of the world with his own body; standing between them and the gaze -of a curious multitude; suffering death, if need be, in the shielding. - -Call him absurd, if you will; but, for my part, I like this rare -absurdity. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -IN FATHER MALONEY’S GARDEN - - -FATHER MALONEY was pottering in his garden. I use the word pottering -advisedly, since assuredly the cutting off of a dead rose here and -there can hardly be termed work. - -It was a minute place, this garden of his, a mere pocket handkerchief -of a garden, yet every conceivable flower possible to bloom in a garden -bloomed in it according to the season. At the moment it was ablaze -with African marigolds, escoltia, asters, salvias, stocks, summer -chrysanthemums, and all the rest of the August flowers, fragrant with -the scent of roses, heliotrope, carnations, and mignonette. - -In the centre of the garden was a tiny square of grass, smooth and -trim. A gravel path surrounded it; beyond it were the many-coloured -flower borders backgrounded by a close-clipped yew hedge. You could -see over the hedge to the lane on the one side, and the field on -the other. The field sloped upwards to a sparse wood, carpeted with -primroses and bluebells in the springtime. Later there was a lordly -array of foxgloves on its margin, stately purple fellows, standing -straight against the trees. - -Beyond the lane and the wild-rose hedge, which bordered it on the -further side, you had a glimpse of the sea. Its voice was never absent -from the garden. In its softly sighing moods it lay as an under-note -to the fragrant scents, and the humming of the insects. In its sterner -moods it dominated the little place, filled it with a note of sadness. -And always there was that strange bitter-sweetness in its sound. - -Father Maloney was conscious of it now. He looked up from the rosebush -towards the distant shimmering strip of blue. - -“’Tis like the far-off voice of a multitude longing for peace yet -unknowing of their desire,” he said, “it is that.” And there was pain -in his old eyes. - -Then he looked round the garden. - -“Sure, ’tis happy I’ve been here; and now--” he sighed. “The fella is -no Catholic at all, they say. But if he were it would not be the same -thing, it would not.” - -He cut off a couple more roses, and pocketed them. Later Anastasia -would empty his pockets of the dead leaves. Also she would -suggest--more as a command than a suggestion--that there were plenty -of baskets in the house if he wanted to be cutting off withered roses -and suchlike. To which Father Maloney would make his usual shame-faced -reply: - -“Sure, and a basket slipped my mind entirely, it did.” - -Whereupon Anastasia would sniff. By force of habit she had gained a -certain air of command, which most assuredly he did not permit to many. - -“She’s an example to all of us, is Lady Mary,” said Father Maloney, -pursuing his reflections. “It’s more than I would do to invite the -fella to the house. It’s not uncharitable towards him, I am, but he’d -not put his foot across my threshold till I’d cleared out. No; it’s not -uncharitable I am, but I’ll have a job to be civil to him I’m thinking.” - -He stuffed a handful of dead roses into his pocket, and sat down on a -rustic-seat. - -It was three of the afternoon. It was still; it was very hot. If I -have often mentioned heat in the course of this chronicle, I must -crave for indulgence. An almost unprecedented summer was reigning over -this England of ours. Morning after morning you woke to blue skies and -golden sunshine; night after night you slept beneath clear heavens -star-sprinkled. Day and night the earth sang the Benedicite; and men, -I fancy, echoed the blessings. In spite of the inclusive terms of -the hymn, it is infinitely easier to respond to it in sunshine and -starlight, than in fog and darkness. - -Father Maloney sat facing the lane and the distant strip of sea. Two -poplars in the field across the lane rose spirelike against the blue -sky. Bees droned around him among the flowers; butterflies flitted from -blossom to blossom. Every now and again a bird twittered and then was -silent. Their song was over for the year. Only the robin would ring -later its sweet sad lament. - -Through the open kitchen window he heard the clink of plates, telling -of Anastasia busy within. At intervals she hummed in a thin cracked -voice: - -“_Salve Regina, Mater Misericordiæ, vita, dulcedo, et spes nostra -salve,..._” - -You could have recorded each of the Church’s seasons by Anastasia’s -humming of the antiphons of Our Lady. At first Father Maloney had -suffered the humming with what patience he might. It now affected him -no more than the droning of the bees in his garden. - -For twenty minutes, half an hour, perhaps, he sat motionless, his -thoughts very far away. Suddenly he came back to the present. He was -conscious, in some subtle fashion, that he was not alone. It was a -moment or so before the consciousness found articulation in his brain. -He looked up. The garden was as empty of any human presence but his own -as it had been hitherto. - -He turned. - -In the field, on the other side of the yew hedge, a tall man was -standing. He was big, he was loose-limbed, he was red-headed. His face, -squarish and short-chinned, had a somewhat doggy expression. He was -looking at the flowers, seemingly unconscious, for the moment at all -events, of the presence of the owner of the garden. - -Father Maloney coughed. The stranger’s eyes left the flowers, and -turned towards Father Maloney. - -“I was looking at the flowers,” quoth he, and a trifle shame-facedly, -after the manner of a schoolboy caught in some venial offence. - -“You’re welcome,” said Father Maloney genially. “Looking is free -to all.” And then a sudden idea struck him, and he stiffened -imperceptibly, or perhaps he fancied it was imperceptibly, for the -stranger spoke. - -“I’ll be off,” said he. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” - -A little odd shadow had passed over his face, the expression of a child -who has been snubbed. It sat oddly, and a trifle pathetically on him. -He turned, limping slightly. - -“It’s not disturbing me at all you are,” said Father Maloney quickly. -The honour of his hospitality had been pricked. The merest touch will -suffice for an Irishman. - -And then he looked at the stranger again. There was an odd commotion -stirring in his heart, something that baffled him in its interpretation. - -“Glory be to God, what’s come over me,” he muttered inwardly. Aloud -he said, and the words surprised himself, “Will you be coming in, and -having a look around. There’s a wicket gate in yonder corner.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -A BEWITCHING - - -IF this--his own voluntary invitation--had surprised Father Maloney, -twenty minutes later he was more surprised still. His mind was in one -chaotic state of surprise. It had entirely lost its bearings; it had -drifted into an extraordinary geniality with, apparently, no volition -on his own part. As surely as he contracted it momentarily into a state -of astonished frigidity, so surely it expanded, thawed again, into an -altogether untoward hospitality. - -“Sure, it’s entirely bewitched I am,” he muttered sternly, bewildered -at one moment, and the next expatiating on the individual beauties -of some rose, as a mother expatiates on the virtues of her child, -provided, of course, that her audience be sufficiently sympathetic. - -“’Tis in June you should have been seeing them,” he said at length, -tenderly fingering a Madame Abel Chatenay, salmon pink, pale, and -graceful, “’tis in June you should have been seeing them. For every one -rose on the bushes now, there were ten then. Sure, I never know which -of them I’m for loving best. At times I think ’tis this fair lady, -then I’m for thinking ’tis yonder creamy Devonionsis, or that drooping -white Niphetos, or Caroline Testout smiling away over there. But for -the most I’m always coming back to General Jacqueminot. ’Tis the -old-fashionedness of him, and his sturdy ways, and, more than all, the -sweet scent of him. If you’re down on your luck, and take a good sniff -at him, why, the world’s a different place that very minute. There’s -all the sunshine of the summer, and the humming of the bees, and the -laughter of children, and your mother’s voice, and all the memories of -your boyhood in the scent, there is that. And you’d laugh yourself, the -while there’s a queer tenderness is catching at your heart for happy -tears.” - -“I know,” nodded David. (I have not insulted your intelligence by -giving him a former and formal introduction.) “I know. There are -scents like that. They are alive. They are worth a million words, or -a million pictures. I could be taken blindfold across the world, and -if I were set down on the veldt I would know the scent in an instant. -It’s hot, pungent, aromatic. I’d see the scrubby bushes, the scarlet -everlastings, the flame-coloured heaths, and the straggling blue -lobelia. I’d see the mountains, blue against the sun, and golden facing -it. I’d feel the great spaces, and the vast distances. I’d--” he broke -off with a laugh. “There I am trying to give you in words what only the -scent of the place can really give you.” - -“Words are poor things,” said Father Maloney smiling, “when you come to -wanting to express what lies closest to your heart. I’m thinking ’tis -like the Tower of Babel over again, after a fashion. We can talk fast -enough when our thoughts are down near the earth, but the moment they -get up a bit, for the most of us our tongue is halting and stammering, -and there’s confusion. I’m thinking it’s as well, or we might get a -bit above ourselves with glibness of speech, and be fancying ourselves -embryo prophets and visionaries, and getting others to fancy it along -with us.” - -David flicked an insect off a rose. - -“There’s not much need for speech if you happen to be with the right -person, is there?” said he thoughtfully. - -Father Maloney’s eyes twinkled. - -“There is not,” quoth he. “Or, at all events, your stammering will -stand you in good stead.” - -And then Anastasia rang the tea-bell. - -Father Maloney started almost guiltily. Time had stolen a march on him, -it would appear. He looked uneasily towards the house. - -“That’s your tea-bell,” said David calmly, voicing the obvious. - -“It is that,” said Father Maloney. “I--will you be having a cup,” he -blurted out. - -For one instant, for just one brief instant, David hesitated, then, - -“Thanks,” he said. - -“’Tis altogether bewitched I am,” groaned Father Maloney inwardly, as -he accompanied his guest towards the house. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -A VITAL QUESTION - - -A WHALEBONE Anastasia brought a second cup for “this gentleman.” She -heard well enough the trace of guilt in Father Maloney’s voice, knew -also well enough who the gentleman was, of that you may be very sure. -You cannot, believe me, pass two days, or even one day, in Malford -without the majority of the population becoming fully and miraculously -acquainted with your whole previous history and antecedents. I’ll -not vouch for the entire accuracy of the information; to do so would -be mere rashness on my part, but certain it is that the information -collected by Anastasia was more than sufficient to account for her -whalebone rigidity of bearing, and also for an unpleasant little sniff -on receiving Father Maloney’s order. - -If she imagined that this obvious disapproval of manner would affect -Father Maloney, she was vastly mistaken, at all events as to the manner -of effect produced. You might have imagined that twelve years in his -service might have gained her some experience. But not a bit of it. Her -own preconceived notions of what should be were infinitely too deeply -engraven to be eradicated by what was. If I desired to be trite, I -might discourse for a chapter and more on this common state of affairs. - - * * * * * - -Father Maloney’s sitting-room was a small, shabby place. There was -nothing artistic about it; there was nothing even particularly -comfortable, with the exception of two large armchairs, which, having -been much sat in, had become remarkably adapted to the human form. -Anastasia having had a field day therein that morning, it smelt both -clean and bare. It had that peculiar, tidy, empty smell of a newly -cleaned room. - -After such a day, Father Maloney uttered inward prayers for patience. -Long experience had shown him that it was useless to inform her that a -desk was specially constructed to hold scattered papers; that chairs -were an infinitely preferable receptacle for books than the top shelf -of a lofty bookcase; that a tobacco jar was intended to stand on -the piano, rather than in a cupboard behind a waste-paper basket, a -coal-scuttle, a broken chair, and a screen; that the bottom drawer of -a bureau, which opened only by sheer physical force, was not the place -he would ordinarily choose for his pipes. Such information fell on ears -as deaf as the ears of the proverbial adder, despite the wise charm -of its utterance. Therefore, having in view Anastasia’s other, and -excellent, qualities, Father Maloney merely prayed for patience, as I -have indicated. - -David looked round the room. In a manner of speaking, he weighed, -judged and appraised the mental atmosphere from that which he noted. - -Firstly, he observed the shabbiness, which I have mentioned; secondly, -he smelt the almost aggressive cleanliness, which I have also -mentioned; thirdly, he noted a curiously combined homeliness and -discomfort; fourthly, he took in various details,--a _prie-dieu_ in one -corner, with a cheap Crucifix above it; a large framed photogravure of -Pope Pius X over the mantelpiece; a small, badly coloured statue of -the Sacred Heart on one wooden bracket, and an equally badly coloured -statue of Our Lady on another; gilt-framed oleographs of saints -scattered about the walls, the gilt poor and rubbed, the oleographs -horribly crude; a thumbed office-book lying on a crimson plush-covered -sofa, the broken corner of a lace-edged card protruding from it. - -It was all amazingly artificial, and yet--well, it was real. There was -the extraordinary paradox. On one side the artificiality was utterly -apparent; on the other it stood for something, and that something -was neither artificial, imaginary, nor even commonplacely real, but -vividly, vitally real. It was like recognizing a soul in a wax-work, or -finding life in a daguerreotype. - -David sniffed the mental atmosphere, so to speak, vainly endeavouring -to arrive at an understanding thereof, gave it up as a bad job, and -then suddenly received a flash of illumination. - -“It’s because it’s all real to him,” he concluded. But felt, -nevertheless, that somehow the conclusion did not absolutely reach the -mark. - -Arriving at his second cup of tea, David spoke. The conversation so far -had been more or less trivial. Here, it would appear, was a weightier -matter. - -“I’ve been asked to dine at the Castle on Thursday.” - -“Yes?” From Father Maloney’s voice one might have judged the -information as not altogether a surprise. - -“I’ve accepted,” said David. - -“Yes?” said Father Maloney again. He perceived that there was something -further to come. - -David reddened slightly beneath his tan. - -“The fact is,” he blurted out, “I’d forgotten all about dress clothes. -I know people do wear the things. I haven’t got such a suit to my name.” - -Father Maloney cut a slice of cake. - -“Sure, such things are not obligatory in the country at all, they are -not,” quoth he calmly. “In the town now--but the country, ’tis quite -another matter.” He looked straight at David’s anxious eyes. - -“Sure?” demanded David. - -“It’s dead certain I am,” returned Father Maloney. - -David fetched a big sigh. - -“I’m awfully glad I mentioned it to you,” he responded. “The matter was -sitting on my chest a bit.” - -“Glory be to God!” laughed Father Maloney. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -A REQUEST - - -HALF an hour later Father Maloney was wending his way towards Delancey -Castle. - -“I’m thinking she’ll not altogether understand,” mused he ruefully, -“but ’twas the child’s eyes of him, ’twas just that. Though if he -hasn’t a will at the back of them, my name’s not Dan Maloney.” - -An hour later he was bearing a note in the direction of the White -Cottage. It was addressed to John Mortimer, Esq. It contained a -sentence which may be of interest to you. - -“Please will you both wear morning dress at dinner on Thursday.” - -Father Maloney tramped along the road looking at the hedges and the -trees. Finally he raised his eyes to the sky. - -“She’s a wonderful woman is Lady Mary!” he ejaculated, “A wonderful -woman!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -THE WONDERFUL WOMAN - - -BUT underneath the wonderfulness there was a heartache. You can hardly -expect it to have been otherwise; and, for my part, I would not have -had it otherwise. She wouldn’t have been one quarter the adorable old -lady she was, if there hadn’t been that heartache. - -If, from some lofty and ascetic perch, she could have calmly -contemplated her approaching departure from Delancey Castle with never -a tremor, with never a soul-stabbing, then, very assuredly, she would -have been one of a genus of human beings that I would find it in vain -to attempt to comprehend. It is through the very humanity of the saints -that one feels their lovableness. They felt intensely; they had their -loves and their hates, their likes and their dislikes, their joys and -their sorrows; they were living, sensitive, human creatures, not masses -of granite, nor insensible lumps of putty. And it wasn’t one atom -because they didn’t care for happiness and pleasure, and possibly even -for luxury, that they became saints, but just because they did care, -and caring gave all these things as a free and generous gift to God. - -Of course you know this every bit as well as I do, but I like to remind -myself of it every now and then. And sometimes God may have given them -back their own actual gifts to Him, even while they were still on -earth,--gifts refined, transmuted by some wonderful purifying process -in His hands. But most often it would seem that He gave them another -gift in exchange,--that wonderful gift, Sorrow, of which only a saint -can see the true beauty. Yet always He gave them back in full and -overflowing measure one gift that must of necessity have been offered -with the other gifts,--the gift of love towards Him. - -I don’t mean to infer from this that Lady Mary was a saint. That would -be a matter on which I naturally should not venture to express an -opinion. One leaves such decisions to God and the Holy Fathers. But she -was very assuredly a wonderful woman, as Father Maloney had remarked. - -If her heart was old in years, it was young in immortal youth. She -revelled in the sunshine, she revelled in happiness; I am not sure that -she didn’t bask in it. I fancy there would be little real gratitude if -we accepted these gifts timorously, fearing lest their removal should -follow quickly. To my thinking, the truest gratitude, the fullest -trust, is to accept them with whole-hearted enjoyment, to say a real -“thank You” for the loan, when the time comes that God asks us to give -it back again. Naturally our manners would be as disagreeable as those -of a badly brought-up child if we clung to the gift lent us till it had -to be taken from us by force. The first hint is sufficient for a nicely -brought-up child. But never be grudging or timorous of enjoyment during -such time as the happiness is lent. - -Truly I believe this was Lady Mary’s attitude. Now, of course, there -was a big sense of loss, a pretty heavy heartache, and even the tiniest -question, Why? At the first, I don’t think that she had realized that -the happiness had been merely a loan. She had looked upon it as hers -by right. There’s the danger with prolonged loans. You begin to forget -that they aren’t actually yours. But, if she had forgotten, it was -only for a moment; and now, in spite of the heartache, her “thank You” -was genuinely spoken. - - * * * * * - -Lady Mary was sitting by a window facing towards the sea. It shone -pearly iridescent, in the evening light. The sky beyond reflected the -glory of the sunset; grey near the water, it merged upwards into soft -rose-colour, and thence to blue-green. The earth was bathed in soft, -glowing light. - -Only the faintest whisper of air came through the open window,--a -faint, cool sigh of relief after the heat of the day. Below, in -the garden, were golden splotches of colour--beds of great African -marigolds, a vivid contrast to the cool green of the close-dipped -grass. Through the silence came the musical dripping of a fountain. - -Overhead a door opened. She heard a child’s voice, and then a little -burst of laughter. Again there was silence. And slowly the rose-colour -faded in the sky, till only a pale lavender-grey haze covered land and -water. - -The gold of the marigolds became softly blurred; the green of the grass -lost its colour. - -A little haunting melody came suddenly into her mind,--one she had -often played in childhood. It was a melody by Heller. There is a -footnote at the bottom of the page on which it is written, which -designates it “Twilight,” or “Le crépuscule.” The latter word came into -her mind at the moment. It held greater significance to her than the -English word. It represented more clearly the onward stealing of the -grey shadows, the soft sweet evening sadness, the slow passing of the -day’s glory. - -And then, once more, overhead a door opened. There was a pattering of -footsteps along the corridor, a child’s voice, clear, demanding: - -“Granny, prayers!” - -Lady Mary got up from her chair. If there was something of the evening -shadows in her eyes, I fancy there was also the aftermath of the -sunset’s glory. - -“Tomorrow I must tell Antony,” she said. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -THE CACHE - - -JOHN was walking over the moorland. He had been walking for the last -hour and more. It was nearing five o’clock. He had made a great circle, -and was now somewhere near the place where he had first had sight of a -fair lady and her two attendant knights. - -At the moment there was no human being in sight. He had the earth, it -would appear, entirely to himself. Only furze-chats and yellow-hammers -twittered in the gorse around him; little blue butterflies and brown -underwings flitted over the heather. To the right it lay one great -purple sheet, broken only by the gorse bushes. Their golden glory of -April had long since passed away, but yellow flowers still lingered -among their prickly shields. You know the old adage: - - “When the gorse is out of bloom. - Kissing is out of fashion.” - -To the left lay a stretch of long brown grass, dry and coarse. The -wind, rustling softly through it, whispered of summer secrets. It came -blowing softly, faintly, from the distant blue sea. Truly it was a day -for whole-hearted enjoyment, for content, for reposefulness, for each -thing and everything that goes to sum up entire happiness. - -But if you imagine John to be in this restful mood, you are vastly -mistaken. Three thoughts repeated themselves with about equal -recurrence in his mind. The first was merely a name--Rosamund. - -The birds twittered it, the wind whispered it, the faint understirrings -in the heather took it up and repeated it with tantalizing insistence. - -Rosamund, Rosamund, Rosamund. - -A fair name truly; a poetical name. John, at the moment, might have -emulated Orlando, who hung a very similar name on every tree. Only here -there were no trees at hand, merely gorse bushes, and purple heather. - -The second thought was a quotation. It ran through his head again and -again. - -“Never the time, and the place, and the loved one altogether.” - -“He knew what he was talking about,” sighed John. “Unquestionably, at -the moment, it would seem the veritable time and place,--the sunniest -most desirable time, the sweetest-scented most gorgeous place. But she -isn’t here. And, if she were, I’d bet anything the time and place would -seem all wrong. The time would jump to about a million of years ahead, -and as far the place----” - -To tell the truth he hadn’t much idea as to what would happen to -the place. His thoughts were hardly what might be termed precisely -coherent, but perhaps you can arrive at some kind of a guess at them. - -The third thought was neither fair, nor poetical. It was summed up in -the one short, pithy phrase, - -“Drat the man!” - -By which token it will be seen that John had not yet recovered from his -Monday’s mood. - -Now, I don’t intend to attempt any detailed explanation as to why both -John and Father Maloney had found themselves in this curious state of -unwilling perturbation after one meeting with David Delancey, but it is -very certain that the perturbation had not only arrived, but remained. -Of course you will say sagely that it was the man’s personality, -and equally of course you will be right. But what was there in -his personality to cause this perturbation in two such entirely -dissimilar minds? There’s the question! And I, for my part, can find -no satisfactory verbal explanation of it. It is one thing to have the -explanation in one’s mind, knowing the man; it is quite another to set -it forth coherently in words. Therefore I will content myself with your -sage remark that it was his personality. - -“Drat him!” said John again. - -And then he stopped short, looking towards the heather to his right - -His attention had been attracted by a curious little mound of stones. -Now it is not in the least unusual to see stones lying on a moorland -among the heather. But to John’s eye there _was_ something unusual -about these stones. They had unquestionably been placed there by human -agency; they were not the haphazard arrangement of mere chance. - -John went across the heather towards them. They were built up in a -small rough circle; a large flat stone formed a kind of roof or lid to -them. John bent towards the mound. - -A sound, a very slight sound, made him raise his head. There was no one -in sight. He had the earth, as I have told you, to himself. Only the -wind whispered among the heather and grass, and rustled softly through -the gorse bushes. - -John went down on his knees and raised the flat stone. Sheer idle -curiosity prompted the action. He hadn’t the faintest expectation of -seeing anything beneath. He peered within; and then gave vent to a -tiny chuckle of amazed surprise. He put his hand within the circle -of stones, and drew forth three objects,--firstly, a piece of green -ribbon; secondly, a small, a very small, thimble; and thirdly, a rosary -of red beads. - -“Oh, ho!” quoth he to himself, “if fairies have been at work here, they -are Catholic fairies, it would seem.” - -He fitted the thimble on the top of his little finger, where it sat in -an insecure and ludicrous position. - -“A _cache_,” said John, “but whose?” - -He looked before him down the sloping moorland. And now, far off, he -descried a small black speck. The black speck was a figure. It was -coming towards him. - -“There’s just the faintest conceivable chance,” said John. - -He removed the thimble from its ridiculous position. He put it, the -ribbon, and the rosary once more within their hiding-place, replaced -the flat stone, and withdrew himself to a post of vantage, couched -behind a gorse bush. Therefrom he awaited possible developments. - -As the black speck drew nearer, it defined itself as a girl child, some -eleven years old or thereabouts. A gypsy-looking elf she was. Coming -nearer still, he saw that she was dark-haired, smutty-eyed. Her head -was uncovered; she was clad in a faded green frock; her brown legs were -bare, her feet cased in old shoes. She was walking quickly; eagerness, -expectation, were in her bearing. To John’s mind the possibility -already resolved itself into something akin to certainty. The next -moment he saw that his surmise had been correct. - -She came straight across the heather to the small circle of stones, and -went down on her knees beside it. The flat stone was pushed aside; the -small brown hand dived within the circle. - -“Ah!” - -John heard the little gasp of pleasure. - -She came to a sitting posture, the treasures gathered on to her lap. -John saw her face plainly. The ribbon and thimble were examined with -sheer and palpable delight. The rosary was handled gravely; there was -the tiniest hint of question in the handling. Then suddenly she lifted -it to her lips. The next moment she was on her knees again, telling the -beads devoutly. - -“If,” quoth John to himself, “I am not much mistaken, ’tis that young -limb of mischief, Molly Biddulph.” - -And there she knelt in the sunshine, among the heather, looking, for -all the world, a young, rapt devotee of prayer, the scarlet beads -falling through her small brown fingers. Her eyes were closed; her -lips moved rapidly. Here was matter for a poet’s pen; a subject for an -artist’s brush. The soft wind stirred the dark hair on her forehead, -the sun kissed her bronzed cheeks. A butterfly flitted to her shoulder, -lighted a moment, circled round her head, and flew away. - -Coming to an end of her orisons, she made a great Sign of the Cross, -got to her feet, and sped away down the hill, clutching her treasures -tightly. - -John came from behind the gorse bush. - -“Well!” said he aloud. - -“It might be called a pretty little scene,” said a voice behind him. - -Turning, amazed, he met a pair of laughing eyes, saw a white-robed -figure, and two attendant knights. - -“You!” quoth John. - -She laughed. - -“We were afraid, so dreadfully afraid, lest you should decamp with the -treasures,” said she. “I had the greatest difficulty in restraining -these two from rushing to the rescue.” - -“I _thought_ I heard a sound!” ejaculated John. - -“It was me,” said Michael. “I squeaked, but Aunt Rosamund held my mouf.” - -“Then,” said John, “_you_ are the fairies?” - -“It is our _cache_,” quoth Antony magnificently. - -“So I am beginning to perceive,” responded John. “But why, if I may -ask without undue curiosity, is Molly in the matter? I imagined it -was Molly. And, if all accounts be correct, she would appear hardly a -subject for especial favours.” - -Rosamund’s eyes danced. John had a mental image of sunlight suddenly -sparkling on still waters. - -“It is just,” she explained, “that she appears, as you say, hardly a -subject for favours, that she gets them.” - -“Oh!” John was frankly a trifle bewildered by the explanation. - -“It was Tony’s idea,” smiled Rosamund. - -She had seated herself on the heather, and John had followed her -example. The boys were some paces ahead of them, examining the _cache_. - -“Tony,” pursued Rosamund, “discovered that pleasant anticipation is -conducive to good behaviour. He solemnly assured me of the fact one -day. Therefore we--or, at least, I--conceived the idea of putting the -theory to the test.” - -“Therefore,” said John, “you established a _cache_ for Molly.” - -“We established a _cache_ for Molly,” echoed she. “We lured her to it -in the most innocent way imaginable. Of course she hasn’t the remotest -notion as to who has established it. That would be to spoil the joy of -it. It is the hint of secret magic about it that is half its delight. -The contents are dependent on conduct, you understand. At least a -fortnight’s exemplary behaviour brings the kind of reward you perceived -today. Often there may be merely a flower found. If the fairies are -dissatisfied, I have known them to put a couple of snails within the -_cache_.” Again her eyes danced. - -“Brown pools that have caught and held a sunbeam,” thought John. - -Aloud he said ruminatively, “I wonder what becomes of the snails.” - -Rosamund gave a little shiver. - -“I fear me,” said she, “that once at least, they were--squashed!” - -“Hum!” quoth John. “I have an idea that if I were seeking--say a rose, -and found a snail instead, that the snail might possibly be subjected -to a like fate.” - -“But it wasn’t the poor snails’ fault,” she objected. - -“We have frequently,” said John sententiously, “to suffer for the sins -of others. If I might offer a suggestion, I would point out that the -fairies’ displeasure might be equally well marked by coal, stones, or -even a copybook maxim. How does ‘Be good and you’ll be happy,’ or -‘Gifts are the reward of virtue,’ strike you?” - -She shook her head. - -“Fairies,” she assured him, “never indulge in moral reflections. They -merely act.” - -“‘Deeds, not words,’ being their motto,” laughed John. “But coal, now!” - -“Yes,” she conceded, “I think coal might answer our purpose.” - -There was a little pause. - -“To a mere casual observer,” remarked John reflectively, “the young -person in question might have appeared an embryo saint. From which we -perceive the truth of the adage that appearances are deceitful.” - -“Not in every case,” she retorted. “How do you know that she isn’t an -embryo saint? Very much in embryo, I’ll allow. Oh, but there’s stuff in -Molly. But do you suppose she’s understood among the village folk? Not -a bit of it! It’s respectability they admire, wooden respectability.” - -“Hum,” said John. - -“And Molly isn’t wooden.” - -“No,” acquiesced John fervently. - -Rosamund laughed. - -“And therefore,” she continued, “they see downright sin in her--well, -her unwooden escapades. And they haven’t a notion, the faintest notion -of her possibilities.” - -“As either sinner or saint,” suggested John. - -“Well, there’s the stuff for either there,” she agreed. - -“I own,” said John somewhat irrelevantly, “that there’s a certain -attraction in sinners.” - -“Of course there is,” she retorted, “if it’s brilliant enough sinning. -It’s the personality that attracts, though the material has run off -the rails. Only people so often make the mistake of contrasting -brilliant sinning with commonplace goodness. If you want your -contrasts, you should place commonplace goodness alongside commonplace -sinning--pettiness, meanness, drunkenness, hateful little detractions, -and all the rest of the sordid category. And then put brilliant sinning -alongside the impetuous ardour of St. Peter, or the mystic sweetness of -St. John.” - -“You speak sagely,” quoth John. “It is, I fear, a matter of contrasts -which one is extremely apt to overlook.” - -Again there fell a little silence. And the birds twittered, and the sun -shone, and the butterflies flitted over the heather, and a thousand -words rose to John’s lips, only to remain unspoken, because the time -had somehow leaped to about a million of years ahead. It was not the -moment, he knew it was not the moment, and yet--and yet-- Well, at any -rate she was there beside him on the heather. The faintest scent of -perfume--violets, perhaps? came to him from her garments. For all his -outward calm, for all his level, easy, careless voice, his heart was in -a tumult. - -“You and Mr. Elmore are dining with us tonight,” she reminded him on a -sudden. - -“I had not forgotten.” John’s voice was full of assurance. - -“You know,” quoth she tentatively, “that you are to meet--Sir David -Delancey.” There had been the fraction of a pause before the name. - -“I know,” said John, his eyes clouding. - -“My grandmother felt it might ease the situation,” she explained. There -was a sudden little note of confidence in the words. “A dinner _en -famille_ might be, indeed must be, a trifle difficult.” - -“I quite understand.” - -She pulled at a sprig of heather. - -“Father Maloney has seen him,” she said abruptly. “He--he seems -favourably impressed.” - -“I, too, have seen him,” owned John. It was not altogether easy to make -the statement. - -“You!” She was frankly surprised. - -He gave her a brief account of the meeting. - -“And--and he was passable?” - -“Oh,” said John grudgingly, honesty forcing the truth from him, “he is -really quite a decent fellow.” - -She glanced up quickly, understanding his tone. - -“You would rather,” said she, “dislike him quite frankly.” - -“You have stated the case,” said John. - -“I quite understand,” she nodded. - -And then Antony and Michael came towards them from the _cache_. The two -on the heather bestirred themselves. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -DAVID DINES AT THE CASTLE - - -WHEN John, with Corin in his wake, entered the drawing-room of Delancey -Castle that evening, he glanced anxiously around. He had no real -cause for anxiety. He was a good ten minutes in advance of the hour -mentioned, having led a protesting Corin up the hill at a fine pace. - -Mrs. Trimwell had seen them depart, her face an amazed and horrified -note of interrogation. - -“You’re dining with her ladyship!” she had gasped. - -“We are,” John had assured her. - -“You aren’t never going up to dine at the Castle in them clothes!” she -had ejaculated. - -“We dine,” John had said smiling, “in these very clothes that you now -perceive upon us.” - -“Land sakes!” Mrs. Trimwell had gasped. And words failing her, either -from horror, or lack of imagination, she had mutely watched them -depart. - -They had started betimes; they had also, as I have stated, walked at -a fine pace; and now, somewhat heated, they found themselves shaking -hands with Lady Mary, while the clock yet wanted some ten minutes of -seven-thirty. - -But, so argued John, surveying the said clock, half an hour, even an -hour too soon, was infinitely preferable to one minute too late. It was -the first moment of meeting that would set the keynote to the whole -evening. It was at that first psychological moment that the easement of -his presence was necessary. Corin, he considered as quite beside the -mark, you perceive. - -Father Maloney was already present. He was seated in the window-seat -with Antony and Michael, who had been granted half an hour’s furlough -from bed. - -And now came the moments of suspense,--an anxious waiting. Corin and -the two boys alone were absolutely at their ease. Corin, having engaged -Rosamund in conversation, was expatiating on his day’s work. John, his -eyes on the clock, his ear alert for the opening of a door, talked -to Lady Mary. It is fairly certain that her eyes and her ears were -likewise occupied. - -“I hear from the boys that you were present at the _cache_ this -afternoon,” said she smiling. - -John laughed. - -“It was a fairy-tale scene,” quoth he. “I wouldn’t have missed it for -worlds. It isn’t often an imaginative conception works so successfully.” - -“In this instance,” she reminded him, “there was the Celtic temperament -to deal with. Nothing is beyond the imagination of a Celt, I fancy.” - -“No,” said John musingly. And then, “Not as criticism, but merely as -query, I wonder how far it is justifiable to play upon it?” - -“You mean that Molly’s imagination was played upon?” - -“Yes.” - -“I fancy,” said Lady Mary, “that the human element comes into most -of our material rewards. It is the agency by which they are worked. -In this case the human agency merely hid itself beneath a fantastic -garb, thereby adding a subtle pleasure to the reward. I don’t know -whether Molly believes in her heart of hearts that the fairies had -been at work, any more than I’ll vouch for Tony’s and Michael’s belief -in Santa Claus filling their stockings. I fancy there are many things -the pleasure of which is enhanced by their being shrouded in the soft -light of imagination, rather than by their being dragged forth to the -somewhat garish light of fact. There’s no lack of truth in keeping them -shrouded. There is, after all, no necessity to be merely blatant.” - -“No,” laughed John. - -“Most children,” went on Lady Mary, “have a subtle power of -imagination. If you were to bring them to hard bed-rock fact, they’d -own to the imagination, though probably reluctantly.” - -“I know,” said John, “a willow wand is not a spear, neither is a -broomstick a horse, nor a twisted tree-trunk a dragon, and you know it. -But when you ride forth on the horse, armed with the spear, to kill the -dragon, you suffer some terrible and indefinable loss when the actual -facts of the case are set before you in faultless English by an all -too-truthful aunt.” - -“You see,” smiled Lady Mary. - -“I see,” said John, “and I withdraw my query, or, rather, you have -answered it.” - -There was a silence, and again they both waited. They made no attempt -to break the silence. It could only have been broken now by some -entirely futile remark, and neither John nor Lady Mary was in the mood -for such remarks. - -John looked in the direction of Rosamund and Corin. He saw that the -former glanced towards the door every now and again, and back from it -to the clock. The minutes seemed interminably slow in their passing. -And then, suddenly, footsteps were heard in the hall without. John’s -heart leaped; Lady Mary’s face was pale; Rosamund was smiling; Father -Maloney looked up from the little tin soldier he was examining. - -The door opened and the butler appeared on the threshold. He muttered -something. Certainly his speech was not his usual clear enunciation. -John, seeing his solemnly injured expression, felt a sudden desire to -laugh. Lady Mary certainly smiled. And then David Delancey entered the -room. - -Of course the actuality wasn’t half, or a quarter, as bad as the -anticipation. In two minutes the introductions were over. John had -shaken hands; everyone had shaken hands; Antony, in a clear treble, had -informed the guest that it was on his account alone that he and Michael -had been granted half an hour’s furlough from bed. The announcement -broke the ice, so to speak; if, indeed, there had been any to break. -Probably there wasn’t any. There had been a sudden thaw the moment the -solemnly injured butler had appeared upon the threshold. - -And David himself was so utterly simple. To his direct mind the -invitation alone had conveyed sufficient assurance of his welcome. Why -on earth should it have been issued else? There you have your child all -over. He may hesitate to intrude for fear of a snub; but, once let an -invitation be given, snubbing does not enter into the category at all. -Such conventionalities as enforced politeness do not enter his mind. Of -course Lady Mary was as pleased to welcome him as David was to make her -acquaintance. It was _sine qua non_ to the present situation. - -I don’t say it hadn’t surprised him. He had been extremely surprised. -It wasn’t in the least the way he saw himself acting had he been in -Lady Mary’s place. Nevertheless he saw entire genuineness in her -action. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -JOHN MAKES A DISCOVERY - - -YET, in spite of what might be called a good beginning, the dinner -party was not a success. John was certain it hadn’t been a success. He -reviewed it, walking home with Corin in the starlight; he continued to -review it sitting in an armchair with a pipe, since he was in little -mood for sleep. - -And yet, wherein precisely did its failure lie? - -It did not lie with Lady Mary; nor with Rosamund; nor with Father -Maloney; nor, he was certain, with himself. (Corin, as already -mentioned, he left outside the category.) They had each and all of -them been courteous, friendly, charming. They had kept the ball of -conversation tossing lightly from one to the other; they had given -David his full share of the game. Certainly the fault did not lie with -any of the four. He could not, also, have said precisely that there -was any fault at all. Outwardly, at least, there was none. Yet there -had been a subtle atmosphere, an indefinable hint of something lacking. - -They had discussed books--standard authors--with which David was well -acquainted. They had mentioned classical composers, with whom he was -certainly less familiar. They had talked of flowers, birds, animals, -sunsets, storms, and ships, and here he was in his element. - -He had talked well. John had received a vivid impression of a land hot -beneath the noonday sun, of wine-red sunsets, the atmosphere aglow -with palpitating colour, the on-stealing of the darkly purple night, -the stars big and luminous looking down with ever-watchful eyes upon -the lonely veldt. He saw the vivid reds of the flame-coloured heaths -and everlasting flowers, the brilliant blue of the lobelias, the waxen -whiteness of the arum lilies. He heard the countless voices of the -grasshoppers, the low booming note of the frogs, the muffled beating -of the buzzards’ wings. And above all he felt the vast illimitable -spaces, the great loneliness of the veldt. David had talked of -Muizenberg, and the white sands stretching for forty miles towards -the mountains,--mountains gold and orange in the sunshine, blue in -the evening twilight, the green sea bordering the sands, emerald set -against pearl. - -He had talked of Cape Town,--of the Malay men with their great baskets -of flowers, of Table Mountain with its silver-leaved trees, with -the rolling cloth of white cloud covering it. But here he touched -civilization; his speech was less fluent than when he held them in the -vast solemnity of the lonely veldt. - -And here John made a discovery. He perceived all at once, not merely -the loneliness of the veldt, but the lonely spirit of the man who had -dwelt on it. It was that which had caused the subtle incongruity in the -atmosphere. He no more belonged to his surroundings than did a hermit -to a London Club; and, so thought John, carrying his discovery further, -he--David--was, in a measure, aware of that fact himself. He had been a -fish out of water, and however kindly, however charmingly, landsmen may -treat it, a fish on land is certainly in an element in which it cannot -by any possibility be at ease. It is true that this particular fish -had entered the element of its own free will; but, so surmised John, -it is equally true that he was not at home in it. And yet, so John -perceived with a fine subtlety of perception, it was not the material -surroundings alone which were at the root of the mischief. It lay -deeper; it was in the mental atmosphere that the uneasiness lay. - -Now, he also perceived, or thought he perceived, that while David was -aware of the incongruity of the situation, he had not fully recognized -it to lie, as John saw it to lie, in this same mental atmosphere. This -fact in itself increased the man’s loneliness. He was not only isolated -in mind from those with whom he found himself, but he was isolated -from himself, because he did not understand himself. It is the most -bewildering kind of loneliness. It is almost useless to attempt to -describe it in terms of speech. There are no precise words for it. I, -at least, can find none, and John could not, though it is certain that -he recognized it in a measure. - -And then by one of those sudden flashes of inspiration which come -to all men at times, or which come, at all events, to those given -to a certain quality of mental analysis, John saw that the more -material drama, of which he was at present an audience, sank into -insignificance before the mental drama he had perceived. The man had -come, so he believed, into his material birthright, but, regarding his -mental birthright, he was utterly ignorant. How, in what fashion would -he find it? if, indeed, he ever found it at all. - -I do not say that John said all this to himself in words, even in -the somewhat clumsy manner in which I have tried to express it. He -perceived it vaguely that night. The actual articulation of his -thoughts did not, I fancy, come till later. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -A FUNNY WORLD - - -“IT’S never a bit of good losing your temper,” remarked Mrs. Trimwell -sagely. “You can say much more telling things if you don’t.” - -She was clearing the luncheon table. John, from the depths of an -armchair, made a sound slightly indicative of doubt. - -“Yes,” said Mrs. Trimwell firmly, in reply to the sound, “you can. -Losing your temper you never know what you are going to say, and as -like as not you’ll say something as’ll hit back on yourself, and -you be sorry you said later. Keeping it you can have an eye to your -neighbour’s weaknesses, and pull them out to show, so to speak.” - -John seemed to recognize some truth in this statement. - -“Whose weaknesses,” he demanded, “have you been exposing?” - -“He’s a captious man, is Vicar,” said Mrs. Trimwell, and John -perceived that her remark was not irrelevant. “He’s never been what -you’d call pleased like in his mind that the biggest house to the place -is a papist house, and yet now when they’re leaving he’s for railing -against the new occupant that is to be, and him no papist at all, they -say.” - -“Oh!” said John. He had fancied, be it stated, that Mrs. Trimwell -herself was not what might have been termed cordial towards the -interloper. - -“I don’t say I’m wanting him at the Castle myself,” pursued Mrs. -Trimwell, in reply, it would seem, to John’s unspoken thought, “but -Lor’ bless you, ’tisn’t exactly his fault if he is the rightful heir, -and it’s little more’n a child he is for all he’s a man grown. He come -in here yesterday when I was stoning raisins for a cake. I don’t say at -first I was pleased for to see him. But, ‘Mrs. Trimwell,’ says he, ‘I -want to thank you for seeing to my foot. It’s a real doctor you are, -for I’d never but a limp the next day.’ And he sat down, and watched -me stoning of them raisins, eating one now and again for all the world -like a great boy. And his eyes--have you seen his eyes, sir? You -couldn’t no more say a harsh word to him than you could to my baby. He -stayed chatting an hour and more, and I declare I thought ’twas only -ten minutes.” - -John laughed,--a curious little laugh. - -“Then this morning,” went on Mrs. Trimwell, “Vicar come in. He’d seen -him yesterday afternoon at the front door. Wanted to know what he’d -come for. As if a visitor can’t come to the house without me answering -a penny catechism from Vicar. I up and as good as told him that. And -he began talking about loyalty to the family at the Castle, and it’s -never a word of loyalty he’s had for them, and I can tell you. We got -to words a bit, and Vicar’s temper isn’t never sweetened with the best -sugar, but I kept mine. I called to mind a thing or two as he’d said of -the family, and I let fall a hint now and again that I hadn’t forgotten -it neither. It’s wonderful the way it riles a person if you’ve a good -memory and let them know it.” - -John grinned. - -“I’ll not be repeating all he said,” pursued Mrs. Trimwell with -dignity, “but I will say there were some things I didn’t expect to hear -a parson say. But they’ll come back to himself. You can’t ever be real -spiteful but they does. Did I ever tell you about Mrs. Ashby and Lydia -Ponsland?” - -John intimated that she had not - -“Them two always had their knife into me, seeing that I gave them short -shrift when they come here with gossiping lies of my husband drinking -at the Blue Dragon over to Whortley. Lord love you, sir, he’s never -touched a drop more’n was good for him since the day we married. I’ll -not swear to before that, seeing as young men will be young men all the -world over. Anyhow I wasn’t going to listen to no lies from Mrs. Ashby -and Lydia Ponsland, and told them they was liars to their face, which -wasn’t perhaps the pleasantest hearing for them, though the truth. My -words stuck, I’m thinking, and turned a trifle sour, and they planned -a bit of revenge. ’Twas the silliest thing they did, though cruel at -that, and you’d never believe folks could have been that childish, if -I didn’t tell you ’twas the gospel truth. ’Twas Christmas Eve, and I -was over to Whortley for a bit of shopping. My husband was at home with -the children, when five o’clock or thereabouts there come a ring at the -front door. Robert he goes to see what ’tis. There’s a man there, and -a cart outside. ‘’Tis the coffin for your wife,’ says he. Robert, he -fails all of a tremble, and never thinking, like a man, I couldn’t ha’ -ordered my coffin anyhows if I’d been dead. He don’t understand it, -and stays arguefying, and mortal frightened. In the middle of their -speechifying I comes home, and I tell you it took me ten minutes and -more to make him believe I hadn’t no call for a coffin yet awhile. -’Twas them two as had ordered it, as I knew well enough, though -couldn’t never bring it clear home to them. But they was paid for their -evilness. Mrs. Ashby, she’s lost her money, and is in a two shilling -attic at Whortley this very day, and Lydia’s down with rheumatic fever -what the doctor says she’ll not be getting over this side of next -Christmas. When God pays He don’t pay in halfpence.” - -The vigour with which Mrs. Trimwell brushed the crumbs from the cloth -served to emphasize her statement. - -“It was,” said John, “an astonishingly idiotic thing for them to do.” - -“Idiotic!” ejaculated Mrs. Trimwell, “I should think it was idiotic. -But there, they’d lost their tempers and kept them lost for weeks; -and if you mislay your temper like that it turns that sour you’d be -surprised. I’m for thinking Vicar hasn’t found his yet, nor will be -finding it for a bit. But as I says to him, if a man finds his chance -like this one has, you can’t be surprised if he takes it. If he don’t -he’s a fool, and no more and no less. If you get a chance, take it, -says I, if you don’t it goes off in a huff to somebody else.” - -“Then,” remarked John ruminatively, “it would be your advice that a -chance should be taken at all hazards, even at the expense of someone -else?” - -Mrs. Trimwell looked dubious. It would appear that this aspect of -affairs had not previously struck her. - -“Well, sir,” quoth she reflective, “I’ll own you have me there. I -couldn’t give you no clear answer to that. It seems to me that the -world’s all a bit of shoving and pushing, and slipping through gaps to -the front when you see them. And if you don’t do the slipping, someone -else will. I reckon it’s right enough if you’re not pushing your own -folk and friends aside. When it comes to them, well, matters do get a -bit awkward, I’ll allow. What do you think, sir?” - -John shook his head. - -“Frankly, Mrs. Trimwell, I don’t know.” - -“Well, to tell you the honest truth, sir, no more don’t I. It’s one -thing to talk o’ the common-sense point of view, but when you come -straight up to it, well, you sometimes wonders if it isn’t a bit more -edgey and cornery than you cares about. ’Tis a funny world.” - -“It is,” said John fervently. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -THE OLD OAK - - -OH, it was a funny world, fast enough, John knew that. He’d known it -in fits and starts all his life, but somehow the last ten days had -emphasized the fact more fully. - -Ten days! To John it seemed a lifetime since he, in company with Corin, -had stepped upon Whortley platform, had taken his seat in the rickety -bus that had conveyed him at its own shaky pace to the White Cottage. -A lifetime! And yet reason, that firm indicator of common-sense, -emphasized to the contrary. Anyhow, a lifetime or ten days, the time -had been long enough for him to know his mind. He had known it for -weeks past. But for her? There was the question. And it was one which -common-sense, modesty, and every other thought but his own wish, -answered firmly in the negative. He had seen her precisely seven times, -and two out of the number obviously went for nothing, seeing that the -first time she had been totally unaware of his presence, and the third -time, if she had seen him, it would have been merely as one of a small -congregation of worshippers, his individuality entirely unnoticed. - -Therefore, argued John, if what he so ardently desired was, by any -possible manner of means, to be brought about by an increased number of -meetings, the sooner he set about increasing them the better. Obviously -the proper, the correct thing to do, after lunching at a house, was to -pay a respectful call upon one’s hostess. He had no need to consult an -etiquette book to remind himself of that fact. - -True, he had lunched on Thursday, and this was only Saturday, therefore -the call might be considered somewhat precipitate. But, argued John, -endeavouring to find some plausible excuse for the precipitancy of the -call, with the practical certainty in view of meeting the family in the -cloisters after Mass the following day, the most desirable course, the -only correct and proper course, was to call that very afternoon. - -No sooner thought than decided on. John left the White Cottage, -betaking himself in the direction of the church, from which he -intended to drag a possibly reluctant Corin, and insist on his mounting -the hill in his company. - -But his intentions and his insistence came to nought. - -A dusty, untidy, and wholly absorbed Corin utterly refused to accompany -him. Objection number one, it was too soon to pay a call; objection -number two, it was Saturday afternoon, the one afternoon in the week on -which he enjoyed solitude; objection number three, would John kindly -look at the discovery he had just made, and then see if he--Corin--was -likely to leave it for the purpose of paying a merely conventional -visit. - -John looked. Corin was, at the moment, on _terra firma_, be it stated. - -On either side of where the altar would have stood, had there been -one, and some five feet or so from the ground, the wall was partially -uncovered. A border in brilliant blue, red, black, and yellow was -disclosed,--a bold, simple pattern. Below it, in the upper loops of -a painted curtain, were animals,--dragons, twisted of tail, forked -of tongue; a leveret, a deer, and a fox, each of these last courant, -to use the parlance of heraldry. For the most part the animals were -washed in boldly in red; two of the dragons were a gorgeous yellow. - -“I am certain,” said Corin enthusiastically, “that they are after -Geraldius Cambrensis. It’s the best find of the lot. I’m not coming -with you. Nothing, no power on earth, can drag me from this till dark. -If you must go today, make my excuses.” - -Therefore John departed. - -The excuse was valid. It also gave a _raison d’être_ for his somewhat -precipitate call. Miss Delancey was interested in the discoveries in -the church. It would be merely friendly to let her know of this new -discovery as soon as possible. Therefore, I say, John departed. Of -course he grumbled a moment or so before departing. Equally of course -the grumbling was of a merely perfunctory nature. - -And then he turned into the sunshine. - - * * * * * - -His heart beat high as he walked up the hill. Of course he was doing -the right and obvious thing. It would be absurd to wait till next week -to pay the visit. The day after tomorrow! How could such a delay be -contemplated? It would have been impossible, unthinkable. - -The eighth meeting! And surely there must follow the ninth and the -tenth, and heaven alone knew how many more. And which, _which_, WHICH -would be The Meeting? Of course it was absolutely absurd to surmise -on this point. It was impossible to fix the moment beforehand. To -come, as John would have it to come, it must be almost inspirational, -heaven-sent. It couldn’t be arranged, planned. It couldn’t be -calculated over, preconceived. But--and here John’s spirits went down -to zero with a sudden run--would it ever come? Wasn’t he a presumptuous -ass even to dream of such a moment as possible? or--granting the -moment--to dream of its fruition? Wouldn’t it be nipped in the bud -instantly? frozen to a mere shrivelled atom of a miserable moment? John -shivered at the thought. Then consolation took him kindly by the hand. -At all events here was the eighth meeting, with the moment not yet even -in bud. Who could tell as to that budding? - -And so he turned into the avenue. - -He passed under the oaks and copper beeches, the roadway now dappled -with gold among shadows, as the sunlight penetrated the branches -overhead. To the right, in the distance, were undulating stretches of -moorland. He fancied he could descry the silver-stemmed birch he had -seen on his first morning’s walk. Before him he had a view of smooth -green lawns, of brilliant flowerbeds, backgrounded by the old grey -Castle itself. To the left the parkland sloped gently upwards to a wood -of beeches,--a serene, cool, silent place, a veritable haunt of dryads. - -Between the avenue and the wood was a great oak tree, stretching wide -branches above the rough grass. Rumour had it that here was the scene -of that old-time tragedy. Though unknowing of this rumour, John yet -felt something almost sinister about the twisted, gnarled branches, -and massive trunk of the great tree. There was a hint of secrecy about -it, the dumb knowledge of some tragedy. Almost involuntarily he turned -across the grass towards it. - -There was no question as to its great age. For generations it must have -stood there, weathering storm and sunshine. Some seven feet or so from -the ground there was a hole in the trunk, large enough to admit of the -passage of a man’s head. Scanning the hole, John noticed a rusty nail -at one side. He wondered, idly enough, why it had been placed there. -From the hole, he glanced up at the branches. Truly there was something -almost sinister in the great limbs. They were distorted, twisted, as if -in agony. Again he had the unreasoning sensation of secrecy. It was an -extraordinary sensation, an absurd sensation. - -He could fancy the spirit of the tree striving to find expression in -speech. There was a curious feeling that somewhere, just beyond, in -the spirit world, perhaps, there was the key to some riddle. It was an -almost impalpable feeling; he barely realized it; only somewhere, in -his deepest inner consciousness, it stirred slightly. - -Below the tree was a small mound. Rumour also had it that here Gelert, -the wolf-hound, faithful as his ancient namesake, was buried. Again, -John had had no hint of this rumour. But he looked at the mound with -curiosity. Then, suddenly, he threw off the slight oppression that was -upon him, retraced his steps to the avenue. - -Arrived at the big door, John pulled the bell, a twisted iron thing -whose voice sounded faintly in some remote region. The door was opened, -and John saw into the hall, dark and shadowed. He had a glimpse of -bowls of roses, of a big straw hat lying on a table, green chiffon -around the crown. A pair of long crinkled gloves lay near it. So, for -an instant, John stood, his foot ready to cross the threshold. - -“Her ladyship is not at home.” The butler’s bland voice fell like a -douche of cold water on John’s heart. - -Now, I don’t know whether John’s face fell in proportion to his -heart, and the butler, more human than the majority of butlers, saw -the falling, or whether his next statement came in the mere ordinary -routine of matters. Anyhow, - -“But Miss Delancey is at home, and her ladyship will return shortly,” -followed closely on the former speech. - -John’s heart leaped to at least ten degrees above the point from which -it had fallen. The speech had not even come as a query regarding his -desire to enter, it had come as simple statement of fact. - -John stepped across the threshold. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - -ON THE TERRACE - - -SHE came to him in the hall. - -Underneath her cordial ease of manner was the tiniest hint of shyness, -a sort of half-forgotten breath of extreme youngness, I might almost -say of childishness. Yet, very assuredly, there was nothing _gauche_ -about the reception. The hint merely served to emphasize her youth. -If John thought about her age at all, he probably placed her at about -twenty-two or thereabouts, which, I take it, was pretty near the mark. -But I don’t fancy the thought entered his mind. It was enough for him -that there she was, sitting opposite to him in the dusky hall. A ray of -sunlight, falling through an open window, caught the burnished copper -of her hair, turning it to vivid flame. It looked a thing alive and -palpitating, a burning aureole around her face. - -And now that the eighth meeting was accomplished, John found -himself suddenly tongue-tied, at a loss for any of those suitable -little phrases fitting to the occasion. Nothing is so infectious as -embarrassment, however slight, more particularly if there be any degree -of sympathy between the two. Certainly it proved infectious in this -case. Words halted, phrases came disjointedly, disconnectedly. - -John cursed himself inwardly for a fool, a procedure which, you may -rightly guess, did not vastly aid matters. And then, suddenly, Rosamund -got up from her chair. - -“Won’t you come and see the garden,” she suggested. - -It was an inspiration. John followed her with alacrity. - -They came out on to a wide terrace. A stone balustrade ran its full -length, a balustrade covered with climbing roses,--crimson, pink, -white, yellow, and a pale purple-lavender. A queer rose this last, -reminding one of the print gowns worn by one’s grandmothers. Beyond the -balustrade was a sunk lawn, and beyond that again the parkland, while -further still was the shimmering blue of the distant sea. - -“How you must love it!” - -The words escaped almost involuntarily from John’s lips. The next -moment he would have recalled them. To remind her of the beauty of what -she was about to lose, must surely be to emphasize the sense of that -loss. - -“Love it!” She turned towards him with a little laugh. “It--it just -belongs.” - -John was silent. Rosamund leaned upon the balustrade, half-sitting, -half-standing. - -“You needn’t mind saying what is in your thoughts,” said she. And there -was a little whimsical smile in her eyes. “Of course you can’t help -thinking about the fact that we are going to lose it all, any more -than I can help thinking about it. It makes freedom of speech just a -trifle difficult, if all the time you are feeling it is a subject to be -carefully avoided. Granny and I speak of it quite naturally now.” - -“I’d like to tell you how sorry I am,” said John. - -“Thank you,” she said simply. - -There was a little pause. She gazed out towards the sea. To the right, -a headland jutted out into its blueness. Sea-gulls circled in the quiet -air, tiny specks in the distance. Boats, white and red sailed, made -lazy way with the tide. - -Suddenly she turned impulsively towards him. - -“I fancy,” said she, “that I’m going to tell you something.” - -“Do!” said he, his eyes upon her. - -“You’ll laugh.” - -“Not a smile even.” - -“Hmm!” she debated. “An over-dose of seriousness _might_ be even worse -to face than laughter.” - -“This is not fair,” protested John. “I can’t measure a smile to the -hundredth part of an inch. I can, at least, promise not to mock at you. -Won’t that do?” - -She laughed. - -“Yes; I believe it will. Well, it’s this.” Her voice dropped to -seriousness. “I have a quite unreasoning feeling that we shan’t leave -here after all. I can’t explain the feeling, and I am fully aware of -the almost absurdity of it. I haven’t spoken of it to any one else. I -can’t tell my grandmother, or Father Maloney. It might raise a faint -hope which reason tells me will be doomed to disappointment. And -yet--well, it seems almost that if one could only stretch out one’s -hand a little way, through a kind of fog, one would find the key to the -whole riddle. It must sound absurd to you, of course.” - -John’s mind swung instantly to his own sensation of less than twenty -minutes ago. - -“No,” he said quietly. “It doesn’t sound at all absurd.” - -She looked at him quickly. - -“You speak almost as if you thought--” She broke off. After all it was -an absurd imagination. - -“I have thought the same,” said John smiling. - -“You!” She was amazed. - -“Yes; as I came across the park just now.” - -“Oh!” - -Again there was a little silence. - -“I wonder--” she said musingly. “Do you think there’s the faintest -possible chance?” - -“There’s always the faintest possible chance,” John assured her. “Oh, -I’ll grant it’s the faintest possible, and heaven alone knows where it -will spring from. But it’s there, I know it’s there. And we’ve both -felt it.” - -She nodded. - -“I’m glad you’ve felt it too. It adds a little bit more hope, even -while I’m almost laughing at myself. Only--what is it we’ve both felt?” - -“I don’t know,” said John. “I don’t know an atom. I think I get nearest -the mark when I say that it seems as if, somewhere, there’s a dumb -voice striving for expression. At least that is the only way I can -describe the sensation to myself.” - -“And all the time,” she added, “there’s a feeling of quietness in -the atmosphere, the quietness that precedes something very important -happening.” - -“I know,” said John. - -“Ah, it’s tantalizing,” she sighed, “the inward knowledge of that, and -yet the knowledge of one’s own impotence.” - -Her brow was wrinkled in a little frown, half of annoyance, half of -something like regretful amusement. It was an adorable little frown, -and John longed, ardently longed, to smooth it away. His heart beat and -thumped, the while it cried warningly that the time was not yet. And -from somewhere near at hand came the liquid note of a pigeon. - -“Go slow slowly, go slow slowly,” it seemed to remind him. - -“Oh, yes, we’re impotent enough,” assented John, and a trifle gloomily. - -“Isn’t it all melodramatic?” she laughed. - -“Horribly,” agreed John. - -“It’s an extraordinary conglomeration,” she pursued. “Setting, -old-world; drama, early Victorian; period, twentieth century. Do you -suppose that any one who didn’t _know_ about it, would believe it?” - -“Not an atom,” John assured her promptly. “If any one, I for instance, -were to write a novel dealing with it, I’ll be bound I’d be considered -to have strained the long arm of coincidence to breaking point. That’s -the queer thing about truth. It’s always a thousand times, a million -times, queerer than fiction.” - -“It’s from precisely that--the very queerness of it,--that I can -derive some small modicum of consolation,” she assured him gravely. -“I feel, on occasions, that I am not myself at all, but merely a -heroine in a book. Only, if I were, I might be tolerably certain of a -happy-ever-after ending. I might say indisputably certain, considering -the style of the plot. Here it is nothing but a toss-up.” - -“Oh, no.” John shook his head. “I wouldn’t give mere chance quite such -a free hand.” - -“You mean that there’s a real plan behind it all?” she demanded point -blank. - -“Oh, well!” said John. There was a slightly quizzical smile in his eyes. - -“Of course I know there is truly,” responded she, smiling in her turn. -“But----” - -“But me no buts,” retorted John. “Chance isn’t a free agent, and you -know it; though I’ll allow he has an extraordinary appearance of acting -on his own account now and again. But that’s merely his guise. If he -didn’t appear clad in that fashion, we’d misname him; and I’ve an -idea he’s curiously tenacious of his personality. People, you know,” -continued John slyly, “are apt to believe in his omnipotence.” - -She laughed. - -“I’ve believed in him myself before now,” owned John, having a -sudden memory of a black and white goat. “Only subsequent reflection -invariably shows one that he isn’t acting on his own account, as he -would have us believe.” - -“I fancy you’re right,” said she reflectively. “If one really considers -the seemingly haphazard happenings, one does see that there is always -a connecting link backwards and forwards. Nothing--no happening--is -entirely isolated.” - -“It is not,” said John. “Only sometimes the connecting link is so fine -as to be almost imperceptible.” - -John had in mind a tiny faint link, so faint that it was only in the -light of subsequent events that it had become visible. If, on a certain -March afternoon, he had not yielded to a sudden inspiration to enter -the Brompton Oratory, would he now have been standing in this garden? -Was not that the tiny, almost imperceptible link with all the events of -the last ten days? Oh, he had reason enough for his assured statement, -he had proved it to the hilt. - -He wanted, he badly wanted, to tell her, to speak of that tiny -connecting link. But reason again assuring him that to do so would be -to drag the moment too abruptly forward, he thrust the desire aside. -And then, from the distance, came the sound of a silver gong. - -Rosamund got up from the balustrade. - -“Tea,” said she. “Granny must have returned.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - -AN UNEXPECTED LETTER - - -JOHN sat down to breakfast at about nine o’clock, or thereabouts, the -following Wednesday morning. It was the Feast of Our Lady’s Assumption; -he had been to Mass at Delancey Chapel. - -A letter was lying in his place. He took it up, and opened it. Here are -its contents. - - “DEAR JOHN,--Unexpected business has brought me over to London. It - seems a thousand pities to go back to Ireland without seeing you. - Could you get rooms for me at your sequestered spot for ten days or - so? Send me an early wire if possible, and I’ll come down by the train - arriving tomorrow evening. - - “Your affectionate sister, - ELIZABETH DARCY.” - -Now, it is very certain that, from the time of our Mother Eve, women -have played an important part in the affairs of mankind, either for -good or ill. But it is equally certain that John had not the faintest -conception of the part Elizabeth would play in the life of at least one -person by this her proposed visit. - -“Elizabeth suggests coming down for a few days,” said John tentatively, -and helping himself to bacon. - -“Elizabeth?” echoed Corin, gazing enquiringly at John. - -“My sister, Mrs. Darcy. I forgot you didn’t know her.” - -“By all means advocate her coming,” quoth Corin. “I shall be delighted -to make her acquaintance.” - -“I wonder--” began John, and stopped. - -“Well?” queried Corin. - -“I wonder whether Mrs. Trimwell has another room. Elizabeth suggests -that I should take rooms for her. She wants an early reply.” - -“Then my suggestion,” remarked Corin calmly, “is that you ask Mrs. -Trimwell. On the whole it would be simpler and more practical than -merely wondering.” - -“Brilliant man!” responded John genially. And he rang the bell. - -Mrs. Trimwell, it appeared, had not. She was profuse in her apologies -for the lack of accommodation. You would have imagined that she was -entirely to blame for the fact that the White Cottage possessed merely -three bedrooms and a cupboard, so to speak. Tilda and Benny--aged -four--slept in the cupboard. - -“But there’s the Green Man what isn’t seven minutes’ walk from here, -and though I’ll not vouch for the cooking myself, a bit of bacon and a -cup of coffee for breakfast is what any idiot might rise to, it being -pleasanter for the lady not to be afoot too early, and the beds I -believe is clean, while for other meals she’ll natural take them along -of you.” - -Of course Chance--so-called--had a hand in the arrangement. If -Elizabeth had both slept and breakfasted at the White Cottage, I’ll -vouch for it that matters would not have happened precisely as they -did; indeed, they would probably have been totally different. - -John finished his breakfast, and then took a telegram to the -post-office. - -He was genuinely, undeniably pleased that Elizabeth was coming. He had -a sensation of something like exultation in the thought. She was so -extraordinarily reliable. Never under any circumstances did Elizabeth -“let you down,” to use a slang phrase. There was never the smallest -occasion to remind Elizabeth that the intimate remarks you made to her -were confidences. It was a foregone conclusion in her eyes. She would -no more dream of repeating them than she would dream of tampering with -another person’s letters. Also, so reflected John, she never reminded -you that you had made them, unless it was entirely obvious that you -desired to be so reminded. She never glossed over any difficulty, but -faced it squarely with you. The only people who were ever disappointed -in Elizabeth were those who looked for a maudlin sympathy from her, who -desired her to fight their battles, when she was fully aware that they -alone could fight them. Yet Elizabeth was entirely feminine, from the -top of her glossy brown hair, to the tip of her dainty shoes. John, -perhaps more than any one else in the world, understood and appreciated -both her strength and her femininity. It was therefore with a feeling -of intense satisfaction that he dispatched his telegram. - -“Things move when Elizabeth’s around,” reflected John. - -And then he walked on to the Green Man. - - * * * * * - -John, on the platform of Whortley station, surveyed the people there -collected with idle interest. - -It was market day in Whortley. Stout market women, clutching empty, -or partially empty, baskets, sat on benches, their feet squarely -planted on the ground. Leather-gaitered men, whose clothes gave forth -a powerful aroma of horses and cattle, strolled up and down, and -talked in groups. Children, hot and tired, and consequently slightly -irritable, bickered with each other, or poked sticks at bewildered -and exhausted hens in crates. Somewhere in the back regions of the -station a couple of refractory oxen were being driven into trucks. -An atmosphere of almost aggressive patience pervaded the much-tried -porters. - -“’Eat may be mighty good for the ’arvest,” remarked one motherly -looking woman, wiping her face with a large white handkerchief, “but I -do say as ’ow it’s a bit trying to the spirit, and likewise the body.” - -“It’s the tempers of most people it gets at,” replied her neighbour -succinctly. - -To which remark John responded with an inward and fervent acquiescence. -There was no denying the heat; there was no denying the sultriness of -the dusty platform. - -John strolled down to its further end. - -Behind the town the sky was crimsoning to sunset. The roofs of the -dingy houses were being painted red-gold in its light. The smoke from -a factory hung like a veil in the still air, lending mystery to the -atmosphere. The buildings lay in a web of colour,--blue, grey, purple, -and gold. A cynic might have likened the sunset glory to the glamour -with which some foolish people endow a merely sordid existence. In a -measure, too, his simile might have been justifiable; but, whereas he -would have scoffed, John, with something of the same simile in mind, -thanked God for the gift of imagination. - -And then, far to the right, he caught a glimpse of white smoke above a -dark serpent of an oncoming train. