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author: www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> 2026-03-14 14:14:01 -0700
committer: www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> 2026-03-14 14:14:01 -0700
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+      The immortal flame | Project Gutenberg
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+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78209 ***</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter hide"><img src="images/coversmall.jpg" width="450" alt=""></div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h1>THE IMMORTAL FLAME</h1>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/deco.jpg" alt=""></div>
+</div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<figure class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+  <img src="images/frontispiece.jpg" width="450" height="680" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+      <p class="right">[See p. <a href="#Page_3">3</a></p>
+      <p class="caption">FOR SOME TIME ISMA STOOD MOTIONLESS LOOKING OUT TO SEA</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+</div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/titlepage.jpg" alt=""></div>
+</div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="titlepage">
+<p><span class="xxlarge">THE<br>
+  IMMORTAL FLAME</span></p>
+
+<p><i>By</i><br>
+<span class="xlarge">MARIE BJELKE PETERSEN</span></p>
+
+<p><span class="large"><i>Illustrated</i></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/titlepagelogo.jpg" alt=""></div>
+
+<p><span class="large">Harper &amp; Brothers Publishers</span><br>
+  New York and London
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">The Immortal Flame</span></p>
+
+<p class="center">Copyright 1919, by Harper &amp; Brothers<br>
+  Printed in the United States of America<br>
+  Published September, 1919<br>
+  <br>
+  I-T</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="ph1">TO MY FATHER</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+  <h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2>
+</div>
+<table>
+<tr><th colspan="3"><span class="smcap">Part I</span></th></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">CHAP.</span></td><td class="tdr" colspan="2"><span class="allsmcap">PAGE</span></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">I.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The hiding-place</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_3">      3</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">II.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The palm-grove</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_11">      11</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">III.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Useless cargo</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_19">      19</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">IV.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The sea pearl</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_27">      27</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">V.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The black cross</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_37">      37</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">VI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The devil’s acre</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_49">      49</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">VII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">On friendship’s altar</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_55">      55</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">VIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Ring-barked</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_60">      60</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">IX.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The thunder-storm</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_75">      75</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">X.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The bell-bird</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_79">      79</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The fireweed</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_97">      97</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bursting bubbles</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_107">      107</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The ball</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_117">      117</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XIV.</td><td> <span class="smcap">A sinister sunset</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_134">      134</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XV.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The moonlit road</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_147">       147</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XVI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The bomb</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_155">      155</a></td></tr>
+
+
+<tr><th colspan="3"><span class="smcap">Part II</span></th></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">I.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The hurricane</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_169">      169</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">II.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Paying toll</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_177">      177</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">III.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Barred gates</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_187">      187</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">IV.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Trampled friendship</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_200">      200</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">V.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The fatal key</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_213">      213</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">VI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The flame god</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_228">      228</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">VII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The staring cliff</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_249">      249</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">VIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The dawn</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_259">      259</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">IX.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Crucified</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_277">      277</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">X.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Migrating birds</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_290">      290</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Thistle-down</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_297">      297</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Summer</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_305">      305</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The nettle</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_320">      320</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XIV.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bloodwood</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_332">      332</a></td></tr>
+
+
+<tr><th colspan="3"> <span class="smcap">Part III</span></th></tr>
+
+<tr><td colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Remembered</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_341">      341</a></td></tr>
+</table>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[1]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">PART I  </h2>
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[2]</span>
+</div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[3]</span>
+<p class="ph2">THE IMMORTAL FLAME</p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">I<br>
+<small>THE HIDING-PLACE</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="drop-cap">“MY hiding-place—my beautiful retreat!” she
+exclaimed, under her breath, and looked
+with passionate intensity at the wild, rocky coast-line
+which stretched as far as eye could see on
+either side of the cliff where she was standing.</p>
+
+<p>“I am safe at last,” she whispered, a calmer
+expression taking the place of the haunted look
+in her eyes. “No one will find me here—I shall
+live and die in this secluded spot.” She walked a
+few steps backward and forward on the narrow
+conelike rock. “Who would follow me,” she
+cried, defiantly, as if challenging some sudden fear.
+“No, no, here I am secure—<i>quite safe</i>,” she repeated,
+emphatically, in her low musical voice,
+making a further attempt to quell her stirring
+misgivings.</p>
+
+<p>For some time she stood absolutely motionless,
+looking out to sea. The late afternoon sunshine
+fell on her tall, white-clad form making it look
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span>like a statue carved out of some strange ethereal
+substance.</p>
+
+<p>All at once she glanced again at the long line of
+massive cliffs, and stretched out her arms as she
+whispered in soft, yearning tones, “Oh, you big
+immovable crags, give me some of your calm, let
+me learn to be still as you are still!”</p>
+
+<p>Her arms dropped to her side, but she continued
+to gaze at the great imperturbable headlands—nothing
+affected them! Giant waves, ferocious
+tempests, had flung their fury against the bulky
+battlements, yet nothing had conquered their
+colossal strength.</p>
+
+<p>Isma Folkestone turned toward the land. Behind
+the cliffs lay a long, low plain, covered with
+stunted trees, spider-bushes, grass-trees, and other
+flowering shrubs, and between these a little silvery
+road crept gingerly toward the distant, heavily
+timbered hills.</p>
+
+<p>The girl looked down with unseeing eyes on the
+shrubby flats. The blue shadows on the plain
+were lengthening. The slanting sunbeams caught
+the spider-bushes, rich in scarlet blossoms, and
+made them flame like blood-red jewels. A lofty
+silence began to descend on everything around her,
+a hush peculiarly accentuated by the soft murmurs
+of the sea as it settled to rest at the feet of the
+purple headlands.</p>
+
+<p>The woman on the cliff felt the mellow calm
+stealing into her heart also. She closed her eyes
+and breathed very slowly. Then suddenly she
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span>looked up in terror; the vision her mind had conjured
+up behind her closed lids drained the color
+from her face. Oh, those pleading, fiery eyes,
+would they never cease to torment her—would
+they follow her wherever she went? Was there
+no respite from the burning shame they evoked?
+Why could she not forget? She would never look
+into them again—that at least was certain; but
+why did the memory still scorch her with its
+humiliating degradation!</p>
+
+<p>A blush as vivid as the gleaming spider-flowers
+on the plain spread under her flawless skin. The
+last lingering rays of the setting sun turned
+the thick waves of her flaxen hair to flaming
+gold.</p>
+
+<p>Isma raised a white, perfectly shaped hand and
+put a shimmering strand into place. She sighed
+as she felt its silken texture. What use had great
+beauty been to her? It had brought nothing but
+heartache and humiliation. Her red lips parted
+into a bitter smile. But the smile soon faded and
+a fixed, determined expression came into her eyes,
+the alluring eyes with their wide, bewildering lids
+and their thick fringe of black lashes; they had
+done harm enough, brought shame and anguish
+enough; now no one except her old governess
+should look into them again.</p>
+
+<p>If only her beauty had brought her a gleam of
+real happiness, she could perhaps have endured the
+rest, but it had not done so. It had brought
+admiration, favor, homage in the teeming world
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span>from which she had fled, but it had not given her
+one single draught of unalloyed joy.</p>
+
+<p>There had been moments when she hated her
+extraordinary loveliness; she hated it now. What
+was the use of adulation if with it had come envy,
+slander, shame, and mortification!</p>
+
+<p>What was the use of the world’s clamorous
+adoration, its fierce desire to possess her, when
+the only man— She trembled and a stinging
+mist blinded her eyes at the thought of his ironic
+glances and scarcely veiled contempt. She
+straightened proudly; she had come to this retreat
+to forget that also. Those protecting headlands
+would not only shut out the mad, excited
+world with its fiery, insistent pleading, the world
+which had petted and worshiped her and at the
+same time envied and slandered her, but those
+huge, immovable stones must also blot out the
+memory of the handsome Australian soldier with
+his mocking smiles and cruel sneers.</p>
+
+<p>She glanced across the low plain to the far-away
+hills, behind which the sun was setting amid
+a shimmering haze of lilac and saffron yellow.
+Beyond this high range of hills lay her cousin’s
+estate; she was only a few miles from his boundary!
+But she was quite safe; he had not visited
+his old home for many years, and it was not
+likely he should come back now. The gay,
+sparkling world held too many attractions for the
+fascinating guardsman; it had opened all doors
+to him, showered distinctions and invitation-cards
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span>upon him, bestowed admiration and honor. He
+had been sought out and idolized as much as
+Isma herself, and when they had danced together
+at brilliant balls and elaborate functions they had
+always been considered the handsomest couple in
+the room. But as they swayed over the highly
+polished floors in rhythm to enchanting music the
+girl had been conscious of the cold contempt in his
+touch and the sarcasm in his polite speeches.
+How he hated her for bearing his name and having
+allowed scandal to tarnish it! If only she had not
+been related to him, not been his second cousin,
+he might have treated her differently, but he
+could not forgive her for having smirched the
+name in which he took such a pride. However,
+she must forget that, too; the massive cliffs must
+shut out the whole of the past, and she would hide
+in her little home by the sea.</p>
+
+<p>She turned to the right, where a wide beach
+curved far below her between the two giant capes.
+At the back of the sand was a short stretch of
+coarse, stiff grass and beyond that the bay was
+lined with palms which almost hid a red two-story
+house.</p>
+
+<p>The girl looked out to sea again. The great
+expanse of water was unrippled and lay like a
+polished surface of lavender-tinted calm. The
+ocean would teach her that even the wildest turmoil
+can cease and the immense spaces above
+would lift her thoughts from herself to loftier
+things. All at once she became conscious that
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span>there existed bigger things than those she had
+encountered in the world she had left behind her.
+There was a wild, daring place in this boundless
+solitude which suggested something colossal she
+had not been aware of before. She wanted to
+reach out after it. If only she could forget the
+past! If only the burning shame might be lifted
+from her! She bent her head and her lips quivered.
+She, too, had been proud of the fine line of
+ancestors from which she had sprung. But now
+the splendid old name stood soiled before the
+world, and she—<i>she</i> had stained it!</p>
+
+<p>Her head sank lower. The horrible irony of it
+all—the pity of it!</p>
+
+<p>But she refused to think of it any more. Had
+she not thought and writhed till the mortification
+had nearly maddened her? Had not the endless
+months she had spent in India and Ceylon on her
+way to Australia—months of torture and consuming
+pain—been punishment enough, purgatory
+enough, to atone for what had never been her
+fault? Might she not have respite now? She
+had come to this vast loneliness in order to forget—she
+would not remember any more! Her
+brilliant life had been a mockery, a failure. Why
+had it been so? Why? Why?</p>
+
+<p>She glanced into the primrose-tinted spaces
+hovering over the wide plain below. Could not
+the greatness, brooding out there in the yellow
+sunset, answer her burning question? She must
+find the answer, and here in the seclusion by the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span>sea, in this immense aloneness, far from the cruel,
+merciless world which had laid such homage
+at her feet and at the same time thrust a dagger
+into her heart, she would come to understand.</p>
+
+<p>But suppose the world should penetrate even
+to this seclusion—if it should pursue her here—?</p>
+
+<p>She laughed suddenly at her own fears. Such a
+thing was impossible! The world was too far
+away to reach her, and her cousin—? His estate
+was certainly only a few miles away, still he never
+came to look after it; he had left it all these years
+in the hands of his trusted overseer and would
+probably go on doing so. The great metropolis
+held Falcon too closely; he could never tear himself
+away from all it contained and the brilliant
+career it offered him.</p>
+
+<p>Yet if he should come?</p>
+
+<p>She made a violent gesture with her shapely
+hands. No! No! Fate could not be so unkind!
+It had been cruel enough; surely it could not be
+so maliciously brutal as to allow this man to
+come and mock her in her loneliness!</p>
+
+<p>No, she was at least safe from that. What
+could be more improbable than that the delightful
+officer of the guards should come out and look
+after his sheep!</p>
+
+<p>Again she glanced down the darkening plain.
+The saffron hues had faded, and a soft, impenetrable
+dusk crept over the extensive flats below,
+giving them an air of subtle mystery.</p>
+
+<p>The huge wings of night were spreading over
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span>the earth, and under those dark pinions brooded
+a strange silence.</p>
+
+<p>“There is rest here,” murmured Isma as she
+made her way between the shrubs down the steep
+slope to the little house nestling among the palms.
+“My sweet haven, my little hiding-place, here I
+shall find solace.” She added, confidently, “He
+will not come.”</p>
+
+<p>From one of the larger trees a night-bird all at
+once uttered a fierce, piercing shriek.</p>
+
+<p>The girl shivered a little and hurried toward
+the palm-lined bay below.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">II<br>
+<small>THE PALM-GROVE</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">ISMA FOLKESTONE sat on a rustic seat in
+her palm-grove, her white-robed figure a
+moving network of shade and palpitating light.
+The sunbeams and the swaying shadows from the
+great fan-shaped leaves vied with each other in
+adding elusive enchantment to her rich, colorous
+beauty. Her hair under the picturesque garden
+hat was the color of summer-kissed plains; in her
+cheeks glowed the vivid flush of dawn and her
+lips were red like spider-flowers. Her large golden-gray
+eyes—the shade so frequently seen in
+Australia—were wide-spaced and luminous and
+so full of expression that they seemed almost
+weighted with loftiness and undaunted courage.</p>
+
+<p>Just now the girl was gazing dreamily into
+space and there was an air of aloofness and
+unearthly calm about her whole personality.
+For some time she remained in reflective abstraction,
+then gradually she became more conscious
+of her surroundings and began to listen
+to the leaves switching noisily about her. They
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span>seemed eager to attract her attention and rustled
+in unhappy agitation as they bent toward her.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Folkestone looked up at them and smiled.</p>
+
+<p>“You dear whispering things, what are you
+so excited about to-day? What are you trying to
+tell me? Is the breeze teasing you, or are you—lonely?
+Be thankful to be alone; it is life’s
+greatest gift—it holds nothing better.” She
+sighed a little as she continued, “Once I thought
+differently; I longed to be out in the gay thronging
+world and drink deep of its joys—” Her splendid
+eyes lowered and a tremor passed through her.
+“I have tasted all I wanted and—more. Now
+my only wish is for loneliness and my only prayer
+for peace.” She sighed again and added, “But
+rest is coming to me now—I am in harbor at last.”</p>
+
+<p>The palm leaves crackled uneasily and shook
+in excited protest. Then they whispered more
+loudly, more hoarsely, as if desperately anxious to
+make their meaning clear; but Isma had stopped
+listening to the palms, her ears had caught the
+sound of a horse cantering on the road. People
+rarely passed that way, as there were no houses
+in the near neighborhood, only stretches of sheep-runs,
+marshes, thickly timbered hills, beaches, and
+great dominant headlands.</p>
+
+<p>The horse had stopped, or had she only lost
+the sound of its hoofs as it passed the damp corner
+where a little stream bubbled across the road?</p>
+
+<p>There was the click of the gate.</p>
+
+<p>Isma glanced down the long palm avenue. A
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span>visitor to her retreat—who could it be? Perhaps
+it was only a stranger who had lost his way, or
+possibly the manager of her cousin’s estate had
+heard of her arrival and come to see her. She
+remembered him quite distinctly, though she had
+not seen him since she was sent to England ten
+years before to finish her education.</p>
+
+<p>The horse was on the gravel drive now; she
+heard his crunching steps on the pebbles, and a
+few moments afterward he and his rider came
+into view.</p>
+
+<p>The girl’s heart gave a sudden bound and she
+gripped the wooden seat hard as she caught sight
+of the tall, soldierly figure on the gray, foam-flecked
+thoroughbred. But she recovered her
+composure instantly, rose quickly, and went forward
+to meet her distinguished-looking visitor.</p>
+
+<p>He dismounted lightly, slipped the bridle over
+his arm, then, raising his smart riding-cap, bowed
+ceremoniously over her outstretched hand and
+said, smiling satirically, “So it is really true that
+my beautiful cousin has entombed herself in this
+vast solitude—”</p>
+
+<p>The woman he addressed stood before him,
+tall, dignified, and there was a reflection of his
+irony in her voice as she replied, “You don’t mean
+to say you have come all this way to find out?”</p>
+
+<p>“Why not? We were all astonished when we
+heard that our gorgeous bird of paradise had left
+the gilded cage and flown back to its native
+haunts in Australia. We were naturally a little
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span>skeptical at first—can you wonder?—but I, having
+more curiosity than the rest, came to see.”</p>
+
+<p>For a moment the rich rose tint in Isma’s
+smooth, perfectly molded cheeks deepened. Falcon
+had actually torn himself away from the life
+he loved, his brilliant position—everything, and
+had traveled those thousands of miles for her
+sake! A strange tumult surged up within her,
+then subsided as suddenly as it had come. Of
+course he had only taken all this trouble because
+she bore the same name as he, the name he had
+always guarded with the jealousy of a lover. He
+had merely come to discover if she was really in
+earnest and meant to settle down in safe seclusion,
+severed from the dangers and temptations of the
+past. And when he had satisfied himself on this
+point he would probably return to all that was
+dear to him.</p>
+
+<p>“And now that you have seen that I am really
+here,” she said, her eyes measuring him with a
+touch of mockery, “I hope you are satisfied.”</p>
+
+<p>The gray thoroughbred was pushing its soft
+muzzle against Captain Folkestone’s sleeve, but
+he had no thought for the animal.</p>
+
+<p>“Satisfied—what about? That your new rôle
+is as—becoming as—the old?” he suggested, with
+courteous insolence, his handsome blue eyes
+taking in every detail of her attire and noting
+that the extreme simplicity of her white gown
+only accentuated the rich curves of her lovely
+form and that her simple garden hat with its
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span>swathe of turquoise <i>crêpe de Chine</i> was remarkably
+becoming.</p>
+
+<p>Isma flushed under his gaze. So, he thought,
+she was only posing, after all, striving after effect,
+merely changing a rôle! “I suppose you would
+have liked me to take the veil,” she flung at him,
+indignantly.</p>
+
+<p>“It is hardly fashionable to join sisterhoods
+nowadays; besides, it is so inconveniently binding,
+the garb is so hideous and the setting of such a
+life most monotonous. This,” he glanced round
+at the idyllic beauty of the palm-grove with its
+glimpses of blue sea and rocky headlands between
+the great fanlike leaves—“this is a far more artistic
+way of doing it; the background is enchanting
+and everything is so delightfully unfettered—the
+way back is always open.”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” she replied, emphatically, “the way
+back is <i>not</i> open—it is barred.”</p>
+
+<p>“Most effectively barricaded with cobwebs,”
+he assented, smilingly.</p>
+
+<p>The girl straightened as she looked coldly into
+his deriding eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“By Jove! the rôle <i>is</i> becoming!” he exclaimed,
+with fresh mockery in his tones.</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose you would prefer to see me behind
+real cloister walls,” she observed, a dull flush of
+anger staining her face.</p>
+
+<p>“My pretty cousin, how can you suggest I
+should prefer anything so outrageous!” he exclaimed,
+with mock horror. “If you were cloistered,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span>I should not even have the pleasure of
+seeing you, and it would have other appalling
+disadvantages—the sacrifice of your glorious hair,
+for instance,” and he glanced at the silken yellow
+waves before adding, “it would be a thousand
+pities to go to such fatal lengths; I am sure your
+modification is far wiser.”</p>
+
+<p>She turned a little impatiently from him toward
+the house half hidden among the trees.</p>
+
+<p>“Won’t you come in and have some tea? I
+am afraid I have been rather inhospitable, keeping
+you standing out here all this time,” she said,
+with frosty politeness.</p>
+
+<p>“No, not to-day, thank you. I arrived only
+this morning; now I must go back and get my
+car in order after its long journey. I just came
+over to see that you were all right; though I am
+only a cousin, I have the privilege of looking after
+you occasionally. But you are not living here
+alone, are you?”</p>
+
+<p>The horse had grown tired of caressing Falcon’s
+unresponsive sleeve and was now fidgeting to get
+enough rein to reach Isma.</p>
+
+<p>His master pulled him back with a jerk as the
+girl replied: “No. Miss Livingston, my old governess,
+is with me.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am glad of that. But do you really intend
+to settle down here?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. Why not?”</p>
+
+<p>“It will be very lonely and you might find it—dull.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span>“I shall not find it dull and I like solitude.”</p>
+
+<p>“Indeed!” There was polite doubt in the
+exclamation.</p>
+
+<p>The girl made no reply, so her cousin went on.
+“Perhaps you will fill in the time with some
+serious thinking,” he suggested, smilingly, taking
+off his cap and allowing the breeze to play with
+his brown hair, which had a charming tendency
+to wave at the ends.</p>
+
+<p>“What would you recommend me to—think
+about?” she asked, her eyes looking probingly
+into his.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, as you ask my opinion, I should strongly
+advise you to give some thoughts to the subject
+of—prudence.”</p>
+
+<p>She winced and the warm blood leaped for a
+moment into her face. When it had died away
+she stiffened, and her cold, angry eyes met his as
+she said, “Why should I think about—that?”</p>
+
+<p>Her companion smiled amiably. “Because—well,
+don’t you think it quite possible that while
+you have been so much occupied with—other
+subjects you have neglected this important one?”</p>
+
+<p>Miss Folkestone laughed scornfully. “Perhaps,
+as you consider me so ignorant in this direction,
+you might even think it advisable for me to get a
+coach.”</p>
+
+<p>“It would certainly not do you any harm to
+have one.”</p>
+
+<p>“Possibly you would like to offer your services,”
+she scoffed.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span>“I am afraid you would not accept them,” he
+replied, quietly.</p>
+
+<p>“Why not? Do you think I should be afraid
+that your vast amount of knowledge on the subject
+would discourage me?”</p>
+
+<p>Captain Folkestone looked at his cousin in
+feigned surprise. “Discourage you! Could anything
+do that? I was under the impression that
+was an impossibility!”</p>
+
+<p>The gray horse had given up fidgeting; now it
+gave a loud, impatient snort.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, well, I must be off,” said the soldier,
+lightly, “but I am delighted to have found you
+looking so radiant—more bewitching than ever!”</p>
+
+<p>With courtly grace he bent over her rather
+reluctant hand as he said good-by, and a few
+moments afterward he and his Arab mount disappeared
+in a bend of the avenue.</p>
+
+<p>When the sounds of the cantering hoofs had
+died away the girl clasped her hands tightly
+together. “Merciful God!” she murmured, brokenly,
+closing her eyes, her face white to the lips,
+“he has come—he has come—”</p>
+
+<p>Above her the palm leaves drooped in silent
+consternation and occasionally a convulsive shudder
+passed through them.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">III<br>
+<small>USELESS CARGO</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">ON a small creeper-veiled balcony facing the
+sea Isma and her old governess were having
+tea half an hour after Captain Folkestone’s departure.
+A slight breeze from the ocean had sprung
+up and moved the bignonia trails heavy with
+golden blossoms rhythmically to and fro. From
+the garden below rose the strong scent of jonquils,
+freesias, and stocks, and from the bench a short
+distance away came the thud of waves with
+regular precision.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Livingston, reclining in a deck-chair among
+a pile of green cushions, regarded her companion
+with a pucker between her scanty eyebrows.</p>
+
+<p>The old governess was a small, thin woman with
+drooping shoulders, iron-gray hair, and a kind,
+humorous face. She was very plain, but there
+was an air of genial guilelessness and youthful
+optimism about her which gave the impression
+that she had not met disillusions in her journey
+through life, or if she had encountered any she
+had had the rare uncommon sense to look the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span>other way while they passed. Also Miss Livingston
+had preserved her love of romance, or rather
+the love of romance had preserved her, from the
+hideous disease which destroys youth in the soul
+more quickly than any other malady, that fatty
+degeneration of the emotions called complacency.
+So though the little ex-governess was over sixty,
+she was still young in the things which matter;
+her mind was sunny and her heart still warm.</p>
+
+<p>Just now she was puzzling about the change
+in her beloved charge. The girl had looked so
+radiant after luncheon, when she saw her stroll
+out under the palm-trees, and now, only a couple
+of hours afterward, she was pale and there was a
+strange, perturbed light in her eyes. What could
+have brought about the change? She kept wondering
+as they talked about indifferent things,
+but as she could not come to any satisfactory
+conclusion she asked at last:</p>
+
+<p>“Baby, what is the matter with you? You
+looked so bright and splendid this morning, and
+now you are so white— Are you not well,
+dearest?”</p>
+
+<p>Her companion put her cup down on a small
+wicker table standing near her as she replied:
+“Thank you, I am quite well—I am always well,
+you know. But,” she went on, turning the conversation
+into another channel, “why do you
+still persist in calling me ‘Baby’? Don’t you
+think it is rather absurd, now that I am over
+twenty-five and so big? If I had been a small,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span>fluffy kind of woman, it might not have sounded
+so absurd; but for my type—”</p>
+
+<p>“That is all nonsense,” interrupted the old
+lady, vigorously; “because you are so tall and
+magnificent do you think it makes any difference
+to my feelings for you? I came to you when you
+were a wee, motherless mite, a little bundle of
+white, pink, and gold lovableness, who adored
+being kissed and cuddled. You became my
+Baby then, and my Baby you shall stay till the
+end of the chapter!”</p>
+
+<p>The flaxen-haired girl rose, came over and sat
+down on a footstool beside her friend. “You
+darling!” she murmured, slipping an arm round
+the drooping figure; “how good you were to me
+in those dear old days!” She sighed regretfully.
+“If only they could have lasted always! But
+your Baby is grown up now, terribly grown up.
+She has <i>lived</i>—she is a woman of the world
+to-day,” she finished, a slight tremor in her voice.</p>
+
+<p>“Now you are talking nonsense again,” the
+small lady protested, fondly. “You are just as
+much a baby as ever, only you have been out
+in the world and found it is not peopled with
+innocent children—that is what makes you feel
+so grown up.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl shook her head sorrowfully. “No,
+deary, that is not it. If only you knew all, why
+I am here to-day, you would not talk like that.”
+There was deep pain in the large gray eyes as
+she turned them to an opening among the creepers,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span>where she could see the northern headland beyond
+the garden jutting out sharply against the clear
+blue sky.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Livingston took the soft white hand lying
+close to her own brown one and pressed it tenderly.
+“Girlie, I am not going to ask any questions
+about the past. What you wish to keep
+from me I do not want to know. Only, if the
+past hurts, try and forget it. Don’t you know
+that the same Kind Spirit who invented memory
+also invented forgetfulness, and that it is just as
+important to cultivate forgetfulness as to train
+memory?”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you think so?”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course. Forgetfulness is simply throwing
+useless cargo overboard. If you overladen a ship,
+it will go down. If you overburden a soul, it will
+do likewise. In life much cargo, good and bad,
+is put into our ships; we must simply fling the
+useless away into forgetfulness or we shall be
+swamped.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl sighed. “A good many ships go down,
+I am afraid.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, and all because they have not the sense
+or perhaps the courage to fling away the useless
+cargo.”</p>
+
+<p>“Still, it is difficult, for some things cannot be
+flung away.”</p>
+
+<p>Isma rose and went to the edge of the veranda;
+there her hand began to pluck restlessly at the
+orange-tinted flowers. “I have had a surprise
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span>this afternoon—a great surprise,” she said. Then
+after a pause she added, with difficulty, “Falcon
+is here.”</p>
+
+<p>Her companion started. “Falcon here!” she
+exclaimed, excitedly. “You don’t mean to say
+so! Are you quite sure? How do you know?
+No letters or wires have come to-day.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I am quite sure, for he was here just after
+lunch for a little while.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, girlie, that is the best news I have heard
+for a long time! To think that the dear fellow
+should actually be here—how delightful! Now
+we shall have an interesting time, for of course
+he must be desperately in love with you—”</p>
+
+<p>The girl moved suddenly. “In love with me!
+Why, he hates me—positively detests me!”</p>
+
+<p>Miss Livingston laughed heartily. “How perfectly
+ridiculous! As if any man could! Anyhow,
+do you think he would travel half across the world
+after you if he hated you? Nonsense! By the
+way, is he as handsome as ever? I have not seen
+him since he left Australia all those years ago.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I think you would consider him even
+better-looking now. He is terribly run after and
+admired. Women make him enough pretty things
+to fill a palace.”</p>
+
+<p>“But—you don’t mean to say he has turned
+out <i>that</i> kind of man?” There was real distress
+in the old lady’s tones.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh no, he doesn’t court that sort of thing—he
+likes being popular, of course, but I think the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span>tokens of conquest rather bore him; he is too much
+the open-air independent Australian to care for
+overmuch petting and pampering. However, you
+will be able to judge for yourself, for he is sure
+to come over and see us soon, and when you see
+the way he—treats me you will never again accuse
+him of being in love with me!” she finished, in a
+tone which greatly puzzled her companion.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>It was night. A land breeze stirred fitfully
+among the palm leaves and made them rattle
+noisily together. The sky was clear, yet the
+stars seemed strangely distant and dim. The
+ocean lay wide and calm. Near the shore breakers
+rose as dark, finlike ridges, that became darker
+and sharper as they advanced and finally broke
+with a loud crash into a white blur on the shadowy
+sand. The headlands terminating the small bay
+in front of the palm-grove bulged black and
+monstrous against the dull sky. The night was
+quiet, but it held a brooding awe, a savage
+majesty.</p>
+
+<p>The red house near the beach was in darkness,
+and it seemed as if its inmates were restfully
+asleep. But after some time the front door
+opened noiselessly and a tall figure made its
+way softly down the stone steps, through
+the perfumed garden with its whispering
+shrubs and stirring leaves, then crossed a stretch
+of rustling grass and a few minutes afterward
+reached the firm, gently sloping sand.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span>The girl stood for some moments looking out
+on the big expanse of dimly lit water, her breast
+heaving as if she had been running fast. Then
+she began to walk up and down the beach in
+frenzied agitation. At last she stopped abruptly
+and, flinging her hands out before her, cried under
+her breath: “Falcon—why did you come—oh,
+why! Why couldn’t you leave me to my loneliness
+in peace! Why have you come to torment
+me, fling your taunts at me, your contempt!
+Are you trying to hunt me into a real nunnery,
+where you can be sure your name will be guarded
+and protected behind the pitiless walls?”</p>
+
+<p>A bat swooped down and brushed against her
+hair, but she hardly noticed the insolent touch
+of its furry wings.</p>
+
+<p>“If only you would believe in my sincerity,
+that I will never return to the dangers of the past,
+that I am not posing—not acting a part—” she
+murmured, brokenly.</p>
+
+<p>Her hands dropped to her side and she raised
+her head in sudden pleading. “If only you would
+treat me differently—be serious, angry with me,
+anything but lashing me with your caustic irony!”</p>
+
+<p>Why should she not go to him, explain all and—</p>
+
+<p>But what would be the use? He would not
+believe her when appearances were so strongly
+against her. No, she would not explain. She
+lifted her head proudly. Let him think what he
+liked! She would continue to meet him with his
+own weapons. She would treat his insolence,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span>his insinuations, with icy contempt. The Folkestone
+blood ran in her veins, too; their people
+had not been cowards, never cringed nor flinched
+at pain. She would show him he was dealing
+with one of his own race, who was strong enough,
+courageous enough, to walk in lofty indifference
+to his scathing derision and stinging mockery!
+Her eyes flashed and she straightened haughtily
+as she began to pace up and down the beach
+again.</p>
+
+<p>It was long past midnight when at last Isma
+made her way back through the scented garden
+to the sleeping house.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">IV<br>
+<small>THE SEA PEARL</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">CAPTAIN FOLKESTONE stood by the sea,
+near the palm-grove, and looked searchingly
+about him. He had been told at the house that
+his cousin was on the beach. Now he glanced up
+the sunlit curve of sand to find her, and it was not
+long before he saw a splash of glittering gold near
+the southern cape and made his way toward it.</p>
+
+<p>As he approached the spot he saw the girl
+lying closely wrapped in a tawny gold-tinted
+garment. She was evidently not expecting visitors,
+for her hair was done in a long thick plait
+which fell over her strong, firm shoulder and lay
+glittering on the warm, dry sand.</p>
+
+<p>The soldier stood suddenly quite still and
+breathed unevenly.</p>
+
+<p>Isma was motionless and her eyes were closed.