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - -ELIZABETH ARRIVES ON THE SCENE - - -“RURALIZING,” quoth Elizabeth, “agrees with you.” - -They were driving in a vehicle politely termed a Victoria. It was not -unlike a good-sized bath-chair. It was driven by a one-armed boy. -Seeing the driver, Elizabeth had had a moment’s qualm of heart. Then -she had seen the horse. - -“Oh, it’s a pleasant enough spot,” responded John, “and--and restful.” -He coloured the merest trifle beneath his tan. - -“Restfulness,” said Elizabeth gravely, “is delightful.” - -But she wasn’t deceived, not a bit of it. Neither the pleasantness -of Malford, nor its restfulness was accountable for that particular -exuberance in John. It was a subtle, indefinable exuberance, which no -amount of mere bodily health could cause. It emanated from his mind, -his spirit; it surrounded him; he was bathed in it. He might pretend -to its non-existence; he might pretend--allowing it--that it was the -mere outcome of a country life, but Elizabeth was not deceived. - -“Have you met the Delanceys?” she demanded. - -“Oh, yes,” he responded airily enough. “They’re--you’ll like them. -That rumour you got hold of was correct enough, by the way. There is a -claimant. He’s proved his claim. It’s a mere matter of courtesy on his -part that he is not already in possession. He will be by the end of the -autumn.” - -Elizabeth sat up. - -“An American?” she said. - -“An American,” said John. “At least he hailed originally from the -States. He has been living in Africa since his boyhood.” - -“I suppose he’s quite impossible?” said Elizabeth frowning. - -“On the contrary,” owned John reluctantly, “he isn’t at all impossible, -at any rate not in one way. Of course he’ll be entirely unsuited to his -surroundings, but he is quite a decent fellow in himself.” - -“Brr!” breathed Elizabeth, and there was a hint of impatience in the -sound. “A kangaroo is a decent animal in itself, but you don’t want it -in your drawing-room. What do the Delanceys think about it?” - -“Oh,” quoth John, “they accept the inevitable. There’s a strong hint -of the French aristocrats’ attitude towards the guillotine, in their -manner; lacking, however, the scorn.” - -“I see.” Elizabeth fell into meditation. - -“I don’t think even you can reconstruct matters,” said John smiling. -“You see, the whole thing turns on that missing document.” - -“The whole thing,” said Elizabeth, “is so blatantly melodramatic as to -be barely respectable.” - -John laughed. - -“Wait till you see Lady Mary,” he said. “She saves the situation -completely.” - -Elizabeth was silent. Then: - -“Where is the man now?” she asked. - -“Staying at the Green Man,” said John. “I’ve had to take a room there -for you. You’ll breakfast at the inn, and have the rest of your meals -with us. I am sorry there isn’t another room at the White Cottage.” - -“Don’t apologize,” said Elizabeth gaily. “I came down to picnic. It’s I -who should apologize for thrusting myself upon you.” - -“That,” said John decidedly, “is pure nonsense.” - -They were ascending a hill by now. Twilight was falling rapidly. Bats -flew through the dusk, their shrill queer note breaking the silence. A -great white owl flew noiselessly, like a huge moth, across a field. The -road was a white line between dark hedges. - -Coming to the top of the hill, wide stretches of moorland lay around -them. Far off on the horizon was a strip of silver-grey sea. In the -middle distance was a hill, wood-covered, dark towers rising among the -trees. - -“Delancey Castle,” said John. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - -IN THE EARLY MORNING - - -IF, as I remarked at the beginning of a preceding chapter, John thought -it a funny world, it is very certain that David would have fully -endorsed his opinion; and, further, he would have considered himself -the queerest person in it. - -Now, this was purely owing to the fact that he had suddenly found -himself a stranger to himself. It was, in a manner, as if he had lived -in blindness with a man for years, having, perhaps, without fully -recognizing the fact, some mental conception of him. Then, on being -miraculously restored to sight, he had discovered that the reality was -totally at variance with that same mental conception. - -The recovery of sight had come gradually. It had not been an -instantaneous miracle. At the first he thought, doubtless, if he -considered the fact at all, and he was probably only partially aware -of it, that the variance between the reality and what his partially -restored sight beheld, was due to his own faulty vision. Now, with -clear sight restored, he beheld a complete stranger, and it left him -bewildered. He didn’t know the man at all. He didn’t even recognize his -speech. It is small wonder that he was bewildered; it is small wonder -that he spent solitary hours in a futile attempt to reconstruct his -preconceived notions of the man. - -I believe that the moment when David got a first blurred glimpse of -this stranger, was in Father Maloney’s odd little parlour. He had had -another glimpse of him at the Castle; and since then, little by little, -the glimpses had resolved themselves into full vision. And through it -all, with it all, was a queer sense of vibratory forces at work. - -It was in the parlour, also, that the first vibration had struck upon -him--a quite definite vibration, though inexplicable. It had rung -clearly for a brief space, gradually growing fainter, till he wondered -if it had indeed rung, or was merely imagination on his part. It had -been repeated at the Castle, and had left no doubt in his mind. Since -then it had been renewed at intervals, ringing each time longer and -louder. I can best describe it as some kind of mental telephone call, -though he was, at present, at a complete loss as to the message waiting -to be delivered. - -“The fact is, David P. Delancey,” he remarked more than once, “that -somehow your moorings have been cut, and the Lord only knows where you -are drifting.” - - * * * * * - -Very early in the morning, the sun not far above the horizon, and the -trees casting long shadows on the grass, David set out for a walk. - -It was by no means the first time that he had risen thus betimes. -The clean, fresh spirit of the morning appealed to him, also its -detachment. It seemed, at that hour, so extraordinarily aloof from the -affairs of men, wrapped, in a sense, in its own quiet meditations. -Later the sun, the little breezes, the sweet earth scents seemed to -give forth warmth, freshness, and fragrant odours for the benefit -of mankind. At this hour it was wrapped in meditation, a meditation -approaching ecstasy. - -He went softly, fearing almost to disturb the stillness, yet he did -not altogether feel himself an intruder. There was, in a strange sense, -something of communion between his spirit and the spirit of the silent -morning, in spite of its detachment. - -The route he had chosen led first across the moorland,--wide stretches -of purple heather. He walked without indulging in any special train of -thought. His eyes were open to the details of nature around him, his -brain alert to absorb them in pure pleasure. - -Gorse bushes, scattered among the heather, showed golden blossoms -backgrounded by a blue sky. Their sweet scent came faintly to him. -Later in the stronger warmth of the sun, the scent would gain in power -and fulness. In the distance, scattered copses lay misty blue patches -on sun-gold hillsides. Both far and near was an all-absorbing peace. - -He hadn’t a notion how far he walked, nor for how long. Unconsciously -he circled, coming at length to a gate, leading into a larch wood. - -David turned through it. Here the sun filtered through the branches, -flung spots of gold on the red-brown earth of the pathway, on the -emerald of the moss lying in great patches among bracken, fern, and -bramble. Twigs and branches, at one time wind-torn from the trees, lay -in the path, silver-grey, lichen-covered. It was all intensely silent, -intensely still. David, stepping by chance on a dried twig, heard it -snap with the report of a small pistol in the silence. The loneliness -appealed to him; the enchantment of the quiet wood led him on. - -Gradually, imperceptibly, his thoughts left externals, turned inwards. -Still aware of all that lay around him, they were no longer merely -idly diffused upon it; they drew together, focussed. Accustomed to -think, though vaguely, in terms of simile rather than in words, he saw -in the quiet of the wood something of the quiet which at present held -his own life and being. In a sense he suddenly felt himself sleeping, -his eyes closed on all that lay behind him. Yet while sleeping, he -knew, too, that presently must come awakening. It was in his power, he -now felt, to awake at the moment to the old life, as he knew it, to -reconstruct his mental conception of that stranger, as it was in his -power to retrace his steps. Yet it was almost as if something external -to himself waited with him, to withdraw gently should he turn back, to -remain with him should he go forward. So for a space of time--a space -not measured by the ticking of a clock--David waited. Then suddenly he -moved onward down the glade. - -And now he knew that his heart was beating fast, pulsing with some -curious excitement, though he had not realized it before. His breath, -too, was coming rather quickly, like that of a man who has been -running. Gradually breathing and heart-beating became normal; yet still -the dream sense lingered with him, and he did not want to dispel it. - -The path led him into a cuplike hollow among the trees, a moss-grown -place, full of deep shadows and a pleasant coolness. On the other -side of the hollow the path ascended, through a beech-wood here, -silver-green trunks in strong contrast to the deep red of the pathway. -Though quiet, this wood was vivid, full of stronger colour than was -that on the other side of the hollow. - -Coming out at last from among the trees, David found himself on an -expanse of grass, on one side skirted by the wood, on the other -bordered by a hedge of yew, close and thick and dark. Turning to the -left, he walked over the grass, till presently the hedge gave place to -a low wicket gate. Here he paused, looking over. - -Beyond the hedge was a grey stone building, and beyond the building -were grey towers. He knew now where he was. It was the chapel of -Delancey Castle facing him. He stood for a moment or so, his hand -resting on the gate. - -Suddenly the chapel bell broke the silence. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - -THE NOTE OF A BELL - - -THE bell rang three strokes, with a pause between each. There was a -longer pause. Then once more came its threefold note. - -The sound struck strangely on David’s ear, and more strangely still on -his heart. With the sound he became extraordinarily aware of some vital -Presence near at hand. Something that suffused the whole atmosphere -with Its Personality. - -Somehow the quiet of the morning, its meditation, its silent ecstasy, -seemed to have been leading up to that moment. It seemed to him now -that here was the moment for which the morning had been waiting, and he -with the morning. Neither did the moment pass; it remained, prolonged, -expanded. Time again vanished; there was no time, there was nothing but -himself and that extraordinary mystical sense which was suffusing the -atmosphere. - -He made no attempt to explain it; he couldn’t have explained it had he -tried. It was something beyond words, beyond reason, beyond feeling, -even, in the ordinary sense of the term. It was not actually in his -mind that he was aware of it at all, but in something far deeper. -In one way it was as if the notes of that bell had struck on some -deep recess of his soul, setting free some tiny spring of hidden -knowledge and sweetness; and yet he knew that it was not by virtue of -that knowledge and sweetness that the mystical sense suffusing the -atmosphere had been translated into terms of fact. It was external to -them; it was actual, real, palpitating. He knew that it would have been -there had the well of his inner consciousness remained untouched. Only -somehow, in some extraordinary manner, it had sprung up to meet it; and -the tiny freed spring had been caught into great waters, submerging him -in a sweetness he could not understand. - -I don’t know how long David stood by the wicket gate; but, at last, -barely conscious of his surroundings, he turned from it along the grass -sward. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII - -THE GREEN MAN - - -THE parlour at the Green Man is the parlour pure and simple. It calls -itself by no grand-sounding title. You eat there, you sit there to -smoke and talk--if you do not sit in the garden, and you write there. - -It has five round tables, deal, and covered with strong white cloths. -It has rush-bottomed chairs; it has casement windows; it has a great -fireplace with oak settles on either side of it. For the rest, the -walls are buff-washed, and hung with coloured prints, mainly of a -sporting nature. The floor is red stone, with three mats on it. The -mats are made of small loose strips of coloured stuff. The window -curtains are of highly coloured chintz. - -The front door of the Green Man stands flush with the cobbled pavement. -Above the door swings the square sign with the name painted thereon. -It is a question, in Malford, from whence that name has originated. The -oldest inhabitants of the place, in particular Mrs. Joan Selby, who has -passed her ninetieth birthday, will tell you that it is in honour of -the Little People, who, long years since, footed it in the moonlight on -the grassy hill behind the house. She will declare that she had it from -the present owner’s great-grandfather himself, that the first visitor -to the house, when it was yet unnamed, was a little man, clad in green, -red-capped, who promised luck in his own name and that of his Tribe. - -This, you may believe, is looked upon as sheer superstition by the -younger and more enlightened of the inhabitants of Malford. There is -one ribald wag, who declares that the name originated through the -verdant propensities of a former owner. - -But for my part I lean to the first theory. And if you had ever sat in -the moonlight on the grassy hill behind the house, had seen the dark -green of the fairy rings among the brighter green of the field, had -heard the rippling of the stream at the foot of the hill, had seen the -pale gold of the massed primroses, had smelled their sweet fragrant -scent, had seen the misty shimmer of countless bluebells, then, I -fancy, you also would have been of my way of thinking. - - * * * * * - -Elizabeth sat at one of the round tables by an open casement window. - -It looked on to a grass terrace bordered by brilliant galadias. Beyond -the galadias was a tiny stream, rippling, amber-coloured, over rounded -stones. Beyond the stream was a grassy hill, sloping upwards to a -beech-wood. Beyond that again was the blue sky. - -“It really is extraordinarily pleasant,” said Elizabeth. - -And then she turned to her coffee pot. The coffee poured into a blue -and white cup, she was stirring it thoughtfully, when the door opened. - -A man paused for the merest fraction of a second on the threshold. It -evidently came as a bit of a surprise to him to find the room already -occupied. - -Elizabeth looked at the man. The man looked at Elizabeth. - -She saw a big man in loose tweeds, shabby tweeds, which had seen much -service. She saw a square-faced man, with a mat of darkish red hair. - -He saw a glossy-haired, brown-haired woman, a woman with a palely -bronzed skin, beneath which there was an underglow of red, a woman -with red lips finely moulded, with a square chin, with a delicately -chiselled nose, with steady grey eyes in which there was an under-note -of something akin to laughter. She wore a cream-coloured cotton dress. -A pink la France rose was tucked into the front of her gown. - -David, used to the rapid assimilation of details, saw all this at a -glance. Then he crossed to the table in the other window. It had been -laid so that it faced hers, and fearing lest he should appear guilty of -an obtrusive staring, he gazed out of the window. - -The arrival of his breakfast providing occupation for hands and eyes, -David turned to the table. A moment later he found that the sugar had -been forgotten. - -Now, the Green Man is devoid of bells. In some ways it is distinctly -primitive. A brass knocker on the front door announces the arrival of -visitors. For the rest your own vocal cords are employed. - -Ordinarily David would have gone to the door and shouted, but the -presence of Elizabeth causing some absurd little diffidence in his -mind, he sipped his coffee unsweetened. To a sweet-toothed man -non-sugared coffee is peculiarly unpalatable. He set down his cup with -a half-grimace, and glanced round the room. By good luck there might be -a sugar bowl on an unoccupied table. There was not. - -Elizabeth had noticed the former hesitation; she had likewise noticed -the slight grimace, and the present unavailing glance around the room. -Two and two were put rapidly together in her mind. She gave her own -sugar bowl a slight push. - -“Here is some sugar,” said she in her pleasant voice. - -It was a most trifling incident. At the moment David merely said “Thank -you,” and availed himself of the proffered bowl. Twenty minutes later, -meeting in the garden by the stream, it gave a slight excuse for -speech. It gave Elizabeth the excuse for speech. You may be sure David -would never have ventured on it. - -“What a dreamy spot!” said she, turning with a smile. - -If you knew Elizabeth well, you would know that this was one of her -favourite adjectives. It summed up at once beauty, picturesqueness, -colour, and entire enjoyment of anything. - -“It is good,” said David briefly. - -Elizabeth’s eyes twinkled. She liked the speech. It was in this -fashion, so we are told, that God regarded His Creation,--that is -before Mother Eve, beguiled by the old Serpent, had upset matters. Yet -after all, in spite of his upsettings, there are times and places which -yet fill us with some faint sense of that pristine perfection. - -Of course Elizabeth knew perfectly well who he was. That may well go -without saying. But, in spite of John having said that he was a decent -fellow, he wasn’t in the remotest degree like her mental conception of -him. - -She had pictured him a big man--which he truly was, also a bluff man, -a jovial man, a talker, a bit loud-voiced, perhaps a trifle assertive, -at all events very confident of himself, and all these things he was -not. It had not taxed Elizabeth’s intuition very vastly to perceive -that, contrary to all her expectations, there was an extraordinary -diffidence about him. He wasn’t the least certain of himself, he wasn’t -the least jovial nor loud-voiced, while something in his eyes,--well, -I have mentioned his eyes before. Somehow Elizabeth’s mind swung to -her little dusty-haired, grey-eyed Patrick in Ireland. She saw him in -the throes of grappling with one of those world problems to which the -cleverest of us can find but a poor answer, heard a small voice say -wearily: - -“Mummy, there is some things what is very difficult to understand.” - -Of course it was an absurd comparison. What had this big man in common -with the perplexities of a childish mind? Nevertheless for a brief -space she _had_ thought of Patrick. - -“You can almost,” said Elizabeth, “see the Good Folk come trooping down -that hill. - - “Up the airy mountain, - Down the rushing glen, - We daren’t go a-hunting - For fear of little men; - Wee folk, good folk - Trooping altogether; - Green jacket, red cap, - And white owl’s feather!” - -she quoted. - -“I like that,” Said David, “what is it? Is there any more?” - -Patrick had once said nearly these very words. - -“It’s called,” said Elizabeth below her breath, “‘The Fairies,’ and it -is by William Allingham. Of course he ought never to have called it -that. The Little People hate that name. It’s a marvel, understanding as -much as he did, that he didn’t know. And there are five more verses.” - -“Tell me,” said David. - -“Oh!” laughed Elizabeth. But she went on. - - “Down along the rocky shore - Some make their home, - They live on crispy pancakes - Of yellow tide foam; - Some in the reeds - Of the black mountain lake, - With frogs for their watch dogs - All night awake. - - “High on the hill-top - The old King sits; - He is now so old and grey - He’s nigh lost his wits. - With a bridge of white mist - Columbkill he crosses, - On his stately journeys - From Slieveleague to Rosses; - - Or going up with music - On cold starry nights - To sup with the Queen - Of the gay Northern Lights. - - “They stole little Bridget - For seven years long; - When she came down again - Her friends were all gone. - They took her lightly back - Between the night and morrow, - They thought she was fast asleep, - But she was dead with sorrow. - They have kept her ever since - Deep within a lake, - On a bed of flag-leaves - Watching till she wake. - - “By the craggy hillside - Through the mosses bare, - They have planted thorn-trees - For pleasure here and there. - If any man so daring - As dig them up for spite, - He shall find their sharpest thorns - In his bed at night. - - “Up the airy mountain - Down the rushing glen, - We daren’t go a-hunting - For fear of little men; - Wee folk, good folk. - Trooping altogether; - Green jacket, red cap, - And white owl’s feather.” - -“They don’t sound altogether friendly,” said David as she stopped. - -“Oh,” she assured him, “they are only unfriendly towards those who -dislike and fear them. Those who fear them have to be constantly -propitiating them. There’s nothing they hate like fear, and therefore -they demand toll from cowards. For those who love the Little -People--you should hear my small son Patrick talk about them,” she -ended. - -David looked a trifle bewildered. - -“Do you truly believe--” he began. - -She looked at him, half-laughing, half-serious. - -“Honestly I don’t know,” she said. “I’m living in the depths of -Ireland, and all that kind of thing is infectious. Sometimes I laugh at -myself for giving it a moment’s thought, and the next I’m saying, there -must be _something_ in it. As for Patrick, you’d as easily shake his -belief in me as his belief in the Good People. After all, who knows? He -says _he_ does. But then children may have the key to a door of which -we know nothing, or, at the best, but fancy we have caught a glimpse.” - -There was a little silence, broken only by the sound of running water. - -“And now,” said Elizabeth, “I must unpack. I was too lazy last night. -My evening frock will be crushed out of all recognition.” - -David pricked up his ears. - -“I didn’t know people wore evening dress in the country,” said he. - -Elizabeth laughed. - -“John--my brother, Mr. Mortimer--does,” she replied. “I believe he’d -sooner go without his dinner than omit dressing for it.” - -“Mr. Mortimer!” ejaculated David. “Do you mean that?” The gravity of -his tone seemed unwarranted by the triviality of the question. - -“Mean it? Of course I do,” replied Elizabeth. - -And then she saw his face. - -“What on earth does it mean?” thought Elizabeth to herself. - -“Glory be to God, you’ve done it now!” Father Maloney would have -exclaimed. - -Already her presence was making itself felt. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV - -ELIZABETH GIVES ADVICE - - -“I’VE seen the interloper,” said Elizabeth. - -She was walking with John by the river. He had called for her at the -Green Man, and had proposed a walk. - -“Yes?” said John. There was enquiry in his tone. - -“He isn’t,” said Elizabeth, “in the remotest degree what I imagined -him, except for his size. He--well, it is extraordinarily difficult to -describe him.” - -“You feel that?” - -“There’s something so childlike about him,” pursued Elizabeth. “If I -were to attempt to put into words what I mean, he seems to me like a -child, who had started out to get something, entirely sure that he -wanted it; and then, when he found it in his grasp, he discovered it to -be totally different from what he imagined it. He expected a sort of -toy, and he has found an enormous responsibility. He doesn’t know what -to make of it. He is utterly perplexed, and it hasn’t occurred to him -that the simplest plan would be to renounce it.” - -John opened eyes of wonder. - -“I always knew you were shrewd, my dear Elizabeth,” he remarked, “but -how you have arrived at these conclusions in so brief a space of time, -beats me altogether.” - -“Then you think I’m right?” she demanded. - -“I am pretty sure of it. But the thing is, that he sees the -responsibility without exactly recognizing it, and, as you say, the -simple way out of the difficulty hasn’t occurred to him in consequence.” - -Elizabeth mused, looking at the running water. - -“But that’s not all,” she went on. “There’s more I can’t fathom. These -are merely material difficulties to grapple with. He is faced with -something deeper. You can call me absurd if you like. I daresay I am -being a little _exalté_, but he has a look in his eyes as if he had -caught a glimpse of the Vision Beautiful, and he is a bit bewildered.” - -“Oh, no,” said John quietly, “I’ll not call you absurd.” - -Elizabeth cast a quick look at him and lapsed into silence. The second -problem was already absorbing her vastly more than the first. It was -infinitely greater, the issue infinitely more important. To the first -problem, when David had once grasped it fairly, there was so simple a -solution, did he but choose to take it. In any case, however, it was, -to her mind, on another plane. It didn’t belong to the same category -as this second problem. Of course you may say that the mental problem -existed solely in Elizabeth’s imagination. But then she did not think -it did; nor, you will realize, did John. - -Suddenly she spoke again, and quite irrelevantly to her former remarks. - -“What particular interest has--Sir David, I suppose I must call him, in -dress clothes?” - -“Dress clothes?” queried John bewildered. - -“Dress clothes,” reiterated Elizabeth. “I happened to say--quite idly, -you understand,--that you’d sooner go without your dinner than not -dress for it. He asked me if I meant that, and when I replied that I -did, I saw at once that, far from being the little trivial matter I had -believed it, it was, to him, of the most vital and grave importance.” - -“Oh, my dear Elizabeth!” John’s eyebrows went up. He gazed at his -sister in comical dismay. - -“Well?” demanded Elizabeth. “You would.” - -“Oh, I daresay,” said John ruefully. “But--well, the man hasn’t a dress -suit. Apparently he doesn’t possess such a thing, and Father Maloney -swore that it was an entirely unnecessary article in the country. -Corin and I dined at Delancey Castle in morning dress to keep him in -countenance. And now you--” he broke off. - -Contrition, profound and utter contrition, wrote itself on Elizabeth’s -face. - -“I ought to have guessed there was something momentous in the -question,” she said remorsefully, “and yet how could I! How small I -must have made him feel!” - -“And what a cheat he must think Father Maloney!” said John grimly. -“He’ll believe we were all laughing at him in our sleeves.” - -“You needn’t rub it in,” groaned Elizabeth. “These kind of horrid -little _contretemps_ make one feel guiltier and more remorseful than -quite a good-sized venial sin. You needn’t tell me I’ve no business to -feel like that. Of course I haven’t. But kindly remember it’s only in -my feelings and not in my reason, I’m experiencing the sensation. What -can I do? Tell him I was only joking?” - -“He’ll not believe you,” John assured her, “though certainly your -remark was, I trust, not intended to be taken in deadly earnest. -Perhaps,” continued John hopefully, “it may open his eyes a little more -to his unsuitability for the position of head of Delancey Castle.” - -“It may,” said Elizabeth succinctly, “but all the same I wish I hadn’t -lent a hand to the operation. It’s nearly as bad as forcing open the -eyes of a two-days-old kitten. I’d far sooner have left the business to -time.” - -“Time,” remarked John gloomily, “is an old cheat. You never know what -he will be up to. He has a way of contracting hours into briefest -seconds when you want their full value, and of expanding them into an -eternity when you’ve no use for them. Oh! he’s a wily beggar is Time.” - -Elizabeth laughed. - -“What is it?” she asked. “Hadn’t you better make a clean breast of it?” - -“Of what?” demanded John evasively. - -“The exact manner of Time’s trickery,” responded Elizabeth. “Or -anything else you please. Of course I know there’s something on your -mind.” - -“You profess to be a reader of minds?” - -“Not a bit of it,” smiled Elizabeth. “Only, having eyes in my head, -I use them. Also, having been endowed with a certain amount of -intelligence I use that also. And adding the two together----” - -“You have guessed?” queried John. - -“A dim guess,” said Elizabeth, “and one which will find no outlet in -speech without further proof.” - -She sat down on a tree trunk. - -“Let us rest,” said she. - -John stretched himself on the grass at her feet. - -“Well,” he said, “perhaps your guess is right.” - -“There is someone?” she demanded, promptly forgetting her former -announcement. - -John nodded. - -“Ah!” Elizabeth’s eyes gleamed. “And of course it can only be the one -someone. I am glad.” - -“So would I be,” returned John, “if it weren’t such a one-sided affair.” - -“You mean that she doesn’t--” Elizabeth broke off, dismay in voice and -eyes. - -“Oh, I don’t know,” said John gloomily. “How can I tell? She’s -friendly, she’s--she’s adorable, but--” He flung out his hand, as who -should say, “And there’s the whole of it.” - -“You haven’t asked her?” - -“Asked her!” John’s tone was almost scornful. “Where’s your intuition, -my dear sister? Wouldn’t you see me in permanent radiant joy, or black -despair, if I had? As it is, I am swinging from the one to the other, -and the swing of the pendulum stays down infinitely longer than it -stays up. There’s old Time at his games.” He pulled at the rushes by -the river bank. - -“But,” quoth Elizabeth calmly, “why don’t you ask her?” - -“Ask her! I have not known her a fortnight yet. I have only seen her -eight times.” - -“It has been enough for you,” said Elizabeth, still calmly. - -“For me, yes,” allowed John. “But for her! There’s the crux of the -matter. What have I got to offer her?” His tone was despairing. - -Elizabeth looked at him. There was the gleam of a tender smile in her -eyes. - -“Just the one thing,” she said softly, “that is of the smallest value. -Yourself.” - -“But--” began John. - -Elizabeth interrupted him. - -“Listen,” she said, and there was a curious earnestness in her voice, -“if she doesn’t care for you yourself, nothing else you could offer -would have the smallest value in her eyes. At least, not if she’s the -woman I take her to be. And she must be that woman, or I don’t for a -moment believe you would love her. Oh, John, dear, don’t you understand -that women, the right kind of women, don’t want the external things a -man can give? They want him himself, and the things that are part of -him, the things without which he wouldn’t be himself at all. I mean -love, loyalty, friendship. I don’t believe the majority of people have -a notion how important the last is. That is why there are so few ideal -marriages.” - -“Hum!” mused John. - -“It’s true,” said Elizabeth. - -“Then what is your advice?” demanded John. - -“Ask her, of course.” Elizabeth’s tone was refreshingly certain. -“You can’t expect her to propose, can you? How do you know that Time -isn’t playing exactly the same tricks with her? Ask her,” reiterated -Elizabeth, “at the very first opportune moment.” - -“That,” said John laughing ruefully, “is precisely what I have been -waiting for.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV - -THE BURDEN OF CONVENTIONALITY - - -OF course you will have realized that Elizabeth’s surmise regarding -David was entirely correct. - -When he made his material embarkation at Cape Town he hadn’t the -faintest conception of the mental voyage on which he was embarking, -or I am pretty sure he would never have set foot on the ship’s deck, -or, at all events would have done so with misgiving. And he had had -none. Gay as a schoolboy in quest of adventure, and determined as that -youngster, he had watched the African coast recede from his sight, had -seen Table Mountain dwindle to a mere speck, had turned his face in the -direction of his new enterprise. - -First had come the tracing up of his family in America, a tedious -enough job, leading him eventually to Brussels. - -His arrival in London had brought further business in its train, -interviewing solicitors; producing the proofs collected through months -of research; answering endless, and what appeared to him totally -irrelevant, questions. Next there had been waiting,--waiting in shabby -little rooms in Chelsea, when he beguiled the weary hours by walks on -the Embankment, in Battersea Park, or on Hampstead Heath, anywhere away -from the interminable hum of traffic, from the ceaseless stream of -people. - -More than once he had asked himself what on earth he had done it for? -Why he had left the quiet, the sunshine, the colour, the wide spaces -of the veldt, for the noise, the fog, the greyness, the confinement -of London. More than once he had called himself a fool for his pains, -cursed the day idleness had taken him to rummage in the old chest in -the storeroom. - -Then, the swing of the pendulum lifting him towards the anticipation -of fulfilled hope, his gloom would be dispelled. After all, he would -assure himself, it was his birthright for which he was enduring -hardship. Only a fool or a weakling would have refused to take up -the clue he had inadvertently discovered. Then, gloom once more -overwhelming him, he would demand of himself: Was it his birthright? -After all didn’t this same birthright lie in the wide untrammelled -spaces of the veldt, the unconventional surroundings, the life of -freedom? Wasn’t he attempting to exchange it for a mess of red pottage? - -But, with the arrival of the long-looked-for document, legal phrases -and all, doubts again dispersed. He had laboured, he had toiled, he had -achieved. There was no question now about that birthright. It was his. -He held it as surely in his grasp as he held that piece of foolscap -paper. - -Naturally the first thing to do was to go and have a look at it. He -had refrained from so doing till his rights thereto had been assured. -He bade a far from reluctant farewell to his shabby rooms, and a not -overclean landlady, took the train forthwith to Whortley, arrived at -Malford, and the Green Man. - -And then gradually, imperceptibly, all his doubts had returned, -returned, too, in so subtle a manner, that he hardly recognized them -for doubts. He was merely bewildered, non-understanding of himself. - -It seemed to him totally absurd that he should not be entirely -delighted at the thought of his inheritance, yet, if the truth be -known, it was beginning to hang like a somewhat weighty millstone round -his neck. And the exceeding simple solution of cutting the string that -held it there, never dawned upon him. - -Perhaps, unconsciously, he felt that to do so would be to shirk -responsibility; but it is very certain that he was already devoutly -wishing that he had never sought responsibility. Elizabeth’s careless -little remark had added quite an appreciable weight to it. It is -astonishing how the merest fragment added to an already heavy load will -make it almost insupportable. It was, too, the absurdest fragment, -the most ridiculous fragment, but there it was, flung carelessly upon -him. Mentally, though vaguely, he saw a million other like fragments, -which he told himself shudderingly would be added. He saw at least -another ton load waiting for him. To those used to these burdens of -conventionality they would be a mere featherweight. But to him! - -He began to enumerate the list, to drag forth to clearer vision what he -was vaguely perceiving. To this end he recalled his dinner at Delancey -Castle. - -Dress clothes headed the list. True, they had not been present, but -then they should have been. His own ignorance would evidently be a -very formidable fragment. Well then, number one, dress clothes, stiff -collars and shirt fronts, and all the rest of the paraphernalia. Number -two, servants standing in the room while you eat. An abomination! -Number three, servants handing you food in silver dishes. An idiotic -custom! Why couldn’t they put the things on the table? Number four, -accept everything offered you as indifferently as possible. Avoid -thanking a servant. Well, with a bit of practice he might manage that. -Number five, water placed before you in glass dishes, which water you -were evidently not intended to drink,--he had grasped that much. A -purely silly convention. Number six, coffee in minute cups that slid -about on the saucers, and nowhere to put the elusive fragile things. -David went hot and cold at the remembrance. Number seven, no pipes in -the drawing-room. He groaned. This much his own experience had taught -him, and taught him within the space of a couple of hours. And Heaven -alone knew how many more fragments there might not be. - -Of course you might argue, and justly, why think of these conventions -at all? Brush them aside. Treat them as non-existent. He was his own -master. That is logical and sound reasoning. - -But no. To David’s mind it behooved him, in accepting the -responsibility, to accept with it all that appertained thereto. Herein -lay that touch of simplicity, that touch of childlikeness, which, -perhaps you may have perceived in him. Therefore it is small wonder -that civilization was bearing heavily upon him. - -Truly a sorry state for a man. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI - -CONSPIRATORS - - -ELIZABETH was talking to Mrs. Trimwell. - -She was sitting in a low chair by the open back door. The baby lay in -her lap, peacefully sucking a small pink thumb, round eyes gazing at -Elizabeth’s face the while. The baby was as at home with Elizabeth, as -Elizabeth was at home with the baby. - -Before them lay the garden,--cabbages, potatoes, and onions neatly -surrounded by flower borders. On a clothes-line, white pinafores and -little blue and pink cotton frocks swung gently in the breeze. - -Mrs. Trimwell was at the ironing-table, but it is very certain that the -work of her hands in no way impeded the action of her tongue. Every now -and then she turned from the table to the stove, exchanging a cooling -iron for one which she would momentarily hold in what appeared to -be dangerous proximity to her cheek. Then down it would go on to the -crumpled linen, which smoothed to snowy whiteness beneath the magic of -her touch. - -“I wouldn’t have said it to no one but you, ma’am,” remarked Mrs. -Trimwell, in conclusion, it would appear, to some foregoing speech, -“but I do say as how a helping hand at the moment would be a godsend to -the poor young gentleman.” - -Elizabeth looked entire agreement. - -“Yes,” quoth she. “But then, what right have _I_ to interfere.” - -“Lor’ bless you, ma’am,” ejaculated Mrs. Trimwell, “if we was all to -wait for our rights to make a move, I reckon there’d be precious little -moving. When you think you’ve got a right there’s a dozen folk will -tell you you haven’t got none. And when you’re for letting a job be, -they’ll all be giving you a shift towards it. And spending the time -arguing about it is mostly like talking over who’s got the best right -to throw a rope to a drowning man. It’s the handiest has got to do it, -I’m thinking, and let rights take their chance.” - -“But,” said Elizabeth, and her eyes were smiling, though her voice was -sufficiently grave, “supposing he doesn’t want any interference.” - -“There’s a deal of folk as don’t know what’s good for them,” remarked -Mrs. Trimwell dryly, “and maybe he’s one of the number, though I’m not -for that way of thinking myself. To my mind he has got hisself into a -bit of a boggle, and don’t know the way out, though ’tis as plain as -the nose on my face.” - -She folded a table-cloth with rapid dexterity. - -“But,” argued Elizabeth, and she patted the baby gently, “if I broach -the subject when he doesn’t want it broached, what will he think of me?” - -“Same as most men,” returned Mrs. Trimwell calmly, whisking a -handkerchief from a basket, “that women’s for ever busy over what ain’t -no concern of theirs. But Lor’ bless you, what does that matter! If -we’re so everlasting prudent as to wait for chances to be certainties, -we’ll miss giving a sight of help. There’s fifty chances in a month to -one certainty, and the chances want a friend’s hand to them a precious -sight more than the certainties.” - -Elizabeth looked down the garden. Slowly she patted the tranquil baby; -slowly she pondered on this last statement. She was disposed to see -quite a fair amount of truth in it. But then---- - -“What exactly do you advise?” Her eyes held a gleam of amusement. - -“Talk to him straight,” said Mrs. Trimwell briefly. “I’ll own I wasn’t -for having him miss his chances myself at first, but now--Lor’ bless -you! I see ’tis no chance but a trap he’s laid hold on, and he’ll be -caught sure enough before he’s done, if someone doesn’t speak.” - -“Y-yes,” demurred Elizabeth, the little gleam lighting to laughter, -“but how? What, for instance, would you say under the circumstances?” - -Mrs. Trimwell put her iron on the stove. She turned deliberately to -Elizabeth. Brows frowning she sought for inspiration. - -“Well, I can’t rightly say as I’m a good hand at fashioning speeches. -Leastways not the kind as’ll take with gentle-folk. But I reckon it’s -something after this way I’d speak.” - -One hand on hip, the other shaking an admonitory finger at an imaginary -young man, Mrs. Trimwell proceeded. - -“Young sir, seeing as how you ain’t got no friends handy to tell you -the truth, which may be unpalatable, but which I’m thinking you needs -the taste of, I’m speaking in the friend’s place. It don’t require no -mighty sharp sight to see that you’re as uneasy as a cat on hot bricks -in contemplating the situation before you, the situation being one -which you ain’t been brought up to, and as different from the life -you’ve led as chalk is from cheese. It ain’t no use trying to bend a -tree to new shapes when it’s full-growed, leastways if you do, you run -a pretty fair risk of breaking it, and that’s what’s going to happen to -you. ’Tisn’t as though you’d been took in childhood, when the bending -to new ways can be done without over much harm. Lor’ bless you, can’t -you see what you’re trying to do with yourself? ’Twill be like putting -a sea fish in one of them little glass bowls you see in shops for you -to try and get used to the ways of folks like them at the Castle. -They’s born to it, and don’t feel all the finiky little things that -comes as easy to them as breathing. It’s bigger things you’re wanting, -and by that I’m not meaning the size of the rooms, for you’ll find them -big enough at the Castle. It’s your mind you’ll be shutting up, and -your body too, for all the size of the place. You’ve found a cage, -that’s what you’ve found, and partly because it’s a glittery thing, and -partly because it’s yours, you’re feeling bound to live in it. Turn -your back on it, I says; leave it to them as doesn’t know the caging. -’Tis God’s earth is your heritage, and not the castles men folk have -built on it.” - -Mrs. Trimwell paused. - -“That’s the manner of talk I’d be giving him,” she announced. “It’ll -put things clear to him, and he’s not got them over clear in his mind -yet. ’Tis what he’s seeing though, half-blind like, and it’s a friend -he needs to open his eyes before ’tis too late.” - -Elizabeth gazed at her. There was admiration, frank and genuine -admiration, in her eyes. Of course Mrs. Trimwell had merely voiced her -own entire opinion, but quite probably it was on this very account that -the admiration was thus unstinted. There is the same curious pleasure -in finding another at one with you on a matter even slightly near your -heart, as there is in finding your own unexpressed and half-articulate -thoughts in the pages of some book. Also there was admiration for -the fact that Mrs. Trimwell had arrived at so rapid a conclusion. -Elizabeth totally forgot that her own conclusion had been even more -rapid. - -“I shall never,” said Elizabeth, “be able to speak with half your -verve.” - -Though totally ignorant of the last word, Mrs. Trimwell was aware that -same compliment was intended. - -“You’ll put it a sight more polished than I can,” she remarked bluntly. - -“He’d prefer the original speech,” smiled Elizabeth. - -“But he’ll not get it,” Mrs. Trimwell’s voice was grim. “I knows my -place.” - -Elizabeth raised amused eyebrows. - -“And all the time you’ve been assuring me that it isn’t a question of -rights,” she protested. - -“There’s rights and rights,” announced Mrs. Trimwell, “and ’tis you’ve -the bigger right than me. You’re gentle-folk, same as he, and he’ll -take it better from you. I’d speak fast enough, Lor’ bless you, if -there wasn’t you to do it.” - -She turned again to her ironing. - -Elizabeth again took to patting the small bundle of warmth in her lap. -Over the low hedge of the garden, she could see the churchyard, and the -white and grey headstones of the graves. From the old church came the -intermittent sound of hammering, and the occasional clinking of metal. -Pigeons wheeled against the blue sky, alighting now and again on the -church tower. Beyond the church stretched meadows, and the silver line -of a river twisting among them past rushes and pollard willows. - -A heat haze covered the landscape; it shimmered, elusively golden, -above the red-flagged path of the garden. A cat dozed on a bit of -sun-baked earth; it appeared the embodiment of feline contentment. -Elizabeth felt something of the same contentment. There was still that -little gleam of amusement in her eyes. - -Unquestionably she was a conspirator. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII - -CORIN TAKES A WALK - - -IT is, however, one thing to be a conspirator in intention, and quite -another to put your conspiracy into action. The opportunity perversely -refused to present itself, or, at any rate, to Elizabeth’s eyes it -refused to present itself, and that, after all, came to the same thing. -A dozen times at least she went over her prepared formula in her mind, -intending at each meeting to put it into words. - -And there were meetings enough. You might have imagined that David -sought them; that he knew, by some uncanny instinct, the exact moments -when Elizabeth would approach the Green Man. Of course, too, there -were the meetings at breakfast, but to Elizabeth’s mind these barely -counted. It was not a subject to be served up with coffee and eggs and -bacon; the hour, also, was unpropitious. She was never glib of speech -in the early morning. But then every hour seemed unpropitious. - -The whole difficulty of the matter lay in the fact that she was on the -outlook for an opportunity, that her formula was prepared. I defy any -one--at all events any one of Elizabeth’s truthful nature--to introduce -a pre-arranged subject casually and naturally. If you have ever tried -to do so yourself, you will hear the instant ring of falsity in your -words. - -“Oh, by the way----” - -And if you don’t begin in this fashion, how on earth are you going to -begin, I ask? - -Every meeting which passed without the subject being broached, lent -further difficulty to its broaching. And the moment the opportunity -had gone by, Elizabeth would upbraid herself for cowardice, would -speak confidently to her heart of next time. And when next time came, -the little dumb devil would sit maliciously on guard before her lips -allowing every word to pass them but those she desired to speak. - -The matter became almost farcical; it would have been farcical, but -that the days were slipping by. - -“It’s positively absurd,” Elizabeth told herself, half-laughing, -half-angry. - -But absurd or not, the little dumb devil was keeping close watch. - -And here it was that Fate or Providence stepped in in a purely -unexpected manner. Doubtless you, according to your views, will give -the credit to whichever pleases you. - -The intervention can hardly be termed direct. But then, that is -frequently the case. It is the side issues, which in themselves appear -of little or no importance, which have a momentous influence on the -graver and deeper questions of life. - -And here I am minded to quote the words reflected upon by the -sunny-hearted Pippa. - - “Say not ‘a small event!’ Why ‘small’? - Costs it more pain than this, ye call - A ‘great event,’ should come to pass, - Than that? Untwine me from the mass - Of deeds which make up life, one deed - Power shall fall short in or exceed!” - -Yet, if you should reply boldly in refutation of these words, Here, -in my life, is one deed, one action at least, which stands paramount -above all others, I would answer, True; but what of the so-called -tiny influences, the so-called minute events which led to it? Can you -eliminate any one of them, and then say with certainty that, without -it, the result would have been the same? And if you can not, how can -you declare that the apparently tiny event was of less importance than -the one you call great? - -However, let’s on to the matter in hand. - - * * * * * - -Corin found the joys of scraping plaster off walls beginning to pall. -Apparently he had come to an end of discovery. - -It is one thing to delve for new treasures, it is another to scrape for -hours on end to find a mere repetition of design. However delightful -masonry and herb Robert may be when it dawns freshly on the sight, -its continued contemplation waxes somewhat stale. To his judging, and -no doubt he judged rightly, there were still yards and yards of it to -be uncovered. Monotony, therefore, crept upon his soul. With a view, -then, to relaxing the monotony, and taking into consideration that the -sunshine without the church appeared infinitely preferable to the gloom -within, he laid down his tools this particular afternoon a full hour -before his customary time, and came out into the open. - -And here, for a moment, he paused. - -Before him, eight miles distant, lay Whortley, to be reached by road or -field, according to inclination. He ruled out that notion promptly. To -the right lay the river, the silver ribbon bordered by pollard willows; -to the left lay wood and moorland; behind him and the church lay the -sea. It was distant a mile or thereabouts, and the sun was distinctly -hot. But what of that! Wouldn’t the music of its voice on the shore, -the colour of its sparkling waters, the coolness of the little breeze -that would sweep across its surface, be well worth the tramp? - -“The sea for me!” cried Corin to his heart. “And that’s rhyme, and I’m -not sure that it isn’t poetry if you take into consideration the vision -it conjures up. In fact, taking that into consideration, I am sure that -it _is_ poetry.” - -Whereupon he wheeled around. - -First the route lay uphill towards Delancey Castle. It was a stiffish -climb. The sun, beating upon the white roadway, flung waves of heat up -from it. They shimmered before his spectacled, short-sighted eyes in -an irritating glaring dance. His round, cherubic face was glowing to a -deep crimson before he was half-way up the ascent. The vision he had -conjured up of the seashore might truly be poetical, but I question -the poetry in the appearance of the little man trudging towards that -vision. Yet this is unkind. Who are we to judge from appearances? Truly -may poetic aspirations be hidden beneath the most unlikely exteriors. - -At the top of the hill, Corin paused, looking reflectively down the -long avenue. Exhaustion rather than reflection prompted the pause, -nevertheless he gave vent to a sage one. - -“_Omne ignotum pro magnifico_,” he remarked, “by which token, I fancy, -our young American friend down yonder had a very different conception -of what he was going to find up here. He has found less magnificence -than irksomeness, I take it. Now, I wonder why karma----” - -But I refuse to follow Corin in his meditative flights in this -direction. It is sufficient to note that we see him, from the remark -I have given you, in like mind with three at least of our other -characters herein mentioned. - -His meditation on the mysteries of karma completed, and his exhaustion -being in part, at least, lessened, Corin pursued his way. His route -was level now, leading presently to a footpath across an expanse of -short grass. Here he came upon full view of the sea--blue, sparkling, -radiant, dotted with white- and red-winged sailing boats. - -Coming at length to a rough, descending track, he made his way down it. -It brought him into a cove, a place of white sand, smooth and gleaming. - -Truly here was all that his vision had expected. The grass-crowned -cliffs sloped down to the cove in rugged grey walls, samphire-covered. -Nor did the grey rocks stop abruptly on reaching the white sand, but -ran out into it, as if eager to gain to the sun-kissed water. Little -pools lay among them, mirrors reflecting the blue of the sky. In the -pools waved feathery fronds of sea-weed--pink, crimson, and brown; tiny -silver fish darted hither and thither; sea anemones stretched forth -dainty flower-like tentacles. - -“This,” remarked Corin to his soul, “was worth the tramp.” - -And he sat down on the warm white sand. - -There wasn’t a soul in sight; nothing but those white- and red-winged -boats, making a lazy headway with the tide, to remind him of his fellow -mortals, and they but added to the beauty of the picture. The water -broke in baby waves on the shore, with the faintest musical ripple. -Sea-gulls dipped to the shining surface, or floated smoothly in the -blueness above. Now and again a cormorant flew, black and long-necked -across the water. - -Some half-hour or so Corin sat there, basking and dreaming in the sun, -thinking, you may be pretty certain, of nothing, or at all events with -thoughts too diffused to be worthy of the name. - -And then, all at once, the antics of two birds roused him to sudden -interest. Gulls, he would have called them, yet assuredly their -manners were perplexing. Winging rapidly for a moment or so, they -dropped suddenly like stones to the water. Up again, they repeated the -manœuvre, and again, and yet again. - -“Now what,” remarked Corin aloud, addressing the apparent solitude, “do -those things call themselves?” - -“They,” said a voice behind him, “are gannets.” - -Corin turned. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII - -CONCERNING AN ARGUMENT - - -SEATED on a rock, some half-dozen yards or so in his rear, was David -Delancey, calmly gazing out to sea. - -“How long have you been there?” demanded an astonished Corin. - -“Oh, twenty minutes or thereabouts,” returned David. He got up from the -rock and came to seat himself nearer Corin. “I thought you were dozing.” - -“I was wide awake,” returned Corin with some dignity. - -It is not certain whether the imputation of sleepiness had hurt his -susceptible feelings, or whether it was merely irritation at finding -himself observed when he thought himself alone, at all events there was -the faintest trace of asperity in his manner. - -David regarded him perplexed. The slight asperity was obvious. But what -on earth had caused it? - -And then, whatever the cause, Corin felt a trifle ashamed. - -“But what,” he demanded, waving his hand seawards, “are the mad things -up to? What possible pleasure or profit can they find in tumbling head -first into the water? If it weren’t,” concluded Corin solemnly, “that -I conceive them to be brainless, I should imagine that they would be -suffering by now from violent headaches.” - -“Oh,” responded David laughing, “they are just diving.” - -“Just diving?” echoed Corin. “But why from such a height? Why don’t -they get lower to the water, first, if they want to dive?” - -“Ask me another,” said David, smiling lazily. “I suppose it’s habit, -nature, whatever you like to call it.” - -Corin shook his head, as who should say, given a free hand he’d instil -vastly better habits. Aloud he said: - -“This is an extraordinarily pleasant spot.” - -“It’s so jolly lonely,” said David musingly. - -“Therein,” remarked Corin, “lies one of its greatest attractions.” -And he quoted softly, “Il y a toujours dans le monde quelque chose de -trop--l’homme.” - -“What’s that?” demanded David bluntly. - -Corin obligingly translated. - -“Humph!” Obviously David demurred at this statement. “I don’t -altogether see what would be the good of the world being pleasant if -there weren’t someone to enjoy it.” - -“There would be,” said Corin, still softly, “always oneself.” - -David’s eyes twinkled. - -“I guess a world run for one individual alone would prove a bit over -isolated,” he remarked dryly. “Also, the question of which individual -might crop up.” - -Corin sighed. The man was really a little too literal. He shifted his -ground. - -“If,” he said didactically, “men lived together in harmony, the soul -would not crave for isolation.” - -Had John been present, it is probable that ribald laughter had greeted -this remark. He knew these moods. David did not. - -“That’s true enough,” he responded gravely, “but who is to set the -keynote? where’s your conductor of the band?” - -“If,” said Corin, addressing himself to the sparkling water, “each -man lived to the highest within him, there would be no need for any -conductor.” - -David frowned. He granted the high-soundingness of the statement, you -may be sure, but somehow it did not strike him as altogether practical. -He fell back on his band simile. - -“A fellow,” he remarked, “may fancy he’s got a jolly good tune to play, -and go at it for all he’s worth, but if it doesn’t fit in with the -rest, it stands to reason a jumble will follow. If you could get hold -of the right conductor, I fancy you’d do a precious deal better by -playing second fiddle, or even by striking a note on a triangle every -now and then, than by rattling off the best tune ever invented on your -own.” - -“My dear man,” cried Corin eagerly, “your theory is sound enough in -a way; but if a man really lives to the highest in him, he’ll merely -strike notes on a triangle if that’s his job.” - -David shook his head. - -“Maybe,” he said deliberately, “but there’s always human nature -to reckon with, and there’s a good bit of difference between a man -thinking a thing the highest, and it being the highest. You set out to -do a thing thinking it’s the right thing to do, and when you get a good -clinch on it, I’m blamed if you don’t begin to wonder if it was your -job after all.” - -Again Corin sighed, and with an almost aggressive patience. - -“If you have honestly believed it to be the right thing to do,” he -remarked carefully, “it is the right thing to do. Shakespeare never -made a truer statement than when he said, ‘There’s nothing either good -or bad, but thinking makes it so.’ There’s the sum of all religion.” - -“Then,” said David dryly, “religion is a mighty elusive thing to -tackle. There are some Indians--I forget which brand their religion -is--think it right to treat the poor little widows as scum on the -face of the earth, but I don’t fancy any amount of thinking can make -it right to treat any woman that way. There’s injustice somewhere if -that’s the way to deal with them.” - -“It’s karma,” said Corin succinctly. - -David pitched a pebble seawards. - -“I’ve heard you use that word before,” he remarked, “but for the life -of me I don’t know what you’re driving at.” - -Here was Corin’s chance. You may be sure he jumped at it. I’ve vowed -I’ll not follow his meditative flights in this direction, but I fear me -I’ll be bound to transcribe his speeches. - -“Karma,” quoth he, “shows us clearly the justice of the whole of the -so-called injustice of the world.” - -David grinned. - -“It’s not what you might call a little subject,” he remarked. - -“Yet,” retorted Corin, “it is simplicity itself. No evil suffered by -man, woman, or child is undeserved. It is suffered as punishment for -sin committed.” - -David looked down towards the sea. - -“A baby can’t sin,” he said quietly, “yet I’ve seen some poor little -beggars mishandled in a way that would make your blood boil.” - -Corin shrugged his shoulders. - -“I’ll allow that there are brutes in the world,” he admitted, “but -there’s no undeserved suffering. What such a child suffered, it -suffered for sins committed in a past life.” - -David turned an amazed face upon him. - -“Past life!” he ejaculated. - -“Of course,” said Corin calmly. “How do you interpret such suffering if -it isn’t inflicted for sins committed in a past life? Wouldn’t it be -horrible injustice otherwise? You don’t, I suppose, imagine the Powers -above to be unjust?” - -“No,” said David simply. “I’ve never gone as far as that.” - -“Then how on earth are you going to explain the apparent injustice of -the world?” cried Corin. “Can’t you see that it apparently reeks with -injustice?” - -“Oh, Lord, yes! I see that fast enough,” said David grimly. - -“Then how do you explain it?” demanded Corin. - -“I’ve never tried to,” said David quietly. - -“But, good heavens, man, what’s your intellect given you for if you -don’t use it?” almost shouted Corin. “Why, if I couldn’t see some plan -in what the Powers above had arranged, I’d have chucked up the sponge -long ago.” - -David looked silently towards the far-off horizon. There was a queer -little smile on his lips. - -“Well?” demanded Corin. - -David turned. - -“I guess,” he said slowly, “you’d think a soldier a mighty poor sort of -fellow who chucked up fighting because he didn’t understand the plans -of his general. I guess God isn’t going to give each of us a special -interview, and explain His plan of campaign, any more than a general is -going to call each private to his tent and explain his before he sends -him into battle. Of course if you figure out a plan in your own mind, -and fight thinking it’s the right one, it’s a precious deal better -than chucking up the sponge, but all the same, if you’re stuck on your -own plan, you may go beyond your job by a long chalk, and it’s best -to leave plans to your general. The only thing that matters is to get -your orders clear, and with the muddle around you that’s not over easy. -Anyhow, I don’t find it over easy.” - -“But,” remarked Corin coolly, “if, as you maintain, no private is -supposed to understand his general’s plan, and he is not to follow his -own judgment, from whom is he to receive orders?” - -“Officers,” returned David promptly. - -Corin snorted. It was not exactly an ill-bred snort, you understand; -nevertheless it was one. - -“And will you kindly tell me where those officers are to be found?” he -questioned loftily. “Look here, man, let’s drop simile for the moment. -If you maintain that we human beings are incapable of understanding the -plans of the Powers that be, how are we going to shape the course of -our actions? We’ve got to work on some scheme, if we don’t drift. Who’s -going to interpret that scheme to us, if we don’t interpret it for -ourselves?” - -“That,” returned David, “is exactly what I’m trying to figure out.” - -Corin looked at him commiseratingly. - -“My dear man,” he said gently, “you’ll find that your figuring will -bring you to but one conclusion. You’ve got to interpret for yourself. -If you go off to ask other people, what will you find? Every man will -tell you that his way is the right way. A Calvinist will talk of -predestination, a Congregationalist will talk of conversion, a Catholic -will tell you to go and confess your sins to a priest, and a member -of the established Church of England--well, the Lord only knows what -he’ll tell you. It’ll be a toss-up on the special species you light on.” - -“But,” said David firmly, “there must be truth somewhere.” - -“Of course there is,” returned Corin magnificently. “There’s a modicum -of truth in every religion. Divest them of their forms and you’ll get -vastly nearer the whole truth. I tell you, there’s the Divine in every -man. The various churches have set up God as a kind of bogey wherewith -to frighten naughty children. God exists, but not separate from us, as -the churches teach, a judge to allot punishment or reward to a feeble -humanity; He exists in each one of us. Each one of us is an actual part -of the Divine, and thereby is his own arbitrator, ruler, and judge. -And, that being so, it is absurd to imagine that we are incapable of -understanding the Divine plan. Of course we understand it. To believe, -to know, that, is merely common-sense.” - -David was silent. - -“Isn’t it?” urged Corin. - -David turned towards him. - -“Well, if you really want my opinion,” he said slowly, “I’m blamed if I -don’t call it merely pride.” - -Corin stared. - -“Well, of all the--” he began. - -He got no further. Where was the use of arguing with a man who -voluntarily padlocked his intellect within an iron box, so to speak. It -would be mere waste of breath, a futile expenditure of his energies. -Yet, so reflected Corin, he had thought so much better of him. Ah, -well, the advance guard of a movement cannot expect to have the ruck -too closely in his wake. It is only when the path through superstition -has been laid fair and open, that one can expect the common herd to -follow. - -“You’re a very young soul,” he said indulgently. - -David gazed imperturbably out to sea. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX - -A DUMB DOG-- - - -OF course there had been nothing out of the way about the meeting, -nothing particularly extraordinary about the conversation, for all that -Corin, in spite of terming the matter simple, was convinced of its -depth. Yet, in some inexplicable way, it was a momentous meeting to -David. And the kernel of the whole thing lay, neither in what Corin had -said, nor in what he had said, but somehow in his own unspoken thoughts -during the conversation. - -I don’t believe he could have put the actual thoughts into words. He -could not even formulate them very distinctly in his own mind, but all -the same there had been a curious crystallizing process going on within -him. Little half-formed thoughts, tiny almost insignificant incidents -of the past ten days, had drawn together with a strange magnetic -attraction into a concrete whole, though he was not, even now, fully -aware what that concrete whole represented to him. - -But there it was, a tangible, definite something awaiting explanation. -He could handle it now, so to speak, without knowing to what purpose it -was to be put; it was massed together, where formerly it had been mere -particles, each too minute and separate to be caught and fingered. Yet, -lying where it did, in the inmost recesses of his soul, the question -was whether he could ever bring it sufficiently to the surface to show -it to another, and he believed that, without some external aid, he -would never arrive at its full significance. - -Those who possess the gift of words are truly to be envied. With a few -brief sentences they are able to elicit sympathy, criticism, judgment, -understanding, whatever their need may be. The dumb dog is helpless. At -the best, he has but a few stammering phrases to his tongue, perhaps -but an inarticulate word or two, often no word at all. - -You can’t blame his fellow mortals if they fail to understand his need: -it is given to few to interpret the language of the mute. - - - - -CHAPTER XL - -SPEAKS-- - - -ELIZABETH came into the garden of the Green Man the morning following -the aforementioned conversation, with determination in her heart, and -her formula on her lips. - -She saw David sitting on a wooden bench near the stream. He had left -the parlour some ten minutes previously. - -He was looking at the running water. Even at the distance he was from -her, Elizabeth was aware of a certain tenseness, a certain keyedness in -his attitude. He seemed waiting, expectant. - -She went across the grass towards him, her step making no sound on the -soft turf. She was within a couple of yards from him before he saw her. -He got up from the bench. - -“Mrs. Darcy,” he said in a queer hesitating voice, “if I can, I want to -talk to you.” - -Elizabeth noticed that he did not say, “If I may.” - - - - -CHAPTER XLI - -AT SOME LENGTH - - -ELIZABETH sat down on the bench beside him. Her whole demeanour said as -plainly as speech: - -“Take your own time. I have nothing on earth to do but listen to -you. Nothing will give me greater pleasure. This is what I have been -wanting.” - -It is astonishing what confidence such an attitude will give. -Confidences--hesitating confidences, at all events--will take flight -before the least trace of urgency. If you think you’ve got to be in a -hurry to show them, they hide like shy children in the inmost recesses -of your soul, and no amount of coaxing will bring them forth to the -light of day. You may, by dint of violent effort, force them forth, so -to speak; but, coming unwillingly, they show no trace of their true -personality. You barely recognize them yourself; a stranger will not -recognize them at all, unless he be the one in a million endowed with -an almost uncanny gift of insight. And such a one, to my thinking, will -never hurry confidences. - -“Do you mind my smoking?” asked David. - -“Not a bit,” returned Elizabeth cheerily. - -David pulled pipe and tobacco pouch from his pocket. Busy with them, he -spoke. - -“I am a bad hand at talking,” said he. “Words are slippery kind of -things, and slide out of my mind as soon as I think I’ve got them fixed -there; so, if I talk in a muddle, perhaps you’ll forgive me. I can’t -even get what I want to say very clearly to myself.” - -He paused to light his pipe. Then went on: - -“I fancy I’ll have to talk a bit in kind of symbols. I see things -that way myself better than in actual descriptive words. You know, of -course, my reason for being here?” - -“I do,” responded Elizabeth. - -David was silent for a moment. - -“Well,” he said presently, pulling at his pipe, “when I set out on this -job, I didn’t think much about the right or wrong of it. It was simply -there. It got up and stood before me suddenly, and I said to myself, -That’s what I’m going for. I went for it. There’s no need to go into -details. It wasn’t an easy undertaking, but I brought it through. What -I set out to get is mine. It’s there. I’ve only got to put out my hand -and take it.” - -“Yes,” said Elizabeth, as he stopped. - -“Well,” said David frowning, “now comes the difficult part to put -into words. What I’m going to say may sound rubbish; but, for the -life of me, I don’t think it is. I’m going to get to symbols now. Can -you figure to yourself a man finding a mighty powerful telescope; -and, looking through it, he sees a sack of gold lying in a place some -thousands of miles away, and he knows that the sack is his for the -seeking. Well, he doesn’t think much about the wisdom of the search, -or its difficulties, or what he’s going to do with the gold when he -gets it. He just knows it’s there, and it’s his if he can get to it. It -isn’t easy to find, and there are other people who think they’ve got -the right to it. But anyhow he gets there, and establishes his claim. -He’s got nothing to do now, but put in his hand and take everything -that is in the sack. It seems simple enough, doesn’t it?” - -“It does,” said Elizabeth smiling. The naïveté of his words amused her. - -“But,” went on David, “just as he’s waiting to take possession of -the whole thing, he suddenly gets a glimpse of something else, a bit -further on. Now, he doesn’t for the life of him know exactly what it -is, or what use he’s going to make of it, only there’s some kind of -voice telling him all the time that it’s worth going for. That’s pretty -nearly all he knows about it. Common-sense seems to say to him, ‘Empty -your sack first, and then go on and have a look.’ But way back in his -mind he has three thoughts,--one is that he hasn’t any darned use for -the gold in the sack, he doesn’t know what to make of it--you remember -I’m speaking in symbols; the second is that somehow it will be a bother -carrying it along with him on this other quest; and the third is a -queer sort of idea as to whether the gold is really his after all. Of -course everybody tells him it is. Even the folk, who originally had the -handling of it, are bound to say it must be, and yet he doesn’t feel -dead sure. Do you see what I’m driving at?” - -“Perfectly,” said Elizabeth. - -“Well,” he demanded, “what does it all mean?” - -For a moment Elizabeth was silent. - -“Can’t you tell me a little more?” she suggested. “Haven’t you the -smallest idea what this other quest is?” - -David hesitated. - -“Not an atom clearly,” he said slowly, “at least--” he stopped. - -Again there was a silence. There was no sound but the rippling of the -water, and the humming of insects. Occasionally a dragon-fly darted -across the surface of the stream with a flash of silver wings. Beyond -the grassy slope of the fields opposite them stood the trees of the -wood, dark green, deep shadows lying beneath them. - -And in the silence Elizabeth waited. - -Presently David began to speak, shyly, difficultly. - -“When I was a very little chap, I used to read Tennyson. Do you know -the bit, - - “‘... I heard a sound - As of a silver horn from o’er the hills...’?” - -Elizabeth nodded. - - “‘... O never harp nor horn, - Nor aught we blow with breath, or touch with hand. - Was like that music as it came; and then - Stream’d through my cell a cold and silver beam, - And down the long beam stole the Holy Grail, - Rose-red with beatings in it, as if alive, - Till all the white walls of my cell were dyed - With rosy colours leaping on the wall...’” - -Her words fell softly into the silence. - -“That’s it,” said David, his cheeks flushing. “I used to care for that -a lot,” he went on slowly. “I used to play I was one of those knights -going in search. But it’s years since I’ve thought of the poem, or had -any of those fancies. Perhaps working around knocks them out of one’s -head. Now, what I am going to say will sound pure nonsense. One day, -here, in a wood, the whole thing came back to me.” - -“Yes?” said Elizabeth gently. - -“I came up through the wood to the edge of the park,” said David, “and -I found myself by the Castle Chapel. A bell rang. I can’t in the least -explain what happened then, but I might have been a little chap again, -fancying myself near the end of my quest, only it was about a thousand -times more real. Well, it’s just that. What I played at as a little -fellow has got hold of me again.” He stopped. - -“Yes,” said Elizabeth again, and very softly. - -“I’ve tried to tell myself it’s nonsense,” went on David, “but it’s no -good. And it doesn’t seem like play now. I can’t explain. Of course -reason tells me I’m being a bit mad, but the thought has got hold of -me and won’t let me go. Mr. Elmore talked to me yesterday, down on the -beach. He talked what seemed to me a good deal of rubbish, though I’ll -grant it sounded all right in one way. I told him what I thought about -it. But what we both said is beside the matter. It’s just that all the -time this idea was gripping me tighter and tighter. It was as if the -quest was real. Everything--the sea, the rocks, the birds, the sun, the -wind--was telling me so. I wanted to speak to someone about it. Somehow -I felt I could tell you. It seems so real, and yet-- What do you make -of a fantastic idea like that?” There was almost a wistful note in his -voice. - -Elizabeth’s eyes were shining. Perhaps there was the faintest hint of -tears in them. - -“I don’t think it is fantastic,” she said quietly. “I--I know it isn’t.” - -“You know it is real?” asked David wonderingly. - -“I know it is real,” she said. “There are others who could tell you -probably a great deal better than I can; yet you’ve asked me, so I will -do my best. The story of King Arthur and his knights seeking the Holy -Grail, is a beautiful story, a wonderful story. It was a marvellous -quest. It was the quest far the holiest purely material thing that -ever existed. And yet there is Something more wonderful even than it, -Something always present upon the earth which may be found by all who -seek It. I think you have been given a glimpse of that Quest.” - -David looked at her silently. - -Elizabeth drew in her breath. - -“Christ in the Blessed Sacrament,” she said. - -A silence fell on the words. Elizabeth’s heart was beating quickly. -David was looking at the water. - -“When the bell rang,” went on Elizabeth, speaking simply, almost as -she would have spoken to a child, “it meant that Christ had come to -the altar within the chapel. He was lying there as helpless as when -He was nailed to the Cross. It needs, perhaps, as great faith to see -Him there, under His white disguise, as it did to see God in the -Man nailed to the tree of shame. Yet the one stupendous marvel is as -true as the other. Up there, in the wood, you recognized the miracle, -without realizing what it was that you recognized.” - -Once again fell silence. The wonder had been spoken, the miracle, which -day by day, at countless altars, is silently performed, before which -the very angels themselves stand watching in reverent awe. - -It was a long time before David spoke again. At last he said: - -“Yet what bearing has--has _that_ on the other question,--the question -of my accepting this inheritance? Why do I imagine that my acceptance -might, in a measure, hinder this quest? There are, by the way, quite -a dozen ordinary reasons which have cropped up to make me dislike -the thought of accepting. I’ll grant that they are, no doubt, stupid -reasons, which most people would consider barely worth consideration, -but there they are. By themselves I might face them fairly, weigh them, -and come to a decision; but added to them, all the time, has been this -other thought. Now the point is,” went on David, leaning forward, and -speaking with frowning deliberation, in the effort to make his meaning -clear, “which is really influencing me? Am I making this queer thought -the pretext for wanting to be rid of the whole business, when it’s -really that I shirk the thought of the restrictions this new mode of -life must bring? Or is the thought of these restrictions merely a side -issue, which should be ignored while I figure out the other question? -And, from every reasonable standpoint, it hasn’t the smallest bearing -on the case. It seems absurd to suppose that it has. Then there’s -the third idea that I mentioned, the idea that the whole thing is a -mistake, and that I haven’t any right to the place at all. But that can -really be ruled out; there’s so much proof to the contrary. It’s odd -to me to analyse like this; and yet, for the life of me, I can’t help -doing it.” - -Elizabeth listened, turned the matter in her mind, and spoke. - -“Let’s get hold of the business from a purely reasonable and sensible -standpoint first,” quoth she. “You’ve made a bid for this inheritance -which you believed to be yours. It is proved, from a legal point of -view, that it is yours. Now tell me what you think of it,--from the -merely sensible standpoint, remember.” - -“There isn’t one,” laughed David. “At least, I don’t believe any one -would dream of calling it sensible. But we’ll call it the material -standpoint. The fact is that I’m not in the least dead sure that I want -the thing now. It would mean a mode of life entirely foreign to me. I -should feel cramped and caged.” - -“Well?” smiled Elizabeth triumphantly. - -His statement so entirely coincided with her own and Mrs. Trimwell’s -views. Also Mrs. Trimwell’s exceeding simple solution of the problem -was before her mind. - -“Well,” echoed David, “naturally the simple solution of the difficulty -would be to chuck the whole thing.” - -“Exactly,” nodded Elizabeth, delightedly, encouragingly. - -“But,” continued David, “there’s another side to the matter. Supposing -I marry-- I don’t feel drawn to marriage I own,--but supposing I do, -supposing I have a son, won’t he possibly turn on me? Won’t he ask -what earthly right I had to renounce what wasn’t mine alone, but which -belonged to him as well? Won’t he ask why on earth I raked up the -whole business if I was going to funk it in the end? Won’t he say, ‘You -made a fight for a thing which was yours and mine. You got it. If it -had been yours alone you would have had every right to chuck it up. But -it wasn’t. You had no right to throw away what belonged to me.’” - -Elizabeth was dumb. Truly had this aspect of affairs not dawned upon -her. For a minute, for two minutes, she was faced with a new problem. -Then suddenly, eagerly, she sprang at its solution. - -“Legally,” she announced, “in strict justice, the inheritance may be -yours. In equity I don’t believe it is at all.” - -“What do you mean?” asked David. - -“The whole thing,” said Elizabeth firmly, “turned on that missing -document. Those old letters--my brother has told me about them--proved -that there had been such a document. From the legal point of view those -letters were worthless, but only from the legal point of view. Taking -them into consideration, you could renounce the property at once with a -clear conscience. Indeed,” pursued Elizabeth judicially, “if you want -to act from the merely conscientious point of view, disregarding the -strict legality of the matter, it would be, to my mind, the only thing -to do.” - -David gazed at her. - -“I never thought of those letters,” he said slowly. - -“Never thought of them!” cried Elizabeth. “Why they were the crux of -the whole business, the only standpoint the present owners had to work -from.” - -“Oh, I see that now you’ve said it,” replied David. “But, honest injun, -I’ve only just seen it clearly. Perhaps you will hardly believe me, but -it’s true. I left the details of the affair to the solicitors. I began -to get a bit sick of the job after I’d got hold of the clues. I gave -them all I’d collected, and told them to bring the matter through. I -knew of the letters, of course, but somehow never thought of the point -of view you’ve put forward. It seems incredible, but I didn’t.” - -“I can quite believe that,” said Elizabeth thoughtfully. - -Oh, she understood fast enough. She could understand the nature that -went hot-foot to the vital issue, disregarding side lights on it, not -from callousness, but merely because they sank into insignificance -before the one big thought. - -“Well?” demanded David. - -“Oh,” smiled Elizabeth, “are you asking me to be judge? Well, at all -events, you must be jury. If I sum up, you’ve got to weigh the case and -give the casting vote, remember.” - -She stopped, collecting her thoughts. - -“Well,” she said after a minute, “you’ll allow that now you are seeing -matters from a different standpoint. You could--at least you think you -could--say to this imaginary son of yours: ‘My dear boy, legally I had -the possession in my hands. Morally there was sufficient ground for -me to give it up if I chose.’ You see I am not driving home the moral -necessity of renouncement. I am leaving a choice.” - -“I see,” smiled David. - -“Well,” pursued Elizabeth, “given the freedom in that choice, we find -the matter a trifle less complicated. Let’s deal first with the purely -sensible side. Could you get used to the restrictions you fancy the -possession would entail? Is the possession worth it?” - -“In a measure it is,” said David, answering the last question first. -“It isn’t the title, or the place for the grandeur of the thing. It’s -the linking up with the past. _That_ holds me,--the oldness of it. I -suppose, too, I _could_ get used to the restrictions in time.” - -“Well,” said Elizabeth slowly, “now we come to the more subtle aspect -of affairs. You’ve an idea that the possession may hinder you in your -quest. You must grant the quest real. I _know_ it is. Now, I can’t see -the smallest reason why it should prevent you actually finding what you -seek. It couldn’t. But I fancy,” went on Elizabeth thoughtfully, “that -there may be two reasons for that idea of yours. The first, and most -obvious, seems that there is probably a bigger moral obligation to give -up the possession than appears on the surface of things, in fact that -the possession _isn’t_ yours, and that this queer idea is a sort of -inner voice telling you so. The other reason--well, that’s only an idea -of mine. You can leave it at the first reason.” - -“Why don’t you tell me the second reason?” demanded David. - -“Because it isn’t a reason,” said Elizabeth. “At least it isn’t -properly one. It’s an idea. And--well, anyhow I couldn’t exactly -explain it to you.” - -“All right,” laughed David. “Well then, it comes to this,--legally -the thing is mine. Morally even, I’m not _bound_ to give it up--we’ve -allowed that, remember,--but weighing against it is a quite absurd -feeling that I’d better give it up. I’m putting aside mere material -inclinations. That sums up the case, doesn’t it?” - -“It does,” said Elizabeth. - -David knocked the ashes from his pipe. - -“What would you do?” he asked. - -“No,” protested Elizabeth, “that isn’t fair. You’re trying to shift the -rôles. Your summing up is merely a repetition of mine. I refuse to act -as jury, and pronounce the verdict.” - -“The jury always talk the matter over,” said David aggrievedly. -“There’s never a jury of one man.” - -Elizabeth sighed. - -“Oh, well,” she said resignedly. - -“Doesn’t it seem an absurd thing to do--to give it up?” queried David. - -“Y-yes,” she hesitated. - -“Wouldn’t any one say I was pretty mad to do it?” he demanded. - -“The world would,” said Elizabeth loftily. - -“Well, we live in it,” announced David calmly. “Doesn’t the reason for -giving it up appear far-fetched?” - -“To those who don’t understand,” allowed Elizabeth. She was feeling -rather disappointed at his arguments. - -“Then the common-sense point of view would be to hang on to it?” argued -David. - -“I suppose so,” agreed Elizabeth depressed. - -“I am glad you agree with me,” reflected David. - -“But I don’t,” protested Elizabeth. - -“Oh!” David raised amazed eyebrows. “You’ve agreed to everything I’ve -said.” - -“I know,” said Elizabeth. “I can’t help it. It’s true. It is -common-sense. And yet----” - -“Well?” queried David. - -“Oh,” sighed Elizabeth, “where’s the use of arguing the matter if you -feel like that about it.” - -“Only I don’t.” - -“What do you mean?” - -“I don’t _feel_ like that at all,” announced David calmly. “The points -of view I’ve put forward express the workings of my intellect, not my -feelings.” - -“Yes?” queried Elizabeth. - -“And on the whole I prefer my feelings.” - -“You mean----?” - -“That I’m going to give up the whole thing.” - -Elizabeth looked at him. - -He really was rather an amazing young man. - -And then the door in the house behind them opened. Elizabeth turned. - -“Why!” said she surprised. “It’s Father Maloney.” - -He came quickly across the grass. It was obvious that something was -amiss. - -“Forgive me for troubling you,” he began breathlessly. “I have come to -ask your help. Antony is lost.” - -“Antony!” exclaimed David and Elizabeth in one breath. - -Half a dozen words from Father Maloney sufficed as explanation; half a -dozen more from the two promised all possible aid. - -Father Maloney returned to the Castle. David and Elizabeth set off on -the search. - - - - -CHAPTER XLII - -A QUESTION OF IMPORTANCE - - -THAT which is frequently termed coincidence is, as everyone knows, -seldom an isolated event; it is the fact that two or more events, -neither of them, perhaps, of any precise and definite importance, occur -simultaneously, each event having some particular bearing on the other. -If the events should chance to be more than two, the coincidence is -termed extraordinary; and if they should chance to be several, and, -also, individually of some importance--well, then I pity the man who -narrates them to an unsympathetic audience. If he isn’t branded a -liar out and out, he will, at least, be thought to be possessed of an -imagination which is first cousin to one. If he isn’t despised, he will -be pitied,--pitied, too, with a patronizing commiseration which will -make his blood boil. Asseveration of the truth of his statement will -be worse than useless. It will merely call forth a smile, a kindly -condescending smile, which says plainer than spoken words: - -“Oh, yes, we know you _believe_ it to be true. But these things _don’t_ -happen.” - -And if, in the face of that exasperating smile he should venture on -protest, he will at once receive the gently amazed reply: - -“My dear fellow, I never said I doubted your word.” - -A reply which will leave him helpless, though fuming. - -Of course it is foolish to care. Truth is truth, and there’s the end -on’t. But he does care. He knows his statement has been marvellous, -incredulous; he knows, too, that he has probably been a fool to mention -it. But having done so, he wants belief. The man who will remark with -inner conviction, “Truth is stranger than fiction,” would be a godsend -to him at the moment. But the man who will say that of another’s -narrative is a _rara avis_. He reserves it as the Amen to his own. - -Yet, in spite of knowing all this, it is my lot to narrate certain -extraordinary coincidences in the forthcoming pages. Therefore I can -only trust that my audience will be a trifle less incredulous than the -majority of audiences. Perhaps if it weren’t for one of the events, -which certainly smacks of the miraculous, I might have more hope. - -However, to proceed. - -You have been given one event in the preceding chapter. - -The second concerns Antony. - -It was the nursemaid who did the mischief, since, in one sense, it must -certainly be termed mischief. It all arose from an ill-advised remark. -Possibly exasperation caused it. We’ll give her the benefit of the -doubt. It is true that Biddy being, at the moment, a victim to severe -toothache, extra work had been laid on Louisa’s shoulders. Had Biddy -been present, you may be very sure that the remark had not been made. - -Antony had taken the loss of his title calmly. This was hardly -surprising. After all, it made extraordinarily little difference. It -was seldom that he heard it, and then only from the lips of comparative -strangers. “The little master,” was infinitely more familiar to him, -and there was still no earthly reason for changing that mode of -address. The prospect of a new home was also taken philosophically; -there was, indeed, a certain amount of excitement about it. - -But one Friday morning--to be accurate, it was the very morning of the -somewhat momentous conversation recently referred to--further enquiry -entered his mind. - -“If I aren’t Sir Antony, what are I?” he demanded of a busy nursemaid. - -“Nobody particular,” replied Louisa, who, hunting for some mislaid -article, had no mind to give to problems. - -Antony demurred. - -“I must be somebody,” he argued. - -“Everybody is somebody,” retorted Louisa, “but it don’t mean they’re -anybody of importance.” - -Antony pricked up his ears. - -“What’s importance?” he demanded. - -“Bless the child!” cried Louisa, “why, you was important when you was -Sir Antony. Now you’re of no more account than a beggar boy.” - -Antony flushed. Resentment rose hot within his soul. - -“I aren’t a beggar boy,” he announced with dignity. - -“Precious like one,” muttered Louisa, rummaging in a drawer. - -Antony planted himself squarely in front of her. - -“Louisa, I aren’t a beggar boy. Say I aren’t a beggar boy.” - -Now at that precise moment Louisa ran a pin into her finger. It must be -confessed that it was a painful prick. - -“You are a beggar boy,” she retorted, her finger to her mouth. “Nothing -but a beggar boy.” The tone of the concluding words verged on the -malicious. Then she bounced out of the room to seek elsewhere for what -she had lost. - -Antony walked over to the window. - -His face was flushed, and his eyes were troubled; indeed there was a -suspicion of moisture about them. He felt a distinct uneasiness at the -statement. The only modicum of comfort lay in the fact that it had -certainly been prompted by ill-temper. Yet even that fact brought but -small assurance with it. Two or three experiences had shown him that -crossness occasionally urged truth to the fore, when kindness would -shield you from its unpleasantness. - -Memory, stirring uneasily, awoke. - -There was the time when Buffey died. Buffey was the Irish terrier. At -first he had been merely told that Buffey had gone away. Continual, and -perhaps over-persistent questioning, had elicited the fact of Buffey’s -demise. Biddy had been cross when she told him, and she was sorry -afterwards. But, still, it had been the truth. No subsequent regret -could alter that fact. Possibly this was the truth now. - -From possibility, the thing became a certainty. He remembered glances -at him, whispers--unnoticed at the time--of “poor little Antony”; -conversations checked at his approach. They came back to him now, not -fully, but vaguely, holding significance. Probably Granny couldn’t -prevent this any more than she could prevent Buffey dying. And she had -told him she couldn’t help that. - -He began to experience a strange terror. - -There is no dread as terrible as the dread a child suffers at the -hint of some unknown calamity. He feels it must strike, but does not -know at which moment, nor from which quarter the blow will fall. In -most childish sufferings there is always a certain consolation in the -knowledge of protection by some older person. But when there is reason -to suppose that these natural protectors are powerless to aid, terror -indeed presses hard. - -It pressed hard on Antony now. - -The room seemed too small to hold it. Blindly he turned from the -window, ran stumbling from the nursery, down the stairs, and out into -the garden. He ran past the flower beds, and the sun-dial, and the -close-clipped yew hedges, till he found himself in a small paddock. -There he sat down under the hedge and began to review the situation. - -A beggar boy! - -He had no precise understanding of what the words meant, nevertheless -he fancied they were closely akin to the description of Hans Anderson’s -little match girl, who warmed her blue fingers at the matches till she -died. The story was at once fascinating and terrifying. Aunt Rosamund -had read it to him only once. After the one reading she had suggested -the Little Tin Soldier, Thumbelina, or the Ugly Duckling. Nevertheless -the story had remained with him. - -Rags, cold, and burnt matches, and finally dying! His lips quivered, -and tears came into his eyes. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIII - -MOLLY ARRANGES AFFAIRS - - -“HULLO!” said a voice. - -Antony turned. - -Molly’s dark head appeared above the bushes behind him. - -“What are you crying for?” demanded Molly. - -“I aren’t crying,” said Antony. And we may hope that the Recording -Angel turned a deaf ear. - -“You--” began Molly. But, after all, she was tactful. “I ’spect it’s -just the sun in your eyes,” she remarked airily. - -“It’s--it’s very sunny,” said Antony blinking. - -Molly continued to look at him over the hedge. He looked at Molly. - -And then Antony took a resolve. Perhaps instinct told him that a burden -shared is a burden half-lightened. - -“I’m a beggar boy,” he announced succinctly. - -“A beggar boy!” shrilled Molly. She was frankly amazed. - -Antony nodded. He was experiencing a kind of gloomy joy at her -astonishment. - -Molly gazed at him. Then: - -“Indeed you’re not at all,” she snorted incredulously. - -“I am,” said Antony, gloomily cheerful. - -Molly cogitated, puzzled. Then her fertile imagination leaped to the -solution. Of course it was make-believe! - -“What fun,” cried she, on a top note of pleasure. “But what are you -sitting there for if you are? Beggars go along the roads and beg.” - -Antony looked alarmed. - -“Oh, but perhaps I needn’t _begin_ just yet,” he protested. - -“Why not!” cried Molly. You may be sure that she saw herself assisting -in the rôle. “It’s a lovely day. Let’s start off at once.” - -Antony had qualms of conscience. It was forbidden to go beyond the -grounds. - -“P’raps Granny wouldn’t like it,” he demurred. “P’raps I’d better ask -her first. I think I haven’t got to be one this d’rectly minute, you -know.” - -Again Molly was frankly puzzled. - -Then, once more, her brow cleared. She saw in the matter, though -vaguely, some threat of possible punishment for misdemeanours. But -here, assuredly, was actual opportunity to hand. It was too good to be -let slip. - -“Indeed, never mind,” she urged. “If they’ll be making you into a -beggar any time, let’s just be beggars now, to show them we like it. We -do like it,” she concluded, loftily magnificent. - -“But,” argued Antony, “it won’t be nice to be a beggar.” - -“Nice!” echoed Molly ecstatic. “Nice! why ’twill be real beautiful, it -will. We’ll go in bare feet, and we’ll eat blackberries,--there’s a -few ripe already,--and we’ll get apples from the orchards. Sure, it’s -flint-hearted they’d be,” cried she on a note pathetic, “if they’d -begrudge the bite of an apple to two hungry children. And we’ll be -sleeping under a haystack, and we’ll paddle in the river, and--oh, -we’ll have fine times, we will that.” - -The river won the day. - -Have you, I wonder, the faintest conception of its allurement? Can -you see the water, clear as amber, rippling past mossy stones, feel -its delicious freshness against bare feet, hear the gurgling music -of its voice? Can you see the dragon-flies skimming its surface, -the ragged-robin massed on its banks, the rushes standing proud and -spearlike at its edge? - -Anyhow Antony could. - -He saw it all at a glance,--an irresistible, alluring prospect. He got -up from the ground. After all, he would not be alone. - -“Come down to the gate,” said Molly, her eyes gleaming. And then she -slithered back into the field. - -Going across the field two minutes later, she spoke. - -“After we’ve paddled, we’ll walk to Stoneway, and beg along the road.” - -“All right,” said Antony, but without much enthusiasm. - -Anyhow there was the river first. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIV - -AN ODD SENSATION - - -IT is, of course, impossible for a small boy to disappear from the face -of the earth without a good deal of uneasiness being felt regarding his -disappearance. - -By midday the uneasiness had approached to something like alarm. The -gardens, the paddocks, the park, had been searched unavailingly; -inquiry had been made of every villager. No clue was forthcoming; no -possible reason for the disappearance. - -A conscience-stricken Louisa kept a discreet silence on the -matter. There was, to her mind, no occasion to incriminate herself -unnecessarily. The cause could afford no solution of the effect; or, at -any rate she told herself it could not, which, after all, came to the -same thing as far as her silence was concerned. - -A distraught Rosamund finally made swift way to the White Cottage, -there to seek aid from John. - -Father Maloney went off to the Green Man to find David. He saw the -scouting propensities he conceived men of his type to possess, standing -them in good stead at the moment. Having enlisted his services, and -likewise those of Elizabeth, as already seen, he set off once again for -the Castle. - -The day was as hot as the previous days had been. The earth lay panting -and breathless. There was something almost ominous about the brazen -blueness of the sky, the extraordinary stillness that hung over the -earth. - -Father Maloney, breasting the hill, wondered vaguely whether the -world would ever again breathe in comfort. Personally he considered -asphyxiation a not remote possibility. - -And then, all at once, he became aware of a subtle change in the -atmosphere. It wasn’t that the sky was less blue, or the air less -heavy, or the sun less brilliant. And, having said what it was not, -I find myself at a loss to say what it was. It lay more in a curious -foreboding, a certain indefinable prescience of change. - -“I believe,” said Father Maloney, addressing himself to the sky, “that -we are going to have a storm.” - - - - -CHAPTER XLV - -THE OAK FALLS - - -AN hour later he was certain of the fact. - -Sitting in the hall with Lady Mary he saw the clouds covering the sky. -Black, ominous, they rolled swiftly up, blown, it would appear, before -a strong wind. Down below the air was breathless. There was a curious -feeling of suspense in the atmosphere. - -“There’s going to be a heavy storm,” said Lady Mary, following the -direction of his eyes. - -“Well, I’m thinking there’ll be a--” he began. And then he stopped. A -heavy rumble had broken the stillness. - -“It’s coming,” said Lady Mary. And she got up, crossing to the window. - -“Glory be to God!” muttered Father Maloney watching her. - -Once more came the growl, like the low roar of some angry beast. There -was a pause. And then in one sudden flash the gloom of the hall was -turned to a blinding white light, a light appalling, terrible. It was -followed by a thunderous crash, a crash that shook the whole place, -echoing and reverberating in the distance. - -Lady Mary turned a white face from the window. - -Then came a sound of steps in the gallery overhead, the steps descended -the stairs. Biddy appeared, white and shaking. - -“My Lady,” she stammered, “’tis the great oak is struck. I saw it fall -from the nursery window. And the child--” She broke off. Her face was -working. - -“Tut, tut, tut,” said Father Maloney. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVI - -TOLD IN THE STORM - - -“THE storm,” said John, “will be upon us in a moment.” - -Rosamund had found him by the gate of the White Cottage. Half a dozen -words had put the happening before him. Two minutes had sufficed to -inform Mrs. Trimwell that his return might be delayed. Three minutes -saw him again beside Rosamund. - -With no earthly clue to guide them, with north, south, east, west, to -choose from, it was, so it seemed, a pure toss-up which route they -should pursue. - -After a moment’s consultation they set out for the willows and the -river, deciding to take their way down stream. It was no less unlikely -than any other road, though it certainly cannot be termed more likely. - -Conversation, you may well believe, was non-existent; eyes and ears -alert, they pursued their way. Hope at first held some sway in their -hearts, but an hour’s fruitless walking brought it to a low ebb. - -“I think we had better turn back,” said Rosamund. “He would never have -come further than this.” - -It was then that John made the aforementioned remark. - -“The storm will be upon us in a moment.” - -As he spoke came the first low growl of thunder; a moment later a -louder, deeper growl. A gust of wind swept the river, bending the -rushes, breaking the still surface of the water into a thousand moving -fragments. Then two or three big raindrops fell. - -John glanced round quickly. Some three hundred yards lower down -the river was a rough shed, a thing built of logs, and roofed with -corrugated iron. Possibly it was used as a shelter for the men who cut -the willows, which abounded in the sedgey meadows. - -“Quick,” he cried indicating it. And they set off at a run. - -They weren’t a moment too soon. They had barely reached it, when the -sky, seen through the opening of the shed, became a sea of white light, -through which tore a blinding zig-zag, a veritable river of fire; a -reverberating crash broke above them. And then the rain came down. It -fell like bullets on the iron roof of the shed, deafening, terrifying. -The wind tore with insensate fury at the wooden walls, rushed through -the opening in a swirl of madness, lashing the rain before it. - -“Oh, Tony!” cried Rosamund. And she hid her face in her hands. - -John saw the gesture, though the words were lost in the deafening noise -around them. - -Wisdom, prudence, waiting, fled out into the storm, escaped on the -wings of the gale. - -He caught her hands in his. - -What he said was as lost as her own cry. But, after all, perhaps there -was no need to hear the words. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVII - -AFTER THE RAIN - - -“IT really was a providential storm,” said John. - -The clouds had broken; the rain, though still falling, was descending -in a silver shower, sparkling in sunlight. The wind had sunk to a cool -fresh breeze. - -“Providential!” Rosamund raised amazed eyebrows. - -“Providential,” echoed John firmly. “You are thinking of Antony, who is -by this time, I trust, safely returned to the bosom of his family, or -at all events in some shelter as friendly as ours. I am thinking of the -courage the storm brought in its wake.” - -“Oh?” she queried. - -“You mustn’t,” said John pathetically, “pretend that you don’t -understand me. Explanations would be painful. I should stand confessed -as a coward of the deepest dye.” - -“Nonsense,” she smiled. And then she looked towards the opening of the -shed. “Come,” she laughed; “the rain has nearly stopped.” - -They came out into the open. - -“The country,” said John, “has had its face washed, and is thankful.” -Then he pointed to the northeast. “Look,” he said, “our benediction!” - -A double-arched rainbow stretched across the sky, brilliant, luminous, -backgrounded by the retreating clouds. They paused, to look. Scientists -may find excellent explanations of this wonder; but to some, at least, -it will ever stand for what it has stood through age-old centuries--the -symbol of hope. - -John might have remained gazing indefinitely, or, at all events, -until the brilliant arc had faded had not Rosamund brought him to a -remembrance of things present. - -“Come,” she said. “Antony.” - -John turned. - -“The rogue!” he laughed. “But, all the same, I am enormously in his -debt.” - -They made their way back along the river bank. Eyes were still alert, -ears open to any sound. But there was no longer the same anxiety, -the same foreboding. Doubtless the storm had been, in a measure, -responsible for both. Physical conditions have a way of intermingling -themselves so closely with mental conceptions, that you are really at a -loss to separate the two. Indeed, you don’t attempt to separate them; -you don’t perceive the physical conditions as existent, you perceive -only the mental conceptions. Hence arises depression, that slate-grey -state of the soul, in which the mind puts on black spectacles, and -through them views the world in general, and its friends in particular. - -Now, with the fresh breeze fanning their faces, with the world around -them emerald green, silver, blue, and gold, with, above all, declared -love singing joyously in their hearts, the two viewed the prospect -through the most rose-coloured spectacles imaginable. Tragedy, even the -remotest hint of tragedy, seemed unthinkable, impossible. - -Doubtless you, also, will be of their way of thinking. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVIII - -IN SEARCH - - -STRICTLY speaking the discovery of the truant was due to Mrs. Trimwell. -David and Elizabeth were merely her agents in the matter. - -It came about in this way. - -They had set off hot-foot on the search. Passing the White Cottage, -they had seen Mrs. Trimwell at the garden gate. She greeted their -approach with eagerness. It was obvious that she had certain -information to impart, information which she considered of the first -importance. Therefore, with politely restrained impatience, they paused -to hear it. - -“Them two,” she announced, with a faint trace of injury in her voice, -and meaning John and Rosamund, “was gone before I could as much as -get a word in edgeways, else I’d have given them a notion on the -matter. You mark my words there ain’t never no mischiefness nor -troublesomeness afoot but what Molly Biddulph ain’t at the bottom of -it. Find Molly and you’ll be finding the little master.” - -Elizabeth smiled patiently. - -“Exactly,” she remarked, “but, without wishing to be pessimistic, I -really cannot see that it will be in the smallest degree easier to find -Molly than to find Master Antony.” - -Mrs. Trimwell looked at her pityingly. - -“Bless you, ma’am, I wasn’t going to give you a notion what was that -jumbled there wasn’t no end to take hold of to unwind it by, so to -speak. It’s little use a notion of that sort would be. I see Molly -going by here about half-past seven or thereabouts, with a tin can, -a brown paper parcel, a willow stick with a bit of string to it, and -saying her prayers out of a morsel of a book.” - -“Yes?” queried Elizabeth; while David looked his doubts. For the life -of them they could see no connection between Molly passing the cottage -at that hour, and any possible clue to the matter on hand. - -Mrs. Trimwell smiled oracularly. She perceived their doubts well enough. - -“The little book,” quoth she “meant that Molly was off to Mass. I -ain’t known Molly from babyhood for nothing. The parcel meant as she -was taking her dinner with her, being off on the spree like for the -day. The tin and the willow stick means fishing in the river. Not that -she ever catches anything as I knows on.” - -“Oh!” said Elizabeth. She was beginning to see light. David laughed. - -“Like as not she’ll have happened on the little master,” announced -Mrs. Trimwell, “and took him along with her. Leastways I for one don’t -believe he’s ever gone off on his own account. You try the river, and -up the river, mind. I see Miss Rosamund and Mr. Mortimer going off down -the river. ’Tis too wide and open there for Molly. She’ll go for the -shallower parts up to Hurst Lea Woods, I’ll be bound.” - -Here at least was something to go on, some conceivable possibility. -Nay, to Elizabeth’s mind, and to David’s mind, it began to present -itself in the light of a probability. At all events for present -purposes it might be desirable to regard it as such. - -“You go to Hurst Lea Woods,” nodded Mrs. Trimwell emphatically once -more. - -“We will,” agreed David briefly. - -A moment later they were on their way. - -Taking their route first through the village, they presently turned -sharply to the right, past a smith’s forge, where a big cart horse -was being newly shod, and down a lane. Here, again to the right, they -came upon a stile set in a blackberry hedge. Surmounting it, they -found themselves in a meadow, while facing them, blue and hazy in the -distance lay Hurst Lea Woods. So far, at least, their course was clear. - -A quarter of an hour’s walking brought them to the river, and the woods -on its opposite bank. To the left lay the moorland which it skirted; -to the right lay meadows through which it flowed; and, some mile or -so distant, the high road between Malford and Whortley. Here the river -passed beneath a stone bridge, again seeking the meadows, through which -it made a great bend southwards. Bending again to the left along its -meadow route, it finally, with another southward bend, emptied itself -into the sea, at a small village some five miles to the east of Malford. - -Here, below the woods, it ran amber-coloured and shallow, brown -stones cropping up above its surface. Rushes and ferns bordered it; -ragged-robin grew in great pink patches in the meadows lying along its -southern bank. On its northern bank were the woods stretching upwards, -dark, shadowed, mysterious. - -Elizabeth and David came to a simultaneous halt, and looked around. - -“Apparently,” remarked Elizabeth, “they are not here.” - -The remark seemed somewhat over-obvious. - -David went across the short grass to the very margin of the river, and -looked right and left. - -“It would seem,” said he smiling, “that you are right.” - -All around lay the drowsy summer silence, broken only by the faint -humming of insects, and the ripple of water against the stones. - -“What,” demanded Elizabeth, “is the next move?” - -“Up stream,” said David promptly. - -“Why so certain?” asked Elizabeth. - -David looked at her with something of the smile one might give to an -inquiring child. - -“Will you,” he said, “look down stream, and then look up stream; and I -fancy you will perceive the answer yourself.” - -Elizabeth looked down stream. - -Here, as already mentioned, the river ran smoothly, bordered by the -flat meadow and the wood. Some hundred yards distant the wood gave -place to grass land, flat and open. Up stream the ground became uneven, -rough, covered with blackberry bushes and small trees. The river itself -was interspersed with little rocks, while sight of it extended not more -than fifty yards ahead. - -“You mean that up stream there are possible surprises,” suggested -Elizabeth. - -“Precisely,” said David. “No one, man, woman, or child, turns to the -obvious when there is the unknown to explore, possible adventure ahead.” - -Elizabeth laughed. - -“I bow to your judgment,” said she. - -They turned up stream. - -It was rough enough walking here. The river lay in a sort of gorge, the -wood on one side, the moorland on the other. A mere track ran along its -right bank, a narrow grass path. There was no sign of footprints. The -grass was short and springy, taking no definite impress on its surface. - -David was obviously the leader of the expedition. He had taken complete -control of it, not masterfully, you understand, but merely because it -belonged to him by right to do so. He was in his natural element. - -Elizabeth was conscious of totally new characteristics in him. All -trace of the child in false surroundings had vanished. The man element -had appeared in him, and had appeared strongly. There was a new -strength in him, a new decision. There was a curious air of confidence -about him, also a certain indefinable joyousness. It seemed an almost -incredible change, considering the brief space of time in which it had -been accomplished, nevertheless it was actual, real. - -For the most part they pursued their way in silence. The sky, as you -may well guess, was gradually growing darker. Clouds had already -blotted out the sun. - -Suddenly David gave a little exclamation. He bent to the ground, and -picked up something from beneath a blackberry bush. He turned it over, -then held it triumphantly towards Elizabeth. After all, it was only a -piece of brown paper. - -“But,” demurred Elizabeth, “is it _the_ piece?” - -David pointed to writing upon it. - -“Mr. Murphy Biddulph, Malford,” read Elizabeth aloud. And then she -laughed. - -David lifted up his voice and coo-ed, a long, far-reaching note. -Striking some distant rock, it was flung back to him in echo, but no -other cry came in response. - -“They’ve gone a pretty tramp,” said David. - -He looked around. A short distance ahead the wood levelled and thinned. -A gateway into it led to a wider path. A tree-trunk fallen across the -river, which here was nothing but a fair-sized stream, made approach to -the gate easy. David made for the tree-trunk. Giving Elizabeth a hand -across it, they went towards the gate. - -David looked at the ground, then pointed silently. A dark patch on the -earth, just under the gate, showed where water had been recently spilt. - -“Molly has upset some of the contents of her can in climbing the gate,” -laughed David. - -There was triumph in his eyes. There is a good deal of pleasure -to be found in successful scouting, let alone the importance, or -non-importance of its issue. - -They surmounted the gate and made off down the path. After some five -minutes or so walking, it led to a second gate, this one giving on to -a road. David opened it and they went through. Here, in the dust, were -small footprints, easily discernible as going leftwards. - -“Who would have dreamed of their coming this distance!” exclaimed -Elizabeth. - -“It seems to me,” quoth David succinctly, “that from all accounts it -is wiser to dream vividly and extensively where Miss Molly Biddulph is -concerned.” - -And they set off down the road. - -They hadn’t gone more than a hundred paces, when the first low mutter -of thunder broke upon their ears. There was a second rumble, louder, -more insistent. Then came the wind. It swept the dust along the road in -a cloud, thick and blinding, and a few drops of rain fell. - -The next instant the sky was transformed into a sea of fire, and a -crash like the crash of cannon-balls broke above them. Then the rain -came down. - -David caught hold of Elizabeth dragging her beneath a hedge. - -“Is it safe?” gasped Elizabeth. - -“It would strike the trees first,” said David, “and there are none on -this side of the road.” - -Elizabeth crouched down. The rain slashed upon the roadway, churning -the dust into a sea of mud. To right and left all vision was blotted -out in the downpour, even the hedge opposite was almost obliterated. - -“Are you getting very wet?” asked David solicitously. - -“Hardly at all,” said Elizabeth cheerfully. “This hedge seems specially -constructed to give shelter.” - -“Then,” said David, “I am off in search.” - -As he spoke there came the sound of pattering feet on the road, and the -next instant, abreast them, came two flying, drenched, little figures, -the girl with white scared face, the boy frankly sobbing aloud. - -David darted towards them. - -“Antony, Molly,” he cried. - -At the sound of his voice the two came to a halt. Joy, rapturous joy, -illumined their woe-begone faces. - -“Oh, it’s you, it’s you,” cried Antony. - -The next moment they were beneath the friendly shelter of the hedge; -while Molly, with a marvellously rapid transition from depression to -confidence, was taking a lively interest in the storm. - -“Isn’t it splendid!” she cried exultantly. “Isn’t the rain just hitting -the earth!” - -“It’s hit you pretty considerably, I fancy,” said David coolly. - -“Oh, I’ll be drying,” responded Molly calmly. “Is Master Antony wet?” - -“You can hardly imagine him to be dry,” remarked David. “If you stand -under a shower-bath you generally get a trifle damp. And this--I guess -fifty shower-baths would be nearer the reckoning than one.” - -“A million _I_ think,” said Molly, snuggling a wet hand through -Elizabeth’s arm. “_Isn’t_ it lovely!” - -“To speak candidly,” said Elizabeth, “I could admire it better in a -less cramped position, and if the rain were a little, just a trifle, -less--wet.” - -“Isn’t rain,” demanded Antony interested, “always wet?” - -He was beginning to take a cheerier outlook on life. - -“I believe it is,” remarked David reflectively, “but there are times -when it appears infinitely wetter than others. This is one of them. Are -you _very_ wet?” he asked Elizabeth. - -“On the contrary,” returned Elizabeth cheerfully, “owing to the -position I mentioned, I am quite dry. If I were to relax it, however, I -should doubtless become excessively wet.” - -“We are all like beggars now,” said Molly gleefully. - -David pricked up his ears. - -“Beggars?” he queried politely. - -Molly looked a trifle embarrassed. In a manner of speaking she had -given herself away. - -“Well, we are,” she replied airily, after a moment. “Sitting under -hedges and things, you know.” - -“It _isn’t_ very nice,” said Antony. - -“Nobody sensible could ever imagine it was,” remarked Elizabeth. She -fancied she saw a glimmer of light on the escapade. - -“Must it always be horrid?” asked Antony. There was an ominous quaver -in his voice. - -“Always,” said Elizabeth firmly. - -She had, you will realize, no intention of aiding a repetition of -today’s little drama. - -David was watching Antony’s face. - -“What’s the trouble?” he demanded. - -Antony choked. - -“Tell me,” urged David. - -Antony was silent. - -“Tell me,” coaxed David again. - -“I--I _are_ a beggar,” owned Antony. - -David laughed, a laugh at once incredulous and consoling. - -“Now who,” he demanded, “has been telling you that nonsense?” - -“Isn’t it true?” asked Antony. - -“Not a bit of it. Who on earth made you think it was?” - -“L-Louisa,” stammered Antony. - -David said something under his breath. - -“Tell us all about it,” he said consolingly. - -Then the whole story came forth, aided in the telling by a dexterous -question or two. - -“Idiot,” muttered David, arriving at the kernel of the matter. - -“I didn’t mean to be naughty,” said Antony quaveringly. - -“You weren’t naughty.” David’s voice was assuring. “It was Louisa who -didn’t understand. You aren’t a beggar boy; you never were a beggar -boy. You are,” David’s voice was firm, “exactly the same as you always -have been.” - -Elizabeth’s heart was singing a curiously joyful song, considering -what extraordinarily little difference the announcement made to her -individually. - -“Exactly,” said David again, “as you always have been.” - -“Deo gratias,” whispered Elizabeth below her breath. - -“And here,” said David, “comes the sun, to laugh at you for your fears, -and dry us all.” - -The clouds had broken. Through the rifts between them the sun poured -forth, sparkling on diamond-hung hedges and trees, turning the pools -in the roadway to little mirrors of fire. The rain became the thinnest -veil of silver, presently mere scattered drops. - -Elizabeth unbent herself, and stood upright. - -“I wonder,” she said smiling, “if my back will ever feel quite straight -again.” - -And then she pointed to the sky. - -“Look,” said she, “the rainbow!” - - - - -CHAPTER XLIX - -THE FALLEN OAK - - -FATHER MALONEY came down the steps of Delancey Castle. News of the -wanderers might by this time have reached the village. With a view to -making inquiries, he had taken his departure. - -The storm had passed; only leaves and twigs scattered on the lawn, -battered rose bushes, marigolds beaten to the earth, showed what its -fury had been. - -He turned into the park. As he came abreast the great oak, he paused. -Split from apex to base it lay upon the ground, its branches strewn for -yards around,--the oldest tree in the park, the king of centuries, a -devastated wreck. - -A lump rose in Father Maloney’s throat. He was not given to -superstitions, but I fancy he saw an omen in the fallen monarch. -Considering the happenings of the last few weeks, it was hardly -surprising. - -He crossed the grass, picking his way among the fallen branches, till -he came to the very base of the tree itself,--a jagged, deplorable -stump, a pitiable remnant. - -“Sic transit gloria mundi,” he said sorrowfully. And then he stopped. - -“Glory be to God!” he ejaculated, and stood staring at the débris -before him. - -It was some seconds before his brain began to take in the possible -significance of what he saw, and even when the significance dawned on -him, it is certain that he did not grasp its probable magnitude. - -“Glory be to God!” he ejaculated again, and bent towards the ground. - -Two minutes later he was trotting, with vastly more haste than dignity, -once more in the direction of the Castle, a small iron box tightly -tucked under his arm. - - - - -CHAPTER L - -A MIRACLE - - -“’TIS a miracle! ’Tis nothing but a miracle!” cried Father Maloney, for -perhaps the fiftieth time. - -He stared at the yellow parchment upon the table in front of him. It -was real, it was tangible. He could touch it, finger it, even read the -crabbed writing upon it; and yet, for the life of him, he could hardly -bring his brain to believe that he was not dreaming. - -“To think,” he ejaculated, “that it has lain there under our very -noses, so to speak, and us wondering and worrying all these weeks. -Well, well!” - -Lady Mary looked silently at the yellow parchment. Words, so far, had -failed her. The bigness of the thing, gripping her, had held her silent. - -“’Tis plain enough what the old Sir Antony was up to, when Henry came -upon him, the scoundrel,” said Father Maloney. “And the secret kept all -these years! ’Tis a miracle has brought it to light now.” - -Lady Mary raised her head. - -“And perhaps too late,” she said quietly, voicing the fear at her -heart; a fear which, with the last hour, had been waxing stronger. - -“Too late!” cried Father Maloney cheerily, “not a bit of it. If it’s -two miracles is needed, God will be working them; though I’m thinking -there’ll be no miracle in bringing the boy home. He’s hiding safe -enough somewhere, and will be found before sun-down, I’ll be bound.” - -“Perhaps,” said Lady Mary very low, and unheeding his words, “I didn’t -give up everything whole-heartedly. Perhaps I still held to it in my -mind. If I did, it was for him, and not for myself. And now he is gone.” - -“Rubbish,” said Father Maloney. - -“Is it?” asked Lady Mary. - -Father Maloney put his hands upon the table and looked across at her. - -“Weren’t you doing your best to accept God’s will in the matter?” he -demanded. - -Lady Mary smiled faintly. - -“I believe so,” she said. - -“Then if you did your best, you may be sure God took it as such, and -wasn’t holding you to account for any little weakness which was but -part and parcel of human nature. I’m thinking He knows the human side -of us well enough, and doesn’t look at it too closely when we’re trying -to do His will. He’ll not have been taking a trifle of fretting into -consideration, when your heart was set the right way. You needn’t be -thinking He was waiting to pounce down and punish you because you -didn’t throw the Castle over to that young fella with devil a bit may -care in your heart. Sure, it’s giving Him the things the human side -of us is fretting after that counts. Don’t you go fearing God likes -punishing people. Where’s your faith at all?” - -“But supposing--” began Lady Mary. - -“I’m not supposing at all,” broke in Father Maloney. “The child’s safe -enough. And if he isn’t--though surely ’tis in my heart he is--’tis no -punishment to you. Glory be to God! Who do you think loves him best, -our Blessed Lord, or you? I tell you he’s as safe in His keeping, -storm or no storm, as if he was in his bed this very minute with you -on one side of him, and Biddy on the other. ’Tis all for talking about -the Love of Christ we are, and when it comes to the test, it’s precious -little believing we show. And I’m as bad as any of ye.” - -“Then you are anxious,” said Lady Mary quietly. - -Father Maloney blew his nose. - -“Anxious! of course I’m anxious,” he said half-testily. “Who wouldn’t -be anxious with a bit of a boy out in the weather we’ve had. ’Tis -against all sense I shouldn’t be anxious. But he’ll come home right -enough,” he ended obstinately. - -And then suddenly the cloak of quiet dignity, the gentle control, fell -from Lady Mary. - -“Oh, Father,” she cried, “go on saying that. Say it again and again. -I don’t mind how often you say it. Somehow,” her lips were trembling -piteously, “it makes it seem true.” - -For the moment she was nothing but a frightened old woman, fear -gripping her close. - -“There, there,” said Father Maloney soothingly speaking as he would -speak to a child, “aren’t I understanding every bit of what you’re -feeling. But remember you’ve got Michael, whatever happens. And -whatever happens is the very best thing possible; though, for that -matter, as I’ve told ye--” He broke off, listening. - -And then, through the open window, came the sound of voices, Rosamund’s -plainly distinguishable, and a child laughing. - -“Glory be to God!” cried Father Maloney, the laugh finding triumphant -echo in his voice. “What did I tell you, at all!” - - - - -CHAPTER LI - -AND SO THE STORY ENDS - - -“AND that,” said David, concluding a little speech, “is all.” - -A curious silence fell upon the room. Rosamund and John looked at each -other; Lady Mary had her hands folded over an old piece of parchment; -Elizabeth was watching her; Father Maloney looked at David. - -“You mean,” said Father Maloney, breaking the silence, “that you wish -to give up your claim to the whole thing?” - -“That’s so,” said David pleasantly. - -“And what,” demanded Father Maloney, “has brought you to this -conclusion?” - -“Simply,” said David smiling, “that I have seen that fishes live best -in water, as birds live best on land. This,” he waved his hand around -the hall, “isn’t my element.” - -Lady Mary rose quietly from her chair, and thrust something into a -drawer of her desk. Then she turned to David. - -“Is that your sole reason?” she asked. - -David coloured. - -“For practical purposes,” he replied. - -Lady Mary looked straight at him. - -“In my grandson’s name,” she said, a little smile trembling on her -lips, “I accept your generous offer in the spirit in which you make it.” - -Father Maloney stared. - -“Glory be to God!” he ejaculated inwardly, “she doesn’t mean to tell -him. She’s a wonderful woman, is Lady Mary. A wonderful woman!” - -And then suddenly a bell rang out, pulled by the stalwart arm of the -under gardener. - -Father Maloney started. - -“Bless my soul,” he cried, “’tis time for Benediction.” - -And he bolted towards the dining-hall, which, as I told you long ago -led to the chapel. - -Lady Mary looked at the little group. - -“We’re all coming,” said Elizabeth with fine assurance. - -And then Lady Mary led the way. - -Said John in a low voice to Rosamund: - -“I have at least three thanksgivings to make.” - -“I think,” she replied, looking at him, “that so have I.” - -Said David in a low voice to Elizabeth: - -“What are you thinking about?” - -“I am thinking,” quoth she smiling, “that there is a folly which is -very very wise.” - -And then they all went in to Benediction. - - - - -_A Selection from the Catalogue of_ - -G. P. 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- padding-right: 2em; - padding-top: 1.25em; - padding-bottom: 1.25em; - page-break-before: always; - border: 1px black solid;} - -.x-ebookmaker-drop .hide {display: none; visibility: hidden;} - -.x-ebookmaker .hide {display: none; visibility: hidden;} - -.x-ebookmaker .figcenter {width:100%} - -.x-ebookmaker .transnote {margin-left: 2%; margin-right: 2%;} - -.x-ebookmaker .pagenum {display: none; visibility: hidden;} - -.x-ebookmaker .pagenum2 {display: none; visibility: hidden;} - -.x-ebookmaker .adblock {margin-left: 2%; margin-right: 2%;} - -/* Poetry indents */ -.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em;} -.poetry .indent2 {text-indent: -2em;} -.poetry .indent6 {text-indent: 0em;} - - </style> - </head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The wiser folly, by Leslie Moore</p> -<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: The wiser folly</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Leslie Moore</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: November 7, 2022 [eBook #69310]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: D A Alexander and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (Scans were provided by yhe New York Public Library's Digital Collections)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WISER FOLLY ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter hide" style="width: 35%"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Cover" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center no-indent"><i>By Leslie Moore</i></p></div> - -<hr class="tiny" /> - -<p class="center no-indent">The Peacock Feather<br /> -The Jester<br /> -The Wiser Folly</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> -<a id="i_frontispiece"><img src="images/i_frontispiece.jpg" width="350" alt="“FOR ALL HIS OUTWARD CALM, FOR ALL HIS LEVEL, EASY, CARELESS -VOICE, HIS HEART WAS IN A TUMULT.”" -title="" /></a></div></div> - -<p class="caption">“FOR ALL HIS OUTWARD CALM, FOR ALL HIS LEVEL, EASY, CARELESS<br /> -VOICE, HIS HEART WAS IN A TUMULT.”<br /> -Drawn by D. C. Hutchison (<i>See page </i><a href="#Page_179">179</a>.)</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h1>THE WISER FOLLY</h1></div> - -<p class="center no-indent">BY</p> - -<p class="ph2 nobreak">LESLIE MOORE</p> - -<p class="center no-indent p6b">AUTHOR OF “THE PEACOCK FEATHER,” ETC.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50px;"> -<img src="images/i_title.jpg" width="50" alt="Publishers Logo" -title="" /></div> - -<p class="center no-indent p6">G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS<br /> -NEW YORK AND LONDON<br /> -The Knickerbocker Press<br /> -1916</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center no-indent"><span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1916</p> -</div> - -<p class="center no-indent">BY<br /> -LESLIE MOORE</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">The Knickerbocker Press, New York</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="3" summary="CONTENTS"> - -<tr><td class="tdc" colspan="3">CONTENTS</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdc" colspan="2"> </td> -<td class="tdc"><span class="smaller2">PAGE</span></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Prologue</span></td> -<td class="tdc"> </td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdl"><span class="smaller2">CHAPTER</span></td> -<td class="tdc" colspan="2"> </td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">I.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Concerning the Village of<br /> -Malford</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">II.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Rumour</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">III.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Meeting</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">IV.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Black and White Goat</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">V.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Mural Paintings</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">VI.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Mrs. Trimwell</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">VII.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Flights of Fancy</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">VIII.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">An Old Priest</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">IX.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">An Old-Time Tragedy</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">X.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Corin Theorizes</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_85">85</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XI.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">In an Old Church</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_92">92</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XII.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Wickedness of Molly<br /> -Biddulph</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XIII.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">At Delancey Castle</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XIV.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Point of View</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XV.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">John Plays the Samaritan</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_128">128</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XVI.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Corin Discourses on Karma</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_138">138</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XVII.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Rare Absurdity</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_143">143</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XVIII.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">In Father Maloney’s Garden</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_145">145</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XIX.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Bewitching</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_152">152</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XX.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Vital Question</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XXI.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Request</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XXII.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Wonderful Woman</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_162">162</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XXIII.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Cache</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XXIV.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">David Dines at the Castl</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XXV.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">John Makes a Discovery</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_187">187</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XXVI.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Funny World</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_192">192</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XXVII.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Old Oak</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_199">199</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XXVIII.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">On the Terrace</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_207">207</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XIXV.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">An Unexpected Letter</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_216">216</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XXX.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Elizabeth Arrives on the<br /> -Scene</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_222">222</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XXXI.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">In the Early Morning</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_226">226</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XXXII.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Note of a Bell</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_233">233</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XXXIII.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Green Ma</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_235">235</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XXXIV.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Elizabeth Gives Advice</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_246">246</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XXXV.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Burden of Conventionality</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_255">255</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XXXVI.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Conspirators</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_261">261</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XXXVII.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Corin Takes a Walk</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_269">269</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XXXVIII.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Concerning an Argument</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_277">277</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XXXIX.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Dumb Dog—</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_288">288</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XL.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Speaks—</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_290">290</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XLI.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">At Some Length</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_291">291</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XLII.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Question of Importance</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_309">309</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XLIII.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Molly Arranges Affairs</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_316">316</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XLIV.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">An Odd Sensation</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_320">320</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XLV.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Oak Falls</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_323">323</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XLVI.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Told in the Storm</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_325">325</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XLVII.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">After the Rain</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_328">328</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XLVIII.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">In Search</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_331">331</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">XLIX.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Fallen Oak</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_345">345</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">L.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Miracle</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_347">347</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdtr">LI.—</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">And so the Story Ends</span></td> -<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_352">352</a></td></tr> -</table></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p> - -<p class="ph1">The Wiser Folly</p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="PROLOGUE">PROLOGUE</h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">When</span> the Delancey affair had been brought -to a conclusion, it was not uninteresting to note -the various opinions set forth regarding its happy -termination.</p> - -<p>Biddy, at once autocrat and indulger of at -least three generations of juvenile Delanceys, -maintained, and stoutly, it was entirely due to -her own prayers to her patron saint. She took, -so to speak, a monopoly of the business as far as -any human agency was concerned. But, as one -cannot, with any degree of modesty, parade one’s -private devotions to the world at large, it was -hardly probable that this view of the matter would -be universal.</p> - -<p>The village in general, with the exception of -Mrs. Trimwell, laid the whole credit at the feet of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</span>Lady Mary Delancey. Doubtless this was on -account of the wave of relief which had surged -over it, and which exalted her ladyship, for the -time being at least, to a pinnacle of almost giddy -height.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Trimwell had her own private views on the -matter. What they were, will, no doubt, be -realized later.</p> - -<p>Corin Elmore believed the whole thing due to -karma, though it is true that this particular -arrangement of karma puzzled him not a little.</p> - -<p>John Mortimer, while maintaining on the whole -a strictly neutral attitude, allowed his opinion -of the credit due to sway slightly, if it swayed at -all, in the direction of his sister Elizabeth. And -in so doing, he swayed nearer the mark, if you will -believe me, than the majority of folk with opinions -on the subject.</p> - -<p>Father Maloney was heard to announce that -“surely to goodness the fella himself might be -allowed a taste of the credit.” The “fella” was -David Delancey. But more of him anon. Father -Maloney made the announcement with a twinkle -in his eye, and a slight exchange of glances with -Lady Mary. That exchange of glances puzzled -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span>more than one of those who had happened to -surprise it. Its meaning, however, was never -fathomed. There was no question but that -Lady Mary and the priest were past masters in -keeping their own counsel when they chose. -He would be a bold man who put any question -savouring of impertinence to Lady Mary. For -my part, I had sooner face a whole battery of -artillery than have Lady Mary’s tortoiseshell-rimmed -lorgnettes turned slowly upon me, her -grey eyes glinting through them with steely -courtesy. The courtesy was never absent, you may -be sure, but then neither—on occasions—was -the steeliness. Nor would it be well, if you wished -to retain the smallest atom of self-respect, to -question Father Maloney unduly. That soft -tongue and speech of his could shrivel your complacency -to the likeness of a withered leaf when -you deserved it. And you may be very sure -that, when they did shrivel it, you were left in -no manner of doubt as to your deserts in the -matter.</p> - -<p>Lady Mary herself never ventured the smallest -hint of an opinion as to whom the credit was due. -In fact from first to last she kept a dignified -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span>silence on the whole affair, save when sheer -necessity demanded speech from her. Her silence -and dignity alone prevented it from sinking to -melodrama, and truth obliges me to confess that -it had more than once a distinctly suspicious -flavour of that obnoxious quality.</p> - -<p>But this is beginning at the wrong end of the -skein, a proceeding which will indubitably result -in a most fearsome tangle. Therefore, with your -permission, I will break off and start anew.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I<br /> -<span class="smaller">CONCERNING THE VILLAGE OF MALFORD</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent">“<span class="smcap">Your</span> idea,” said John meditatively, “as -far as I can elucidate it from your somewhat -wordy discourse, is that I should accompany -you to this exceedingly out-of-the-way, this on -your own showing entirely remote, secluded, and -sequestered spot, for the sole purpose of affording -you amusement in your so to speak out of work -hours.”</p> - -<p>“That,” returned Corin admiringly, “is the -idea <i>in toto</i>. It is marvellous with what ease -and skill you have grasped and summed up -the entire situation.”</p> - -<p>John sighed.</p> - -<p>“And might one be allowed to question what -are the advantages to be gained from such a -sojourn? What manner of recreation can the -place afford? In a word, where do I come in?”</p> - -<p>“Advantages!” Corin raised his eyes to the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span>cobwebby rafters. “Heavens above! Isn’t my -companionship an advantage? And for recreation -what more can you desire than the contemplation -of country lanes and wide moorland this -glorious summer weather? Think of it, man! -The earth ablaze with purple heather, the sea -blue and golden,—breathing, living, colour. Anon -there will be blackberries, great luscious clusters -of blue-black fruit hanging ready for the plucking -in every hedgerow. Again, I ask, what more -can you desire?”</p> - -<p>John smiled grimly.</p> - -<p>“I am not, I would have you observe, either -an artist or a boy. Your inducements fail to -move me.”</p> - -<p>“My companionship,” urged Corin.</p> - -<p>“The blatant conceit of the man,” sighed John.</p> - -<p>Corin changed his tone, descended to wheedling. -“Consider my loneliness,” he remarked pathetically. -“From six o’clock—I can’t put in more -than an eight-hour day—till midnight alone and -unoccupied. Six hours!”</p> - -<p>“Go to bed at nine and reduce the six hours -by a simple process of subtraction to three, or -play patience,” returned John unsympathetically.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span></p> - -<p>“Inhuman brute,” mourned Corin.</p> - -<p>John merely laughed.</p> - -<p>He was a tall young man, thirty or thereabouts, -clean-shaven, bronzed, grey-eyed, and with a thin -hooked nose. His mouth, below it, was slightly -grim in repose. But, when he smiled, you forgot -the grimness, and smiled involuntarily in response. -Also, you found yourself watching for the smile -to come into play a second time. It had a curious -manner of leaping first to his eyes in a sudden -and illuminating flash. Deserting them, it passed -equally suddenly to his mouth, leaving the eyes -sad. It was a disconcerting trick, a baffling -magician’s trick, and left you wondering. In -the matter of dress he was fastidious to a degree. -At the moment his attire was the most immaculate -suit of London clothes, grey trousers, frock coat, -and all the rest of the paraphernalia. His silk -hat, exceeding glossy, reposed on a worm-eaten -oak chair near him. He had removed a pile -of sketch books and a bunch of dilapidated lilies -to make place for the hat. They lay now on the -floor.</p> - -<p>With Corin, by contrast, clothes were a matter -of necessity as mere covering, and no more. His -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span>tweed trousers and Norfolk jacket had an out-all-night-in-the-wet-and-then-sat-upon -air. In two -words they looked loosely crumpled. Paint spots -adorned the left sleeve, in the crook of the elbow -where his palette was wont to rest. His soft -collar, attached to his shirt, was unbuttoned, and -merely held together by a smoke-grey tie. Briefly, -in the matter of clothes, he was the prototype of -the modern novelist’s art-student,—the type that -emerges paint-stained, careless-clad, cheerfully -Bohemian, from the chapters of such novels as -deal with the art world in Chelsea.</p> - -<p>But here it behoves me to walk warily lest I -should hear a whisper of “glass houses,” for does -not this very Corin himself dwell in that most -fascinating region of London? Is not his studio -within a bare five minutes of the dirty, muddy, -grey, but wholly adorable Thames, where it drifts -past Carlyle’s statue, smoke-grimed and weather-worn, -and on past the old herbalist’s garden set -back across the street?</p> - -<p>In face, this same Corin was plump, smooth-skinned, -rosy-cheeked, fair-haired, with short-sighted -blue eyes that gazed at you kindly -from behind gold-rimmed spectacles. His own -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span>appearance caused him moments of acute anguish.</p> - -<p>“Look at me!” he would cry on occasions, -having met his reflection in some unexpected -mirror in a friend’s house or studio, “Look at -me! The soul of an artist, and the appearance -of a benign and grown-up baby! If I didn’t -know my own nature and character, I vow I’d -be taken in. I <i>am</i> taken in when I come upon -myself in this disgusting and unexpected fashion. -Who’s that odd, kindly, little pink-faced man? -I ask myself. And then I realize it’s me, <i>me</i>, -<span class="allsmcap">ME</span>! And, even while I’m swearing at the sight -of myself, I look no more than a cross baby yelling -for its feeding bottle. Talk of purgatory! I get -ten years of it every time I come opposite a -looking-glass. The things ought to be abolished. -They ought to be ground to powder, scattered -like dust to the four winds of heaven. They -merely pander to woman’s vanity. No man -wants to look into one. If he looks like a man he -doesn’t bother about it. If he looks like me—” -At this juncture his anguish would become too -acute for further speech.</p> - -<p>There was a pause in the conversation, quite an -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span>appreciable pause, seeing that it lasted at least -two and three-quarter minutes. Then:</p> - -<p>“So the matter is definitely settled,” announced -Corin with an air of finality, “and on Tuesday next -you and I, a couple of boon companions, wend -our way to the charming, the altogether adorable -and old-world village of Malford, situated, so the -guide-books tell us, precisely seven miles from -Whortley station, as the crow flies. Why as the -crow flies,” he continued ruminatively, “I have -never been able to fathom. The information is -of remarkably small use to the feathered species, -and I have not yet been able to grasp what precise -and particular use it is to mankind at large.”</p> - -<p>John, whose attention had been wandering, -roused himself.</p> - -<p>“For sheer pertinacity,” he remarked suavely, -“commend me to one, Corin Elmore, painter, -poet, musician, theosophist, and fortune-teller; in -short, dabbler in the arts and the occult sciences.”</p> - -<p>“At all events <i>you</i> can hear Mass at Malford,” -retorted Corin succinctly. It would appear that -“dabbler in the occult sciences” had pricked.</p> - -<p>“Truly?” John’s tone was politely interrogative. -“At what distance from Malford, as the crow flies?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span></p> - -<p>“You can hear Mass <i>in</i> Malford, <i>in</i> the Chapel, -<i>in</i> Delancey Castle.” The statement was -triumphant.</p> - -<p>“Delancey Castle!” ejaculated John. For the -first time interest, genuine interest, stirred in his -voice. He began, in a manner of speaking, to -sit up and take notice.</p> - -<p>“Delancey Castle,” reiterated Corin. And -then suspiciously, “But why this sudden interest?”</p> - -<p>“Merely that I have heard of the place,” said -John nonchalantly.</p> - -<p>“Who hasn’t?” Corin’s voice was faintly -edged with scorn. “One of the oldest baronial -castles in England; situated in a park famed for -its oaks and copper beeches; Norman in origin, -enlarged during the Tudor period; minstrel’s -gallery, secret chambers, terraced gardens. From -all accounts it breathes the very essence of romance -and bygone forgotten days. Heavens -above! were there indeed tongues in trees, and -sermons in stones, I’ll swear there’s many a tale -those old walls and the trees around them might -disclose.”</p> - -<p>“It is a matter for devout thanks,” returned -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span>John piously, “that the tongue of Nature wags, in -a manner of speaking, rather in accordance with -our mood of the moment than by any actual -physical volition of its own. We have quite -enough to do to stop our ears to the human -tongues around us. But, seriously, I had no -idea that Delancey Castle was situated in this -sequestered spot of yours.”</p> - -<p>“Sequestered spot of mine!” ejaculated Corin. -“I lay no claim to the spot. It exists not for -my benefit, save in so far, I would have you note, -as certain pecuniary advantages will accrue to -me for work done in its lonely regions. Nevertheless -Delancey Castle is situated there, unless -some good or evil genius has seen fit to remove -it piecemeal since last Thursday week. I saw -it on that date with my own eyes, ‘set on an -eminence’—again the guide-books—‘above the -small village of Malford. Glimpses of its rugged -grey towers may be observed among the lordly -oaks and magnificent copper beeches for which -the park is justly famed.’ I refer you to page -one hundred and twenty-two of Sanderson’s -<i>Guide to Country Houses</i> for the accuracy of my -quotation.” He broke off to light a fresh cigarette, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span>then looked at John, challenging him through his -gold-rimmed spectacles.