+Was she asleep? He took a step nearer in the
+soft sand, but she did not hear him and her face
+was calm with the serenity of slumber.</p>
+
+<p>He watched with a curious expression in his
+Irish-blue eyes, which held no irony or contempt
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span>now. How perfectly her features were chiseled,
+from the fine straight brow, half veiled by the
+yellow waving hair, to the well-rounded, forceful
+chin! And her skin—could marble have been
+whiter or rose petals more delicately smooth?</p>
+
+<p>As he gazed the sleeper made a slight movement—there
+was a sudden flash of dazzling white
+limbs and a bewildering form half concealed by a
+cream Canadian bathing-suit.</p>
+
+<p>The man watching changed color.</p>
+
+<p>Merciful Heavens, what alluring loveliness was
+given to some women! Isma had inherited the
+renowned beauty of the Folkestones, and what a
+curse it had been to her! He made some inarticulate
+sound between his teeth, his eyes riveted
+on the maddening display of snowy splendor
+and bewitching contours.</p>
+
+<p>Could she really be asleep in the bright sunlight?
+He came a little closer and looked full
+into her upturned face. As he gazed, the inner
+corners of her well-marked brows lifted slightly
+as if she were in pain, and a tremor passed through
+her like the half-convulsive shudder of a sob, her
+long lashes quivered and all at once he noticed
+that they were moist. Had the girl been weeping
+in her sleep? He caught his breath. Isma’s
+lashes wet—!</p>
+
+<p>“Isma,” he said, in a strained voice. “Isma.”</p>
+
+<p>The wide, clear lids opened slowly and eyes,
+still heavy with sleep, looked up, dazed and
+bewildered. Then she discovered the man beside
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span>her and an agonized flush spread over her face.
+She sat up quickly and gathered the wrapper
+closely about her.</p>
+
+<p>“I must have been asleep,” she faltered, in
+deepest confusion. “I—I—was just going to
+have a bathe.”</p>
+
+<p>The strange expression had vanished from
+Captain Folkestone’s face and there was no trace
+of it as he apologized profusely for disturbing
+her and added, in cool, bantering tones, “But
+don’t you think it is unpardonable waste to
+lavish those enchanting blushes on a mere
+relative?”</p>
+
+<p>The girl had risen and drew herself up to her
+full height as she said, coldly, “I think it would
+have been better if you had stayed at the house
+while they sent for me.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am deeply sorry for intruding—as I said
+before, but how could I know you were on the
+point of bathing and that you would object to a
+most appreciative audience? You forget that
+mixed bathing is in vogue here; however, I suppose
+your excessive modesty would not permit
+such laxity!”</p>
+
+<p>The irony in his words stung her. Would he
+never forget, never be merciful! She turned her
+face away for a moment, then, lifting her head a
+little higher, without replying, she began to walk
+back to the house.</p>
+
+<p>Her cousin followed her, his eyes on the heavy
+trail of flaxen hair reaching almost to her knees
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span>and gleaming in glossy radiance against the
+duskier gold of her gown.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma,” he said, coming to her side, “why do
+you hurry so? I want to talk to you.”</p>
+
+<p>“When I am presentable I shall be at your
+disposal.”</p>
+
+<p>“But you don’t need to bother—I have already
+seen you—and I assure you you have never
+looked more charming than in this artistic wrap.
+When that artist admirer of yours wants to
+paint your portrait again I should advise you
+to wear that shade of gold.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl met his remark with disdainful silence
+and quickened her steps.</p>
+
+<p>She felt his watchful scrutiny. Did he think
+she was merely posing, acting a part? Was that
+why his face had hardened?</p>
+
+<p>When they reached the house Isma took her
+cousin into the drawing-room and asked him to
+wait for her there.</p>
+
+<p>After she had gone Captain Folkestone sank
+down on a sofa and began to look round. It was
+a delightful room, not too large or too small,
+spacious without being aloof and stately, and
+furnished with a taste that gave evidence of
+unusual refinement as well as a great love for
+harmonious color schemes. The predominating
+shades in the room were <i>vieux rose</i> and dull
+umber; these hues mingled in the covering of
+chairs, divans, cushions, carpet, curtains, blinds,
+and ornaments. The woodwork and doors were a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span>deep umber and the paper on the walls a dull rose.
+On the mantelpiece, and everywhere else where
+flowers could be placed, were big bowls filled with
+stocks of various shades—mauve, white, rose, and
+dull purple—scenting the air with their sumptuous
+fragrance.</p>
+
+<p>It was not long before the girl returned. She
+was dressed in ivory-white, and as she sat down
+on a low chesterfield the room made a soft colorous
+background for her vivid yet mellow loveliness.</p>
+
+<p>She did not speak, but with hands lying idly
+in her lap waited for her cousin to tell her what
+he had come to say.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma,” he began, glancing down at his wristlet-watch,
+“Benson tells me he has heard that
+you want to sell some of your coast land.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I thought of doing so.”</p>
+
+<p>“Is it—necessary?” he asked, without raising
+his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>She ignored the point of his inquiry. “I should
+like to sell some of it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Isma,” he said, with slight hesitation, “if
+you are in difficulties, won’t you tell me—won’t
+you let me—?”</p>
+
+<p>She interrupted him quickly. “No, thank you,
+I am not in any difficulties.”</p>
+
+<p>“Still—you want to sell?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then I should like to buy the land.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why do you want it? It is no good for
+sheep—”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span>“No, but I should like to put up a cottage.
+I have always wanted some sort of a place close
+to the sea.”</p>
+
+<p>“But what is the use when you are not there—not
+living here, I mean?”</p>
+
+<p>“But I am going to live here, going to use it,”
+he answered, regarding her steadily. “I am
+sending in my resignation to the Guards, and for
+the future I shall stay in Australia.”</p>
+
+<p>His cousin looked at him incredulously. Falcon
+coming back to live at his old home, leaving his
+regiment! What could it mean?</p>
+
+<p>A flood of warmth rushed through her as she
+listened breathlessly to his next words.</p>
+
+<p>“You are a little surprised, no doubt; but I
+really ought to give some attention to my places—I
+have neglected them shockingly for years and
+Benson is getting old—they are too much for
+him.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl leaned a little forward and clasped
+her hands round her knees. “What will London
+do?” she asked, with a touch of friendly banter.</p>
+
+<p>“My departure will have scarcely been noticed
+in the face of more important exits.” He watched
+her intently. However she was quite unconscious
+of the significance of his words.</p>
+
+<p>“Who else is leaving?” she asked, the friendly
+smile still hovering round her lips.</p>
+
+<p>“Surely you know?”</p>
+
+<p>“How could I? I have been traveling for
+months, till quite lately—”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span>“But letters—they can always reach you.”
+His tones were hard and unapproachable.</p>
+
+<p>“I have had very few since I came home—I
+didn’t want any.”</p>
+
+<p>A few moments ago their attitudes to each
+other had relaxed, but now Isma was conscious
+that the old hostility had returned, and she
+vaguely wondered why.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you mean to say you don’t know who
+has taken The Bluff and is arriving almost immediately?”
+asked the man, a sharp edge in his
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>The Bluff was a magnificent house situated on a
+big craggy headland a few miles down the southern
+road. Who could have taken it? As the girl
+looked at the hard glitter in the soldier’s eyes a
+terrible apprehension made her feel suddenly
+cold.</p>
+
+<p>“Who?” she asked, scarcely able to formulate
+the word. Who else could be coming to spoil
+her solitude and pry into her seclusion?</p>
+
+<p>Her cousin’s eyes were like points of steel
+probing into hers as he said:</p>
+
+<p>“Lord Berriedale.”</p>
+
+<p>Isma caught her breath and every vestige of
+color ebbed from her face.</p>
+
+<p>For some moments there was a deathlike stillness
+in the room, a stillness harsh, uncompromisingly
+cruel. Then the girl made a desperate
+attempt to veil her agitation from the stern gaze
+fixed upon her.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span>“Why—why—” she began, but the sentence
+ended in a gasp.</p>
+
+<p>The sternness in Falcon’s face vanished instantly
+and gave place to the ironical expression
+she knew so well.</p>
+
+<p>“Why should Lord Berriedale come out here,
+and to this particular neighborhood? Could anything
+be more obvious? For his wife’s health, of
+course—what else could it be? You know her
+delicate state; the doctors have ordered her to a
+warm climate—there are evidently no warm
+climates nearer than Australia, and apparently
+The Bluff is the only suitable house available on
+our large continent; so naturally Berriedale is
+only too glad to secure it, especially as it has the
+great advantage of being near The Palms so that
+his wife can resume her delightful friendship
+with you.”</p>
+
+<p>Isma did not speak. She had leaned a little
+farther forward and her hands were clasped
+round her knees so tightly that her fingers were
+quite bloodless.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Berriedale at The Bluff! All her difficulties,
+her pain, her humiliation back again!
+Her flight had been useless. Her hiding-place
+would afford no security now. She might as well
+have stayed in the old life, for she would have
+been far safer there. In this lonely spot everything
+would play into the fowler’s hands, all
+would be against her and help him to track down
+his prey.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span>She scarcely noticed Falcon’s stinging sarcasm.
+After all, he was only voicing what their world
+thought and said. Did not every one believe
+that her friendship for Lady Berriedale was only
+a blind, a cloak hiding her relation with her
+husband? But her cousin’s next words stabbed
+her.</p>
+
+<p>“I always admire friendships between women,
+it is so beautiful to see the way they treat one
+another—they are so loyal, so <i>true</i>.” He smiled
+deridingly at her.</p>
+
+<p>She straightened and flushed hotly as he goaded
+her to retort. “Women <i>are</i> true to one another
+and they sometimes think more of a friend’s
+happiness than their own reputation!”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course, and that is why the world, looking
+on, applauds such sacrifice so vigorously!”</p>
+
+<p>Isma rose and went over to an open window.
+What was the use of trying to convince her
+cousin or any one else that she was innocent?
+Explanations only met with scorn and distrust.
+There was no help for her. Still, what was she
+to do? Should she attempt another flight? No,
+she could not do that; it would only rouse Lady
+Berriedale’s suspicion, and, whatever happened,
+the invalid must not be made unhappy, but be
+allowed to live the few paltry years yet allotted
+to her, in her fool’s paradise. So she must stay—stay
+and be compromised again. If only Falcon
+had not been there, a cruel, merciless spectator,
+mocking and judging her in her pitiful plight!</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span>Captain Folkestone had also risen and stood
+near the mantelpiece, regarding the silent girl
+at the window, the soft, rose-tinted curtains
+making a splendid background for her graceful
+form.</p>
+
+<p>Why had this woman been given a beauty
+which drew men with such maddening longing to
+possess her, and made them ready to go to the
+end of the world, even face ruin, on her account?
+Why should the fate of men be placed so irrevocably
+in one woman’s hands?</p>
+
+<p>“Isma,” said Falcon, after a long pause, in
+quiet tones, “what about that land?”</p>
+
+<p>She turned to him slowly. Why did he want
+to buy it? To be nearer and able to spy more
+readily upon her?</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t think I will sell it, after all,” she said,
+evenly.</p>
+
+<p>“Very well, then,” the soldier replied, picking
+up his cap. “I suppose for the future you will
+be so much taken up with <i>Lady Berriedale</i> that
+you will not have much time for me,” and after a
+formal good-by he left the room.</p>
+
+<p>When he had gone Isma stood by the window
+for a long time so motionless that she scarcely
+seemed to breathe. Then at last she lifted her
+head. After all, she was a Folkestone; she would
+show Falcon that no circumstances could terrorize
+her, and she would at least face the perilous future
+with fearless dignity!</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">V<br>
+<small>THE BLACK CROSS</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">THE spring morning sunshine poured its buoyant
+radiance on the big, forbidding-looking
+bluff which made an imperial basis for the imposing
+house situated on its summit.</p>
+
+<p>The Bluff, named after the rocky battlement
+on which it stood, was not only stately, but
+picturesque. Its lower story was of rough-cast
+and the rest of the building covered with bronze-green
+shingles, also it was ornamented with heavy
+beams, numerous wooden gables, balconies, and
+verandas stained dark green.</p>
+
+<p>The house on the headland faced the sea, but
+on its landward side, sloping gently down to the
+main road a quarter of a mile away, was a beautiful
+garden and a long avenue of great Moreton
+Bay fig-trees.</p>
+
+<p>The Bluff had not only a magnificent view of the
+ocean and the broken, imperious coast-line, but
+it also commanded an extensive vista of undulating
+tableland which rolled in monotonous grandeur
+toward the far-away horizon.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span>Just then the sunlight fell full on the tree-sprinkled
+plateaus, flooding them with an amber-hued,
+unearthly brilliance, accentuating their
+vastness and making them look as if they were
+moving, striding wearily onward farther than eye
+could see. It seemed as if these sunburnt plains
+had always stumbled forward, through years,
+through lifetimes, through centuries, always exhausted,
+yet dragging tired feet to a still farther
+horizon.</p>
+
+<p>On one of the broad balconies at The Bluff stood
+Lady Berriedale, her large, restless eyes looking
+beyond the garden and the long drive shadowed
+by the fig-trees to the great stretch of tree-dotted
+tableland.</p>
+
+<p>“Australia—Australia,” she murmured, half
+aloud. “How strange that we are actually here!”</p>
+
+<p>There were slow, gentle footsteps behind her.
+The hectic flush on her thin cheeks deepened
+as she turned to the man coming toward her.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Berriedale was distinctly good-looking.
+He was tall and carried his rather slight figure
+well, though not with the bracing straightness of
+a soldier, and there was a refined grace about him
+which gave charm to his personality. His skin
+was as fair as a girl’s, his hair, brows, and small
+mustache the color of honey, making a strange
+contrast to his large coal-black eyes, which in
+spite of their dark hue had not usually an intense,
+but generally a calm, enigmatic expression. All
+the same, those jet-black orbs, almost feminine
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span>in their liquid softness, gazing lazily beneath
+golden drooping lashes, could at times light up
+with volcanic fires and produce a very disquieting
+effect.</p>
+
+<p>“Neville,” said his wife, in a high-pitched,
+slightly rasping voice, “I believe I shall get quite
+strong here in this wonderful climate. How
+splendid of you to think of it and bring me here—you
+are always so kind and thoughtful!” She
+raised her eyes, brimming with gratitude and
+devotion, to her husband, but he was not looking
+at her; his gaze was fixed on the vast country
+before them, where stanch old gum-trees glittered
+in the warm sunshine. Torrential rains had swept
+over them, hot summer suns bleached them, but
+nothing had been able to vanquish their gaunt,
+persistent strength.</p>
+
+<p>“I am glad you feel like that, dear,” replied
+Lord Berriedale, without turning to her. “Australia
+is, I believe, the healthiest country in the
+world—and you think you will like being here?”</p>
+
+<p>“Like it—I shall love every minute of it! It is
+so different from any place we have seen before.
+It is so huge and the gum-trees so wise-looking
+and clever. Look at them now out there in the
+brilliant sunlight—don’t they look human! and
+there is a sinuous strength about them which
+appeals to me. They remind me of strong men
+who have done a hard day’s work and gone out
+in the plains to reflect. They have such a wondering
+air, as if they were solving big questions;
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span>gum-trees are philosophers—not like the exotic
+variety who dabble in mere theories, but the deep
+thinker who has toiled and deals with realities.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” agreed her husband, half absently,
+stroking his small, fair mustache.</p>
+
+<p>“Neville,” continued his wife, “this seems to
+be a place one can think in—it compels thought.
+At home one had no time; each day was crowded
+to overflowing with things which appeared important
+at the time, but how trivial they seem
+when one is confronted with—this!”</p>
+
+<p>“Didn’t India have the same effect on you?”
+inquired her companion, with apparent interest.</p>
+
+<p>“No, not at all. India is so teeming with
+humanity, every available space occupied, one
+could not get away from people. Here it is different.
+Australia is so roomy it is possible to
+take a step backward without treading on any
+one or having somebody step in front and obscure
+the view. When too close to the seething masses
+of men one cannot understand life, and it is apt
+to become a moving blur, drawing one into its
+chaotic confusion.”</p>
+
+<p>“I wonder if you take a step backward and look
+at life that way, what you will see?” remarked her
+husband, with well-disguised indifference.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know yet. It takes time, for the
+panorama is so great, but I somehow feel it is
+going to alter my attitude toward everything.”</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t think you have viewed life correctly
+before?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span>“No, I have a strange feeling that I have missed
+something vitally important.”</p>
+
+<p>“I wonder what that can be?”</p>
+
+<p>“I cannot tell at present, but it seems as if the
+gum-trees are nearer the truth than I. Do you
+know these lines of an Australian poem? They
+keep coming into my mind,” and in her thin,
+rasping voice she quoted:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="first">“See the swelling breast of the gums,</div>
+<div class="verse">Hearts panting for the Invisible above, tugging at their chains;</div>
+<div class="verse">Immortal longing in those wistful shapes;</div>
+<div class="verse">Waves and waves of leaves pressing up to the Infinite.</div>
+<div class="verse">There one spray of gray-white blossom. The hope of one brings</div>
+<div class="verse">Its heart’s blood red to the young tops.</div>
+<div class="verse">Yet it prays, and will ever pray—as man prays.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>“Aren’t they beautiful!” she exclaimed, after
+repeating the verse. “But I am afraid we are not
+as devoted as the gum-trees—we do not pray as
+much as they do.”</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps not.”</p>
+
+<p>“But Neville, in this vast continent there is
+prayer,” she went on, impulsively, her brown eyes
+burning; “not the conventional elegant prayers
+uttered in churches, but wild, daring prayers,
+wrung from souls battered by tempests, cauterized
+by tropical suns; souls who have fought untamed
+elements, wandered alone in trackless plains;
+souls grown sinewy, virile, strong, whose prayers
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span>are like fire-balls shooting straight to the feet
+of the Infinite.”</p>
+
+<p>“My dear, how imaginative you are to-day!”
+Lord Berriedale replied, without enthusiasm.</p>
+
+<p>Instinctively his wife changed the subject.</p>
+
+<p>“Neville, wasn’t it wonderful that you should
+have heard of this house so near Isma—doesn’t
+it seem as if some kind Providence had arranged
+it all for us?”</p>
+
+<p>Her companion moved his position and again
+his long slim fingers went up to his fair mustache.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, it does seem rather remarkable that The
+Bluff should be available just now and that we
+should have happened to hear of it,” he replied,
+evenly.</p>
+
+<p>“I wonder Mr. Lambert could bear to leave it
+for so long! It is such a lovely house and the
+gardens and grounds so fine.”</p>
+
+<p>“His wife and daughters got tired of the loveliness—they
+preferred Europe for a few years. I
+believe Lambert would rather be here, though.
+However, he was delighted to let us have the
+place—so much better to have it tenanted than
+shut up with a caretaker.”</p>
+
+<p>“Neville,” there was childish joy in the emaciated
+face, “won’t Isma be surprised to see us this
+afternoon! It must be so lovely for her out here.
+I wonder whatever made her come?”</p>
+
+<p>“It is her old home, you know, and I suppose
+the place appeals to her, as it does to you.”</p>
+
+<p>“But it can’t have the same effect on her as
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span>it has on me, for she has not you to enjoy it with
+her, and that makes all the difference!” She
+took a step toward her husband and looked up at
+him with glistening eyes; however, he had evidently
+not noticed her advance, for his attention
+was fixed on the crimson roses winding up the
+pillars of the balcony and sending their vigorous
+trailers along the railing.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Berriedale began to regard the flowers
+also, and her thoughts returned to her friend.
+“Poor Isma has no Neville to make life beautiful
+for her! I wonder why she has not married yet,
+with her scores of admirers? But you don’t know
+how I have missed her all these months. Somehow,
+once she has entered into one’s life, she
+becomes a necessity ever afterward—she has
+such a way of coming in and taking possession!
+Neville, if I were a man, I know I should fall
+desperately in love with her—I couldn’t help
+it—”</p>
+
+<p>“Dear, you are really talking too much, and
+you know the doctor has forbidden you to talk
+much in the morning. Come in and lie down
+for a while, or I am afraid you will not be able to
+go out this afternoon.”</p>
+
+<p>His wife placed a thin, transparent hand on his
+arm and leaned on him heavily; but her leaning
+was not merely weakness seeking support, it was
+more the weight of a great love abandoning itself
+to the object of its affection.</p>
+
+<p>“Darling,” she murmured, “it is so lovely to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span>have you all to myself! At home you were always
+so busy, but now—we can have a second honeymoon.”</p>
+
+<p>He pressed her hand gently. “Yes, I do hope
+you will be happy here; we will go for long drives,
+have picnics by the sea, and when you are strong
+enough you shall bathe—”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Neville, how lovely that will be—I feel
+ever so much better already! Only,” she added,
+a little wistfulness coming into her voice, “it
+seems far too wonderful, as if it could not really
+come true!”</p>
+
+<p>“My dear, it will come true right enough,” he
+assured her, as they walked down the wide,
+spacious hall and entered the morning-room
+facing the ocean.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Berriedale led his wife to a couch near an
+open window and made her lie down among a
+profusion of lilac-tinted cushions; then he placed
+a rug over her and turned to look out on the huge
+sheet of water spread out before them.</p>
+
+<p>The invalid lay back and closed her eyes in
+deep content. “Neville, this is new life to me,”
+she whispered, restfully, breathing in the soft,
+warm air from the sea.</p>
+
+<p>The sun was withdrawing from the morning-room;
+still, through a large end window a narrow
+streak of light fell on the wall, across a picture
+of an interior of a church, illumining a large black
+cross over the altar and making it stand out with
+startling prominence.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span>After a short pause Lady Berriedale looked up
+and her eyes lighted on the black cross so luminously
+clear in the sunlight.</p>
+
+<p>“Neville!” she cried, half frightened, “look at
+that cross. See how it stands out from the
+picture—it seems to be moving toward me!
+Can it be a cross waiting for a—grave— Oh,
+Neville—”</p>
+
+<p>He came to her quickly. “Deary, you have
+overtired yourself this morning, and that makes
+your nerves bad and you imagine all these ghastly
+things. I am afraid I cannot let you go this afternoon;
+we shall have to wait till to-morrow.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, no,” protested the invalid, “I am not
+really tired, only my nerves are silly—but just
+sit down beside me— No, here; then you can
+hide that awful cross—”</p>
+
+<p>Lord Berriedale sat down so that he obscured
+the ominous part of the picture and skilfully
+diverted his wife’s attention to other subjects.</p>
+
+<p>“Did you see Rita driving that car this morning?
+Isn’t she getting on well! She will soon
+be able to go out alone.”</p>
+
+<p>“Will that be safe? Are the roads good in this
+district?”</p>
+
+<p>“I think so. When I was talking to Folkestone
+this morning on the ’phone he said they were
+excellent, on the whole. By the way, he wanted
+to call this afternoon, but I asked him to wait
+till to-morrow, as we were going out.”</p>
+
+<p>His wife turned to him reproachfully. “Neville,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span>how could you? Have you forgotten about
+Rita? Think how disappointed she will be! Why
+didn’t you ask him to lunch or dinner? You
+might have done that.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am sorry, dear, I didn’t think of it. However,
+she will have plenty of opportunities of
+seeing him, now we are so close to his station.
+But do you really think he—cares?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I think so. They were a great deal
+together the last few months in London.”</p>
+
+<p>“But—but”—the tapering fingers played with
+the fair mustache again—“was that—<i>his</i> doing—”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Neville, how blunt you are! Of course
+Rita is violently in love with him, and who can
+blame the poor child, he is so awfully handsome
+and fascinating? All the same, I trust no sister
+of mine should so far lower herself as to—”</p>
+
+<p>Lord Berriedale retreated hastily before the
+cold dignity of the last words. “Of course I
+didn’t mean anything like that. No doubt he is
+quite infatuated, too, and of course Rita is an
+uncommonly pretty girl with her Spanish eyes
+and black hair. She is wonderfully like what you
+used to be.”</p>
+
+<p>The woman at his side was appeased at once
+and a glad flush mounted under her sallow skin.
+“Neville, surely I was never as—pretty as Rita,
+was I?”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course you were, only far prettier!” he
+assured her, with his most charming smile.
+Then he went on in a different tone: “It really
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span>would be a good thing if Rita married Folkestone.
+He is a decent fellow, comes of good stock, and
+has money enough to make any wife comfortable.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I am sure Rita would be ideally happy
+with him. So now, dearest, you won’t forget and
+spoil the young people’s fun, will you?”</p>
+
+<p>“You talk as if we were quite old.” He
+laughed, but there was a forced note in his merriment.</p>
+
+<p>“So we are, dear. I have turned twenty-nine
+and you will be thirty-eight next birthday.”</p>
+
+<p>“Folkestone must be over thirty, too.”</p>
+
+<p>“I believe he is just thirty.” Lady Berriedale
+turned her engagement-ring, blazing with diamonds,
+thoughtfully as she said, “I wonder if
+Isma will ever marry—”</p>
+
+<p>Her companion rose and went over to a window.
+At the same time there was a knock at the door
+and Fred Cockhill Rex, Lord Berriedale’s secretary,
+entered. He was a round, dapper little
+man with scanty, nondescript hair; his face was
+pale with the peculiar pallor of great smokers,
+and it was overrun with a network of fine wrinkles.
+He had a prominent, sharp nose, long, thin lips,
+and pale-blue eyes which always seemed to be
+smiling, and the smile was a curious mixture of
+malice and amiability. However, most people
+only noticed the affability, perhaps because the
+secretary’s manners were so polished and good-natured
+they entirely disarmed suspicion. Rex
+was a great favorite with his employer and had
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span>been in his service for some years; but Lady
+Berriedale neither liked nor trusted him.</p>
+
+<p>“What is it?” asked the tall, fair man at the
+window.</p>
+
+<p>“One of the squatters in the neighborhood has
+rung up to see when it will be convenient for
+him to call; he is at the ’phone now.”</p>
+
+<p>“Any afternoon next week will do,” replied
+Lord Berriedale, with not wholly concealed
+irritation.</p>
+
+<p>“And the gardener wants to know about the
+conservatory—”</p>
+
+<p>“All right, Rex, I’ll go and see him myself,”
+interrupted his lordship, cutting him short.</p>
+
+<p>The two men left the room together, and when
+they had gone Lady Berriedale closed her eyes
+drowsily and was soon fast asleep.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">VI<br>
+<small>THE DEVIL’S ACRE</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">SOON after lunch Lord and Lady Berriedale
+went off in their big Rolls-Royce to call on
+Miss Folkestone.</p>
+
+<p>After Rex had sent them off he went into the
+library and stood by the window smoking a
+Turkish cigarette as he watched the long cloud
+of dust whirling after the receding car.</p>
+
+<p>“Going to see her already—h’m! a little indecent
+haste surely! And her ladyship there,
+too! Holy saints! what fools some women are!
+How they have managed to hoodwink her so long
+I can’t imagine! But she will shake off the
+winkers one of these days and see her adorable
+Neville in his true light.” The secretary slapped
+his fat thighs. “By George! we’ll have a fine
+show then!”</p>
+
+<p>The door opened suddenly and a girl with a
+small, dainty figure bounced into the room. She
+moved rather gracefully, but in a quick, impetuous
+way.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Brentford did not appear to be in a very
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span>happy frame of mind and was ready to be irritated
+by trifles.</p>
+
+<p>She glanced at the man by the window and
+exclaimed, petulantly, “Rex, don’t you <i>ever</i> stop
+smoking!”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course I do. I give you my word of honor
+that I never smoke when I am asleep.”</p>
+
+<p>“You dream about it then,” came the short
+retort.</p>
+
+<p>“Indeed I don’t. Dreams are only for the lovesick
+and the dyspeptic. But,” he added, in a
+different voice, “why don’t you sit down and
+make yourself comfortable in the devil’s acre?”</p>
+
+<p>The girl looked puzzled. “The devil’s acre!
+What on earth is that?”</p>
+
+<p>“The library, of course.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t see the connection.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, it is quite simple. God puts the
+dead into coffins and buries them in His acre;
+but the devil has other methods. He entombs
+living thoughts into books and buries them in
+libraries.”</p>
+
+<p>“You are not very complimentary to books.”</p>
+
+<p>“Indeed I am. The books will feel flattered, I
+assure you. They like to keep up with the times.
+Years ago it was an insult to call any one bad;
+now it is an insult to call them good.”</p>
+
+<p>“I wonder why it is fashionable to be wicked?”
+mused Miss Brentford.</p>
+
+<p>“Because most people haven’t brains enough
+to excel at anything else.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span>“Still, respectability is very dull, don’t you
+think?”</p>
+
+<p>The secretary smiled blatantly. “That depends
+on what you call dull. Of course it is only passion-flowers
+that bear passion-fruit: passion<i>less</i> flowers
+alone bear—respectability.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl blushed. “Now you are talking like
+a French novel.”</p>
+
+<p>“And you are annoyed. That is always the
+way. The people who sneer most at respectability
+are generally the most prudish of all, just
+as the most harmless beings like to pose as incorrigibly
+bad!”</p>
+
+<p>“You are quite wrong about that,” Rita said,
+half absently, her thoughts straying back to her
+grievance as she added, fretfully, “Fancy a whole
+afternoon and nothing to do.”</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t mean to say you are getting bored
+already! Why didn’t you go with the others?
+That would have been more entertaining than
+moping at home.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ugh! Do you think I want to spend the whole
+afternoon with Miss Folkestone? I hate that
+cold creature!”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t think she is cold, but she is undeniably
+beautiful,” observed Rex, apparently unconscious
+that he was pouring petrol on the fire. “Even
+women go quite mad over her.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t think she is beautiful at all; she is too
+over-colored. Her hair is so yellow and her
+cheeks so red.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span>“I should have termed the color in her cheeks
+a vivid pink.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then she is too big,” went on Miss Brentford,
+glancing down at her own small, rather insignificant
+figure. “I don’t admire large women;
+they are heavy and clumsy.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t think any one could accuse Miss
+Folkestone of being ‘heavy and clumsy’; I have
+heard her described as stately, handsome, magnificent,
+even called slender, but heavy, never!”
+replied the secretary, looking into the girl’s frowning
+face with smiling satisfaction. He always
+enjoyed making people angry—with some one
+else, and he was specially pleased to promote ill
+feeling toward Miss Folkestone, as he owed her a
+grudge for snubbing him severely on one occasion
+when he had made rather daring advances.</p>
+
+<p>“Slender!” flashed his companion. “She is
+awkward and ungainly, and I don’t really think
+she is so much admired, after all, except by a few
+overstrung, nervy people like my sister—”</p>
+
+<p>“And Captain Folkestone,” interjected the
+man, in his most silky tones.</p>
+
+<p>The brunette flushed hotly. “He doesn’t like
+her at all—he can’t bear the sight of her!”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, is that so! Of course when he left London
+so soon after her departure and followed her here
+it made one naturally think that—”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, that was only because he is her only
+relative and he must look after her a little.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, of course, and a woman like that would
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span>need a little supervision. These very fair women,
+though they look so cold and—virtuous, are
+really warmer and more dangerous than the
+ordinary kind.”</p>
+
+<p>“Dangerous?”</p>
+
+<p>However, the secretary was not to be drawn
+out any farther. He really felt he had said as
+much as was wise just then; he could drop other
+hints on future occasions. He would have greatly
+enjoyed giving the girl a full explanation at once,
+but dared not draw her attention to her brother-in-law’s
+indiscretions too clearly. Still, he might
+set his companion’s mind working in the right
+direction by throwing out vague hints and stimulating
+her already jealous hatred of Miss Folkestone,
+but this was as far as he thought it safe
+to go at present. However, with her suspicious
+nature and his suggestions to guide her, she
+might yet arrive at the truth, tell her sister, and
+then— The malicious gleam in the small blue
+eyes deepened.</p>
+
+<p>Shortly afterward Rita left the library. The
+secretary picked up a novel, seated himself in a
+deep armchair, and lighted another cigarette.