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’ll not question the accuracy of your -quotation,” retorted John. “But how about -your <i>former</i> statement regarding the situation -of the Castle? You stated it was <i>in</i> the village. -Now I learn it is on an eminence above it.”</p> - -<p>“Hark to the quibbler!” cried Corin.</p> - -<p>“Not at all,” returned John. “A Castle <i>on</i> -an eminence is a very different pair of shoes from -a Castle <i>in</i> a village, especially when it is incumbent -upon one to seek that said Castle in order -to fulfil one’s devotional obligations.”</p> - -<p>“If,” said Corin reflectively, “I were a Catholic—don’t -get excited, there’s no smallest prospect of -your ever claiming me as a convert—but if I were a -Catholic, I should not be so disgustingly slack about -my religion as to object to walking up a small -hill in order to attend my religious services.”</p> - -<p>“I never said I objected to walking up a small -hill,” remarked John. “I was merely pointing -out the inaccuracy of your former statement.”</p> - -<p>Corin sighed patiently. “You make me tired -with your quibbling. And that last remark -distinctly wanders from the truth.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span></p> - -<p>John smiled, not deigning further reply. It -began as a small pitying smile for Corin’s weakness -of retort, it continued with a hint of pleasure, a -tiny secret excitement as at the possibility of the -fulfilment of some concealed desire. His heart -had beaten at least three degrees quicker at the -mention of Delancey Castle, and it had not yet -resumed its normal gentle throbbing.</p> - -<p>He waited silent. There was now but one -thought uppermost in his mind. Yet he could -not voice it. The renewed suggestion—it surely -would be renewed—must come from Corin. -For John to give spontaneous hint of yielding in -the matter of recent discussion would be to run -the risk—though possibly merely a faint risk—of -giving himself away. Faint or blatant, the -risk was to be avoided at all cost. He smoked -on, therefore, imperturbable, his eyes for the most -part on a desk in a corner of the studio, an extremely -untidy desk, covered with papers that -looked for all the world as if they had been tossed -thereon by a whirlwind, and then stirred by an -exceedingly vigorous arm wielding a pitchfork. -Yet, for all that his eyes were upon the desk, -his thoughts were upon Corin.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span></p> -<p>“Speak, man, speak,” he was urging him by -that mental process which is termed “willing.” -“Renew your persuasions; beg me again to accompany -you on your lonely sojourn.”</p> - -<p>But either Corin was no medium, or John was -no medium,—I have never been fully able to -fathom whether the willer, or the willed, or both -must be possessed of the mediumistic faculties -for satisfactory results to accrue,—certain it -is that Corin sat placidly silent, apparently entirely -oblivious of John’s mental efforts in his direction.</p> - -<p>Willing can be an exhausting process, at all -events to one who is not an adept in the art. -In John’s case, as the vigour of his efforts increased, -his muscles grew tighter and tighter, till his very -toes curled with spasmodic tension inside his shiny, -polished, patent-leather boots, while a portentous -frown drew his eyebrows firmly together till they -practically met above his thin hooked nose.</p> - -<p>Corin, glancing suddenly in his direction, -surprised an almost anguished expression of -countenance.</p> - -<p>“Are you ill?” he ejaculated dismayed, and -with a swift half-movement towards the cupboard -where the brandy decanter was situated.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span></p> - -<p>John’s face relaxed on the instant.</p> - -<p>“Not in the least, thank you.”</p> - -<p>“Then what on earth were you making such -faces about?” demanded Corin.</p> - -<p>“I was not aware that I was making faces,” -said John with some dignity. “I was merely -thinking.”</p> - -<p>“Thinking!” Corin’s light arched eyebrows -rose nearly to his fair hair. “Then, man, for -Heaven’s sake don’t do it again. It’s—it’s really -dangerous.”</p> - -<p>John heaved himself out of his chair, bitterly -conscious of the futility of his efforts.</p> - -<p>“Going?” said Corin. And then solicitously, -“Sure you’re really all right?”</p> - -<p>“Quite, thanks,” returned John with faint -asperity.</p> - -<p>Corin strolled with him to the door. John -was half-way down the stairs when he heard a -voice call after him:</p> - -<p>“I’ll let you know about the train on Tuesday.”</p> - -<p>John halted, turned.</p> - -<p>“Well, really!” he ejaculated.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II<br /> -<span class="smaller">A RUMOUR</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">That</span> evening John wrote a letter to his sister, -Mrs. Darcy, who lived in Ireland. The letter -contained the following paragraphs:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“I am going down to Malford on Tuesday, an out-of-the-way -spot near Whortley. Corin Elmore—the -painter fellow, you know who I mean—has -bothered me into it. He has got a job there, uncovering -and restoring the mural paintings in a pre-reformation -church. All seems grist that comes -to his mill. Apparently the only attractions the -place has to offer are gorgeous scenery, and later a -superabundance of blackberries, if I choose to await -their ripening. I don’t know for how long I shall -find such attractions all-satisfying.</p> - -<p>“Address after Tuesday next till further notice, -The White Cottage, Malford, near Whortley.</p> - -<p>“I hope Maurice and the kiddies are flourishing.</p> - -<p class="right">“Your loving brother, John.”</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span></p> - -<p>The morning before he left town John received -a reply to his letter.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“A sojourn, even for a short space, in such a -remote region sounds extraordinarily unlike you. -Perhaps it will have its compensations. You -will deserve them, as I am sure you are doing -this entirely on Mr. Elmore’s account. I wonder -if you will chance to meet the Delanceys. From -all I have heard Lady Mary must be a charming -woman, and I once met her granddaughter, -Rosamund Delancey. She is an exceedingly -pretty girl. Maurice raved about her in a way -that might have made a younger, and less experienced, -woman than myself jealous.</p> - -<p>“I heard an extraordinary rumour some weeks -ago regarding the Delancey estate,—that an -American claimant had turned up. Personally -I gave little credence to the report. It savours -too much of melodrama for this prosaic twentieth -century. My informant had her facts pat enough, -though. But it is too long a story to deal with in -a letter, certainly too long when it is, as I believe, -pure fiction. Anyhow there’s a missing document, -a murder, and a wolf-hound connected with it. -True Adelphi melodrama!</p> -<span class="pagenum2" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span> -<p>“I hope you may chance to meet the Delanceys....”</p> -</div> - -<p>John glanced up at a small statue of Our Lady, -which stood on his mantelpiece.</p> - -<p>“Blessed Lady,” he said aloud in a tone at -once respectful, fervent, and charmingly friendly, -“join your prayers to her hopes.”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III<br /> -<span class="smaller">A MEETING</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">It</span> was midday in the month of August, the -sun ablaze upon wood and field. Only under the -trees and hedges the shadows lay blue and still,—intensely, -deeply blue, the warm restful blue of -summer shadows. Overhead stretched another -blue, a vault of brilliant azure, a vast cup-shaped -dome, spreading downwards from the illimitable -space above, to the hazy distant hills, to the far-off -peacock-blue sea, sun-kissed and radiant. The -warm earth breathed forth the languorous yet wide-eyed -repose of perfect summer. Here was Nature -at the maturest moment of her beauty,—the fields -golden with full-eared corn, waiting in the richness -of their dower for the first stroke of the sickle; the -moors purple with heather, and rich with a hidden -wealth of whortleberries; the hedges hung with -clusters of scarlet brambleberries, even now tinged -with the deeper hue of ripeness.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span></p> - -<p>On a gate, set, after the general manner of -gates in the west of England, between two -hedges, one to the right and another to the left, -sat our friend John. From the gate, a view -stretched before him, which many an artist might -have been excused for attempting to seize and -transfer to canvas.</p> - -<p>In the foreground stood a birch tree, a slender, -dainty, silver-barked thing, rising straight out -of a purple mass of heather. Its fairy lightness -was backgrounded by a wood of firs, while past -it, to the right, you got a stretch of undulating -moorland across a valley, a strip of blue sea, -and a hazy coast line of white cliffs.</p> - -<p>“It really might be called a fine view,” said -John aloud. And then he broke off, for a voice -had sounded behind him,—a very young voice, -a clear treble.</p> - -<p>“There’s a man sitting on the gate.” The -statement was made with the frank obviousness -of childhood.</p> - -<p>John swung himself off the said gate, and -turned. This latter proceeding was distinctly -simpler to accomplish from the safety of solid -earth than from the topmost of five bars. Doubtless<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span> -his guardian angel prompted the action, for, -on the moment of turning, his heart jumped, -leaped, and pounded in a manner peculiarly perilous. -Picture his danger with a heart in this -condition had he retained his former attitude.</p> - -<p>On the other side of the gate, coming across -the grass, and not more than twenty paces from -him, was a lady accompanied by two small boys.</p> - -<p>She was a young lady, tall and slender, in a -white linen frock, and a big shady straw hat. -Her hair beneath it was red gold, like burnished -copper, a vivid note of colour. The two boys, one -on either side of her, were clad in emerald green -knickerbockers, and soft white shirts. Floppy -straw hats were on their heads. Beneath the -hats you caught a glimpse of copper-coloured hair. -A vivid, vital enough picture they presented. -The smaller boy, four years old or thereabouts, -gazed solemn-eyed towards the gate; the other, -some two years or so his senior, pointed towards -our John, his face eager, alive. A stranger was -a bit of a rarity in those parts, it would appear.</p> - -<p>John saw the woman turn towards the child, -caught a hint of murmured words. The boy -dropped the pointing hand. Doubtless she had -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span>made the suggestion—delicately put of course—that -it is not altogether the best of manners to -point at strangers, however unexpected their -appearance, as if they were some curious beast -newly escaped from the Zoo.</p> - -<p>The lapse of time, from the first acclamation of -John’s position on the gate, to the dropping of -that accusing finger, had been of the briefest, -nevertheless it had allowed for a few further steps -to be taken across the grass, and the distance -between John and the three had, at the outset, -been none so great. It was clearly obvious that -the intention of the three was to pass through the -gate. Seeing this, John bent to the fastening. -By good luck it was not padlocked. Had it -been, it would have spoiled the dainty march of -the procession, actually as well as figuratively. -He swung the gate open, raising his hat at the -same moment. She bent her head, a slight though -entirely courteous gesture, gave “thank-you” -in a low round voice.</p> - -<p>“Now Heaven be praised,” murmured John, -“that she did not say ‘thanks.’” By which token -it will be seen that John was a trifle fastidious as -to modes of expression.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span></p> - -<p>The two boys, having defeated the difficulties -of elastic beneath the chin, had likewise removed -their hats. They accomplished the restoration -of them to their heads with extraordinary dignity. -John, beholding the feat, marvelled. Then the -little cavalcade of three passed on across the -heather.</p> - -<p>John gazed after them.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV<br /> -<span class="smaller">A BLACK AND WHITE GOAT</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">John</span> gazed after them with longing in his eyes -and resentment in his heart. The longing was -for the unattainable; the resentment that it -should be unattainable.</p> - -<p>What a crassly idiotic, what an altogether -blindly stupid, doltish, and utterly mulish thing -was convention! Here were three young, gay, -and delightful creatures enjoying the summer -day in company, together revelling in the glowing -sun, the caress of the air soft as thistledown -upon one’s face, the scent of the flowers and the -warm earth, while he—John—was condemned -to loneliness, because, forsooth, of the lack of four -words. “May I introduce you.”</p> - -<p>There was the password, the magic utterance -which would have smoothed away all difficulties. -It could be spoken carelessly as you please. It -could be spoken by his worst enemy with as great -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span>effect as by his dearest friend. Without it a -barrier, high as the highest peaks of the Andes, -loomed between him and them, a barrier to -him insurmountable, indestructible, and named, -labelled, and placarded in letters at least a foot -long, Convention. Small wonder that John -fumed inwardly, the while his eyes gazed after -the vanishing three, distilled essence of concentrated -longing in their depths.</p> - -<p>Chance alone could destroy the barrier,—Chance, -the freakish, puckish sprite, who sits -with watchful eyes, smiling softly, impishly, till -the chosen moment arrives. Then, heigh presto! -Chance springs light-footed to your aid, is caught -by you laughing, or in deadly earnest, according -to your needs. And if the latter, and your grasp -is sure, you will find it is no longer an impish, -freakish sprite you hold, but a very little demon, -battling for you, trampling upon well-nigh incredible -difficulties, leading you triumphant to -victory.</p> - -<p>We cannot see Chance coming in deadly earnest -to John at the moment. The imp came mischievous, -laughing, and perched, if you will -believe me, between the horns of a goat,—a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span>large, a black and white, an over-playful goat. -It came prancing over the purple crest of the -hill, and bounded, curved, and gavotted in the -direction of the momentarily unconscious three.</p> - -<p>The younger boy was the first to see it. He -turned, startled atom, to clutch at the lady’s -white dress, thereby causing her to become aware -of the presence of the intruder on the scene. -The elder boy, likewise made aware of its presence, -seized a small stick from among the heather, a -fragile enough weapon, but with it he stood his -ground, a veritable small champion, facing the -enemy boldly.</p> - -<p>But think you that Chance, perched between -those horns, was to be daunted by a small boy -in green knickerbockers, and holding a flimsy -stick? Not a bit of it! For no such paltry -pretext would he desert our John. I am very -sure he but urged the goat forward, its advance -in the face of this defence lending greater colour -to the danger.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” breathed the white-robed lady, her hands -going out protectingly to the little figure clutching -at her skirts. And then, “Take care, Tony,” -on a note of intense anxiety.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span></p> - -<p>Here was the moment supplied by the mischievous -imp. John recognized the sprite’s wiles -with fine intuition, cried him a fervent word of -thanks, and sprang to the rescue.</p> - -<p>That Chance had never intended the slightest -peril to the three, you may be certain; since, -once seized laughing from his perch by John, he -joined with him in ordering the goat to retire. -Slightly bewildered at this change of front, the -goat gazed for a moment with reproachful eyes.</p> - -<p>“I was but playing the game you told me to -play,” you could fancy him murmuring. Nevertheless, -perceiving that the game was indubitably -at an end, he indulged in something very akin -to a shake of his head, and retired disconsolate -whence he had come.</p> - -<p>“Oh, thank you,” breathed the lady in white -fervently. “Boys, thank—” she paused. “This -gentleman” savours too largely of the shop-walker; -the word has long since lost its rightful -meaning. “Our preserver” smacks of the pedant.</p> - -<p>“My name is John Mortimer,” announced -John, with one of his inimitable smiles.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Mortimer,” she concluded, the word -supplied. “I am Rosamund Delancey, and this—”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span> -she indicated the whilom champion, “is -Antony, and this is Michael. It was very good -of you to come to our rescue.”</p> - -<p>John murmured the usual polite formula. For -the life of him he could find no original observation -to make.</p> - -<p>“Possibly,” continued Rosamund, half-meditative, -a trifle rueful, “the goat intended mere play. -But as Biddy, our old nurse, often used to say—and -still does, for that matter—‘There’s play -<i>and</i> play, and if one of the parties ceases to be -liking it, it will be no play at all.’” The little -laugh in her eyes found reflection in John’s.</p> - -<p>“A very sound maxim,” quoth he. And inwardly -he found himself ejaculating, “What an -adorable voice, what an altogether flexible, musical -and charming voice.”</p> - -<p>Rosamund was looking down the heather-covered -slope. At the further side, a quarter -of a mile or so away, was a hedge, and in the -hedge a gate. Beyond the gate was a lane, -which, after a series of turns, would lead one -eventually to the village and Delancey Castle. -This latter, it is perhaps somewhat obvious to -remark, was her goal, and the way across the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span>heather towards the gate by far the nearest -route to it. Yet how attempt that route with -the black and white goat still at large adown the -hill, eating sprays of heather—or what appeared -to be sprays of heather—in a deceitfully placid -and amicable manner?</p> - -<p>“I wonder if that goat—” she began, her eyes -vaguely troubled, her brow slightly puckered.</p> - -<p>“Which way do you want to go?” demanded -John promptly, the promptitude mingled with a -nice degree of deferential courtesy,—the courtesy -quite apparent, the deference a tiny subtle flavour.</p> - -<p>“To that gate.” She indicated it.</p> - -<p>“Then,” said John, “please allow me to accompany -you. I think Antony and I between us will -prove a match for goats. I dare to boast on our -behalf, since we have already proved our prowess -in the matter.”</p> - -<p>He threw Antony a glance, a little friendly, -understanding glance. By such glances are bonds -established that will last a lifetime.</p> - -<p>“Me too,” quoth Michael, breaking silence -for the first time.</p> - -<p>“In very sooth, you too,” said John. “Antony -as advance guard,—not more than a couple of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span>paces advance, mind you,—Michael and I on -either side. Are we ready? Then, quick march.”</p> - -<p>This last was mere pandering to accepted -custom. You cannot well say, “Slow march,” -though it is what your whole soul intends. Here -is a fine illustration of the fact that speech is but -a poor mode of expressing a man’s thoughts. -And then an inspiration came to him.</p> - -<p>“Not too quickly,” said he to the advance -guard. “If he thinks we are attempting to elude -him, he may pursue us. A nonchalant, a mere -careless strolling, will be our wisest course.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, do you think he might follow?” cried -Rosamund. The suggestion had evidently given -cause for renewed anxiety.</p> - -<p>“It is possible,” returned John gravely, -“though, I fancy, not probable. However, we -will take no risks.”</p> - -<p>Slowly, therefore, in mere dilatory fashion, -they set forth. The goat raised his read to look -at them; but, having his orders, he dropped it -again towards the heather.</p> - -<p>Some hundred yards or so they walked in silence, -two, at least, of the party casting occasional furtive -glances to the right. John was the first to speak.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span></p> - -<p>“This,” he said, with the air of a man who has -just made a discovery, “is really beautiful country.”</p> - -<p>“It is your first visit to this neighbourhood?” -queried Rosamund.</p> - -<p>“My first,” returned John, “but I dare swear -it will not be my last. My friend, Corin Elmore, -dragged me down here, somewhat against my -will at the outset, I’ll allow. He’s uncovering -the mural paintings in the church down yonder.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” Rosamund turned towards him, a light -of interest in her eyes. “Has he found much?”</p> - -<p>“He only started on the job this morning,” -returned John. “We arrived last night. But -he’s full of confidence. There must be a curious -fascination in the work,—delving into the past, -bringing traces of bygone, forgotten ages into the -light of day.”</p> - -<p>“And a certain sadness,” she suggested.</p> - -<p>“And a certain sadness,” echoed John, “though -I doubt me if Corin experiences it greatly. He’s -an anomaly. For all that he’s a poet and a bit -of a dreamer, there’s a strain of the scientific -dissector running through him. It finds its outlet -in theosophic tendencies.” John pulled a wry face.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span></p> - -<p>He had forgotten that he was talking to an -absolute stranger. Yet was she a stranger in -the true sense of the word? One afternoon—six -months ago as we crudely count and label time, -though to John it was centuries ago—he had had -sight of her, a mere passing glimpse, truly, since it -was of length only sufficient to allow of her mounting -the steps of the Brompton Oratory, at a -moment when John was about to descend them. -He had put a question to a friend who was with -him. And thenceforth John’s dreams had been -coloured—I might almost say suffused—by one -subject, a face with dark eyes, framed in copper-coloured -hair, and shadowed by a largish black -hat. Being, therefore, no stranger to his dreams -in spirit, it was small wonder that he regarded -her as no stranger to his perceptions in the flesh.</p> - -<p>Rosamund looked at him, half amused, half -questioning.</p> - -<p>“But why theosophic tendencies?” she demanded. -“I am,” she added, “peculiarly -ignorant of that trend of thought.”</p> - -<p>John laughed.</p> - -<p>“Nor am I vastly learned, for that matter. -If I were to attempt to define I think I should -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span>say that, where your scientist pure and simple -may deny the existence of God at all, your man, -like Corin, with the curious intermixture of a -dreamer, acknowledges the existence of this -Supreme Power, even endows that Power with a -certain mysticism, but at the same time reduces—or -attempts to reduce—all the actions and manifestations -of the Power to terms comprehensible -by the finite understanding.”</p> - -<p>“Yes?” she queried. It was evident she -desired to hear more.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” smiled John, “it’s too complicated an -affair to compress into a sentence or two. But -take, for instance, pain—the apparently undeserved -and ghastly suffering with which one is -sometimes brought in contact. Instead of saying, -as we do, that there are endless mysteries of pain -and suffering which our finite minds cannot -possibly understand, they wish to find some -quite definite and tangible solution, therefore -they adopt the Buddhistic theory of reincarnation -and karma. We work out, they say, our karma -in each succeeding incarnation for the sins of the -last. There is, in their eyes, no such thing as an -innocent victim—with one exception. All suffering,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span> -even that of the veriest babe, is the suffering -it has deserved for former sins.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” A moment she was silent. “How -about the exception?”</p> - -<p>“The exception, in their eyes, is any great -teacher, who, having fulfilled all his own karma, -voluntarily returns to teach and aid those in a -lower state of evolution. You understand that, -according to their theory, a man is bound to return -to this earth, whether he will or no, till his debt of -karma has been paid. It is only when that debt is -paid, that the return becomes voluntary; and, when -sought, is purely for the good of mankind.”</p> - -<p>She looked across the heather.</p> - -<p>“It would seem,” said she reflective, “that -even that theory makes something of a call -upon faith.”</p> - -<p>“It does,” returned John. “And yet you must -see that it reduces the mystery of pain to terms -capable of being grasped by the human intelligence. -It’s the same with every other mystery. -There’s the makeshift in the whole business. -On the one hand they allow the existence of a God -presumably infinite; but, on the other hand, they -wish to reduce Him, and His dealings with creation, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span>to terms capable of understanding by their finite -intelligence. But I forgot, strictly speaking they -would not, I suppose, consider their intelligence -finite, since, according to them, there is in every -man the potential divinity.”</p> - -<p>“What do they mean?” she asked. “Are -they talking about the soul?”</p> - -<p>“In a sense, yes,” returned John. “But the -soul, apparently, has no exact individuality of -its own; at least, not a lasting individuality. It -is a spark, an atom, of the Great Whole, which -when it has developed to its utmost, and finished -all its work, including possible return in the body -to the earth as a teacher, will eventually receive -its reward by becoming merged and absorbed in -the Divine Whole from whence it proceeded. -Apparently, also, if a soul refuses to develop, -it can eventually be extinguished, or what is -equivalent to being extinguished.”</p> - -<p>“It doesn’t seem exactly a pleasant creed,” -said she meditative. “Absorption or extinction, -as the two final alternatives, are not what one -might term precisely satisfactory to contemplate. -It is certainly nicer to believe that one retains -one’s individuality.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span></p> - -<p>“That,” John assured her, “is merely our -unconquerable egotism.”</p> - -<p>“Then,” she retorted smiling, “let us hope -that it is an egotism your friend will shortly -acquire.”</p> - -<p>There was a little silence. <i>Monsieur le Chèvre</i> -had been, for the moment, forgotten. Certainly -his own quiet self-effacement was conducive to -their forgetfulness of him. They were almost -at the gate before she spoke again.</p> - -<p>“I suppose,” she remarked tentatively, “your -friend is not perverting you to his theories.”</p> - -<p>“I trust not,” said John solemnly. And then -he added, “I am a Catholic.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” The ejaculation held the tiniest note -of pleasure. Then, after a second’s pause. “You -know that we have a chapel at the Castle.”</p> - -<p>They had gained the lane by now. Antony, -who had felt the full responsibility of defence to -rest on his shoulders from the moment John’s -attention had been occupied by a wholly unintelligible—and -probably, in Antony’s eyes, -unintelligent—conversation, heaved a deep -sigh.</p> - -<p>“Goats,” said he, “are horrid things.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span></p> - -<p>“Do you know,” quoth John, “I really have a -slight partiality towards goats myself.”</p> - -<p>Which speech would have savoured more -strongly of truth had the partiality remained -unqualified.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V<br /> -<span class="smaller">MURAL PAINTINGS</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">John</span> walked up the flagged path of the churchyard. -Sounds of work came to him through the -little Norman doorway—the beating of hammers, -the rasping of saws, the jangle of buckets.</p> - -<p>Arrived at the doorway he paused for a moment -to look at the scene before him. It would seem -almost incredible that order should ever be abstracted -from the present chaos, at all events in -the space of time proposed. Doorless, windowless,—in -the matter of glass,—it was a mere shell of a -church, filled with scaffolding, planks, barrows, -buckets; echoing with the ceaseless sound of -hammering, sawing, chiselling, planing; while, -within the shell, the creators of the various noises -moved and worked like a handful of restless -ants.</p> - -<p>John looked towards the scaffolding surrounding -the east window. Perched high on a narrow -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span>planked platform was Corin, absorbed in his work, -entirely lost to the sounds around him.</p> - -<p>John picked his way among the scattered débris -made for the chancel. Here there was a ladder -roped against a lower platform, from whence, by -means of a second ladder placed thereon, Corin’s -eyrie might be gained. John had his foot on a -rung of the first ladder in a trice, swarmed up it, -and a second or so later was giving Corin warning -of his approach by:</p> - -<p>“Behold the little cherub perched aloft.”</p> - -<p>Corin turned.</p> - -<p>“Oh, it’s you, is it? Well, just come and look.” -There was suppressed exultation in his voice.</p> - -<p>John scrambled on to the platform, came alongside -Corin,—Corin who pointed with a triumphant -chisel.</p> - -<p>Some half-dozen or so square yards of wall had -been cleared of many coats of plaster, and there, -on the original groundwork, stood out thin red -lines vertical and horizontal, flowers in bold -outline.</p> - -<p>“Masonry, they call it,” announced Corin, -“and the flower is the herb Robert. Isn’t it -gorgeous?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span></p> - -<p>Now to the purely uninitiated, to the mere casual -observer, the adverb might have appeared unduly -extravagant. What, such a one might have -demanded, was there in a few crude brush lines -to justify this mode of speech? Yet John, artist -though he was not, understood, and not only -understood, but endorsed to the full Corin’s -rapture. Here was the work of age-old centuries, -the frank expression of some long-ago-forgotten -painter, brought once more to the light of day. -Fresh as when first limned the simple lines glowed -crimson from the cream-coloured surface of the -wall.</p> - -<p>“It’s—it’s fine,” said John simply.</p> - -<p>Corin, radiant, beaming, waved his chisel in a -comprehensive sweep around the walls.</p> - -<p>“And think,” cried he exultant, “what more -there may be, there assuredly is, to find. Think -what further glories this plaster hides. Man, it’s -hard to restrain one’s impatience and not hack, -which would be a truly disastrous proceeding.”</p> - -<p>John laughed.</p> - -<p>Then, “Try another spot,” he urged. “Here, -close by the east window. I’ll not divert the -stroke of the chisel by the faintest whisper.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span></p> - -<p>Pretending to a half-reluctance, though at heart, -truly, he was nothing loath to consent, Corin let -himself be persuaded. He shifted his position. -By the outer edge of the window splay he raised -his chisel and set himself to work.</p> - -<p>The outer coats of plaster fell in thick flakes -before that same remorseless chisel; they crumbled -on to the platform upon which Corin stood. Below -the plaster was a thin substance lying on the wall -like a film. Here the chisel came lightly into play; -that film must be removed carefully, with touch -as delicate as the touch of a butterfly’s wing. -It entailed a suspension of breath, an excited -prevention of the merest involuntary quivering of -a muscle. The film broke and powdered at the -lightest stroke, covering Corin’s hand and wrist -with a soft grey dust. Breathless he pursued his -work; then, suddenly, he stopped, his eyes gleaming -with pleasure.</p> - -<p>John bent forward. Here assuredly was novelty,—no -longer the crimson masonry, but black -chevrons set within two narrow black lines showed -on the cream-coloured wall, and extending, it was -evident, around the whole window.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” breathed John.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span></p> - -<p>Corin nodded, his chisel again raised.</p> - -<p>In places the plaster adhered like glue to the -walls; it had to be chipped away inch by inch, and -through sheer force. Here it was that the work -required the greatest skill and dexterity. The -pressure of the chisel by an extra hair’s breadth -would have meant the cutting through of the film -below the plaster, and destroying the painting that -lay beneath. It required a fine strength of wrist, -the calculation to a nicety of the depth to which to -cut, above all, an infinity of patience. Yet, again, -there were patches where not only the plaster, -but the film with it, flaked away at the lightest -stroke, and here the painting was at its freshest.</p> - -<p>For full twenty minutes John gave close eye to -the proceedings. At the end of that time he -sighed, a mere tiny sigh. If Corin heard, he -heeded not. Stepping back a pace he regarded -his work, head on one side, soul absorbed.</p> - -<p>John took him firmly by the arm.</p> - -<p>“I vowed I’d not divert the stroke of the chisel -by the faintest whisper,” he announced. “At the -moment shouting would be harmless. Therefore -let me tell you in merely normal tones that I’m -hungry.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span></p> - -<p>“Hungry!” Corin blinked at him. “What’s -the time?”</p> - -<p>“Long past the luncheon hour,” John assured -him. “Come!”</p> - -<p>Corin reluctantly laid down his chisel, turned -for a final look at masonry, herb Robert, and -chevrons.</p> - -<p>“And to think,” he ejaculated, “that the plaster -hides all this! There must be ten coats of plaster -or thereabouts. After the first Goth, the first -horrible Philistine, plastered, no one can have -known what was hidden, and they just went on -plastering at intervals. I’ve made out six plasters -for certain,—grey, green, white adorned with -awful scroll-work, purple, green again with more -scroll-work, and then this dingy brown,” he waved -his hand towards the walls. “There are other -plasters so stuck together no one can distinguish -them, and underneath it all, this.” He touched -a flower in a kind of subdued and dreamy -ecstasy.</p> - -<p>John took him once more kindly but firmly by -the arm.</p> - -<p>“It’s extremely beautiful,” he said in a tone -conciliatory. “Presently you shall rhapsodize -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span>again to your heart’s content and I’ll help you. -At the moment,” he propelled him gently towards -the ladder, “we leave ecstasy for the mundane, -the mere sordid occupation of eating.”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI<br /> -<span class="smaller">MRS. TRIMWELL</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Mrs. Trimwell</span>, brisk, black eyed, white-aproned, -entered with a covered dish.</p> - -<p>Corin, deep in an armchair, was smoking a -cigarette.</p> - -<p>“I wonder,” said he meditative, between the inhalations -of smoke, “what the old painter of the church -down yonder thinks of our proceedings. It would -be interesting to hear his own reflections on the -subject. Presumably he does reflect. If his spirit -haunts the church, possibly some fine evening I shall -see him. Then I shall put a question or two.”</p> - -<p>John merely laughed, and approached the table. -Mrs. Trimwell, raising a dish-cover, disclosed two -golden-brown soles, perfect samples of her culinary -art.</p> - -<p>“I have never,” continued Corin, still reflective, -“seen a spirit, but I firmly believe that one might -be seen under favourable conditions.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span></p> - -<p>“Come and eat,” laughed John.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Trimwell eyed Corin for a moment in -hesitating fashion. Then she spoke with the air -of one embarking on a weighty question, though -addressing herself to John.</p> - -<p>“There’s never no knowing, sir, what it mightn’t -be given you nor any one to see. I seed an angel -myself once.”</p> - -<p>Corin paused in the act of handing John a plate -on which reposed one of the soles.</p> - -<p>“An angel!” he ejaculated.</p> - -<p>John took the plate.</p> - -<p>“An angel!” he echoed dubious.</p> - -<p>“I seed it,” reiterated Mrs. Trimwell, “as plain as -I see you. I was doing my bit of ironing, the baby—that’s -the youngest, sir—asleep in the cradle under -the table, so as I could give the rocker a jog with my -foot now and again, and the angel comed in.”</p> - -<p>She paused, watching the effect of her words.</p> - -<p>“But how?” queried John busy with the sole. -“Through the window, the ceiling, or the floor? Angels, -you know, are spirits, not corporeal weighty humans -like ourselves. They’d never,” concluded -John gravely, “make an ordinary, an expected -entrance.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span></p> - -<p>Corin glanced at him sternly.</p> - -<p>“I should have imagined you would have held -the matter too sacred for joking about,” he -remarked.</p> - -<p>John smiled gently.</p> - -<p>“This one,” said Mrs. Trimwell firmly, “came -through the door. I heard the outer door click, -and said I to myself, ‘That’s Robert for sure.’ -I thought he’d come home a bit earlier. Then the -kitchen door clicked. It opened just a little ways, -and the beautifullest angel you ever seed comed in -all floaty-like. I was that scared I dropped my -iron—there’s the heat mark on the baby’s robe -to this day—and I made a clean bolt for the back -door. I never thought of the baby nor nothing. -And as I bolted I squinnied over my shoulder, and -I seed that angel by the table all white and shiny.”</p> - -<p>Again she stopped, and regarded John, who was -eating steadily. To Corin, who was all agog for a -continuance of the story, she perversely paid no -heed.</p> - -<p>“But—” began John dubious.</p> - -<p>“You may doubt me as much as you like, sir. -I wasn’t going back to that kitchen without a -neighbour. I told Vicar myself, sir, and he didn’t -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span>believe me neither, though I’m a truthful woman. -For as I says to my children: ‘You tell the truth -at all costs. If you’re in a hole don’t tell a lie to -try and get out of it. Truth will always give you -the surest hand up even though her clutch is a bit -severe.’ I’d not deceive you, sir, and ’tis the -truth I’ve spoken as I spoke it to Vicar. I seed -that angel.”</p> - -<p>Finality in her tone she stood there, slightly -challenging, yet respectful withal.</p> - -<p>“Hmm!” mused John. “Your integrity, Mrs. -Trimwell, is, I am convinced, above suspicion. -Yet why, do you imagine, should the angel come? -What, do you take it, was the motive for his -visit?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Trimwell approached a step nearer. She -lowered her voice to a confidential whisper.</p> - -<p>“’Twas that day to the minute, sir, as my uncle -died.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” John’s eyes, non-committal in expression, -sought the window. Corin cast a look of -scorn at him; then turned, eager, to Mrs. Trimwell.</p> - -<p>“Did you tell the Vicar that?” he demanded.</p> - -<p>“I did, sir,” replied Mrs. Trimwell, including -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span>him for the first time within her range of vision. -“But, Lor’, where’s the use of telling things to he! -He don’t understand no more than a Bishop.”</p> - -<p>“Why a Bishop?” thought John in parenthesis.</p> - -<p>“When my Tilda was down with pneumony,” -pursued Mrs. Trimwell reminiscent, “and the -doctor said there wasn’t no chance for her, ‘I’ll -see about chances,’ says I. Vicar, he talked about -the Will of the Lord and submitting. ‘It’s not the -minute to be talking about submitting yet,’ says -I to him. ‘The Lord may do the willing, and I’m -not one to deny it, but ’tis we do the doing, and it -kind of fits in. And if you think I’m going to leave -off fighting for my Tilda till the time comes as -she’s ready to lay out, you’re much mistook.’ He -was mistook, sir, for she’s in the kitchen now -a-minding of the baby.” She ended on a note -gloriously triumphant.</p> - -<p>The triumph found quick response in John’s -eyes. I fancy he saw here reflected the attitude -of that old-time king, who strove in prayer for his -child, till striving and prayer were no longer of -avail.</p> - -<p>“The fighting chance,” murmured Corin, swallowing -his last mouthful of sole.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span></p> - -<p>Mrs. Trimwell removed the plates and placed -cold chicken and salad on the table.</p> - -<p>“In a manner of speaking it was,” said she, -eyeing him with approval. She moved towards -the door, then turned.</p> - -<p>“You will take coffee after lunch?” she asked.</p> - -<p>John looked his assent, yet left it to Corin, as in -a manner host, to give verbal reply to the query.</p> - -<p>“By all means,” replied Corin. “I need,” he -assured her, “every atom of support at your avail.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Trimwell looked at him commiseratingly.</p> - -<p>“I’ll be bound it’s hard work down there,” said -she sympathetically. “How do you find it, sir?”</p> - -<p>“Interesting,” returned Corin, “distinctly interesting. -I feel like an explorer of bygone centuries -penetrating through modern hideousity, early -Victorian crudeness, Puritan dreariness, and -various other glooms, to the sweet, kindly simplicity, -the grace, the freshness, the love of beauty, -appertaining to the olden days. I am,” concluded -Corin, helping himself to salad, “crumbling to -pieces that which has hidden beauty, and exposing -beauty to the light of day. In other words, I’m -scraping the plaster off the walls of the church, -and enjoying myself.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span></p> - -<p>Mrs. Trimwell nodded, frank approbation -plainly visible on her face.</p> - -<p>“And time it was scraped, too. A mucky looking -place it was with them walls all stained and -chipped and mildewed. Not that it hurt me much, -seeing as I never go inside it, except it’s for a -christening or a burial.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” remarked Corin, and somewhat feebly, -be it stated.</p> - -<p>John cast a whimsical look in his direction.</p> - -<p>“I don’t hold with church-going,” pursued Mrs. -Trimwell calmly. “Say your prayers at home if -you want to say them, says I. And as for sermons,—if -you’ve heard Vicar talk out of the pulpit -whether you will or no, you don’t run off smiling -to hear him talk in it. Leastways I don’t. There’s -some as does, I know.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” said Corin again, and this time more -feebly. (John, I fear me, was laughing inwardly.) -To disagree with Mrs. Trimwell would, Corin felt, -be tantamount to calling her a black kettle, setting -up himself the while as a shiny brass pot, to -which title he knew he possessed no manner of -right. Yet to agree!—Well, Corin’s conscience, -some hidden fragment of convention—call it what -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span>you will—felt a slight hint of repugnance at her -sentiments.</p> - -<p>There is your man, your male individual, all -over. Dogmatic religion—however vague the -dogma—church-going is often outside his own -category, yet for his women folk—any women -folk—to speak against it holds for him a hint of -distaste. It just serves to destroy that soft light -of idealism with which he loves to surround women. -Every man has one woman, at least, in this -idealistic shrine, or, if he has not, he is of all men -most miserable. And here it is that your adherents -to the old Faith—the oldest Faith in Christendom—have -a pull over your so-called enlightened -individual. There is always One Woman to whom -those of that old Faith can turn, one for whom no -shrine is too fair, too lofty,—can be bedecked with -no too costly wealth of love and homage. Here, -in this shrine, at her feet, may every idealistic -thought of man towards woman be placed, -preserved, and cherished.</p> - -<p>Corin, as already stated, said “Oh!” an ejaculation -at once feeble, utterly lacking in significance -of any kind, a mere signal that his ears had received -the speech.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span></p> - -<p>“Miss Rosamund don’t hold with my views,” -went on Mrs. Trimwell, while John’s heart gave a -sudden throb. “Not that I pays over-much heed -to her, being a Papist what’s bound to go to -Church and obey their priests if they don’t want -any little unpleasantness in the next world, which -I takes it may be a considerable more unpleasantness -than you nor I would suppose. Still I will -say she has a wonderful way of talking a thing -clear, and if I didn’t <i>know</i> that popery was no -better than a worshipping of graven images, I -might go for to believe her.”</p> - -<p>Corin glanced anxiously in the direction of John,—John -who was eating chicken with an expressionless -face, though I’ll not vouch that his shoulders -didn’t shake a little now and then.</p> - -<p>“Not that Miss Rosamund talks goody talk,” -pursued Mrs. Trimwell, “which is a thing I never -could abide in grown-up or child, and burnt them -little tracty books they give my Tilda up to Sunday-school, -setting of her off to talk texes to me and -her father, which we didn’t smack her for though -she deserved it. But there, she’d have been -thinking she was an infant prodigal and a Christian -martyr if we had. No; I just said how if she -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span>was so fond of texes she could learn a few more -instead of going along blackberrying with the -other children, and I sets her down to get a chapter -of the Gospels by heart. We didn’t hear no more -of texes after that, didn’t me and her father,” -concluded Mrs. Trimwell dryly.</p> - -<p>Indubitably the corners of John’s mouth were -twitching now. Then Mrs. Trimwell’s eye caught -his. Laughter came, whole-heartedly to John, to -Mrs. Trimwell first with a note of half apology, -over which the entire humour of the reminiscence -presently got the upper hand. Corin joined in -somewhat relieved. He had feared lest John’s -feelings might be hurt.</p> - -<p>“When I thinks of Tilda setting there not -knowing whether to sulk or pretend she liked it!” -ejaculated Mrs. Trimwell after a moment. She -wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes with her -apron. “But there, it was coffee I was going after, -and not memories of my Tilda.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Trimwell vanished.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII<br /> -<span class="smaller">FLIGHTS OF FANCY</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Corin</span> looked dubiously at John.</p> - -<p>“She talks a good deal,” quoth he tentatively.</p> - -<p>“I have,” returned John, “conceived a great -affection for Mrs. Trimwell. Her ideas are original. -She has, also, a distinct prejudice in favour of -speaking her mind with a candour and verve which -I find undeniably refreshing. Yes; certainly I -have conceived an affection for her.”</p> - -<p>Corin snorted.</p> - -<p>“Every man to his own taste,” said he. “For -my part I find her over-fluent of speech.”</p> - -<p>“That,” replied John, “arises merely from a -tendency I have frequently noted in you to -monopolize the whole conversation; to mop it, so -to speak, into your own sponge, thereby leaving -the sponges of others bone dry.”</p> - -<p>“I have never,” retorted Corin, “observed that -your sponge lacked moisture, if you will use terms -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span>of parable instead of straightforward words. But -to leave Mrs. Trimwell for the moment. How did -you enjoy the morning? Did I expand one whit -too freely on the glories of the surrounding country? -Is there not colour,—radiant, vital colour -at every turn?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll allow there’s sufficient beauty hereabouts,” -conceded John.</p> - -<p>“And you had a pleasant time? Own to the -truth. It was worth while sacrificing sun-baked -streets for wide stretches of glorious moorland?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’ll own to the worth whileness of it,” -laughed John, hugging a delicious secret to his -heart.</p> - -<p>Corin shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p>“You might be a trifle more expansive,” he -grumbled. “You might give me an epitome of -your morning’s experiences. There was I, perched -like a hen on a henroost, slaving my life out for -four hours, while you were enjoying glorious -freedom. I said to myself, he’ll return enthusiastic. -I’ll have, at least, a second-hand experience of -purple moorland, sun-kissed sea, and cool green -woods. And all the man has done is to smile -oracularly, and admit to beauty when the admission<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span> -was fairly dragged from his lips. No; -don’t begin to rhapsodize now. It’s too late. I -wanted spontaneity, a first fine careless rapture. -And by dragging, pulling, and tugging, I get a -bare admission of beauty grudgingly made.”</p> - -<p>John laughed again. It must be confessed that -he was in a peculiarly lighthearted mood.</p> - -<p>“I’ll attempt no rhapsody, no poetic flights of -fancy, since the psychological moment for so doing -has, according to you, passed. I’ll give you the -mere salient facts of the morning, the chiefest -being that I played St. George to the dragon.”</p> - -<p>Corin eyed him suspiciously.</p> - -<p>“I have an idea I heard you remark ‘no poetic -flights of fancy,’ a moment agone,” he suggested.</p> - -<p>“I did,” retorted John, “and I adhere to that -remark. Here is fact pure and simple. But, for -your better convincing, I will state that the dragon -had for the moment disguised itself as a goat,—a -large, a playful, black and white goat. The -disguise was good, I’ll allow, but,” concluded -John dramatically, “I penetrated it.”</p> - -<p>Corin sighed.</p> - -<p>“If you could divest your speech of symbolism,” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span>said he pathetically, “and give me facts in plain -English.”</p> - -<p>“No symbolism I assure you,” protested John. -“It was a goat,—a black and white goat. It -curved, it gavotted, it gambolled, thereby causing -much distress to a fair lady and her two attendant -knights, who were, believe me, hardly of an age to -deal convincingly with either goats or dragons. -Then, behold, enter St. George.” He struck -himself upon the chest.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” Corin began to find a thread of reasonableness -among the nonsense. “Who was the -lady, I wonder?”</p> - -<p>“She told me,” said John, “that her name was -Miss Rosamund Delancey.” He experienced a -strange sensation of pleasure in pronouncing -the words.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” said Corin a second time. “From the -Castle.”</p> - -<p>“From the Castle,” echoed John.</p> - -<p>Corin reflected, mused. Finally, seeing that -John had come to an end of the repast, he pushed -back his chair, rose from the table, and lighted a -cigarette.</p> - -<p>“I have heard a rumour,” said he, the cigarette -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span>lighted, “that they are shortly leaving the Castle -on account of some claimant who has turned up. -I can’t remember the whole story. I know it -struck me as sufficiently melodramatic at the -moment,—murders, missing documents, and little -Adelphi touches of that kind were mixed up in it. -But I daresay it’s nothing but a rumour.”</p> - -<p>“Let us trust so,” said John devoutly.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">AN OLD PRIEST</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Father Maloney</span> was in a mood, which, it must -be confessed, was distinctly unfavourable to his -peace of mind. And not only his peace of mind, -but his appetite had suffered considerably thereby. -Cold corned beef and plum tart had been so much -sawdust between his lips, flavourless and exceeding -dry. Even his after-luncheon pipe failed to rouse -him to a cheerier outlook on life in general. Now, -when the joys of tobacco had ceased to woo him, -matters had, indeed, come to a pretty pass. -Anastasia, his housekeeper, clearing away the -débris of the meal, eyed him solicitously.</p> - -<p>“You’re not ill, Father?” she asked, her black -eyes snapping anxiety in his direction.</p> - -<p>For a moment he roused himself.</p> - -<p>“Not at all, not at all,” he responded with a -show of briskness, only to relapse once more into -gloom.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span></p> - -<p>Anastasia shook her head.</p> - -<p>“It’ll be that moidering business up to the -Castle, I’m thinking,” quoth she to herself, her -lips tightening in a manner that would have -augured ill for the author of the business had he -been anywhere within sighting distance.</p> - -<p>Returning to the kitchen she addressed a -fervent, and, it must be confessed, slightly -authoritative decade of the rosary to Our -Blessed Lady, before beginning to wash up plates -and dishes. To her mind <i>something</i> had to be -done. Herein her mind and that of old Biddy -the nurse up at the Castle were distinctly in -accord.</p> - -<p>For one hour—two hours, perhaps—Father -Maloney sat in his old armchair. During that -time he endeavoured, with some degree of success, -to say his office with attention. Then he once -more lapsed into gloomy retrospection and -anticipation.</p> - -<p>Since midday the world—the pleasant, material, -sunny world—had been turned upside down for -him. It is true that this inversion had been -looked for, feared, for the last six months, but that -fact did not prevent the present phenomenon -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span>from being any the less unpleasant when it -actually occurred. It requires a peculiarly level -head, not to say a certain degree of something -almost akin to callousness, to regard matters from -so totally different a point of view. It is a position -to which you cannot readily adjust yourself. At -all events Father Maloney found it one to which -he could not readily adjust himself. It required -a supreme effort on his part merely to hang on, so -to speak.</p> - -<p>“Sure, and I ought to have been more prepared -for it,” he muttered to himself.</p> - -<p>Getting out of his chair he went into the little -hall, reached down his hat, and took his stick -from the stand. Anastasia saw him through the -open door of the kitchen. She came to it, a small -dried-up woman.</p> - -<p>“You’re not going out without your tea, -Father,” she protested. “The water in the -kettle is boiling this very minute.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll not be wanting any tea,” returned Father -Maloney opening the front door.</p> - -<p>Anastasia went back into the kitchen, shaking -her head sorrowfully at the steaming kettle on the -stove.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span></p> - -<p>Father Maloney went slowly down the lane. -It was powdered thickly with white dust, since, -for a fortnight past at least, the sky by day had -been blue and brazen, at night starlit and cloudless.</p> - -<p>Two small girls passed him, belonging to his -own flock. They dipped him profound curtseys, -glancing at him with bright bird-like eyes. He -gave but abstracted response to their salutation, -which fact elicited from them surprised and regretful -comment as soon as he was out of earshot. -Though, for that matter, they might, at the -moment, have reproached him under his very -nose, and gained no hearing.</p> - -<p>Leaving the lane presently, he turned through a -gate, and up the slope of a grassy field. He had -need of wider expanses than the hedged-in lane -afforded him.</p> - -<p>He climbed slowly, pausing every now and then -to take breath. At last he gained the summit. -Finding the sun distinctly warm, and being heated -by the ascent, he lowered himself slowly on to the -short dry grass. So busy was he with his own -reflections, that he did not perceive a young man -lying in the shade of a blackberry bush some -hundred or so paces to his right. But it is very -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span>certain that the young man saw him; and, seeing -him, observed him intently.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When Corin had returned to his work, John -had again betaken himself to the open.</p> - -<p>It was fairly obvious, so concluded John -shrewdly, that a route chosen for a morning ramble -was not likely to be again sought in the afternoon. -The proceeding would savour too strongly of -unoriginality of ideas. But, so he pondered within -his mind, it was just possible that some other -route might be chosen, and that by the favour -of the gods he might hit upon it. Therefore -he had set out, leaving matters to those same -gods.</p> - -<p>Having, after circumlocutious and disappointed -walking, gained his present post of eminence, he -had lain down in the shadow of a blackberry bush -to muse over, and carp at, the fickleness of the -gods to whom he had trusted, and incidentally to -survey the surrounding country for a moving -white-robed figure.</p> - -<p>Till this present, no figure of any kind had come -within his range of vision; then, five minutes or so -agone, turning his eyes leftwards, he had perceived -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span>a stout elderly priest climbing the hillside towards -him.</p> - -<p>Here was some solace. If it were not the rose -herself, it was at least one who, it might pretty -safely be concluded, was tolerably well acquainted -with the rose. A small backwater of a place, -such as Malford, does not, he might suppose, -yield many priests, nor even, presumably, more -than one. There was little doubt in his mind but -that the approaching figure was the priest who -officiated at Delancey Chapel.</p> - -<p>John observed him intently, as I have said. He -saw him lower himself on to the grass with the -slow deliberate movement of a stoutish man, saw -him gazing straight in front of him. From his -position John had a view of his face in something -less than profile, but it was the dejection of his -attitude, rather than his face, that at the moment -impressed our John. He watched him, intent, -absorbed.</p> - -<p>“Something,” observed John mentally, “has -recently upset his equilibrium. Like a wise man -he has come into the open to gain restoration of -balance.”</p> - -<p>Which mental observation showed John to be -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span>possessed of no little shrewdness, as you will -perceive. And then, by a really marvellous leap -of intuition, he bounced straight into the heart of -affairs, went in with a splash, and came up gasping.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” cried John to his soul, “that rumour, that -obnoxious and detestable rumour is true, and he -has just been made aware of the unassailable fact. -The poor old fellow!”</p> - -<p>No wonder he looked dejected, no wonder he -gazed with all his eyes in the direction of the towers -of Delancey Castle plainly visible above the distant -trees. If the rumour were true, and John -was now very certain of its truth, it was enough to -wring tears from the heart of a flint, to call forth -protestation from the tongueless trees and mute -stones of the old Castle itself.</p> - -<p>An American claimant to that place! that -utterly and entirely English place! Its very walls, -its surrounding trees and fields, were so unmistakably -and undeniably English. You might -have taken up the whole thing and planted it down -in any remote and unexpected quarter of the globe -that you had chosen, and its whole atmosphere -would have shrieked its English origin dumbly, -but quite, quite explicitly, at you. At any time -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span>its origin would have been unassailable, and truly -fifty times more so at this present moment, as it -lay serene and peaceful in the blue and golden -warmth of an August afternoon.</p> - -<p>And now it was to be claimed by an American.</p> - -<p>John suffered from no racial prejudice, I would -have you to believe; but there were some things -that could be, and some things that could not be. -And for Delancey Castle to be in any but English -hands would be, to his way of thinking, a thing -as incongruous and impossible as that a Chinese -should don the kilt of the Highlander, or that a -South Sea Islander should assume the Irish -brogue. Oh, it was preposterous, preposterous, -preposterous. It was altogether unthinkable and -unimaginable.</p> - -<p>And then suddenly he was aware of a difference -in the old priest’s attitude. It was a tiny difference, -a subtle and quite inexplicable difference, -nevertheless it existed. And all at once John felt -himself a bit of an intruder, looking at what he -had no atom of right to see. Had he not feared -that movement would make his presence known, -he would have moved on the instant. As it was -he became absorbed in pulling up small blades of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span>grass from the ground. He pulled at them -fiercely, his eyes fixed upon them, the while he -was most intensely aware of that motionless old -figure a hundred paces from him.</p> - -<p>At length a sound—it might have been a half -cough—caused him to raise his eyes again. He -saw the old priest pulling a pipe and tobacco -pouch from his pocket.</p> - -<p>John watched him. The pipe filled, and the -pouch replaced, Father Maloney still fumbled at -his pockets. It would appear that something was -missing.</p> - -<p>“Matches!” said John. And cautiously he -heaved himself to his feet. Softly he advanced -some steps, came to a line directly behind the -old priest, then marched boldly forward.</p> - -<p>“Can I be of any use?” John held out a box -towards him.</p> - -<p>Father Maloney looked up surprised.</p> - -<p>“I’m much obliged. Where did you appear -from?”</p> - -<p>“From over there.” John waved his hand in a -backward and non-committal direction. “I saw -you intended lighting your pipe, but your intentions -were being frustrated.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span></p> - -<p>“Can’t think how I forgot them,” said Father -Maloney pulling at his pipe.</p> - -<p>John dropped on to the ground beside him.</p> - -<p>“What a view!” he announced in a pleasantly -conversational tone. “And what a day!”</p> - -<p>“It is that indeed,” returned Father Maloney -cheerfully.</p> - -<p>John hugged himself inwardly.</p> - -<p>“He’s got the hang of things again, brave old -fellow!” he ejaculated mentally. “But I’d give a -very great deal to know the veritable standpoint -of affairs.”</p> - -<p>Aloud he said. “Am I right in imagining that -you are the chaplain of Delancey Castle?”</p> - -<p>“I am,” said Father Maloney. “What made -you think so?”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said John airily, “one does not expect -to see a superabundance of priests in a Protestant -country, and when it comes to a minute spot such -as this, where you happen to know there is one -priest,—well, when you see him, you imagine he’s -the one,” concluded John explicitly.</p> - -<p>Father Maloney’s eyes twinkled.</p> - -<p>“Under the circumstances, as stated by you, -the inference might be drawn,” quoth he.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span></p> - -<p>And then followed a little silence. Both men -were looking towards Delancey Castle, and it may -be pretty safely conjectured that the thoughts of -both were occupied by that same Castle.</p> - -<p>John, if the truth be known, was longing—fervently -longing—that the old priest should give -voice to that matter, which, he was fully aware, -was uppermost in their minds. For him to broach -the subject would, he feared, savour too strongly -of impertinence on the part of a complete stranger. -Yet it is very certain that, without any undue -curiosity on his part, he desired intensely to know -the actual rights of the case, to arrive at the -veritable truth of the rumour which had twice -reached his ears.</p> - -<p>Now whether John’s desire was sufficiently -intense to communicate itself to Father Maloney, -or whether it was that the subject which so absorbed -the old priest’s mind was bound to find an -outlet in speech, you may settle as best pleases -you. For my part, I have no definite opinion to -offer on the matter, though I sway slightly in -favour of the latter conclusion. When every nook -and cranny of the mind is filled with a thought -which increases in volume the more it is absorbed, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span>there comes a point when an outlet in speech is -practically a necessity, and, to my thinking, this -point had been reached in the present case of -Father Maloney’s mind. Also it is quite possible -that he recognized the silent and unobtrusive -sympathy of John. Certain it is that he began to -speak.</p> - -<p>“I suppose you’ll have heard the news of yonder -Castle?” he asked, pulling at his pipe.</p> - -<p>“I’ve heard rumours,” acquiesced John, “which -I devoutly trusted were nothing more.”</p> - -<p>“I trusted that myself,” said Father Maloney -grimly. “But the truth of them is clinched now, -and that’s a fact.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” said John quietly. And then, “Would -you tell me the story? I should like to hear it, if -you wouldn’t mind telling it.”</p> - -<p>“Not at all, since you’d be caring to hear it -But it’s a longish tale, and a bit complicated at -that. It might be boring you.”</p> - -<p>“Not a bit of it,” declared John fervently. -“I’ve been wanting to hear the truth of the matter -ever since the first rumour reached my ears. -Honestly,” he continued smiling, “it has been -nothing but the fear of a snub that prevented me -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span>from broaching the subject the first moment I -dropped on the grass beside you.”</p> - -<p>Father Maloney smiled.</p> - -<p>“Ah, well,” he said.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX<br /> -<span class="smaller">AN OLD-TIME TRAGEDY</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">After</span> a moment, during which Father Maloney -was, I imagine, sorting his ideas, seeking for the -best beginning to the promised complicated story, -he began to speak.</p> - -<p>“Well, you’ll know, of course, that the Delanceys -are a very old family. The baronetcy dates -back to the time of the Crusaders. The family -have never lost the Faith, as we Catholics say. -The matter which has given rise to the present -upset happened in the year seventeen hundred -and thirteen. The then baronet was one Sir -Michael Delancey, his wife, Helen, <i>née</i> Montgomery. -But sure that’s nothing to do with the -tale at all. There were three children by the -marriage, Henry, Antony, and Rosamund. It was -with Henry that the difficulty arose. He was—well, -I fear there’s no denying that he was a rogue, -with no decent feeling in him at all. A card-playing,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span> -drinking fella he was, and not above -doing a thought of cheating if it happened that the -luck was going against him. Well, it was in one -of these card routs that things came to a crisis. -There was cheating and quarrelling and what not, -and at the end a duel. Henry killed his man, and -raced off to his home to lie low a bit in hiding. The -old man—Sir Michael—was sick of him and his -ways by that time, I’m thinking. Anyhow he -agreed to smuggle him out of the country, but on -one condition, and here’s the first, and, for that -matter, the whole point of the business. Before he -was shipped off he had to sign some paper or other -renouncing all claim to the property, indeed disinheriting -himself in favour of his younger brother, -Antony. Somehow it seems that the old man had -not the right to disinherit him himself.”</p> - -<p>“Entail, I suppose,” said John lighting a fresh -cigarette.</p> - -<p>“Something of the kind, I’ve no doubt,” -returned Father Maloney. “Legally, I’m thinking, -he’d still have inherited the title, but the -bargain was that he was to go off for ever, be, in a -manner of speaking, dead to the heritage of his -forebears in any shape or form. And his heirs to -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span>be dead to it likewise. Be that as may be, he -went off, having renounced all claim to the -property. Five years later his brother Antony -succeeded to it.”</p> - -<p>Father Maloney paused, then a moment later -resumed his tale.</p> - -<p>“Antony married Margaret de Courcey, a fine -woman from all accounts, and by her he had -four children, Antony, Richard, Rosamund, and -Michael. Now comes along the next point of -interest. Ten years after Sir Antony had succeeded -to the property and title, Henry reappeared upon -the scene. There’s no doubt but that he had it -in his mind to make matters as unpleasant for -Antony as might be. He was married, so he said, -and had two sons. Margaret was away from home -at the time, and the whole business is clearly -shown in letters she received from her husband, -Sir Antony. The letters are still in existence. In -them Sir Antony tells her of Henry’s reappearance, -and sets forth his reluctance to do the obvious -thing and inform the law his brother has returned,—which -would have been mightily unpleasant for -Henry, I’m thinking. Sure, he must have been a -daring fella to have come back to England at all. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span>Sir Antony tells her, too, clearly enough, Henry’s -motive in coming, and it’s one a blind man might -be seeing without over-much difficulty. It was the -paper he’d signed he was after. If he could destroy -that, why, it would leave his son free to inherit -the title and property at his death. He couldn’t -think to be getting them himself without more of a -boggle than he’d have a liking for. But it would -be another matter for his son. You’ll be finding -all this in the first two letters Sir Antony wrote to -Margaret, as well as the whole history of the signing -of the paper. Perhaps after a fashion she knew -of that before, but not over-definitely. Anyhow -Sir Antony writes it all down, and it is from that -letter we know of the matter. A third letter, and -a shorter one, shows that Sir Antony is getting a -trifle uneasy with Henry hanging around, and -that he means to remove the paper from the strong -box, where it was kept, to some hiding-place of -sorts. But never a hint did he give of where that -hiding-place would be at all.”</p> - -<p>“Possibly,” remarked John shrewdly, “he had -no mind to put his ideas on paper.”</p> - -<p>“’Tis more than likely,” returned Father -Maloney grimly, “but it’s a deal of trouble he’d -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span>have been saving if he’d given the merest suspicion -of a hint. A fourth letter was sent to Margaret -Delancey, written by one Francis Raymond, -a priest. ’Tis a sad letter, and a fine letter too, -for that matter. He begs her to come home without -delay, and tells her of her husband’s death. -He goes straight at what he has to say, and then -gives her the comfort the poor soul would be -needing,—though it’s plain he knows the manner -of woman she is, and the courage of her. There’s -a hint in his letter of foul play of some kind. -Other papers, Margaret’s own diary among them, -tell what that foul play was. Sir Antony had -been found in the park, under an oak tree, shot -through the head. Henry was lying near him, a -pistol not ten inches from his hand, and his throat -torn out by Sir Antony’s wolf-hound.”</p> - -<p>“What a ghastly business!” ejaculated John, -as Father Maloney stopped.</p> - -<p>“You may well say that,” remarked Father -Maloney. “The matter was plain enough. Henry -had shot his brother with the idea of getting hold -of that precious paper unhindered, but he had -forgotten—or, maybe, never realized—the presence -of Sir Antony’s wolf-hound, Gelert. The -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span>dog wasn’t one to let his master’s murderer go -unpunished.”</p> - -<p>Again there was a little pause. Father Maloney -refilled his pipe.</p> - -<p>“Well,” he said after a minute, “after Sir Antony’s -death, his son Antony came into possession. -But—” Father Maloney emphasized the word -with an emphatic movement of his pipe, “that -paper desired by Henry had vanished. Wherever -Sir Antony had hidden it, the hiding-place was a -bit too good. It has never been found.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps,” suggested John tentatively, “Henry -had destroyed it.”</p> - -<p>Father Maloney shook his head.</p> - -<p>“Not a bit of it. If Henry had destroyed it -before he shot his brother there’d have been no -need for the shooting at all. He shot his brother -to get at the paper, but Gelert was one too many -for him. And never a scrap of paper was found -upon, or near him.”</p> - -<p>“And,” said John ruminatively, “that has -proved an awkward business.”</p> - -<p>“It has that,” said Father Maloney drily. “A -claimant has turned up.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said John quietly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, ’tis a pretty boggle,” went on Father -Maloney, “it is that. This fella, this David -Delancey arrives from Africa——”</p> - -<p>“Africa!” interrupted John. “I heard he was -an American?”</p> - -<p>“Well, ’tis Africa he has come from,” said Father -Maloney. “He arrives as cool as a cucumber. -‘I’m the rightful owner of this place,’ says he in a -letter to Lady Mary. ‘I’ve every proof, and send -copies of them.’ ’Tis a long rigmarole how he got -hold of them. Of course there was a lawyers’ -investigation. That’s been going on for months. -But ’tis proved now beyond no manner of doubt -that he is the direct descendant of that scoundrel -Henry, and not a scrap of legal proof have we got -on our side that Henry ever renounced the claim -to the property. There’s the whole business. -Lady Mary got the letter from the lawyer fellas -this morning. ’Tis full of their jargon, but the -meaning is plain enough through it all. David -Delancey is the rightful heir, and no vestige of -right has this little Antony here to stick or stone -of the old place.”</p> - -<p>Father Maloney stopped.</p> - -<p>“It’s—it’s preposterous!” ejaculated John hotly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span></p> - -<p>Father Maloney smiled, an untranslatable, an -enigmatic smile.</p> - -<p>“When does he take possession?” demanded -John.</p> - -<p>“Oh, he’s written a decent enough letter,” -responded Father Maloney. “He says there can -be time enough taken for the handing over of the -property. ‘Take six months, or a year about it, for -that matter,’ says he. He’ll be coming down here -in a day or so to the inn to look around and get -the hang of affairs, though he’s in no way anxious -to intrude.”</p> - -<p>“Intrude!” snorted the wrathful John.</p> - -<p>“Well, well,” interpolated Father Maloney -soothingly, “he’ll be within his rights according -to those lawyer fellas.”</p> - -<p>John gazed sternly before him.</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe he has an atom of right,” he -announced emphatically.</p> - -<p>Again Father Maloney smiled.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ll allow we’re all of us for that way -of thinking ourselves. But private opinion -has never overridden the law yet, without proof -in the plainest black and white to back it -up.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span></p> - -<p>John heaved a portentous sigh.</p> - -<p>Here, at least, was fact indisputable. Matters -for the present inhabitants of Delancey Castle -were at a deadlock, a deadlock of the tightest and -most emphatic kind. There was no denying -that a stoic philosophy was the only course open -to them.</p> - -<p>But stoic philosophy on such a matter! How -was any living human creature possessed of a -drop of warm tingling blood in his veins to encompass -such a state of being? He saw the trio -as they had come towards him in the August -sunshine that morning,—the girl tall, graceful, -breathing vitality, temperament; the merest -casual observer must have felt her extraordinary -capacity for feeling things intensely. Oh, -it was no imagination on his part, imagination -fed by the white light of idealism with which -he had surrounded her. Verily was there no -imagination on his part. She would suffer in -every fibre of her being. It would be to her -like tearing her heart from her. And she would -suffer smiling, he knew that. That’s where the -pain would be the more intense. Those who can -bedew a wound with tears bring easing to its -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span>agony. And he told himself she would never shed -one tear. He knew he wasn’t being sentimental. -It was the hard bed-rock truth.</p> - -<p>And the boys too! Antony, gay, debonair, -valiant little champion! Michael, a mere clinging, -cuddlesome baby! And there was Delancey Castle -before him in the sunlight.</p> - -<p>Of course he didn’t know the place, he was -perfectly aware of that fact, but imagination could -well make up for lack of knowledge. In imagination -he saw the gardens, the terraces, the old grey -walls, the dark interior lit by diamond-paned -casement windows; he saw the blend of harmonious -colours; he smelt the old-time smell of century-mellowed -oak and leather, the fragrant scents of -lavender and <i>pot-pourri</i>. And it was this—this -absolutely perfect and fitting frame for that -adorable trio (he had forgotten Lady Mary for the -moment) that was to be snatched from them, and -made the frame for a modern, hustling, nasal-voiced -American.</p> - -<p>“What do you think about it?” demanded John -sternly, his eyes towards the distant Castle, but -his words intended for the old priest.</p> - -<p>“Sure, I was thinking every bit the same as -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span>you’re thinking, till twenty minutes or so agone,” -responded Father Maloney.</p> - -<p>“And now?” demanded John.</p> - -<p>“Glory be to God, is it a sermon you’re wanting?” -asked Father Maloney with a little twinkle in -his eyes.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X<br /> -<span class="smaller">CORIN THEORIZES</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Corin</span>, from the depths of one armchair, regarded -John in the depths of another.</p> - -<p>“For sheer, racy, brilliant conversation commend -me to you,” he remarked sarcastically. -“For the last hour at least—I’ve had my eye on -the clock—you’ve uttered no single word. You’ve -rivalled the immortal William’s lover in your -sighs. Talk of <i>a</i> furnace, it’s like ten furnaces -you’ve been. Sigh, sigh, and again sigh. What’s -the matter with you, man? Is it love, sorrow, or -remorse for an ill-spent youth? Come, out with -it. Disburden your soul of the worm i’ the bud -which is feeding on your damask cheek. Speak, -I implore you.”</p> - -<p>John roused himself.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” he responded airily enough, “in the -matter of conversation I fancied we’d had enough -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span>of it at dinner—supper—whatever the original, -but wholly appetizing meal might be called. We -conversed pretty tolerably, I fancy.”</p> - -<p>“Conversation!” Corin’s voice expressed a depth -of utter scorn. “Conversation! If that’s what he -calls the airy, frothy, soap-bubble words which fell -from his lips! Oh, you didn’t deceive me. I saw -in them the mere cloak to an aching heart. You -just over-did the lighthearted careless rôle. -You’ve said fifty times more in the last hour. -But now I want the translation, the interpretation. -Where’s the use of first frivolling, and then glooming? -Strike the happy medium. Come, consider -me a confidant,” he ended on a note of -coaxing.</p> - -<p>John laughed. Then he relapsed into gloom, -frowning.</p> - -<p>“It’s no laughing matter,” he said.</p> - -<p>“It wasn’t I who laughed,” urged Corin gently. -“Come, tell me.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, well,” said John stretching out his legs. -And forthwith he set himself to speak, succinctly, -concisely.</p> - -<p>“Bless the man!” cried Corin at the end of the -recital, “so it’s that that’s weighing on his mind.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span></p> - -<p>“Well?” demanded John surprised, and not a -little injured. “And isn’t it enough to weigh on a -man’s mind? Isn’t it an entirely unparalleled -situation? Isn’t it an unthinkable, inconceivable -situation?”</p> - -<p>Corin waved his cigarette in the air.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’ll grant you all that. But you’re too -susceptible. You’re too—too ultra-sympathetic. -It isn’t <i>your</i> Castle. It isn’t <i>your</i> relation that has -appeared unwanted from the other side of Nowhere. -It isn’t <i>you</i> who have got to take a back -seat and see Americans vault over your head -into the position you have just vacated.” He -stopped.</p> - -<p>“Oh, well,” said John frigidly, “if that’s the -way you look at things.”</p> - -<p>Corin sighed.</p> - -<p>“It’s the only sensible way.”</p> - -<p>“Hang sense,” muttered John.</p> - -<p>“My dear fellow,” urged Corin soothingly, -“look at matters in a reasonable light. Here -are you sighing, frowning, suffering real mental -pain on behalf of a family—a quite picturesque -and interesting family, I’ve no doubt, but one -with which you have the barest bowing acquaintance,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span> -the merest superficial knowledge. Your attitude -isn’t reasonable, it’s altogether exaggerated -and beside the mark.”</p> - -<p>“It’s merely ordinary decent human sympathy,” -retorted John.</p> - -<p>Corin raised his light arched eyebrows till they -nearly touched his light straight hair.</p> - -<p>“Then,” he remarked coolly, “defend me -from your company when you are suffering -from extraordinary human sympathy. Seriously, -though,” he went on, “aren’t you being a trifle -<i>exalté</i> in the matter? Aren’t you plunging the -sword of sympathy a bit too deeply into your -heart? For a moment—just for one brief infinitesimal -moment—consider facts as they are. Here are -we two, dropped by the merest chance upon this -place, fallen upon it by the merest freak of fortune—three -weeks ago I’d never even heard of its -existence—and we’ve really no more individual -connection with it than with—with Mount Popocatepetl. -What possible reason, or, I might say, -what right or justification, has either one of us to -take to heart the private and personal trials of a -family living here. It’s—it’s almost an impertinence. -We aren’t in the picture at all. We’re -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span>altogether superfluous to them. Look at the -whole thing from the point of view of an audience,” -continued Corin blandly. “A month -or two hence the curtain will have fallen on this -little drama, as far as we are concerned. We -aren’t on the stage at all.”</p> - -<p>John smiled, a little grim smile, provoked, no -doubt, by the eminent common-sense of Corin’s -statement.</p> - -<p>“You have a really wonderfully level way of -regarding matters,” he remarked.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t it common-sense?” demanded Corin.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, it’s common-sense right enough,” -conceded John airily.</p> - -<p>“You see,” continued Corin, secretly immensely -pleased with what he considered the success of his -theorems, “you see it is absolutely and entirely -impossible for us as individuals to take to heart, -deeply to heart, each individual grief of each -individual person in the world. Consider, man, -if one did, every perusal of the daily papers would -be fraught with soul-agonizings, with horrible -heart-burnings. It would become a sheer wasting -of the nervous tissues, an utter and entire uneconomic -expenditure of the sympathies. Also,” concluded<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span> Corin, -speaking now at top speed, “though -you, in your isolated superiority of an orthodox -religion, refuse to admit my theories, it is nevertheless -a fact that all suffering is the outcome of -justice, in a word, of karma, the inevitable demand -for the payment of those debts which every -individual has at one time or another voluntarily -contracted.”</p> - -<p>John grinned.</p> - -<p>“I’ve heard that theory of yours before,” he -remarked.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I know your didymusical tendencies,” -retorted Corin.</p> - -<p>John laughed.</p> - -<p>“I should have supposed,” quoth he, “that the -shoe fitted another foot.”</p> - -<p>But in his heart he was considering three points—three -questions raised by a previous speech in -the foregoing conversation. Firstly, was it a -mere freak of fortune that had brought him to -Malford? Secondly, would the curtain presently -fall on the drama so far as he was -concerned? Thirdly, had Father Maloney considered -his palpable sympathy in the business an -impertinence?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span></p> - -<p>To firstly and secondly his heart cried an -emphatic negative. Thirdly, after all, was a minor -consideration; but, having in mind Father Maloney’s -shrewd old eyes, John was disposed to -answer that question likewise in the negative.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI<br /> -<span class="smaller">IN AN OLD CHURCH</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">The</span> next two days were <i>dies non</i> as far as John -was concerned, since never a glimpse did he obtain -of white-robed figure or attendant knights, despite -sun-baked rambles along dusty roads, deep lanes, -and over purple moorland.</p> - -<p>He began to carp at that freakish sprite Chance. -Matters might have been so differently arranged -by him. Taking them in hand at all, they could -have been conceived with so infinitely greater -diplomacy. Where, after all, had been the use of -a mere goat? Why could not a bull—a ferocious, -snorting, pawing bull—have been brought on -to the stage. A bull must have entailed some -further acknowledgment of the heroic rescue. -He might even have been slightly injured in the -course of that same rescue. In that case inquiries -would have followed as a matter of course, maybe -even a visit of sympathetic and grateful condolence. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span>But a goat! a mere goat! With time and safety -in which to consider the situation, it had doubtless -presented itself to the lady’s mind as one of ridiculous -insignificance. Her alarm was, probably, by -now almost laughable in her own eyes; and, in the -face of this calm consideration, John’s advance to -the rescue would, therefore, have savoured somewhat -what of an intrusion. Verily had Chance been -freakish and ill-advised.</p> - -<p>“Could I but build me a willow cabin at her -gates,” sighed John. “But to sit on the sun-baked -road would undoubtedly gain one the -reputation of a madman in these prosaic, self-contained -days.”</p> - -<p>Nevertheless he wandered past those same -gates more times than I will venture to record, and -gazed ardently along the avenue of oaks and -beeches, but with no reward for his pains.</p> - -<p>To bring solace to his soul, he bethought himself -of Sunday. Sight of her, at least, must be then -permitted him; speech with her, though a good -devoutly to be desired, was not probable of consummation. -Also, with distinct and genuine -success he interested himself in Corin’s labours.</p> - -<p>The work in the church progressed. Daily the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span>plaster fell before that remorseless chisel, daily -new delights shone forth to the light of day. The -tracery of the east window was uncovered; showing -brilliant blue-green, with glowing ruby eyes. -Great splashes of colour, bold yet simple outline, -transformed the dreary, hitherto plastered place -into a thing of mediæval beauty. The progress -of time vanished with the falling plaster. You -found yourself back in the old centuries, the dead -years revitalized.</p> - -<p>John sought the church most willingly when the -workmen’s hours were over, when silence lay upon -the place, when the only sounds that came to him -were the falling of fragments from the walls, the -echo of Corin’s foot upon the plank as he shifted -his position, and the twittering and chirping of the -birds from the bushes in the sunny churchyard -without.</p> - -<p>At such time imagination ran riot.</p> - -<p>He pictured the village folk coming up the path -among the lengthening shadows, saw them entering -by the little Norman doorway, taking holy -water from the stoup, then kneeling before Christ -in the Blessed Sacrament. To him the church was -no longer an empty shell, but a place of crimson -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span>draperies, dark oak pews, scattered shrines; with -here and there a kneeling figure; and above all, -superseding all, the quiet strength and peace of the -Hidden Presence.</p> - -<p>Presently he began to individualize his village -folk. There was a fair-haired girl who came to -pray for her lover, to commend him specially to -Our Lord and St. Joseph, since he—her man—was -a carpenter. There was a dark-eyed woman who -came to plead for the life of her child lying sick -of a fever; there was a young man who came to -dedicate his youth and strength to God; and there -was an old, old woman, who, having no living to -pray for, came daily to pray for the holy dead. -The present had vanished, merged and absorbed -in the past. Despite all that has been lost, -removed, abandoned, despite the denial of entry -to that Gracious Presence, does there not still linger -in these old churches some faint sweet breath, -some hidden fragrance of that which once has -been?</p> - -<p>You would never have imagined, seeing John -sitting there in his most immaculate suit of grey -flannels, that such thoughts as these were passing -through his mind. But I have observed, and you -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span>may take my observation for what it is worth, -that to attempt to guess at the minds of one’s -fellow humans by their clothes and their superficial -appearance, is a distinctly dangerous task. -To do so must inevitably result in a series of vast -surprises when the truth becomes known.</p> - -<p>To my thinking it would be not unlike marching -into some great clothing emporium to examine -coats. There they hang,—tweed coats, frieze -coats, fur coats, silk coats, velvet coats, satin coats, -tinsel coats, even second-hand and shop-worn -coats. You turn them to look at the linings. -Now, here the shock begins. Where you expected -to find warm linings you find calico; where good -material, rags; where flimsy useless linings, cloth of -gold and soft fur; where soiled linings, the most -exquisite satins. Therefore, if you desire to make -a guess at the substance of these coats, without -actual knowledge of their linings, take them from -their peg and weigh them. A discrepancy between -their weight and your expectation of it may lead -you nearer a fair guess at the lining.</p> - -<p>I’ll be bound, that, on mere superficial observation, -you’d have taken our John for a mere -summer coat of little substance and no weight; but -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span>assuredly you’d find your mistake when you had -examined a bit closer. It is an idiosyncrasy of -human nature, perhaps intentional on the part of -the individual, perhaps unavoidable, that the vast -majority invariably deceives the casual observer. -No doubt this lends interest to our acquaintanceships -and friendships; often, too, lends disappointment; -and occasionally unexpected pleasure; but -interest certainly.</p> - -<p>Here, however, I have advanced somewhat with -John’s meditations, carried them beyond those -first days of which I began to speak. Therefore -to return on our traces.</p> - -<p>That first Saturday afternoon John, sitting on -an overturned wheelbarrow, began something of -those thoughts of which I have given you the -greater elaboration. I don’t believe for a moment -that he knew that he was thinking them. There’s -the curious joy of such thoughts. There is no -conscious effort on your part. You don’t map out -a route in your mind resolving your progress along -it, a conscientious observance of the milestones -you may pass. Insensibly you drift into peaceful -glades, silent and very sweet. Their atmosphere -steals upon you, holding your spirit in a breathless -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span>charm. Happiness, a strange wonderful happiness, -falls upon you. You accept it in its entirety, -taking, at the moment, no note of details. Later, -returning to more material consciousness and surroundings, -the details present themselves to your -memory, and you then realize your awareness of -them, even while they were submerged in the whole.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was cool in the church, in marked contrast -to the heat without. Being Saturday afternoon, -John and Corin had the place to themselves. -Corin, up aloft, chiselled with vigour, or with -suspended breath, as the exigencies of the work -demanded; John, on the overturned wheelbarrow, -was lost in thought.</p> - -<p>Suddenly a slight sound made him raise his -head. For a moment, for one brief instant, he -still remained in the past, almost believing his -thoughts to have materialized before him.</p> - -<p>In the shadow of the little Norman doorway -stood a white-robed figure. Still half dreaming he -looked to see her take holy water from the stoup. -Then actualities rushed upon him. His heart -jumped; pleasure, undeniable radiant pleasure, -shone from his face. He got to his feet.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span></p> - -<p>“Oh,” said Rosamund perceiving him. And -she stopped, half hesitating.</p> - -<p>John made her a little courtly bow.</p> - -<p>“I thought,” said she smiling, “I should -have found the place deserted. It is Saturday -afternoon.”</p> - -<p>“It is deserted,” John assured her, “but for -me and Corin.” He indicated the indefatigably -industrious figure aloft.</p> - -<p>She smiled.</p> - -<p>“I came,” said she, “with the intention of having -a private view, a little secret examination of -the paintings Mr. Elmore was uncovering.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” said John. And then dubiously, “The -uncovered paintings are, as you see, at a goodly -height above us.”</p> - -<p>“Yes.” Her voice was regretful.</p> - -<p>John heard the regret.</p> - -<p>“I wonder—” he began.</p> - -<p>“I <i>could</i>,” she assured him, with swift realization -of his unspoken thought.</p> - -<p>He glanced towards the ladder.</p> - -<p>“Really?” he queried.</p> - -<p>She nodded. “Really. I am sure I could.”</p> - -<p>“Come then,” said John.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span></p> - -<p>They advanced towards the ladder. At the foot -thereof she paused.</p> - -<p>“Shan’t we be disturbing him?” she queried.</p> - -<p>“Not a bit of it,” laughed John. “He’ll merely -be flattered at your interest. He’ll adore an -audience.”</p> - -<p>The situation had for him the hint of an adventure. -To have told her curtly,—or suavely, for -that matter,—that it was impossible for her to see -those paintings would have resulted in her leaving -the church. There could have been no possible -excuse for her remaining. This thought justified -him in suggesting the venture. Naturally it -was an infinitely greater venture in his eyes than -in Rosamund’s. That is probably understood -without need of my mentioning the fact.</p> - -<p>John, in advance, reached the first platform; -turned, took her hand firmly in his, and drew her to -safety. A second time was this feat accomplished -in like manner.</p> - -<p>“Hullo!” exclaimed Corin, surprised at the -double apparition.</p> - -<p>“Allow me,” said John, “to present my friend, -Mr. Elmore. Miss Delancey wanted to see the -paintings.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span></p> - -<p>“Therein,” quoth Corin bowing, “she shows -her judgment. Behold!” He waved his chisel -towards the wall.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” breathed Rosamund. Just that, and no -more.</p> - -<p>Corin hugged himself with delight.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t it gorgeous!” he ejaculated. “Isn’t it -superb, adorable, and dreamy! And heaven knows -what more this plaster hides. The unutterable -Philistines who smeared and daubed it over from -the light of day!”</p> - -<p>“Is it not,” suggested Rosamund, “a matter for -thankfulness that they did merely smear and -daub? It is possible, it is quite conceivable, that -they might have scraped.”</p> - -<p>Corin shuddered.</p> - -<p>“Don’t suggest such a possibility,” he implored. -“I’ll confess my thankfulness for the daubing.”</p> - -<p>She barely heard him. She was engrossed in -the work before her,—red, black, turquoise blue, -and crimson, she revelled in its colour. Daring -enough it was in parts, in others almost crude in its -simplicity. She was drawn, as John had been -drawn, back into the bygone ages. Their atmosphere -enfolded her, enwrapped her. She saw in -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span>the work before her, almost without realizing her -thoughts, the interpretation of the mind of the -painter. Here was nothing petty, nothing niggled; -it was frank, simple, childlike. It was extraordinarily -unselfconscious. Therein lay its subtle -charm. There was no intricacy of expression; -nothing laboured; almost, one might say, nothing -preconceived.</p> - -<p>“Well?” queried John at last.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” she cried, turning towards him, “it’s—it’s -so deliciously simple, so utterly unstudied. -It’s almost untutored in its crudeness, and yet—I -wonder wherein exactly the charm lies?”</p> - -<p>“In its simplicity,” returned Corin promptly. -“Whoever painted this worked for pure pleasure. -There’s—well, there’s so extraordinarily little hint -of even the thought of an audience. Do you know -what I mean?”</p> - -<p>“Isn’t it,” she said laughing, “the entire expression -of ‘when the world was so new and all’?”</p> - -<p>“<i>Exactly!</i>” cried Corin. “In those eight little -words Kipling carried us back into a clean fresh -world with its face all washed and smiling; when -we laughed for the mere joy of laughter; when -we wept if we wanted to weep—only I believe we -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span>didn’t want to; when the tiresome stupid phrases -‘What will people think? What will people -say?’ were unknown in the language; when we -danced, and ate, and played in the sunshine for -the mere joy of living.”</p> - -<p>“Only that?” she queried, her eyebrows raised.</p> - -<p>“Only that,” said Corin firmly. “Kipling is a -glorious pagan.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” She was dubious. “I wonder.”</p> - -<p>“And this painter,” pursued Corin unheeding, -“splashed his colours on the walls, his blacks, his -reds, his blues, his lines and curves, and he laughed -as he worked, and I think he sang too, and he didn’t -care one jot what people thought about him or -his painting. He loved it, and so—” He broke -off with a gesture.</p> - -<p>“But,” quoth she demurely, “I suppose you -don’t intend to infer that <i>he</i> was a pagan?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you can <i>call</i> him what you like,” returned -Corin magnanimously, “I only know that his mind -was as untrammelled as his work.”</p> - -<p>“I see.” She shot him a little quizzical glance.</p> - -<p>Ten minutes later, standing once more on the -floor of the church, she said to John, smiling:</p> - -<p>“I suppose Mr. Elmore considers your mind, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span>and my mind, and, for the matter of that, the -mind of every Catholic in a kind of strait-jacket?”</p> - -<p>“You’re not far beside the mark,” returned -John laughing.</p> - -<p>He went with her to the door. A moment she -stood there; and, turning, looked back into the -church.</p> - -<p>“After all, it’s sad,” she said.</p> - -<p>“I know,” replied John.</p> - -<p>“It’s—it’s the sense of loss.”</p> - -<p>“I know,” said John again, “the sense of loss, -in spite of the faint fragrance that still lingers.”</p> - -<p>She nodded, then turned towards the sunshine -without.</p> - -<p>“By the way,” said she suddenly reminiscent, -“I left a note for you at the White Cottage. My -grandmother would be very pleased if you and Mr. -Elmore would lunch with us tomorrow at one -o’clock. She would like to thank you in person -for your intervention on our behalf the other day. -Can you come?”</p> - -<p>“With the greatest pleasure in the world,” -returned John. And there is no question but that -his heart was in his voice.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE WICKEDNESS OF MOLLY BIDDULPH</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">You</span> perceive, therefore, that Chance had truly -played the game well. John—a radiant John—apologized -within his soul for his one-time doubt -of the Sprite’s arrangement of affairs. The sun -immediately shone brighter, the sky was bluer, -the earth an altogether fairer and lovelier place.</p> - -<p>He made his way swiftly back to the White -Cottage. There, in the parlour, he found what he -sought, a pale grey envelope lying on the table. -Quickly he broke the seal, perused the opening -words:</p> - -<p>“My grandmother desires me....”</p> - -<p>John’s heart thumped madly. It was exactly -as he had hoped,—her handwriting, her signature! -The faintest scent of lavender was wafted to him -from the paper.</p> - -<p>“We shall be lunching at Delancey Castle -tomorrow,” said John, with a fine air of casualness,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span> -to Mrs. Trimwell, who was setting out the -tea-things. Inwardly he was aware that an -almost idiotic smile of pleasure was wreathing -itself about his lips.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Trimwell beamed. You might have fancied, -seeing her, that the invitation had been extended -to herself.</p> - -<p>“I’m glad,” said she, heartily and concisely. -“You need cheering up a bit.”</p> - -<p>“I do?” John was surprised.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” replied Mrs. Trimwell. “I’ve noticed -well enough that you’ve been down on your luck -like these last three days, and no wonder with not -a soul to speak to except Mr. Elmore, and him -everlasting on ladders chiselling of the walls, -which it isn’t the easiest way to be talking at the -same time, I’ll be bound. You’ve done nothing -but wear yourself out a-trapezing round the country -in the heat, and come home that tired you’ve -no stomach for your food. I’ve eyes in my -head.” Mrs. Trimwell nodded emphatically.</p> - -<p>“Oh, but really—” began John feebly, and -with something like a queer sense of guilt, “I -haven’t——”</p> - -<p>“You’ve been dull,” reiterated Mrs. Trimwell -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span>firmly, “and if you <i>say</i> you haven’t you don’t -deceive me, no more than my Tilda did when she -come into the house half an hour agone looking for -all the world like a choir boy a-singing of hymns. -‘Where ha’ you been, Tilda?’ says I. Tilda, she -glinted at me out of the corner of her eye. ‘Oh, -round and about, mother,’ says she. ‘And ’tis -round and about with Molly Biddulph you’ve -been then,’ I says. And Tilda, she begins to snivel, -knowing I’ve told her times out of number I -won’t have her going around with Molly, who’s -the worst young limb of mischief to the village. -There’s nothing that child won’t do, from getting -unbeknownst into Jane Kelly’s shop and -changing the salt and sugar in the jars, to tampering -with the very books in the church itself. -Did I ever tell you about her and the banns -of marriage, sir?”</p> - -<p>“You did not,” replied John.</p> - -<p>“It was her cousin from Dublin what helped -her, I know,” announced Mrs. Trimwell, “being -a boy, and good at writing, and old enough to think -of the wickedness. But ’twas Molly stole the key, -as Father Maloney got her to own, and seeing -she goes to his church, being Irish papists, I wonder -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span>he don’t keep her in better order. Vicar, he was -away for a Sunday or two, and got another parson -what he called a lokomtinum to come down. -Molly, she stole the key of the vestry from Henry -Davies what’s the verger, and used to keep the key -in a china cat on his parlour mantelpiece, but has -carried it tied to his watch chain ever since, and her -and Patsie sneaked off down to the church when -Vicar had gone, and got the book of banns to be -called. There wasn’t but one bann to be called, -Lily Morton’s, her that married the blacksmith -over to Bradbury three months agone. Patsie -and Molly wrote down the rest. They coupled off -Mr. Healy and Miss Sweeting, and Mr. Porter -and Miss Janet Cray, and Mr. Lethbury and Miss -Martha Bridges, what’s all over fifty if they’re a -day, and the respectablest spinsters for miles -round, and Mr. Healey he’s in his dotage, and -Mr. Porter what’s afraid to look a woman in the -face, and Mr. Lethbury a married man with a wife -a bit of a termagent. They said afterwards—Molly -and Patsie—they had to give Miss Martha -Bridges to somebody, and there wasn’t no unmarried -men but Mr. Healey and Mr. Porter, and -they’d fixed them to Miss Sweeting and Miss Janet -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span>Cray. Well, the lokomtinum he don’t know -no more than Adam who the people in the village -are, and when it come to the banns, out he reads -the sinfulness them two have written down. Mrs. -Morton, the butcher’s wife, she was there, and -she told me afterwards you might ha’ heard the -gasp that went round the church up to the Castle. -Mr. Porter took and bolted, and hasn’t been seen -outside his gates yet. Mr. Healey wasn’t there, -and Mr. Lethbury he sat with his jaw dropped and -his eyes a-sticking out of his head. Miss Martha -Bridges had hysterics, and the only ones that -seemed a bit pleased and fluttery-like was Miss -Sweeting and Miss Janet Cray, specially Miss -Janet. Suppose them two thought it was a new -kind o’ way of proposing, not having the courage -to do it otherways.” Mrs. Trimwell stopped.</p> - -<p>“What happened?” asked John trying to keep -his voice steady.</p> - -<p>“Happened!” said Mrs. Trimwell. “There was -talk enough in the village that Sunday and a week -after to last most people for a lifetime and then -them feel a bit of chatterboxes. Henry Davies -he was mad, feeling responsible like as verger. -He guessed ’twas Molly at the bottom of it as she’s -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span>at the bottom of all the mischievousness in the -place and her only eleven. But he couldn’t prove -nothing finding the key in the china cat Sunday -morning same as it always was, Molly having put -it back. He ask her, and she up and lied straight. -She’ll tell you a lie and look you in the face as -innocent as a dove. But I knows when she’s -lying for that she always turns her toes in when -she lies. But I don’t think other folk have -noticed that, and for all she’s a bad child I’ll not -give her away that much. Henry Davies he went -up to Father Maloney, and he sent for Molly and -Patsie, being a knowing man like, and the sinfulness -a bit beyond Molly’s years. They told him -the truth fast enough. I’ll say that for Molly, she -don’t never lie to Father Maloney, that I knows. -And then all they’d say, as brazen as you please, -was that they were sorry they couldn’t have heard -the banns read, because ’twould be a sin in them to -go to a Protestant church. Henry Davies said -Father Maloney was that angry with them for -such a speech he just turned his back straight -on them and walked over to the window. And -presently he said in a queer sort of voice that if -Henry Davies would go away for a bit he’d talk to -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span>Patsie and Molly. Henry Davies was sure he was -so upset at the wickedness of them being responsible -for their souls like that he couldn’t abide to -have any one see what he was feeling.”</p> - -<p>“It would be a grief to him,” announced -John gravely. “Did—did his lecture have any -effect?”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Mrs. Trimwell, “in a manner of -speaking you might say it had. Father Maloney -went with Molly and Patsie to them six they’d -insulted—Father Maloney said ’twas an insult—and -to Henry Davies and the lokomtinum, and -they apologized. Though Molly said afterwards -that Miss Janet and the lokomtinum were the -only ones it had been worth while apologizing to. -She said it in Henry Davies’s hearing, which -it wasn’t pleasant for him to hear, and he’d have -gone to Father Maloney again but that Mrs. -Davies persuaded him to let well alone seeing he -might ha’ been a bit to blame for not keeping the -key safer. Father Maloney made them own up to -Vicar too, and say they were sorry. But sorriness -with Molly is water on a duck’s back and no more -and no less. And I’ve told my Tilda fifty times if -I’ve told her once, that I’ll not have her go with -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span>Molly. But it’s awful the way Molly gets a hold -on children with her coaxing ways.”</p> - -<p>John shook his head in commiseration. Words, -it would appear, failed him at the moment.</p> - -<p>Two minutes later, Mrs. Trimwell having departed, -he betook himself to a careful re-perusal -of that pale grey letter.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">AT DELANCEY CASTLE</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">“I saw</span> a new man in the park today.”</p> - -<p>This statement, clear, emphatic, came from -Antony’s lips. Sheer courtesy had suppressed -it long enough to allow of Father Maloney’s -saying grace, then it had shot forth, somewhat -after the manner of a stone from a catapult.</p> - -<p>The hour was one of the clock; the place was -the dining hall at Delancey Castle. John, on -entering it, had swept it with a comprehensive -glance. It was old-world, supremely, superbly -old-world. He had taken in the atmosphere in -one delicious draught.</p> - -<p>It was a dark place, oak-panelled, yet, so he -assured himself, it was utterly devoid of grimness. -It was mellow, harmonious, softly shadowed. -High up on the oak walls, set against their darkness, -were splashes of colour,—shields of the houses -with which the Delanceys had married. Over -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span>the great fireplace was the Delancey shield itself, -<i>Arg. a pile azure between six and charged with -three escallops counterchanged</i>. The sunlight fell -through long casement windows, patterning the -floor with diamond-shaped splotches of gold. -At one end of the hall were two steps leading to -a little arched door. Through this you entered -the chapel. At the other end was the minstrels’ -gallery. John could fancy it peopled with musicians, -heard in imagination the soft strains of -the harp and lute.</p> - -<p>The table, uncovered, shone with the polishing -of generations; silver, glass, and red roses, were -reflected in its glossy surface. At one end sat -Lady Mary. Her white hair, covered with lace, -cobwebby, filmy, was backgrounded by the -darkness of her chair. Facing her was Rosamund, -white-robed, lovely, cordial. Opposite to John -was Corin flanked on either side by Antony and -Michael; on his right was Father Maloney.</p> - -<p>To John’s mind, he and Corin alone brought the -twentieth century into the dark old place; yet, -bringing it, they failed to destroy the abiding -atmosphere. Of course the other five at the -table did not date back to their setting itself,—they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span> -were somewhere about eighteenth century -he conjectured,—but they linked on without a -break to the remoter ages; his thoughts ran -smoothly from them to the past. In a word, -they and their setting “belonged,” and that, -to him, summed up the whole essence of harmony. -He felt himself in a new old world,—new to him, -and yet old as Time itself. The day was centuries -old, caught out of the forgotten past, set down, -sweet, fragrant with memories, into the midst of -this twentieth century. And the twentieth -century with all its movement, with all its modern -innovations, fell away from him, dissolved, -vanished like fog wreaths before the sun.</p> - -<p>“I saw a new man in the park today.”</p> - -<p>The remark dropped into the harmony like a pebble -into a still lake. Why the simile presented itself -to his mind at the moment, John could not have told -you; nevertheless it did present itself.</p> - -<p>“And what manner of man may a new man -be?” demanded Father Maloney.</p> - -<p>Antony knitted his brows.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Mortimer was a new man on Wednesday,” -quoth he serious. “Mr. Elmore is the newest of -all.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span></p> - -<p>“Ah!” said Father Maloney, his eyes twinkling, -“now we see daylight. And what was this other -new man doing in the park at all?”</p> - -<p>“I think,” quoth Antony solemn, “he was -trying to look at the Castle, but he didn’t want -any one to see him. Least I don’t think he did.”</p> - -<p>“Hum!” said Father Maloney. “What makes -you think that?”</p> - -<p>“’Cos,” said Antony calmly, “when I said -‘Hullo,’ he jumped an’ said ‘Great snakes!’ -I told him,” he continued carefully, “that there -weren’t any snakes in the park. Least not big -ones anyway. An’ he said he hadn’t concluded -there were. He’d said ‘Great snakes!’ ’cos I -made him jump. S’pose it was same as Biddy -says ‘Saints alive!’ an’ you say ‘Glory be to -God!’”</p> - -<p>Father Maloney looked down the table at Lady -Mary. The glance was a trifle grim.</p> - -<p>“Did he say anything else?” asked Lady Mary -in a level voice.</p> - -<p>“He asked me who I was. An’ I told him -my name was Antony Joseph Delancey. An’ he -said he reckoned I was the owner of the place. -An’ I said no, it was Granny’s place now, but -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span>I was going to have it when I was a man. An’ -he said, ‘Oh, you are, are you?’ An’ then he -whistled.”</p> - -<p>There was a little curious silence. As we -calculate time it endured, perhaps, not longer -than two or three seconds, yet to John it seemed -interminable. It was broken by Antony’s voice, -pursuing his reminiscences the while he was -busy with roast chicken and bread sauce.</p> - -<p>“He talked quite a lot,” pursued Antony, -cheerfully reflective. “He asked me how old -I was, an’ how long I’d lived here, an’ if I liked -it. An’ he wanted to know why we had a chapel -built on to the Castle, an’ he said he hadn’t been -inside a church for years, ’cos there weren’t any -churches where he lived, an’ when he came into -a town he felt like a fish out of water if he went -inside one. An’ he lives in a house that hasn’t -got any stairs, an’ there’s mountains round it, -an’ there’s baboons what come down from the -mountains to steal the mealies. Mealies are -Indian corn, he says. An’ he says lilies grow in -the ditches in his country, an’ great tall flowers -grow in his garden,—I don’t remember the name,—an’ -wild canaries fly about among them. An’ he -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span>says the sunshine out there is all hot an’ gold, -an’ the shadows are blue as blue. An’ he says -we don’t know what sunshine is in England, ’cos -even when it’s sunny it’s like a gauze veil hung -over the sun. An’ he’s shot leopards, an’ little -tiny deer, an’ killed big snakes. An’ he asked me -honest injun what I thought about him, an’ I -said I liked him. An’ he said perhaps I wouldn’t -like him very long. An’ I said ‘Why?’ An’ he -laughed, an’ shook hands, an’ went away. An’ -that,” concluded Antony with satisfaction, “is -all.”</p> - -<p>Again there fell a little silence. It was probably -infinitely more poignant to John than to the other -members of the luncheon table. That is the -worst of being possessed of a sensitive and imaginative -temperament. Your suffering is invariably -duplex. You suffer for yourself and the other, -or others, as the case may be. And, in suffering -for others, your imagination, as often as not, -passes the bounds of actualities, for the very -excellent reason that you possess no real knowledge -to bring it to a halt.</p> - -<p>Corin, though certainly less imaginative, felt -the slight tension. He leaped to break it, in a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span>manner highly praiseworthy, if slightly abrupt. -What his remark was precisely, John did not -fully grasp, but it certainly had his work in the -church for a foundation. The leap taken, he -burbled joyously, expounding, theorizing. There -was no egotistical note in his expounding. After -all, as he assured them, the work was not his. -He was, in a manner of speaking, but a digger, a -scraper. The fact left him free to be enthusiastic -at will, and enthusiastic he veritably was.</p> - -<p>Possibly mere politeness first urged three of the -elder members of the party to suitable rejoinders. -I omit John from the number. Later they may -have been fired by Corin’s exceeding enthusiasm. -Be that as it may, the tension was distinctly -relieved. Conversation flowed easily, smoothly. -Dessert had been reached before it was suddenly -jerked back to dangerous quarters.</p> - -<p>“I wonder,” said Antony, surveying a bunch -of raisins on his plate, “who he is?” There -was, you can guess, no need for a more detailed -explanation.</p> - -<p>“I think,” said Lady Mary quietly, “it was -Sir David Delancey.”</p> - -<p>It was out now. The words were spoken. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span>To John, they somehow struck the last nail in -the coffin of his hopes.</p> - -<p>“Same name as us?” queried an astonished -Antony.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Lady Mary.</p> - -<p>“I liked him,” said Antony cheerfully. “Do -you s’pose he’s staying here? Do you s’pose -I shall see him again?”</p> - -<p>John caught his breath. Once more there was -the fraction of a pause, a little tense silence.</p> - -<p>Then came Lady Mary’s well-bred voice.</p> - -<p>“I think you will see him again. I shall ask -him to come and see the Castle before long.”</p> - -<p>John looked up, amazed.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV<br /> -<span class="smaller">A POINT OF VIEW</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">“Of</span> course,” said John to himself, “I see her -point of view.”</p> - -<p>It was, be it stated, at least the fiftieth time in -the course of the last four and twenty hours that -he had assured himself of the perspicacity of his -vision. Also, it must be observed, it was because -his own point of view was so diametrically opposed -to hers that he found the assurance necessary. -It emphasized, in a measure, his own broadness -of mind, his ability to perceive another’s standpoint -even while he disagreed with it <i>in toto</i>. -You will doubtless have observed this attitude -of mind in such persons as are fully determined -to adhere to their own opinions.</p> - -<p>Of course he realized Lady Mary’s point of -view, her quixotic determination to recognize -the interloper as one of the family, now that his -claim to recognition had been fully established. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span>Of course it was noble, chivalrous, Christian to a -very fine degree of nicety; but it was, to John’s -way of thinking, ultra-quixotic, unnecessary, -save to aspirers after saintship. And John, from -a delightfully human standpoint, saw no reason -to imagine Lady Mary as an aspirer to this exalted -degree of perfection. Therefore, from a human -standpoint, her determination was tinged, distinctly -tinged, with absurdity.</p> - -<p>It was one thing, argued John, to bear a treacherous -dog’s bite with courage and equanimity, it -was quite another to welcome and caress the dog -that has bitten you. There was treachery, -unfairness, in the whole business as far as the -interloper was concerned; that fact made John’s -point of view the justifiable, and, indeed, the -only sane one. He saw precisely how he would -have acted in the matter. He would have given -a dignified refusal to permit the interloper to -put so much as his nose inside the Castle, till such -time as he himself and his belongings had made -a dignified exit from it. There was dignity enough -in John’s attitude, you may be sure. In fact it -was a dignity which, for the time being, entirely -overrode his quite abundant sense of humour. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span>Therefore, you perceive, that the dignity was -coloured by a very decided sense of ill-temper. -This last quality and self-appreciation—and -I believe our John was modest enough—alone -are capable of subordinating such humour.</p> - -<p>“Of course,” said John again, “I see her point -of view, but it’s such a confoundedly quixotic -one. It isn’t level; it isn’t sane; it—it won’t -work.” And then John frowned fiercely, and -gazed glumly before him.</p> - -<p>He was sitting in the shadow of a haystack, -the afternoon being intensely hot. The sleepy -air was curiously still. Had John not been entirely -engrossed in his own reflections, it is possible -he might have read something ominous in this -stillness. It is certain that he would have done -so had he looked past the haystack behind him, -and seen the purple-black clouds gradually massing -up on the distant horizon. Before him, -however, all was serene, sunny, and drowsy; -therefore he continued to dream.</p> - -<p>His thoughts leaving, for a time at least, a -subject at once unfruitful and irritating, they -rambled over the incidents of the last few days. -Undercurrently, as a kind of connecting link -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span>to the scattered beads of incident, was a half-wondering -reflection on the inscrutable leadings -of Fate, Providence,—call it what you will. And -if it wasn’t Fate which had led him here, it was -Providence, and if it was Providence there was -no gainsaying the plan, and so—and so— He -broke off.</p> - -<p>Oh, he’d follow up the leading fast enough. -It was his one whole and sole desire. Hadn’t -he had this desire for months past? Hadn’t it -been his one dream since five minutes to four -precisely one windy March afternoon? He’d -follow hot afoot fast enough. The whole question -was, Would she come the merest fraction of a -step towards him? Would she even pause to -await his coming? Or would he come to the end -of the pathway to find that she had eluded him,—a -locked gate the end of his quest? And there -must be no stumbling, no clumsy blundering on -that pathway. Despite his desire for swiftness, -he must walk warily. And then his thoughts -came to a halt, overcome, I fancy, by some suspicion -of their presumption. For a moment -he staggered mentally, yet but for a moment. -Courage called high-handed to his heart. “On, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span>man, and take the risk,” she cried. “Cowardice -and false modesty never yet led to a fair goal.”</p> - -<p>Now his thoughts went back slowly step by -step, dwelling with interest on each little incident -that had brought him to his present vantage -point. It being a vantage point, this method -of thought had its fascination. It was pleasant -enough to give mental fingering to each little -bead of incident, to marvel at their connection -with each other. Truly there are times when -such a process brings pain, when each bead will -hold a tiny poisoned prick. But why think of -such times? To John, each bead was carved in -happiness.</p> - -<p>And then, suddenly, he was aware that the -physical sunshine around him had dimmed. -Glancing upwards he saw the edge of a dark -cloud. He got to his feet and came out from the -shelter of the haystack.</p> - -<p>Rolling up from the westward, thunderous, -leaden, were great massive clouds. The air -below was extraordinarily still; he was aware -now of something electric in its stillness. Overhead -there was unquestionably wind, since the -clouds rolled up and spread with rapidity.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span></p> - -<p>“We’re in for a deluge,” said John, making -for the high road.</p> - -<p>It led downhill, straight, dusty, and very white, -flanked on either side by high hedges, dust-sprinkled. -John made his way down it at a fine -pace. A thin flannel suit would be poor enough -protection against the torrent that was at hand.</p> - -<p>Nearing the bottom of the hill, he heard the -sharp ting of a bicycle bell behind him. The next -instant the bicycle and its rider flashed past.</p> - -<p>“Crass idiot to ride at that pace,” ejaculated -John against the hedge. The machine had been -within a couple of inches of his arm.</p> - -<p>And then came the first drops of rain, splashing -down, splotching dark spots on the dusty road. -White a moment agone, in a second it was brown. -The rain hissed down upon the earth. Truly -there was the sound of its abundance.</p> - -<p>John took to his heels and ran. As he turned -at the bottom of the hill, he came to a sudden -halt. By the roadside, half sitting, half lying, -was a man; a bicycle, wheels in the air, reposed -disconsolately in a ditch.</p> - -<p>“Hurt?” demanded John as he came abreast -of him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span></p> - -<p>“Twisted my ankle,” was the laconic response.</p> - -<p>John glanced along the road. A hundred -yards or so ahead, through the downpour, he -could see the White Cottage.</p> - -<p>“I can give you an arm to shelter if you can -manage to hobble,” he announced, indicating -the house.</p> - -<p>The man scrambled to his feet with a grimace -of pain. Together, in halting fashion, they made -their way towards the cottage. Conversation -there was none. John expressed a consolatory -remark or two at intervals, to which his companion -replied, “All right. Not much. Brake -broke,” as the case might be.</p> - -<p>Even in these few words there was something -in the inflexion of his voice which perplexed John. -Undercurrently he found himself demanding -what it was, but the exigencies of the moment -disallowed of the query coming uppermost. Also, -at the moment, John happened to be suffering -from one of those lapses into obtuseness to which -even the most intelligent of us are liable on -occasions.</p> - -<p>It was with a sigh of relief that he pushed open -the door of his sitting-room.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV<br /> -<span class="smaller">JOHN PLAYS THE SAMARITAN</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">There</span> is no question but that Mrs. Trimwell could -rise to an emergency when it presented itself -before her. In fifteen, perhaps no more than -ten, minutes from their entry, she had the -drenched couple into dry garments; the injured -ankle was bound in soft bandages, tea was in -preparation.</p> - -<p>But why, marvelled John, should her beneficent -services have been dispensed with a face as sour as -a crab-apple? Why should her whole mien have -been as stiff, unbending, and unyielding as the -proverbial poker? The disapproval of her attitude -was so marked as to be impossible to ignore. -John, in the position of host, felt some sort of an -apology necessary. Mrs. Trimwell departed, he -stumbled one forth, wondering, as he endeavoured -at lightness, whether he were not, after all, a bit of -a fool for his pains; whether, by remarking on her -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span>taciturn grimness, he were not emphasizing it -more crudely.</p> - -<p>“She doesn’t mean to be abrupt,” he concluded, -holding his cigarette case towards the -stranger.</p> - -<p>The man took a cigarette, and glanced at John.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, I guess she does,” he remarked -drily.</p> - -<p>John looked at him. Obtuseness still had him -in her clutch.</p> - -<p>“She knows who I am,” said the man coolly, -“and—well, I fancy most folk round here are not -predisposed in my favour. My name, by the -way, is David Delancey.”</p> - -<p>John gasped, frankly gasped. He was amazed, -dumbfounded. Running through the amazement -was, I fancy, something like annoyance; though -superseding it was a sense of the ludicrous, a -realization of the absurdity of the situation. -And this brought him to something perilously -near a titter.</p> - -<p>The man looked at him.</p> - -<p>“Look here,” he said deliberately, though with -a gleam of amusement in his own eyes, “if you feel -the same way about things, I’ll move on now. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span>I’ll make shift to hobble to the inn if you’ll lend -me a couple of sticks.”</p> - -<p>John experienced a sudden sensation of shame. -Perhaps it was by reason of the quick interpretation -of his unspoken thoughts, perhaps it was -something in the other’s steady grey eyes.</p> - -<p>“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” he said quickly. -And then he laughed.</p> - -<p>“What’s funny?” demanded David.</p> - -<p>“Oh, the whole blessed kaboodle,” returned -John, still laughing softly. “Here was I half an -hour agone inveighing against you for all I was -worth, and now—well, the rôle of good Samaritan -strikes me as a bit humorous, that’s all.”</p> - -<p>He held a lighted match towards his guest. -David took it. After a moment he spoke.</p> - -<p>“Then you know them up at the Castle?”</p> - -<p>“I do,” said John.</p> - -<p>David glanced at him, then turned to a contemplation -of his cigarette.</p> - -<p>“I had a note from the old lady today,” he said -ruminatively. “She has asked me to dine on -Thursday. Now, I call that sporting of her. -I guess I’d be more like sticking a knife into me -than asking me to share her salt. It’s the way -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span>she’s worded the note, too, that I’m stuck on. -I’d give a good many dollars to get my tongue -and pen around words in that fashion. I reckon -I shall shake hands with her cordially.”</p> - -<p>John eyed him curiously. His preconceived -notions of hostility were undergoing an extraordinary -change, a change at once rapid, and, -to him, amazing, incomprehensible. I fancy he -tried to rein them back, to bring them to a standstill, -while he took a calmer survey of the situation, -but, for all his endeavours, he found they had -suddenly got beyond his control.</p> - -<p>“I wonder,” hazarded he, “if you’d mind my -asking you something. What gave you the first -clue—the idea of starting out on this quest of -yours?”</p> - -<p>“The clue?” David laughed. “It’s a bit of a -yarn, I can tell you. You want it? Sure?”</p> - -<p>John nodded.</p> - -<p>“Well,” quoth David, “you can call it luck, -chance if you like. We’ve always known we -hailed as a family originally from England. That -knowledge has been handed down to us as a bit of -tradition. I was born in Philadelphia, and riz -there, as they say in the States, till I was going -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span>ten. Then my father made for Africa. There’s -no need to enter into the details of that move; -they’re beside the mark. He took a small farm in -the Hex River Valley. He had a few old things -that belonged to his father and grandfather -before him. They were stored away in a chest. -I used to look inside it when I was a youngster, -and see coats, and waistcoats, and neck -stocks, and a fusty old book or two lying in it. -I never smell camphor without thinking of that -chest.</p> - -<p>“As I grew older, I left it alone, didn’t think -about it. I guess my father hadn’t bothered -about it much more than I did. He died when -I was fifteen, and my mother ran the farm. She -was a capable woman. I helped her all I could, -and there were men to do the work. But she was -boss till I was one and twenty. Then she turned -it over to me to run,—root, stock, and barrel. -She was cute, though, the way she’d talk things -over with me, telling me all the time what was -best to do, and making me think that I had figured -out the plans. Later on she left it really to me, -not just in the name of it. That was when I’d -got the right hang of things.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span></p> - -<p>“Then she dropped suddenly out of all the man -way of thinking, and just sat knitting and smiling -in the chimney corner, or letting me drive her -around in the buggy, with never a talk of business -unless I began the subject. It’s seven years ago -that she died.” He stopped.</p> - -<p>John was silent.</p> - -<p>“I missed her,” went on David presently, “I -missed her badly. The place wasn’t the same. -I went roving around trying to think she wasn’t -gone—but I’ll get maudlin if I go on with that. -It wasn’t the bit I set out to tell you, anyway. -One afternoon I was in the lumber room feeling -lonesomer than ever. I don’t know what took me -there if it wasn’t just fate. Then I looked at -that chest again. I opened it, and the smell of -camphor rushed out at me, making me think more -than ever of my mother. She was mad after -camphor, putting it among everything to keep -away the moth.</p> - -<p>“To get away from my thoughts I began pulling -out the things in the box, stuffy books, coats, -waistcoats, and all. There was one coat, a snuff-coloured -one, that might have been worn in the -time of the Georges, I calculated. I sat looking -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span>at it, and wondering which of my grandparents had -worn it, and what kind of a man he was, and all -the things a fellow does think when he’s got his -grandsire’s stuff before him. After a bit I began -going through the pockets. I found a tiny horn -snuff-box in one, and that set me off searching -closer. I’d come to the last pocket, when I found -what gave me that clue you were asking about. I -found a letter.”</p> - -<p>John looked up quickly.</p> - -<p>“It was torn, and not over-easy to read,” went -on David. “I’ve got it here. You can read it if -you like.”</p> - -<p>He felt in his waistcoat pocket and pulled out -his pocket-book. From it he took a letter.</p> - -<p>John took the yellow paper with its faded ink -lines. As he touched it he thought of the queer -twists fate gives to the wheel of our life. Less -than a fortnight ago he had set eyes but momentarily -upon one of the Delancey family, -and now here he was, thrown into their midst, -made participator even in their extraordinary -history. It was, so mused John, a bit of a -marvel.</p> - -<p>Here is the letter he read.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span></p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p class="no-indent">“<span class="smcap">My dear son Richard</span>:</p> - -<p>“I am about to set forth on the journey of -which you know the purpose. If I am successful -you will claim your birthright. Though I sold -mine, after the manner of Esau, for a mess of red -pottage, being forced thereto by harshness, yet I -forfeited it for myself alone.</p> - -<p>“Your mother and brother do not know of the -purpose of my journey to England. I think it -well that it should remain known to us two alone -till my return.</p> - -<p class="right">“Your affectionate father,</p> - -<p class="right2">“<span class="smcap">Henry Delancey</span>.”</p> -</div> - -<p>John slowly deciphered the faint lines. Silently -he tendered the letter again.</p> - -<p>“It set me thinking,” said David reminiscently. -“I was in that lumber room for more than two -hours reading that letter again and again. It was -clear that there was something belonging to us -that we hadn’t got; something that, as far as I -could see, we had the right to have, though I -didn’t just know what it was. It struck me as -queer that the Richard who had had the letter -hadn’t had a try for it. I know now that he died -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span>of some kind of fever after his father had been -gone six weeks. His father didn’t return.” -David’s voice was grim.</p> - -<p>“I know,” said John.</p> - -<p>“You’ve heard the story?” demanded David.</p> - -<p>“That part of it. But go on.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” continued David, “whether no one else -knew of the letter, or whether they thought that -trying for their rights was a fool game, I don’t -know. There were times when I was after it that I -thought it a fool game myself. But I’d set out on -it, and somehow I never find it easy to turn back -on any job I’ve set out on. If the others didn’t -think our birthright worth a bit of a fight I did. It -took me five years to trace up the family, but I got -on the track, back to the certificate of Henry -Delancey’s marriage to Marie Courtoise, daughter -of a Brussels lace merchant. It was their grandson -who first settled in the States. With that -I came to England, and followed up the clue here. -Then I understood exactly what I was after. They -can’t deny that Henry was the eldest son, and -though they say he signed away the property from -himself and his heirs they haven’t got that document. -This letter, too,” he tapped it gently, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span>“shows that though he may have signed it away -from himself, he did not touch the birthright of his -heirs. See?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I see,” returned John a trifle drily.</p> - -<p>Oh, he saw fast enough. Also, he saw pretty -plainly that Henry Delancey had been no fool -in the game of swindling.</p> - -<p>David looked at him.</p> - -<p>“You’re on the side of the occupants of the -Castle,” he said. It was statement rather than -query.</p> - -<p>“I am,” said John coolly. His eyes held something -of a challenge.</p> - -<p>“Hum,” remarked David.</p> - -<p>And then Mrs. Trimwell entered with the tea, -and an aspect of rigid disapproval.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI<br /> -<span class="smaller">CORIN DISCOURSES ON KARMA</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">“I like</span> that man,” announced Corin succinctly.</p> - -<p>John grunted.</p> - -<p>“I like him,” announced Corin again, stirring -his coffee.</p> - -<p>“I’ve heard you make that remark at least -ten times since his departure,” quoth John, and -somewhat sarcastically, be it stated.</p> - -<p>“It is possible,” returned Corin coolly, “that -you will hear me make it at least ten times more. -Of course I’ll allow that he isn’t in the picture. In -fact he’s entirely out of the picture; he strikes an -incongruous note. It requires a readjustment of -all one’s preconceived notions to see him in that -old-world setting up yonder.”</p> - -<p>John groaned inwardly.</p> - -<p>“Yet you cannot deny,” pursued Corin, “that -there is a pleasing strength and virility about him. -I had allowed myself to imagine him as a small -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span>hustling man, a cross between the brisk commercial -traveller and the hard-headed mechanic, -with perhaps a touch of the oily waiter thrown -in. And now,” went on Corin musingly, “I perceive -that he is a big man——”</p> - -<p>“Your eyesight would be strangely deficient if -you didn’t perceive it,” broke in John.</p> - -<p>“A silent man——”</p> - -<p>“He hadn’t a chance of getting a word in edgeways -when you appeared upon the scene,” interpolated -John.</p> - -<p>“A thoughtful man——”</p> - -<p>“It is to be hoped he was able to assimilate a -few of the thoughts you thrust down his throat,” -quoth John grimly.</p> - -<p>“Hang the stupid little complications of life,” -he was thinking. There was a tiny note of trouble -in his eyes.</p> - -<p>“If you mean that I thrust my ideas upon him -unwanted,” said Corin with dignity, “allow me to -remark that you are mistaken. I observed interest, -intelligent interest, in his face.”</p> - -<p>“And you pretend to being short-sighted,” -interposed John.</p> - -<p>“The idea,” continued Corin, “of his having -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span>worked out his debt of karma for sins committed -in former lives, and being, therefore, now able to -enter upon his birthright, appealed to him. It -distinctly appealed to him. He said, ‘I guess -that’s a new handle to take hold of,’ more than -once.”</p> - -<p>“That doesn’t say it was an inviting one,” -retorted John.</p> - -<p>“I’m a fool to be worried about such a trifling -absurdity,” he thought.</p> - -<p>“There is much,” said Corin didactically, “that -is uninviting at the outset, but which, on further -acquaintance, proves of extraordinary interest. -Also, for my part, rather let me grasp Truth however -uninviting she may appear, than dally with -the most pleasing of lies.”</p> - -<p>John laughed.</p> - -<p>“I wonder,” went on Corin, “what precise debt -of karma the family at the Castle owes this man, -that he is to be the instrument for their unseating.”</p> - -<p>“According to you,” returned John, “since he -has paid off his own debt, and gained reward, he -is obliged to unseat someone.”</p> - -<p>Corin sighed.</p> - -<p>“I fear,” he said, “that I shall never be able -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span>to make you perceive the law and order, the strict -justice in the universe. If reward is gained at the -expense of another, it is merely because that other -deserves that the reward should be so gained.”</p> - -<p>John laughed a second time. Argument in this -quarter was futile, and he knew it. His friendship -with Corin was always a matter of some slight -amusement and puzzlement to him, when he -chanced to consider the subject. It is certainly -somewhat difficult to conceive wherein precisely -the attraction between them existed, having in -view their diametrically opposite opinions.</p> - -<p>“Confound the man,” thought John, and it was -not on Corin those thoughts were centred, “why -couldn’t he have been all that I had pictured -him?”</p> - -<p>“You can laugh,” said Corin severely, “but it is -very certain that you can bring no arguments -to refute mine.”</p> - -<p>“My dear man,” responded John, “I could bring -twenty million, but it’s like pouring water into a -sieve to propound them to you. I believe I have -heard a tale of a monk being once sent by a saint -to fetch water in a sieve; and when, at the end of -several journeys, he ventured to remonstrate at -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span>the futility of the journey, it was pointed out to -him that at all events the sieve had been cleansed -by the process. I don’t know whether my arguments -would have a like effect on your mind, but -I confess I am too lazy to try.”</p> - -<p>“Your simile savours of an insult,” retorted -Corin. “But I’ll leave you to your own mode of -thought. I know it to be hide-bound, iron-cast. -Now, in this man I see plastic material; he needs -but careful moulding. I shall pursue my acquaintance -with him with interest.”</p> - -<p>John laughed a third time. But behind the -laughter in his eyes was still that little indefinable -note of trouble.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII<br /> -<span class="smaller">A RARE ABSURDITY</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Now</span>, to your calm, collected, and reasonable -individual, John’s little trouble may appear -nothing but rank absurdity. It probably will -appear nothing but rank absurdity, seeing that it -had existence merely in the fact that he had felt a -certain attraction towards the man, whom fate had -that evening thrown in his path.</p> - -<p>And why on earth shouldn’t he feel attraction!—so -your reasonable individual may exclaim.</p> - -<p>But John was not reasonable. He was one of -your ultra-sensitive characters, to whom the merest -dust speck may prove, at moments, a source of -perpetual annoyance. He desired to feel nothing -but a whole-hearted detestation of this interloper.</p> - -<p>I am not defending John’s desires,—they certainly -cannot be termed precisely Christian,—I -merely state them as existing. Their fulfilment -would have left him entirely free to draw a line -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span>between himself and the one who had arisen to -harass the inhabitants of Delancey Castle. He -would have felt utterly and entirely established -beside them. He was established beside them, -yet this tiny attraction sent forth an irritating -little lay across the barrier. He felt it, in a -measure, disloyal. He disliked it; and yet, for the -life of him, he could not prevent its existence.</p> - -<p>I am well aware of the absurdity of his annoyance; -but it merely characterizes John. It shows -him to be what he was,—ultra-quixotic in his -friendships, sensitive to a degree of fastidiousness -where he fancied his loyalty to be in the smallest -measure at fault.</p> - -<p>Not that John was blind to the imperfections -of his friends (and here I use the word in its full -meaning),—those few—they were few—whom -he had admitted, or who had somehow found -entrance, to the inner shrine of his heart. But I -could fancy him shielding those imperfections from -the eyes of the world with his own body; standing -between them and the gaze of a curious multitude; -suffering death, if need be, in the shielding.</p> - -<p>Call him absurd, if you will; but, for my part, I -like this rare absurdity.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">IN FATHER MALONEY’S GARDEN</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Father Maloney</span> was pottering in his garden. I -use the word pottering advisedly, since assuredly -the cutting off of a dead rose here and there can -hardly be termed work.</p> - -<p>It was a minute place, this garden of his, a mere -pocket handkerchief of a garden, yet every conceivable -flower possible to bloom in a garden -bloomed in it according to the season. At the -moment it was ablaze with African marigolds, -escoltia, asters, salvias, stocks, summer chrysanthemums, -and all the rest of the August flowers, -fragrant with the scent of roses, heliotrope, carnations, -and mignonette.</p> - -<p>In the centre of the garden was a tiny square of -grass, smooth and trim. A gravel path surrounded -it; beyond it were the many-coloured flower -borders backgrounded by a close-clipped yew -hedge. You could see over the hedge to the lane -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span>on the one side, and the field on the other. The -field sloped upwards to a sparse wood, carpeted -with primroses and bluebells in the springtime. -Later there was a lordly array of foxgloves on its -margin, stately purple fellows, standing straight -against the trees.</p> - -<p>Beyond the lane and the wild-rose hedge, which -bordered it on the further side, you had a glimpse -of the sea. Its voice was never absent from the -garden. In its softly sighing moods it lay as an -under-note to the fragrant scents, and the humming -of the insects. In its sterner moods it dominated -the little place, filled it with a note of -sadness. And always there was that strange -bitter-sweetness in its sound.</p> - -<p>Father Maloney was conscious of it now. He -looked up from the rosebush towards the distant -shimmering strip of blue.</p> - -<p>“’Tis like the far-off voice of a multitude longing -for peace yet unknowing of their desire,” he -said, “it is that.” And there was pain in his old -eyes.</p> - -<p>Then he looked round the garden.</p> - -<p>“Sure, ’tis happy I’ve been here; and now—” -he sighed. “The fella is no Catholic at all, they -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span>say. But if he were it would not be the same -thing, it would not.”</p> - -<p>He cut off a couple more roses, and pocketed -them. Later Anastasia would empty his pockets -of the dead leaves. Also she would suggest—more -as a command than a suggestion—that there -were plenty of baskets in the house if he wanted -to be cutting off withered roses and suchlike. To -which Father Maloney would make his usual -shame-faced reply:</p> - -<p>“Sure, and a basket slipped my mind entirely, it -did.”</p> - -<p>Whereupon Anastasia would sniff. By force of -habit she had gained a certain air of command, -which most assuredly he did not permit to many.</p> - -<p>“She’s an example to all of us, is Lady Mary,” -said Father Maloney, pursuing his reflections. -“It’s more than I would do to invite the fella -to the house. It’s not uncharitable towards -him, I am, but he’d not put his foot across -my threshold till I’d cleared out. No; it’s not -uncharitable I am, but I’ll have a job to be civil -to him I’m thinking.”</p> - -<p>He stuffed a handful of dead roses into his -pocket, and sat down on a rustic-seat.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span></p> - -<p>It was three of the afternoon. It was still; -it was very hot. If I have often mentioned heat -in the course of this chronicle, I must crave for -indulgence. An almost unprecedented summer -was reigning over this England of ours. Morning -after morning you woke to blue skies and golden -sunshine; night after night you slept beneath -clear heavens star-sprinkled. Day and night the -earth sang the Benedicite; and men, I fancy, echoed -the blessings. In spite of the inclusive terms -of the hymn, it is infinitely easier to respond -to it in sunshine and starlight, than in fog and -darkness.</p> - -<p>Father Maloney sat facing the lane and the distant -strip of sea. Two poplars in the field across -the lane rose spirelike against the blue sky. Bees -droned around him among the flowers; butterflies -flitted from blossom to blossom. Every now and -again a bird twittered and then was silent. Their -song was over for the year. Only the robin would -ring later its sweet sad lament.</p> - -<p>Through the open kitchen window he heard -the clink of plates, telling of Anastasia busy within. -At intervals she hummed in a thin cracked -voice:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span></p> - -<p class="center no-indent">“<i>Salve Regina, Mater Misericordiæ, vita, dulcedo, -et spes nostra salve,...</i>”</p> - -<p>You could have recorded each of the Church’s -seasons by Anastasia’s humming of the antiphons -of Our Lady. At first Father Maloney had suffered -the humming with what patience he might. -It now affected him no more than the droning of -the bees in his garden.</p> - -<p>For twenty minutes, half an hour, perhaps, he -sat motionless, his thoughts very far away. Suddenly -he came back to the present. He was -conscious, in some subtle fashion, that he was -not alone. It was a moment or so before the -consciousness found articulation in his brain. He -looked up. The garden was as empty of any -human presence but his own as it had been hitherto.</p> - -<p>He turned.</p> - -<p>In the field, on the other side of the yew -hedge, a tall man was standing. He was big, he -was loose-limbed, he was red-headed. His face, -squarish and short-chinned, had a somewhat -doggy expression. He was looking at the flowers, -seemingly unconscious, for the moment at all -events, of the presence of the owner of the garden.</p> - -<p>Father Maloney coughed. The stranger’s eyes -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span>left the flowers, and turned towards Father -Maloney.</p> - -<p>“I was looking at the flowers,” quoth he, and a -trifle shame-facedly, after the manner of a schoolboy -caught in some venial offence.</p> - -<p>“You’re welcome,” said Father Maloney genially. -“Looking is free to all.” And then a -sudden idea struck him, and he stiffened imperceptibly, -or perhaps he fancied it was imperceptibly, -for the stranger spoke.</p> - -<p>“I’ll be off,” said he. “I didn’t mean to disturb -you.”</p> - -<p>A little odd shadow had passed over his face, -the expression of a child who has been snubbed. -It sat oddly, and a trifle pathetically on him. He -turned, limping slightly.</p> - -<p>“It’s not disturbing me at all you are,” said -Father Maloney quickly. The honour of his -hospitality had been pricked. The merest touch -will suffice for an Irishman.</p> - -<p>And then he looked at the stranger again. -There was an odd commotion stirring in his -heart, something that baffled him in its interpretation.</p> - -<p>“Glory be to God, what’s come over me,” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span>he muttered inwardly. Aloud he said, and the -words surprised himself, “Will you be coming in, -and having a look around. There’s a wicket gate -in yonder corner.”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX<br /> -<span class="smaller">A BEWITCHING</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">If</span> this—his own voluntary invitation—had surprised -Father Maloney, twenty minutes later he -was more surprised still. His mind was in one -chaotic state of surprise. It had entirely lost its -bearings; it had drifted into an extraordinary -geniality with, apparently, no volition on his own -part. As surely as he contracted it momentarily -into a state of astonished frigidity, so surely it expanded, -thawed again, into an altogether untoward -hospitality.</p> - -<p>“Sure, it’s entirely bewitched I am,” he muttered -sternly, bewildered at one moment, and the next -expatiating on the individual beauties of some -rose, as a mother expatiates on the virtues of her -child, provided, of course, that her audience be -sufficiently sympathetic.</p> - -<p>“’Tis in June you should have been seeing -them,” he said at length, tenderly fingering a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span>Madame Abel Chatenay, salmon pink, pale, and -graceful, “’tis in June you should have been seeing -them. For every one rose on the bushes now, -there were ten then. Sure, I never know which -of them I’m for loving best. At times I think -’tis this fair lady, then I’m for thinking ’tis yonder -creamy Devonionsis, or that drooping white -Niphetos, or Caroline Testout smiling away over -there. But for the most I’m always coming -back to General Jacqueminot. ’Tis the old-fashionedness -of him, and his sturdy ways, and, -more than all, the sweet scent of him. If you’re -down on your luck, and take a good sniff at him, -why, the world’s a different place that very minute. -There’s all the sunshine of the summer, and the -humming of the bees, and the laughter of children, -and your mother’s voice, and all the memories of -your boyhood in the scent, there is that. And -you’d laugh yourself, the while there’s a queer -tenderness is catching at your heart for happy -tears.”