+As the pale-bluish ringlets floated into the atmosphere,
+he reflected. “She is in galloping consumption,
+and when she is out of the way”—he
+nodded meaningly, “they will marry, of course,
+but in the mean while we can make a fine scene.
+She has it in her to make a good one; by Jupiter!
+she has!” he chuckled. For some time he sat
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span>musing, turning the cigarette greedily between
+his fat fingers, then he laughed under his breath.
+“The beautiful Isma clumsy! Great Christopher!
+So that is what she thinks, the jealous little cat!
+As if she would have half a chance with Folkestone
+or any other man while that fair daredevil is
+about. The conceit of these insignificant little
+women!”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">VII<br>
+<small>ON FRIENDSHIP’S ALTAR</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">ISMA FOLKESTONE had gone up to the big
+cone-shaped headland on the northern side of
+her small bay. But she did not stand expectantly
+with dim hope in her heart, gazing out to sea,
+as she had done some weeks before. She sat
+with her back to the ocean, leaning wearily against
+a big boulder, her elbow on her knee and her
+softly curving chin resting in the pink palm of
+her hand, while her eyes looked with intense
+sadness on the vast plain below, where the little
+silver road stretched contentedly toward the
+slumbering hills.</p>
+
+<p>The sun had set and left behind it a flood of
+molten gold that throbbed with an intensity
+almost human. But the world seemed strangely
+unresponsive to the pulsating beauty above.
+It lay back calm and dreamy as a tired child,
+blissfully unconscious of everything except its own
+delicious need of rest.</p>
+
+<p>The still figure by the rock watched all while she
+tried to fight back the bitter despair in her heart.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span>So it was in vain she had made the big flight and
+hidden in this immense loneliness by the giant
+headlands! It had all been useless! Her hiding-place
+had been discovered. The enemy had
+followed and was now confronting her with new
+vigor, fresh determination to track her down.
+She had considered her life broken before, but
+now she found how much valuable substance
+had remained among the ruins. There had been
+the hope of peace left her and the certainty that
+she had done with sordid things, that even memories
+could in time be flung away, but now— She
+was not merely disquieted by recollections, but
+the hideous thing itself which had made the
+stinging memories had returned to her life and
+leeringly announced it had come to—conquer.</p>
+
+<p>She looked long at the narrow track winding
+across the low flats. Then she suddenly whispered,
+“You little peaceful road creeping so
+leisurely over the tranquil plain, if only I could
+be like you and lie at rest among the friendly
+spider-flowers and sheltering she-oaks!”</p>
+
+<p>She made a little movement with her hands, as
+if stretching them out to something which had
+turned its back on her.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>Lord and Lady Berriedale had been with her
+that afternoon. Beatrice had been delighted with
+the little red house among the palms and greatly
+excited at seeing her again. Isma could still feel
+the convulsive embraces of the thin arms, she
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span>could still see the deepening of the hectic flush
+in the wan cheeks. Lady Berriedale had been
+ecstatically happy as they sat on the balcony
+behind the glowing veil of bignonia flowers.
+While the little dark woman talked incessantly,
+she had frequently sent frankly adoring glances
+at her grave, unresponsive husband. But his
+lack of enthusiasm did not seem to quench her
+fervor, for at times when disquieting thoughts
+troubled her she told herself that Neville was not
+impulsive, he had no Spanish blood in his veins
+like herself; he was English, reserved, and hated
+to show his emotions. But she would have
+awakened to the truth that afternoon if she had
+seen the passive expression in her husband’s dark
+eyes give place to a sudden flash of fire whenever
+he gazed unobserved at their beautiful hostess.
+However, the tall, fair man was guarded, and it
+was only from behind his wife’s chair he permitted
+the burning appeals to reach the girl,
+who responded only with the coldest disdain.</p>
+
+<p>As Isma’s guests were leaving, Lady Berriedale
+had taken the girl’s slim hand in her own feverish
+ones and begged her to come to The Bluff every
+day. She would send a car for her, and insisted
+on her friend promising to come. The girl could
+not refuse the hollow, pleading eyes, encircled
+by those fatal shadows, and she had yielded.
+Yes, whatever happened, the sufferer should have
+all it was in her power to give during the inevitably
+short time granted her by destiny.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span>Now Isma sat fully considering what this
+promise would mean to herself. She shivered.
+Could any one be compelled to pay a costlier
+price for the gift she was laying on the altar of
+friendship? She had already been branded before
+the world because of her sacrifice to this friend.
+However, now a much greater demand was made
+upon her. When she had fled from danger might
+not people learn to believe in her sincerity in
+wishing to evade disaster? But when they heard
+about present developments—that she was constantly
+at The Bluff with the Berriedales, would
+not the world turn from her in disgust and conclude
+that her flight had merely been a step
+toward a deeper intrigue?</p>
+
+<p>And what would Falcon think? That Lord
+Berriedale should pursue her might not wholly
+condemn her in his eyes; but if she resumed the
+old intimacy with his wife, and he found her
+constantly in the way of danger again, would he
+not irrevocably lose every vestige of respect
+for her?</p>
+
+<p>“Good God!” she moaned, “why am I called
+on to make such a sacrifice to a dying woman?
+Can friendship demand such a stupendous offering?”
+Her head dropped. All at once she knew
+that friendship cannot only ask for all that one
+holds dear, but it can exact that life itself be laid
+in full surrender at its feet.</p>
+
+<p>Isma rose slowly. The sunset had faded and a
+delicate gloom was creeping into the great spaces
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span>above her. She remembered when she stood
+looking into them some weeks ago and felt they
+held vast, lofty things, that she had expected
+somehow to come into touch with them; but now,
+though she was still conscious of their presence,
+they seemed utterly unapproachable and out of
+reach, for had she not been thrust back into the
+whirlpool? Lofty things were not for her!</p>
+
+<p>She glanced up the coast-line. In the distance
+a big scarred bluff, its head a little tilted, stared
+with half-blind eyes out to sea.</p>
+
+<p>The girl watched it for some moments. “Yes,
+that is life,” she muttered under her breath; “a
+half-blind staring into the greatness that broods
+above the whirlpool of earth, but never descends
+to the men and women who are in such desperate
+need of its infinite peace!” she exclaimed, bitterly,
+as she walked down the rough slope of the headland
+to her home among the palms.</p>
+
+<p>The soft violet tints on the coast-line faded
+and a thick, uncompromising darkness strode in
+from the ocean and wrapped rocks, beaches, and
+cliffs in its austere mantle of night.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">VIII<br>
+<small>RING-BARKED</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">DURING the following weeks Isma did not
+visit her favorite cliff. She was back in the
+old life, almost daily seated in the purple-crested
+car with its mauve lining and silver fittings belonging
+to the Berriedales. It called for her constantly,
+and she was whirled to numerous beauty
+spots on the coast and inland with her friends.</p>
+
+<p>The weather had been fine, and for weeks the
+sun had swept the turquoise heavens in golden
+majesty. Lady Berriedale had enjoyed the long
+days in the brilliant spring sunshine; she certainly
+looked better and was able to stand the
+outings without distressing symptoms of fatigue.
+Captain Folkestone joined all the excursions, but
+he was generally beside Miss Brentford, so Isma
+saw very little of him. She rigorously avoided
+being alone with Lord Berriedale and devoted
+herself entirely to the friend for whom she was
+making the colossal sacrifice.</p>
+
+<p>So for a little while danger had been kept at
+bay and the girl had been able to avoid unpleasant
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span>encounters. But the fiery glances which found
+their way from the black eyes to her own told her
+that the scene she dreaded could not long be
+postponed. One day a picnic had been arranged
+to a beautiful lagoon some miles away, but on the
+morning of the trip Lady Berriedale did not feel
+well enough to go. It was impossible to put off
+the outing at such short notice, as some of the
+neighboring squatters and their families had been
+invited. But Isma refused to leave her friend,
+and after seeing the party off she joined her in the
+morning-room facing the ocean.</p>
+
+<p>The invalid was lying on a couch, looking worn
+and ill. Her skin was sallow and parched, but
+near her cheek-bones were dark-red patches.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Folkestone sat down beside her and took
+up some embroidery. “Perhaps you would rather
+I read to you?” she asked, as she threaded a
+needle with some jade-green silk.</p>
+
+<p>Her companion did not reply for a moment;
+her big eyes were fastened on the picture with the
+large black cross over the altar. The sun had
+left the room some time ago, so no illumining
+rays picked out the fatal symbol and made it
+prominent and important. All the same, the
+patient watched it with peculiar interest. At
+last she said:</p>
+
+<p>“No, I don’t want you to read to me just now,
+thank you. I want to talk— There is something
+on my mind I want to ask you about.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, dear—what is it?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span>“Do you believe in omens, in forebodings?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know; I have never thought about
+them.”</p>
+
+<p>“But don’t you think it feasible that big,
+dreadful events should be felt before they actually
+happen? Look how birds feel a storm coming
+and cry out in terror long before the gale is actually
+there. And if you have been in the vicinity
+of icebergs, you know how you feel the terrible
+cold long before they are visible, and on the same
+principle don’t you think big, horrible events are
+felt beforehand?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, perhaps they are.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, lately I have had an awful feeling
+that”—she removed her large, solemn eyes
+from the painting and fixed them on Isma, and
+there was a peculiar glassy expression in them
+as she said—“that—death is near.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl shuddered at the unearthly gravity
+in the gaze fastened on her and the hollow sound
+in the weak voice. She dropped her work and
+bent over her friend quickly.</p>
+
+<p>“Deary,” she pleaded, anxiously, “don’t talk
+like that—please don’t!” She would have liked
+to make light of the premonition and brush it
+emphatically aside, but she was always strictly
+truthful, and falsehood on such an occasion seemed
+specially abhorrent to her.</p>
+
+<p>However, the frail woman among the silk
+cushions could not have been turned aside by any
+protest. “Isma, I must tell you about it, for I
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span>cannot talk to Neville. Don’t you see it would
+grieve and upset him if I spoke of—leaving him?”</p>
+
+<p>The girl looked suddenly away; the unconscious
+pathos of the last words went strangely to her
+heart, and at that moment she felt unutterably
+thankful that she had put her own happiness aside
+in order to keep her friend blind—keep her from
+knowing the truth which would break her heart.</p>
+
+<p>“What is the matter, dear?” asked Lady Berriedale,
+a little fretfully, glancing toward the averted
+face.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Folkestone turned to her quickly. “Oh,
+Beatrice, can’t you understand that I—?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, of course I can!” interrupted the invalid,
+penitently, taking one of the girl’s hands. “Of
+course it is hard for you, too, and I know how
+deeply you will feel it. Still, do let me talk about
+it. It will help me— It is so hard to brood over
+things—alone.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then tell me all about it—just how you feel,”
+responded her companion, kissing the lined, damp
+brow.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, several times lately I have had a most
+extraordinary sensation, as if some dreadful
+chilly presence was near me, something indescribably
+awful, and I know—it has been <i>death</i>
+itself—”</p>
+
+<p>The girl’s grip tightened on the wasted fingers.
+What was there to say in the face of the tragedy
+confronting her? She felt utterly powerless.
+For some moments she sat silent, casting about
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span>in her mind for words which might bring comfort.
+At length she said: “Do you think there is a real
+death? So many poets and writers say there is
+not, that what we call death is only—”</p>
+
+<p>“No death!” interrupted the woman beside
+her. “Those people cannot know what they are
+talking about! Such sentiments are written by
+strong men in robust health, who have never been
+in the vicinity of the terrible Icy Presence,” she
+concluded, her eyes glistening with fevered brilliance.</p>
+
+<p>“But, dear,” remonstrated Isma once more,
+“you are only having these feelings because this
+is one of your bad days. To-morrow you will be
+better and all will seem different.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I know; still, bad days are the times
+when Death reveals his presence and—takes a
+step nearer.”</p>
+
+<p>“But to-morrow he will depart again.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, Death never retreats. He may stand
+inert for a while, yet his cold, hollow gaze never
+leaves his prey for a moment.”</p>
+
+<p>Miss Folkestone bent over her friend in deep
+distress. “Beatrice, do you think it wise to dwell
+on that subject? Isn’t it a pity to endow Death
+with too great importance?”</p>
+
+<p>“Dear, Death has awful powers. You cannot
+know because you have never felt them. But
+think of it, he takes life—<i>life itself</i>. Isma,” she
+went on, impressively, “can’t you imagine what
+that means?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span>“But does he take it? That is the question.
+If he did, he would be the Monarch of life and
+there would be no life beyond, as we are told
+there is.”</p>
+
+<p>Lady Berriedale shook her head. “That does
+not follow. It seems to me Death takes life
+very much as an executioner does. However, he
+cannot interfere with what is beyond any more
+than an executioner can.”</p>
+
+<p>Isma looked reflectively out of the window on
+the sunlit coast-line. “Perhaps Death is an
+executioner?” She turned an inquiring gaze on
+her friend. “Still, that makes us criminals, and
+criminals of the worst type, for only they are
+dealt with in such a terrible way.”</p>
+
+<p>As her companion was silent, she went on.
+“Perhaps that is why this world is so sad and full
+of anguish. It may be a great prison-house,
+keeping the spirit-criminals of the universe till
+their sentence is carried out—”</p>
+
+<p>She was suddenly interrupted, for Lady Berriedale
+had half raised herself and her shrill voice
+pierced through the room.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma—Isma—I feel so ill! Quickly ring for
+Abbott and let her get me to bed!”</p>
+
+<p>It was four o’clock in the afternoon when Lady
+Berriedale awoke from her long, heavy sleep.
+Her dark eyes opened slowly and strayed round
+the room as if she did not recognize her surroundings
+immediately. Then they lighted on the fair
+girl sitting beside her.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span>“Isma,” she said, moving her hand across her
+brow, “what a horrid day this has been for you!”</p>
+
+<p>“No, no!” protested her companion, brightly.
+“I am only too glad to be with you.”</p>
+
+<p>“You are a darling and no one in the world
+is as kind and good as you, except, of course,
+Neville.”</p>
+
+<p>Miss Folkestone lowered her eyes and began
+to smooth the lacy pillow.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma, I feel so much better now I could almost
+get up; still, perhaps it will be wiser to stay here.
+But, deary, would you mind going into the drawing-room
+and singing me some songs? If you
+leave the doors open I shall be able to hear—only
+sing me something full of life and beauty, something
+throbbing with romance, which makes one
+realize all we are meant to enjoy!”</p>
+
+<p>The girl’s face brightened and she bent and
+kissed her friend happily. “Of course I shall
+love to sing to you!” She left the room, and as
+she crossed the hall the invalid called to her:</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t forget to finish with my favorite from
+‘Samson et Dalila.’”</p>
+
+<p>“Very well,” Isma replied, entering the large
+drawing-room, which faced north and west so
+that from its many windows the extensive coast-line
+as well as the rolling plains could be seen.</p>
+
+<p>Black, mauve, and purple predominated in the
+lavishly furnished room. On the black, highly
+polished floor lay a large velvety black carpet
+bordered with bunches of violets and mauve-ribbon
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span>true-lovers’ knots. The easy-chairs, divans,
+and high-backed settees were covered
+with shadow tissue and provided with a profusion
+of shirred purple, black, and mauve silk
+cushions, and the many deep-cream curtains had
+rows of wide mauve, black, and purple ribbons
+at their lower edges. The tables and mantelpiece
+were of polished ebony holding numerous
+vases filled with spring flowers. In front of the
+hearth lay two big shirred <i>bouffées</i> and in the
+northern recess of the bay-windows stood the
+ebony grand piano. By it and close to a writing-desk
+were tall standard lamps with purple-beaded
+shades.</p>
+
+<p>On the walls hung a fine collection of Australian
+pictures, big canvases by Streeton aglow with
+riotous sunlight; a few animated portraits by
+Longstaff—children’s heads, alive, warm, kissable;
+delicious water-colors from Lindsay’s brush, one
+or two very imaginative studies by Norman
+Carter, and some beautiful pastels by Florence
+Rodway.</p>
+
+<p>Isma walked over to the piano.</p>
+
+<p>As she sat down at the instrument the sunlight
+fell fall upon her luxuriant yellow hair and made
+her lime-colored frock strangely luminous. Her
+white fingers ran lightly over the keys, creating a
+delicate, smooth atmosphere into which she might
+pour the songs she loved. No true artist can bear
+to send forth a strain of favorite music into an
+unprepared world. The air must first be warmed,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span>subdued, made a soft cradle for the tender song-notes
+to rest in.</p>
+
+<p>Then Miss Folkestone began to sing. She had
+a rich contralto voice which harmonized strangely
+with her loveliness—it was curiously part of it.
+Some voices seem a thing apart, as if they had no
+connection either with the singer’s appearance or
+individuality; but Isma’s voice was herself, it
+throbbed with her vital personality and in it
+quivered her extravagant beauty.</p>
+
+<p>The invalid had asked for romantic music, and
+love-song after love-song pulsated through the
+room. Isma sang with great feeling; it seemed
+as if every tender word, every passionate avowal,
+was a spontaneous utterance from her own heart.</p>
+
+<p>At last the singer struck the fluttering, breathless
+chords of her friend’s favorite song, and into
+the afternoon radiance floated the thrilling words:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="first">“Softly awakes my heart</div>
+<div class="verse">As the flowers awaken</div>
+<div class="verse">To Aurora’s tender zephyr!</div>
+<div class="verse">But say, Oh, well beloved,</div>
+<div class="verse">No more I’ll be forsaken.</div>
+<div class="verse">Speak again, Oh, speak forever!</div>
+<div class="verse">Oh, say that from Delilah</div>
+<div class="verse">You never will part!</div>
+<div class="verse">Your burning vows repeat;</div>
+<div class="verse">Vows so dear to my heart.”</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Then followed the refrain with its haunting
+music heavy with passionate sweetness.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span></p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="first">“Oh, once again do I implore thee!</div>
+<div class="verse">Oh, once again then say you adore me!</div>
+<div class="verse">Oh, I here implore thee!</div>
+<div class="verse">See, I implore thee!</div>
+<div class="verse">Oh, once again then say you adore me!”</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>As the last notes of the second verse trembled
+into space a figure moved from the other end of
+the room; it was Lord Berriedale.</p>
+
+<p>The dreaded encounter had come. There was
+no escape, for the fair man approaching her, his
+footsteps entirely muffled by the thick black
+carpet, was between herself and the only door
+leading from the apartment, and she was now
+aware that it had been noiselessly closed while
+she was singing.</p>
+
+<p>Isma rose instinctively.</p>
+
+<p>“You seem a little surprised to see me,” began
+the man, in soft tones. “I left the picnic early—had
+to come back and see how Beatrice was
+getting on, of course, but she is not needing either
+you or me at present, for she is fast asleep, so we
+can have our long-delayed tête-à-tête, as the
+others will not be back till dinner-time,” he said,
+coming up to her.</p>
+
+<p>The girl made no outward sign that her heart
+was throbbing wildly. She was not afraid, but
+she loathed the inevitable scene before her.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma,” said Lord Berriedale, as she made no
+reply, “do you think you have treated me very
+kindly, giving me this long chase across the world
+after you?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span>“I did not wish you to follow me. In fact, I
+think it a great impertinence that you have done
+so!”</p>
+
+<p>“But you knew I would come.”</p>
+
+<p>“I had hoped that after a little time to reflect
+you would have—”</p>
+
+<p>“Time to reflect indeed!” He interrupted her
+scoffingly. “As if I should stop for that! From
+the moment you left I began to make plans for
+pursuit, of course. Isma,” he took a step nearer,
+his eyes alight with something which made a cold
+shiver pass through the girl, “you know my love
+is not the kind which can be balked.”</p>
+
+<p>“Lord Berriedale, I have forbidden you to
+mention love to me,” said Isma, with a sudden
+proud tilt of her head.</p>
+
+<p>“That is most unfortunate, for it happens to
+be the very subject I have come to talk about.”</p>
+
+<p>“Please let me pass. I want to go back to
+Beatrice.”</p>
+
+<p>“I tell you she is asleep, so I am afraid you will
+have to put up with my society for the present.”</p>
+
+<p>“You surely will not keep me here against my
+will?”</p>
+
+<p>“I shall be sorry to do that, but you so rarely
+favor me with a talk I can’t afford to waste this
+splendid opportunity.”</p>
+
+<p>“Lord Berriedale, I am your wife’s friend and
+guest. Please let me pass.”</p>
+
+<p>He blocked the way more obviously. “Isma,
+to-day you must listen to me.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span>“I will not listen!”</p>
+
+<p>His eyes bored themselves into hers. “Do you
+think it wise to—play with me like this? Don’t
+you know it is dangerous to play with fire?”</p>
+
+<p>“I am not playing, and you know it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Believe me, it would be wiser of you not to
+try me too much. If you strain my powers of
+endurance too far, there is no telling to what
+lengths you may drive me. At present my only
+intention is to talk to you; but if you refuse to
+listen, can’t you see you only force me to use more
+desperate means of securing your attention?”</p>
+
+<p>Miss Folkestone did not reply, yet her silence
+was not an acquiescence; rather it seemed a
+louder protest than any words could have been.</p>
+
+<p>Still, the man would not be silenced.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma, I heard you singing that last song. Do
+you realize what such words coming from your
+lips mean to me—?”</p>
+
+<p>“I only sang them because Beatrice wished it.
+I had no idea you were listening,” she explained,
+coldly.</p>
+
+<p>“You might have known I should come back
+early. I loathe picnics. Heavens! how they
+bore me! Fancy being dragged out with a lot
+of stupid people I have no more interest in than
+the pebbles on the shore! I only put up with
+those affairs because you are generally there and
+they are part of the scheme which keeps me
+near you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps now that you have said all this, you
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span>will let me go back to Beatrice?” said Miss
+Folkestone, quietly.</p>
+
+<p>“Let you go now? Why, I haven’t even begun
+to say what I want to. Isma,” his tones changed
+and he came still closer, “I can’t stand this any
+longer. Your coldness is intolerable! To see you
+daily, be near your maddening loveliness, witness
+your tenderness and devotion to another, while
+you give me only frosty indifference—how do you
+expect me to stand it? You put a greater strain
+on me than I can bear!” He spoke jerkily, his
+eyes burning upon her face.</p>
+
+<p>“How often shall I have to tell you that I will
+not listen to such talk!”</p>
+
+<p>“But you must listen. I can’t go on like this
+any longer. You must treat me differently. Be
+kind, Isma.” A note of pleading crept into his
+voice. “I only ask for kindness. Give me a
+little friendliness!”</p>
+
+<p>“How can I give you friendliness when you
+talk to me as you do?” she said, fixing her steady
+gaze upon him.</p>
+
+<p>“Most women like devotion—”</p>
+
+<p>“I do not appreciate it from my friend’s
+husband.”</p>
+
+<p>“But you could learn to value it—I could teach
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Never!” cried the girl, indignantly. “Whatever
+you said, you could not teach me such treachery!”</p>
+
+<p>“No, perhaps words could not teach you to—love,
+but—my arms—”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span>“How dare you suggest such a thing—how dare
+you insult me!” she flung at him, her face aflame,
+her superb eyes flashing.</p>
+
+<p>The man before her turned white. “Great God!
+you are magnificent! It is worth while making
+you angry to see you like this!”</p>
+
+<p>“You are cruel and heartless!”</p>
+
+<p>“Cruel and heartless?” His black eyes narrowed
+till they were mere points of burning flame.
+“You should be the last being in the world to
+accuse me of that! Now you force me to prove
+to you that I am not heartless, that I—”</p>
+
+<p>He came nearer and made a movement as if he
+would have caught her to him.</p>
+
+<p>The girl drew back quickly and stood leaning
+against the light-tinted wall with its panels of
+purple flags, every vestige of color drained from
+her face, but entrancingly lovely in its proud,
+marble-like whiteness.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma”—he spoke with difficulty—“you are
+enough to turn the sanest man love-mad!”</p>
+
+<p>The girl stiffened and pressed herself against the
+wall as if she expected it to recede with her weight.</p>
+
+<p>He was bending toward her now, his breast
+almost touching her own. His arms moved—</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes dilated with horror and she drew a
+shuddering breath—</p>
+
+<p>The door at the other end of the room had
+opened and Captain Folkestone’s pleasant voice
+said, in light, inquiring tones: “Is my cousin
+here. Lord Berriedale? Oh, Isma, I see you are
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span>there,” and after crossing the floor he continued:
+“There is a big thunder-storm coming, so our
+picnic broke up sooner than we expected. I am
+going home now,” he went on, addressing the girl,
+“and if you would like to come, there is room
+in my car. But we must hurry or we shall not
+escape the rain,” he urged, apparently unconscious
+of the tenseness of the situation he had
+interrupted.</p>
+
+<p>“It is a splendid thing this thunder-storm should
+come along just now,” remarked Falcon, when his
+cousin had left the room. “These spells of—heat
+are very disastrous sometimes.”</p>
+
+<p>“I should have thought you would consider
+the storm a confounded nuisance, breaking up the
+picnic,” replied the other man, with scarcely
+veiled irritation.</p>
+
+<p>“That was a pity, of course! Still, such things
+are only trifling annoyances compared with the
+great misfortunes such storms may avert. That
+is the best of this country—if heat presumes too
+much, the revenger is always close at hand. I
+am speaking of thunder-storms, of course,” said
+the soldier, in a tone which was careless yet at
+the same time held an ominous meaning.</p>
+
+<p>Isma appeared at the door just then and put an
+end to further conversation between the men,
+and after a rather formal good-by the cousins
+left The Bluff.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">IX<br>
+<small>THE THUNDER-STORM</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">ON the way home Captain Folkestone was very
+silent. He sat at the wheel looking straight
+in front of him, tense, absorbed, white. Isma
+had expected him to hurl sarcasm at her or speak
+with fierce bitterness, but he did neither. He
+hardly looked at her, and yet she felt that he was
+acutely conscious of her presence. She caught
+glimpses of his face sometimes, when she glanced
+beyond him at the large, glittering beaches,
+obtruding headlands, and the darkened horizon,
+above which the sky was banked with huge inky
+clouds reflecting their threatening mien in the
+heaving waters below. Once as she looked a
+shaft of yellow fire flashed out from the dark,
+ominous masses, there was a slight hesitation, then
+followed a long, low growl which rumbled angrily
+over the cowering sea.</p>
+
+<p>Isma started a little.</p>
+
+<p>Her companion turned to her at once as if
+curiously aware of her slightest movement.</p>
+
+<p>“Are you afraid?” he asked, in a voice she
+hardly recognized as his.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span>“No, thank you,” she replied, in tones which
+were not too even. “I am not afraid, only—”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes?” he asked, not looking at her.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I can hardly explain.” She shuddered
+slightly.</p>
+
+<p>“Thunder-storms make you think of—corresponding
+upheavals in life?” he suggested, his
+grip on the wheel tightening.</p>
+
+<p>She made no reply, but turned her face away
+and looked inland. A greenish, unearthly light
+lighted up the hills and the intervening stretch of
+bush—everywhere there were traces of the overhanging
+storm.</p>
+
+<p>But it was not long before they approached The
+Palms.</p>
+
+<p>As the machine slowed down Isma said, “Won’t
+you come in and wait till the storm is over?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, thanks. I think I had better get home.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, if you won’t come in I will get out here.
+The rain may come down any moment and—”</p>
+
+<p>From the lowering clouds burst a long, forked
+streak of light and a deafening clap followed
+almost immediately, shaking the earth beneath
+them.</p>
+
+<p>“Go quickly,” she urged, springing out of the
+car. “The rain coming will be terrible.”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>That</i> kind of storm will not hurt me,” he said,
+grimly, walking over to the gate and opening it
+for her to pass through.</p>
+
+<p>She held out her hand to him. “Thank you,
+Falcon,” she said, in a soft, low voice.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span>He raised his cap with an odd gravity and held
+her hand for a moment as he said good-by.</p>
+
+<p>She walked away into the breathless stillness:
+under the palms. Then some impulse made her
+all at once stop and look back. It happened so
+quickly that the man leaning over the gate watching
+her had not time to move away, and she surprised
+a look in his eyes which made her heart
+give a sudden suffocating bound, while her gaze
+was riveted to his. But it was only a second
+before the mask dropped over her cousin’s face,
+and, raising his cap once more, he tore himself
+away, sprang into the car, and drove away.</p>
+
+<p>As the girl reached the house great drops
+splashed heavily on the garden path; their
+vehemence increased till they pelted leaves and
+flowers with savage ferocity. Lightning flashed,
+thunder-clap upon thunder-clap rolled through
+the huge inky spaces. Between the wet, drooping
+palm leaves Isma saw her cousin’s motor climb
+up the steep ascent toward her favorite cliff.</p>
+
+<p>The front door opened and Miss Livingston
+rushed out. “Come in quickly. Don’t stand
+out there in the awful rain. You are getting
+absolutely soaked!” she called, anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>The girl came up the steps mechanically, and
+after replying to the usual questions about Lady
+Berriedale’s health, and how she had spent the
+day, went up to her own room.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>That night Isma went to bed early, for she was
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span>tired, but she did not sleep till late. She lay
+listening to the torrential rain beating peremptorily
+on the stiff, resisting palm leaves. At times
+the downpour ceased and a rough wind rushed
+across the bay and charged madly at the loudly
+protesting trees.</p>
+
+<p>The girl listened absently, her senses numbed
+by delicious stupor. She heard the sounds from
+without through the wide-open windows, but they
+seemed strangely distant; everything seemed far
+away; even the scene with Lord Berriedale in the
+drawing-room was remote now. Her mind was
+absorbed by a confused sweetness, caused by the
+look she had so unexpectedly caught in her cousin’s
+eyes. What did his expression mean? Why had
+he gazed after her like that? His eyes haunted
+her, causing a joyous languor to creep over her;
+she was unable to stir. At last, after hours of
+dreamy wakefulness, she fell asleep.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">X<br>
+<small>THE BELL-BIRD</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">MISS LIVINGSTON and Isma had just finished
+breakfast the following morning when
+Captain Folkestone’s car drew up at the front
+door and a moment later the owner entered the
+dining-room, his handsome face lighted up with
+his irresistible smile.</p>
+
+<p>“I have come to carry off my cousin for the
+day,” he said, taking the old lady’s hand with the
+courtly charm which had brought him so much
+favor in the outer world. “She looked pale last
+night after her long day in the house, and now I
+am going to take her out in the sunshine—it is
+such a lovely morning after the storm.”</p>
+
+<p>“But—” began the girl, astonished and hesitating.</p>
+
+<p>“There are to be no ‘buts’ at all. Lady Berriedale
+is much better. I rang up before leaving
+home and let her know you would not be able to
+see her to-day—that I claimed you.”</p>
+
+<p>Isma glanced at him gratefully. How tactfully
+he was managing the embarrassing situation
+so as not to rouse Lady Berriedale’s suspicions
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span>regarding her absence from The Bluff! Yet why
+this change of front toward herself? He had
+never treated her like this before. He was generally
+delightfully pleasant to others, but for her
+he had so far only reserved cold cynicism and
+pitiless scorn. Perhaps the change in his attitude
+was due to that long, mute look which had passed
+between them the night before.</p>
+
+<p>When Isma came down ready for the outing
+she wore a full-length, pale, putty-tinted motor-coat,
+a Dutch-looking bonnet of sand-colored
+straw, with its narrow brim turned slightly back
+from her face and lined with deep bignonia-pink
+silk, and a long veil of the same hue draped her
+in its warm, colorous sheen.</p>
+
+<p>Captain Folkestone breathed a little unevenly
+as he caught sight of her, then quickly smiling he
+exclaimed, lightly, addressing the governess to
+whom he had been talking: “Miss Livingston,
+do you wonder that we succumb at once at the
+sight of such bewildering loveliness? How on
+earth is a man to remain level-headed with this
+vision beside him?”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course you can’t help being in love with
+my big, adorable Baby. No one can—”</p>
+
+<p>“Falcon, don’t listen to her,” the girl interrupted,
+coloring and laughing as she went out to
+the car.</p>
+
+<p>It was a glorious morning; every trace of the
+storm had disappeared. The sun shone, the
+earth glistened, birds sang, and the ocean broke
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span>into dazzling smiles, showing its white, gleaming
+teeth as it approached the shore. The air was
+fragrant with the smell of freshly washed things,
+the scent of flowers, and the pungent odors from
+the sea. The world was intensely young, with
+the exuberant youth of spring! The sunlight
+throbbed with a tense vitality; it was peculiarly
+alive with chirping notes, the flutter of happy
+wings, and the hilarious boom of waves.</p>
+
+<p>“And may I ask where you are carrying me off
+to?” the girl queried, with a happy smile, as they
+sped toward the northern headland.</p>
+
+<p>His blue eyes answered her smile as he said:</p>
+
+<p>“We are going thirty miles up the coast and will
+lunch at a small hotel. I took the precaution to
+order our meal by ’phone, and then—”</p>
+
+<p>The girl’s laugh interrupted him suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>“You made very sure that I would come!”