</p> - -<p>“I know,” nodded David. (I have not insulted -your intelligence by giving him a former and -formal introduction.) “I know. There are scents -like that. They are alive. They are worth -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span>a million words, or a million pictures. I could -be taken blindfold across the world, and if I -were set down on the veldt I would know the -scent in an instant. It’s hot, pungent, aromatic. -I’d see the scrubby bushes, the scarlet everlastings, -the flame-coloured heaths, and the straggling blue -lobelia. I’d see the mountains, blue against the -sun, and golden facing it. I’d feel the great -spaces, and the vast distances. I’d—” he -broke off with a laugh. “There I am trying to -give you in words what only the scent of the place -can really give you.”</p> - -<p>“Words are poor things,” said Father Maloney -smiling, “when you come to wanting to express -what lies closest to your heart. I’m thinking -’tis like the Tower of Babel over again, after a -fashion. We can talk fast enough when our -thoughts are down near the earth, but the moment -they get up a bit, for the most of us our tongue is -halting and stammering, and there’s confusion. -I’m thinking it’s as well, or we might get a bit -above ourselves with glibness of speech, and be -fancying ourselves embryo prophets and visionaries, -and getting others to fancy it along with us.”</p> - -<p>David flicked an insect off a rose.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span></p> - -<p>“There’s not much need for speech if you happen -to be with the right person, is there?” said he -thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>Father Maloney’s eyes twinkled.</p> - -<p>“There is not,” quoth he. “Or, at all events, -your stammering will stand you in good stead.”</p> - -<p>And then Anastasia rang the tea-bell.</p> - -<p>Father Maloney started almost guiltily. Time -had stolen a march on him, it would appear. He -looked uneasily towards the house.</p> - -<p>“That’s your tea-bell,” said David calmly, -voicing the obvious.</p> - -<p>“It is that,” said Father Maloney. “I—will -you be having a cup,” he blurted out.</p> - -<p>For one instant, for just one brief instant, -David hesitated, then,</p> - -<p>“Thanks,” he said.</p> - -<p>“’Tis altogether bewitched I am,” groaned -Father Maloney inwardly, as he accompanied his -guest towards the house.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX<br /> -<span class="smaller">A VITAL QUESTION</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">A whalebone</span> Anastasia brought a second cup -for “this gentleman.” She heard well enough the -trace of guilt in Father Maloney’s voice, knew also -well enough who the gentleman was, of that you -may be very sure. You cannot, believe me, pass -two days, or even one day, in Malford without -the majority of the population becoming fully and -miraculously acquainted with your whole previous -history and antecedents. I’ll not vouch for the -entire accuracy of the information; to do so -would be mere rashness on my part, but certain it -is that the information collected by Anastasia was -more than sufficient to account for her whalebone -rigidity of bearing, and also for an unpleasant -little sniff on receiving Father Maloney’s order.</p> - -<p>If she imagined that this obvious disapproval -of manner would affect Father Maloney, she was -vastly mistaken, at all events as to the manner -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span>of effect produced. You might have imagined -that twelve years in his service might have gained -her some experience. But not a bit of it. Her -own preconceived notions of what should be were -infinitely too deeply engraven to be eradicated -by what was. If I desired to be trite, I might discourse -for a chapter and more on this common -state of affairs.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Father Maloney’s sitting-room was a small, -shabby place. There was nothing artistic about -it; there was nothing even particularly comfortable, -with the exception of two large armchairs, -which, having been much sat in, had become -remarkably adapted to the human form. Anastasia -having had a field day therein that morning, -it smelt both clean and bare. It had that peculiar, -tidy, empty smell of a newly cleaned room.</p> - -<p>After such a day, Father Maloney uttered -inward prayers for patience. Long experience -had shown him that it was useless to inform -her that a desk was specially constructed to hold -scattered papers; that chairs were an infinitely -preferable receptacle for books than the top shelf -of a lofty bookcase; that a tobacco jar was intended<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span> -to stand on the piano, rather than in a cupboard -behind a waste-paper basket, a coal-scuttle, a -broken chair, and a screen; that the bottom drawer -of a bureau, which opened only by sheer physical -force, was not the place he would ordinarily choose -for his pipes. Such information fell on ears as -deaf as the ears of the proverbial adder, despite the -wise charm of its utterance. Therefore, having -in view Anastasia’s other, and excellent, qualities, -Father Maloney merely prayed for patience, as I -have indicated.</p> - -<p>David looked round the room. In a manner of -speaking, he weighed, judged and appraised the -mental atmosphere from that which he noted.</p> - -<p>Firstly, he observed the shabbiness, which I -have mentioned; secondly, he smelt the almost -aggressive cleanliness, which I have also mentioned; -thirdly, he noted a curiously combined -homeliness and discomfort; fourthly, he took in -various details,—a <i>prie-dieu</i> in one corner, with a -cheap Crucifix above it; a large framed photogravure -of Pope Pius X over the mantelpiece; a -small, badly coloured statue of the Sacred Heart -on one wooden bracket, and an equally badly coloured -statue of Our Lady on another; gilt-framed -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span>oleographs of saints scattered about the walls, the -gilt poor and rubbed, the oleographs horribly crude; -a thumbed office-book lying on a crimson plush-covered -sofa, the broken corner of a lace-edged -card protruding from it.</p> - -<p>It was all amazingly artificial, and yet—well, it -was real. There was the extraordinary paradox. -On one side the artificiality was utterly apparent; -on the other it stood for something, and that something -was neither artificial, imaginary, nor even -commonplacely real, but vividly, vitally real. It -was like recognizing a soul in a wax-work, or -finding life in a daguerreotype.</p> - -<p>David sniffed the mental atmosphere, so to -speak, vainly endeavouring to arrive at an understanding -thereof, gave it up as a bad job, and then -suddenly received a flash of illumination.</p> - -<p>“It’s because it’s all real to him,” he concluded. -But felt, nevertheless, that somehow the conclusion -did not absolutely reach the mark.</p> - -<p>Arriving at his second cup of tea, David spoke. -The conversation so far had been more or less trivial. -Here, it would appear, was a weightier matter.</p> - -<p>“I’ve been asked to dine at the Castle on -Thursday.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span></p> - -<p>“Yes?” From Father Maloney’s voice one might -have judged the information as not altogether -a surprise.</p> - -<p>“I’ve accepted,” said David.</p> - -<p>“Yes?” said Father Maloney again. He perceived -that there was something further to come.</p> - -<p>David reddened slightly beneath his tan.</p> - -<p>“The fact is,” he blurted out, “I’d forgotten -all about dress clothes. I know people do wear -the things. I haven’t got such a suit to my -name.”</p> - -<p>Father Maloney cut a slice of cake.</p> - -<p>“Sure, such things are not obligatory in the -country at all, they are not,” quoth he calmly. -“In the town now—but the country, ’tis quite -another matter.” He looked straight at David’s -anxious eyes.</p> - -<p>“Sure?” demanded David.</p> - -<p>“It’s dead certain I am,” returned Father -Maloney.</p> - -<p>David fetched a big sigh.</p> - -<p>“I’m awfully glad I mentioned it to you,” he -responded. “The matter was sitting on my chest -a bit.”</p> - -<p>“Glory be to God!” laughed Father Maloney.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI<br /> -<span class="smaller">A REQUEST</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Half</span> an hour later Father Maloney was wending -his way towards Delancey Castle.</p> - -<p>“I’m thinking she’ll not altogether understand,” -mused he ruefully, “but ’twas the child’s eyes -of him, ’twas just that. Though if he hasn’t a -will at the back of them, my name’s not Dan -Maloney.”</p> - -<p>An hour later he was bearing a note in the -direction of the White Cottage. It was addressed -to John Mortimer, Esq. It contained a sentence -which may be of interest to you.</p> - -<p>“Please will you both wear morning dress at -dinner on Thursday.”</p> - -<p>Father Maloney tramped along the road looking -at the hedges and the trees. Finally he raised -his eyes to the sky.</p> - -<p>“She’s a wonderful woman is Lady Mary!” -he ejaculated, “A wonderful woman!”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE WONDERFUL WOMAN</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">But</span> underneath the wonderfulness there was a -heartache. You can hardly expect it to have been -otherwise; and, for my part, I would not have had -it otherwise. She wouldn’t have been one quarter -the adorable old lady she was, if there hadn’t been -that heartache.</p> - -<p>If, from some lofty and ascetic perch, she could -have calmly contemplated her approaching departure -from Delancey Castle with never a tremor, with -never a soul-stabbing, then, very assuredly, she -would have been one of a genus of human beings -that I would find it in vain to attempt to comprehend. -It is through the very humanity of the -saints that one feels their lovableness. They -felt intensely; they had their loves and their -hates, their likes and their dislikes, their joys and -their sorrows; they were living, sensitive, human -creatures, not masses of granite, nor insensible -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span>lumps of putty. And it wasn’t one atom because -they didn’t care for happiness and pleasure, and -possibly even for luxury, that they became saints, -but just because they did care, and caring gave all -these things as a free and generous gift to God.</p> - -<p>Of course you know this every bit as well as I -do, but I like to remind myself of it every now and -then. And sometimes God may have given them -back their own actual gifts to Him, even while -they were still on earth,—gifts refined, transmuted -by some wonderful purifying process in His hands. -But most often it would seem that He gave them -another gift in exchange,—that wonderful gift, -Sorrow, of which only a saint can see the true -beauty. Yet always He gave them back in full -and overflowing measure one gift that must of -necessity have been offered with the other gifts,—the -gift of love towards Him.</p> - -<p>I don’t mean to infer from this that Lady -Mary was a saint. That would be a matter on -which I naturally should not venture to express -an opinion. One leaves such decisions to God -and the Holy Fathers. But she was very assuredly -a wonderful woman, as Father Maloney had -remarked.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span></p> - -<p>If her heart was old in years, it was young in -immortal youth. She revelled in the sunshine, -she revelled in happiness; I am not sure that she -didn’t bask in it. I fancy there would be little -real gratitude if we accepted these gifts timorously, -fearing lest their removal should follow quickly. -To my thinking, the truest gratitude, the fullest -trust, is to accept them with whole-hearted enjoyment, -to say a real “thank You” for the loan, when -the time comes that God asks us to give it back -again. Naturally our manners would be as disagreeable -as those of a badly brought-up child if we -clung to the gift lent us till it had to be taken -from us by force. The first hint is sufficient for -a nicely brought-up child. But never be grudging -or timorous of enjoyment during such time as the -happiness is lent.</p> - -<p>Truly I believe this was Lady Mary’s attitude. -Now, of course, there was a big sense of loss, a -pretty heavy heartache, and even the tiniest -question, Why? At the first, I don’t think that -she had realized that the happiness had been -merely a loan. She had looked upon it as hers by -right. There’s the danger with prolonged loans. -You begin to forget that they aren’t actually yours. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span>But, if she had forgotten, it was only for a moment; -and now, in spite of the heartache, her “thank -You” was genuinely spoken.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Lady Mary was sitting by a window facing -towards the sea. It shone pearly iridescent, in -the evening light. The sky beyond reflected the -glory of the sunset; grey near the water, it merged -upwards into soft rose-colour, and thence to blue-green. -The earth was bathed in soft, glowing light.</p> - -<p>Only the faintest whisper of air came through -the open window,—a faint, cool sigh of relief -after the heat of the day. Below, in the garden, -were golden splotches of colour—beds of great -African marigolds, a vivid contrast to the cool -green of the close-dipped grass. Through the -silence came the musical dripping of a fountain.</p> - -<p>Overhead a door opened. She heard a child’s -voice, and then a little burst of laughter. Again -there was silence. And slowly the rose-colour -faded in the sky, till only a pale lavender-grey haze -covered land and water.</p> - -<p>The gold of the marigolds became softly blurred; -the green of the grass lost its colour.</p> - -<p>A little haunting melody came suddenly into her -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span>mind,—one she had often played in childhood. It -was a melody by Heller. There is a footnote at the -bottom of the page on which it is written, which -designates it “Twilight,” or “Le crépuscule.” -The latter word came into her mind at the moment. -It held greater significance to her than the English -word. It represented more clearly the onward -stealing of the grey shadows, the soft sweet -evening sadness, the slow passing of the day’s -glory.</p> - -<p>And then, once more, overhead a door opened. -There was a pattering of footsteps along the -corridor, a child’s voice, clear, demanding:</p> - -<p>“Granny, prayers!”</p> - -<p>Lady Mary got up from her chair. If there was -something of the evening shadows in her eyes, I -fancy there was also the aftermath of the sunset’s -glory.</p> - -<p>“Tomorrow I must tell Antony,” she said.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE CACHE</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">John</span> was walking over the moorland. He had -been walking for the last hour and more. It was -nearing five o’clock. He had made a great circle, -and was now somewhere near the place where he -had first had sight of a fair lady and her two -attendant knights.</p> - -<p>At the moment there was no human being in -sight. He had the earth, it would appear, entirely -to himself. Only furze-chats and yellow-hammers -twittered in the gorse around him; little blue -butterflies and brown underwings flitted over -the heather. To the right it lay one great purple -sheet, broken only by the gorse bushes. Their -golden glory of April had long since passed away, -but yellow flowers still lingered among their prickly -shields. You know the old adage:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“When the gorse is out of bloom.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Kissing is out of fashion.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span></p> - -<p>To the left lay a stretch of long brown grass, -dry and coarse. The wind, rustling softly through -it, whispered of summer secrets. It came blowing -softly, faintly, from the distant blue sea. Truly it -was a day for whole-hearted enjoyment, for content, -for reposefulness, for each thing and everything -that goes to sum up entire happiness.</p> - -<p>But if you imagine John to be in this restful -mood, you are vastly mistaken. Three thoughts -repeated themselves with about equal recurrence -in his mind. The first was merely a name—Rosamund.</p> - -<p>The birds twittered it, the wind whispered it, -the faint understirrings in the heather took it up -and repeated it with tantalizing insistence.</p> - -<p>Rosamund, Rosamund, Rosamund.</p> - -<p>A fair name truly; a poetical name. John, at -the moment, might have emulated Orlando, who -hung a very similar name on every tree. Only -here there were no trees at hand, merely gorse -bushes, and purple heather.</p> - -<p>The second thought was a quotation. It ran -through his head again and again.</p> - -<p>“Never the time, and the place, and the loved -one altogether.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span></p> - -<p>“He knew what he was talking about,” sighed -John. “Unquestionably, at the moment, it would -seem the veritable time and place,—the sunniest -most desirable time, the sweetest-scented most -gorgeous place. But she isn’t here. And, if -she were, I’d bet anything the time and place -would seem all wrong. The time would jump to -about a million of years ahead, and as far the -place——”</p> - -<p>To tell the truth he hadn’t much idea as to what -would happen to the place. His thoughts were -hardly what might be termed precisely coherent, -but perhaps you can arrive at some kind of a guess -at them.</p> - -<p>The third thought was neither fair, nor poetical. -It was summed up in the one short, pithy phrase,</p> - -<p>“Drat the man!”</p> - -<p>By which token it will be seen that John had -not yet recovered from his Monday’s mood.</p> - -<p>Now, I don’t intend to attempt any detailed -explanation as to why both John and Father -Maloney had found themselves in this curious -state of unwilling perturbation after one meeting -with David Delancey, but it is very certain that -the perturbation had not only arrived, but remained.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span> -Of course you will say sagely that it was -the man’s personality, and equally of course you -will be right. But what was there in his personality -to cause this perturbation in two such entirely -dissimilar minds? There’s the question! And I, -for my part, can find no satisfactory verbal explanation -of it. It is one thing to have the -explanation in one’s mind, knowing the man; it is -quite another to set it forth coherently in words. -Therefore I will content myself with your sage -remark that it was his personality.</p> - -<p>“Drat him!” said John again.</p> - -<p>And then he stopped short, looking towards the -heather to his right</p> - -<p>His attention had been attracted by a curious -little mound of stones. Now it is not in the least -unusual to see stones lying on a moorland among the -heather. But to John’s eye there <i>was</i> something unusual -about these stones. They had unquestionably -been placed there by human agency; they were not -the haphazard arrangement of mere chance.</p> - -<p>John went across the heather towards them. -They were built up in a small rough circle; a -large flat stone formed a kind of roof or lid to -them. John bent towards the mound.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span></p> - -<p>A sound, a very slight sound, made him raise -his head. There was no one in sight. He had the -earth, as I have told you, to himself. Only the -wind whispered among the heather and grass, and -rustled softly through the gorse bushes.</p> - -<p>John went down on his knees and raised the -flat stone. Sheer idle curiosity prompted the -action. He hadn’t the faintest expectation of -seeing anything beneath. He peered within; -and then gave vent to a tiny chuckle of amazed -surprise. He put his hand within the circle of -stones, and drew forth three objects,—firstly, a -piece of green ribbon; secondly, a small, a very -small, thimble; and thirdly, a rosary of red beads.</p> - -<p>“Oh, ho!” quoth he to himself, “if fairies have -been at work here, they are Catholic fairies, it -would seem.”</p> - -<p>He fitted the thimble on the top of his little -finger, where it sat in an insecure and ludicrous -position.</p> - -<p>“A <i>cache</i>,” said John, “but whose?”</p> - -<p>He looked before him down the sloping moorland. -And now, far off, he descried a small -black speck. The black speck was a figure. It -was coming towards him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span></p> - -<p>“There’s just the faintest conceivable chance,” -said John.</p> - -<p>He removed the thimble from its ridiculous -position. He put it, the ribbon, and the rosary -once more within their hiding-place, replaced the -flat stone, and withdrew himself to a post of -vantage, couched behind a gorse bush. Therefrom -he awaited possible developments.</p> - -<p>As the black speck drew nearer, it defined itself -as a girl child, some eleven years old or thereabouts. -A gypsy-looking elf she was. Coming -nearer still, he saw that she was dark-haired, -smutty-eyed. Her head was uncovered; she was -clad in a faded green frock; her brown legs were -bare, her feet cased in old shoes. She was walking -quickly; eagerness, expectation, were in her -bearing. To John’s mind the possibility already -resolved itself into something akin to certainty. -The next moment he saw that his surmise had -been correct.</p> - -<p>She came straight across the heather to the small -circle of stones, and went down on her knees beside -it. The flat stone was pushed aside; the small -brown hand dived within the circle.</p> - -<p>“Ah!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span></p> - -<p>John heard the little gasp of pleasure.</p> - -<p>She came to a sitting posture, the treasures -gathered on to her lap. John saw her face plainly. -The ribbon and thimble were examined with sheer -and palpable delight. The rosary was handled -gravely; there was the tiniest hint of question in -the handling. Then suddenly she lifted it to her -lips. The next moment she was on her knees -again, telling the beads devoutly.</p> - -<p>“If,” quoth John to himself, “I am not much -mistaken, ’tis that young limb of mischief, Molly -Biddulph.”</p> - -<p>And there she knelt in the sunshine, among the -heather, looking, for all the world, a young, rapt -devotee of prayer, the scarlet beads falling through -her small brown fingers. Her eyes were closed; -her lips moved rapidly. Here was matter for a -poet’s pen; a subject for an artist’s brush. The -soft wind stirred the dark hair on her forehead, the -sun kissed her bronzed cheeks. A butterfly flitted -to her shoulder, lighted a moment, circled round -her head, and flew away.</p> - -<p>Coming to an end of her orisons, she made a -great Sign of the Cross, got to her feet, and sped -away down the hill, clutching her treasures tightly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span></p> - -<p>John came from behind the gorse bush.</p> - -<p>“Well!” said he aloud.</p> - -<p>“It might be called a pretty little scene,” said -a voice behind him.</p> - -<p>Turning, amazed, he met a pair of laughing -eyes, saw a white-robed figure, and two attendant -knights.</p> - -<p>“You!” quoth John.</p> - -<p>She laughed.</p> - -<p>“We were afraid, so dreadfully afraid, lest you -should decamp with the treasures,” said she. -“I had the greatest difficulty in restraining these -two from rushing to the rescue.”</p> - -<p>“I <i>thought</i> I heard a sound!” ejaculated -John.</p> - -<p>“It was me,” said Michael. “I squeaked, but -Aunt Rosamund held my mouf.”</p> - -<p>“Then,” said John, “<i>you</i> are the fairies?”</p> - -<p>“It is our <i>cache</i>,” quoth Antony magnificently.</p> - -<p>“So I am beginning to perceive,” responded -John. “But why, if I may ask without undue -curiosity, is Molly in the matter? I imagined it -was Molly. And, if all accounts be correct, -she would appear hardly a subject for especial -favours.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span></p> - -<p>Rosamund’s eyes danced. John had a mental -image of sunlight suddenly sparkling on still -waters.</p> - -<p>“It is just,” she explained, “that she appears, as -you say, hardly a subject for favours, that she -gets them.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” John was frankly a trifle bewildered -by the explanation.</p> - -<p>“It was Tony’s idea,” smiled Rosamund.</p> - -<p>She had seated herself on the heather, and John -had followed her example. The boys were some -paces ahead of them, examining the <i>cache</i>.</p> - -<p>“Tony,” pursued Rosamund, “discovered -that pleasant anticipation is conducive to good -behaviour. He solemnly assured me of the fact -one day. Therefore we—or, at least, I—conceived -the idea of putting the theory to the test.”</p> - -<p>“Therefore,” said John, “you established a -<i>cache</i> for Molly.”</p> - -<p>“We established a <i>cache</i> for Molly,” echoed she. -“We lured her to it in the most innocent way -imaginable. Of course she hasn’t the remotest -notion as to who has established it. That would -be to spoil the joy of it. It is the hint of secret -magic about it that is half its delight. The contents<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span> -are dependent on conduct, you understand. -At least a fortnight’s exemplary behaviour brings -the kind of reward you perceived today. Often -there may be merely a flower found. If the fairies -are dissatisfied, I have known them to put a -couple of snails within the <i>cache</i>.” Again her -eyes danced.</p> - -<p>“Brown pools that have caught and held a -sunbeam,” thought John.</p> - -<p>Aloud he said ruminatively, “I wonder what -becomes of the snails.”</p> - -<p>Rosamund gave a little shiver.</p> - -<p>“I fear me,” said she, “that once at least, they -were—squashed!”</p> - -<p>“Hum!” quoth John. “I have an idea that if -I were seeking—say a rose, and found a snail instead, -that the snail might possibly be subjected -to a like fate.”</p> - -<p>“But it wasn’t the poor snails’ fault,” she -objected.</p> - -<p>“We have frequently,” said John sententiously, -“to suffer for the sins of others. If I might offer -a suggestion, I would point out that the fairies’ -displeasure might be equally well marked by coal, -stones, or even a copybook maxim. How does -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span>‘Be good and you’ll be happy,’ or ‘Gifts are the -reward of virtue,’ strike you?”</p> - -<p>She shook her head.</p> - -<p>“Fairies,” she assured him, “never indulge in -moral reflections. They merely act.”</p> - -<p>“‘Deeds, not words,’ being their motto,” -laughed John. “But coal, now!”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she conceded, “I think coal might -answer our purpose.”</p> - -<p>There was a little pause.</p> - -<p>“To a mere casual observer,” remarked John -reflectively, “the young person in question might -have appeared an embryo saint. From which we -perceive the truth of the adage that appearances -are deceitful.”</p> - -<p>“Not in every case,” she retorted. “How do -you know that she isn’t an embryo saint? Very -much in embryo, I’ll allow. Oh, but there’s -stuff in Molly. But do you suppose she’s understood -among the village folk? Not a bit of it! -It’s respectability they admire, wooden respectability.”</p> - -<p>“Hum,” said John.</p> - -<p>“And Molly isn’t wooden.”</p> - -<p>“No,” acquiesced John fervently.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span></p> - -<p>Rosamund laughed.</p> - -<p>“And therefore,” she continued, “they see -downright sin in her—well, her unwooden escapades. -And they haven’t a notion, the faintest -notion of her possibilities.”</p> - -<p>“As either sinner or saint,” suggested John.</p> - -<p>“Well, there’s the stuff for either there,” she -agreed.</p> - -<p>“I own,” said John somewhat irrelevantly, -“that there’s a certain attraction in sinners.”</p> - -<p>“Of course there is,” she retorted, “if it’s -brilliant enough sinning. It’s the personality -that attracts, though the material has run off the -rails. Only people so often make the mistake of -contrasting brilliant sinning with commonplace -goodness. If you want your contrasts, you should -place commonplace goodness alongside commonplace -sinning—pettiness, meanness, drunkenness, -hateful little detractions, and all the rest of the -sordid category. And then put brilliant sinning -alongside the impetuous ardour of St. Peter, or -the mystic sweetness of St. John.”</p> - -<p>“You speak sagely,” quoth John. “It is, I -fear, a matter of contrasts which one is extremely -apt to overlook.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span></p> - -<p>Again there fell a little silence. And the birds -twittered, and the sun shone, and the butterflies -flitted over the heather, and a thousand words -rose to John’s lips, only to remain unspoken, -because the time had somehow leaped to about a -million of years ahead. It was not the moment, -he knew it was not the moment, and yet—and -yet— Well, at any rate she was there beside him -on the heather. The faintest scent of perfume—violets, -perhaps? came to him from her garments. -For all his outward calm, for all his level, easy, -careless voice, his heart was in a tumult.</p> - -<p>“You and Mr. Elmore are dining with us -tonight,” she reminded him on a sudden.</p> - -<p>“I had not forgotten.” John’s voice was full -of assurance.</p> - -<p>“You know,” quoth she tentatively, “that you -are to meet—Sir David Delancey.” There had -been the fraction of a pause before the name.</p> - -<p>“I know,” said John, his eyes clouding.</p> - -<p>“My grandmother felt it might ease the situation,” -she explained. There was a sudden little -note of confidence in the words. “A dinner <i>en -famille</i> might be, indeed must be, a trifle difficult.”</p> - -<p>“I quite understand.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span></p> - -<p>She pulled at a sprig of heather.</p> - -<p>“Father Maloney has seen him,” she said -abruptly. “He—he seems favourably impressed.”</p> - -<p>“I, too, have seen him,” owned John. It was -not altogether easy to make the statement.</p> - -<p>“You!” She was frankly surprised.</p> - -<p>He gave her a brief account of the meeting.</p> - -<p>“And—and he was passable?”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” said John grudgingly, honesty forcing -the truth from him, “he is really quite a decent -fellow.”</p> - -<p>She glanced up quickly, understanding his tone.</p> - -<p>“You would rather,” said she, “dislike him quite -frankly.”</p> - -<p>“You have stated the case,” said John.</p> - -<p>“I quite understand,” she nodded.</p> - -<p>And then Antony and Michael came towards -them from the <i>cache</i>. The two on the heather -bestirred themselves.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV<br /> -<span class="smaller">DAVID DINES AT THE CASTLE</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">When</span> John, with Corin in his wake, entered the -drawing-room of Delancey Castle that evening, -he glanced anxiously around. He had no real -cause for anxiety. He was a good ten minutes in -advance of the hour mentioned, having led a -protesting Corin up the hill at a fine pace.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Trimwell had seen them depart, her face -an amazed and horrified note of interrogation.</p> - -<p>“You’re dining with her ladyship!” she had -gasped.</p> - -<p>“We are,” John had assured her.</p> - -<p>“You aren’t never going up to dine at the Castle -in them clothes!” she had ejaculated.</p> - -<p>“We dine,” John had said smiling, “in these -very clothes that you now perceive upon us.”</p> - -<p>“Land sakes!” Mrs. Trimwell had gasped. And -words failing her, either from horror, or lack of imagination, -she had mutely watched them depart.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span></p> - -<p>They had started betimes; they had also, as I -have stated, walked at a fine pace; and now, somewhat -heated, they found themselves shaking hands -with Lady Mary, while the clock yet wanted some -ten minutes of seven-thirty.</p> - -<p>But, so argued John, surveying the said clock, -half an hour, even an hour too soon, was infinitely -preferable to one minute too late. It was the first -moment of meeting that would set the keynote to -the whole evening. It was at that first psychological -moment that the easement of his presence was -necessary. Corin, he considered as quite beside -the mark, you perceive.</p> - -<p>Father Maloney was already present. He was -seated in the window-seat with Antony and -Michael, who had been granted half an hour’s -furlough from bed.</p> - -<p>And now came the moments of suspense,—an -anxious waiting. Corin and the two boys alone -were absolutely at their ease. Corin, having -engaged Rosamund in conversation, was expatiating -on his day’s work. John, his eyes on the clock, -his ear alert for the opening of a door, talked to -Lady Mary. It is fairly certain that her eyes and -her ears were likewise occupied.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span></p> - -<p>“I hear from the boys that you were present -at the <i>cache</i> this afternoon,” said she smiling.</p> - -<p>John laughed.</p> - -<p>“It was a fairy-tale scene,” quoth he. “I -wouldn’t have missed it for worlds. It isn’t often -an imaginative conception works so successfully.”</p> - -<p>“In this instance,” she reminded him, “there -was the Celtic temperament to deal with. Nothing -is beyond the imagination of a Celt, I fancy.”</p> - -<p>“No,” said John musingly. And then, “Not as -criticism, but merely as query, I wonder how far -it is justifiable to play upon it?”</p> - -<p>“You mean that Molly’s imagination was played -upon?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“I fancy,” said Lady Mary, “that the human -element comes into most of our material rewards. -It is the agency by which they are worked. In this -case the human agency merely hid itself beneath a -fantastic garb, thereby adding a subtle pleasure -to the reward. I don’t know whether Molly believes -in her heart of hearts that the fairies had -been at work, any more than I’ll vouch for Tony’s -and Michael’s belief in Santa Claus filling their -stockings. I fancy there are many things the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span>pleasure of which is enhanced by their being -shrouded in the soft light of imagination, rather -than by their being dragged forth to the somewhat -garish light of fact. There’s no lack of truth in -keeping them shrouded. There is, after all, no -necessity to be merely blatant.”</p> - -<p>“No,” laughed John.</p> - -<p>“Most children,” went on Lady Mary, “have -a subtle power of imagination. If you were to -bring them to hard bed-rock fact, they’d own to -the imagination, though probably reluctantly.”</p> - -<p>“I know,” said John, “a willow wand is not -a spear, neither is a broomstick a horse, nor a -twisted tree-trunk a dragon, and you know it. -But when you ride forth on the horse, armed with -the spear, to kill the dragon, you suffer some -terrible and indefinable loss when the actual facts -of the case are set before you in faultless English -by an all too-truthful aunt.”</p> - -<p>“You see,” smiled Lady Mary.</p> - -<p>“I see,” said John, “and I withdraw my query, -or, rather, you have answered it.”</p> - -<p>There was a silence, and again they both waited. -They made no attempt to break the silence. It -could only have been broken now by some entirely -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span>futile remark, and neither John nor Lady Mary -was in the mood for such remarks.</p> - -<p>John looked in the direction of Rosamund and -Corin. He saw that the former glanced towards -the door every now and again, and back from it to -the clock. The minutes seemed interminably slow -in their passing. And then, suddenly, footsteps -were heard in the hall without. John’s heart -leaped; Lady Mary’s face was pale; Rosamund -was smiling; Father Maloney looked up from -the little tin soldier he was examining.</p> - -<p>The door opened and the butler appeared on -the threshold. He muttered something. Certainly -his speech was not his usual clear enunciation. -John, seeing his solemnly injured expression, felt -a sudden desire to laugh. Lady Mary certainly -smiled. And then David Delancey entered the -room.</p> - -<p>Of course the actuality wasn’t half, or a quarter, -as bad as the anticipation. In two minutes the -introductions were over. John had shaken hands; -everyone had shaken hands; Antony, in a clear -treble, had informed the guest that it was on his -account alone that he and Michael had been -granted half an hour’s furlough from bed. The -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span>announcement broke the ice, so to speak; if, -indeed, there had been any to break. Probably -there wasn’t any. There had been a sudden thaw -the moment the solemnly injured butler had -appeared upon the threshold.</p> - -<p>And David himself was so utterly simple. To -his direct mind the invitation alone had conveyed -sufficient assurance of his welcome. Why on earth -should it have been issued else? There you have -your child all over. He may hesitate to intrude -for fear of a snub; but, once let an invitation be -given, snubbing does not enter into the category -at all. Such conventionalities as enforced politeness -do not enter his mind. Of course Lady Mary -was as pleased to welcome him as David was to -make her acquaintance. It was <i>sine qua non</i> to the -present situation.</p> - -<p>I don’t say it hadn’t surprised him. He had -been extremely surprised. It wasn’t in the least -the way he saw himself acting had he been in -Lady Mary’s place. Nevertheless he saw entire -genuineness in her action.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV<br /> -<span class="smaller">JOHN MAKES A DISCOVERY</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Yet</span>, in spite of what might be called a good -beginning, the dinner party was not a success. -John was certain it hadn’t been a success. He -reviewed it, walking home with Corin in the starlight; -he continued to review it sitting in an armchair -with a pipe, since he was in little mood for -sleep.</p> - -<p>And yet, wherein precisely did its failure lie?</p> - -<p>It did not lie with Lady Mary; nor with Rosamund; -nor with Father Maloney; nor, he was -certain, with himself. (Corin, as already mentioned, -he left outside the category.) They had -each and all of them been courteous, friendly, -charming. They had kept the ball of conversation -tossing lightly from one to the other; they -had given David his full share of the game. -Certainly the fault did not lie with any of the -four. He could not, also, have said precisely -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span>that there was any fault at all. Outwardly, at -least, there was none. Yet there had been a subtle -atmosphere, an indefinable hint of something -lacking.</p> - -<p>They had discussed books—standard authors—with -which David was well acquainted. They had -mentioned classical composers, with whom he was -certainly less familiar. They had talked of flowers, -birds, animals, sunsets, storms, and ships, and -here he was in his element.</p> - -<p>He had talked well. John had received a vivid -impression of a land hot beneath the noonday -sun, of wine-red sunsets, the atmosphere aglow -with palpitating colour, the on-stealing of the -darkly purple night, the stars big and luminous -looking down with ever-watchful eyes upon the -lonely veldt. He saw the vivid reds of the flame-coloured -heaths and everlasting flowers, the -brilliant blue of the lobelias, the waxen whiteness -of the arum lilies. He heard the countless voices -of the grasshoppers, the low booming note of the -frogs, the muffled beating of the buzzards’ wings. -And above all he felt the vast illimitable spaces, -the great loneliness of the veldt. David had talked -of Muizenberg, and the white sands stretching for -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span>forty miles towards the mountains,—mountains -gold and orange in the sunshine, blue in the evening -twilight, the green sea bordering the sands, -emerald set against pearl.</p> - -<p>He had talked of Cape Town,—of the Malay -men with their great baskets of flowers, of Table -Mountain with its silver-leaved trees, with the -rolling cloth of white cloud covering it. But here -he touched civilization; his speech was less fluent -than when he held them in the vast solemnity -of the lonely veldt.</p> - -<p>And here John made a discovery. He perceived -all at once, not merely the loneliness of the veldt, -but the lonely spirit of the man who had dwelt on -it. It was that which had caused the subtle -incongruity in the atmosphere. He no more belonged -to his surroundings than did a hermit to -a London Club; and, so thought John, carrying his -discovery further, he—David—was, in a measure, -aware of that fact himself. He had been a fish out -of water, and however kindly, however charmingly, -landsmen may treat it, a fish on land is certainly in -an element in which it cannot by any possibility -be at ease. It is true that this particular fish had -entered the element of its own free will; but, so -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span>surmised John, it is equally true that he was not at -home in it. And yet, so John perceived with a fine -subtlety of perception, it was not the material -surroundings alone which were at the root of the -mischief. It lay deeper; it was in the mental -atmosphere that the uneasiness lay.</p> - -<p>Now, he also perceived, or thought he perceived, -that while David was aware of the incongruity of -the situation, he had not fully recognized it to lie, -as John saw it to lie, in this same mental atmosphere. -This fact in itself increased the man’s -loneliness. He was not only isolated in mind from -those with whom he found himself, but he was -isolated from himself, because he did not understand -himself. It is the most bewildering kind of -loneliness. It is almost useless to attempt to describe -it in terms of speech. There are no precise -words for it. I, at least, can find none, and John -could not, though it is certain that he recognized -it in a measure.</p> - -<p>And then by one of those sudden flashes of -inspiration which come to all men at times, or -which come, at all events, to those given to a -certain quality of mental analysis, John saw that -the more material drama, of which he was at -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span>present an audience, sank into insignificance before -the mental drama he had perceived. The man had -come, so he believed, into his material birthright, -but, regarding his mental birthright, he was -utterly ignorant. How, in what fashion would -he find it? if, indeed, he ever found it at all.</p> - -<p>I do not say that John said all this to himself in -words, even in the somewhat clumsy manner in -which I have tried to express it. He perceived it -vaguely that night. The actual articulation of his -thoughts did not, I fancy, come till later.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI<br /> -<span class="smaller">A FUNNY WORLD</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">“It’s</span> never a bit of good losing your temper,” -remarked Mrs. Trimwell sagely. “You can say -much more telling things if you don’t.”</p> - -<p>She was clearing the luncheon table. John, -from the depths of an armchair, made a sound -slightly indicative of doubt.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Mrs. Trimwell firmly, in reply to -the sound, “you can. Losing your temper you -never know what you are going to say, and as like -as not you’ll say something as’ll hit back on yourself, -and you be sorry you said later. Keeping it -you can have an eye to your neighbour’s weaknesses, -and pull them out to show, so to speak.”</p> - -<p>John seemed to recognize some truth in this -statement.</p> - -<p>“Whose weaknesses,” he demanded, “have -you been exposing?”</p> - -<p>“He’s a captious man, is Vicar,” said Mrs. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span>Trimwell, and John perceived that her remark was -not irrelevant. “He’s never been what you’d call -pleased like in his mind that the biggest house to -the place is a papist house, and yet now when -they’re leaving he’s for railing against the new -occupant that is to be, and him no papist at all, -they say.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” said John. He had fancied, be it stated, -that Mrs. Trimwell herself was not what might -have been termed cordial towards the interloper.</p> - -<p>“I don’t say I’m wanting him at the Castle -myself,” pursued Mrs. Trimwell, in reply, it -would seem, to John’s unspoken thought, “but -Lor’ bless you, ’tisn’t exactly his fault if he is the -rightful heir, and it’s little more’n a child he is -for all he’s a man grown. He come in here yesterday -when I was stoning raisins for a cake. I don’t -say at first I was pleased for to see him. But, -‘Mrs. Trimwell,’ says he, ‘I want to thank you for -seeing to my foot. It’s a real doctor you are, for -I’d never but a limp the next day.’ And he sat -down, and watched me stoning of them raisins, -eating one now and again for all the world like a -great boy. And his eyes—have you seen his eyes, -sir? You couldn’t no more say a harsh word to -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span>him than you could to my baby. He stayed -chatting an hour and more, and I declare I thought -’twas only ten minutes.”</p> - -<p>John laughed,—a curious little laugh.</p> - -<p>“Then this morning,” went on Mrs. Trimwell, -“Vicar come in. He’d seen him yesterday afternoon -at the front door. Wanted to know what -he’d come for. As if a visitor can’t come to the -house without me answering a penny catechism -from Vicar. I up and as good as told him that. -And he began talking about loyalty to the family -at the Castle, and it’s never a word of loyalty he’s -had for them, and I can tell you. We got to words -a bit, and Vicar’s temper isn’t never sweetened -with the best sugar, but I kept mine. I called to -mind a thing or two as he’d said of the family, -and I let fall a hint now and again that I hadn’t -forgotten it neither. It’s wonderful the way it riles -a person if you’ve a good memory and let them -know it.”</p> - -<p>John grinned.</p> - -<p>“I’ll not be repeating all he said,” pursued Mrs. -Trimwell with dignity, “but I will say there were -some things I didn’t expect to hear a parson say. -But they’ll come back to himself. You can’t ever -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span>be real spiteful but they does. Did I ever tell you -about Mrs. Ashby and Lydia Ponsland?”</p> - -<p>John intimated that she had not</p> - -<p>“Them two always had their knife into me, -seeing that I gave them short shrift when they -come here with gossiping lies of my husband drinking -at the Blue Dragon over to Whortley. Lord -love you, sir, he’s never touched a drop more’n -was good for him since the day we married. I’ll -not swear to before that, seeing as young men will -be young men all the world over. Anyhow I -wasn’t going to listen to no lies from Mrs. Ashby -and Lydia Ponsland, and told them they was liars -to their face, which wasn’t perhaps the pleasantest -hearing for them, though the truth. My words -stuck, I’m thinking, and turned a trifle sour, and -they planned a bit of revenge. ’Twas the silliest -thing they did, though cruel at that, and you’d -never believe folks could have been that childish, -if I didn’t tell you ’twas the gospel truth. ’Twas -Christmas Eve, and I was over to Whortley for a -bit of shopping. My husband was at home with -the children, when five o’clock or thereabouts -there come a ring at the front door. Robert he -goes to see what ’tis. There’s a man there, and a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span>cart outside. ‘’Tis the coffin for your wife,’ says -he. Robert, he fails all of a tremble, and never -thinking, like a man, I couldn’t ha’ ordered my -coffin anyhows if I’d been dead. He don’t understand -it, and stays arguefying, and mortal frightened. -In the middle of their speechifying I comes -home, and I tell you it took me ten minutes and -more to make him believe I hadn’t no call for a -coffin yet awhile. ’Twas them two as had ordered -it, as I knew well enough, though couldn’t never -bring it clear home to them. But they was paid -for their evilness. Mrs. Ashby, she’s lost her -money, and is in a two shilling attic at Whortley -this very day, and Lydia’s down with rheumatic -fever what the doctor says she’ll not be getting -over this side of next Christmas. When God pays -He don’t pay in halfpence.”</p> - -<p>The vigour with which Mrs. Trimwell brushed -the crumbs from the cloth served to emphasize -her statement.</p> - -<p>“It was,” said John, “an astonishingly idiotic -thing for them to do.”</p> - -<p>“Idiotic!” ejaculated Mrs. Trimwell, “I should -think it was idiotic. But there, they’d lost their -tempers and kept them lost for weeks; and if you -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span>mislay your temper like that it turns that sour -you’d be surprised. I’m for thinking Vicar hasn’t -found his yet, nor will be finding it for a bit. But -as I says to him, if a man finds his chance like this -one has, you can’t be surprised if he takes it. If -he don’t he’s a fool, and no more and no less. If -you get a chance, take it, says I, if you don’t -it goes off in a huff to somebody else.”</p> - -<p>“Then,” remarked John ruminatively, “it -would be your advice that a chance should be taken -at all hazards, even at the expense of someone -else?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Trimwell looked dubious. It would appear -that this aspect of affairs had not previously struck -her.</p> - -<p>“Well, sir,” quoth she reflective, “I’ll own you -have me there. I couldn’t give you no clear -answer to that. It seems to me that the world’s -all a bit of shoving and pushing, and slipping -through gaps to the front when you see them. -And if you don’t do the slipping, someone else will. -I reckon it’s right enough if you’re not pushing -your own folk and friends aside. When it comes -to them, well, matters do get a bit awkward, I’ll -allow. What do you think, sir?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span></p> - -<p>John shook his head.</p> - -<p>“Frankly, Mrs. Trimwell, I don’t know.”</p> - -<p>“Well, to tell you the honest truth, sir, no more -don’t I. It’s one thing to talk o’ the common-sense -point of view, but when you come straight -up to it, well, you sometimes wonders if it isn’t a -bit more edgey and cornery than you cares about. -’Tis a funny world.”</p> - -<p>“It is,” said John fervently.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE OLD OAK</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>, it was a funny world, fast enough, John knew -that. He’d known it in fits and starts all his life, -but somehow the last ten days had emphasized -the fact more fully.</p> - -<p>Ten days! To John it seemed a lifetime since -he, in company with Corin, had stepped upon -Whortley platform, had taken his seat in the -rickety bus that had conveyed him at its own -shaky pace to the White Cottage. A lifetime! -And yet reason, that firm indicator of common-sense, -emphasized to the contrary. Anyhow, a -lifetime or ten days, the time had been long enough -for him to know his mind. He had known it for -weeks past. But for her? There was the question. -And it was one which common-sense, modesty, and -every other thought but his own wish, answered -firmly in the negative. He had seen her precisely -seven times, and two out of the number obviously -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span>went for nothing, seeing that the first time she had -been totally unaware of his presence, and the third -time, if she had seen him, it would have been -merely as one of a small congregation of worshippers, -his individuality entirely unnoticed.</p> - -<p>Therefore, argued John, if what he so ardently -desired was, by any possible manner of means, -to be brought about by an increased number of -meetings, the sooner he set about increasing them -the better. Obviously the proper, the correct -thing to do, after lunching at a house, was to pay -a respectful call upon one’s hostess. He had no -need to consult an etiquette book to remind himself -of that fact.</p> - -<p>True, he had lunched on Thursday, and this was -only Saturday, therefore the call might be considered -somewhat precipitate. But, argued John, -endeavouring to find some plausible excuse for the -precipitancy of the call, with the practical certainty -in view of meeting the family in the cloisters -after Mass the following day, the most desirable -course, the only correct and proper course, was to -call that very afternoon.</p> - -<p>No sooner thought than decided on. John left -the White Cottage, betaking himself in the direction<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span> -of the church, from which he intended to -drag a possibly reluctant Corin, and insist on his -mounting the hill in his company.</p> - -<p>But his intentions and his insistence came to -nought.</p> - -<p>A dusty, untidy, and wholly absorbed Corin -utterly refused to accompany him. Objection -number one, it was too soon to pay a call; objection -number two, it was Saturday afternoon, the -one afternoon in the week on which he enjoyed -solitude; objection number three, would John -kindly look at the discovery he had just made, and -then see if he—Corin—was likely to leave it for the -purpose of paying a merely conventional visit.</p> - -<p>John looked. Corin was, at the moment, on -<i>terra firma</i>, be it stated.</p> - -<p>On either side of where the altar would have -stood, had there been one, and some five feet or -so from the ground, the wall was partially uncovered. -A border in brilliant blue, red, black, and -yellow was disclosed,—a bold, simple pattern. -Below it, in the upper loops of a painted curtain, -were animals,—dragons, twisted of tail, forked of -tongue; a leveret, a deer, and a fox, each of these -last courant, to use the parlance of heraldry. For -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span>the most part the animals were washed in boldly -in red; two of the dragons were a gorgeous yellow.</p> - -<p>“I am certain,” said Corin enthusiastically, -“that they are after Geraldius Cambrensis. It’s -the best find of the lot. I’m not coming with you. -Nothing, no power on earth, can drag me from this -till dark. If you must go today, make my excuses.”</p> - -<p>Therefore John departed.</p> - -<p>The excuse was valid. It also gave a <i>raison -d’être</i> for his somewhat precipitate call. Miss -Delancey was interested in the discoveries in the -church. It would be merely friendly to let her -know of this new discovery as soon as possible. -Therefore, I say, John departed. Of course he -grumbled a moment or so before departing. -Equally of course the grumbling was of a merely -perfunctory nature.</p> - -<p>And then he turned into the sunshine.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>His heart beat high as he walked up the hill. Of -course he was doing the right and obvious thing. -It would be absurd to wait till next week to pay -the visit. The day after tomorrow! How could -such a delay be contemplated? It would have -been impossible, unthinkable.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span></p> - -<p>The eighth meeting! And surely there must -follow the ninth and the tenth, and heaven alone -knew how many more. And which, <i>which</i>, <span class="allsmcap">WHICH</span> -would be The Meeting? Of course it was absolutely -absurd to surmise on this point. It was impossible -to fix the moment beforehand. To come, as John -would have it to come, it must be almost inspirational, -heaven-sent. It couldn’t be arranged, -planned. It couldn’t be calculated over, preconceived. -But—and here John’s spirits went -down to zero with a sudden run—would it ever -come? Wasn’t he a presumptuous ass even to -dream of such a moment as possible? or—granting -the moment—to dream of its fruition? Wouldn’t -it be nipped in the bud instantly? frozen to a mere -shrivelled atom of a miserable moment? John -shivered at the thought. Then consolation took -him kindly by the hand. At all events here was -the eighth meeting, with the moment not yet -even in bud. Who could tell as to that budding?</p> - -<p>And so he turned into the avenue.</p> - -<p>He passed under the oaks and copper beeches, -the roadway now dappled with gold among -shadows, as the sunlight penetrated the branches -overhead. To the right, in the distance, were -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span>undulating stretches of moorland. He fancied he -could descry the silver-stemmed birch he had seen -on his first morning’s walk. Before him he had a -view of smooth green lawns, of brilliant flowerbeds, -backgrounded by the old grey Castle itself. -To the left the parkland sloped gently upwards to -a wood of beeches,—a serene, cool, silent place, a -veritable haunt of dryads.</p> - -<p>Between the avenue and the wood was a great -oak tree, stretching wide branches above the -rough grass. Rumour had it that here was the -scene of that old-time tragedy. Though unknowing -of this rumour, John yet felt something almost -sinister about the twisted, gnarled branches, and -massive trunk of the great tree. There was a hint -of secrecy about it, the dumb knowledge of some -tragedy. Almost involuntarily he turned across -the grass towards it.</p> - -<p>There was no question as to its great age. For -generations it must have stood there, weathering -storm and sunshine. Some seven feet or so from -the ground there was a hole in the trunk, large -enough to admit of the passage of a man’s head. -Scanning the hole, John noticed a rusty nail at -one side. He wondered, idly enough, why it had -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span>been placed there. From the hole, he glanced up at -the branches. Truly there was something almost -sinister in the great limbs. They were distorted, -twisted, as if in agony. Again he had the unreasoning -sensation of secrecy. It was an extraordinary -sensation, an absurd sensation.</p> - -<p>He could fancy the spirit of the tree striving to -find expression in speech. There was a curious -feeling that somewhere, just beyond, in the spirit -world, perhaps, there was the key to some riddle. -It was an almost impalpable feeling; he barely -realized it; only somewhere, in his deepest inner -consciousness, it stirred slightly.</p> - -<p>Below the tree was a small mound. Rumour -also had it that here Gelert, the wolf-hound, faithful -as his ancient namesake, was buried. Again, -John had had no hint of this rumour. But he -looked at the mound with curiosity. Then, suddenly, -he threw off the slight oppression that was -upon him, retraced his steps to the avenue.</p> - -<p>Arrived at the big door, John pulled the bell, a -twisted iron thing whose voice sounded faintly in -some remote region. The door was opened, and -John saw into the hall, dark and shadowed. He -had a glimpse of bowls of roses, of a big straw hat -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span>lying on a table, green chiffon around the crown. -A pair of long crinkled gloves lay near it. So, for -an instant, John stood, his foot ready to cross the -threshold.</p> - -<p>“Her ladyship is not at home.” The butler’s -bland voice fell like a douche of cold water on -John’s heart.</p> - -<p>Now, I don’t know whether John’s face fell -in proportion to his heart, and the butler, more -human than the majority of butlers, saw the -falling, or whether his next statement came in -the mere ordinary routine of matters. Anyhow,</p> - -<p>“But Miss Delancey is at home, and her ladyship -will return shortly,” followed closely on the -former speech.</p> - -<p>John’s heart leaped to at least ten degrees above -the point from which it had fallen. The speech -had not even come as a query regarding his desire -to enter, it had come as simple statement of fact.</p> - -<p>John stepped across the threshold.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">ON THE TERRACE</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">She</span> came to him in the hall.</p> - -<p>Underneath her cordial ease of manner was the -tiniest hint of shyness, a sort of half-forgotten -breath of extreme youngness, I might almost say -of childishness. Yet, very assuredly, there was -nothing <i>gauche</i> about the reception. The hint -merely served to emphasize her youth. If John -thought about her age at all, he probably placed -her at about twenty-two or thereabouts, which, -I take it, was pretty near the mark. But I don’t -fancy the thought entered his mind. It was -enough for him that there she was, sitting opposite -to him in the dusky hall. A ray of sunlight, -falling through an open window, caught the -burnished copper of her hair, turning it to vivid -flame. It looked a thing alive and palpitating, -a burning aureole around her face.</p> - -<p>And now that the eighth meeting was accomplished,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span> -John found himself suddenly tongue-tied, -at a loss for any of those suitable little phrases -fitting to the occasion. Nothing is so infectious -as embarrassment, however slight, more particularly -if there be any degree of sympathy between -the two. Certainly it proved infectious in this -case. Words halted, phrases came disjointedly, -disconnectedly.</p> - -<p>John cursed himself inwardly for a fool, a procedure -which, you may rightly guess, did not -vastly aid matters. And then, suddenly, Rosamund -got up from her chair.</p> - -<p>“Won’t you come and see the garden,” she -suggested.</p> - -<p>It was an inspiration. John followed her with -alacrity.</p> - -<p>They came out on to a wide terrace. A stone -balustrade ran its full length, a balustrade covered -with climbing roses,—crimson, pink, white, yellow, -and a pale purple-lavender. A queer rose this -last, reminding one of the print gowns worn by -one’s grandmothers. Beyond the balustrade was -a sunk lawn, and beyond that again the parkland, -while further still was the shimmering blue -of the distant sea.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span></p> - -<p>“How you must love it!”</p> - -<p>The words escaped almost involuntarily from -John’s lips. The next moment he would have -recalled them. To remind her of the beauty of -what she was about to lose, must surely be to -emphasize the sense of that loss.</p> - -<p>“Love it!” She turned towards him with a -little laugh. “It—it just belongs.”</p> - -<p>John was silent. Rosamund leaned upon the -balustrade, half-sitting, half-standing.</p> - -<p>“You needn’t mind saying what is in your -thoughts,” said she. And there was a little -whimsical smile in her eyes. “Of course you -can’t help thinking about the fact that we are -going to lose it all, any more than I can help -thinking about it. It makes freedom of speech -just a trifle difficult, if all the time you are feeling -it is a subject to be carefully avoided. Granny -and I speak of it quite naturally now.”</p> - -<p>“I’d like to tell you how sorry I am,” said -John.</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” she said simply.</p> - -<p>There was a little pause. She gazed out towards -the sea. To the right, a headland jutted out into -its blueness. Sea-gulls circled in the quiet air, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span>tiny specks in the distance. Boats, white and -red sailed, made lazy way with the tide.</p> - -<p>Suddenly she turned impulsively towards him.</p> - -<p>“I fancy,” said she, “that I’m going to tell you -something.”</p> - -<p>“Do!” said he, his eyes upon her.</p> - -<p>“You’ll laugh.”</p> - -<p>“Not a smile even.”</p> - -<p>“Hmm!” she debated. “An over-dose of seriousness -<i>might</i> be even worse to face than laughter.”</p> - -<p>“This is not fair,” protested John. “I can’t -measure a smile to the hundredth part of an -inch. I can, at least, promise not to mock at -you. Won’t that do?”</p> - -<p>She laughed.</p> - -<p>“Yes; I believe it will. Well, it’s this.” Her -voice dropped to seriousness. “I have a quite -unreasoning feeling that we shan’t leave here -after all. I can’t explain the feeling, and I -am fully aware of the almost absurdity of it. I -haven’t spoken of it to any one else. I can’t tell -my grandmother, or Father Maloney. It might -raise a faint hope which reason tells me will be -doomed to disappointment. And yet—well, it -seems almost that if one could only stretch out -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span>one’s hand a little way, through a kind of fog, -one would find the key to the whole riddle. It -must sound absurd to you, of course.”</p> - -<p>John’s mind swung instantly to his own sensation -of less than twenty minutes ago.</p> - -<p>“No,” he said quietly. “It doesn’t sound at -all absurd.”</p> - -<p>She looked at him quickly.</p> - -<p>“You speak almost as if you thought—” She -broke off. After all it was an absurd imagination.</p> - -<p>“I have thought the same,” said John smiling.</p> - -<p>“You!” She was amazed.</p> - -<p>“Yes; as I came across the park just now.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!”</p> - -<p>Again there was a little silence.</p> - -<p>“I wonder—” she said musingly. “Do you -think there’s the faintest possible chance?”</p> - -<p>“There’s always the faintest possible chance,” -John assured her. “Oh, I’ll grant it’s the faintest -possible, and heaven alone knows where it will -spring from. But it’s there, I know it’s there. -And we’ve both felt it.”</p> - -<p>She nodded.</p> - -<p>“I’m glad you’ve felt it too. It adds a little -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span>bit more hope, even while I’m almost laughing at -myself. Only—what is it we’ve both felt?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know,” said John. “I don’t know -an atom. I think I get nearest the mark when I -say that it seems as if, somewhere, there’s a dumb -voice striving for expression. At least that is the -only way I can describe the sensation to myself.”</p> - -<p>“And all the time,” she added, “there’s a -feeling of quietness in the atmosphere, the quietness -that precedes something very important -happening.”</p> - -<p>“I know,” said John.</p> - -<p>“Ah, it’s tantalizing,” she sighed, “the inward -knowledge of that, and yet the knowledge of -one’s own impotence.”</p> - -<p>Her brow was wrinkled in a little frown, half -of annoyance, half of something like regretful -amusement. It was an adorable little frown, -and John longed, ardently longed, to smooth it -away. His heart beat and thumped, the while -it cried warningly that the time was not yet. -And from somewhere near at hand came the -liquid note of a pigeon.</p> - -<p>“Go slow slowly, go slow slowly,” it seemed -to remind him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, we’re impotent enough,” assented -John, and a trifle gloomily.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t it all melodramatic?” she laughed.</p> - -<p>“Horribly,” agreed John.</p> - -<p>“It’s an extraordinary conglomeration,” she -pursued. “Setting, old-world; drama, early Victorian; -period, twentieth century. Do you suppose -that any one who didn’t <i>know</i> about it, -would believe it?”</p> - -<p>“Not an atom,” John assured her promptly. -“If any one, I for instance, were to write a novel -dealing with it, I’ll be bound I’d be considered -to have strained the long arm of coincidence to -breaking point. That’s the queer thing about -truth. It’s always a thousand times, a million -times, queerer than fiction.”</p> - -<p>“It’s from precisely that—the very queerness -of it,—that I can derive some small modicum of -consolation,” she assured him gravely. “I feel, -on occasions, that I am not myself at all, but -merely a heroine in a book. Only, if I were, -I might be tolerably certain of a happy-ever-after -ending. I might say indisputably certain, -considering the style of the plot. Here it is -nothing but a toss-up.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, no.” John shook his head. “I wouldn’t -give mere chance quite such a free hand.”</p> - -<p>“You mean that there’s a real plan behind it -all?” she demanded point blank.</p> - -<p>“Oh, well!” said John. There was a slightly -quizzical smile in his eyes.</p> - -<p>“Of course I know there is truly,” responded -she, smiling in her turn. “But——”</p> - -<p>“But me no buts,” retorted John. “Chance -isn’t a free agent, and you know it; though I’ll -allow he has an extraordinary appearance of -acting on his own account now and again. But -that’s merely his guise. If he didn’t appear clad -in that fashion, we’d misname him; and I’ve an -idea he’s curiously tenacious of his personality. -People, you know,” continued John slyly, “are -apt to believe in his omnipotence.”</p> - -<p>She laughed.</p> - -<p>“I’ve believed in him myself before now,” -owned John, having a sudden memory of a black -and white goat. “Only subsequent reflection -invariably shows one that he isn’t acting on his -own account, as he would have us believe.”</p> - -<p>“I fancy you’re right,” said she reflectively. -“If one really considers the seemingly haphazard<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span> -happenings, one does see that there is -always a connecting link backwards and forwards. -Nothing—no happening—is entirely isolated.”</p> - -<p>“It is not,” said John. “Only sometimes -the connecting link is so fine as to be almost -imperceptible.”</p> - -<p>John had in mind a tiny faint link, so faint -that it was only in the light of subsequent events -that it had become visible. If, on a certain -March afternoon, he had not yielded to a sudden -inspiration to enter the Brompton Oratory, -would he now have been standing in this garden? -Was not that the tiny, almost imperceptible link -with all the events of the last ten days? Oh, he -had reason enough for his assured statement, he -had proved it to the hilt.</p> - -<p>He wanted, he badly wanted, to tell her, to -speak of that tiny connecting link. But reason -again assuring him that to do so would be to drag -the moment too abruptly forward, he thrust -the desire aside. And then, from the distance, -came the sound of a silver gong.</p> - -<p>Rosamund got up from the balustrade.</p> - -<p>“Tea,” said she. “Granny must have returned.”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX<br /> -<span class="smaller">AN UNEXPECTED LETTER</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">John</span> sat down to breakfast at about nine o’clock, -or thereabouts, the following Wednesday morning. -It was the Feast of Our Lady’s Assumption; he -had been to Mass at Delancey Chapel.</p> - -<p>A letter was lying in his place. He took it up, -and opened it. Here are its contents.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear John</span>,—Unexpected business has brought -me over to London. It seems a thousand pities -to go back to Ireland without seeing you. Could -you get rooms for me at your sequestered spot -for ten days or so? Send me an early wire if -possible, and I’ll come down by the train arriving -tomorrow evening.</p> - -<p class="right">“Your affectionate sister,</p> - -<p class="right2">“<span class="smcap">Elizabeth Darcy</span>.”</p> -</div> - -<p>Now, it is very certain that, from the time of our -Mother Eve, women have played an important part -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span>in the affairs of mankind, either for good or ill. But -it is equally certain that John had not the faintest -conception of the part Elizabeth would play in the -life of at least one person by this her proposed visit.</p> - -<p>“Elizabeth suggests coming down for a few -days,” said John tentatively, and helping himself -to bacon.</p> - -<p>“Elizabeth?” echoed Corin, gazing enquiringly -at John.</p> - -<p>“My sister, Mrs. Darcy. I forgot you didn’t -know her.”</p> - -<p>“By all means advocate her coming,” quoth -Corin. “I shall be delighted to make her acquaintance.”</p> - -<p>“I wonder—” began John, and stopped.</p> - -<p>“Well?” queried Corin.</p> - -<p>“I wonder whether Mrs. Trimwell has another -room. Elizabeth suggests that I should take -rooms for her. She wants an early reply.”</p> - -<p>“Then my suggestion,” remarked Corin calmly, -“is that you ask Mrs. Trimwell. On the whole -it would be simpler and more practical than -merely wondering.”</p> - -<p>“Brilliant man!” responded John genially. -And he rang the bell.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span></p> - -<p>Mrs. Trimwell, it appeared, had not. She was -profuse in her apologies for the lack of accommodation. -You would have imagined that she was -entirely to blame for the fact that the White -Cottage possessed merely three bedrooms and -a cupboard, so to speak. Tilda and Benny—aged -four—slept in the cupboard.</p> - -<p>“But there’s the Green Man what isn’t seven -minutes’ walk from here, and though I’ll not -vouch for the cooking myself, a bit of bacon and -a cup of coffee for breakfast is what any idiot -might rise to, it being pleasanter for the lady not -to be afoot too early, and the beds I believe is -clean, while for other meals she’ll natural take -them along of you.”</p> - -<p>Of course Chance—so-called—had a hand in -the arrangement. If Elizabeth had both slept -and breakfasted at the White Cottage, I’ll vouch -for it that matters would not have happened precisely -as they did; indeed, they would probably -have been totally different.</p> - -<p>John finished his breakfast, and then took a -telegram to the post-office.</p> - -<p>He was genuinely, undeniably pleased that -Elizabeth was coming. He had a sensation of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span>something like exultation in the thought. She -was so extraordinarily reliable. Never under -any circumstances did Elizabeth “let you down,” -to use a slang phrase. There was never the smallest -occasion to remind Elizabeth that the intimate -remarks you made to her were confidences. -It was a foregone conclusion in her eyes. She -would no more dream of repeating them than she -would dream of tampering with another person’s -letters. Also, so reflected John, she never reminded -you that you had made them, unless it -was entirely obvious that you desired to be so -reminded. She never glossed over any difficulty, -but faced it squarely with you. The only people -who were ever disappointed in Elizabeth were -those who looked for a maudlin sympathy from -her, who desired her to fight their battles, when -she was fully aware that they alone could fight -them. Yet Elizabeth was entirely feminine, -from the top of her glossy brown hair, to the tip -of her dainty shoes. John, perhaps more than -any one else in the world, understood and appreciated -both her strength and her femininity. It -was therefore with a feeling of intense satisfaction -that he dispatched his telegram.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span></p> - -<p>“Things move when Elizabeth’s around,” reflected -John.</p> - -<p>And then he walked on to the Green Man.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>John, on the platform of Whortley station, -surveyed the people there collected with idle -interest.</p> - -<p>It was market day in Whortley. Stout market -women, clutching empty, or partially empty, -baskets, sat on benches, their feet squarely planted -on the ground. Leather-gaitered men, whose -clothes gave forth a powerful aroma of horses -and cattle, strolled up and down, and talked in -groups. Children, hot and tired, and consequently -slightly irritable, bickered with each other, or -poked sticks at bewildered and exhausted hens -in crates. Somewhere in the back regions of the -station a couple of refractory oxen were being -driven into trucks. An atmosphere of almost aggressive -patience pervaded the much-tried porters.</p> - -<p>“’Eat may be mighty good for the ’arvest,” -remarked one motherly looking woman, wiping -her face with a large white handkerchief, “but -I do say as ’ow it’s a bit trying to the spirit, and -likewise the body.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span></p> - -<p>“It’s the tempers of most people it gets at,” -replied her neighbour succinctly.</p> - -<p>To which remark John responded with an -inward and fervent acquiescence. There was no -denying the heat; there was no denying the sultriness -of the dusty platform.</p> - -<p>John strolled down to its further end.</p> - -<p>Behind the town the sky was crimsoning to -sunset. The roofs of the dingy houses were -being painted red-gold in its light. The smoke -from a factory hung like a veil in the still air, -lending mystery to the atmosphere. The buildings -lay in a web of colour,—blue, grey, purple, -and gold. A cynic might have likened the sunset -glory to the glamour with which some foolish -people endow a merely sordid existence. In a -measure, too, his simile might have been justifiable; -but, whereas he would have scoffed, John, -with something of the same simile in mind, -thanked God for the gift of imagination.</p> - -<p>And then, far to the right, he caught a glimpse -of white smoke above a dark serpent of an oncoming -train.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX<br /> -<span class="smaller">ELIZABETH ARRIVES ON THE SCENE</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">“Ruralizing,</span>” quoth Elizabeth, “agrees with -you.”