+she said, the gleam still in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course I knew you would not be going to
+The Bluff to-day,” he began, in graver tones;
+then, seeing a cloud pass over her face at the
+mention of The Bluff, he added, more lightly,
+“But in any case, whatever engagements you had,
+I meant to carry you off.”</p>
+
+<p>The brightness came back to her eyes again.</p>
+
+<p>“Isn’t this a real Australian day!” she remarked,
+after a short silence. “It reminds me of one of
+Streeton’s pictures. Isn’t it marvelous the way
+he gets the Australian atmosphere and its vivid
+sunlight!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span>“Yes, indeed! But then Streeton is one of our
+finest artists. He has reached the highest in art,
+when it ceases to be art and becomes nature.”</p>
+
+<p>“You put it well! But doesn’t that rather
+sound as if you thought that things could not be
+at their best unless they had ceased to be themselves
+and become something else?”</p>
+
+<p>“Everything at its highest is always something
+else.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t quite see that.”</p>
+
+<p>“Paint is not at its greatest as paint, but when
+it has ceased to be paint and becomes a flower, a
+sunset, or a beautiful girl’s head. And isn’t water
+at its highest when it ceases to be water and
+becomes cloud? Or coal when it becomes fire?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, and a painter when he ceases to be a
+painter and becomes an artist.”</p>
+
+<p>“What would you say was the difference between
+a painter and an artist?”</p>
+
+<p>“I should say a painter is a skilled workman
+who sees the shell of his subject and can represent
+that, while an artist sees through a shell to the
+kernel and can reproduce it for others to see.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, certainly, it is always far cleverer to
+see what isn’t there than what is! But talking
+about art,” he went on, “there is a picture in the
+Sydney Art Gallery which impressed me greatly
+as a boy—I have never forgotten it and I can
+see it still. It is one of Lister Lister’s called
+‘The Ever-restless Sea.’ It is a fine piece of
+work. The sand is real sand, and there is splendid
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span>movement in the waves, they look so somberly
+restless! By the way,” he added, “why is the sea
+so restless?”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you think it is restless? It does not strike
+me as that. It seems rather that the sea is so
+big, so strong, that it has to move because of its
+overwhelming exuberance. The crash and roar
+of the waves are only ways of letting off superfluous
+energy. The sea cannot help booming and
+thundering any more than a bird can help singing.
+The boom and crash are only songs of the sea.”</p>
+
+<p>“And what are its songs about? Love?” He
+was looking at the girl again.</p>
+
+<p>“I should hardly think so. They seem too
+boisterous, too loud and wild for that.”</p>
+
+<p>“Sometimes love is very boisterous and—wild.”</p>
+
+<p>“Real love?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, certainly, and it can clamor louder in the
+heart than any wave on the shore.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, that may be so,” replied Isma, a half-sigh
+escaping her unawares, though it did not
+escape the notice of her companion. “Still, it
+seems to me that love is too sacramental a thing
+for noisy vehemence.”</p>
+
+<p>“That is one side of it, but it has others. When
+you stand on a cliff in a storm and watch the
+heaving waters below flinging themselves against
+the rocks—what swirling! What seething! The
+crushed waves positively boiling with the violence
+of their own passion. That, too, is like love.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl looked away and made no reply, but
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span>her cousin felt the slight sigh which passed
+through her. A few moments afterward she
+began to talk brightly about other things.</p>
+
+<p>The road did not run along by the coast all the
+way. Once they had to turn inland for miles,
+to cross a large river and travel another long distance
+before they could skim along by the sea
+again. Often they had to drive very slowly, as the
+track was rough, but the scenery was so beautiful
+that it was a delight to take a longer time passing
+it. The car pushed up steeply graded hills, went
+through colossal forests where giant gums, blackbutts,
+and turpentine-trees met overhead, where
+bronze-winged pigeons flashed among the leaves
+and the roadside was lined with cotton-bushes
+and lantana smothered in pink and cream blooms.</p>
+
+<p>At the top of a small rise Captain Folkestone
+stopped the machine as he said, “I remember
+years ago you could hear the bell-bird just here—”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you think they would keep to the same
+spot all that time?”</p>
+
+<p>“Most likely. They hardly ever move away
+from their favorite locality.”</p>
+
+<p>When the throbbing of the engine had subsided
+Isma and her cousin sat quietly listening,
+gazing expectantly into the green blur of foliage.</p>
+
+<p>There was a great stillness in the forest; not a
+dull, dead silence, but a stillness keenly and
+eagerly alive, which held stirring forces and
+throbbed with unknown wonderful possibilities.
+Occasionally a leaf fluttered to the ground or a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span>dry twig cracked, and sometimes a falling piece
+of bark rustled noisily among startled leaves.</p>
+
+<p>But after a pause there came into the breathing
+quiet two liquid notes like the tinkle of a silver
+bell.</p>
+
+<p>The man and woman started and looked at each
+other.</p>
+
+<p>The idyllic tinkle sounded again—then again.</p>
+
+<p>“Isn’t it wonderful to hear the fairy-bells again,
+as we used to call them when we were children!”
+cried the girl, under her breath.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, indeed,” replied Falcon, with a happy,
+reminiscent smile. “And I shall never forget
+how, as a boy, I rushed all over the bush in search
+of the bird—you know what a splendid ventriloquist
+it is—and it led me an awful dance, and
+often after I had been all over the place and come
+back to the starting-point I found the mischievous
+little imp must have been sitting in the same tree
+all the time, enjoying watching my chase! I used
+to call it the Australian will-o’-the-wisp! Other
+countries have a light for that purpose, but we,
+being different from the rest of the world, have
+another variety—our will-o’-the-wisp is a musical
+call, a silver bell tinkling in many directions, and
+leading those who will follow it widely astray.”</p>
+
+<p>“What a splendid name for the bell-bird, the
+Australian will-o’-the-wisp!”</p>
+
+<p>For a while the cousins were silent again,
+listening to the liquid notes dropping into the
+velvet-green stillness.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span>At last Falcon set the engine throbbing once
+more as he said:</p>
+
+<p>“I wonder if, after all, the thing we pursue
+most ardently, most persistently, does not in the
+end turn out to be a—will-o’-the-wisp—?”</p>
+
+<p>“If it happens to be as unreliable as the notes of
+a bell-bird!” replied the girl, laughing his sudden
+gravity away.</p>
+
+<p>“I wonder if it is?” he said, turning to her.</p>
+
+<p>But the girl made no reply. She was watching
+a box-tree they were passing just then, covered
+with clematis, the long, frail trailers foaming with
+soft creamy blossoms and hanging inert and
+motionless in the brilliant sunlight.</p>
+
+<p>After they had left the forest the road took them
+through a huge mangrove swamp alive with
+nesting birds, and when that was left behind
+the sea came into view again. Close to the heavy
+track lay large mounds of drift sand, some covered
+with bunches of stiff grass and others nakedly
+glimmering in the noon sunlight. On solitary
+beaches foaming breakers curled up on the wet
+forget-me-not-tinted sand.</p>
+
+<p>The car went on. At times it crashed through
+thickets of great bottle-brushes aflame with orange-colored
+cones, and stretches of lillypilly which
+reached out branches laden with mauve, pink,
+and white berries to detain the travelers. But
+the motor plodded onward. It passed through
+jungles of ti-tree, the tall stems with their paper-like
+bark appearing like skeletons seen in moonlight,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span>and their fine network of branches looking
+like herring-bones and seeming oddly incapable
+of supporting the thick pads of dark-green foliage
+growing at their extreme ends.</p>
+
+<p>All too quickly the morning passed away and
+lunch-time found Isma and Falcon at the small
+hotel where he had ordered their meal.</p>
+
+<p>It was a wooden place built in bungalow style,
+with large overhanging verandas.</p>
+
+<p>The landlady took the visitors into the dining-room
+and asked them to sit at a small table
+decorated with purple bush-lilies.</p>
+
+<p>Another motor party had arrived before them
+and were already having their dinner at a large
+table at the other side of the room.</p>
+
+<p>Isma looked radiant as she sat opposite her
+cousin, talking brightly. The reserve between
+them had vanished, and there was a new gladness
+in Captain Folkestone’s eyes the girl had not
+seen there before. He was generally vivacious,
+but the brightness just then was something quite
+apart from his usual brilliance and had a strange,
+stimulating effect on her. He watched her intently
+as she chatted and laughed, showing her
+white, dazzling teeth and changing color in her
+vivid animation.</p>
+
+<p>After all, was Lord Berriedale to blame for
+losing his head so completely before such confusing
+loveliness! Falcon glanced at her again.
+He did not seem able to keep his eyes from her—and
+Isma always wore such becoming hats. The
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span>one she had on just then made her look perfectly
+bewildering, and there seemed to be an occult
+league between its rich silk lining nestling so
+softly against her yellow hair and the rose tints
+in her cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>“How very discontented that lady looks over
+there at the other table!” remarked Isma, when
+they had finished their first course. “I wonder
+why?”</p>
+
+<p>“Most likely because she has everything she
+wants.”</p>
+
+<p>“That is a strange reason for being discontented,
+surely.”</p>
+
+<p>“It is the usual one.”</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps so. I see you are a keen observer,
+Falcon.”</p>
+
+<p>The man looked long at the girl opposite him
+before saying, “On the same principle, I suppose
+you cannot have all you want, as you look so
+far from unhappy?”</p>
+
+<p>The golden-gray eyes met his. “Perhaps I
+haven’t—”</p>
+
+<p>“I wonder what it is you—want,” he queried,
+after a slight hesitation, “and if I—could give
+it to you?”</p>
+
+<p>“How generous of you to think of such a thing!”
+she replied, a little embarrassed, looking out of
+one of the windows at a lake shimmering in the
+distance; then after some moments she changed
+the subject.</p>
+
+<p>After lunch they went farther up the coast.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span>By a long, quiet beach Captain Folkestone stopped
+the car and they walked along the shore for a
+short distance.</p>
+
+<p>“Now we must have a rest,” said Falcon, surveying
+the scene appreciatively. “Isn’t this a
+delightful spot! You are fond of sleeping on the
+beach, I know,” he added, with a twinkle in his
+blue eyes.</p>
+
+<p>She blushed under his smiling gaze.</p>
+
+<p>He spread a rug for her on the sloping sand and
+she lay down, her hands behind her head, looking
+into the quivering atmosphere. Over the horizon
+was a long belt of soft white clouds which were
+mirrored in the scarcely stirring sea. A ship
+glided slowly past, drawing a long trail of smoke
+after it, which hung like a narrow dark mist
+over the far-away water. The waves broke
+languidly on the restful shore, casting numerous
+pearls of white sparkling foam toward the figures
+basking in the sunlight.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma, have you noticed how few people we
+have seen to-day, and there is not a soul in sight?
+We seem to have the world to ourselves.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, it looks like that,” she replied, reflectively.</p>
+
+<p>“If we had the whole world to ourselves, could
+you be happy?”</p>
+
+<p>Some note in his voice roused her from her
+reverie.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I think so, if we had the earth to ourselves,
+we need not be much in each other’s
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span>way. You could have one hemisphere and I
+the other.”</p>
+
+<p>The man broke off a long stalk of grass and put
+it between his teeth. “I am afraid that arrangement
+would not suit me.”</p>
+
+<p>“You are too sociable,” she teased. “You
+should be more fond of your own company.”</p>
+
+<p>“I have better taste—I prefer yours.”</p>
+
+<p>“Now you flatter me!”</p>
+
+<p>“Is truth ever flattery? But,” he harked back,
+“tell me, would you be happy if we were alone
+in this beautiful world, not on different hemispheres,
+but much closer?”</p>
+
+<p>“That depends,” she replied, guardedly.</p>
+
+<p>“On what?”</p>
+
+<p>“On several things, one of them on the way
+you treated me.”</p>
+
+<p>He rolled over on his side so that he faced her.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma, how should I have to treat you so that—well—you
+wouldn’t be bored to death—under
+those circumstances?” He had been trying to
+speak lightly, but had not quite succeeded.</p>
+
+<p>The girl sat up and looked out to sea.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, to begin with, you would have to stop
+hurling sarcasm and contempt at me,” she replied,
+quietly, her gaze still fixed on the ocean.</p>
+
+<p>“If we were alone in the world I should
+not need to do that. I should treat you <i>very</i>
+differently.”</p>
+
+<p>She turned a pair of laughing eyes upon him.
+“I wonder in what way?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span>Falcon sat up, too, and edged a little closer.</p>
+
+<p>“I shall not tell you that unless—”</p>
+
+<p>“No—I don’t suppose you know, yourself.”
+Her eyes still laughed at him beneath their long,
+drooping lashes.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t I! That is all you know!”</p>
+
+<p>“I wonder should I like it,” she mused, in her
+provoking banter.</p>
+
+<p>“Ah, that is just the point—if I could only be
+sure—” he replied, with a slight sigh as he lay
+back on the sand once more and looked into
+the azure dome above, a strange gravity in his
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>The girl turned to the sea again. She could not
+make any reply. Surely Falcon was not in
+earnest; he had only been talking as men so often
+talk when they are alone with a pretty woman?
+She had taken for granted that this was the case
+and had accordingly given him flimsy, bantering
+replies. Yet could there be a deeper meaning
+in his light words? Why this sigh and his silence
+now? Why that intense look last night?</p>
+
+<p>Her heart throbbed tumultuously. But no, he
+could not really be in earnest or he would have
+said more. All the same, she was conscious that
+her want of response had in some inexplicable
+way separated them; and though later, when it
+was time to go, Falcon held her hand a little
+longer than necessary as he helped her to rise,
+and though he was as kind and concerned for
+her comfort as before, yet somehow she was aware
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span>that their gay intimacy of the morning had
+vanished.</p>
+
+<p>They had afternoon tea at the small hotel where
+they had lunched, and then they turned homeward
+toward the rocky headlands lying misty and
+dreamy in the distance.</p>
+
+<p>When the road was good Falcon let the car out,
+and it dashed along exuberantly through the sun-kissed
+spaces. He talked fitfully, but often for
+long stretches of time he was curiously silent.</p>
+
+<p>Half-way home they passed a series of small
+lakes. The lagoons were a deep nattier-blue and
+on their gently sloping banks grew a profusion of
+reeds and bulrushes from which came the peremptory
+squabble of ducks and the prattle of other
+water-birds. A number of black cormorants sat on
+a protruding snag, and as the car rushed by the
+birds flew up, noisily flapping their long, narrow
+wings and protesting loudly at being disturbed.</p>
+
+<p>On the last lake near the shining line that
+divided the deep-blue water from the brown stone-strewn
+shore a pair of large white pelicans waded
+knee-deep in the liquid splash of color. One of
+them had its colossal beak open in the act of
+swallowing a good-sized fish, while the other went
+on calmly searching for prey. The birds were
+rare and not often found on the coast, so Isma
+was glad to have seen them.</p>
+
+<p>As they crossed the wide plain near The Palms
+Captain Folkestone slowed down the speed and
+looked round with strange interest.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span>Some of the spider-bushes were still in blossom,
+and mauve orchids, bush-lilies, and flowering
+shrubs bloomed in rich profusion among the stiff
+sedges and grass-trees.</p>
+
+<p>Presently the motor began to ascend the cliff.</p>
+
+<p>When they reached the highest point on the
+road Falcon stopped the engine and suggested
+they should get out of the car, as they could get
+a better view of the beauty lying behind them.</p>
+
+<p>For some moments they stood without speaking,
+looking over the great plain, where the last
+rays of the setting sun had scarcely faded from the
+flowers and bushes.</p>
+
+<p>“This view always reminds me of a favorite
+song of mine, ‘The Little Winding Road.’ Do
+you know it?” said Isma, after a pause.</p>
+
+<p>“No,” he replied, still gazing at the vast scene
+before them. “I don’t think I have ever heard
+it. Won’t you sing it?”</p>
+
+<p>“I will hum it if you like.” And in her low,
+rich voice she began to lilt the romantic song.</p>
+
+<p>When she had finished Falcon said: “Yes, both
+music and words must surely have been written
+for this place! But would you mind letting me
+hear the second verse again?”</p>
+
+<p>Her soft voice repeated the words:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="first">“I sought for love on that road,</div>
+<div class="verse">I saw it afar on the plain;</div>
+<div class="verse">I followed the road</div>
+<div class="verse">And crossed the plain</div>
+<div class="verse">Then came to the hill again.”</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span>A half-sigh escaped her companion. “The
+will-o’-the-wisp again,” he murmured, gravely.
+“We see the vision on the plain, rush after it,
+and find we are only confronted with—a steep
+hill.”</p>
+
+<p>What could Falcon mean? Why did he talk
+like that? Was he in earnest, after all? Ah, if
+only that were so, how well she would know how
+to deal with him! But perhaps his thoughts had
+no connection with herself.</p>
+
+<p>The colors in the landscape suddenly faded.
+Still, whatever was in his mind, she must try and
+comfort him. She could not endure that sad
+note in his voice.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, you must not take those words too literally.
+They may only be written for effect—”</p>
+
+<p>“Anyhow, it is an effect one often finds in real
+life,” he remarked, turning to start the car.</p>
+
+<p>As they descended the cliff the lights from the
+house, like yellow stars, gleamed among the palms.</p>
+
+<p>“You will come in and have some dinner, won’t
+you?” asked the girl, watching the twinkling
+lights in the valley.</p>
+
+<p>He accepted readily.</p>
+
+<p>When they reached the house the first thing
+which caught Isma’s and her cousin’s attention
+as they entered the brightly lighted hall were two
+letters lying on a silver salver on the table. The
+girl picked them up hastily, but the man beside
+her had already recognized Lord Berriedale’s full-blooded
+writing on the uppermost envelop.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span>An instant change came over Captain Folkestone’s
+features; he looked suddenly hard.</p>
+
+<p>Isma stood hesitating for a moment, the brightness
+fading from her cheeks and eyes; then she
+led the way into the sitting-room, went over to
+the softly shaded lamp, and tore open the letter
+addressed in Beatrice’s thin, upright hand, apologizing
+to her cousin for reading it then.</p>
+
+<p>It was evidently only a short note, and soon
+the girl put it down as she said, “Beatrice is better;
+still, she is not at all well and simply begs me to
+go to her to-morrow.”</p>
+
+<p>With the lamplight on her face, Falcon noticed
+how pale she had become and that the fingers
+holding the unopened letter were trembling.</p>
+
+<p>“But of course you will not think of going to
+The Bluff after—”</p>
+
+<p>Isma looked out of an open window into the
+dark-purple dusk for some moments before saying,
+“I’m afraid I—must.”</p>
+
+<p>“Isma, you can’t mean that!” His tones were
+stern.</p>
+
+<p>“Falcon, I shall have to go to her.” There was
+pleading as well as decision in her voice.</p>
+
+<p>A steely look came into her cousin’s blue eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course if you are bent on playing about on
+precipices, I have nothing more to say.” Then,
+picking up his cap and gloves, he added: “If you
+don’t object, I think I will change my mind and
+not stay to dinner, after all. Good night,” and
+he strode toward the open door.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span>“Falcon!” There was searching pain in the
+word.</p>
+
+<p>But he did not appear to have heard the cry.</p>
+
+<p>She followed him to the car. “Falcon, please
+try to understand. I am not playing— Can’t
+you see—?” she began, tremulously.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I do see and I do understand,” he replied,
+coldly. “Your decision makes it quite impossible
+to mistake your intention.” Then his manner
+changed and he held out his hand with the
+old mocking courtesy as he continued, “My beautiful
+cousin has been a most intelligent pupil in
+the world’s school and has learned the advantage
+of money, titles, and high position, and no doubt
+all she desires will come to her—soon.”</p>
+
+<p>Isma did not take the proffered hand, but stood
+pale, erect, motionless, her form flooded by the
+light from the hall.</p>
+
+<p>“Good-by,” said her cousin again as he took
+his seat at the wheel, and soon the throb of the
+receding car pulsated through the obscuring gloom.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>As Isma mounted the stairs to her room she
+was strangely conscious that for one brief day
+she had rambled among the sweet flowers on the
+plain, and that now she had come to the uncompromising
+hill on the other side of her Eden.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">XI<br>
+<small>THE FIREWEED</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">ON the morning that Isma and her cousin
+were driving up the coast Rex was sitting
+in the avenue in the shade of the big Moreton
+Bay fig-trees, when he saw Miss Brentford coming
+toward him. He smiled complacently, lighted a
+fresh cigarette, and settled down to enjoy himself.
+Of course he knew why she was seeking him out.
+The news that Isma could not come to The Bluff
+because Captain Folkestone claimed her for the
+day would naturally have a galling effect on the
+jealous girl, and she was coming to extract from
+him every detail of the telephone message—he
+always attended to the ’phone and was therefore
+able to supply her with full particulars. Also
+Miss Brentford wanted his sympathy. It was a
+strange thing that, though the secretary never
+gave sympathy, a good many people brought their
+troubles to him and expected comfort, in spite
+of the fact that they always left him with a fresh
+sting in their wounds. He was like a soft cushion
+with a needle in it; just as some one laid a tired
+head back for a rest there came a nasty scratch.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span>Miss Brentford had reached the seat, and she
+closed her red-silk parasol and sat down beside
+him.</p>
+
+<p>“Rexie,” she began, a slight pucker between
+her black brows, “I don’t think Australia is nearly
+as nice as I thought it was going to be.”</p>
+
+<p>“My dear girl, how can you find fault with this
+charming place! The sky is always blue and the
+sun is always shining! Of course things are a
+little reversed here—at home it was the sun which
+shirked and did not know its business, but the
+servants were excellent. Here the servants are
+incapable and the sun works like blazes! However,
+it is a most delightful country!”</p>
+
+<p>Rex had only that morning, in a letter to a chum
+at home, said, “Australia is like a book without a
+climax, it just goes on and on without ever coming
+to anything, and if it were not that dear,
+virtuous Neville has such an obvious reason for
+being here, I should think he had gone clean out
+of his mind, bringing us all to this monotonous
+hole!” At the end of the letter he had added a
+postscript: “It may interest you to know that
+we have been fortunate enough to strike the very
+spot on this long coast where the beautiful Miss
+Folkestone has cloistered herself. Her retreat
+is a most idyllic place among clumps of palms,
+and it has no iron gates barring the way, so she
+is very approachable and administers her presence
+freely to her dull neighbors, and I must say she
+is most generous to us at The Bluff.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span>The secretary thought of this letter just then
+and smiled enigmatically.</p>
+
+<p>The girl jerked her parasol impatiently. “Australia
+delightful! I think it is hopelessly stupid.
+It is as boring as people with a sense of
+humor!”</p>
+
+<p>Her companion sat up straight with a shocked
+expression on his face. “Now you are talking
+rank heresy, you are indeed going pell-mell
+against all our modern notions of excellence!
+Why, don’t you know that a sense of humor is the
+most popular virtue of to-day? In the old times
+it used to be, ‘The greatest of these is love,’
+but we twentieth-century people read it, ‘The
+greatest of these is a sense of humor!’ So how
+on earth can you object to people who possess
+this supreme modern grace?”</p>
+
+<p>The girl shrugged. “People with a sense of
+humor are always wanting to display it, in and
+out of season. They are obsessed with it, like a
+person with a grievance or an old lady with her
+ailments. Anyhow,” she went on, in a different
+tone, “isn’t it frightfully dull here!”</p>
+
+<p>The man beside her looked concerned. “Miss
+Rita, if you are really tired of the place and would
+like to go back, it could easily be arranged. I
+would cable—”</p>
+
+<p>“Rex, don’t be so silly! How could I leave
+just now!” she exclaimed, kicking a small stone
+viciously with the point of her low-cut shoe.</p>
+
+<p>“It certainly would be very—unwise.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span>“Unwise—it would be heartless when my sister
+is so ill!” she said, drawing herself up.</p>
+
+<p>“Ah yes, Lady Berriedale, of course—for the
+moment my thoughts went in another direction.”</p>
+
+<p>Miss Brentford blushed at his bluntness; however,
+she was too much disturbed in mind to
+resent it. She picked a twig from an overhanging
+branch and studied the thick, dark leaves absently.
+Then she began very deliberately to
+tear them off one by one.</p>
+
+<p>“Are you saying to yourself, ‘he loves me, he
+loves me not’?” suggested Rex, with a provoking
+smile.</p>
+
+<p>The girl flung away the bare stalk. “Rex,
+you are perfectly hateful to-day. I am not a
+school-girl any longer; you are apt to forget that.
+Besides, I am not in love.”</p>
+
+<p>“I thought all girls were in love!”</p>
+
+<p>“That is because you don’t know anything
+about them.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, perhaps not. Well, will you come and
+have a game of tennis?”</p>
+
+<p>But Miss Brentford had not come out to play
+tennis.</p>
+
+<p>“No, thank you, it is too hot for that sort of
+thing. Rex,” she continued, in a different voice,
+“do you think things come right in real life the
+way they always do in books?”</p>
+
+<p>“Great Christopher! no! That is why books
+are so much more popular than reality. They give
+people what they want and reality never does.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span>“Do you really believe that?”</p>
+
+<p>The secretary took out his gold cigarette-case,
+very deliberately selected another cigarette, and
+lighted it before replying. “Of course. Look
+round for yourself and see. Do people like to
+sit down and watch what goes on round them?
+No, because if they did it would give them the
+blues! Everybody, all the world over, tries to
+run away from reality. We all try to forget it
+exists. That is why we play cards, gamble, go
+to races, dance, flirt, attend picture-shows, pay
+our last pound for a seat at the opera—all to forget
+the horrid, brutal thing we call reality.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl frowned. She did not want philosophical
+discussion just then. “Rex,” she said, plunging
+straight into the subject she had wished to
+reach all the time, “did Captain Folkestone
+really say he was going to—take his cousin out
+for the day?”</p>
+
+<p>“Not in so many words. Still, I am sure that
+is what he means to do. What a lovely day they
+will have for their outing! It is just made for
+romance and love-making, especially out here in
+these lonely places where—”</p>
+
+<p>“He has not taken her out to make love to
+her,” interrupted Rita, digging the point of her
+parasol savagely into the ground.</p>
+
+<p>“What else is he doing it for?” asked the man,
+with his most suave air.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, he has to take his cousin out sometimes.
+It is merely his duty.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span>“Duty!” smiled Rex, meaningly. “He might
+pay her duty visits lasting exactly half an hour
+while he swallows a cup of tea; but when a man
+wants to spend a whole day with a woman there
+is generally no duty about it. He does it for
+pleasure or, more correctly, because he means
+business and—”</p>
+
+<p>“But I tell you he doesn’t like her.” The girl
+cut him sharp. “Haven’t you noticed that he
+never talks to her when they are here together—?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, he doesn’t talk to her, but he looks.”</p>
+
+<p>“How absurd you are! I have never seen him
+glance at her except in the coldest way.”</p>
+
+<p>“He is too much a man of the world to carry
+his heart on his sleeve. However, watch him
+when he thinks himself unobserved. Why, he
+looks at her then as if he would like to elope with
+her the next moment.”</p>
+
+<p>“Rex, you are dreaming!” cried Rita, in exasperation,
+and, forgetting herself for an instant,
+she went on, hotly: “I will not allow it. She
+shall not have him—she shall not!”</p>
+
+<p>“My dear Miss Rita, for goodness’ sake keep
+calm. Don’t excite yourself on this warm day.
+It is truly most injurious. Besides, what difference
+can it make to you if he wants to marry
+his lovely cousin? You are not in love with him,
+not in love with any one, so it can’t hurt you.
+I always find it such a good plan never to get
+excited about other people’s affairs. It saves an
+awful lot of nerve fag. Leave them to it, I say.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span>“Leave them to it, indeed!” The girl was
+growing frantic. “Do you think I am going to
+allow a splendid man like that to be taken in by
+an unscrupulous woman—?”</p>
+
+<p>“I wouldn’t bother myself about that if I were
+you. It is too hot out here for such exertion.
+Anyhow, Miss Folkestone is only playing with
+him. He will never be able to marry her for—she
+would never have him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not have him! Oh, Rex, you must be going
+dotty. Why, it is the very thing she has been
+aiming at all the time! And haven’t you noticed
+how strained and different she seems when he
+comes into a room?”</p>
+
+<p>“That is only part of the game.”</p>
+
+<p>“Part of the game! Why—”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, indeed! You would surely think he was
+good enough for her. Most other girls would
+accept him readily enough, but the wise and
+prudent Miss Folkestone has higher ambitions.
+She knows where to aim.”</p>
+
+<p>“Rex, what <i>do</i> you mean?” Rita leaned forward
+and looked into her companion’s face with
+half-relieved anxiety.</p>
+
+<p>“My dear girl, it is not for me to give a beautiful
+woman away. You are pretty observant,
+why don’t you see for yourself?”</p>
+
+<p>Just then their conversation was interrupted
+as Lord and Lady Berriedale came down the
+avenue toward them.</p>
+
+<p>The secretary rose and Lady Berriedale sat
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span>down on the seat he had just vacated, a little
+breathless from her walk.</p>
+
+<p>“Rita,” commenced the elder woman, watching
+her husband and Rex walk farther down the
+avenue, “Neville and I have just been talking
+of having a house-party. We ought to return
+the hospitality shown us in Sydney. The governor
+and Lady Carson were awfully good to us the
+week we stayed with them. We certainly ought
+to entertain them here. The Bluff is big enough
+to hold a good many people and we could give
+them an enjoyable time.”</p>
+
+<p>“My dear Beatrice, they would be bored to
+death. What on earth could we do with them?”</p>
+
+<p>“We would give a big dance one night; so many
+of the squatters about have called; they all have
+cars and could come to the ball and we could have
+a good number. It would be no trouble to us;
+the caterers can do all the work. Another day
+we can have a picnic; the men can fish, and the
+women, too, if they like. We can take them to
+that lovely river where you went a little while ago.
+I am sure they would enjoy it. Neville and I
+were thinking it would be a good idea to arrange
+it for the next full moon, and he is going to write
+to the governor to see if that time would suit
+him and Lady Carson.”</p>
+
+<p>“But Beatrice,” remonstrated her sister, “it
+would be far too much for you, entertaining all
+those people. Talking a lot always exhausts you,
+and even with caterers to do the work you will
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span>have to supervise, and that is very tiring, and you
+know I am no good at that sort of thing.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am going to ask Isma to come and stay
+with us for those days and do that part of it
+for me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Always that Miss Folkestone! Whatever can
+you see in such an icicle?” said the girl, glancing
+sullenly down at the black-silk sash on her
+parasol.</p>
+
+<p>“Now, Rita,” began Lady Berriedale, gently
+but firmly, “don’t let us open that subject again.
+We have discussed it quite enough already. You
+know how I feel about Isma, and you ought not
+to grudge me the pleasure her friendship gives
+me. I believe you only dislike her because you
+are jealous.”</p>
+
+<p>“Jealous—” shrugged, the girl, disdainfully.
+“What is there to be jealous about?”</p>
+
+<p>“Never mind, only, Rita, don’t ever say anything
+against her to me, and, while talking on the
+subject, I wish you to be pleasant to her. Remember
+you are in my house and you must be
+civil to my guests.”</p>
+
+<p>Miss Brentford flushed angrily. “Very well,
+I will try to remember that in your house I am
+called upon to be nice to women, even of that
+kind,” and as she rose she added, “Perhaps you
+would like me to take you back now.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, thank you. I will wait here till Neville
+comes.”</p>
+
+<p>“Poor little Rita is jealous of my beautiful
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span>Isma,” mused Lady Berriedale to herself as she
+watched the girl’s red parasol disappearing among
+the trees. “Such a pity she cannot conquer that
+feeling of dislike; it makes her look so small and
+childish.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">XII<br>
+<small>BURSTING BUBBLES</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap2">AS Isma stepped into the purple car the following
+afternoon one little word <i>lost—lost—lost!</i>
+hammered in upon her consciousness as the breakers
+thudded in upon the sand.</p>
+
+<p>Falcon had gone out of her life and would never
+come back. For a brief moment he had begun
+to believe in her and had shown signs of being
+strongly attracted to her; however, by deciding
+on the present course of action she had destroyed
+his faith in her. Honor stood above everything
+with him. He would have nothing but contempt
+for crooked dealings and sordid conduct. In
+his eyes she stood branded once more. He did
+not understand the sacrifice. To him she appeared
+merely an ambitious woman unscrupulous
+enough— She straightened suddenly in the motor
+and a burning wave of humiliation surged through
+her.</p>
+
+<p>She looked out on the sea imploringly as if
+pleading with it to rescue her, while the syllable
+<i>lost—lost</i> dinned itself with bursting force into her
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span>sore heart. Falcon had been insulting, she was
+angry with him, and yet—anger and love fought
+desperately in her soul.</p>
+
+<p>She glanced down over the rocks and saw glimmering
+emerald waves swelling high round the
+stones and heard the heaving splash of the gulping
+water. Above it circled sea-gulls uttering loud,
+fierce cries; one swooped across the road and
+spread its silver wings for a moment over the girl
+leaning wearily against the mauve cushions in
+the car, then it gave a horrible shriek and flew
+away.</p>
+
+<p>Isma shivered in the warm sunshine.</p>
+
+<p>For her all sunlight had faded; she was in cold
+darkness, and the future held nothing but a
+gaping emptiness.</p>
+
+<p>The machine had passed the rocks and was
+now skirting a great beach where snow-crested
+breakers thundered in upon the sand.</p>
+
+<p>Was that not the way generation after generation
+had been hurled in upon life, peopling its
+shores with sparkling foam-souls, iridescent bubbles
+that twinkled in the sunlight for a moment
+and then vanished as quickly as they had come,
+while new waves cast new foam upon the sands?
+Yes, that was life! A frail little bubble thrust
+in upon the strand, gleaming and glittering for a
+few seconds and then suddenly bursting—was it
+into nothing?</p>
+
+<p>Isma looked on the waves again. She saw how
+discolored the pure foam became as it lurched
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span>against the dark-tinted beach. Life was sordid.
+The souls hurled on its shores became terribly
+discolored, but—what about the little bursting
+bubbles, did they completely vanish? Was their
+tiny sparkle only a flash which disappeared into
+a hollow void to be no more?</p>
+
+<p>Along the shore a white mist had gathered
+over the waves and rose slowly higher and higher
+in the glowing afternoon sunshine.</p>
+
+<p>The girl watched it half absently. So the
+bubbles had not vanished into nothing! They
+had risen, and were now set free from the cruel
+battering and crushing on the hard beach. They
+had been purified from the ugly, earthly discoloration
+and were mounting white, spiritlike, into
+the wide, clear vault of blue.</p>
+
+<p>Isma sighed. “If I might but be free from the
+sordid battering on the sand!” she murmured.
+“If only—”</p>
+
+<p>The car had swung up the last hill near The
+Bluff; in a few minutes it would be turning into
+the drive leading to the house.</p>
+
+<p>By the roadside grew a number of gum-trees;
+some of them looked very worn and ragged and
+their leaves drooped like bundles of faded green
+threads. A flock of parrots flew up from some
+of the lower branches and darted with shrill
+screams past the motor, their breasts flaming
+red against the brilliant azure sky.</p>
+
+<p>Isma started.</p>
+
+<p>More alarming shrieks! Had the birds come
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span>to warn her? Was she really on dangerous ground—so
+dangerous that not even the most virtuous
+strength could protect her there? And yet could
+there be real peril to herself? To her reputation
+and interest it certainly meant ruin, she knew
+that; however, that was the cruel renunciation
+she was called on to make for her dying friend.
+She was willing to lay all upon the altar which
+might be laid there, without staining her womanhood.
+Still, was the path she was treading really
+perilous to her honor? Lord Berriedale had gone
+to greater lengths two days ago than ever before;
+he had never previously lost control of his feelings
+to that extent, and if Falcon had not come when
+he did—</p>
+
+<p>She paled at the thought.</p>
+
+<p>But had she not received a humble letter of
+apology from Lord Berriedale that morning,
+assuring her that what had taken place the last
+afternoon she was at The Bluff should not be
+repeated, as he had himself in hand again? He
+begged her to forgive him, and if she could not do
+so at once, at least not to vent her anger on his
+frail wife by depriving the invalid of her cheering
+presence. Lord Berriedale had made no excuses
+for himself, simply pleading that her cold aloofness
+had driven him to desperation and momentarily
+he had given way to his emotions. However, he
+promised that in the future all should be different.
+There was an air of sincerity about the letter
+which made her feel that she could venture to go
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span>to The Bluff again if she were specially careful
+not to be alone with him.</p>
+
+<p>When she arrived at the house Beatrice was
+sitting on the veranda, eagerly waiting to tell her
+of the plans they had made for the house-party.</p>
+
+<p>“But,” expostulated Isma when she had heard
+about the new scheme, “that would be far too
+much for you. Even with all the help you can
+get from caterers and others you would still have
+to look after everything yourself.”</p>
+
+<p>Lady Berriedale took one of the girl’s hands
+and looked at her pleadingly. “Isma, that is just
+what I am going to ask you to do. Come and
+stay here and—” She stopped abruptly, for Isma
+had suddenly turned white and a look of anguish
+had come into the golden-gray eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma, whatever is the matter with you?
+Are you not well? Would you like some wine?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, no, I am all right, thank you—” she
+stammered, struggling for calmness, the color
+gradually coming back to her cheeks again.</p>
+
+<p>“Dearest, you did frighten me so. I really
+thought you were going to faint.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl assured her she was better and Lady
+Berriedale repeated her request. “Isma, you
+will come and stay here and help me, won’t you?”</p>
+
+<p>Her companion looked agitated again. “Beatrice,
+I will help you as much as I can, but I cannot
+come and stay here—that is <i>quite</i> impossible.
+I have left Miss Livingston so much, when she
+came to live with me in that lonely place she
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span>understood I should be there. In the daytime it
+doesn’t matter being away, but I really could not
+ask her to spare me at night.”</p>
+
+<p>“But of course, dear, she must come and stay
+here, too. She will enjoy a little change and seeing
+all these people.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, really, Beatrice, she doesn’t like being with
+a lot of strangers. She would so much rather be
+quiet.” The girl was making a frantic effort to
+escape from the new danger confronting her.</p>
+
+<p>“Still, she could be quiet here, too. I can give
+her a room in the south wing, and she need not
+see any of the other people unless she likes. Now,
+Isma, surely you can arrange just for those few
+days!”</p>
+
+<p>“Truly, Beatrice, I cannot,” replied the girl,
+with a troubled yet strangely determined expression
+in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Berriedale drew herself up and a dark
+flush spread over her sallow face. “Of course if
+you <i>won’t</i> come that settles the matter. I shall
+not ask you again,” she answered, icily.</p>
+
+<p>“Beatrice!” The name came as a cry of pain.</p>
+
+<p>But the invalid did not relax. “I don’t think
+friendship is much good if it is not practical. You
+are always so unwilling to do me favors. When I
+asked you to come to me every day I had to plead
+and implore. You showed the same disinclination
+to be with me then. If you really cared,
+you would want to come to me and prove your
+love in <i>practical</i> ways.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span>Prove her love in practical ways! Good Heavens!
+hadn’t she made sacrifices enough? Hadn’t
+she given all her happiness to the woman who
+regarded her so coldly now?</p>
+
+<p>She sank down on her knees and buried her
+face on her friend’s narrow lap. “Beatrice, you
+cannot realize what you are saying—you don’t
+know what you are asking,” she murmured, between
+half-stifled sobs.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Berriedale was suddenly seized with a
+fit of coughing. The girl was on her feet instantly,
+her arms round the emaciated form which was
+shaken ruthlessly by the fierce paroxysm.</p>
+
+<p>When the attack had passed the patient lay
+back in her chair, exhausted and worn. She
+put a lace handkerchief to her lips, and when she
+removed it there were bright red stains upon the
+linen fabric.</p>
+
+<p>The girl looked at her companion in sudden
+fear, then she whispered, remorsefully: “Beatrice,
+I am so sorry to have excited and vexed you. Do
+forgive me? Of course I will come and stay here
+and do anything you want.”</p>
+
+<p>Lady Berriedale was mollified. She pressed
+the fair head to her bosom and kissed the soft
+round cheeks with her feverish lips.</p>
+
+<p>When Isma drove home that evening she sat
+motionless and cold in the car. The net had
+tightened about her; struggling was useless.
+She was like a bird which had beaten impetuous
+wings against imprisoning meshes till at last,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span>bleeding and exhausted, it lay crushed in the
+relentless snare.</p>
+
+<p>A few days later Lord Berriedale received a
+letter from the governor saying he and Lady
+Carson would be delighted to spend a day or two
+at The Bluff.</p>
+
+<p>Other invitations were then quickly sent out
+for the house-party and ball, and preparations were
+commenced immediately.</p>
+
+<p>“I do hope all this will not be too much for you,”
+said Isma one day when she and her friend had
+spent a busy morning making arrangements for
+the coming functions. The girl did all in her
+power to save the invalid trouble, but of course
+she had to talk everything over with her before
+making any final decisions.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Berriedale smiled. “With your splendid
+help I am sure it will not hurt me, and I am so
+much better, you know.”</p>
+
+<p>“I wish you had not tired of the quiet so soon,”
+sighed her companion.</p>
+
+<p>“I tired of the quiet! I should never do that.
+I could live here always with just you and Neville!
+But of course we have to return the hospitality
+given us in Sydney, and another thing, I think
+Neville is a little dull. He tries to hide it from
+me and pretends he does not miss the gay life
+at home; still, he cannot deceive me. He has
+become so grave lately and so absent-minded.
+This is certainly very comfortable and nice; still,
+it is not home, and he is used to clubs and having
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span>crowds of people about him. I am afraid this is
+boring him. Of course he is so delightfully good
+and patient and never complains. Still, I know
+he only came out here on my account, though he
+tries to make out he came to please himself—so
+dear and sweet of him!”</p>
+
+<p>Isma had risen and stood looking out of the
+window over the plains, with her back to the room.</p>
+
+<p>The last three weeks had been easier than she
+expected. Lord Berriedale had kept his word.
+He had not tried to be alone with her nor by look
+or word embarrassed her; in fact, he had treated
+her with courteous indifference and had almost
+gone out of his way to avoid her.</p>
+
+<p>Falcon, too, had left her severely alone. Though
+he was constantly at The Bluff, he rigidly avoided
+all conversation with her, and when it was necessary
+to speak to her he did it as briefly as possible.
+There was no doubt about his attitude. He had
+lost all respect for her and was now in a cool,
+passionless way giving himself up to humor Miss
+Brentford and becoming the gallant attendant
+she so ardently desired.</p>
+
+<p>Isma was not staying at The Bluff yet, but
+spent all her time there. However, the day after
+to-morrow the visitors from Sydney would arrive,
+and then it would be necessary for her to be in
+the house, arranging everything for Beatrice and
+helping to entertain the guests.</p>
+
+<p>As she went about her daily duties she was
+utterly unconscious that a pair of dark, hostile
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span>eyes watched her constantly. The secretary’s
+words had gone home and the jealous girl wondered
+perplexedly who the man could be her
+enemy wished to capture. It could not be Captain
+Folkestone, for Rex had said she aimed
+higher, and Rex was a shrewd man and rarely
+missed the mark in his observations. The only
+man of higher rank than the soldier in the neighborhood
+was her brother-in-law, and of course it
+could not be he; yet, who could it be? She
+watched carefully, for it would be most interesting
+to find out Miss Folkestone’s secret. It was a
+good thing her attention was fixed in another
+direction, for then she, Rita, could have the
+delightful Captain Folkestone to herself.</p>
+
+<p>But who could the mysterious man be, she
+wondered continually as she observed her sister’s
+friend, who seemed wholly absorbed by her
+devotion to the invalid.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">XIII<br>
+<small>THE BALL</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">THE night of the dance had come. The long
+avenue leading to The Bluff was lined with
+motors, and uniformed chauffeurs strolled up and
+down smoking and talking under the great Moreton
+Bay fig-trees.</p>
+
+<p>The house was ablaze with lights and the many
+windows flung out a yellow, agitated radiance
+which lost itself in the soft moonlit spaces. The
+strains of haunting music floated out into the
+garden and blended in exotic sweetness with the
+heavy perfume of the flowers.</p>
+
+<p>A broad red carpet lay over the stone steps
+before the front door, and in the wide hall dainty,
+gossamer-clad figures flittered to and fro with
+their partners.</p>
+
+<p>The large ball-room was thronged with dancers,
+and its walls lined with numerous spectators
+who were watching the brilliant scene and the gay
+movement of the fox-trot.</p>
+
+<p>On the dais, beautifully decorated with ferns
+and flowering plants, at the upper end of the room,
+sat Lady Carson, the governor’s wife, a handsome
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span>woman, faultlessly gowned and flashing with diamonds,
+talking to her hostess. Lady Berriedale
+was dressed in claret-tinted silk and the rare
+old lace on her corsage was richly studded with
+rubies; her thin face was glowing and her dark
+eyes shining with abnormal brilliance.</p>
+
+<p>As she and her companion watched the colorous
+stream of dancers she remarked: “I am much
+struck with the grace of the Australian girl. It
+is quite unique! There is no stiffness in her
+movements. I suppose her healthy out-of-door
+life has not only made her strong, but also lithe
+and graceful. When you see a room full of them
+like this they remind me of a flock of their own
+beautiful birds.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” agreed the governor’s wife, “they really
+resemble them, and just as some of the Australian
+birds are the most intelligent in the world, so the
+girls here have a bright, sunny wit of their own,
+and Australians, both men and women, are so
+resourceful in emergencies. They can think like
+lightning and act almost as quickly; yet there is
+not the slightest ostentatious cleverness about
+them. They are simple and natural and such irresponsible,
+lovable dears in their every-day life!”</p>
+
+<p>“Look!” cried Lady Berriedale, suddenly interrupting
+the conversation as her husband and
+Miss Folkestone glided past in a graceful tango-waltz.
+“Don’t they look splendid and how perfectly
+they dance together!”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, indeed!” exclaimed Lady Carson, with
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span>unmistakable admiration. “They are quite the
+handsomest pair on the floor.”</p>
+
+<p>“Doesn’t Isma look simply heavenly to-night?”
+went on Lady Berriedale, enthusiastically. “She
+is always lovely, but to-night she is gorgeous!
+Doesn’t that rainbow gown suit her with its
+dominant note of yellow! It seems to blend with
+her hair, and it shows up the whiteness of her skin
+and the exquisite color in her cheeks.”</p>
+
+<p>Miss Folkestone created a sensation wherever
+she moved. Eyes followed her constantly, eyes
+which held wonder and startled admiration.
+There was a dewy freshness about her which suggested
+newly opened flowers, and she seemed so
+strangely untouched, as if life had not been able
+to mar the bloom resting on her. She wore a
+rainbow gown consisting of layers of mauve turquoise
+and yellow-silk tulle, which shimmered
+iridescent in the brilliant light, as cobwebs glitter
+rainbow-hued at dawn. The dress was sleeveless,
+but a pair of turquoise bands on her upper arms
+held wings of yellow tulle which gave the effect
+of sleeves and made her look ethereal and nymph-like.
+The girdle was a twist of the various tints
+in her gown and a similar twist ornamented her
+thick yellow hair. Her slippers were golden, so
+were her silk stockings, and round her soft throat
+lay a topaz necklet of antique design.</p>
+
+<p>In the garden under an arbor of roses Fred
+Rex sat talking to one of the Sydney visitors, a
+slim, flat-backed girl of twenty.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span>“Isn’t this a glorious evening—far too good to
+spend indoors,” remarked the girl, glancing round
+the garden aquiver with white unearthly beauty.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, it is just the kind of night made for
+lovers,” replied the secretary, blandly. “Lovers
+are so keen on half-lights and shadows. I suppose
+that is because semi-darkness harmonizes so perfectly
+with their own half-lighted intelligence.”</p>
+
+<p>“‘Half-lighted intelligence’!” exclaimed his companion,
+slightly nettled. “Do you consider lovers
+semi-idiots, then?”</p>
+
+<p>“I shouldn’t put it just like that. Still, it
+can’t be denied that lovers never use their brains,
+they might as well hire them out till after they
+are safely married.”</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t think it takes brains to make love,
+then?”</p>
+
+<p>“My dear Miss Alcot,” began her companion,
+spreading out his hands deprecatingly, “does it
+take brains to do what every one else is doing?
+It is only when you strike out and become original
+that you need intellect.”</p>
+
+<p>“But surely one could make love in an original
+way?”</p>
+
+<p>A full-blown rose from the branches above
+suddenly collapsed and fell noiselessly over the
+girl’s shoulder into her lap.</p>
+
+<p>After Rex had helped her to pick off the dark-red
+petals he replied: “Now how can a man be
+original in kissing a girl? There is only one way
+of doing it, and the greatest fool can accomplish
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span>it as well as the most learned professor, probably
+a little more effectively.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl moved her small bronze-slippered feet
+impatiently. “You have not very high ideals of
+love, Mr. Rex!”</p>
+
+<p>“How could I? Falling in love is not very
+elevating—it is very much the reverse.”</p>
+
+<p>“What a horrid idea! I don’t like it a bit!”
+combated Miss Alcot.</p>
+
+<p>“You speak as if it were merely my idea, but
+the very expression itself shows it has a downward
+tendency; ‘falling’ means not only a step
+downward, but even suggests groveling in the
+dust.”</p>
+
+<p>“That is entirely your way of looking at it, Mr.
+Rex. The expression conveys something quite
+different! The word ‘falling’ was only meant to
+suggest that people may love as suddenly and
+unexpectedly as they may fall, and also that in
+the process they frequently get—hurt. And now
+after this interesting little talk I am afraid we
+must go back, as my next partner will be waiting
+for me.”</p>
+
+<p>Near the door of the conservatory stood Rita
+Brentford and Captain Folkestone. The brunette
+was dressed in petunia-red <i>crêpe de Chine</i>; her
+dull-black hair was done high and in its lusterless
+meshes gleamed a number of jewels. Her vivacious
+face was unusually animated and her eyes
+shone with starry brightness. She had never
+looked prettier nor more fascinating; but as Isma
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span>and her partner glided by, Rita seemed shriveled
+and insignificant by comparison.</p>
+
+<p>As the dark girl caught sight of her brother-in-law
+and Miss Folkestone her features stiffened.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t they look well together!” she remarked,
+with a little movement of her black fan and a
+side-glance at her companion, who looked pale
+and grave.</p>
+
+<p>As she saw his face a quick pain shot through
+her heart and, scarcely knowing what she said,
+only conscious of a desire to wound, she continued:
+“Neville and your cousin are such friends! It
+is a good thing my sister is not jealous—”</p>
+
+<p>“Lady Berriedale is a good judge of character.
+She knows who she can trust,” replied the man
+beside her, coldly.</p>
+
+<p>“I beg your pardon, Captain Folkestone,” Miss
+Brentford apologized, quickly, closing her fan
+with a snap. “I forgot you were cousins.”</p>
+
+<p>“Pray don’t distress yourself on that account.
+I should have said just the same, I assure you,
+had we not been related. But,” he added, in a
+different voice, “perhaps you would like to have
+an ice now?”</p>
+
+<p>The girl assented, and they walked off together
+to the supper-room.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Berriedale had just finished his dance
+with Isma, and was now talking to the governor,
+whom he had known at college years ago.</p>
+
+<p>“And do you intend to stay on this coast all
+the time you are in Australia?” asked Sir George
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span>Carson, a fine-looking clean-shaven man with
+genial brown eyes and an impressive personality.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. Traveling about does not agree with
+Beatrice.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, too much of it might not be good for her.
+Still, you will find the climate on this coast very
+trying. The heat is so humid here. I should
+imagine the Blue Mountains would suit a case
+of her kind far better.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, I think not. I hear they have very strong
+westerlies up there, and my wife hates wind.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ah well, you know best. By the way, Berriedale,
+how does this country strike you?”</p>
+
+<p>The host’s left hand went to his mustache.
+“I have not been about much yet, but,” he went
+on, with a lazy smile, “it seems to me Australia is
+a cross-breed between a desert and an oasis.
+Some parts of it chiefly resemble the father, the
+desert; others take wholly after the mother, the
+oasis, and some places are a most extraordinary
+mixture of both.”</p>
+
+<p>“’Pon my word, that is not a bad description!”
+laughed the governor, pleasantly.</p>
+
+<p>“What do you think of the country, Carson?”</p>
+
+<p>The elder man considered for a moment before
+replying. “I have always thought Australia
+like one of those fascinating women who hold—for
+good or bad, we do not know at first, but she
+holds. We cannot be sure we shall be happy
+with her, yet one thing is certain, we shall never
+be happy without her! But here is Folkestone
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span>coming up. I shall have a few words with him.
+I hear he is resigning from the Guards. I wonder
+what is making him do such a thing,” and he
+turned and began to talk to the soldier.</p>
+
+<p>“Have you come to take Isma away?” asked
+Lady Berriedale a short time afterward, when
+Falcon joined the little group on the dais.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I believe this is my dance,” he replied,
+smilingly.</p>
+
+<p>As he led his cousin away he talked pleasantly,
+not appearing to notice her apparent reluctance to
+be with him. When they had walked some distance
+down the room he stood still for a moment as he
+placed his arm round her before joining the dancers.</p>
+
+<p>At his touch the girl suddenly paled, her nostrils
+quivered, and her heart fluttered.</p>
+
+<p>Her partner watched her closely. Were these
+outward signs of agitation only symptoms of
+embarrassment and dislike?</p>
+
+<p>As they glided into the colorous sea of moving
+figures Isma closed her eyes for an instant. The
+room and the swirling forms receded; she was
+conscious only of the man who held her and the
+confusing sense of his nearness. She bent her
+head. How was she to remain calm when he was
+so close to her and his breath came warm and
+uneven against her cheek? She stiffened in a
+great effort at self-possession, then relaxed almost
+as quickly, and Falcon felt her yield to his arm.</p>
+
+<p>He changed color and drew a sharp breath.
+Her sumptuous white shoulder was so near his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span>own. “Isma,” he muttered, in a strained voice,
+“it is very warm in here. You are feeling the
+heat. Let me take you into the garden?”</p>
+
+<p>His words startled her into composure. So she
+was betraying her feelings to Falcon! Merciful
+Heavens! how could she have sunk to that! Had
+he understood and pitied her?</p>
+
+<p>She straightened instantly. “No, thank you,”
+she answered, stiffly. “I am not feeling the heat
+at all. I am only a little tired. The last few
+days have been so very busy, you know; but I
+should like to go back to Beatrice soon. I am
+afraid she is exerting herself too much.”</p>
+
+<p>By some palms in a corner of the ball-room
+one of the governor’s aides-de-camp sat out a dance
+with Rita, and the girl’s restless eyes were following
+Captain Folkestone and Isma, as she talked
+spasmodically to the man beside her, who was
+watching the same pair.</p>
+
+<p>“By Jove!” he remarked, feelingly, “Miss
+Folkestone is ripping! I have always heard she
+was—”</p>
+
+<p>“She is dancing with her cousin,” interrupted
+Miss Brentford, hastily. “He is leaving the
+Guards and going to live here.”</p>
+
+<p>“So I hear. Fine-looking fellow. What a handsome
+pair they are!”</p>
+
+<p>His companion turned a darkened face away.</p>
+
+<p>“Captain Folkestone doesn’t like her,” she
+could not refrain from saying.</p>
+
+<p>“Not like her! Why, he looks like a man
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span>pretty badly smitten! Did you see the way he
+bent over her then—?”</p>
+
+<p>“I think you are quite mistaken,” observed
+the girl, with scarcely veiled ill humor. “As a
+matter of fact, they detest each other.”</p>
+
+<p>“They can act jolly well, then,” replied the
+man, with a smile, as Miss Brentford’s next partner
+came up to claim her.</p>
+
+<p>As the night wore on the gaiety increased, talk
+became more animated and laughter more spontaneous,
+restraints relaxed and the dancers had
+an air of greater abandonment. Men talked
+more freely to their favorite girls and young
+couples strayed oftener into the moonlit garden
+and remained there for longer periods.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Berriedale had danced with Isma again,
+and now he stood talking to her in the middle of
+the room during an interval.</p>
+
+<p>In spite of the girl’s apparent calmness and
+polite interest in her host’s conversation, at times
+there was a flicker of restlessness in her luminous
+eyes which suggested she would rather not be in
+such a conspicuous position.</p>
+
+<p>Many eyes were upon the distinguished-looking
+pair. Miss Folkestone had been the center of attraction
+all the evening, heads had been turned in
+her direction, and people had whispered and exclaimed
+at her extraordinary beauty. Now she was
+evoking a deeper interest, a more piquant curiosity.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Berriedale was fully conscious of the observation
+his marked attention to her was exciting;
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span>but he was not displeased. He was playing
+a game and fully realizing the effect of
+each move. Isma should be his some day, and
+if he could not gain her along the straight-open
+main road, there were always byways leading to
+the same destination. He was quite aware that
+Captain Folkestone was aiming at the same goal
+and that the fascinating officer might be a greater
+obstacle in his path even than his wife. But,
+then, there were means of disarming his rival if
+he should really become dangerous; at present
+there was no sign of this. The soldier was too
+cool, and coolness never won a woman’s heart.
+However, if he should intrude, there was a weapon
+in the making to be used against him. The
+captain made a god of honor and would never
+marry a woman whose character was tarnished,
+no matter how infatuated he might be; so if he
+could be convinced that Isma was really his,
+Berriedale’s, property, her cousin would fall out
+of the ranks at once and his rivalry be at an end.
+Lord Berriedale’s present plan was to show
+Folkestone that his cousin was an unsuitable mate
+for him. This could be done in different ways;
+the first step was to get the girl’s name coupled
+with his. This had already been accomplished
+at home and some very nasty gossip had been
+started. However, now while they were in
+Australia things must be given a more direct and
+convincing aspect.</p>
+
+<p>Of course it was distasteful to Lord Berriedale
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span>to bring such a slur on the character of the woman
+he meant to make his wife later on. But he knew
+that once they were married things would soon
+be forgotten, and, even now, though society
+slandered her, it still received her with open arms,
+for she was a great ornament to its drawing-rooms
+and there had never been any actual
+proofs against her. As for the pain he was causing
+her in the mean while, he would make up for that
+by and by. He would pour his love upon her
+when she was his, lavish upon her everything his
+position and wealth could bestow! She should be
+clothed like a princess, her beauty enhanced by
+priceless jewels. He glanced down at her now
+with something in his dark eyes which made
+Isma involuntarily shrink from him.</p>
+
+<p>“I should like to go back to Beatrice,” she said,
+in a level voice.</p>
+
+<p>“No,” his half-closed eyes still caressed her
+under their golden lashes, “you cannot run away
+from me at present. Every one is looking and
+you would only make yourself more conspicuous
+by flight. Flights are useless things. Haven’t you
+found that out by this time?” Then his manner
+changed. “Isma,” he went on, in low, seductive
+tones, “come with me into the garden. I
+want you to see the moonlight on the roses.
+Night’s kisses, the dew-pearls, are on their soft
+petals. Let me show them to you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Lord Berriedale, how can you suggest such a
+thing?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span>“Why not? Flowers cannot hurt you, and
+there we should be away from spying eyes.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl paled. “Please do not talk like that—people
+will hear you.”</p>
+
+<p>“People will not hear me, but they can see you
+turning white. Isma,” he went on, with a touch of
+pleading, “you surely cannot grudge me a few
+moments’ joy? Haven’t I kept my promise to
+you all these weeks, barely glanced in your direction,
+kept out of your way, and now this evening
+when you look so entrancing and I want a little
+kindness don’t you think you might give it
+to me?”</p>
+
+<p>“You are breaking your promise now.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, for I am not making love. I am only
+asking for friendliness. What could be more
+innocent? Every one is admiring you. Why
+may I not have the same privilege as a crowd of
+strangers? Isma,” he broke out, his love flaming
+up, “how can I help adoring you? You look as
+radiant and shimmering as your own Australian
+sunshine! Isma, my beautiful—”</p>
+
+<p>“Isma,” said another voice close beside them,
+“Miss Nelson, a friend of your mother’s, is most
+anxious to meet you; but she is going home
+almost immediately, so will you come and speak
+to her now? You will excuse my cousin, Berriedale,
+won’t you?” added Falcon, turning to the
+other man.</p>
+
+<p>As the girl and Captain Folkestone walked
+toward the other end of the room the band struck
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span>up an alluring melody and dancing commenced
+again.</p>
+
+<p>The officer talked easily as they made their way
+over the polished floor, and in his light, pleasant
+conversation there was not the faintest suggestion
+that he knew he had been acting as a
+rescuer.</p>
+
+<p>When they were about to enter the sitting-room
+he said, in the same easy tone, “Miss Nelson is
+in here, and I thought it a good plan to take you
+to her at once.”</p>
+
+<p>His companion faced him questioningly. “She
+did not <i>ask</i> you to bring me?”</p>
+
+<p>“Well—no,” his eyes met her gaze steadily.
+“Still, I knew she would be charmed to meet
+you. Who would not?”</p>
+
+<p>The pink in the girl’s cheeks deepened. Was
+he only thinking of his name again, always and
+only guarding that? A hot wave of annoyance
+leaped up within her.</p>
+
+<p>“Your thoughtfulness is praiseworthy, no doubt,
+but has it never occurred to you that some thoughtfulness
+borders on—interference?” she said, lowering
+her eyelids, but not before he had seen the
+smoldering anger between her lashes.</p>
+
+<p>Falcon did not reply, but led her through the
+open door to a small room where a lady with gray
+hair and smiling eyes sat on a high-backed settee
+talking to a rather forbidding-looking woman in
+black.</p>
+
+<p>Captain Folkestone introduced his cousin to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span>the lady with the amiable face, and after chatting
+with them for some minutes he went away,
+and did not speak to Isma again that night
+except to say a brief good-by when he was
+leaving.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>As Miss Folkestone went to her room after the
+guests had gone she met her host on the landing.
+He had not been there when she began to ascend
+the stairs and must have come from a small room
+opening on to the landing. Had he been waiting
+there to speak to her? A sudden fear clutched
+at her heart.</p>
+
+<p>He stood before her now, holding out his hand,
+and she could not very well avoid taking it.</p>
+
+<p>“Good night, my love with the glorious eyes
+and the maddening hair,” he murmured, in a low
+voice, lifting her hand suddenly and pressing it to
+his heart.</p>
+
+<p>“Lord Berriedale, how dare you!” she cried, in
+an undertone, wrenching her hand away from
+him. “Please let me pass.”</p>
+
+<p>He stood aside and allowed her to walk on.</p>
+
+<p>At the same instant a door on the first floor
+shut noiselessly and Miss Brentford stepped back
+into her room.</p>
+
+<p>Rita stood for some moments ashen, her dilated
+eyes staring vacantly before her; then her sharp
+white teeth closed over her lower lip and she
+drew a long, gasping breath.</p>
+
+<p>So that was what Rex had meant! She understood
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span>his hints now! How blind she had been
+not to have discovered it before! But how could
+any one suspect such treachery!</p>
+
+<p>Of course her sister must be told as soon as the
+visitors had gone back to town. There must be
+no upheavals while they were in the house.
+However, the day after to-morrow when they had
+all departed Beatrice should hear the news then.