</p> - -<p>They were driving in a vehicle politely termed -a Victoria. It was not unlike a good-sized bath-chair. -It was driven by a one-armed boy. Seeing -the driver, Elizabeth had had a moment’s -qualm of heart. Then she had seen the horse.</p> - -<p>“Oh, it’s a pleasant enough spot,” responded -John, “and—and restful.” He coloured the -merest trifle beneath his tan.</p> - -<p>“Restfulness,” said Elizabeth gravely, “is -delightful.”</p> - -<p>But she wasn’t deceived, not a bit of it. Neither -the pleasantness of Malford, nor its restfulness -was accountable for that particular exuberance in -John. It was a subtle, indefinable exuberance, -which no amount of mere bodily health could -cause. It emanated from his mind, his spirit; -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span>it surrounded him; he was bathed in it. He -might pretend to its non-existence; he might pretend—allowing -it—that it was the mere outcome -of a country life, but Elizabeth was not deceived.</p> - -<p>“Have you met the Delanceys?” she demanded.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes,” he responded airily enough. -“They’re—you’ll like them. That rumour you -got hold of was correct enough, by the way. There -is a claimant. He’s proved his claim. It’s a mere -matter of courtesy on his part that he is not -already in possession. He will be by the end of -the autumn.”</p> - -<p>Elizabeth sat up.</p> - -<p>“An American?” she said.</p> - -<p>“An American,” said John. “At least he -hailed originally from the States. He has been -living in Africa since his boyhood.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose he’s quite impossible?” said Elizabeth -frowning.</p> - -<p>“On the contrary,” owned John reluctantly, -“he isn’t at all impossible, at any rate not in one -way. Of course he’ll be entirely unsuited to his -surroundings, but he is quite a decent fellow in -himself.”</p> - -<p>“Brr!” breathed Elizabeth, and there was a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span>hint of impatience in the sound. “A kangaroo -is a decent animal in itself, but you don’t want -it in your drawing-room. What do the Delanceys -think about it?”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” quoth John, “they accept the inevitable. -There’s a strong hint of the French aristocrats’ -attitude towards the guillotine, in their manner; -lacking, however, the scorn.”</p> - -<p>“I see.” Elizabeth fell into meditation.</p> - -<p>“I don’t think even you can reconstruct matters,” -said John smiling. “You see, the whole -thing turns on that missing document.”</p> - -<p>“The whole thing,” said Elizabeth, “is so -blatantly melodramatic as to be barely respectable.”</p> - -<p>John laughed.</p> - -<p>“Wait till you see Lady Mary,” he said. -“She saves the situation completely.”</p> - -<p>Elizabeth was silent. Then:</p> - -<p>“Where is the man now?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Staying at the Green Man,” said John. -“I’ve had to take a room there for you. You’ll -breakfast at the inn, and have the rest of your -meals with us. I am sorry there isn’t another -room at the White Cottage.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span></p> - -<p>“Don’t apologize,” said Elizabeth gaily. “I -came down to picnic. It’s I who should apologize -for thrusting myself upon you.”</p> - -<p>“That,” said John decidedly, “is pure nonsense.”</p> - -<p>They were ascending a hill by now. Twilight -was falling rapidly. Bats flew through the dusk, -their shrill queer note breaking the silence. A -great white owl flew noiselessly, like a huge moth, -across a field. The road was a white line between -dark hedges.</p> - -<p>Coming to the top of the hill, wide stretches of -moorland lay around them. Far off on the -horizon was a strip of silver-grey sea. In the -middle distance was a hill, wood-covered, dark -towers rising among the trees.</p> - -<p>“Delancey Castle,” said John.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI<br /> -<span class="smaller">IN THE EARLY MORNING</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">If</span>, as I remarked at the beginning of a preceding -chapter, John thought it a funny world, it is very -certain that David would have fully endorsed his -opinion; and, further, he would have considered -himself the queerest person in it.</p> - -<p>Now, this was purely owing to the fact that he -had suddenly found himself a stranger to himself. -It was, in a manner, as if he had lived in blindness -with a man for years, having, perhaps, without -fully recognizing the fact, some mental conception -of him. Then, on being miraculously restored -to sight, he had discovered that the reality -was totally at variance with that same mental -conception.</p> - -<p>The recovery of sight had come gradually. It -had not been an instantaneous miracle. At the -first he thought, doubtless, if he considered the -fact at all, and he was probably only partially -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span>aware of it, that the variance between the reality -and what his partially restored sight beheld, was -due to his own faulty vision. Now, with clear -sight restored, he beheld a complete stranger, and -it left him bewildered. He didn’t know the man -at all. He didn’t even recognize his speech. It is -small wonder that he was bewildered; it is small -wonder that he spent solitary hours in a futile -attempt to reconstruct his preconceived notions -of the man.</p> - -<p>I believe that the moment when David got a -first blurred glimpse of this stranger, was in -Father Maloney’s odd little parlour. He had had -another glimpse of him at the Castle; and since -then, little by little, the glimpses had resolved -themselves into full vision. And through it all, -with it all, was a queer sense of vibratory forces at -work.</p> - -<p>It was in the parlour, also, that the first vibration -had struck upon him—a quite definite vibration, -though inexplicable. It had rung clearly for -a brief space, gradually growing fainter, till he -wondered if it had indeed rung, or was merely -imagination on his part. It had been repeated at -the Castle, and had left no doubt in his mind. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span>Since then it had been renewed at intervals, -ringing each time longer and louder. I can best -describe it as some kind of mental telephone call, -though he was, at present, at a complete loss as to -the message waiting to be delivered.</p> - -<p>“The fact is, David P. Delancey,” he remarked -more than once, “that somehow your moorings -have been cut, and the Lord only knows where you -are drifting.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Very early in the morning, the sun not far above -the horizon, and the trees casting long shadows on -the grass, David set out for a walk.</p> - -<p>It was by no means the first time that he had -risen thus betimes. The clean, fresh spirit of the -morning appealed to him, also its detachment. It -seemed, at that hour, so extraordinarily aloof -from the affairs of men, wrapped, in a sense, in its -own quiet meditations. Later the sun, the little -breezes, the sweet earth scents seemed to give -forth warmth, freshness, and fragrant odours for -the benefit of mankind. At this hour it was -wrapped in meditation, a meditation approaching -ecstasy.</p> - -<p>He went softly, fearing almost to disturb the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span>stillness, yet he did not altogether feel himself an -intruder. There was, in a strange sense, something -of communion between his spirit and the spirit of -the silent morning, in spite of its detachment.</p> - -<p>The route he had chosen led first across the -moorland,—wide stretches of purple heather. He -walked without indulging in any special train of -thought. His eyes were open to the details of -nature around him, his brain alert to absorb them -in pure pleasure.</p> - -<p>Gorse bushes, scattered among the heather, -showed golden blossoms backgrounded by a blue -sky. Their sweet scent came faintly to him. Later -in the stronger warmth of the sun, the scent would -gain in power and fulness. In the distance, -scattered copses lay misty blue patches on sun-gold -hillsides. Both far and near was an all-absorbing -peace.</p> - -<p>He hadn’t a notion how far he walked, nor for -how long. Unconsciously he circled, coming at -length to a gate, leading into a larch wood.</p> - -<p>David turned through it. Here the sun filtered -through the branches, flung spots of gold on the -red-brown earth of the pathway, on the emerald -of the moss lying in great patches among bracken, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span>fern, and bramble. Twigs and branches, at one -time wind-torn from the trees, lay in the path, -silver-grey, lichen-covered. It was all intensely -silent, intensely still. David, stepping by chance -on a dried twig, heard it snap with the report of a -small pistol in the silence. The loneliness appealed -to him; the enchantment of the quiet wood led -him on.</p> - -<p>Gradually, imperceptibly, his thoughts left externals, -turned inwards. Still aware of all that -lay around him, they were no longer merely idly -diffused upon it; they drew together, focussed. -Accustomed to think, though vaguely, in terms of -simile rather than in words, he saw in the quiet of -the wood something of the quiet which at present -held his own life and being. In a sense he suddenly -felt himself sleeping, his eyes closed on all that lay -behind him. Yet while sleeping, he knew, too, -that presently must come awakening. It was in -his power, he now felt, to awake at the moment -to the old life, as he knew it, to reconstruct his -mental conception of that stranger, as it was in his -power to retrace his steps. Yet it was almost as if -something external to himself waited with him, to -withdraw gently should he turn back, to remain -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span>with him should he go forward. So for a space of -time—a space not measured by the ticking of a -clock—David waited. Then suddenly he moved -onward down the glade.</p> - -<p>And now he knew that his heart was beating -fast, pulsing with some curious excitement, though -he had not realized it before. His breath, too, was -coming rather quickly, like that of a man who has -been running. Gradually breathing and heart-beating -became normal; yet still the dream -sense lingered with him, and he did not want to -dispel it.</p> - -<p>The path led him into a cuplike hollow among -the trees, a moss-grown place, full of deep shadows -and a pleasant coolness. On the other side of the -hollow the path ascended, through a beech-wood -here, silver-green trunks in strong contrast to the -deep red of the pathway. Though quiet, this -wood was vivid, full of stronger colour than was -that on the other side of the hollow.</p> - -<p>Coming out at last from among the trees, David -found himself on an expanse of grass, on one side -skirted by the wood, on the other bordered by a -hedge of yew, close and thick and dark. Turning -to the left, he walked over the grass, till presently -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span>the hedge gave place to a low wicket gate. Here -he paused, looking over.</p> - -<p>Beyond the hedge was a grey stone building, and -beyond the building were grey towers. He knew -now where he was. It was the chapel of Delancey -Castle facing him. He stood for a moment or so, -his hand resting on the gate.</p> - -<p>Suddenly the chapel bell broke the silence.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE NOTE OF A BELL</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">The</span> bell rang three strokes, with a pause between -each. There was a longer pause. Then once more -came its threefold note.</p> - -<p>The sound struck strangely on David’s ear, and -more strangely still on his heart. With the sound -he became extraordinarily aware of some vital -Presence near at hand. Something that suffused -the whole atmosphere with Its Personality.</p> - -<p>Somehow the quiet of the morning, its meditation, -its silent ecstasy, seemed to have been leading -up to that moment. It seemed to him now that -here was the moment for which the morning had -been waiting, and he with the morning. Neither -did the moment pass; it remained, prolonged, -expanded. Time again vanished; there was no -time, there was nothing but himself and that -extraordinary mystical sense which was suffusing -the atmosphere.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</span></p> - -<p>He made no attempt to explain it; he couldn’t -have explained it had he tried. It was something -beyond words, beyond reason, beyond feeling, -even, in the ordinary sense of the term. It was -not actually in his mind that he was aware of it at -all, but in something far deeper. In one way it was -as if the notes of that bell had struck on some deep -recess of his soul, setting free some tiny spring -of hidden knowledge and sweetness; and yet he -knew that it was not by virtue of that knowledge -and sweetness that the mystical sense suffusing -the atmosphere had been translated into terms of -fact. It was external to them; it was actual, real, -palpitating. He knew that it would have been -there had the well of his inner consciousness -remained untouched. Only somehow, in some -extraordinary manner, it had sprung up to meet -it; and the tiny freed spring had been caught into -great waters, submerging him in a sweetness he -could not understand.</p> - -<p>I don’t know how long David stood by the -wicket gate; but, at last, barely conscious of his -surroundings, he turned from it along the grass -sward.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE GREEN MAN</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">The</span> parlour at the Green Man is the parlour -pure and simple. It calls itself by no grand-sounding -title. You eat there, you sit there to -smoke and talk—if you do not sit in the garden, -and you write there.</p> - -<p>It has five round tables, deal, and covered with -strong white cloths. It has rush-bottomed chairs; -it has casement windows; it has a great fireplace -with oak settles on either side of it. For the rest, -the walls are buff-washed, and hung with coloured -prints, mainly of a sporting nature. The floor is -red stone, with three mats on it. The mats -are made of small loose strips of coloured stuff. -The window curtains are of highly coloured -chintz.</p> - -<p>The front door of the Green Man stands flush -with the cobbled pavement. Above the door -swings the square sign with the name painted -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</span>thereon. It is a question, in Malford, from whence -that name has originated. The oldest inhabitants -of the place, in particular Mrs. Joan Selby, who -has passed her ninetieth birthday, will tell you -that it is in honour of the Little People, who, -long years since, footed it in the moonlight on the -grassy hill behind the house. She will declare -that she had it from the present owner’s great-grandfather -himself, that the first visitor to the -house, when it was yet unnamed, was a little man, -clad in green, red-capped, who promised luck in his -own name and that of his Tribe.</p> - -<p>This, you may believe, is looked upon as sheer -superstition by the younger and more enlightened -of the inhabitants of Malford. There is one ribald -wag, who declares that the name originated -through the verdant propensities of a former -owner.</p> - -<p>But for my part I lean to the first theory. And if -you had ever sat in the moonlight on the grassy -hill behind the house, had seen the dark green of -the fairy rings among the brighter green of the -field, had heard the rippling of the stream at the -foot of the hill, had seen the pale gold of the massed -primroses, had smelled their sweet fragrant scent, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span>had seen the misty shimmer of countless bluebells, -then, I fancy, you also would have been of my way -of thinking.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Elizabeth sat at one of the round tables by an -open casement window.</p> - -<p>It looked on to a grass terrace bordered -by brilliant galadias. Beyond the galadias was -a tiny stream, rippling, amber-coloured, over -rounded stones. Beyond the stream was a grassy -hill, sloping upwards to a beech-wood. Beyond -that again was the blue sky.</p> - -<p>“It really is extraordinarily pleasant,” said -Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>And then she turned to her coffee pot. The -coffee poured into a blue and white cup, she was -stirring it thoughtfully, when the door opened.</p> - -<p>A man paused for the merest fraction of a second -on the threshold. It evidently came as a bit of a -surprise to him to find the room already occupied.</p> - -<p>Elizabeth looked at the man. The man looked -at Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>She saw a big man in loose tweeds, shabby -tweeds, which had seen much service. She saw a -square-faced man, with a mat of darkish red hair.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</span></p> - -<p>He saw a glossy-haired, brown-haired woman, a -woman with a palely bronzed skin, beneath which -there was an underglow of red, a woman with red -lips finely moulded, with a square chin, with a -delicately chiselled nose, with steady grey eyes -in which there was an under-note of something -akin to laughter. She wore a cream-coloured -cotton dress. A pink la France rose was tucked -into the front of her gown.</p> - -<p>David, used to the rapid assimilation of details, -saw all this at a glance. Then he crossed to the -table in the other window. It had been laid so -that it faced hers, and fearing lest he should appear -guilty of an obtrusive staring, he gazed out of the -window.</p> - -<p>The arrival of his breakfast providing occupation -for hands and eyes, David turned to the table. -A moment later he found that the sugar had been -forgotten.</p> - -<p>Now, the Green Man is devoid of bells. In -some ways it is distinctly primitive. A brass -knocker on the front door announces the arrival -of visitors. For the rest your own vocal cords are -employed.</p> - -<p>Ordinarily David would have gone to the door -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</span>and shouted, but the presence of Elizabeth causing -some absurd little diffidence in his mind, he sipped -his coffee unsweetened. To a sweet-toothed man -non-sugared coffee is peculiarly unpalatable. He -set down his cup with a half-grimace, and glanced -round the room. By good luck there might be a -sugar bowl on an unoccupied table. There was not.</p> - -<p>Elizabeth had noticed the former hesitation; she -had likewise noticed the slight grimace, and the -present unavailing glance around the room. Two -and two were put rapidly together in her mind. -She gave her own sugar bowl a slight push.</p> - -<p>“Here is some sugar,” said she in her pleasant -voice.</p> - -<p>It was a most trifling incident. At the moment -David merely said “Thank you,” and availed -himself of the proffered bowl. Twenty minutes -later, meeting in the garden by the stream, it gave -a slight excuse for speech. It gave Elizabeth the -excuse for speech. You may be sure David would -never have ventured on it.</p> - -<p>“What a dreamy spot!” said she, turning with a -smile.</p> - -<p>If you knew Elizabeth well, you would know -that this was one of her favourite adjectives. It -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</span>summed up at once beauty, picturesqueness, -colour, and entire enjoyment of anything.</p> - -<p>“It is good,” said David briefly.</p> - -<p>Elizabeth’s eyes twinkled. She liked the -speech. It was in this fashion, so we are told, that -God regarded His Creation,—that is before Mother -Eve, beguiled by the old Serpent, had upset -matters. Yet after all, in spite of his upsettings, -there are times and places which yet fill us with -some faint sense of that pristine perfection.</p> - -<p>Of course Elizabeth knew perfectly well who -he was. That may well go without saying. But, -in spite of John having said that he was a decent -fellow, he wasn’t in the remotest degree like her -mental conception of him.</p> - -<p>She had pictured him a big man—which he -truly was, also a bluff man, a jovial man, a talker, -a bit loud-voiced, perhaps a trifle assertive, at -all events very confident of himself, and all these -things he was not. It had not taxed Elizabeth’s -intuition very vastly to perceive that, contrary to -all her expectations, there was an extraordinary -diffidence about him. He wasn’t the least certain -of himself, he wasn’t the least jovial nor loud-voiced, -while something in his eyes,—well, I have -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</span>mentioned his eyes before. Somehow Elizabeth’s -mind swung to her little dusty-haired, grey-eyed -Patrick in Ireland. She saw him in the throes of -grappling with one of those world problems to -which the cleverest of us can find but a poor -answer, heard a small voice say wearily:</p> - -<p>“Mummy, there is some things what is very -difficult to understand.”</p> - -<p>Of course it was an absurd comparison. What -had this big man in common with the perplexities -of a childish mind? Nevertheless for a brief -space she <i>had</i> thought of Patrick.</p> - -<p>“You can almost,” said Elizabeth, “see the -Good Folk come trooping down that hill.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Up the airy mountain,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Down the rushing glen,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">We daren’t go a-hunting</div> - <div class="verse indent0">For fear of little men;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Wee folk, good folk</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Trooping altogether;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Green jacket, red cap,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And white owl’s feather!”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="no-indent">she quoted.</p> - -<p>“I like that,” Said David, “what is it? Is there -any more?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</span></p> - -<p>Patrick had once said nearly these very -words.</p> - -<p>“It’s called,” said Elizabeth below her breath, -“‘The Fairies,’ and it is by William Allingham. Of -course he ought never to have called it that. The -Little People hate that name. It’s a marvel, -understanding as much as he did, that he didn’t -know. And there are five more verses.”</p> - -<p>“Tell me,” said David.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” laughed Elizabeth. But she went on.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Down along the rocky shore</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Some make their home,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">They live on crispy pancakes</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Of yellow tide foam;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Some in the reeds</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Of the black mountain lake,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">With frogs for their watch dogs</div> - <div class="verse indent2">All night awake.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“High on the hill-top</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The old King sits;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">He is now so old and grey</div> - <div class="verse indent2">He’s nigh lost his wits.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">With a bridge of white mist</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Columbkill he crosses,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">On his stately journeys</div> - <div class="verse indent2">From Slieveleague to Rosses;</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</span></p> </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Or going up with music</div> - <div class="verse indent2">On cold starry nights</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To sup with the Queen</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Of the gay Northern Lights.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“They stole little Bridget</div> - <div class="verse indent2">For seven years long;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">When she came down again</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Her friends were all gone.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">They took her lightly back</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Between the night and morrow,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">They thought she was fast asleep,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">But she was dead with sorrow.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">They have kept her ever since</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Deep within a lake,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">On a bed of flag-leaves</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Watching till she wake.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“By the craggy hillside</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Through the mosses bare,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">They have planted thorn-trees</div> - <div class="verse indent2">For pleasure here and there.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">If any man so daring</div> - <div class="verse indent2">As dig them up for spite,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">He shall find their sharpest thorns</div> - <div class="verse indent2">In his bed at night.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Up the airy mountain</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Down the rushing glen,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">We daren’t go a-hunting</div> - <div class="verse indent2">For fear of little men;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Wee folk, good folk.</div> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</span> - <div class="verse indent2">Trooping altogether;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Green jacket, red cap,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And white owl’s feather.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“They don’t sound altogether friendly,” said -David as she stopped.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” she assured him, “they are only unfriendly -towards those who dislike and fear them. -Those who fear them have to be constantly propitiating -them. There’s nothing they hate like -fear, and therefore they demand toll from cowards. -For those who love the Little People—you should -hear my small son Patrick talk about them,” she -ended.</p> - -<p>David looked a trifle bewildered.</p> - -<p>“Do you truly believe—” he began.</p> - -<p>She looked at him, half-laughing, half-serious.</p> - -<p>“Honestly I don’t know,” she said. “I’m -living in the depths of Ireland, and all that kind of -thing is infectious. Sometimes I laugh at myself -for giving it a moment’s thought, and the next I’m -saying, there must be <i>something</i> in it. As for -Patrick, you’d as easily shake his belief in me as -his belief in the Good People. After all, who -knows? He says <i>he</i> does. But then children -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</span>may have the key to a door of which we know -nothing, or, at the best, but fancy we have caught -a glimpse.”</p> - -<p>There was a little silence, broken only by the -sound of running water.</p> - -<p>“And now,” said Elizabeth, “I must unpack. -I was too lazy last night. My evening frock will -be crushed out of all recognition.”</p> - -<p>David pricked up his ears.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t know people wore evening dress in the -country,” said he.</p> - -<p>Elizabeth laughed.</p> - -<p>“John—my brother, Mr. Mortimer—does,” she -replied. “I believe he’d sooner go without his -dinner than omit dressing for it.”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Mortimer!” ejaculated David. “Do you -mean that?” The gravity of his tone seemed -unwarranted by the triviality of the question.</p> - -<p>“Mean it? Of course I do,” replied Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>And then she saw his face.</p> - -<p>“What on earth does it mean?” thought Elizabeth -to herself.</p> - -<p>“Glory be to God, you’ve done it now!” Father -Maloney would have exclaimed.</p> - -<p>Already her presence was making itself felt.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV<br /> -<span class="smaller">ELIZABETH GIVES ADVICE</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">“I’ve</span> seen the interloper,” said Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>She was walking with John by the river. He -had called for her at the Green Man, and had -proposed a walk.</p> - -<p>“Yes?” said John. There was enquiry in his -tone.</p> - -<p>“He isn’t,” said Elizabeth, “in the remotest -degree what I imagined him, except for his size. -He—well, it is extraordinarily difficult to describe -him.”</p> - -<p>“You feel that?”</p> - -<p>“There’s something so childlike about him,” -pursued Elizabeth. “If I were to attempt to put -into words what I mean, he seems to me like a -child, who had started out to get something, -entirely sure that he wanted it; and then, when he -found it in his grasp, he discovered it to be totally -different from what he imagined it. He expected -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</span>a sort of toy, and he has found an enormous responsibility. -He doesn’t know what to make of it. -He is utterly perplexed, and it hasn’t occurred to -him that the simplest plan would be to renounce it.”</p> - -<p>John opened eyes of wonder.</p> - -<p>“I always knew you were shrewd, my dear -Elizabeth,” he remarked, “but how you have -arrived at these conclusions in so brief a space of -time, beats me altogether.”</p> - -<p>“Then you think I’m right?” she demanded.</p> - -<p>“I am pretty sure of it. But the thing is, that -he sees the responsibility without exactly recognizing -it, and, as you say, the simple way out of the -difficulty hasn’t occurred to him in consequence.”</p> - -<p>Elizabeth mused, looking at the running water.</p> - -<p>“But that’s not all,” she went on. “There’s -more I can’t fathom. These are merely material -difficulties to grapple with. He is faced with -something deeper. You can call me absurd if you -like. I daresay I am being a little <i>exalté</i>, but he -has a look in his eyes as if he had caught a glimpse -of the Vision Beautiful, and he is a bit bewildered.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no,” said John quietly, “I’ll not call you -absurd.”</p> - -<p>Elizabeth cast a quick look at him and lapsed -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</span>into silence. The second problem was already -absorbing her vastly more than the first. It was -infinitely greater, the issue infinitely more important. -To the first problem, when David had once -grasped it fairly, there was so simple a solution, -did he but choose to take it. In any case, however, -it was, to her mind, on another plane. It didn’t -belong to the same category as this second problem. -Of course you may say that the mental problem -existed solely in Elizabeth’s imagination. But -then she did not think it did; nor, you will realize, -did John.</p> - -<p>Suddenly she spoke again, and quite irrelevantly -to her former remarks.</p> - -<p>“What particular interest has—Sir David, I -suppose I must call him, in dress clothes?”</p> - -<p>“Dress clothes?” queried John bewildered.</p> - -<p>“Dress clothes,” reiterated Elizabeth. “I -happened to say—quite idly, you understand,—that -you’d sooner go without your dinner than not -dress for it. He asked me if I meant that, and -when I replied that I did, I saw at once that, far -from being the little trivial matter I had believed -it, it was, to him, of the most vital and grave -importance.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, my dear Elizabeth!” John’s eyebrows -went up. He gazed at his sister in comical dismay.</p> - -<p>“Well?” demanded Elizabeth. “You would.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I daresay,” said John ruefully. “But—well, -the man hasn’t a dress suit. Apparently he -doesn’t possess such a thing, and Father Maloney -swore that it was an entirely unnecessary article -in the country. Corin and I dined at Delancey -Castle in morning dress to keep him in countenance. -And now you—” he broke off.</p> - -<p>Contrition, profound and utter contrition, wrote -itself on Elizabeth’s face.</p> - -<p>“I ought to have guessed there was something -momentous in the question,” she said remorsefully, -“and yet how could I! How small I must -have made him feel!”</p> - -<p>“And what a cheat he must think Father -Maloney!” said John grimly. “He’ll believe we -were all laughing at him in our sleeves.”</p> - -<p>“You needn’t rub it in,” groaned Elizabeth. -“These kind of horrid little <i>contretemps</i> make one -feel guiltier and more remorseful than quite a good-sized -venial sin. You needn’t tell me I’ve no business -to feel like that. Of course I haven’t. But -kindly remember it’s only in my feelings and not -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</span>in my reason, I’m experiencing the sensation. -What can I do? Tell him I was only joking?”</p> - -<p>“He’ll not believe you,” John assured her, -“though certainly your remark was, I trust, not -intended to be taken in deadly earnest. Perhaps,” -continued John hopefully, “it may open his eyes a -little more to his unsuitability for the position of -head of Delancey Castle.”</p> - -<p>“It may,” said Elizabeth succinctly, “but all -the same I wish I hadn’t lent a hand to the operation. -It’s nearly as bad as forcing open the eyes -of a two-days-old kitten. I’d far sooner have left -the business to time.”</p> - -<p>“Time,” remarked John gloomily, “is an old -cheat. You never know what he will be up to. -He has a way of contracting hours into briefest -seconds when you want their full value, and of -expanding them into an eternity when you’ve no -use for them. Oh! he’s a wily beggar is Time.”</p> - -<p>Elizabeth laughed.</p> - -<p>“What is it?” she asked. “Hadn’t you better -make a clean breast of it?”</p> - -<p>“Of what?” demanded John evasively.</p> - -<p>“The exact manner of Time’s trickery,” responded -Elizabeth. “Or anything else you please. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</span>Of course I know there’s something on your -mind.”</p> - -<p>“You profess to be a reader of minds?”</p> - -<p>“Not a bit of it,” smiled Elizabeth. “Only, -having eyes in my head, I use them. Also, having -been endowed with a certain amount of intelligence -I use that also. And adding the two together——”</p> - -<p>“You have guessed?” queried John.</p> - -<p>“A dim guess,” said Elizabeth, “and one which -will find no outlet in speech without further proof.”</p> - -<p>She sat down on a tree trunk.</p> - -<p>“Let us rest,” said she.</p> - -<p>John stretched himself on the grass at her -feet.</p> - -<p>“Well,” he said, “perhaps your guess is right.”</p> - -<p>“There is someone?” she demanded, promptly -forgetting her former announcement.</p> - -<p>John nodded.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” Elizabeth’s eyes gleamed. “And of -course it can only be the one someone. I am -glad.”</p> - -<p>“So would I be,” returned John, “if it weren’t -such a one-sided affair.”</p> - -<p>“You mean that she doesn’t—” Elizabeth -broke off, dismay in voice and eyes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, I don’t know,” said John gloomily. “How -can I tell? She’s friendly, she’s—she’s adorable, -but—” He flung out his hand, as who should say, -“And there’s the whole of it.”</p> - -<p>“You haven’t asked her?”</p> - -<p>“Asked her!” John’s tone was almost scornful. -“Where’s your intuition, my dear sister? Wouldn’t -you see me in permanent radiant joy, or black -despair, if I had? As it is, I am swinging from the -one to the other, and the swing of the pendulum -stays down infinitely longer than it stays up. -There’s old Time at his games.” He pulled at the -rushes by the river bank.</p> - -<p>“But,” quoth Elizabeth calmly, “why don’t -you ask her?”</p> - -<p>“Ask her! I have not known her a fortnight -yet. I have only seen her eight times.”</p> - -<p>“It has been enough for you,” said Elizabeth, -still calmly.</p> - -<p>“For me, yes,” allowed John. “But for -her! There’s the crux of the matter. What -have I got to offer her?” His tone was despairing.</p> - -<p>Elizabeth looked at him. There was the gleam -of a tender smile in her eyes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</span></p> - -<p>“Just the one thing,” she said softly, “that is of -the smallest value. Yourself.”</p> - -<p>“But—” began John.</p> - -<p>Elizabeth interrupted him.</p> - -<p>“Listen,” she said, and there was a curious -earnestness in her voice, “if she doesn’t care for -you yourself, nothing else you could offer would -have the smallest value in her eyes. At least, not -if she’s the woman I take her to be. And she -must be that woman, or I don’t for a moment -believe you would love her. Oh, John, dear, don’t -you understand that women, the right kind of -women, don’t want the external things a man can -give? They want him himself, and the things -that are part of him, the things without which he -wouldn’t be himself at all. I mean love, loyalty, -friendship. I don’t believe the majority of people -have a notion how important the last is. That is -why there are so few ideal marriages.”</p> - -<p>“Hum!” mused John.</p> - -<p>“It’s true,” said Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>“Then what is your advice?” demanded John.</p> - -<p>“Ask her, of course.” Elizabeth’s tone was -refreshingly certain. “You can’t expect her to -propose, can you? How do you know that Time -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</span>isn’t playing exactly the same tricks with her? -Ask her,” reiterated Elizabeth, “at the very first -opportune moment.”</p> - -<p>“That,” said John laughing ruefully, “is -precisely what I have been waiting for.”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE BURDEN OF CONVENTIONALITY</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Of</span> course you will have realized that Elizabeth’s -surmise regarding David was entirely correct.</p> - -<p>When he made his material embarkation at -Cape Town he hadn’t the faintest conception of -the mental voyage on which he was embarking, -or I am pretty sure he would never have set foot -on the ship’s deck, or, at all events would have -done so with misgiving. And he had had none. -Gay as a schoolboy in quest of adventure, and -determined as that youngster, he had watched -the African coast recede from his sight, had -seen Table Mountain dwindle to a mere speck, -had turned his face in the direction of his new -enterprise.</p> - -<p>First had come the tracing up of his family in -America, a tedious enough job, leading him -eventually to Brussels.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</span></p> - -<p>His arrival in London had brought further -business in its train, interviewing solicitors; -producing the proofs collected through months of -research; answering endless, and what appeared -to him totally irrelevant, questions. Next there -had been waiting,—waiting in shabby little rooms -in Chelsea, when he beguiled the weary hours by -walks on the Embankment, in Battersea Park, or -on Hampstead Heath, anywhere away from the -interminable hum of traffic, from the ceaseless -stream of people.</p> - -<p>More than once he had asked himself what on -earth he had done it for? Why he had left the -quiet, the sunshine, the colour, the wide spaces of -the veldt, for the noise, the fog, the greyness, the -confinement of London. More than once he had -called himself a fool for his pains, cursed the day -idleness had taken him to rummage in the old -chest in the storeroom.</p> - -<p>Then, the swing of the pendulum lifting him -towards the anticipation of fulfilled hope, his -gloom would be dispelled. After all, he would -assure himself, it was his birthright for which he -was enduring hardship. Only a fool or a weakling -would have refused to take up the clue he had -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</span>inadvertently discovered. Then, gloom once more -overwhelming him, he would demand of himself: -Was it his birthright? After all didn’t this same -birthright lie in the wide untrammelled spaces of -the veldt, the unconventional surroundings, the -life of freedom? Wasn’t he attempting to exchange -it for a mess of red pottage?</p> - -<p>But, with the arrival of the long-looked-for -document, legal phrases and all, doubts again -dispersed. He had laboured, he had toiled, he had -achieved. There was no question now about that -birthright. It was his. He held it as surely in his -grasp as he held that piece of foolscap paper.</p> - -<p>Naturally the first thing to do was to go and -have a look at it. He had refrained from so doing -till his rights thereto had been assured. He bade -a far from reluctant farewell to his shabby rooms, -and a not overclean landlady, took the train forthwith -to Whortley, arrived at Malford, and the -Green Man.</p> - -<p>And then gradually, imperceptibly, all his -doubts had returned, returned, too, in so subtle a -manner, that he hardly recognized them for doubts. -He was merely bewildered, non-understanding of -himself.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</span></p> - -<p>It seemed to him totally absurd that he should -not be entirely delighted at the thought of his -inheritance, yet, if the truth be known, it was -beginning to hang like a somewhat weighty millstone -round his neck. And the exceeding simple -solution of cutting the string that held it there, -never dawned upon him.</p> - -<p>Perhaps, unconsciously, he felt that to do so -would be to shirk responsibility; but it is very -certain that he was already devoutly wishing -that he had never sought responsibility. Elizabeth’s -careless little remark had added quite an -appreciable weight to it. It is astonishing how the -merest fragment added to an already heavy load -will make it almost insupportable. It was, too, -the absurdest fragment, the most ridiculous -fragment, but there it was, flung carelessly upon -him. Mentally, though vaguely, he saw a million -other like fragments, which he told himself shudderingly -would be added. He saw at least another -ton load waiting for him. To those used to these -burdens of conventionality they would be a mere -featherweight. But to him!</p> - -<p>He began to enumerate the list, to drag forth -to clearer vision what he was vaguely perceiving. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</span>To this end he recalled his dinner at Delancey -Castle.</p> - -<p>Dress clothes headed the list. True, they had -not been present, but then they should have been. -His own ignorance would evidently be a very -formidable fragment. Well then, number one, -dress clothes, stiff collars and shirt fronts, and all -the rest of the paraphernalia. Number two, -servants standing in the room while you eat. An -abomination! Number three, servants handing -you food in silver dishes. An idiotic custom! Why -couldn’t they put the things on the table? Number -four, accept everything offered you as indifferently -as possible. Avoid thanking a servant. -Well, with a bit of practice he might manage that. -Number five, water placed before you in glass -dishes, which water you were evidently not intended -to drink,—he had grasped that much. A -purely silly convention. Number six, coffee in -minute cups that slid about on the saucers, and -nowhere to put the elusive fragile things. David -went hot and cold at the remembrance. Number -seven, no pipes in the drawing-room. He groaned. -This much his own experience had taught him, -and taught him within the space of a couple of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</span>hours. And Heaven alone knew how many more -fragments there might not be.</p> - -<p>Of course you might argue, and justly, why -think of these conventions at all? Brush them -aside. Treat them as non-existent. He was his -own master. That is logical and sound reasoning.</p> - -<p>But no. To David’s mind it behooved him, in -accepting the responsibility, to accept with it all -that appertained thereto. Herein lay that touch -of simplicity, that touch of childlikeness, which, -perhaps you may have perceived in him. Therefore -it is small wonder that civilization was bearing -heavily upon him.</p> - -<p>Truly a sorry state for a man.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI<br /> -<span class="smaller">CONSPIRATORS</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Elizabeth</span> was talking to Mrs. Trimwell.</p> - -<p>She was sitting in a low chair by the open back -door. The baby lay in her lap, peacefully sucking -a small pink thumb, round eyes gazing at Elizabeth’s -face the while. The baby was as at home -with Elizabeth, as Elizabeth was at home with the -baby.</p> - -<p>Before them lay the garden,—cabbages, potatoes, -and onions neatly surrounded by flower -borders. On a clothes-line, white pinafores and -little blue and pink cotton frocks swung gently in -the breeze.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Trimwell was at the ironing-table, but it is -very certain that the work of her hands in no way -impeded the action of her tongue. Every now -and then she turned from the table to the stove, -exchanging a cooling iron for one which she would -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</span>momentarily hold in what appeared to be dangerous -proximity to her cheek. Then down it would -go on to the crumpled linen, which smoothed to -snowy whiteness beneath the magic of her touch.</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t have said it to no one but you, -ma’am,” remarked Mrs. Trimwell, in conclusion, -it would appear, to some foregoing speech, “but -I do say as how a helping hand at the moment -would be a godsend to the poor young gentleman.”</p> - -<p>Elizabeth looked entire agreement.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” quoth she. “But then, what right have -<i>I</i> to interfere.”</p> - -<p>“Lor’ bless you, ma’am,” ejaculated Mrs. -Trimwell, “if we was all to wait for our rights to -make a move, I reckon there’d be precious little -moving. When you think you’ve got a right -there’s a dozen folk will tell you you haven’t got -none. And when you’re for letting a job be, -they’ll all be giving you a shift towards it. And -spending the time arguing about it is mostly like -talking over who’s got the best right to throw a -rope to a drowning man. It’s the handiest has -got to do it, I’m thinking, and let rights take their -chance.”</p> - -<p>“But,” said Elizabeth, and her eyes were -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</span>smiling, though her voice was sufficiently grave, -“supposing he doesn’t want any interference.”</p> - -<p>“There’s a deal of folk as don’t know what’s -good for them,” remarked Mrs. Trimwell dryly, -“and maybe he’s one of the number, though I’m -not for that way of thinking myself. To my mind -he has got hisself into a bit of a boggle, and don’t -know the way out, though ’tis as plain as the nose -on my face.”</p> - -<p>She folded a table-cloth with rapid dexterity.</p> - -<p>“But,” argued Elizabeth, and she patted the -baby gently, “if I broach the subject when he -doesn’t want it broached, what will he think of -me?”</p> - -<p>“Same as most men,” returned Mrs. Trimwell -calmly, whisking a handkerchief from a basket, -“that women’s for ever busy over what ain’t no -concern of theirs. But Lor’ bless you, what does -that matter! If we’re so everlasting prudent as -to wait for chances to be certainties, we’ll miss -giving a sight of help. There’s fifty chances in a -month to one certainty, and the chances want a -friend’s hand to them a precious sight more -than the certainties.”</p> - -<p>Elizabeth looked down the garden. Slowly she -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</span>patted the tranquil baby; slowly she pondered on -this last statement. She was disposed to see quite -a fair amount of truth in it. But then——</p> - -<p>“What exactly do you advise?” Her eyes held -a gleam of amusement.</p> - -<p>“Talk to him straight,” said Mrs. Trimwell -briefly. “I’ll own I wasn’t for having him miss his -chances myself at first, but now—Lor’ bless you! -I see ’tis no chance but a trap he’s laid hold on, and -he’ll be caught sure enough before he’s done, if -someone doesn’t speak.”</p> - -<p>“Y-yes,” demurred Elizabeth, the little gleam -lighting to laughter, “but how? What, for instance, -would you say under the circumstances?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Trimwell put her iron on the stove. She -turned deliberately to Elizabeth. Brows frowning -she sought for inspiration.</p> - -<p>“Well, I can’t rightly say as I’m a good hand at -fashioning speeches. Leastways not the kind as’ll -take with gentle-folk. But I reckon it’s something -after this way I’d speak.”</p> - -<p>One hand on hip, the other shaking an admonitory -finger at an imaginary young man, Mrs. -Trimwell proceeded.</p> - -<p>“Young sir, seeing as how you ain’t got no -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</span>friends handy to tell you the truth, which may be -unpalatable, but which I’m thinking you needs the -taste of, I’m speaking in the friend’s place. It -don’t require no mighty sharp sight to see that -you’re as uneasy as a cat on hot bricks in contemplating -the situation before you, the situation -being one which you ain’t been brought up to, and -as different from the life you’ve led as chalk is from -cheese. It ain’t no use trying to bend a tree to -new shapes when it’s full-growed, leastways if you -do, you run a pretty fair risk of breaking it, and -that’s what’s going to happen to you. ’Tisn’t as -though you’d been took in childhood, when the -bending to new ways can be done without over -much harm. Lor’ bless you, can’t you see what -you’re trying to do with yourself? ’Twill be like -putting a sea fish in one of them little glass bowls -you see in shops for you to try and get used to the -ways of folks like them at the Castle. They’s -born to it, and don’t feel all the finiky little things -that comes as easy to them as breathing. It’s -bigger things you’re wanting, and by that I’m not -meaning the size of the rooms, for you’ll find them -big enough at the Castle. It’s your mind you’ll be -shutting up, and your body too, for all the size -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</span>of the place. You’ve found a cage, that’s what -you’ve found, and partly because it’s a glittery -thing, and partly because it’s yours, you’re feeling -bound to live in it. Turn your back on it, I says; -leave it to them as doesn’t know the caging. ’Tis -God’s earth is your heritage, and not the castles -men folk have built on it.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Trimwell paused.</p> - -<p>“That’s the manner of talk I’d be giving him,” -she announced. “It’ll put things clear to him, and -he’s not got them over clear in his mind yet. -’Tis what he’s seeing though, half-blind like, and -it’s a friend he needs to open his eyes before ’tis -too late.”</p> - -<p>Elizabeth gazed at her. There was admiration, -frank and genuine admiration, in her eyes. Of -course Mrs. Trimwell had merely voiced her own -entire opinion, but quite probably it was on this -very account that the admiration was thus unstinted. -There is the same curious pleasure in -finding another at one with you on a matter even -slightly near your heart, as there is in finding your -own unexpressed and half-articulate thoughts in -the pages of some book. Also there was admiration -for the fact that Mrs. Trimwell had arrived at so -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</span>rapid a conclusion. Elizabeth totally forgot that -her own conclusion had been even more rapid.</p> - -<p>“I shall never,” said Elizabeth, “be able to -speak with half your verve.”</p> - -<p>Though totally ignorant of the last word, Mrs. -Trimwell was aware that same compliment was -intended.</p> - -<p>“You’ll put it a sight more polished than I can,” -she remarked bluntly.</p> - -<p>“He’d prefer the original speech,” smiled -Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>“But he’ll not get it,” Mrs. Trimwell’s voice -was grim. “I knows my place.”</p> - -<p>Elizabeth raised amused eyebrows.</p> - -<p>“And all the time you’ve been assuring me that -it isn’t a question of rights,” she protested.</p> - -<p>“There’s rights and rights,” announced Mrs. -Trimwell, “and ’tis you’ve the bigger right than -me. You’re gentle-folk, same as he, and he’ll -take it better from you. I’d speak fast enough, -Lor’ bless you, if there wasn’t you to do it.”</p> - -<p>She turned again to her ironing.</p> - -<p>Elizabeth again took to patting the small bundle -of warmth in her lap. Over the low hedge of the -garden, she could see the churchyard, and the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</span>white and grey headstones of the graves. From -the old church came the intermittent sound of -hammering, and the occasional clinking of metal. -Pigeons wheeled against the blue sky, alighting -now and again on the church tower. Beyond -the church stretched meadows, and the silver line -of a river twisting among them past rushes and -pollard willows.</p> - -<p>A heat haze covered the landscape; it shimmered, -elusively golden, above the red-flagged path of the -garden. A cat dozed on a bit of sun-baked earth; -it appeared the embodiment of feline contentment. -Elizabeth felt something of the same contentment. -There was still that little gleam of amusement -in her eyes.</p> - -<p>Unquestionably she was a conspirator.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII<br /> -<span class="smaller">CORIN TAKES A WALK</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">It</span> is, however, one thing to be a conspirator in -intention, and quite another to put your conspiracy -into action. The opportunity perversely -refused to present itself, or, at any rate, to Elizabeth’s -eyes it refused to present itself, and that, -after all, came to the same thing. A dozen times -at least she went over her prepared formula in her -mind, intending at each meeting to put it into -words.</p> - -<p>And there were meetings enough. You might -have imagined that David sought them; that -he knew, by some uncanny instinct, the exact -moments when Elizabeth would approach the -Green Man. Of course, too, there were the meetings -at breakfast, but to Elizabeth’s mind these -barely counted. It was not a subject to be served -up with coffee and eggs and bacon; the hour, also, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</span>was unpropitious. She was never glib of speech in -the early morning. But then every hour seemed -unpropitious.</p> - -<p>The whole difficulty of the matter lay in the fact -that she was on the outlook for an opportunity, -that her formula was prepared. I defy any one—at -all events any one of Elizabeth’s truthful nature—to -introduce a pre-arranged subject casually and naturally. -If you have ever tried to do so yourself, -you will hear the instant ring of falsity in your words.</p> - -<p>“Oh, by the way——”</p> - -<p>And if you don’t begin in this fashion, how on -earth are you going to begin, I ask?</p> - -<p>Every meeting which passed without the subject -being broached, lent further difficulty to its broaching. -And the moment the opportunity had gone -by, Elizabeth would upbraid herself for cowardice, -would speak confidently to her heart of next time. -And when next time came, the little dumb devil -would sit maliciously on guard before her lips -allowing every word to pass them but those she -desired to speak.</p> - -<p>The matter became almost farcical; it would -have been farcical, but that the days were slipping -by.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</span></p> - -<p>“It’s positively absurd,” Elizabeth told herself, -half-laughing, half-angry.</p> - -<p>But absurd or not, the little dumb devil was -keeping close watch.</p> - -<p>And here it was that Fate or Providence stepped -in in a purely unexpected manner. Doubtless you, -according to your views, will give the credit to -whichever pleases you.</p> - -<p>The intervention can hardly be termed direct. -But then, that is frequently the case. It is the side -issues, which in themselves appear of little or no -importance, which have a momentous influence on -the graver and deeper questions of life.</p> - -<p>And here I am minded to quote the words -reflected upon by the sunny-hearted Pippa.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Say not ‘a small event!’ Why ‘small’?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Costs it more pain than this, ye call</div> - <div class="verse indent0">A ‘great event,’ should come to pass,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Than that? Untwine me from the mass</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Of deeds which make up life, one deed</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Power shall fall short in or exceed!”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Yet, if you should reply boldly in refutation of -these words, Here, in my life, is one deed, one -action at least, which stands paramount above -all others, I would answer, True; but what of the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</span>so-called tiny influences, the so-called minute -events which led to it? Can you eliminate any -one of them, and then say with certainty that, -without it, the result would have been the same? -And if you can not, how can you declare that -the apparently tiny event was of less importance -than the one you call great?</p> - -<p>However, let’s on to the matter in hand.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Corin found the joys of scraping plaster off -walls beginning to pall. Apparently he had -come to an end of discovery.</p> - -<p>It is one thing to delve for new treasures, it is -another to scrape for hours on end to find a mere -repetition of design. However delightful masonry -and herb Robert may be when it dawns freshly on -the sight, its continued contemplation waxes somewhat -stale. To his judging, and no doubt he -judged rightly, there were still yards and yards -of it to be uncovered. Monotony, therefore, crept -upon his soul. With a view, then, to relaxing -the monotony, and taking into consideration -that the sunshine without the church appeared -infinitely preferable to the gloom within, he laid -down his tools this particular afternoon a full -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</span>hour before his customary time, and came out into -the open.</p> - -<p>And here, for a moment, he paused.</p> - -<p>Before him, eight miles distant, lay Whortley, -to be reached by road or field, according to inclination. -He ruled out that notion promptly. To -the right lay the river, the silver ribbon bordered -by pollard willows; to the left lay wood and moorland; -behind him and the church lay the sea. It -was distant a mile or thereabouts, and the sun -was distinctly hot. But what of that! Wouldn’t -the music of its voice on the shore, the colour of -its sparkling waters, the coolness of the little breeze -that would sweep across its surface, be well worth -the tramp?</p> - -<p>“The sea for me!” cried Corin to his heart. -“And that’s rhyme, and I’m not sure that it isn’t -poetry if you take into consideration the vision it -conjures up. In fact, taking that into consideration, -I am sure that it <i>is</i> poetry.”</p> - -<p>Whereupon he wheeled around.</p> - -<p>First the route lay uphill towards Delancey -Castle. It was a stiffish climb. The sun, beating -upon the white roadway, flung waves of heat up -from it. They shimmered before his spectacled, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</span>short-sighted eyes in an irritating glaring dance. -His round, cherubic face was glowing to a deep -crimson before he was half-way up the ascent. -The vision he had conjured up of the seashore -might truly be poetical, but I question the poetry -in the appearance of the little man trudging -towards that vision. Yet this is unkind. Who -are we to judge from appearances? Truly may -poetic aspirations be hidden beneath the most -unlikely exteriors.</p> - -<p>At the top of the hill, Corin paused, looking -reflectively down the long avenue. Exhaustion -rather than reflection prompted the pause, nevertheless -he gave vent to a sage one.</p> - -<p>“<i>Omne ignotum pro magnifico</i>,” he remarked, -“by which token, I fancy, our young American -friend down yonder had a very different conception -of what he was going to find up here. He has -found less magnificence than irksomeness, I take -it. Now, I wonder why karma——”</p> - -<p>But I refuse to follow Corin in his meditative -flights in this direction. It is sufficient to note -that we see him, from the remark I have given you, -in like mind with three at least of our other characters -herein mentioned.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</span></p> - -<p>His meditation on the mysteries of karma -completed, and his exhaustion being in part, at -least, lessened, Corin pursued his way. His route -was level now, leading presently to a footpath -across an expanse of short grass. Here he came -upon full view of the sea—blue, sparkling, radiant, -dotted with white- and red-winged sailing boats.</p> - -<p>Coming at length to a rough, descending track, -he made his way down it. It brought him into a -cove, a place of white sand, smooth and gleaming.</p> - -<p>Truly here was all that his vision had expected. -The grass-crowned cliffs sloped down to the cove -in rugged grey walls, samphire-covered. Nor did -the grey rocks stop abruptly on reaching the -white sand, but ran out into it, as if eager to gain -to the sun-kissed water. Little pools lay among -them, mirrors reflecting the blue of the sky. In -the pools waved feathery fronds of sea-weed—pink, -crimson, and brown; tiny silver fish darted hither -and thither; sea anemones stretched forth dainty -flower-like tentacles.</p> - -<p>“This,” remarked Corin to his soul, “was worth -the tramp.”</p> - -<p>And he sat down on the warm white sand.</p> - -<p>There wasn’t a soul in sight; nothing but those -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</span>white- and red-winged boats, making a lazy headway -with the tide, to remind him of his fellow -mortals, and they but added to the beauty of -the picture. The water broke in baby waves -on the shore, with the faintest musical ripple. -Sea-gulls dipped to the shining surface, or floated -smoothly in the blueness above. Now and again -a cormorant flew, black and long-necked across -the water.</p> - -<p>Some half-hour or so Corin sat there, basking -and dreaming in the sun, thinking, you may be -pretty certain, of nothing, or at all events with -thoughts too diffused to be worthy of the name.</p> - -<p>And then, all at once, the antics of two birds -roused him to sudden interest. Gulls, he would -have called them, yet assuredly their manners were -perplexing. Winging rapidly for a moment or so, -they dropped suddenly like stones to the water. -Up again, they repeated the manœuvre, and -again, and yet again.</p> - -<p>“Now what,” remarked Corin aloud, addressing -the apparent solitude, “do those things call themselves?”</p> - -<p>“They,” said a voice behind him, “are gannets.”</p> - -<p>Corin turned.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">CONCERNING AN ARGUMENT</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Seated</span> on a rock, some half-dozen yards or so in -his rear, was David Delancey, calmly gazing out to -sea.</p> - -<p>“How long have you been there?” demanded -an astonished Corin.</p> - -<p>“Oh, twenty minutes or thereabouts,” returned -David. He got up from the rock and came to -seat himself nearer Corin. “I thought you were -dozing.”</p> - -<p>“I was wide awake,” returned Corin with some -dignity.</p> - -<p>It is not certain whether the imputation of -sleepiness had hurt his susceptible feelings, or -whether it was merely irritation at finding himself -observed when he thought himself alone, at all -events there was the faintest trace of asperity -in his manner.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</span></p> - -<p>David regarded him perplexed. The slight -asperity was obvious. But what on earth had -caused it?</p> - -<p>And then, whatever the cause, Corin felt a -trifle ashamed.</p> - -<p>“But what,” he demanded, waving his hand -seawards, “are the mad things up to? What -possible pleasure or profit can they find in tumbling -head first into the water? If it weren’t,” -concluded Corin solemnly, “that I conceive them -to be brainless, I should imagine that they would -be suffering by now from violent headaches.”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” responded David laughing, “they are -just diving.”</p> - -<p>“Just diving?” echoed Corin. “But why from -such a height? Why don’t they get lower to the -water, first, if they want to dive?”</p> - -<p>“Ask me another,” said David, smiling lazily. -“I suppose it’s habit, nature, whatever you like -to call it.”</p> - -<p>Corin shook his head, as who should say, given -a free hand he’d instil vastly better habits. Aloud -he said:</p> - -<p>“This is an extraordinarily pleasant spot.”</p> - -<p>“It’s so jolly lonely,” said David musingly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</span></p> - -<p>“Therein,” remarked Corin, “lies one of its -greatest attractions.” And he quoted softly, -“Il y a toujours dans le monde quelque chose de -trop—l’homme.”</p> - -<p>“What’s that?” demanded David bluntly.</p> - -<p>Corin obligingly translated.</p> - -<p>“Humph!” Obviously David demurred at this -statement. “I don’t altogether see what would -be the good of the world being pleasant if there -weren’t someone to enjoy it.”</p> - -<p>“There would be,” said Corin, still softly, -“always oneself.”</p> - -<p>David’s eyes twinkled.</p> - -<p>“I guess a world run for one individual alone -would prove a bit over isolated,” he remarked -dryly. “Also, the question of which individual -might crop up.”</p> - -<p>Corin sighed. The man was really a little too -literal. He shifted his ground.</p> - -<p>“If,” he said didactically, “men lived together -in harmony, the soul would not crave for isolation.”</p> - -<p>Had John been present, it is probable that ribald -laughter had greeted this remark. He knew these -moods. David did not.</p> - -<p>“That’s true enough,” he responded gravely, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</span>“but who is to set the keynote? where’s your conductor -of the band?”</p> - -<p>“If,” said Corin, addressing himself to the -sparkling water, “each man lived to the highest -within him, there would be no need for any -conductor.”</p> - -<p>David frowned. He granted the high-soundingness -of the statement, you may be sure, but somehow -it did not strike him as altogether practical. -He fell back on his band simile.</p> - -<p>“A fellow,” he remarked, “may fancy he’s got a -jolly good tune to play, and go at it for all he’s -worth, but if it doesn’t fit in with the rest, it stands -to reason a jumble will follow. If you could get -hold of the right conductor, I fancy you’d do a -precious deal better by playing second fiddle, or -even by striking a note on a triangle every now -and then, than by rattling off the best tune ever -invented on your own.”</p> - -<p>“My dear man,” cried Corin eagerly, “your -theory is sound enough in a way; but if a man -really lives to the highest in him, he’ll merely -strike notes on a triangle if that’s his job.”</p> - -<p>David shook his head.</p> - -<p>“Maybe,” he said deliberately, “but there’s -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</span>always human nature to reckon with, and there’s -a good bit of difference between a man thinking a -thing the highest, and it being the highest. You -set out to do a thing thinking it’s the right thing -to do, and when you get a good clinch on it, I’m -blamed if you don’t begin to wonder if it was your -job after all.”</p> - -<p>Again Corin sighed, and with an almost aggressive -patience.</p> - -<p>“If you have honestly believed it to be the right -thing to do,” he remarked carefully, “it is the -right thing to do. Shakespeare never made a truer -statement than when he said, ‘There’s nothing -either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.’ -There’s the sum of all religion.”</p> - -<p>“Then,” said David dryly, “religion is a mighty -elusive thing to tackle. There are some Indians—I -forget which brand their religion is—think it right -to treat the poor little widows as scum on the face -of the earth, but I don’t fancy any amount of -thinking can make it right to treat any woman that -way. There’s injustice somewhere if that’s the -way to deal with them.”</p> - -<p>“It’s karma,” said Corin succinctly.</p> - -<p>David pitched a pebble seawards.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</span></p> - -<p>“I’ve heard you use that word before,” he -remarked, “but for the life of me I don’t know -what you’re driving at.”</p> - -<p>Here was Corin’s chance. You may be sure he -jumped at it. I’ve vowed I’ll not follow his meditative -flights in this direction, but I fear me I’ll be -bound to transcribe his speeches.</p> - -<p>“Karma,” quoth he, “shows us clearly the -justice of the whole of the so-called injustice of the -world.”</p> - -<p>David grinned.</p> - -<p>“It’s not what you might call a little subject,” -he remarked.</p> - -<p>“Yet,” retorted Corin, “it is simplicity itself. No -evil suffered by man, woman, or child is undeserved. -It is suffered as punishment for sin committed.”</p> - -<p>David looked down towards the sea.</p> - -<p>“A baby can’t sin,” he said quietly, “yet I’ve -seen some poor little beggars mishandled in a way -that would make your blood boil.”</p> - -<p>Corin shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p>“I’ll allow that there are brutes in the world,” -he admitted, “but there’s no undeserved suffering. -What such a child suffered, it suffered for sins -committed in a past life.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</span></p> - -<p>David turned an amazed face upon him.</p> - -<p>“Past life!” he ejaculated.</p> - -<p>“Of course,” said Corin calmly. “How do -you interpret such suffering if it isn’t inflicted for -sins committed in a past life? Wouldn’t it be horrible -injustice otherwise? You don’t, I suppose, -imagine the Powers above to be unjust?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said David simply. “I’ve never gone -as far as that.”</p> - -<p>“Then how on earth are you going to explain the -apparent injustice of the world?” cried Corin. -“Can’t you see that it apparently reeks with -injustice?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Lord, yes! I see that fast enough,” -said David grimly.</p> - -<p>“Then how do you explain it?” demanded -Corin.</p> - -<p>“I’ve never tried to,” said David quietly.</p> - -<p>“But, good heavens, man, what’s your intellect -given you for if you don’t use it?” almost shouted -Corin. “Why, if I couldn’t see some plan in what -the Powers above had arranged, I’d have chucked -up the sponge long ago.”</p> - -<p>David looked silently towards the far-off horizon. -There was a queer little smile on his lips.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</span></p> - -<p>“Well?” demanded Corin.</p> - -<p>David turned.</p> - -<p>“I guess,” he said slowly, “you’d think a soldier -a mighty poor sort of fellow who chucked up -fighting because he didn’t understand the plans -of his general. I guess God isn’t going to give -each of us a special interview, and explain His -plan of campaign, any more than a general is going -to call each private to his tent and explain his -before he sends him into battle. Of course if you -figure out a plan in your own mind, and fight -thinking it’s the right one, it’s a precious deal -better than chucking up the sponge, but all the -same, if you’re stuck on your own plan, you may -go beyond your job by a long chalk, and it’s best -to leave plans to your general. The only thing -that matters is to get your orders clear, and with -the muddle around you that’s not over easy. -Anyhow, I don’t find it over easy.”</p> - -<p>“But,” remarked Corin coolly, “if, as you maintain, -no private is supposed to understand his -general’s plan, and he is not to follow his -own judgment, from whom is he to receive -orders?”</p> - -<p>“Officers,” returned David promptly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</span></p> - -<p>Corin snorted. It was not exactly an ill-bred -snort, you understand; nevertheless it was one.</p> - -<p>“And will you kindly tell me where those -officers are to be found?” he questioned loftily. -“Look here, man, let’s drop simile for the moment. -If you maintain that we human beings are incapable -of understanding the plans of the Powers -that be, how are we going to shape the course of -our actions? We’ve got to work on some scheme, -if we don’t drift. Who’s going to interpret -that scheme to us, if we don’t interpret it for -ourselves?”</p> - -<p>“That,” returned David, “is exactly what -I’m trying to figure out.”</p> - -<p>Corin looked at him commiseratingly.</p> - -<p>“My dear man,” he said gently, “you’ll find -that your figuring will bring you to but one conclusion. -You’ve got to interpret for yourself. -If you go off to ask other people, what will you -find? Every man will tell you that his way is the -right way. A Calvinist will talk of predestination, -a Congregationalist will talk of conversion, -a Catholic will tell you to go and confess your sins -to a priest, and a member of the established -Church of England—well, the Lord only knows -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</span>what he’ll tell you. It’ll be a toss-up on the -special species you light on.”</p> - -<p>“But,” said David firmly, “there must be truth -somewhere.”</p> - -<p>“Of course there is,” returned Corin magnificently. -“There’s a modicum of truth in every -religion. Divest them of their forms and you’ll -get vastly nearer the whole truth. I tell you, -there’s the Divine in every man. The various -churches have set up God as a kind of bogey -wherewith to frighten naughty children. God -exists, but not separate from us, as the churches -teach, a judge to allot punishment or reward to -a feeble humanity; He exists in each one of us. -Each one of us is an actual part of the Divine, and -thereby is his own arbitrator, ruler, and judge. -And, that being so, it is absurd to imagine that we -are incapable of understanding the Divine plan. -Of course we understand it. To believe, to know, -that, is merely common-sense.”</p> - -<p>David was silent.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t it?” urged Corin.</p> - -<p>David turned towards him.</p> - -<p>“Well, if you really want my opinion,” he said -slowly, “I’m blamed if I don’t call it merely pride.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</span></p> - -<p>Corin stared.</p> - -<p>“Well, of all the—” he began.</p> - -<p>He got no further. Where was the use of arguing -with a man who voluntarily padlocked his -intellect within an iron box, so to speak. It would -be mere waste of breath, a futile expenditure of his -energies. Yet, so reflected Corin, he had thought -so much better of him. Ah, well, the advance -guard of a movement cannot expect to have the -ruck too closely in his wake. It is only when the -path through superstition has been laid fair and -open, that one can expect the common herd to -follow.</p> - -<p>“You’re a very young soul,” he said indulgently.</p> - -<p>David gazed imperturbably out to sea.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX<br /> -<span class="smaller">A DUMB DOG—</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Of</span> course there had been nothing out of the way -about the meeting, nothing particularly extraordinary -about the conversation, for all that Corin, -in spite of terming the matter simple, was convinced -of its depth. Yet, in some inexplicable -way, it was a momentous meeting to David. And -the kernel of the whole thing lay, neither in what -Corin had said, nor in what he had said, but -somehow in his own unspoken thoughts during -the conversation.</p> - -<p>I don’t believe he could have put the actual -thoughts into words. He could not even formulate -them very distinctly in his own mind, but all the -same there had been a curious crystallizing process -going on within him. Little half-formed thoughts, -tiny almost insignificant incidents of the past ten -days, had drawn together with a strange magnetic -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</span>attraction into a concrete whole, though he was -not, even now, fully aware what that concrete -whole represented to him.</p> - -<p>But there it was, a tangible, definite something -awaiting explanation. He could handle it now, -so to speak, without knowing to what purpose -it was to be put; it was massed together, where -formerly it had been mere particles, each too minute -and separate to be caught and fingered. Yet, -lying where it did, in the inmost recesses of his -soul, the question was whether he could ever bring -it sufficiently to the surface to show it to another, -and he believed that, without some external aid, -he would never arrive at its full significance.</p> - -<p>Those who possess the gift of words are truly -to be envied. With a few brief sentences they -are able to elicit sympathy, criticism, judgment, -understanding, whatever their need may be. -The dumb dog is helpless. At the best, he has but -a few stammering phrases to his tongue, perhaps -but an inarticulate word or two, often no word -at all.