+The girl’s dark eyes gleamed with a catlike brilliance.
+Never again need she fear the beautiful
+Miss Folkestone as a rival. She was powerless
+to hurt her any more!</p>
+
+<p>Rita stood for a long time looking absently into
+space, her white face working, horror and triumph
+mingling in the unearthly glitter in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Only one more day and then—</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>At the same time Captain Folkestone dashed
+along the moonlit road by the sea at a frenzied
+pace. He gripped the steering-wheel as if his
+fingers were steel; his face looked ghastly and his
+lips were tightly compressed.</p>
+
+<p>When he was near the avenue leading to Isma’s
+house he stopped the car, got out, and stood leaning
+over the gate, gazing down the drive under
+the stirring palms. The girl was not there. The
+little red house was empty of her presence; so
+was the flower-scented garden. She had stood
+under the swaying palm leaves and looked back
+at him once and in her eyes there had been a
+strange emotion which seemed to match his own,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span>and as their gaze met something in them had
+leaped together; but now—</p>
+
+<p>Into the face above the gate came an anguish
+which was terrible.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly the man turned away, sprang into
+the motor, and sped up the steep road leading
+over the moonlit cliff.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">XIV<br>
+<small>A SINISTER SUNSET</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">THE following morning the viceregal party
+returned to Sydney. The remaining visitors
+spent the morning playing tennis, croquet, and
+strolling about the garden.</p>
+
+<p>A fishing picnic had been arranged for the evening
+and the cars were to start at five o’clock. It
+was impossible for Lady Berriedale to venture
+on such a long outing after the late hours and
+excitement of the previous night, so she had
+decided to stay at home. Of course Isma was
+anxious to remain with her, but her friend would
+not hear of it.</p>
+
+<p>“You must go and take my place and look after
+everything,” she said, finally; and as her husband
+came into the room she added, “Fancy, Neville,
+Isma wants to stay at home with me, but I have
+just told her that she is to go and <i>take my place</i>.”
+She finished with a mischievous smile, looking at
+her companions as if she expected some light
+response. However, they were both singularly
+silent. The girl had suddenly turned to look out
+of the window and Lord Berriedale was regarding
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span>one of his long, shapely hands with detached
+interest.</p>
+
+<p>“I am sure Miss Folkestone will look after our
+guests perfectly, so you need not worry about it
+in the least,” he said, at length, and, murmuring
+something about having promised to take some
+one round the cliff, he strolled out of the room
+again.</p>
+
+<p>Late in the afternoon four large cars stood
+panting in front of the house and the picnickers
+came out and took their seats.</p>
+
+<p>Captain Folkestone and other guests from the
+neighborhood were to join the party at the river
+where the fishing had been arranged.</p>
+
+<p>The sky was gray with soft glimpses of remote
+blue. The distant hills were wrapped in a larkspur-tinted
+haze through which the shape of trees
+was faintly indicated. Out of the calm ocean
+rose green breakers moving imperiously toward
+the shore, flinging themselves headlong on the
+quivering sand. Silver gulls glided lazily by on
+silent wings and made occasional swoops into
+the foaming water.</p>
+
+<p>A mile down the road the motors turned inland
+toward the tense blue hills. Vast plains opened
+out before them, where mallee-fowls darted in
+and out among the bushes and the sunburnt
+grass stood stiff and yellow at the feet of the ring-barked
+trees.</p>
+
+<p>The road led through immense forests, dusky
+with jungle gloom, brooding with heavy mystery,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span>and where the occasional twitter of birds sounded
+timorous and grave. At times the cars mounted
+steep hills, and at others descended into gaping,
+timber-lined valleys.</p>
+
+<p>After about two hours’ traveling there was a
+gleam of water in the distance, and soon afterward
+a calm, wide river which ran beside the road for
+a mile or two was reached; then, after passing a
+sharp bend, the picnickers arrived at their destination
+and found the rest of the party already
+awaiting them.</p>
+
+<p>Greetings followed, and presently small groups
+began to stroll about the river-bank, while the
+chauffeurs lighted a fire and boiled the billy.</p>
+
+<p>Toward the west ran a plain fenced in by rough-looking
+hills smothered in trees. The main part
+of the stream still flowed beside the track, but it
+had subdivided into three long arms, which spread
+in erratic contortions over the wild, marshy flats,
+forming deep pools in lower places and growing
+narrow and sleek near the more sloping banks.
+The place was a terrible conglomeration of tangled
+thickets, wriggling streams, deep lagoons, and
+treacherous, rush-covered bogs.</p>
+
+<p>Wild shrieks of birds rang spasmodically through
+the air, fishes jumped, and there was the continual
+whir of large-winged insects.</p>
+
+<p>The plain was two miles long, and near its upper
+end, at the feet of the challenging hills, stood the
+only house in sight, belonging to the man Lord
+Berriedale had engaged to take the party across
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span>the river in his boat, so that they could walk over
+to the second arm of the stream, where the best
+fishing was obtained.</p>
+
+<p>It had been decided to have tea before crossing
+the river. The long table-cloth had been spread
+out on the grass and Isma was decorating it with
+fluffy yellow wattle. Once as she looked up from
+the blooms she saw a beautiful kingfisher skimming
+over the surface of the stream, his gorgeous
+plumage of azure and deep orange reflected in the
+pearly gray water.</p>
+
+<p>The girl sighed a little. If only she might be
+free like that bird! she thought, as she went on
+with her work. Presently the billy boiled and the
+visitors seated themselves round the impromptu
+table on the grass.</p>
+
+<p>The men were in a hurry to commence the sport,
+so there was not much time given to superfluous
+conversation.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Folkestone was pouring out tea and the
+drivers were handing the cups to the guests.
+She had not spoken to Falcon that day, but only
+bowed to him in the distance. He was now sitting
+next to Miss Brentford, talking rather
+gravely to the animated girl.</p>
+
+<p>When the meal was over the boatman began to
+row the picnickers across the stream.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Berriedale, the secretary, and some local
+men went in the front load, as they were to
+arrange where the rods were to be placed. Then
+gradually the others followed, till there were only
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span>Isma and the chauffeurs left; the girl stayed till
+the last to see that everything was carefully
+packed up, and when the baskets were stowed
+away in the cars she strolled on to a small rise
+surrounded by tall shrubs and sat down on a log,
+feeling glad to have a little time alone.</p>
+
+<p>In the east the clouds had cleared, but toward
+the west they had thickened and hung like an
+impenetrable curtain, hiding the sinking sun.
+All at once there was a rift in the sooty masses—the
+slit widened, and presently a large sun swelling
+into hugeness thrust a gross yellow face into the
+aperture and fixed its ferocious stare on the scene
+below till, helpless and abject, the earth sank into
+hypnotic stupor. The long, shrubby plain turned
+a seasick green, even the pools and streams
+swooned with ghastly horror.</p>
+
+<p>For some moments the sun hung quivering
+with fiery intensity; then with a sinister reluctance
+the great blazing ball sank below the opening in
+the black, smokelike clouds.</p>
+
+<p>Isma sat as if petrified, watching the awful sunset,
+and when the yellow glow had disappeared,
+through an opening among the stunted trees she
+saw the marshland with its many glimpses of water,
+the bluish, unhealthy hue of one in a seizure.</p>
+
+<p>The girl shuddered.</p>
+
+<p>There seemed forces lurking about her which
+had power to subdue even the most desperate
+resistance.</p>
+
+<p>As she looked a smudgy, colorless twilight
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span>crawled from nowhere and spread over the bush-tangled
+flats; it climbed up the sides of the bold,
+imperious hills and reached toward the dim, sullen
+sky. The dusk advanced on stealthy feet,
+but with unhesitating determination. It folded
+trees and rushes in a swarthy embrace and stooped
+to kiss the breathless waters. It seemed as if the
+evil power blazing from the setting sun had
+returned and was now claiming the victims it had
+cowed, as it advanced ruthlessly through thickets
+and bogs.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly the weird call of the boo-boo owl rang
+through the twilight.</p>
+
+<p>Isma started, a sense of horror came over her, a
+feeling of awful foreboding.</p>
+
+<p>Why had she been kept waiting so long? Why
+had the boat not returned for her sooner?</p>
+
+<p>She listened for the splash of oars.</p>
+
+<p>She heard it now, but it seemed curiously distant.
+She waited, listening, growing more uneasy—the
+faint splash had ceased altogether.</p>
+
+<p>But now there was another sound—some one was
+coming up behind her. She turned, expecting to
+see one of the drivers, but the tall form approaching
+was—Lord Berriedale.</p>
+
+<p>“Is the boat ready?” she asked, mechanically,
+her senses numbed by the shock of finding herself
+alone with her host.</p>
+
+<p>“No,” replied the man, coming closer. “It
+has gone with the chauffeurs. I came over myself
+to send them off.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span>“But—but—it will come back for—me,” she
+faltered, rising.</p>
+
+<p>“No, it will not come back for either <i>you</i> or
+<i>me</i>. I have sent the boatman down the river to
+fish. He is in my pay to-night, you know,” said
+her companion, peering into her face in the dusk.</p>
+
+<p>“Lord Berriedale, what does this mean?”
+asked Miss Folkestone, now thoroughly roused.</p>
+
+<p>“It simply means this, that you and I are to
+spend a long time together to-night. Isma, I
+have waited so long I can wait no longer. I have
+been tormented enough; now it is my turn to
+have a little respite! Why, even my own wife
+suggested you should take her place this evening,
+and by the gods you shall!” he said, in a tone
+which made the girl stiffen with horror.</p>
+
+<p>“So you have trapped me,” she murmured, in a
+voice which did not seem her own.</p>
+
+<p>“There was nothing else to do. You would not
+listen to pleadings. I warned you not to strain
+my endurance too far—”</p>
+
+<p>“And you had no consideration for me—or my
+reputation?” Life was coming back to her voice.</p>
+
+<p>“I considered your reputation, I assure you.
+No one over there knows we are here alone. I
+have seen to that. They axe not all fishing in
+the same place, as we arranged at first, but are
+divided up into small parties, only two or three
+together and each group a long distance apart.
+I had a purpose in placing them like that. I am
+supposed to be fishing with Rex in a dark bend,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span>and if any one should find our corner and ask
+for me, they will be told that I have gone to visit
+some other rods. The whole place is one wild
+tangle of bends, sudden turns, matted shrubberies,
+and though it looks so flat there are steep
+banks as well as the sinking marshland. It would
+be most dangerous to start straying about. Besides,
+it would take half the night to track any
+one in that great wilderness. Now, you see, I
+have thought it all out, so that we can be quite
+sure we shall not be disturbed and that no one
+will know we are here. You are, of course, also
+supposed to be fishing somewhere over there, and
+each group thinks you are with one of the others.
+I have arranged everything with the utmost
+care.”</p>
+
+<p>“Now I know you are absolutely unscrupulous!”</p>
+
+<p>“Isma, it is quite impossible for me to live
+without you. I must have you—I must! To-night
+my arms shall teach you what love means—”</p>
+
+<p>The girl had closed her eyes for a moment and
+even in the twilight she looked pale.</p>
+
+<p>Good God, what was she to do out here in this
+savage loneliness, the rest of the party too far
+away to hear her call, separated from her by that
+impassable stream, the terrible thickets, the
+lagoons and bogs! The man was in earnest; his
+voice, his demeanor held remorseless determination.
+His arms should teach her! She shuddered
+with a revulsion of loathing—to be touched by
+him! She shivered again. But perhaps, after all,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span>if she appealed to his better nature, he might
+relent; she would make the attempt.</p>
+
+<p>“Lord Berriedale,” she began, in a softer tone,
+“think of Beatrice, her high opinion of you, her
+love for you. If she ever found out about—this,
+it would kill her! Won’t you be merciful? You
+could make her ideally happy. Won’t you—?”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course I will,” he responded, quickly. “I
+will lie, pretend—do anything, if only you will
+promise to be mine—afterward?”</p>
+
+<p>“How can you suggest such a thing—when your
+wife is still—?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, she is still—here, but she will not be here—long.”</p>
+
+<p>“You are cruel, utterly pitiless, and you—married
+her,” she reminded him, sternly.</p>
+
+<p>“Good Lor’! and haven’t I suffered for that
+mistake! However,” he went on, in a different
+voice, “I warn you I am not going to do penance
+for it all my life. Sooner or later I mean to take
+my happiness and you shall be mine.”</p>
+
+<p>“Your fidelity is worthy of a woman’s trust,
+isn’t it!” she flung at him, scornfully. She stood
+before him erect; all fear had vanished.</p>
+
+<p>“I swear I would be true to <i>you</i>.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, you have given me a fine display of your
+faithfulness!”</p>
+
+<p>“Isma”—he had paled—“don’t you know you
+could hold any man forever—?”</p>
+
+<p>A sudden glimmer on the trees made him turn
+for a moment and look at the big moon which had
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span>risen above the black eastern hills. Long rays
+of silver stole over the plain and lay caressingly
+upon the silent lagoons. Leaves began to shine,
+grass stems and stalks to glitter; shadows crept
+sullenly away to the shelter of trees and matted
+undergrowth. A metallic radiance flooded the
+whole scene. Lord Berriedale’s dark figure stood
+out against the silver-lit background and the
+gleaming light fell full upon the girl who stood
+motionless before him.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma,” he said, suddenly, and in his eyes was
+something akin to the power she had seen in the
+stoking sun and felt in the glowering dusk. “I
+can see your wonderful eyes, your hair—the hair
+I am always longing to touch and the lips I—dream
+about. Isma, to-night I shall touch that
+hair and your lips shall be mine—”</p>
+
+<p>The girl looked round for some way of escape,
+but there was none. They were standing on a
+small rise inclosed by thick shrubs; there was
+only one opening and her captor was standing
+in front of that. She might be able to press
+through the thicket, but it would be too slow a
+process; the branches would only imprison her
+and make her more helpless.</p>
+
+<p>Her companion had guessed her thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>“My dear Isma, it is no use looking for ways of
+escape, for there are none—you are utterly in
+my power to-night. But,” he went on, changing
+his tone, “I quite understand your scruples—why
+you are reluctant to surrender at present,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span>and to show you that I respect your principles
+I am willing to make a compromise with you.
+I will let you go and not touch you at all if you
+give me your word of honor that you will be mine
+the moment I am—free. Now, Isma, I warn
+you I am terribly in earnest, and if you will not
+make the promise I shall take what I want to-night.”</p>
+
+<p>There was a moment’s hesitation, then came
+the steadfast, courageous reply, “No, I cannot
+make such a promise, for I could never be yours.”</p>
+
+<p>“Isma, I will give you five minutes to make up
+your mind. When they are over you must either
+give me your word of honor that you will marry
+me or I—take—”</p>
+
+<p>There was no answer.</p>
+
+<p>By the light of the moon the man looked at his
+watch. “Five minutes from now,” he said,
+quietly.</p>
+
+<p>Again there was no reply.</p>
+
+<p>A ghastly silence followed. The two figures
+stood motionless in the moonlight; the man’s
+eyes were fixed upon his watch, the woman stood
+resolute, determined, but pale as death itself.</p>
+
+<p>“The five minutes are up,” said Lord Berriedale
+at last. “Which shall it be, your promise
+or—?”</p>
+
+<p>“I cannot make the promise, for I should only
+break it afterward.” Her voice was low, but
+firm.</p>
+
+<p>“By Jove! you have pluck! Still, even that
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span>fine courage of yours will not save you now.” He
+moved toward her.</p>
+
+<p>“Lord Berriedale, I warn you—I am strong.”</p>
+
+<p>He gave a hollow laugh. “My love is strong
+enough to conquer your resistance. But, Isma,
+you might as well <i>give</i> me what I want. Believe
+me, it would be much better for you if you did.”</p>
+
+<p>“I can give you—nothing.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not even those—kisses?”</p>
+
+<p>“Nothing.”</p>
+
+<p>“Very well.”</p>
+
+<p>Then, before she had time to draw back, his
+arms were round her, crushing her to his wildly
+beating heart while his stormy kisses beat upon
+her hair.</p>
+
+<p>She made a desperate attempt to free herself;
+but her efforts were useless, and the more she
+struggled the more steely became the arms of the
+man who held her. He was far stronger than she
+had imagined and she realized her utter helplessness,
+yet she strove to resist him, turning her face
+away that he might not touch her lips. He should
+not—</p>
+
+<p>But after a time her strength began to wane;
+it was oozing from her. God in heaven, would
+no one come to her rescue! If only Falcon knew
+of her plight, he would find a way to reach her!</p>
+
+<p>Then quite unexpectedly Lord Berriedale relaxed
+his hold, and Isma, too, heard the sound
+which had startled him.</p>
+
+<p>There were running footsteps on the road.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span>As the girl sprang away she gave a sharp, piercing
+cry.</p>
+
+<p>A few seconds afterward there was a crashing
+and tearing aside of bushes; then another figure
+emerged from the tangle and stood in the full
+white light of the moon.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">XV<br>
+<small>THE MOONLIT ROAD</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap2">AFTER an awkward pause Lord Berriedale
+said: “Good Lor’, Folkestone, whatever has
+happened to bring you over here at this breakneck
+speed? Was there an accident? Has any
+one fallen in the river?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, nothing has gone wrong over there, but—I
+was not quite sure that my cousin was happy
+here, so I came to see, and, judging from the
+appearance of things, it was just as well I did,”
+Falcon replied, with quiet significance. “That
+cry sounded anything but a happy one.”</p>
+
+<p>“Miss Folkestone was no doubt nervous at
+hearing the hasty footsteps, and naturally thought
+something terrible had taken place. However,”
+he continued, turning to go, “now that you are
+here and can look after your cousin, I must get
+back to my other guests.”</p>
+
+<p>The officer glanced anxiously at the girl, and in
+the moonlight saw that she looked utterly exhausted
+and that she was trembling violently.</p>
+
+<p>“I shall take my cousin back to her own home
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span>to-night. She looks quite ill. Will you be good
+enough to explain to Lady Berriedale? You and I
+will have a talk another time,” he called after the
+retreating figure.</p>
+
+<p>Isma never quite remembered how she reached
+Falcon’s car that evening. After the awful terror
+and strain, she was only conscious of a boundless
+relief, and retained merely blurred impressions
+of the weird scene, with its glinting trees, matted
+tangle of bushes, and the snakelike, curving river,
+silvered in places by the moon, and ominously
+black where the tree-covered banks flung their
+inky shadows into the deep, still waters. She
+was only aware that Falcon was with her, that
+she was safe; that he was helping her, touching
+her, leading her gently to the motor, and, when she
+was seated, tucking a rug carefully about her
+before he took the wheel.</p>
+
+<p>They drove some moonlit miles in silence,
+while she leaned back in almost drowsy content.
+It was good to be there, near her cousin, and feel
+the strong shelter of his presence! But after a
+time something disturbing crept into the sweet
+relief. The events of the evening began to
+intrude themselves upon her consciousness. She
+saw again the dreadful sunset, the terrorized plain;
+once more the menacing dusk gathered about her,
+the ghastly scene by the river came back to her;
+she felt the steely arms crushing her—those suffocating
+embraces! She closed her eyes and
+shivered in horror.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span>“What is it, Isma—are you cold?” came the
+anxious question from her companion, and one
+hand reached over and tucked the rug more
+closely about her.</p>
+
+<p>“No, thank you, I am not cold.”</p>
+
+<p>Falcon looked at her again and clenched his
+teeth.</p>
+
+<p>Presently he moved a little nearer so that their
+shoulders touched. His supporting touch had a
+strange effect on her; it made all which had taken
+place fade into dimness again and brought back
+the delicious sense of rest. It was lovely to sit
+beside him and feel the comforting strength
+emanating from him, while the steadily rising
+moon poured its cool, soothing radiance on a
+fevered world.</p>
+
+<p>All at once she felt a great sigh pass through her
+companion. Why did he sigh? Was she the
+cause of it? What an anxiety she had been to
+him and how splendidly he had come to her
+rescue! He had been so tactful and gentle, not
+uttered a word of reproach! And she had not
+even expressed her appreciation, her gratitude.
+Suddenly she felt acutely alive; her tiredness and
+inertness had all gone. How had Falcon crossed
+that dark, foreboding-looking river? How had
+he reached her? She must find out, but first she
+must thank him.</p>
+
+<p>“Falcon,” she began, her voice soft and warm,
+“you have been too wonderfully good to me—you
+have simply been—”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span>He interrupted her quickly. “Please don’t say
+anything about that—only, but tell me, are you
+feeling better yet?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, ever so much better, thank you, but,”
+she went on, a little timidly, “how did you—I
+mean, what made you leave the others and—come?”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I was not at all happy about the whole
+arrangement. It looked a bit queer, especially
+when you stayed behind. However, I thought
+the chauffeurs were there, till I saw them come
+over without you and they told me that—Lord
+Berriedale was with you.”</p>
+
+<p>“But—I thought you had gone to the other
+arm of the river where you could not see the boat
+arrive?”</p>
+
+<p>“So we had. Miss Brentford and I were
+stationed a good way down the stream. But I
+left her with some of the other people while I
+went over to see what had happened to you.
+Before I reached the main portion of the river
+I met the drivers and they told me you were on
+this side with Berriedale. I hurried down to the
+landing-place to get the boat. However, it had
+gone a long way down the river and the old boatman
+either could not or would not hear my call.
+That, of course, made me still more anxious to get
+across.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, and how did you manage?” she asked,
+breathlessly.</p>
+
+<p>“Well—it was a little difficult. I did not dare
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span>to risk swimming so far in such icy water; but I
+remembered there was a ridge at the rapids a
+mile higher up, which I had often crossed as a
+boy, when the water was low as it is now. So I
+hurried as fast as bogs and thickets would allow,
+reached the falls, and then fate was kind to me,
+for the moon had risen and showed me the right
+crossing. That made all the difference, for there
+are deep pools on either side; however, I got over
+all right, reached the road and when near the
+camping-ground your voice guided me to you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Falcon, I shall never be able to thank
+you enough!” she said, a deep tremor in the words.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t want any thanks—don’t trouble about
+that.”</p>
+
+<p>They had joined the coast road now; only
+another mile and they would be at Isma’s home.</p>
+
+<p>The car hummed along by the sea which lay
+like a sheet of shimmering silver between the great
+towering headlands.</p>
+
+<p>When they came to the entrance to The Palms
+Captain Folkestone slowed down, stopped the car,
+and helped his cousin to alight; then he walked
+over to the gate with her, but stood still without
+opening it.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma, I must ask you one question before
+you go in. Tell me,” he looked away from her,
+“what had Berriedale done to make you cry out
+like that?”</p>
+
+<p>The girl started. “Falcon, please don’t ask me.”</p>
+
+<p>“But I must know.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span>“Well, of course, I did not like being there—”</p>
+
+<p>“There was more than dislike in your voice;
+there was—terror.” He had turned to her now
+and in the bright moonlight he saw her agitation.
+“Tell me why?” he insisted.</p>
+
+<p>“I can’t—I can’t—”</p>
+
+<p>“Then I shall have to ask him.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, no,” she cried, “you mustn’t do that.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then tell me yourself.”</p>
+
+<p>There was no answer.</p>
+
+<p>“Was it really—as bad as that?”</p>
+
+<p>“Falcon, please don’t!” There was deep pain
+in her tones.</p>
+
+<p>“You mean me to infer—?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, don’t infer anything.”</p>
+
+<p>“Is there nothing to—infer?”</p>
+
+<p>Again there was no reply.</p>
+
+<p>“There is something, then?”</p>
+
+<p>Her head suddenly drooped.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma, tell me.” He came a little closer and
+went on, in a strange, moved voice, “Isma,
+couldn’t you confide in me just this once?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Falcon, it isn’t that—” Her tones were
+imploring and her fingers caught at the gate
+convulsively.</p>
+
+<p>“What is it, then?” he asked, his face almost
+touching her own. “Did he take any—liberties
+with you?”</p>
+
+<p>She started violently.</p>
+
+<p>“So he touched you?”</p>
+
+<p>She placed her elbows on the top railing of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span>gate and buried her face in her hands while a
+half-stifled moan escaped her lips.</p>
+
+<p>Captain Folkestone blanched. “Great God!
+what has the man done to her!” he muttered
+through his teeth, and after a pause he said,
+hoarsely, “For Heaven’s sake, Isma, don’t keep
+me in this awful suspense!”</p>
+
+<p>His voice wrung her heart. Must she really
+tell this clean, honorable man the degrading
+thing, that she had been embraced and kissed
+by her friend’s husband! She pressed her hands
+to her face in an agony of shame. Her mortification
+was greater than she could bear!</p>
+
+<p>“He—he—” She began her confession with a
+desperate effort.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, what did he do?” The words came from
+panting lips. “Did he—kiss you?”</p>
+
+<p>Her head sank lower. “My—hair,” she scarcely
+breathed.</p>
+
+<p>“And did he—embrace you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Y—e—s—”</p>
+
+<p>“Anything else?” The question held a startling
+intensity.</p>
+
+<p>“No,” she whispered.</p>
+
+<p>He drew a long breath, then took her hands
+from her face and crushed them in his own.</p>
+
+<p>For some minutes neither of them spoke.</p>
+
+<p>“I must not keep you standing out here any
+longer; you are tired and must rest,” he said, at
+length, releasing her reluctantly and opening the
+gate for her to pass through.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span>Silently they walked toward the house, where
+the lights in the lower rooms mingled feebly
+with the brilliant moonlight.</p>
+
+<p>When they had reached the front door the girl
+held out her hand to her companion and said,
+tremulously, “Falcon—I can’t thank you—I
+can’t—”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t try. I want no thanks, only some day
+perhaps you will—” He did not finish the sentence,
+but raised her hand and laid his burning
+lips against her fingers.</p>
+
+<p>A moment afterward he was gone.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>Isma went to sleep at once from sheer exhaustion
+that night, but even in her slumbers she could
+still feel the burning kiss pressed against her
+fingers.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">XVI<br>
+<small>THE BOMB</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">“THE mail has just arrived and there is quite
+a budget of letters for you, Miss Rita,”
+said Rex, the next morning, as he came into the
+drawing-room where the girl sat limp and tired
+in a deep armchair well piled with cushions.</p>
+
+<p>The secretary was in a motor-coat and carried
+a cap in his hand; he was evidently on the point
+of going out.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Brentford turned a white face and large,
+vague-looking eyes toward him. “Are you going
+out—before breakfast?” she asked, absently.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, going on most important business for his
+lordship,” and he handed a bundle of letters to the
+girl huddled in a weary heap among the violet-tinted
+cushions.</p>
+
+<p>The letter lying on top was addressed to Miss
+Folkestone in Lord Berriedale’s large, characteristic
+writing.</p>
+
+<p>A sudden animation came into Miss Brentford’s
+listless face. “What is this?” she asked, holding
+up the envelop, with a curious gleam in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span>Rex made a quick movement to secure the letter.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I am so sorry, Miss Rita! What a stupid
+mistake! I suppose in my hurry I put it among
+yours. Well, I must be off. Can’t wait a moment.
+This is most urgent,” he said, striding out of the
+room, and a few moments afterward the girl heard
+a car buzzing down the drive.</p>
+
+<p>So Neville had written to Isma and Rex was
+taking the letter to her. He had received instructions
+to hurry, the business was urgent—so that
+was it! Of course last night when her brother-in-law
+had told them that Miss Folkestone had been
+taken home by her cousin, as she suddenly felt
+ill, she, Rita, had guessed that this was only an
+excuse, for the girl had looked splendid during
+tea, and she was too strong and healthy for such
+unexpected turns of indisposition, and that the
+real cause of her departure must be looked for in
+another direction. However, the excuse given
+was good enough to pass muster with the other
+guests. But the question was, why had she gone
+home? Rita would not have attached so much
+importance to the incident had it not been for
+Captain Folkestone’s strange behavior. During
+tea he had been restless and moody, and when
+they had crossed the river and arrived at the
+spot where they were to fish he had removed their
+rods and joined another group of friends; then he
+had suddenly left and not returned again. Rita
+had spent a miserable evening wondering what
+had made him go off like that; but her misery
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span>reached its climax when they returned to the
+camping-ground and found he had taken his
+cousin home. The thought that the man she
+loved had been with the woman she hated on the
+moonlit road together for hours nearly maddened
+her, and she had lain sleepless till dawn, tortured
+by the vision of them alone in the vast white
+solitude of night!</p>
+
+<p>There could be no doubt about it, his cousin
+had cast her spell over Captain Folkestone, too.
+Rex had suggested it long ago, but she had not
+believed it then; now she could not close her eyes
+to the horrible certainty. Had he not quite
+voluntarily chosen to leave her, Rita, to take the
+other woman home!</p>
+
+<p>Miss Brentford shut her tired, pain-racked eyes.
+Oh, what suffering Isma had brought her, what
+pain! What magic could this girl possess to make
+all the men mad about her!</p>
+
+<p>She had noticed that one of the aides-de-camp,
+even on that short acquaintance, had also succumbed
+to her mysterious power, and as for
+Neville—a withering smile of contempt played
+for a moment round her bloodless lips. He was
+making a complete fool of himself. How she
+loathed that flaxen-haired creature! But what
+could have passed between her and Neville last
+night to make her leave so suddenly? She had
+noticed that her brother-in-law was not himself
+when he joined them the previous evening; he
+had been grave, very absent-minded, and had
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span>given quite impossible answers to casual questions.
+A deep pucker crept in between Miss Brentford’s
+heavily marked brows. Whatever could have
+happened? Neville had been in the first boatload
+to cross the river and Isma was going to wait
+till the last, so how could they have quarreled?
+Could he have returned to the camping-ground
+after he had arranged all the fishing groups? Yes,
+that must have been it! She had not seen him
+for two hours; during that time he must have
+gone over to Miss Folkestone. Her cousin must
+also have crossed and had evidently disturbed
+them, then the scheming, unscrupulous girl had
+pleaded that she was not well and asked him to
+take her home—apparently she meant to keep her
+hold on him as well.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Brentford suddenly sat up and clenched
+her small hands, while an awful look came into
+her dark eyes. She was able now to put an end
+to his infatuation and must do so at once. Isma
+should not be allowed to rob her of this splendid
+soldier! If he knew that his cousin was flirting
+desperately with Neville, a married man, he would
+turn from her in disgust. Yes, his eyes must be
+opened immediately. But of course her sister
+must be told first—only, how would such knowledge
+affect her in her delicate state of health?</p>
+
+<p>The girl moved uneasily and an expression of
+fear passed momentarily over her haggard face.
+The doctors had said that Beatrice must on no
+account have worry or shocks. Still, how could
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span>she keep this dreadful news from the one it concerned
+so vitally? Wasn’t it better for her sister
+to know, so that she could stop the thing before
+it went any farther? Yet, suppose the shock
+should kill her? After all, wasn’t it kinder to let
+her brother-in-law go his own way and allow her
+sister to be deceived both in husband and friend?
+She was quite happy at present, so why disturb
+and disillusion her?</p>
+
+<p>Then her thoughts went back to the man she
+loved gloriously alone with his cousin on the
+silvered road. Her pale face looked all at once
+distorted; that sort of thing must end, at all costs.
+She could not endure another night of torture
+like the last!</p>
+
+<p>The hollow boom of the breakfast gong rumbled
+through the house.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Brentford started slightly, rose slowly, and
+stumbled wearily across the room.</p>
+
+<p>In the hall were bustle and life. Ladies dressed
+for traveling descended the stairs, servants carried
+down monogramed suit-cases; groups of men
+stood talking by the open front door, looking into
+the blazing sunshine and making remarks about
+the heat of the morning, and discussing the sport
+of the night before.</p>
+
+<p>However, soon all the guests were assembled
+in the large dining-room and Rita took her sister’s
+place at the table, as the invalid never came down
+to breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>The girl had not seen her that morning; she
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span>had purposely avoided going to her room, as she
+wanted Neville to tell her that Isma had gone
+home. He always went in to see his wife before
+going down to breakfast, and he would naturally
+tell her then.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed to Miss Brentford as if the meal
+would never end. Every one was talking gaily—the
+visitors had evidently enjoyed their stay at
+The Bluff and were going home in high spirits.</p>
+
+<p>When at last the guests left the dining-room
+their hostess had just come down-stairs. She
+looked decidedly better that morning, her skin
+was not so sallow as usual, the color in her cheeks
+less hectic, and the hollows round her eyes not so
+prominent. She smiled happily and made gracious
+remarks to everybody; but after a while she
+looked round as if searching for some one, and,
+turning to her sister, asked: “Where is Isma?