</p> - -<p>You can’t blame his fellow mortals if they fail to -understand his need: it is given to few to interpret -the language of the mute.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XL">CHAPTER XL<br /> -<span class="smaller">SPEAKS—</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Elizabeth</span> came into the garden of the Green -Man the morning following the aforementioned -conversation, with determination in her heart, -and her formula on her lips.</p> - -<p>She saw David sitting on a wooden bench near -the stream. He had left the parlour some ten -minutes previously.</p> - -<p>He was looking at the running water. Even -at the distance he was from her, Elizabeth was -aware of a certain tenseness, a certain keyedness -in his attitude. He seemed waiting, expectant.</p> - -<p>She went across the grass towards him, her -step making no sound on the soft turf. She was -within a couple of yards from him before he saw -her. He got up from the bench.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Darcy,” he said in a queer hesitating -voice, “if I can, I want to talk to you.”</p> - -<p>Elizabeth noticed that he did not say, “If I may.”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLI">CHAPTER XLI<br /> -<span class="smaller">AT SOME LENGTH</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Elizabeth</span> sat down on the bench beside him. -Her whole demeanour said as plainly as speech:</p> - -<p>“Take your own time. I have nothing on -earth to do but listen to you. Nothing will give -me greater pleasure. This is what I have been -wanting.”</p> - -<p>It is astonishing what confidence such an attitude -will give. Confidences—hesitating confidences, -at all events—will take flight before the -least trace of urgency. If you think you’ve got to -be in a hurry to show them, they hide like shy -children in the inmost recesses of your soul, and -no amount of coaxing will bring them forth to -the light of day. You may, by dint of violent -effort, force them forth, so to speak; but, coming -unwillingly, they show no trace of their true -personality. You barely recognize them yourself; -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</span>a stranger will not recognize them at all, unless he -be the one in a million endowed with an almost -uncanny gift of insight. And such a one, to my -thinking, will never hurry confidences.</p> - -<p>“Do you mind my smoking?” asked David.</p> - -<p>“Not a bit,” returned Elizabeth cheerily.</p> - -<p>David pulled pipe and tobacco pouch from his -pocket. Busy with them, he spoke.</p> - -<p>“I am a bad hand at talking,” said he. “Words -are slippery kind of things, and slide out of my -mind as soon as I think I’ve got them fixed there; -so, if I talk in a muddle, perhaps you’ll forgive -me. I can’t even get what I want to say very -clearly to myself.”</p> - -<p>He paused to light his pipe. Then went on:</p> - -<p>“I fancy I’ll have to talk a bit in kind of symbols. -I see things that way myself better than in actual -descriptive words. You know, of course, my reason -for being here?”</p> - -<p>“I do,” responded Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>David was silent for a moment.</p> - -<p>“Well,” he said presently, pulling at his pipe, -“when I set out on this job, I didn’t think much -about the right or wrong of it. It was simply -there. It got up and stood before me suddenly, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</span>and I said to myself, That’s what I’m going for. -I went for it. There’s no need to go into details. -It wasn’t an easy undertaking, but I brought it -through. What I set out to get is mine. It’s there. -I’ve only got to put out my hand and take it.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Elizabeth, as he stopped.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said David frowning, “now comes the -difficult part to put into words. What I’m going -to say may sound rubbish; but, for the life of -me, I don’t think it is. I’m going to get to symbols -now. Can you figure to yourself a man -finding a mighty powerful telescope; and, looking -through it, he sees a sack of gold lying in a place -some thousands of miles away, and he knows -that the sack is his for the seeking. Well, he -doesn’t think much about the wisdom of the -search, or its difficulties, or what he’s going to -do with the gold when he gets it. He just knows -it’s there, and it’s his if he can get to it. It isn’t -easy to find, and there are other people who think -they’ve got the right to it. But anyhow he gets -there, and establishes his claim. He’s got nothing -to do now, but put in his hand and take everything -that is in the sack. It seems simple enough, -doesn’t it?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</span></p> - -<p>“It does,” said Elizabeth smiling. The naïveté -of his words amused her.</p> - -<p>“But,” went on David, “just as he’s waiting -to take possession of the whole thing, he suddenly -gets a glimpse of something else, a bit further on. -Now, he doesn’t for the life of him know exactly -what it is, or what use he’s going to make of it, -only there’s some kind of voice telling him all the -time that it’s worth going for. That’s pretty -nearly all he knows about it. Common-sense -seems to say to him, ‘Empty your sack first, -and then go on and have a look.’ But way back -in his mind he has three thoughts,—one is that -he hasn’t any darned use for the gold in the sack, -he doesn’t know what to make of it—you remember -I’m speaking in symbols; the second is -that somehow it will be a bother carrying it along -with him on this other quest; and the third is a -queer sort of idea as to whether the gold is really -his after all. Of course everybody tells him it is. -Even the folk, who originally had the handling -of it, are bound to say it must be, and yet he -doesn’t feel dead sure. Do you see what I’m -driving at?”</p> - -<p>“Perfectly,” said Elizabeth.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</span></p> - -<p>“Well,” he demanded, “what does it all mean?”</p> - -<p>For a moment Elizabeth was silent.</p> - -<p>“Can’t you tell me a little more?” she suggested. -“Haven’t you the smallest idea what this other -quest is?”</p> - -<p>David hesitated.</p> - -<p>“Not an atom clearly,” he said slowly, “at -least—” he stopped.</p> - -<p>Again there was a silence. There was no -sound but the rippling of the water, and the -humming of insects. Occasionally a dragon-fly -darted across the surface of the stream with a -flash of silver wings. Beyond the grassy slope of -the fields opposite them stood the trees of the wood, -dark green, deep shadows lying beneath them.</p> - -<p>And in the silence Elizabeth waited.</p> - -<p>Presently David began to speak, shyly, difficultly.</p> - -<p>“When I was a very little chap, I used to read -Tennyson. Do you know the bit,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent6">“‘... I heard a sound</div> - <div class="verse indent0">As of a silver horn from o’er the hills...’?”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="no-indent">Elizabeth nodded.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent6">“‘... O never harp nor horn,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Nor aught we blow with breath, or touch with hand.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Was like that music as it came; and then</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Stream’d through my cell a cold and silver beam,</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</span></p> - <div class="verse indent0">And down the long beam stole the Holy Grail,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Rose-red with beatings in it, as if alive,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Till all the white walls of my cell were dyed</div> - <div class="verse indent0">With rosy colours leaping on the wall...’”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Her words fell softly into the silence.</p> - -<p>“That’s it,” said David, his cheeks flushing. -“I used to care for that a lot,” he went on slowly. -“I used to play I was one of those knights going -in search. But it’s years since I’ve thought of -the poem, or had any of those fancies. Perhaps -working around knocks them out of one’s head. -Now, what I am going to say will sound pure -nonsense. One day, here, in a wood, the whole -thing came back to me.”</p> - -<p>“Yes?” said Elizabeth gently.</p> - -<p>“I came up through the wood to the edge of -the park,” said David, “and I found myself by -the Castle Chapel. A bell rang. I can’t in the -least explain what happened then, but I might -have been a little chap again, fancying myself -near the end of my quest, only it was about a -thousand times more real. Well, it’s just that. -What I played at as a little fellow has got hold of -me again.” He stopped.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</span></p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Elizabeth again, and very softly.</p> - -<p>“I’ve tried to tell myself it’s nonsense,” went -on David, “but it’s no good. And it doesn’t -seem like play now. I can’t explain. Of course -reason tells me I’m being a bit mad, but the -thought has got hold of me and won’t let me go. -Mr. Elmore talked to me yesterday, down on -the beach. He talked what seemed to me a good -deal of rubbish, though I’ll grant it sounded all -right in one way. I told him what I thought -about it. But what we both said is beside the -matter. It’s just that all the time this idea was -gripping me tighter and tighter. It was as if -the quest was real. Everything—the sea, the -rocks, the birds, the sun, the wind—was telling -me so. I wanted to speak to someone about it. -Somehow I felt I could tell you. It seems so -real, and yet— What do you make of a fantastic -idea like that?” There was almost a wistful -note in his voice.</p> - -<p>Elizabeth’s eyes were shining. Perhaps there -was the faintest hint of tears in them.</p> - -<p>“I don’t think it is fantastic,” she said quietly. -“I—I know it isn’t.”</p> - -<p>“You know it is real?” asked David wonderingly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</span></p> - -<p>“I know it is real,” she said. “There are -others who could tell you probably a great deal -better than I can; yet you’ve asked me, so I will -do my best. The story of King Arthur and his -knights seeking the Holy Grail, is a beautiful -story, a wonderful story. It was a marvellous -quest. It was the quest far the holiest purely -material thing that ever existed. And yet there -is Something more wonderful even than it, Something -always present upon the earth which may -be found by all who seek It. I think you have -been given a glimpse of that Quest.”</p> - -<p>David looked at her silently.</p> - -<p>Elizabeth drew in her breath.</p> - -<p>“Christ in the Blessed Sacrament,” she said.</p> - -<p>A silence fell on the words. Elizabeth’s heart -was beating quickly. David was looking at the -water.</p> - -<p>“When the bell rang,” went on Elizabeth, -speaking simply, almost as she would have spoken -to a child, “it meant that Christ had come to the -altar within the chapel. He was lying there -as helpless as when He was nailed to the Cross. -It needs, perhaps, as great faith to see Him there, -under His white disguise, as it did to see God in -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</span>the Man nailed to the tree of shame. Yet the -one stupendous marvel is as true as the other. -Up there, in the wood, you recognized the miracle, -without realizing what it was that you recognized.”</p> - -<p>Once again fell silence. The wonder had been -spoken, the miracle, which day by day, at -countless altars, is silently performed, before -which the very angels themselves stand watching -in reverent awe.</p> - -<p>It was a long time before David spoke again. -At last he said:</p> - -<p>“Yet what bearing has—has <i>that</i> on the other -question,—the question of my accepting this inheritance? -Why do I imagine that my acceptance -might, in a measure, hinder this quest? -There are, by the way, quite a dozen ordinary -reasons which have cropped up to make me -dislike the thought of accepting. I’ll grant that -they are, no doubt, stupid reasons, which most -people would consider barely worth consideration, -but there they are. By themselves I might face -them fairly, weigh them, and come to a decision; -but added to them, all the time, has been this -other thought. Now the point is,” went on -David, leaning forward, and speaking with frowning<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</span> -deliberation, in the effort to make his meaning -clear, “which is really influencing me? Am I -making this queer thought the pretext for wanting -to be rid of the whole business, when it’s really -that I shirk the thought of the restrictions this -new mode of life must bring? Or is the thought -of these restrictions merely a side issue, which -should be ignored while I figure out the other -question? And, from every reasonable standpoint, -it hasn’t the smallest bearing on the case. -It seems absurd to suppose that it has. Then -there’s the third idea that I mentioned, the idea -that the whole thing is a mistake, and that I -haven’t any right to the place at all. But that -can really be ruled out; there’s so much proof to -the contrary. It’s odd to me to analyse like this; -and yet, for the life of me, I can’t help doing -it.”</p> - -<p>Elizabeth listened, turned the matter in her -mind, and spoke.</p> - -<p>“Let’s get hold of the business from a purely -reasonable and sensible standpoint first,” quoth -she. “You’ve made a bid for this inheritance -which you believed to be yours. It is proved, -from a legal point of view, that it is yours. Now -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</span>tell me what you think of it,—from the merely -sensible standpoint, remember.”</p> - -<p>“There isn’t one,” laughed David. “At least, -I don’t believe any one would dream of calling -it sensible. But we’ll call it the material standpoint. -The fact is that I’m not in the least dead -sure that I want the thing now. It would mean -a mode of life entirely foreign to me. I should -feel cramped and caged.”</p> - -<p>“Well?” smiled Elizabeth triumphantly.</p> - -<p>His statement so entirely coincided with her -own and Mrs. Trimwell’s views. Also Mrs. -Trimwell’s exceeding simple solution of the problem -was before her mind.</p> - -<p>“Well,” echoed David, “naturally the simple -solution of the difficulty would be to chuck the -whole thing.”</p> - -<p>“Exactly,” nodded Elizabeth, delightedly, encouragingly.</p> - -<p>“But,” continued David, “there’s another side -to the matter. Supposing I marry— I don’t -feel drawn to marriage I own,—but supposing I -do, supposing I have a son, won’t he possibly -turn on me? Won’t he ask what earthly right I -had to renounce what wasn’t mine alone, but which -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</span>belonged to him as well? Won’t he ask why on -earth I raked up the whole business if I was going -to funk it in the end? Won’t he say, ‘You made -a fight for a thing which was yours and mine. -You got it. If it had been yours alone you would -have had every right to chuck it up. But it -wasn’t. You had no right to throw away what -belonged to me.’”</p> - -<p>Elizabeth was dumb. Truly had this aspect -of affairs not dawned upon her. For a minute, -for two minutes, she was faced with a new problem. -Then suddenly, eagerly, she sprang at its solution.</p> - -<p>“Legally,” she announced, “in strict justice, -the inheritance may be yours. In equity I don’t -believe it is at all.”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?” asked David.</p> - -<p>“The whole thing,” said Elizabeth firmly, -“turned on that missing document. Those old -letters—my brother has told me about them—proved -that there had been such a document. -From the legal point of view those letters were -worthless, but only from the legal point of view. -Taking them into consideration, you could renounce -the property at once with a clear conscience. -Indeed,” pursued Elizabeth judicially, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</span>“if you want to act from the merely conscientious -point of view, disregarding the strict legality of -the matter, it would be, to my mind, the only -thing to do.”</p> - -<p>David gazed at her.</p> - -<p>“I never thought of those letters,” he said -slowly.</p> - -<p>“Never thought of them!” cried Elizabeth. -“Why they were the crux of the whole business, -the only standpoint the present owners had to -work from.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I see that now you’ve said it,” replied -David. “But, honest injun, I’ve only just seen -it clearly. Perhaps you will hardly believe me, -but it’s true. I left the details of the affair to -the solicitors. I began to get a bit sick of the -job after I’d got hold of the clues. I gave them all -I’d collected, and told them to bring the matter -through. I knew of the letters, of course, but -somehow never thought of the point of view you’ve -put forward. It seems incredible, but I didn’t.”</p> - -<p>“I can quite believe that,” said Elizabeth -thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>Oh, she understood fast enough. She could -understand the nature that went hot-foot to the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</span>vital issue, disregarding side lights on it, not from -callousness, but merely because they sank into -insignificance before the one big thought.</p> - -<p>“Well?” demanded David.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” smiled Elizabeth, “are you asking me -to be judge? Well, at all events, you must be -jury. If I sum up, you’ve got to weigh the case -and give the casting vote, remember.”</p> - -<p>She stopped, collecting her thoughts.</p> - -<p>“Well,” she said after a minute, “you’ll allow -that now you are seeing matters from a different -standpoint. You could—at least you think you -could—say to this imaginary son of yours: ‘My -dear boy, legally I had the possession in my -hands. Morally there was sufficient ground for -me to give it up if I chose.’ You see I am not -driving home the moral necessity of renouncement. -I am leaving a choice.”</p> - -<p>“I see,” smiled David.</p> - -<p>“Well,” pursued Elizabeth, “given the freedom -in that choice, we find the matter a trifle less -complicated. Let’s deal first with the purely -sensible side. Could you get used to the restrictions -you fancy the possession would entail? -Is the possession worth it?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</span></p> - -<p>“In a measure it is,” said David, answering -the last question first. “It isn’t the title, or the -place for the grandeur of the thing. It’s the linking -up with the past. <i>That</i> holds me,—the oldness -of it. I suppose, too, I <i>could</i> get used to the -restrictions in time.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Elizabeth slowly, “now we come -to the more subtle aspect of affairs. You’ve -an idea that the possession may hinder you in -your quest. You must grant the quest real. -I <i>know</i> it is. Now, I can’t see the smallest reason -why it should prevent you actually finding what -you seek. It couldn’t. But I fancy,” went on -Elizabeth thoughtfully, “that there may be two -reasons for that idea of yours. The first, and -most obvious, seems that there is probably a -bigger moral obligation to give up the possession -than appears on the surface of things, in fact -that the possession <i>isn’t</i> yours, and that this queer -idea is a sort of inner voice telling you so. The -other reason—well, that’s only an idea of mine. -You can leave it at the first reason.”</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you tell me the second reason?” -demanded David.</p> - -<p>“Because it isn’t a reason,” said Elizabeth. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</span>“At least it isn’t properly one. It’s an idea. -And—well, anyhow I couldn’t exactly explain -it to you.”</p> - -<p>“All right,” laughed David. “Well then, it -comes to this,—legally the thing is mine. Morally -even, I’m not <i>bound</i> to give it up—we’ve allowed -that, remember,—but weighing against it is a -quite absurd feeling that I’d better give it up. -I’m putting aside mere material inclinations. -That sums up the case, doesn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“It does,” said Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>David knocked the ashes from his pipe.</p> - -<p>“What would you do?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“No,” protested Elizabeth, “that isn’t fair. -You’re trying to shift the rôles. Your summing -up is merely a repetition of mine. I refuse to -act as jury, and pronounce the verdict.”</p> - -<p>“The jury always talk the matter over,” said -David aggrievedly. “There’s never a jury of -one man.”</p> - -<p>Elizabeth sighed.</p> - -<p>“Oh, well,” she said resignedly.</p> - -<p>“Doesn’t it seem an absurd thing to do—to -give it up?” queried David.</p> - -<p>“Y-yes,” she hesitated.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</span></p> - -<p>“Wouldn’t any one say I was pretty mad to do -it?” he demanded.</p> - -<p>“The world would,” said Elizabeth loftily.</p> - -<p>“Well, we live in it,” announced David calmly. -“Doesn’t the reason for giving it up appear far-fetched?”</p> - -<p>“To those who don’t understand,” allowed -Elizabeth. She was feeling rather disappointed -at his arguments.</p> - -<p>“Then the common-sense point of view would -be to hang on to it?” argued David.</p> - -<p>“I suppose so,” agreed Elizabeth depressed.</p> - -<p>“I am glad you agree with me,” reflected -David.</p> - -<p>“But I don’t,” protested Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” David raised amazed eyebrows. -“You’ve agreed to everything I’ve said.”</p> - -<p>“I know,” said Elizabeth. “I can’t help it. -It’s true. It is common-sense. And yet——”</p> - -<p>“Well?” queried David.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” sighed Elizabeth, “where’s the use of -arguing the matter if you feel like that about it.”</p> - -<p>“Only I don’t.”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t <i>feel</i> like that at all,” announced David -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</span>calmly. “The points of view I’ve put forward -express the workings of my intellect, not my -feelings.”</p> - -<p>“Yes?” queried Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>“And on the whole I prefer my feelings.”</p> - -<p>“You mean——?”</p> - -<p>“That I’m going to give up the whole thing.”</p> - -<p>Elizabeth looked at him.</p> - -<p>He really was rather an amazing young man.</p> - -<p>And then the door in the house behind them -opened. Elizabeth turned.</p> - -<p>“Why!” said she surprised. “It’s Father -Maloney.”</p> - -<p>He came quickly across the grass. It was -obvious that something was amiss.</p> - -<p>“Forgive me for troubling you,” he began -breathlessly. “I have come to ask your help. -Antony is lost.”</p> - -<p>“Antony!” exclaimed David and Elizabeth -in one breath.</p> - -<p>Half a dozen words from Father Maloney -sufficed as explanation; half a dozen more from -the two promised all possible aid.</p> - -<p>Father Maloney returned to the Castle. David -and Elizabeth set off on the search.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLII">CHAPTER XLII<br /> -<span class="smaller">A QUESTION OF IMPORTANCE</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">That</span> which is frequently termed coincidence is, -as everyone knows, seldom an isolated event; -it is the fact that two or more events, neither of -them, perhaps, of any precise and definite importance, -occur simultaneously, each event having -some particular bearing on the other. If the -events should chance to be more than two, the -coincidence is termed extraordinary; and if they -should chance to be several, and, also, individually -of some importance—well, then I pity the man who -narrates them to an unsympathetic audience. -If he isn’t branded a liar out and out, he will, at -least, be thought to be possessed of an imagination -which is first cousin to one. If he isn’t despised, -he will be pitied,—pitied, too, with a patronizing -commiseration which will make his blood boil. -Asseveration of the truth of his statement will be -worse than useless. It will merely call forth a -<span class="pagenum2" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</span>smile, a kindly condescending smile, which says -plainer than spoken words:</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, we know you <i>believe</i> it to be true. -But these things <i>don’t</i> happen.”</p> - -<p>And if, in the face of that exasperating smile -he should venture on protest, he will at once -receive the gently amazed reply:</p> - -<p>“My dear fellow, I never said I doubted your -word.”</p> - -<p>A reply which will leave him helpless, though -fuming.</p> - -<p>Of course it is foolish to care. Truth is truth, -and there’s the end on’t. But he does care. He -knows his statement has been marvellous, incredulous; -he knows, too, that he has probably been a -fool to mention it. But having done so, he wants -belief. The man who will remark with inner -conviction, “Truth is stranger than fiction,” would -be a godsend to him at the moment. But the -man who will say that of another’s narrative -is a <i>rara avis</i>. He reserves it as the Amen to his -own.</p> - -<p>Yet, in spite of knowing all this, it is my lot to -narrate certain extraordinary coincidences in the -forthcoming pages. Therefore I can only trust -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</span>that my audience will be a trifle less incredulous -than the majority of audiences. Perhaps if it -weren’t for one of the events, which certainly -smacks of the miraculous, I might have more hope.</p> - -<p>However, to proceed.</p> - -<p>You have been given one event in the preceding -chapter.</p> - -<p>The second concerns Antony.</p> - -<p>It was the nursemaid who did the mischief, -since, in one sense, it must certainly be termed -mischief. It all arose from an ill-advised remark. -Possibly exasperation caused it. We’ll give her -the benefit of the doubt. It is true that Biddy -being, at the moment, a victim to severe toothache, -extra work had been laid on Louisa’s shoulders. -Had Biddy been present, you may be very sure -that the remark had not been made.</p> - -<p>Antony had taken the loss of his title calmly. -This was hardly surprising. After all, it made -extraordinarily little difference. It was seldom -that he heard it, and then only from the lips of -comparative strangers. “The little master,” was -infinitely more familiar to him, and there was -still no earthly reason for changing that mode of -address. The prospect of a new home was also -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</span>taken philosophically; there was, indeed, a certain -amount of excitement about it.</p> - -<p>But one Friday morning—to be accurate, it was -the very morning of the somewhat momentous -conversation recently referred to—further enquiry -entered his mind.</p> - -<p>“If I aren’t Sir Antony, what are I?” he -demanded of a busy nursemaid.</p> - -<p>“Nobody particular,” replied Louisa, who, -hunting for some mislaid article, had no mind to -give to problems.</p> - -<p>Antony demurred.</p> - -<p>“I must be somebody,” he argued.</p> - -<p>“Everybody is somebody,” retorted Louisa, -“but it don’t mean they’re anybody of importance.”</p> - -<p>Antony pricked up his ears.</p> - -<p>“What’s importance?” he demanded.</p> - -<p>“Bless the child!” cried Louisa, “why, you was -important when you was Sir Antony. Now -you’re of no more account than a beggar boy.”</p> - -<p>Antony flushed. Resentment rose hot within -his soul.</p> - -<p>“I aren’t a beggar boy,” he announced with -dignity.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</span></p> - -<p>“Precious like one,” muttered Louisa, rummaging -in a drawer.</p> - -<p>Antony planted himself squarely in front of her.</p> - -<p>“Louisa, I aren’t a beggar boy. Say I aren’t -a beggar boy.”</p> - -<p>Now at that precise moment Louisa ran a pin -into her finger. It must be confessed that it was a -painful prick.</p> - -<p>“You are a beggar boy,” she retorted, her -finger to her mouth. “Nothing but a beggar -boy.” The tone of the concluding words verged -on the malicious. Then she bounced out of the -room to seek elsewhere for what she had lost.</p> - -<p>Antony walked over to the window.</p> - -<p>His face was flushed, and his eyes were troubled; -indeed there was a suspicion of moisture about -them. He felt a distinct uneasiness at the statement. -The only modicum of comfort lay in the -fact that it had certainly been prompted by ill-temper. -Yet even that fact brought but small -assurance with it. Two or three experiences had -shown him that crossness occasionally urged -truth to the fore, when kindness would shield you -from its unpleasantness.</p> - -<p>Memory, stirring uneasily, awoke.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</span></p> -<p>There was the time when Buffey died. Buffey -was the Irish terrier. At first he had been merely -told that Buffey had gone away. Continual, and -perhaps over-persistent questioning, had elicited -the fact of Buffey’s demise. Biddy had been -cross when she told him, and she was sorry afterwards. -But, still, it had been the truth. No -subsequent regret could alter that fact. Possibly -this was the truth now.</p> - -<p>From possibility, the thing became a certainty. -He remembered glances at him, whispers—unnoticed -at the time—of “poor little Antony”; -conversations checked at his approach. They -came back to him now, not fully, but vaguely, -holding significance. Probably Granny couldn’t -prevent this any more than she could prevent -Buffey dying. And she had told him she couldn’t -help that.</p> - -<p>He began to experience a strange terror.</p> - -<p>There is no dread as terrible as the dread a child -suffers at the hint of some unknown calamity. -He feels it must strike, but does not know at which -moment, nor from which quarter the blow will -fall. In most childish sufferings there is always -a certain consolation in the knowledge of protection<span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</span> -by some older person. But when there is -reason to suppose that these natural protectors -are powerless to aid, terror indeed presses hard.</p> - -<p>It pressed hard on Antony now.</p> - -<p>The room seemed too small to hold it. Blindly -he turned from the window, ran stumbling from the -nursery, down the stairs, and out into the garden. -He ran past the flower beds, and the sun-dial, and -the close-clipped yew hedges, till he found himself -in a small paddock. There he sat down under -the hedge and began to review the situation.</p> - -<p>A beggar boy!</p> - -<p>He had no precise understanding of what the -words meant, nevertheless he fancied they were -closely akin to the description of Hans Anderson’s -little match girl, who warmed her blue fingers at -the matches till she died. The story was at once -fascinating and terrifying. Aunt Rosamund had -read it to him only once. After the one reading -she had suggested the Little Tin Soldier, -Thumbelina, or the Ugly Duckling. Nevertheless -the story had remained with him.</p> - -<p>Rags, cold, and burnt matches, and finally -dying! His lips quivered, and tears came into his -eyes.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLIII">CHAPTER XLIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">MOLLY ARRANGES AFFAIRS</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">“Hullo</span>!” said a voice.</p> - -<p>Antony turned.</p> - -<p>Molly’s dark head appeared above the bushes -behind him.</p> - -<p>“What are you crying for?” demanded Molly.</p> - -<p>“I aren’t crying,” said Antony. And we may -hope that the Recording Angel turned a deaf ear.</p> - -<p>“You—” began Molly. But, after all, she -was tactful. “I ’spect it’s just the sun in your -eyes,” she remarked airily.</p> - -<p>“It’s—it’s very sunny,” said Antony blinking.</p> - -<p>Molly continued to look at him over the hedge. -He looked at Molly.</p> - -<p>And then Antony took a resolve. Perhaps -instinct told him that a burden shared is a burden -half-lightened.</p> - -<p>“I’m a beggar boy,” he announced succinctly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</span></p> - -<p>“A beggar boy!” shrilled Molly. She was -frankly amazed.</p> - -<p>Antony nodded. He was experiencing a kind of -gloomy joy at her astonishment.</p> - -<p>Molly gazed at him. Then:</p> - -<p>“Indeed you’re not at all,” she snorted incredulously.</p> - -<p>“I am,” said Antony, gloomily cheerful.</p> - -<p>Molly cogitated, puzzled. Then her fertile -imagination leaped to the solution. Of course it -was make-believe!</p> - -<p>“What fun,” cried she, on a top note of pleasure. -“But what are you sitting there for if you are? -Beggars go along the roads and beg.”</p> - -<p>Antony looked alarmed.</p> - -<p>“Oh, but perhaps I needn’t <i>begin</i> just yet,” he -protested.</p> - -<p>“Why not!” cried Molly. You may be sure -that she saw herself assisting in the rôle. “It’s -a lovely day. Let’s start off at once.”</p> - -<p>Antony had qualms of conscience. It was -forbidden to go beyond the grounds.</p> - -<p>“P’raps Granny wouldn’t like it,” he demurred. -“P’raps I’d better ask her first. I think I haven’t -got to be one this d’rectly minute, you know.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</span></p> - -<p>Again Molly was frankly puzzled.</p> - -<p>Then, once more, her brow cleared. She saw -in the matter, though vaguely, some threat of -possible punishment for misdemeanours. But -here, assuredly, was actual opportunity to hand. -It was too good to be let slip.</p> - -<p>“Indeed, never mind,” she urged. “If they’ll -be making you into a beggar any time, let’s just be -beggars now, to show them we like it. We do like -it,” she concluded, loftily magnificent.</p> - -<p>“But,” argued Antony, “it won’t be nice to be -a beggar.”</p> - -<p>“Nice!” echoed Molly ecstatic. “Nice! why -’twill be real beautiful, it will. We’ll go in bare -feet, and we’ll eat blackberries,—there’s a few -ripe already,—and we’ll get apples from the -orchards. Sure, it’s flint-hearted they’d be,” -cried she on a note pathetic, “if they’d begrudge -the bite of an apple to two hungry children. And -we’ll be sleeping under a haystack, and we’ll -paddle in the river, and—oh, we’ll have fine times, -we will that.”</p> - -<p>The river won the day.</p> - -<p>Have you, I wonder, the faintest conception of -its allurement? Can you see the water, clear as -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</span>amber, rippling past mossy stones, feel its delicious -freshness against bare feet, hear the gurgling -music of its voice? Can you see the dragon-flies -skimming its surface, the ragged-robin massed -on its banks, the rushes standing proud and spearlike -at its edge?</p> - -<p>Anyhow Antony could.</p> - -<p>He saw it all at a glance,—an irresistible, alluring -prospect. He got up from the ground. After -all, he would not be alone.</p> - -<p>“Come down to the gate,” said Molly, her eyes -gleaming. And then she slithered back into the -field.</p> - -<p>Going across the field two minutes later, she -spoke.</p> - -<p>“After we’ve paddled, we’ll walk to Stoneway, -and beg along the road.”</p> - -<p>“All right,” said Antony, but without much -enthusiasm.</p> - -<p>Anyhow there was the river first.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLIV">CHAPTER XLIV<br /> -<span class="smaller">AN ODD SENSATION</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">It</span> is, of course, impossible for a small boy to -disappear from the face of the earth without a good -deal of uneasiness being felt regarding his disappearance. </p> - -<p>By midday the uneasiness had approached to -something like alarm. The gardens, the paddocks, -the park, had been searched unavailingly; inquiry -had been made of every villager. No clue was -forthcoming; no possible reason for the disappearance.</p> - -<p>A conscience-stricken Louisa kept a discreet -silence on the matter. There was, to her mind, -no occasion to incriminate herself unnecessarily. -The cause could afford no solution of the effect; -or, at any rate she told herself it could not, which, -after all, came to the same thing as far as her -silence was concerned.</p> - -<p>A distraught Rosamund finally made swift way -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</span>to the White Cottage, there to seek aid from -John.</p> - -<p>Father Maloney went off to the Green Man to -find David. He saw the scouting propensities -he conceived men of his type to possess, standing -them in good stead at the moment. Having -enlisted his services, and likewise those of Elizabeth, -as already seen, he set off once again for the -Castle.</p> - -<p>The day was as hot as the previous days had -been. The earth lay panting and breathless. -There was something almost ominous about the -brazen blueness of the sky, the extraordinary -stillness that hung over the earth.</p> - -<p>Father Maloney, breasting the hill, wondered -vaguely whether the world would ever again -breathe in comfort. Personally he considered -asphyxiation a not remote possibility.</p> - -<p>And then, all at once, he became aware of a subtle -change in the atmosphere. It wasn’t that the -sky was less blue, or the air less heavy, or the sun -less brilliant. And, having said what it was not, -I find myself at a loss to say what it was. It lay -more in a curious foreboding, a certain indefinable -prescience of change.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</span></p> - -<p>“I believe,” said Father Maloney, addressing -himself to the sky, “that we are going to have a -storm.”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLV">CHAPTER XLV<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE OAK FALLS</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">An</span> hour later he was certain of the fact.</p> - -<p>Sitting in the hall with Lady Mary he saw -the clouds covering the sky. Black, ominous, they -rolled swiftly up, blown, it would appear, before -a strong wind. Down below the air was breathless. -There was a curious feeling of suspense -in the atmosphere.</p> - -<p>“There’s going to be a heavy storm,” said Lady -Mary, following the direction of his eyes.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m thinking there’ll be a—” he began. -And then he stopped. A heavy rumble had broken -the stillness.</p> - -<p>“It’s coming,” said Lady Mary. And she got -up, crossing to the window.</p> - -<p>“Glory be to God!” muttered Father Maloney -watching her.</p> - -<p>Once more came the growl, like the low roar of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</span>some angry beast. There was a pause. And then -in one sudden flash the gloom of the hall was -turned to a blinding white light, a light appalling, -terrible. It was followed by a thunderous crash, -a crash that shook the whole place, echoing and -reverberating in the distance.</p> - -<p>Lady Mary turned a white face from the -window.</p> - -<p>Then came a sound of steps in the gallery overhead, -the steps descended the stairs. Biddy appeared, -white and shaking.</p> - -<p>“My Lady,” she stammered, “’tis the great oak -is struck. I saw it fall from the nursery window. -And the child—” She broke off. Her face was -working.</p> - -<p>“Tut, tut, tut,” said Father Maloney.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLVI">CHAPTER XLVI<br /> -<span class="smaller">TOLD IN THE STORM</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">“The</span> storm,” said John, “will be upon us in a -moment.”</p> - -<p>Rosamund had found him by the gate of the -White Cottage. Half a dozen words had put the -happening before him. Two minutes had sufficed -to inform Mrs. Trimwell that his return might be -delayed. Three minutes saw him again beside -Rosamund.</p> - -<p>With no earthly clue to guide them, with north, -south, east, west, to choose from, it was, so it -seemed, a pure toss-up which route they should -pursue.</p> - -<p>After a moment’s consultation they set out for -the willows and the river, deciding to take their -way down stream. It was no less unlikely than -any other road, though it certainly cannot be -termed more likely.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</span></p> - -<p>Conversation, you may well believe, was non-existent; -eyes and ears alert, they pursued their -way. Hope at first held some sway in their hearts, -but an hour’s fruitless walking brought it to a low -ebb.</p> - -<p>“I think we had better turn back,” said Rosamund. -“He would never have come further than -this.”</p> - -<p>It was then that John made the aforementioned -remark.</p> - -<p>“The storm will be upon us in a moment.”</p> - -<p>As he spoke came the first low growl of thunder; -a moment later a louder, deeper growl. A gust of -wind swept the river, bending the rushes, breaking -the still surface of the water into a thousand moving -fragments. Then two or three big raindrops fell.</p> - -<p>John glanced round quickly. Some three hundred -yards lower down the river was a rough shed, -a thing built of logs, and roofed with corrugated -iron. Possibly it was used as a shelter for the -men who cut the willows, which abounded in the -sedgey meadows.</p> - -<p>“Quick,” he cried indicating it. And they set -off at a run.</p> - -<p>They weren’t a moment too soon. They had -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</span>barely reached it, when the sky, seen through the -opening of the shed, became a sea of white light, -through which tore a blinding zig-zag, a veritable -river of fire; a reverberating crash broke above -them. And then the rain came down. It fell -like bullets on the iron roof of the shed, deafening, -terrifying. The wind tore with insensate fury -at the wooden walls, rushed through the opening -in a swirl of madness, lashing the rain before it.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Tony!” cried Rosamund. And she hid -her face in her hands.</p> - -<p>John saw the gesture, though the words were -lost in the deafening noise around them.</p> - -<p>Wisdom, prudence, waiting, fled out into the -storm, escaped on the wings of the gale.</p> - -<p>He caught her hands in his.</p> - -<p>What he said was as lost as her own cry. But, -after all, perhaps there was no need to hear the -words.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLVII">CHAPTER XLVII<br /> -<span class="smaller">AFTER THE RAIN</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">“It</span> really was a providential storm,” said John.</p> - -<p>The clouds had broken; the rain, though still -falling, was descending in a silver shower, sparkling -in sunlight. The wind had sunk to a cool fresh -breeze.</p> - -<p>“Providential!” Rosamund raised amazed eyebrows.</p> - -<p>“Providential,” echoed John firmly. “You -are thinking of Antony, who is by this time, I -trust, safely returned to the bosom of his family, or -at all events in some shelter as friendly as ours. -I am thinking of the courage the storm brought in -its wake.”</p> - -<p>“Oh?” she queried.</p> - -<p>“You mustn’t,” said John pathetically, “pretend -that you don’t understand me. Explanations -would be painful. I should stand confessed -as a coward of the deepest dye.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</span></p> - -<p>“Nonsense,” she smiled. And then she looked -towards the opening of the shed. “Come,” she -laughed; “the rain has nearly stopped.”</p> - -<p>They came out into the open.</p> - -<p>“The country,” said John, “has had its face -washed, and is thankful.” Then he pointed to the -northeast. “Look,” he said, “our benediction!”</p> - -<p>A double-arched rainbow stretched across the -sky, brilliant, luminous, backgrounded by the retreating -clouds. They paused, to look. Scientists -may find excellent explanations of this wonder; -but to some, at least, it will ever stand for what it -has stood through age-old centuries—the symbol -of hope.</p> - -<p>John might have remained gazing indefinitely, -or, at all events, until the brilliant arc had faded -had not Rosamund brought him to a remembrance -of things present.</p> - -<p>“Come,” she said. “Antony.”</p> - -<p>John turned.</p> - -<p>“The rogue!” he laughed. “But, all the same, -I am enormously in his debt.”</p> - -<p>They made their way back along the river bank. -Eyes were still alert, ears open to any sound. But -there was no longer the same anxiety, the same -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</span>foreboding. Doubtless the storm had been, in a -measure, responsible for both. Physical conditions -have a way of intermingling themselves so -closely with mental conceptions, that you are -really at a loss to separate the two. Indeed, you -don’t attempt to separate them; you don’t perceive -the physical conditions as existent, you perceive -only the mental conceptions. Hence arises depression, -that slate-grey state of the soul, in which -the mind puts on black spectacles, and through -them views the world in general, and its friends -in particular.</p> - -<p>Now, with the fresh breeze fanning their faces, -with the world around them emerald green, silver, -blue, and gold, with, above all, declared love -singing joyously in their hearts, the two viewed -the prospect through the most rose-coloured spectacles -imaginable. Tragedy, even the remotest -hint of tragedy, seemed unthinkable, impossible.</p> - -<p>Doubtless you, also, will be of their way of -thinking.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLVIII">CHAPTER XLVIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">IN SEARCH</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Strictly</span> speaking the discovery of the truant -was due to Mrs. Trimwell. David and Elizabeth -were merely her agents in the matter.</p> - -<p>It came about in this way.</p> - -<p>They had set off hot-foot on the search. Passing -the White Cottage, they had seen Mrs. Trimwell -at the garden gate. She greeted their approach -with eagerness. It was obvious that she had -certain information to impart, information which -she considered of the first importance. Therefore, -with politely restrained impatience, they paused -to hear it.</p> - -<p>“Them two,” she announced, with a faint -trace of injury in her voice, and meaning John -and Rosamund, “was gone before I could as much -as get a word in edgeways, else I’d have given -them a notion on the matter. You mark my words -there ain’t never no mischiefness nor troublesomeness<span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</span> -afoot but what Molly Biddulph ain’t at the -bottom of it. Find Molly and you’ll be finding -the little master.”</p> - -<p>Elizabeth smiled patiently.</p> - -<p>“Exactly,” she remarked, “but, without wishing -to be pessimistic, I really cannot see that it -will be in the smallest degree easier to find Molly -than to find Master Antony.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Trimwell looked at her pityingly.</p> - -<p>“Bless you, ma’am, I wasn’t going to give you a -notion what was that jumbled there wasn’t no -end to take hold of to unwind it by, so to speak. -It’s little use a notion of that sort would be. I see -Molly going by here about half-past seven or -thereabouts, with a tin can, a brown paper parcel, -a willow stick with a bit of string to it, and saying -her prayers out of a morsel of a book.”</p> - -<p>“Yes?” queried Elizabeth; while David looked -his doubts. For the life of them they could see -no connection between Molly passing the cottage -at that hour, and any possible clue to the matter -on hand.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Trimwell smiled oracularly. She perceived -their doubts well enough.</p> - -<p>“The little book,” quoth she “meant that -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</span>Molly was off to Mass. I ain’t known Molly -from babyhood for nothing. The parcel meant -as she was taking her dinner with her, being -off on the spree like for the day. The tin and the -willow stick means fishing in the river. Not that -she ever catches anything as I knows on.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” said Elizabeth. She was beginning to -see light. David laughed.</p> - -<p>“Like as not she’ll have happened on the little -master,” announced Mrs. Trimwell, “and took -him along with her. Leastways I for one don’t -believe he’s ever gone off on his own account. -You try the river, and up the river, mind. I see -Miss Rosamund and Mr. Mortimer going off -down the river. ’Tis too wide and open there -for Molly. She’ll go for the shallower parts up -to Hurst Lea Woods, I’ll be bound.”</p> - -<p>Here at least was something to go on, some -conceivable possibility. Nay, to Elizabeth’s mind, -and to David’s mind, it began to present itself -in the light of a probability. At all events for -present purposes it might be desirable to regard -it as such.</p> - -<p>“You go to Hurst Lea Woods,” nodded Mrs. -Trimwell emphatically once more.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</span></p> - -<p>“We will,” agreed David briefly.</p> - -<p>A moment later they were on their way.</p> - -<p>Taking their route first through the village, -they presently turned sharply to the right, past a -smith’s forge, where a big cart horse was being -newly shod, and down a lane. Here, again to the -right, they came upon a stile set in a blackberry -hedge. Surmounting it, they found themselves -in a meadow, while facing them, blue and hazy in -the distance lay Hurst Lea Woods. So far, at -least, their course was clear.</p> - -<p>A quarter of an hour’s walking brought them -to the river, and the woods on its opposite bank. -To the left lay the moorland which it skirted; -to the right lay meadows through which it flowed; -and, some mile or so distant, the high road between -Malford and Whortley. Here the river passed -beneath a stone bridge, again seeking the meadows, -through which it made a great bend southwards. -Bending again to the left along its meadow route, -it finally, with another southward bend, emptied -itself into the sea, at a small village some five -miles to the east of Malford.</p> - -<p>Here, below the woods, it ran amber-coloured -and shallow, brown stones cropping up above its -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</span>surface. Rushes and ferns bordered it; ragged-robin -grew in great pink patches in the meadows -lying along its southern bank. On its northern -bank were the woods stretching upwards, dark, -shadowed, mysterious.</p> - -<p>Elizabeth and David came to a simultaneous -halt, and looked around.</p> - -<p>“Apparently,” remarked Elizabeth, “they are -not here.”</p> - -<p>The remark seemed somewhat over-obvious.</p> - -<p>David went across the short grass to the -very margin of the river, and looked right and -left.</p> - -<p>“It would seem,” said he smiling, “that you -are right.”</p> - -<p>All around lay the drowsy summer silence, -broken only by the faint humming of insects, -and the ripple of water against the stones.</p> - -<p>“What,” demanded Elizabeth, “is the next -move?”</p> - -<p>“Up stream,” said David promptly.</p> - -<p>“Why so certain?” asked Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>David looked at her with something of the -smile one might give to an inquiring child.</p> - -<p>“Will you,” he said, “look down stream, and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</span>then look up stream; and I fancy you will perceive -the answer yourself.”</p> - -<p>Elizabeth looked down stream.</p> - -<p>Here, as already mentioned, the river ran -smoothly, bordered by the flat meadow and the -wood. Some hundred yards distant the wood -gave place to grass land, flat and open. Up -stream the ground became uneven, rough, covered -with blackberry bushes and small trees. The -river itself was interspersed with little rocks, -while sight of it extended not more than fifty -yards ahead.</p> - -<p>“You mean that up stream there are possible -surprises,” suggested Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>“Precisely,” said David. “No one, man, -woman, or child, turns to the obvious when there -is the unknown to explore, possible adventure -ahead.”</p> - -<p>Elizabeth laughed.</p> - -<p>“I bow to your judgment,” said she.</p> - -<p>They turned up stream.</p> - -<p>It was rough enough walking here. The river -lay in a sort of gorge, the wood on one side, the -moorland on the other. A mere track ran along -its right bank, a narrow grass path. There was -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</span>no sign of footprints. The grass was short and -springy, taking no definite impress on its -surface.</p> - -<p>David was obviously the leader of the expedition. -He had taken complete control of it, not -masterfully, you understand, but merely because -it belonged to him by right to do so. He was in -his natural element.</p> - -<p>Elizabeth was conscious of totally new characteristics -in him. All trace of the child in false -surroundings had vanished. The man element -had appeared in him, and had appeared strongly. -There was a new strength in him, a new decision. -There was a curious air of confidence about him, -also a certain indefinable joyousness. It seemed -an almost incredible change, considering the brief -space of time in which it had been accomplished, -nevertheless it was actual, real.</p> - -<p>For the most part they pursued their way in -silence. The sky, as you may well guess, was -gradually growing darker. Clouds had already -blotted out the sun.</p> - -<p>Suddenly David gave a little exclamation. -He bent to the ground, and picked up something -from beneath a blackberry bush. He turned it -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</span>over, then held it triumphantly towards Elizabeth. -After all, it was only a piece of brown paper.</p> - -<p>“But,” demurred Elizabeth, “is it <i>the</i> piece?”</p> - -<p>David pointed to writing upon it.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Murphy Biddulph, Malford,” read Elizabeth -aloud. And then she laughed.</p> - -<p>David lifted up his voice and coo-ed, a long, -far-reaching note. Striking some distant rock, -it was flung back to him in echo, but no other -cry came in response.</p> - -<p>“They’ve gone a pretty tramp,” said David.</p> - -<p>He looked around. A short distance ahead -the wood levelled and thinned. A gateway into -it led to a wider path. A tree-trunk fallen across -the river, which here was nothing but a fair-sized -stream, made approach to the gate easy. David -made for the tree-trunk. Giving Elizabeth a hand -across it, they went towards the gate.</p> - -<p>David looked at the ground, then pointed -silently. A dark patch on the earth, just under -the gate, showed where water had been recently -spilt.</p> - -<p>“Molly has upset some of the contents of her -can in climbing the gate,” laughed David.</p> - -<p>There was triumph in his eyes. There is a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</span>good deal of pleasure to be found in successful -scouting, let alone the importance, or non-importance -of its issue.</p> - -<p>They surmounted the gate and made off down -the path. After some five minutes or so walking, -it led to a second gate, this one giving on to a road. -David opened it and they went through. Here, -in the dust, were small footprints, easily discernible -as going leftwards.</p> - -<p>“Who would have dreamed of their coming this -distance!” exclaimed Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>“It seems to me,” quoth David succinctly, -“that from all accounts it is wiser to dream vividly -and extensively where Miss Molly Biddulph is -concerned.”</p> - -<p>And they set off down the road.</p> - -<p>They hadn’t gone more than a hundred paces, -when the first low mutter of thunder broke upon -their ears. There was a second rumble, louder, -more insistent. Then came the wind. It swept -the dust along the road in a cloud, thick and -blinding, and a few drops of rain fell.</p> - -<p>The next instant the sky was transformed into -a sea of fire, and a crash like the crash of cannon-balls -broke above them. Then the rain came down.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</span></p> - -<p>David caught hold of Elizabeth dragging her -beneath a hedge.</p> - -<p>“Is it safe?” gasped Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>“It would strike the trees first,” said David, -“and there are none on this side of the road.”</p> - -<p>Elizabeth crouched down. The rain slashed -upon the roadway, churning the dust into a sea -of mud. To right and left all vision was blotted -out in the downpour, even the hedge opposite was -almost obliterated.</p> - -<p>“Are you getting very wet?” asked David -solicitously.</p> - -<p>“Hardly at all,” said Elizabeth cheerfully. -“This hedge seems specially constructed to give -shelter.”</p> - -<p>“Then,” said David, “I am off in search.”</p> - -<p>As he spoke there came the sound of pattering -feet on the road, and the next instant, abreast -them, came two flying, drenched, little figures, -the girl with white scared face, the boy frankly -sobbing aloud.</p> - -<p>David darted towards them.</p> - -<p>“Antony, Molly,” he cried.</p> - -<p>At the sound of his voice the two came to a halt. -Joy, rapturous joy, illumined their woe-begone faces.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, it’s you, it’s you,” cried Antony.</p> - -<p>The next moment they were beneath the friendly -shelter of the hedge; while Molly, with a marvellously -rapid transition from depression to -confidence, was taking a lively interest in the -storm.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t it splendid!” she cried exultantly. “Isn’t -the rain just hitting the earth!”</p> - -<p>“It’s hit you pretty considerably, I fancy,” -said David coolly.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’ll be drying,” responded Molly calmly. -“Is Master Antony wet?”</p> - -<p>“You can hardly imagine him to be dry,” -remarked David. “If you stand under a shower-bath -you generally get a trifle damp. And this—I -guess fifty shower-baths would be nearer the -reckoning than one.”</p> - -<p>“A million <i>I</i> think,” said Molly, snuggling -a wet hand through Elizabeth’s arm. “<i>Isn’t</i> it -lovely!”</p> - -<p>“To speak candidly,” said Elizabeth, “I could -admire it better in a less cramped position, and -if the rain were a little, just a trifle, less—wet.”</p> - -<p>“Isn’t rain,” demanded Antony interested, -“always wet?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</span></p> - -<p>He was beginning to take a cheerier outlook on -life.</p> - -<p>“I believe it is,” remarked David reflectively, -“but there are times when it appears infinitely -wetter than others. This is one of them. Are -you <i>very</i> wet?” he asked Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>“On the contrary,” returned Elizabeth cheerfully, -“owing to the position I mentioned, I am -quite dry. If I were to relax it, however, I should -doubtless become excessively wet.”</p> - -<p>“We are all like beggars now,” said Molly -gleefully.</p> - -<p>David pricked up his ears.</p> - -<p>“Beggars?” he queried politely.</p> - -<p>Molly looked a trifle embarrassed. In a manner -of speaking she had given herself away.</p> - -<p>“Well, we are,” she replied airily, after a moment. -“Sitting under hedges and things, you know.”</p> - -<p>“It <i>isn’t</i> very nice,” said Antony.</p> - -<p>“Nobody sensible could ever imagine it was,” -remarked Elizabeth. She fancied she saw a -glimmer of light on the escapade.</p> - -<p>“Must it always be horrid?” asked Antony. -There was an ominous quaver in his voice.</p> - -<p>“Always,” said Elizabeth firmly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</span></p> - -<p>She had, you will realize, no intention of aiding a -repetition of today’s little drama.</p> - -<p>David was watching Antony’s face.</p> - -<p>“What’s the trouble?” he demanded.</p> - -<p>Antony choked.</p> - -<p>“Tell me,” urged David.</p> - -<p>Antony was silent.</p> - -<p>“Tell me,” coaxed David again.</p> - -<p>“I—I <i>are</i> a beggar,” owned Antony.</p> - -<p>David laughed, a laugh at once incredulous -and consoling.</p> - -<p>“Now who,” he demanded, “has been telling -you that nonsense?”</p> - -<p>“Isn’t it true?” asked Antony.</p> - -<p>“Not a bit of it. Who on earth made you -think it was?”</p> - -<p>“L-Louisa,” stammered Antony.</p> - -<p>David said something under his breath.</p> - -<p>“Tell us all about it,” he said consolingly.</p> - -<p>Then the whole story came forth, aided in the -telling by a dexterous question or two.</p> - -<p>“Idiot,” muttered David, arriving at the kernel -of the matter.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t mean to be naughty,” said Antony -quaveringly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</span></p> - -<p>“You weren’t naughty.” David’s voice was -assuring. “It was Louisa who didn’t understand. -You aren’t a beggar boy; you never were a beggar -boy. You are,” David’s voice was firm, -“exactly the same as you always have been.”</p> - -<p>Elizabeth’s heart was singing a curiously joyful -song, considering what extraordinarily little difference -the announcement made to her individually.</p> - -<p>“Exactly,” said David again, “as you always -have been.”</p> - -<p>“Deo gratias,” whispered Elizabeth below her -breath.</p> - -<p>“And here,” said David, “comes the sun, to -laugh at you for your fears, and dry us all.”</p> - -<p>The clouds had broken. Through the rifts -between them the sun poured forth, sparkling -on diamond-hung hedges and trees, turning the -pools in the roadway to little mirrors of fire. The -rain became the thinnest veil of silver, presently -mere scattered drops.</p> - -<p>Elizabeth unbent herself, and stood upright.</p> - -<p>“I wonder,” she said smiling, “if my back will -ever feel quite straight again.”</p> - -<p>And then she pointed to the sky.</p> - -<p>“Look,” said she, “the rainbow!”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLIX">CHAPTER XLIX<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE FALLEN OAK</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Father Maloney</span> came down the steps of Delancey -Castle. News of the wanderers might by -this time have reached the village. With a view -to making inquiries, he had taken his departure.</p> - -<p>The storm had passed; only leaves and twigs -scattered on the lawn, battered rose bushes, -marigolds beaten to the earth, showed what its -fury had been.</p> - -<p>He turned into the park. As he came abreast -the great oak, he paused. Split from apex to -base it lay upon the ground, its branches strewn -for yards around,—the oldest tree in the park, -the king of centuries, a devastated wreck.</p> - -<p>A lump rose in Father Maloney’s throat. He -was not given to superstitions, but I fancy he -saw an omen in the fallen monarch. Considering -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</span>the happenings of the last few weeks, it was -hardly surprising.</p> - -<p>He crossed the grass, picking his way among -the fallen branches, till he came to the very base -of the tree itself,—a jagged, deplorable stump, a -pitiable remnant.</p> - -<p>“Sic transit gloria mundi,” he said sorrowfully. -And then he stopped.</p> - -<p>“Glory be to God!” he ejaculated, and stood -staring at the débris before him.</p> - -<p>It was some seconds before his brain began to -take in the possible significance of what he saw, -and even when the significance dawned on him, -it is certain that he did not grasp its probable -magnitude.</p> - -<p>“Glory be to God!” he ejaculated again, and -bent towards the ground.</p> - -<p>Two minutes later he was trotting, with vastly -more haste than dignity, once more in the direction -of the Castle, a small iron box tightly tucked under -his arm.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_L">CHAPTER L<br /> -<span class="smaller">A MIRACLE</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">“’Tis</span> a miracle! ’Tis nothing but a miracle!” -cried Father Maloney, for perhaps the fiftieth -time.</p> - -<p>He stared at the yellow parchment upon the -table in front of him. It was real, it was tangible. -He could touch it, finger it, even read the crabbed -writing upon it; and yet, for the life of him, he -could hardly bring his brain to believe that he -was not dreaming.</p> - -<p>“To think,” he ejaculated, “that it has lain -there under our very noses, so to speak, and us -wondering and worrying all these weeks. Well, -well!”</p> - -<p>Lady Mary looked silently at the yellow parchment. -Words, so far, had failed her. The bigness -of the thing, gripping her, had held her silent.</p> - -<p>“’Tis plain enough what the old Sir Antony -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</span>was up to, when Henry came upon him, the -scoundrel,” said Father Maloney. “And the -secret kept all these years! ’Tis a miracle has -brought it to light now.”</p> - -<p>Lady Mary raised her head.</p> - -<p>“And perhaps too late,” she said quietly, -voicing the fear at her heart; a fear which, with -the last hour, had been waxing stronger.</p> - -<p>“Too late!” cried Father Maloney cheerily, -“not a bit of it. If it’s two miracles is needed, -God will be working them; though I’m thinking -there’ll be no miracle in bringing the boy home. -He’s hiding safe enough somewhere, and will be -found before sun-down, I’ll be bound.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps,” said Lady Mary very low, and -unheeding his words, “I didn’t give up everything -whole-heartedly. Perhaps I still held to it in -my mind. If I did, it was for him, and not for -myself. And now he is gone.”</p> - -<p>“Rubbish,” said Father Maloney.</p> - -<p>“Is it?” asked Lady Mary.</p> - -<p>Father Maloney put his hands upon the table -and looked across at her.</p> - -<p>“Weren’t you doing your best to accept God’s -will in the matter?” he demanded.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</span></p> - -<p>Lady Mary smiled faintly.</p> - -<p>“I believe so,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Then if you did your best, you may be sure -God took it as such, and wasn’t holding you to -account for any little weakness which was but -part and parcel of human nature. I’m thinking -He knows the human side of us well enough, and -doesn’t look at it too closely when we’re trying -to do His will. He’ll not have been taking a -trifle of fretting into consideration, when your -heart was set the right way. You needn’t be -thinking He was waiting to pounce down and -punish you because you didn’t throw the Castle -over to that young fella with devil a bit may care -in your heart. Sure, it’s giving Him the things -the human side of us is fretting after that counts. -Don’t you go fearing God likes punishing people. -Where’s your faith at all?”</p> - -<p>“But supposing—” began Lady Mary.</p> - -<p>“I’m not supposing at all,” broke in Father -Maloney. “The child’s safe enough. And if -he isn’t—though surely ’tis in my heart he is—’tis -no punishment to you. Glory be to God! -Who do you think loves him best, our Blessed -Lord, or you? I tell you he’s as safe in His -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</span>keeping, storm or no storm, as if he was in his -bed this very minute with you on one side of him, -and Biddy on the other. ’Tis all for talking about -the Love of Christ we are, and when it comes to -the test, it’s precious little believing we show. -And I’m as bad as any of ye.”</p> - -<p>“Then you are anxious,” said Lady Mary -quietly.</p> - -<p>Father Maloney blew his nose.</p> - -<p>“Anxious! of course I’m anxious,” he said -half-testily. “Who wouldn’t be anxious with a -bit of a boy out in the weather we’ve had. ’Tis -against all sense I shouldn’t be anxious. But he’ll -come home right enough,” he ended obstinately.</p> - -<p>And then suddenly the cloak of quiet dignity, -the gentle control, fell from Lady Mary.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Father,” she cried, “go on saying that. -Say it again and again. I don’t mind how often -you say it. Somehow,” her lips were trembling -piteously, “it makes it seem true.”</p> - -<p>For the moment she was nothing but a frightened -old woman, fear gripping her close.</p> - -<p>“There, there,” said Father Maloney soothingly -speaking as he would speak to a child, “aren’t I -understanding every bit of what you’re feeling. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</span>But remember you’ve got Michael, whatever -happens. And whatever happens is the very best -thing possible; though, for that matter, as I’ve -told ye—” He broke off, listening.</p> - -<p>And then, through the open window, came the -sound of voices, Rosamund’s plainly distinguishable, -and a child laughing.</p> - -<p>“Glory be to God!” cried Father Maloney, -the laugh finding triumphant echo in his voice. -“What did I tell you, at all!”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_LI">CHAPTER LI<br /> -<span class="smaller">AND SO THE STORY ENDS</span></h2></div> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">“And</span> that,” said David, concluding a little -speech, “is all.”</p> - -<p>A curious silence fell upon the room. Rosamund -and John looked at each other; Lady Mary had -her hands folded over an old piece of parchment; -Elizabeth was watching her; Father Maloney -looked at David.</p> - -<p>“You mean,” said Father Maloney, breaking -the silence, “that you wish to give up your claim -to the whole thing?”</p> - -<p>“That’s so,” said David pleasantly.</p> - -<p>“And what,” demanded Father Maloney, “has -brought you to this conclusion?”</p> - -<p>“Simply,” said David smiling, “that I have -seen that fishes live best in water, as birds live -best on land. This,” he waved his hand around -the hall, “isn’t my element.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</span></p> - -<p>Lady Mary rose quietly from her chair, and -thrust something into a drawer of her desk. -Then she turned to David.</p> - -<p>“Is that your sole reason?” she asked.</p> - -<p>David coloured.</p> - -<p>“For practical purposes,” he replied.</p> - -<p>Lady Mary looked straight at him.</p> - -<p>“In my grandson’s name,” she said, a little -smile trembling on her lips, “I accept your generous -offer in the spirit in which you make it.”</p> - -<p>Father Maloney stared.</p> - -<p>“Glory be to God!” he ejaculated inwardly, -“she doesn’t mean to tell him. She’s a wonderful -woman, is Lady Mary. A wonderful woman!”</p> - -<p>And then suddenly a bell rang out, pulled by -the stalwart arm of the under gardener.</p> - -<p>Father Maloney started.</p> - -<p>“Bless my soul,” he cried, “’tis time for Benediction.”</p> - -<p>And he bolted towards the dining-hall, which, -as I told you long ago led to the chapel.</p> - -<p>Lady Mary looked at the little group.</p> - -<p>“We’re all coming,” said Elizabeth with fine -assurance.</p> - -<p>And then Lady Mary led the way.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</span></p> - -<p>Said John in a low voice to Rosamund:</p> - -<p>“I have at least three thanksgivings to make.”</p> - -<p>“I think,” she replied, looking at him, “that -so have I.”</p> - -<p>Said David in a low voice to Elizabeth:</p> - -<p>“What are you thinking about?”</p> - -<p>“I am thinking,” quoth she smiling, “that -there is a folly which is very very wise.”</p> - -<p>And then they all went in to Benediction.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="ph2 nobreak"><i>A Selection from the -Catalogue of</i></p></div> - -<p class="center no-indent">G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 46px;"> -<img src="images/i_ads.jpg" width="46" alt="Decorative Dongle" -title="" /></div> - -<p class="center no-indent">Complete Catalogues sent<br /> -on application</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="adblock"><div class="chapter"> -<p class="ph2 nobreak">Rose Cottingham</p> -</div> - -<p class="center no-indent">A Novel</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">By Netta Syrett</p> - -<p class="center no-indent"><i>12<sup>o</sup>. $1.35</i></p> - -<p>Miss Syrett’s novel might be called <i>The -Making of a Modern Woman</i>. The story begins -in 1885, when Rose Cottingham, the heroine, -is nine years old. It shows us Rose first as -a child at war with her home environment, -then her life as a school girl, and then her -wider emotional and intellectual experiences -when she goes out into the world and mixes -in literary society. The book is not only a -subtle study of a girl’s development, but is -also a striking picture of the social and literary -life of the late Victorian period, the period of -<i>The Savoy</i> and <i>The Yellow Book</i>, of Oscar Wilde -and Aubrey Beardsley, of the æsthetic and -the earlier Socialist movements.</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="center no-indent">G. P. Putnam’s Sons<br /> -New York London</p></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="adblock"><div class="chapter"> -<p class="ph2 nobreak">The Iron Stair</p></div> - -<p class="center no-indent">A Romance of Dartmoor</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">By</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">“Rita”</p> - -<p>In this novel is told how, for the sake of a -girl, in pity for her grief, in blind obedience to -her entreaties, Aubrey Derrington, a possible -peer of the realm, the fastidious, bored, dilettante -man about town, whom his friends had -known only as such, finds himself not only in -love, but in as tight a corner as ever a man -was placed, with the risk of criminal prosecution -as an accessory after the fact. A love -story, full of charm, complexity, and daring, -is unfolded in the fresh gorse and heather-strewn -setting of the Devonshire moors and -against the dark background of frowning -prison walls. A girl, an innocent convict, -a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and the hero of the -story are the central figures.</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="center no-indent">G. P. Putnam’s Sons<br /> -New York London</p></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="adblock"><div class="chapter"> -<p class="ph2 nobreak">The Jester</p> -</div> - -<p class="center no-indent">By</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">Leslie Moore</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">Author of “The Peacock Feather”</p> - -<p class="center no-indent"><i>12<sup>o</sup>. $1.35 net</i></p> - -<p>A mediæval story in which romance, magic, -and a woman’s fascination are blended effectively. -The reader is introduced to Peregrine, -son of Nichol the Jester, who, after the death of -his father, succeeds to the motley. Nichol on -his deathbed unfolds the theory of the Jester’s -life. He has been a jester on the surface, but -a man inside, and counsels Peregrine to remember -that. The Lady Isabel, vain and greedy of -power, seeks to ensnare Peregrine. Isabel, who -has had dealings with a witch, casts her spell -upon Peregrine and provokes him to a jealous -brawl, in consequence of which he is dismissed -in disgrace. He spends some time in the castle -of a mediæval Circe; then, seeing the ideal -woman in a dream, he begins the quest of her, -a quest which, after many adventures and interesting -happenings, results in fulfillment.</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="center no-indent">G. P. Putnam’s Sons<br /> -New York London</p></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="adblock"><div class="chapter"> -<p class="ph2 nobreak">The Golden Slipper</p></div> - -<p class="center no-indent">And Other Problems -for Violet Strange</p> - -<p class="center no-indent"><i>By</i></p> - -<p class="center no-indent"><i>Anna Katharine Green</i></p> - -<p class="center no-indent"><i>12<sup>o</sup>. Frontispiece by A. I. Keller. $1.35</i></p> - -<p>The dominant figure in this series of detective -stories is a young girl, Violet Strange—detective -<i>par excellence</i>. She observes -sharply, thinks intensely, and has the faculty -of disentangling, out of a maze of perplexing -circumstances, the one explanation that accords -with facts, and carries out her reasoning -with the most consummate ability.</p> - -<p>The author wrote “The Leavenworth -Case” nearly forty years ago, and ever since -has steadily maintained an important position -among writers of fiction.</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="center no-indent">G. P. Putnam’s Sons<br /> -New York London</p></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="transnote"><div class="chapter"> -<p class="ph2 nobreak"><span class="smcap">Transcriber’s Notes:</span></p></div> - -<p>On page 7, grimmess has been changed to grimness.</p> - -<p>On page 9, known has been changed to know.</p> - -<p>On page 16, solicitiously has been changed to solicitously.</p> - -<p>On page 33, Brampton has been changed to Brompton.</p> - -<p>On page 39, MURRL has been changed to MURAL.</p> - -<p>On page 44, scroll work has been changed to scroll-work.</p> - -<p>On page 65, circumlocutous has been changed to circumlocutious.</p> - -<p>On page 110, mischeevousness has been changed to mischievousness.</p> - -<p>On page 146, carpetted has been changed to carpeted.</p> - -<p>On page 147, pocketted has been changed to pocketed.</p> - -<p>On page 176, sumbeam has been changed to sunbeam.</p> - -<p>On page 270, you has been changed to your.</p> - -<p>On page 276, comorant has been changed to cormorant.</p></div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WISER FOLLY ***</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. 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