+Hasn’t she come down yet?”</p>
+
+<p>So she had not been told, after all—why not?</p>
+
+<p>“Didn’t Neville tell you this morning?” asked
+Rita, evading the questioning glance. “Miss
+Folkestone was not well last night and her cousin
+took her home soon after tea.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not well, Rita—and no one has told me till
+now! How strange! I must drive over and see
+her presently.”</p>
+
+<p>The visitors were crowding round to say
+good-by; they had all decided to leave early so
+as to avoid traveling in the hottest part of the
+day, and Lady Berriedale had to give them her
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span>full attention. But when the last car had vanished
+down the long gravel drive she followed
+her sister into the drawing-room and said: “Tell
+me about Isma. Whatever was the matter with
+her?” Then Rita’s white face caught her attention.
+“My dear child, are you ill, too? You
+look as if you hadn’t slept all night.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, I am not ill,” began the girl, turning to
+the window, a slight tremor in her voice, “but—”
+She stopped irresolutely. Now, when there was
+such a good opportunity for striking the fatal
+blow, she wavered. Should she not be merciful
+to the invalid who had so little of life left to her?
+But again the picture of the handsome Guardsman
+driving alone with the fair-haired temptress came
+up before her. No, she could not afford to be
+generous—she could not! It was impossible to
+endure another night like the last!</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” demanded her sister, watching her
+with some perplexity.</p>
+
+<p>The girl swallowed hard. “I was awake all
+last night, and that naturally makes me tired
+to-day,” she replied, making the plunge.</p>
+
+<p>“Child, how was it that you did not sleep?
+That is not like you.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl stiffened. She had committed herself.
+Now she must go on.</p>
+
+<p>“I was thinking of something—something which
+had upset me horribly.” Her voice was uneven
+and her breathing labored.</p>
+
+<p>“Something upset you horribly? Whatever is
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span>it?” asked Lady Berriedale, coming closer and
+looking at her sister with a puzzled air.</p>
+
+<p>Rita’s heart hammered in her breast, her throat
+tightened. Should she draw back? Could she
+draw back? No, she had said too much for that:
+she must go on.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, something which will upset you, too, when
+you hear it. That is why I hate telling you.”</p>
+
+<p>“What can it be?” There was sudden fear in
+the thin, weak voice.</p>
+
+<p>“It is about—”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, tell me quickly—”</p>
+
+<p>“Neville.” The word almost choked her.</p>
+
+<p>“About Neville?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, and—”</p>
+
+<p>“And some one else?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes—” She turned quickly and threw her
+arms round her sister’s trembling form. “Don’t
+let it make you ill, Beatrice dear, will you?” she
+pleaded. “I shall never forgive myself if it does,
+and yet I think you ought to know about it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Tell me,” replied the elder woman, without
+returning the embrace, a terrible foreboding making
+her voice cold and strange.</p>
+
+<p>“He and Miss—”</p>
+
+<p>Lady Berriedale tore herself from the girl’s
+trembling arms and looked at her with angry
+eyes. “If you mean Isma, I will not have you
+say another word. You have always disliked
+her and been jealous of her and I refuse to listen
+to your nasty insinuations.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span>“All the same they are true,” remarked her
+companion, in chilly tones. The last words had
+killed her pity and roused her opposition. “I
+first noticed it the night of the dance. Neville
+was paying her a lot of attention, you remember,
+but I had heard hints of it before.”</p>
+
+<p>Lady Berriedale laughed harshly. “Ah, is that
+all your mean little soul has to go on? I tell you
+they are both innocent! Neville has always been
+true to me and a splendid husband, and Isma is
+the most noble, the most honorable woman in the
+world!”</p>
+
+<p>“If you had seen them on the stairs together
+after the ball, you would not have thought them
+so innocent,” retorted the girl, coldly.</p>
+
+<p>“What were they doing there?”</p>
+
+<p>“You should have seen that before you defend
+them so blindly. I was in my room, every one
+else had gone to bed, when I heard low, murmuring
+voices. I opened my door gently and there
+was your noble Isma standing close to your husband
+while he pressed her hands against his
+heart.”</p>
+
+<p>“You are mistaken. Your jealous mind puts
+such a horrible interpretation on what was
+probably an absolutely harmless act.”</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose it is also invention on my part that
+your precious friend went home unwell last night—by
+the way, she looked perfectly splendid at tea;
+but she and Neville must have quarreled, for he
+was in a bad humor after she had gone and would
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span>hardly speak to any one, and this morning Rex
+had to rush off before breakfast with a fat letter
+for her—trying to appease the offended goddess,
+I suppose.”</p>
+
+<p>“I refuse to believe it. I shall ask Isma herself.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, go and face her with it. Ask her if what
+I have said is not true and make her show you
+Neville’s letter. Ask her why she went home
+early and make her swear that she is speaking
+the truth, and then see who is right! It has made
+me perfectly furious that you, poor, trusting dear,
+should be so completely deceived by this unscrupulous
+person, who does not even consider
+friendship too sacred to use to gain her own ends!
+All the time she has pretended to be your friend
+it’s only Neville she has been after!”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t—don’t, Rita! I will not believe it! I
+will not listen to you!” cried her companion.
+Still, the pain in her voice showed that the cruel
+words had gone home. “I will go and ask Neville
+at once.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, don’t ask him yet. Get the truth out of
+Miss Folkestone first, then you can face Neville
+with it afterward.”</p>
+
+<p>“I shall go to her this afternoon, and Rita,”
+she added, a terrible expression in her dark eyes,
+“if what you have told me to-day is untrue, I
+will never have you inside my house again.”</p>
+
+<p>“Very well; but insist on seeing Neville’s letter;
+for after all these other things your devoted
+friend might not stop at falsehood, either, when
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span>she is in a tight corner. See the letter, then you
+will be able to judge for yourself.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I will do that,” said Lady Berriedale,
+moving toward the door, and there was great
+dignity in her bearing as she left the room and
+went up-stairs to her own apartment.</p>
+
+<p>“After all, it did not upset her so very much,”
+thought Rita, sinking down on a lounge in the
+cool drawing-room. “Neville is not worth worrying
+about. However, it is all done now, anyhow,
+and when Beatrice sees that letter—”</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>When Lady Berriedale came down to lunch
+there was a great change in her. The hollows
+round her eyes had deepened, her sallow skin
+looked parched, the feverish expression in her
+eyes had intensified, and she breathed in a jerky,
+irregular way. She carried herself with an almost
+stiff dignity, but she seemed perfectly composed.</p>
+
+<p>“My dear, whatever is the matter? You looked
+so well this morning,” began her husband, with
+real concern.</p>
+
+<p>“I am very well, thank you. I am going over
+to see Isma directly after lunch.”</p>
+
+<p>“Indeed, you mustn’t dream of doing such a
+thing. You would faint on the way in this heat.
+Miss Folkestone can come to you.”</p>
+
+<p>“You forget she is not well.”</p>
+
+<p>“She will be more fit for the drive than you.
+I shall go over presently and bring her back
+with me.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span>Rita shot a meaning glance at her sister, but
+the elder woman did not appear to notice it.</p>
+
+<p>“Thank you. I wish to go myself.”</p>
+
+<p>Then suddenly a great rush of blood mounted
+to Lady Berriedale’s face; she drew a long, gasping
+breath and fell back in her chair.</p>
+
+<p>“Rita,” she whispered, faintly, “please tell
+Thomas to get Abbott to help me up-stairs.”</p>
+
+<p>Her husband was beside her in a moment,
+ready to assist her, but she brushed him aside
+and preferred to wait for her maid.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>When Lord Berriedale was alone he stood with
+drawn brows, gazing out into the brilliant sunshine.
+Whatever could have gone wrong to make
+his wife refuse his assistance? She had never done
+such a thing before. He would go at once and
+persuade Isma to come. She would be able to
+soothe the invalid and make her happy again.</p>
+
+<p>But would she come? He had not much hope
+that the letter he had written that morning would
+effect a reconciliation and bring the girl back to
+The Bluff; but if he went himself and explained
+that Beatrice was ill and upset it would bring her.
+He knew her kind heart could not refuse to
+minister comfort to her friend and she would have
+courage enough to return with him in spite of
+what had happened the night before.</p>
+
+<p>His eyes flashed with a strange fire.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, Isma would come when she knew about
+Beatrice—his difficulty was all at once solved.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">PART II</h2>
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span>
+<h3 class="nobreak">I<br>
+<small>THE HURRICANE</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">ISMA sat by the window in her cool drawing-room,
+looking out into the glaring, dust-laden
+atmosphere. A hot wind was blowing, bending
+the flowers in the garden and bruising them
+against one another. The scorching breeze rushed
+noisily through leaves, shook slender branches,
+made palm-trees rattle in angry defiance, and
+lifted grit and small pebbles high into the air
+and hurled them rudely at window-panes and
+doors.</p>
+
+<p>But the girl scarcely noticed the fierce tempest.
+Her eyes were fixed on the road leading over the
+northern cape, where dense columns of sandy
+dust whirled along the track and finally hurled
+themselves over the steep bank sloping down
+toward the beach.</p>
+
+<p>The girl watched the road expectantly.</p>
+
+<p>Would Falcon come to see her to-day? She
+wanted him to come, and yet she shrank from
+meeting him. What did he think of her now,
+after the confession she had made him as they
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span>stood by the gate in the moonlight? He had
+been most kind, not uttered one word of reproach,
+yet she knew what such a disclosure would mean
+to a nature like his. He had shown signs of
+terrible agitation, her words had moved him
+deeply; but—had his emotion been merely due
+to wounded pride? It must have been a painful
+ordeal to listen to her degrading experience; yet
+had his agonized concern only been caused by
+anxiety for the family honor? What about the
+burning kiss still scorching her fingers?</p>
+
+<p>The hot blood mounted to her face and her
+heart beat in a queer, uneven way.</p>
+
+<p>Could he care, after all? But if so, why had
+he not told her before? They were both free
+and could have been happy years ago. The
+rich color in her cheeks paled a little. No, he
+could not love her. Still, why that desperate
+agitation?</p>
+
+<p>Another thought darted into her mind. There
+had been a difference in his attitude toward her
+since the night of the ball. Could it be that she
+had betrayed her feelings to him then and that
+he was moved with deep pity for her?</p>
+
+<p>She started visibly.</p>
+
+<p>Could that be the reason for the change in him?
+She was painfully aware that for a short time
+she had lost control of her emotions during their
+one dance together. After those weeks of cold
+aloofness, the blinding sweetness of being so
+close to him, feeling his strong arm round her,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span>had unnerved her and made her momentarily
+forget everything but the tortuous joy of his
+nearness! And during that brief yielding had
+he seen and understood?</p>
+
+<p>She leaned suddenly back in her chair, her
+whole body aflame with shame.</p>
+
+<p>If he had cared, he would have told her then—must
+have told her; it would have been inhuman
+to leave her in the throes of her emotion without
+relieving her by laying bare his own. No, it was
+clear he did not love her; he only pitied her and
+was distressed on her account.</p>
+
+<p>She sat up straight again. She had been
+appallingly wanting in dignity and reserve; however,
+she must make amends immediately; she
+must drive her love into the background and show
+Falcon she cared for him only as a cousin who had
+been wonderfully kind to her and to whom she
+owed a debt of gratitude. Yes, she owed him
+much—what had he not saved her from the night
+before!</p>
+
+<p>The awful scene by the river and everything
+connected with Lord Berriedale came back to
+her. He had written that morning and actually
+been thoughtless enough to send the letter by his
+impudent secretary and allowed such a man to
+know that he had private important communication
+with her. Had he not the least mercy, not
+the slightest consideration for her name!</p>
+
+<p>The letter had been apologetic enough; still, of
+course, she could not trust him any more, and she
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span>had made up her mind never to enter The Bluff
+again. It would not be safe, for he would only
+trap her at the first opportunity.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly the toot of a motor-horn made her
+start. Could it be Falcon coming now? He had
+not come down the cliff road, but perhaps he had
+gone to The Bluff first and was calling at The
+Palms on his way back.</p>
+
+<p>She rose tremblingly.</p>
+
+<p>A machine crunched heavily on the gravel as it
+swung up to the front door. Falcon would be in
+the room in a moment. She sat down again,
+feeling choked with the violent throbbing of her
+heart.</p>
+
+<p>The door opened, somebody entered. The
+turmoil within suddenly ceased and she felt herself
+turning to stone. The man coming into the
+room was not Falcon, but Lord Berriedale.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Folkestone rose mechanically. She did
+not move toward her visitor, but stood motionless,
+measuring him with proud, angry eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“How dare you come here!” she said, in tones
+quivering with suppressed fury.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma,” began the man, his face white with
+tense emotion, “Beatrice is very ill. Something
+has happened this morning. I don’t know what
+it is, only it has upset her horribly and made her
+look awful. She was coming to see you this afternoon,
+but she nearly fainted at luncheon and had
+to be taken to bed at once. She wouldn’t let me
+touch her or do anything for her.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span>“I am very sorry for Beatrice. Why didn’t
+you send for the doctor?”</p>
+
+<p>“Send for the doctor, as if that would do any
+good! It is not medical treatment she needs.
+She looked much better this morning; but since
+then something has happened which is worrying
+her. It would be useless to try and make
+her confide in me at present. However, I am
+sure she would tell you all about it, and you
+could talk to her and put things right the way
+you always do and she would soon be better
+again.”</p>
+
+<p>“There are some things I could never talk her
+out of—” said the girl, regarding him with cold,
+accusing eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“You mean that she has found out—that she
+suspects—?”</p>
+
+<p>“Very likely.”</p>
+
+<p>“But it can’t be—that.” The man was gently
+caressing his short mustache.</p>
+
+<p>“And why not—?”</p>
+
+<p>“Because, Isma, I have taken special care that
+she should not be worried with—this. However,
+even if she imagines something is wrong, you
+could easily set her mind at rest.”</p>
+
+<p>“Put her mind at rest—that she has a faithful
+husband?” Her eyes blazed out her contempt
+for him.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma—don’t. I may deserve your scorn;
+still, this is hardly the time to express it—every
+moment is of importance.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span>“But you don’t seriously think that I would
+ever enter your house again?”</p>
+
+<p>“Isma, don’t waste time. Can’t you realize
+how every second might—?”</p>
+
+<p>“And how am I to know this is not merely
+another trap you are setting for me?”</p>
+
+<p>“Your own heart will tell you that I am sincere,”
+he replied, with profound earnestness. “I am
+not now pleading for myself, but for another who
+is in terrible need of you. Isma, you who are so
+strong and well, have pity on your suffering friend!
+Come at once. If you wait—you may be too
+late,” he urged, a tremor in his tones.</p>
+
+<p>The girl wavered. “Is it really as serious as—that?”</p>
+
+<p>“It may be. When any one in Beatrice’s state
+of health becomes as upset as she is at present
+one cannot be sure what will happen.”</p>
+
+<p>Miss Folkestone did not answer at once. She
+stood looking up toward the big headland veiled
+in a glaring haze. What was she to do? Merciful
+Heavens! why was she always placed in these
+impossible situations! Was she never to be freed
+from the sordidness she loathed? Why must she,
+who had fought so desperately for security, be
+constantly plunged into new danger?</p>
+
+<p>And if Falcon should come, what would he
+think if he were told she had gone to The Bluff
+again and with the man who had insulted her the
+night before? He could draw only one conclusion
+from such a course of action.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span>But Beatrice was ill and in trouble. Her frail
+body was already ravished with a dreadful disease
+and a worse calamity hung over her. What if
+she were already on the point of discovering her
+husband’s unfaithfulness? No, no, such a catastrophe
+must be prevented at all costs! She must
+go and avert this disaster. Surely, there was yet
+time to stay the hand of Fate? She must go to
+The Bluff—there was no help for it.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Berriedale watched the silent girl as she
+gazed intently at the haze-covered cliff, and in
+his eyes smoldered a suppressed eagerness which
+was not unlike the glitter in the eyes of some
+jungle animal as it stalks its prey and watches its
+every movement from under cover.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma,” he said, at length, “come! Don’t be
+afraid of me. The chauffeur is there. In any
+case, if you prefer it, I will walk back. Only come
+quickly, before it is too late!” he pleaded, with
+fevered anxiety.</p>
+
+<p>“Very well, I will come this once,” replied the
+girl, very gravely, “but remember, it is only
+because Beatrice is so ill, and my coming does not
+mean that I will ever forgive last night.”</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>Half an hour after Isma and Lord Berriedale
+had gone another car sped up the avenue and
+stopped at the front door of The Palms.</p>
+
+<p>Captain Folkestone sprang up the steps and
+pressed the bell emphatically.</p>
+
+<p>As the maid opened the door the hot wind
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span>rushed into the hall and set the pictures rattling
+against the walls.</p>
+
+<p>“Isn’t Miss Folkestone at home?” asked the
+visitor, as the servant did not invite him to enter
+the house.</p>
+
+<p>“No, she went away with Lord Berriedale half
+an hour ago,” replied the maid, holding the door
+open with one hand and vainly trying to keep
+strands of hair from blowing across her eyes
+with the other.</p>
+
+<p>A great change came over the soldier’s face.
+However, the girl was too much blinded by hair
+and wind to notice any difference in his appearance.</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps you would like to see Miss Livingston?”
+she asked, anxious to put an end to the
+interview and be able to close the door.</p>
+
+<p>“No, thanks, I will not trouble her,” said Captain
+Folkestone, moving away.</p>
+
+<p>After the door had closed the man stood by the
+car irresolute for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>Good God! Had Isma taken leave of her senses
+or was she, after all—? He murmured something
+inarticulate under his breath and leaped into
+the motor. Then he plunged into the furnace-like
+breath of the gale. A cloud of dust enveloped
+him, showers of grit pelted him; but, heedless of
+the onslaught, he dashed down the avenue at a
+reckless speed, and when he reached the road he
+turned the car toward The Bluff.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">II<br>
+<small>PAYING TOLL</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">MISS FOLKESTONE did not speak to Lord
+Berriedale during their drive to The Bluff.
+She sat away from him in a corner of the car,
+closely veiled, aloof and dignified. The hood of
+the motor was up and the side-curtains fastened,
+yet the hot, stifling air was laden with dust.</p>
+
+<p>When they reached the house Isma went up
+to the invalid at once.</p>
+
+<p>The green blinds were half drawn in Lady
+Berriedale’s room and below them a fiery glare
+came into the apartment, mixing oddly with its
+prevailing gloom.</p>
+
+<p>The patient lay very still in the large blackwood
+bedstead; her face was pale and her lips compressed;
+one transparent hand clutched nervously
+at the embroidered counterpane and the dark eyes
+turned restlessly toward Isma as she entered.</p>
+
+<p>“Are you better?” asked the elder woman,
+holding out her hand in a formal way.</p>
+
+<p>Isma took the proffered hand and at the same
+time bent over the invalid and kissed the wasted
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span>cheek. “Yes, much better, thank you; but you
+are not well, dear. Tell me, what has gone wrong?
+Why are you so strange? You are not a bit glad
+to see me!” There was gentle hurt in the low,
+musical voice.</p>
+
+<p>Instantly the face among the lacy pillows
+changed. “Oh, Isma, kiss me again! I know
+I am perfectly hateful and you are a saint to
+come to me. Darling, I am not worthy of your
+love!” she broke out, clasping the girl to her
+convulsively.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Folkestone stroked the burning forehead
+soothingly. “Deary, what has upset you so?”</p>
+
+<p>“I am really ashamed to tell you, for now when
+I hear your dear voice and look into your true,
+beautiful eyes I cannot forgive myself for having
+doubted you.”</p>
+
+<p>“You have doubted me, Beatrice?” asked the
+girl, the pink bloom fading from her cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I have been perfectly wicked all the morning.
+I have doubted both you and—”</p>
+
+<p>Her companion drew back slightly.</p>
+
+<p>The patient noticed the movement. “Sit down,
+please. You must not stand any longer; the
+heat is very trying to-day. Sit down; then we
+can talk.”</p>
+
+<p>Miss Folkestone dropped into a chair, feeling
+suddenly limp with apprehension. So the blow
+she had paid such a price to avert was about to
+fall, after all! What evil powers had been at
+work? Who had sown these seeds of distrust
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span>and suspicion? But she would know all too
+soon. The thin voice trailed on.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma, I feel so horrid, so absolutely brutal,
+telling you this. Still, it is best you should
+know; then you will see how nasty I really am
+and not a bit like what you and dear Neville
+think me—”</p>
+
+<p>She stopped. How strange her companion
+looked! She was leaning back, with her eyes
+closed and lips set, as if preparing for some terrible
+ordeal.</p>
+
+<p>When Lady Berriedale ceased speaking the girl
+looked up and in her eyes burned a pain which
+smote her friend with new penitence.</p>
+
+<p>“Dearest, don’t look like that!” she exclaimed,
+beseechingly. “I know it has been most cruel
+to doubt you and no one hates hurting you more
+than I; but when I have told you all and you have
+denied it I will be so contrite and do all in my
+power to make up to you both for my horrible
+suspicions.”</p>
+
+<p>Miss Folkestone leaned over the bed quickly.
+Perhaps the calamity could yet be prevented;
+perhaps even now, on the brink of disaster, there
+might be a way of escape. “Beatrice,” she said,
+grasping at the straw, “wouldn’t it be much better
+for you not to talk about it? It will only upset
+and exhaust you, and, now that you are feeling
+all right about it—”</p>
+
+<p>“No, dear, I would much rather tell you,”
+replied her friend, firmly, “for then it gives you
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span>the opportunity of denying everything. It is
+not for my sake I want to give you this chance,
+but for your own and—his.”</p>
+
+<p>The room all at once swam before Isma. So
+there was no escape, after all! The trusting little
+woman looking up at her with large, beseeching
+eyes must have her heart lacerated by the cruel
+truth she would have given life itself to keep from
+her! But, merciful God, why should she be called
+on to strike the death-blow to such confiding
+trust! Why must women always bear the brunt
+of men’s misdoings? Why had Beatrice not faced
+her husband with the slander? Why did she spare
+him and tax her, the innocent victim, with his
+cruel wrong?</p>
+
+<p>“Isma,” went on the high-pitched voice, “I
+have been told that—that—Neville is not true
+to me and that—he cares for you.” She finished
+with an effort. “Of course it cannot be true, but
+Isma—tell me it is not?” and her eager black
+eyes looked pleadingly into the gray ones.</p>
+
+<p>“Beatrice, why did you listen to such horrible
+gossip? Whoever could have told you such a
+thing?” replied the girl, desperately avoiding the
+direct denial.</p>
+
+<p>Her friend noticed the evasion and her lips
+stiffened. “I have been told,” she continued, in
+more even tones, “that on the night of the ball
+you and Neville were seen on the landing after
+the rest of us had gone to bed, and he was pressing
+your hand to his heart.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span>Miss Folkestone sat rigid in her chair. Whoever
+could have seen them? The world seemed
+to be tumbling about her. She glanced down at
+the rich peacock-green carpet, aghast.</p>
+
+<p>“So you can’t deny it,” said the cold voice from
+the bed.</p>
+
+<p>The girl pulled herself together quickly. She
+must say something to soothe the woman hiding
+her wounds under this icy exterior.</p>
+
+<p>“Beatrice, I was coming up late after seeing to
+things down-stairs and we accidentally met on
+the landing. Lord Berriedale admired my gown.
+Oh, Beatrice, you know that men are often impulsive
+if one looks nice, just the way we are about
+flowers—”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, you looked bewildering that night. I
+don’t wonder you turn the head of every man
+who comes near you, and of course my husband
+admired you, too; he danced with you and talked
+to you a good deal. Still, there is a great difference
+between admiring a girl and—making love
+to her on the stairs late at night. You cannot
+deny that he pressed your hand to his heart?”
+her friend concluded, in a hard voice.</p>
+
+<p>“Beatrice, such things may mean absolutely
+nothing,” said Isma, suddenly thinking of the way
+Falcon, who did not love her, had kissed her hand
+the night before.</p>
+
+<p>“Very well, then, we will let that pass. But
+what about last evening? You certainly look
+tired to-day, but not ill. Were you ill? Was
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span>that the reason you went home? Isma, tell me
+honestly?”</p>
+
+<p>The girl’s eyes wavered before the searching
+dark ones. “No,” she stammered, at last, “that
+was not the reason.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, then, did you go home? Tell me that?”</p>
+
+<p>Miss Folkestone turned a full, large gaze upon
+her friend. “Beatrice,” she said, in gentle tones,
+“please don’t ask me all these questions. I would
+gladly tell you everything, only, believe me, it is
+far better not.”</p>
+
+<p>“Better not tear the veil from my eyes and let
+me see I have lived on illusions all this time?
+But,” her voice became strangely weary, “I am
+tired of this hoodwinking. I would rather know
+the truth—rather hurt me, <i>my friend</i>, than <i>deceive</i>
+me.”</p>
+
+<p>Isma winced. Lady Berriedale had emphasized
+the words “my friend” and “deceive.” The
+situation was horrible—gruesome.</p>
+
+<p>“Beatrice,” began the girl, her golden-gray eyes
+looking with desperate sincerity at her companion,
+“I am not deceiving you—truly I am not.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then tell me what happened last night. Tell
+me why Neville wrote to you this morning, a
+letter so important that Rex had to be despatched
+with it before breakfast. What was in that
+letter?”</p>
+
+<p>“Lord Berriedale had hurt me last night and he
+apologized this morning,” replied Isma, gazing
+steadily into the flushed face on the pillow.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span>“Have you destroyed that letter?”</p>
+
+<p>“Not yet.”</p>
+
+<p>“Will you let me see it?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, I cannot do that; it wouldn’t be— You
+wouldn’t understand.”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t you think it would be more correct to
+say that I would understand too well?” said the
+invalid, a grim smile twisting her thin lips.</p>
+
+<p>“Beatrice, if only you would trust me!” Miss
+Folkestone had risen and stood, tall and beautiful,
+her face glowing with pitying love and yearning
+anxiety.</p>
+
+<p>“Trust you, indeed! Haven’t I trusted you,
+and what is the result, that I have been most
+grossly, most appallingly deceived!”</p>
+
+<p>“No, Beatrice, no!” cried the girl, in agony.
+Then, sinking on her knees beside the bed, she
+put out her arms to clasp her friend to her, but
+she drew coldly away. “Beatrice, I have not
+deceived you—I have not!” she protested, appealingly.</p>
+
+<p>“Very well, if you are truly innocent, then look
+at me and swear by your mother’s memory that
+there never has been any talk of love between
+you and Neville.”</p>
+
+<p>The kneeling figure drew a shuddering breath,
+but made no reply.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I thought so,” muttered the harsh voice
+from the pillows. “You are guilty, terribly
+guilty, and—I trusted you so!”</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Isma raised her head and opened
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span>her lips to speak—how easily she could clear herself!
+She need only tell Beatrice the whole truth,
+that Neville loved her and had pursued her with
+his devotion, but that she did not care for him
+and had never for a moment been disloyal to her
+friend. How easy to lay the blame on the one
+to whom it belonged! However, such a disclosure
+would only mean deeper anguish to his
+wife, so it was better she should think the guilt
+lay with her, Isma, and that her husband was not
+much to blame. The girl closed her lips again
+and her head sank dejectedly down on the bed.
+She would not speak, would not clear herself.</p>
+
+<p>There was a pause so chilly that it seemed as
+if a wall of ice had risen up between them; then
+the invalid said: “Isma, I could have forgiven
+you more easily if you had come and told me the
+truth yourself. However, to deceive me and let
+others inform me, that is— But never mind. I
+know at last. Still, to think that I, poor fool,
+who thought myself loved by husband and friend,”
+she went on, in a different tone, “should have
+thrown you together—how ludicrous! To think
+that I was actually encouraging you both, drawing
+you to him and almost pushing you into his arms—I,
+his devoted wife, who thought myself so secure
+in his love, who adored him with a passion which
+would have died a dozen times for him if it had
+been possible—I, who doted on every line of his
+form and the least touch of his hand—that <i>I</i> should
+actually have been the one to keep you near him
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span>and put such a temptation in his way! Can’t
+you see the ghastly humor of it?” and Lady Berriedale
+laughed an ugly, harsh laugh which sounded
+hollow and weird, like the echo of footsteps in a
+vault.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Folkestone shivered. She put her hand
+across her eyes as if something had blinded her.
+“Don’t!” she whispered, faintly; “don’t!”</p>
+
+<p>“Surely, Isma, you see the comedy it has been,
+don’t you?” Beatrice added, with the same mirthless
+laughter.</p>
+
+<p>Her companion lifted her head with a proud
+little movement. The red glare from the window
+fell on her wonderful hair. She stood tall, lovely,
+her face burning with a wordless pain and in her
+large eyes glistened a dumb agony.</p>
+
+<p>“Good God! you are beautiful, Isma—your
+worst enemy could not deny that! I don’t wonder
+poor Neville has succumbed! However, I know
+now that your lofty beauty is only a shell and
+below it you are heartless, cruel, and false! But
+you are clever—oh, how clever! What a feat to
+accomplish, to make the husband your ardent
+lover and his wife your trusting friend—”</p>
+
+<p>The girl had suddenly reeled, but she straightened
+quickly and stood motionless for a moment,
+her face ashen and her eyes looking long and
+intently at the woman who derided her. Then,
+without a word, she turned and walked slowly
+out of the room.</p>
+
+<p>She saw nothing as she made her way down the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span>thickly carpeted stairs. On reaching the hall
+she was not even aware that Falcon was there
+talking to Miss Brentford, that Lord Berriedale
+came out from the library and spoke to her. She
+did not notice that he opened the door for her and
+followed her to the motor. She was oblivious to
+everything but the cruel fact that up-stairs lay
+her friend, facing the worst agony any woman is
+called upon to bear, and that she, Isma, could do
+nothing to comfort her.</p>
+
+<p>She sank down among the cushions in the car
+and was barely aware that the machine darted
+forward into the teeth of the fiendish hurricane.</p>
+
+<p>Falcon had gone into the sitting-room and had
+been watching her from the nearest window.
+When Lord Berriedale helped Isma into the motor
+the man looking on clenched his hands and ground
+his teeth. What had they done between them
+to make his cousin look like that! He choked
+back the angry words rising to his lips.</p>
+
+<p>He would follow her presently, after she had
+recovered a little from the ordeal she had been
+through up-stairs.</p>
+
+<p>Captain Folkestone stood for some time looking
+out at the great dust-clouds flying before the
+pursuing blast. His face was set and grim, and
+though his blue eyes were following the dust-columns
+among the fig-trees of the avenue, yet
+Miss Brentford knew he did not see them, but
+that his brain was preoccupied, busily working at
+something which filled her with instinctive dread.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">III<br>
+<small>BARRED GATES</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">“I&#8202; SUPPOSE Isma is in now?” inquired Captain
+Folkestone when he arrived at The Palms an
+hour after his cousin had returned from The
+Bluff.</p>
+
+<p>“I am afraid you are going to be disappointed
+again,” replied Miss Livingston, sympathetically.
+“Something has upset Isma dreadfully this afternoon.
+She looked awfully white when she came
+home. I thought at first that the wind and heat
+had knocked her up, but it must have been something
+worse, for she would hardly say a word and
+went straight to her room, locked the door, and
+wouldn’t even have tea sent up to her. By the
+way,” she added, “you must need some refreshment
+after your hot drive in the gale. Would
+you like an iced drink or shall I get you some tea?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, thank you, I had tea at The Bluff,” replied
+the soldier, and continued, in a different tone:
+“I am grieved—very grieved, about Isma. But
+would you mind telling her I am here and that I
+want to see her most urgently? And while you
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span>are away may I go and have a wash? I feel too
+horribly grimy and gritty to talk to either of you
+at present.”</p>
+
+<p>When Falcon returned to the sitting-room some
+minutes later the governess told him that Isma
+was sorry, but she could not possibly see him
+that day.</p>
+
+<p>Captain Folkestone stroked his smooth cheek
+thoughtfully, then he said: “I feel horribly
+selfish giving you all this trouble, Miss Livingston,
+but might I ask you to take my cousin one other
+message? Tell her that I am not in a hurry and
+if she wants to rest I can wait for hours. However,
+I must see her before I return home to-night.”</p>
+
+<p>The old lady went up-stairs once more, and the
+second message had the desired effect, for Isma
+said she would be down presently.</p>
+
+<p>When she entered the room a little later Falcon
+was alone.</p>
+
+<p>“I am sorry to bring you down against your
+will,” he began, looking at the girl’s pale, set face,
+“but there is something I must say to you at
+once—it can’t even wait till to-morrow.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” replied Isma, listlessly, taking the chair
+by the window she had occupied earlier in the
+afternoon and glancing out into the hazy, dust-laden
+atmosphere.</p>
+
+<p>Her companion regarded her gravely from the
+hearth-rug, and his somber expression deepened
+as he noticed the red rims round her eyes and that
+her curving lips were pressed together as if she
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span>were making some colossal effort to keep them
+from quivering.</p>
+
+<p>The man standing by the mantelpiece breathed
+unevenly. For some moments there was a deep
+silence in the room, only broken by the rustle of
+leaves, the creaking of bending trees, and the
+muffled sobs of breaking waves.</p>
+
+<p>Then Falcon went over to a small table, picked
+up a glass of egg and milk and passed it to his
+cousin as he said: “Drink this, Isma; it will do
+you good. You used to like that sort of thing
+when you were a little girl.”</p>
+
+<p>She waved it aside, but he held it to her. “You
+must take it. I can’t talk to you till you do,” he
+persisted.</p>
+
+<p>With a weary little sigh she took the glass and
+drank its contents.</p>
+
+<p>When she had finished Falcon sat down on a
+small divan a short distance away from her.
+For some seconds he did not speak, but sat leaning
+forward, knees apart, looking thoughtfully at the
+carpet between his feet. Then he straightened
+suddenly and began: “I am not going to worry
+you by asking what took place this afternoon.
+Miss Brentford gave me some hints, and I can
+guess the rest.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl by the window moved restlessly.</p>
+
+<p>So Falcon knew already! Still, of course, he
+was bound to know in the end. Everybody would
+soon be told; Miss Brentford and Rex would
+see to that. Her character would be in shreds.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span>If anything happened to Beatrice, it would be
+given out that the trusting wife had at last discovered
+her friend’s deceit and the shock had
+killed her. In any case her illness would be laid
+at her, Isma’s, door as a result of her heartless
+behavior. It would be said that— The girl
+shivered visibly. She knew her world, knew what
+scandal it would make of the things which had
+happened, and that the name Falcon loved would
+be dragged into the mire! Society had not had
+any proof before; gossip had been started on
+surmises; but now when evidence was available
+it would not spare her. Every one knew of
+Beatrice’s devotion to her, and if she cast her off
+it could only be for most serious misconduct.
+There was no hope for her.</p>
+
+<p>It would be terribly humiliating for Falcon,
+too, and he would feel the disgrace keenly. Of
+course he would try to vindicate the family honor.
+She was sure he had come to make some suggestion
+which he thought might mitigate the evil which
+had befallen her. But it would be useless;
+nothing could save their name now.</p>
+
+<p>She turned and gazed into the wind-blown
+garden. How ugly it looked to-day! The leaves
+were all showing the wrong side; the flowers were
+disheveled and out of shape. Everything looked
+tattered and faded in the descending gloom. The
+sun had not yet set, but the haze hung like a
+glowering, hideous twilight. Life seemed all at
+once to have become ugly, colorless, and dark.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span>It had been turned inside out and was showing
+seams, stains, and frays.</p>
+
+<p>But her cousin’s voice roused her from her
+dismal thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma, something must be done at once.
+Things can’t go on like this—they can’t.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, I suppose you mean that I ought to go
+away, somewhere out of reach—in the jungle of
+Africa or in the desert, anywhere out of sight,”
+she replied, tonelessly, her eyes on the swaying
+branches beating against the window-panes.</p>
+
+<p>“No, I did not mean that.”</p>
+
+<p>“Anyhow, I think that is the best thing I can
+do; hide in a place where no one shall be able to
+find me.”</p>
+
+<p>“That is impossible. There is no such place,
+for I know one man who will follow you wherever
+you go.”</p>
+
+<p>Of course Falcon was thinking of Lord Berriedale.</p>
+
+<p>“He will get tired in time, when he sees it is
+absolutely useless,” she said, a little coldly.</p>
+
+<p>The man on the divan rose and went over to
+the mantelpiece again. “Is it really quite useless,
+Isma?” he asked, in a voice which sounded
+hard by the restraint he put on it.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course it is—quite,” she answered, with
+decision.</p>
+
+<p>There was rather a lengthy pause. Her cousin
+had turned away and picked up a small bronze
+elephant which he pulled at ferociously.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span>After some moments he put the ornament down
+and looked narrowly at his companion. Could
+this be the same woman who had driven beside
+him on the moonlit road the night before, who
+had leaned against his shoulder, spoken to him
+in rich, warm tones, looked at him with eyes so
+tender that they seemed to melt into utter yielding
+under his gaze, who now sat aloof and cold with
+scarcely a glance at him and told him, without a
+tremor of compunction, that it was absolutely
+useless to care for her!</p>
+
+<p>He swallowed hard.</p>
+
+<p>However, though Captain Folkestone was extremely
+sensitive, he was not easily thwarted,
+and to-day he was doubly determined, for his
+cousin’s honor as well as his own happiness was
+at stake.</p>
+
+<p>“Very well,” he said, in a cool, measured way,
+“it is just as well to be clear on those points first.”</p>
+
+<p>Isma turned and looked at him. But he did
+not see her glance. He was gazing across the
+room through an eastern window at the wind-swept,
+foam-flecked ocean.</p>
+
+<p>His cold, distant manner gave her the impression
+he had not believed her. A sudden fire
+flashed into her eyes, but died away almost
+instantly. Could she blame him, after all? Had
+she not by her own actions that day made it
+impossible for him to believe in her? So, forcing
+back an angry retort, she said, quietly:</p>
+
+<p>“But, Falcon, don’t you think you should have
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span>known before? I wanted you to understand, so
+that you would not— I am so sorry if—”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t worry about that,” he replied, bruskly.
+“To be frank with you, I was not quite clear.
+Certain little things had made me think that perhaps—”
+He broke off, then after a slight pause
+he added, “Still, of course, I shall take your word
+for it.”</p>
+
+<p>As he stood on the hearth-rug, his shoulders
+squared and hands clasped behind his back, his
+face white and lips set, he looked very much like
+a man who had just received a stunning blow
+and was taking it without flinching. But Isma’s
+senses were too numbed by all she had been
+through to comprehend.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I am glad you understand at last,” she
+said, still feeling uncomfortably certain he did
+not believe her and only out of pity made a pretense
+of thinking her innocent.</p>
+
+<p>Falcon made no reply. He still gazed out of
+the window with narrowed, half-closed eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“But if you don’t think it best for me to go
+away, what else am I to do?” asked Isma, breaking
+the lengthy pause.</p>
+
+<p>Her companion suddenly braced himself as if
+preparing for some ordeal; then he said, in a low,
+even voice, “There is one thing you can do which
+will at once ease Lady Berriedale’s mind and remove
+all slander from you—”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes?” she inquired, as he stopped.</p>
+
+<p>Falcon turned and looked at her narrowly
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span>through half-closed lids as he had looked at the
+sea a moment ago, and said, with visible effort,
+“You can become engaged to—me.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma,” he urged, “if you become engaged to
+me, I think we can save—the situation. There
+will be no scandal then; you will at once set your
+friend’s mind at rest and give me the chance to
+protect you better than I can do at present.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl was still silent and she had turned her
+face quite away so that he could not see the expression
+in her eyes and the bitter smile curving her
+lips.</p>
+
+<p>So her heart’s desire had come to her at last!
+After years of waiting the thing she most desired
+was within her reach. But, great Heavens! what
+a mangled, distorted thing it proved to be! It
+came to her shorn of beauty, a worn, wizened,
+lifeless thing! The man she loved was asking
+her to become engaged to him, in an unemotional,
+business-like way, without one thought of love,
+not even thinking it necessary to apologize for its
+absence, expecting her to understand he was making
+the proposal for her sake, to save her from an
+appalling situation, yet making it clear she must
+not expect any sentiment from him! The cruel,
+mocking irony of fate!</p>
+
+<p>“Well?” he said, at last, as she still did not speak.</p>
+
+<p>“You must know that such a thing is quite impossible,”
+she said, in a hard voice, her face still
+averted.</p>
+
+<p>“Why impossible?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span>“I simply couldn’t do it.”</p>
+
+<p>No, she could not. This was too much to
+expect from her! Engaged to Falcon under such
+circumstances, being daily confronted with the
+meaningless, loveless bond, being hourly reminded
+of all it should have meant, moment by moment
+tortured by it, tantalized by it. No, no! she
+could not accept release on such terms. Rather
+a thousand times be disgraced and banished!</p>
+
+<p>“I cannot, Falcon—I cannot,” she repeated, in
+broken tones.</p>
+
+<p>Her companion winced. So that was the way
+she felt about becoming engaged to him! It was
+an intolerably painful thing—too horrible to be
+endured!</p>
+
+<p>He winced again. Did not this indicate that
+she must be in love with some one else and found
+it abhorrent that another man should take his
+place? Did she care for Lord Berriedale, after
+all, and was she desperately fighting against
+this treacherous affection? Captain Folkestone
+clenched his hands and the veins in his neck
+swelled. For a moment he was tempted to walk
+out of the room and never again look on the
+woman who had brought this terrible thing into
+his life. But he fought back the temptation,
+for was there not an added reason why he must
+not forsake her, if this conjecture was right? He
+must stand by her and help her fight the awful
+odds against her.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma,” he began, crushing back the vibration
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span>in his voice, “even if it is hard for you, try and
+put up with it. Can’t you see that it would set
+everything right? Think what poor Lady Berriedale
+is suffering at this moment. Do it to relieve
+her!”</p>
+
+<p>The girl tossed her head in hot rebellion. Must
+she always suffer for this friend, always be called
+on to make greater and yet more impossible
+sacrifices for her sake!</p>
+
+<p>“O God!” moaned Isma, half aloud, dropping
+back in her chair and closing her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>The soldier changed color and bit his lip. He
+was at least finding out the truth now when she
+was off her guard, thrown off her balance by the
+terrible events of the day. The softness in her
+eyes and voice the evening before had meant
+nothing! Her show of emotion when his arm
+had held her as they danced together two nights
+ago had also been meaningless! All his dreams
+mere foam and bubble bursting into a stinging
+emptiness!</p>
+
+<p>For some seconds the room reeled round him;
+then he pulled himself together sharply and said,
+“Isma, don’t you think you are just a little—needlessly—ungracious
+about it?” Though his
+tone was restrained, it held the merest suggestion
+of pain, which made the girl turn and look at him
+at once. However, the increased density of the
+atmosphere had made the room dusky, so she
+could not see that the handsome face was pale and
+drawn. Still, her voice was very gentle as she said:</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span>“Falcon, I am sorry I have seemed so—ungrateful.
+Of course I know how noble you are
+in making such an—offer. Only you would have
+thought of such a thing! And believe me I value
+greatly your kind thought in wanting to help me.
+Still, of course, you must know I could not allow
+you to make such a—sacrifice.”</p>
+
+<p>“How can you call it a—sacrifice?” he asked,
+almostly roughly.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course it must be—under the circumstances,
+and I cannot let you make it—it would be too
+much for us both.”</p>
+
+<p>“But, Isma, it is absolutely necessary. It is
+the only way out of the difficulty. Can’t you see
+that for yourself? Still, of course, our engagement
+can be just as—you like. We need not—treat
+each other any differently from—what we
+do now.”</p>
+
+<p>The bitter smile came back to her lips. Falcon
+could be satisfied with—<i>that</i>! How little he
+cared! It was only the family name he was
+anxious to save. Well, she owed him her help in
+that. She was too tired to think out other plans,
+so there seemed nothing else to do but submit to
+his suggestion. Her cousin had a reputation for
+such punctilious honor that every one would know
+there could be no flaws in the character of the
+woman he intended to marry. And poor Beatrice
+would be comforted. Yes, it seemed the only
+solution of the difficulty. She must submit to
+the inevitable, even if it tore her heart to shreds.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span>“What is it to be?” asked Captain Folkestone,
+as he had not received any reply. “Of course you
+know,” he went on, as Isma still did not speak,
+“that you are not obliged to—marry me afterward.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, of course not,” came the scornful rejoinder.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, then?”</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose I might as well consent. The farce
+need not last—long.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, not very long,” he agreed, with a strange
+flatness in his voice.</p>
+
+<p>Another silence fell between them.</p>
+
+<p>Then Falcon said, “I may announce our—engagement?”</p>
+
+<p>“If you like.” She was still peering into the
+red dusk in the garden.</p>
+
+<p>“Very well. I must go now. I want to ring up
+Miss Brentford and tell her at once.”</p>
+
+<p>Isma started. She knew how such news would
+affect Rita. “No, no, not to-night!” she pleaded,
+turning to him.</p>
+
+<p>“For Lady Berriedale’s sake it ought to be done
+as soon as possible. If I tell Miss Brentford, she
+can pass the news on to—the others.”</p>
+
+<p>Isma sighed in resignation.</p>
+
+<p>Her cousin held out his hand. “Good-by,
+Isma,” he said, in a strained, low voice, his eyes
+upon her face in the gloom.</p>
+
+<p>“Good-by,” she replied, tonelessly, placing a
+cold, lifeless hand in his.</p>
+
+<p>She watched him walk across the room, listened
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span>to his footsteps in the hall, the opening and
+shutting of the front door. She heard his car
+leap into panting life and its crunching on the
+gravel as it sped down the drive, and then there
+was only the mournful soughing of the wind as,
+exhausted by its savage onslaughts, it sank
+moaningly to rest among the trees.</p>
+
+<p>Isma left the window.</p>
+
+<p>Falcon had come to the rescue again. Her
+reputation would be saved, Beatrice comforted,
+Lord Berriedale forced to retreat; but—but— She
+groped her way blindly to the door and crept
+up-stairs to the sultry loneliness of her room.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">IV<br>
+<small>TRAMPLED FRIENDSHIP</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">WHEN Miss Folkestone had left The Bluff
+Lord Berriedale went into his study and
+stood for some time looking up the dusty road
+as if his eyes were still following the car which
+had vanished from view some minutes before.
+After a while he turned from the window and
+began to pace the floor with even, regular steps.
+Between his brow was a deep furrow and now and
+again he stopped for a moment and listened,
+but no one came to summon him to his wife, and
+he continued to walk up and down the room with
+well-controlled restlessness.</p>
+
+<p>What had happened between Beatrice and
+Isma? Evidently his wife had suspected something
+was wrong. Had she charged the girl with
+treachery? It was apparent when she came down-stairs
+a few minutes ago that she had been through
+a terrible ordeal. Why had Beatrice not sent
+for him? Had Isma told her the truth, that she
+was innocent and he alone guilty? No, she would
+not clear herself at his expense; she was too noble
+for that!</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span>But how was it all going to end?</p>
+
+<p>The furrow on his brow deepened and he stroked
+his fair mustache as he slackened his pace and
+listened again.</p>
+
+<p>Up-stairs, Lady Berriedale lay in her elaborate
+bed, her narrow face pinched and ashen, her thin
+lips tightly drawn together, and a terrible light
+burning in her deep brown eyes. She was absolutely
+still. Only her eyes flitted from one
+object in the room to another, yet seeing none of
+them.</p>
+
+<p>At times her furtive gaze strayed to the windows,
+and under the half-drawn blinds she could
+see the crumpled ocean which in the gale looked
+like a huge sheet of creased brown paper. She
+glanced absently at the stunted trees on the
+nearest cliff, their stems now bent and their leaves
+looking like tattered rags in the ferocious storm.
+She heard the weird moans of sea-gulls half stifled
+by the tempest and saw fragments of clouds flying
+toward the horizon as if they were being swept
+ruthlessly into the sea.</p>
+
+<p>But Lady Berriedale had no thoughts for clouds,
+waves, wailing birds, or whining trees. Her
+whole consciousness was drawn within, centered
+on some awful theme which made her oblivious
+to everything else, and sometimes her lips moved
+as if she were talking inaudibly to herself.</p>
+
+<p>At last she sat up very slowly and glanced furtively
+toward the door, then she very deliberately
+put on a pair of rose-red slippers, and with
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span>wavering footsteps crossed the floor and stood
+still before a full-length mirror, looking long and
+intently at herself in the glass. A bitter smile
+played about her rigid lips as she surveyed the
+reflection of her shriveled form in its rose-tinted
+<i>crêpe-de-Chine</i> night attire. How pitiful that the
+luxurious elegance should only cover such an
+unsightly object! She picked at the ribbons at
+her breast as if she would have torn them to
+pieces. What business had such a creature with
+embroidered silks and dainty ribbons! She looked
+mercilessly at her scraggy neck, the wizened
+pallor of her skin, and her dark, sunken eyes
+encircled by those ghastly shadows.</p>
+
+<p>Then suddenly she turned away from the mirror
+with a hasty, nervous movement, and her fevered
+glance sought a large photograph of Isma in a
+solid-gold frame standing in the center of the
+broad mantelpiece. It was a lifelike portrait,
+picturing the girl in all her subtle, vital loveliness.
+The camera had caught the full, rich gaze of her
+wonderful eyes, their lofty calm, undaunted courage,
+and tender sweetness.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Berriedale stood transfixed, staring at the
+picture with sharp, severe scrutiny.</p>
+
+<p>All at once she dashed across the room, tore
+down the picture, and threw it violently to the
+floor, the heavy frame and glass crashing loudly
+as they struck the tiled hearth.</p>
+
+<p>Beatrice looked with defiant scorn at the
+splintered glass and Isma’s eyes with their magnificent
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span>tranquillity gazing at her now from the
+peacock-green tiles.</p>
+
+<p>“False!” cried the angry woman, her cheeks
+ablaze and her white hands clenched; “utterly
+false! Your beauty is a mask—a mask,” she
+shrieked, “and you still dare to look me in the
+face with those deceptive eyes of yours. You
+are bold and heartless, you cruel, horrible creature!”
+and one of the small rose-slippered feet
+stamped all at once across the face of the lovely
+girl who still looked with untroubled serenity at
+the excited woman insulting her.</p>
+
+<p>“How dare you look at me like that!” cried the
+shrill voice in suffocating fury, stamping on the
+photo again and again. “How—dare—”</p>
+
+<p>Her words were suddenly choked by a violent
+fit of coughing, and a gush of warm fluid forced
+itself between her lips, poured down her gown,
+staining it with a streak of deeper red and running
+into a dark-crimson pool on the carpet.</p>
+
+<p>A look of horror came into the wide, dark eyes.
+Was she bleeding to death?</p>
+
+<p>She gasped noisily and turned a ghastly white.
+She was strangling.</p>
+
+<p>Again she gasped, then swayed and fell heavily
+against the mantelpiece.</p>
+
+<p>The blow against the hard wood roused her for
+a moment and she stood half dazed, leaning against
+the shelf, her eyes stiff and glassy. Good God!
+Was she—dying here alone!</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly the black cross she had seen illumined
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span>in the picture the first morning they had spent
+at The Bluff flashed into her mind. She could
+see it standing out from the canvas, moving
+toward her. Yes, it was coming; it had been
+waiting for—her grave!</p>
+
+<p>She gave a piercing shriek of terror.</p>
+
+<p>Then something numbed her senses and everything
+began to fade from her consciousness. She
+scarcely noticed the door opening, her husband
+springing to her side and snatching her to him
+just as she was slowly sinking to the floor.</p>
+
+<p>When she became conscious again it was evidently
+night, for the gas was alight. There were
+strangers in the room, a nurse in uniform, and a
+man came quickly toward her as she moved, bent
+over her, and she felt a prick in her arm. Then
+she caught sight of her husband standing at the
+foot of the bed, his face looking anxious and
+haggard, and farther away still Rita was huddled
+wearily in a low chair.</p>
+
+<p>She glanced up at the man who had removed
+the needle from her forearm and recognized him.
+He was the doctor she had consulted in Sydney
+and who had arranged to come to The Bluff if
+she needed medical attention. It must be very
+late if he had come all the way from town.</p>
+
+<p>She tried to think what made her ill, but a
+strange stupor began to steal over her. Why
+were all these people in her room? Why didn’t
+they go to bed and sleep? Sleep was so delicious—sleep—</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span>The next time she woke there was faint daylight
+in the room. The people had all gone—no, the
+nurse was still there, sitting beside the bed with
+her eyes closed and her cap a little to one side.
+She must be asleep; it would be a pity to disturb
+her.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Berriedale glanced about her wonderingly
+and gradually memory returned. She remembered
+Isma’s visit—everything. Her life was at
+a complete standstill—nothing would ever set
+it moving again.</p>
+
+<p>She shuddered.</p>
+
+<p>The nurse opened her eyes and spoke in a kind,
+gentle voice; then she went over to a small table
+and came back to the bed. There was another
+prick in her arm and soon afterward the ghastly
+thing which had happened did not matter, after
+all. Nothing mattered; the only important thing
+was this long, delicious sinking into oblivion.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>In another wing of the house stood a slender,
+white-robed form by an open window, looking
+out into the stirring dawn. There was no wind;
+only a cool breath came from the pansy-colored
+hills. Beyond the grounds of The Bluff the long,
+wide plain lay wrapped in mystic shadows, but
+trees and bushes were beginning to disentangle
+themselves from the dusky meshes of night.</p>
+
+<p>Rita Brentford laid her cool cheek against the
+window-frame and closed her tired eyes. The
+pale-gray light creeping into the room fell on her
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span>white, drawn face. What a night she had spent!
+A shudder ran through her. How had she lived
+through this ghastly nightmare! However, dawn
+had come at last and the black hours were ended,
+but what about the nightmare? She shivered
+again—that had not left her; it would never leave
+her. She knew it would follow her, dodge every
+footstep for the rest of her days. It seemed as if
+she had entered into a league with it, made a
+compact with it, by which she had given this
+phantom monster the right to shadow her life
+forever.</p>
+
+<p>One of her cold, limp hands moved across her
+brow, yet it could not brush away the thing which
+tortured her. Though her body was weak and
+spent, her brain worked with pitiless activity.
+It was like the electric advertisements she had
+seen from the Sydney harbor flashing out one
+announcement after another with unvarying precision.
+Her mind worked with the same ruthless
+automacity; it brought one scene before her
+after another. She heard again the piercing
+shriek, felt herself rushing to her sister’s room,
+just in time to see Neville gathering the fainting,
+blood-stained figure in his arms. She could still see
+the big blotch of dark red on the green carpet, she
+lived again the endless, merciless hours before the
+doctor arrived, felt again the nerve-racking waiting
+for his verdict—hemorrhage of the lungs combined
+with a severe heart attack. Beatrice’s
+heart had been weak for some years, but it had
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span>never before given any active trouble; the syncope
+had been brought on by shock.</p>
+
+<p>Rita leaned her head more heavily against the
+woodwork and a tremor passed through her closed
+eyelids; her face in the weird light of early dawn
+looked old and gray.</p>
+
+<p>Her sister was still in a precarious condition;
+the doctor was not at all hopeful about saving
+her.</p>
+
+<p>The girl at the window suddenly opened her
+eyes and there was a terrible glitter in the shadowy
+orbs. She had nearly killed Beatrice. The news
+she had imparted to her the day before might yet
+do the deadly work of taking her life.</p>
+
+<p>A luminous rim appeared over the far-off horizon
+and gilded the trees and shrubs on the plain. The
+gold on the flats deepened, leaves shone, grass
+blades shimmered, and the flowers in the garden
+received color. But daylight brought no joy to
+the heart of the girl standing mute and limp,
+looking into its new-born radiance.</p>
+
+<p>She pressed her hands against her throbbing
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>She was a murderess, a black, guilty murderess!
+She knew her sister could not stand shocks, yet
+she had deliberately imparted news which she
+knew might have a fatal effect, and all because— Yes,
+she saw her action in its hideous selfishness,
+now the dark hours had revealed her deed in its
+naked ugliness and shown her that she had sacrificed
+her sister’s life for the sake of separating
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span>Captain Folkestone from his cousin and securing
+him for herself!</p>
+
+<p>Beatrice still lingered, but she might yet die.
+In any case she, Rita, had committed the crime
+which could take her life. Murderess! Murderess!
+The dreadful word tolled in her brain
+with maddening persistence.</p>
+
+<p>She lifted her arms as if to ward off a blow.
+Then she sank into a chair and closed her eyes.
+But instantly she opened them again and a malicious
+gleam shot into them. Her cold, proud
+rival was disarmed at last—her words had at least
+accomplished that! Captain Folkestone would
+never have any more to do with her when he knew
+all that had happened.</p>
+
+<p>Yesterday he had not allowed her to say all
+she had meant to tell him. He had courteously,
+yet decidedly, changed the subject. Still, she
+had been able to throw out enough hints to
+show him how treacherous Isma had been to her
+friend!</p>
+
+<p>However, even the thought that Miss Folkestone
+could no more stand in her way had no power
+to comfort her now. Her conscience cried loudly,
+vehemently, and would not be silenced. Again
+Rita could see the livid face with its gruesome,
+deathlike calm resting on the pillow. Would no
+smile again soften the tightly compressed lips?
+And would the shrunken form in a few days be
+laid under—</p>
+
+<p>No! no! She could bear no more. Her thoughts
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span>in the lonely room would drive away her reason!
+She must get away from the stillness which held
+these awful specters. She would go to the sea,
+the ever-stirring, restless ocean. It was never
+silent, always roaring or muttering under its
+breath. Was it always noisy because, like herself,
+it could not endure the austere, accusing
+silence?</p>
+
+<p>She snatched up a long coat, made her way hurriedly
+out of the house, down the garden path,
+till she reached a small track which led past the
+cliff to the beach.</p>
+
+<p>As she approached a belt of weather-worn she-oaks
+she came upon Rex sitting on a bench, one
+knee across the other, and a cigarette between
+his lips.</p>
+
+<p>His presence brought her a sudden sense of
+relief.</p>
+
+<p>“Rex,” she exclaimed, stopping in front of
+him, “whatever brings you out so early?”</p>
+
+<p>“My dear Miss Rita, I should be absolutely
+heartless if I could sleep when her ladyship is
+dy—so ill.” He corrected himself.</p>
+
+<p>The girl winced, but sat down beside him.</p>
+
+<p>“Rex, isn’t it appalling! I haven’t slept, of
+course, not closed my eyes once, and I didn’t
+sleep the night before, either. It is all too dreadful!”
+Her horror was beginning to find vent in
+words.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, indeed! But have you heard how the
+patient is this morning?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span>“No, not yet. Nurse promised to let me know
+if there was any change, so apparently there
+is not.”</p>
+
+<p>“That is a good sign. She is holding her own
+at present, then. All we can expect, isn’t it? I
+wonder,” he continued, with puckered brow,
+“what <i>could</i> have given her such a nasty turn!
+Something must have done the mischief. I wonder
+could some meddling gossip have—”</p>
+
+<p>He stopped and glanced at his companion, who
+had gripped the seat for support. “Miss Rita,
+I do believe you are ill, too!”</p>
+
+<p>“Nonsense, Rex! I’m all right.”</p>
+
+<p>He looked at her with indolent scrutiny as he
+added: “I suppose his lordship hasn’t told you
+the news yet. He wouldn’t have the heart. I
+mean he would not be able to think of such things
+just now—”</p>
+
+<p>“What news?” asked the girl, sitting up
+quickly.</p>
+
+<p>“Captain Folkestone rang up last night and
+asked for you, but as you were with her ladyship
+I couldn’t disturb you. However, Lord Berriedale
+was down-stairs just then, so I asked him to
+come to the ’phone, and Captain Folkestone
+evidently told him about his engagement, for I
+heard his lordship congratulate him—”</p>
+
+<p>“Engagement!” stammered Miss Brentford, her
+pale face becoming grayer. “Who—?”</p>
+
+<p>“Is there any need to ask? His beautiful cousin,
+of course. Who else could it be?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span>Rita sank back against the seat, her bloodless
+lips uttering an inarticulate cry.</p>
+
+<p>“Great Cæsar!” exclaimed the man beside her.
+“I believe you are going to faint. Let me take
+you indoors.”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t be an ass, Rex,” Rita almost screamed
+at the secretary. “Of course I am not going to
+faint. Still, are you really in earnest? Aren’t
+you just—?”</p>
+
+<p>“As if I should joke on such a solemn subject—at
+such a serious time, I mean. How could you
+suggest I should be so brutal? But as soon as you
+can you must ring up the happy man and tell
+him how delighted you are. He will be in the
+tenth heaven to-day. Think what times they
+will have together now. Shouldn’t like to come
+upon them unexpectedly under the palms on a
+moonlit—”</p>
+
+<p>He stopped suddenly, for the girl had risen and
+stood livid and trembling before him. “Rex, if
+you say another word, I’ll—I’ll—strangle you,”
+she shrieked.</p>
+
+<p>Then the white, shaking form with the desperate
+black eyes turned suddenly and fled back to the
+house. She made her way hastily to her own
+room, locked the door, and, moaning loudly, threw
+herself on the bed.</p>
+
+<p>So she had committed that hideous crime—for
+nothing! Her sister lay at death’s door—for
+nothing! Her life was endangered to no purpose!
+Her own nightmare, her future sufferings,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span>would be for nothing! All her plans had
+been thwarted while the unscrupulous Miss
+Folkestone with her siren-like charm robbed her
+of the man she had become a—murderess to
+obtain!</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">V<br>
+<small>THE FATAL KEY</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">A WEEK after Lady Berriedale’s collapse Isma
+entered The Bluff once more. She mounted
+the wide staircase quickly. Her friend was much
+better and had sent for her. The rose-pink in
+her cheeks deepened.</p>
+
+<p>The past week had been a ghastly one. Falcon
+had brought her the news of Lady Berriedale’s
+seizure the day after it had taken place, and the
+same afternoon a note had come from Lord Berriedale
+telling her of his wife’s critical condition and
+adding more details than her cousin could supply.
+The letter also told her that the patient had to be
+kept absolutely quiet; that she was under the
+influence of narcotics and asleep most of the time.
+Two days afterward Lord Berriedale had written
+again to say that his wife seemed to be rallying,
+her pulse was much stronger, and that as soon
+as she could bear his confession he was going to
+make a clean breast of everything, of course as
+briefly and mercifully as possible. He was very
+anxious Isma’s name should be cleared with his
+wife for the patient’s sake as well as her own, for
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span>he felt sure, once she knew her friend had been
+true and he only was to blame, the invalid would
+wish to have the girl beside her again and Isma’s
+presence would help her greatly to regain her
+hold on life. Lord Berriedale implored her to
+forgive and be merciful.</p>
+
+<p>He did not know what had occurred that fatal
+afternoon, but he pleaded with her not to judge
+Beatrice’s words and actions too hardly.</p>
+
+<p>That morning another note from him had
+arrived, saying he had told his wife everything,
+that she had most generously forgiven him, and
+that she sent a message asking the girl to come
+to her at once, as she was longing to see her and
+ask for her forgiveness. Lord Berriedale had
+not congratulated her on her engagement or made
+the slightest allusion to it in any of his letters.</p>
+
+<p>Falcon had come over immediately after breakfast
+to take her to The Bluff. He always rang
+up early to inquire after Lady Berriedale, and
+when he was told she was much better that morning
+and had sent for Miss Folkestone he had
+gone to The Palms at once to drive his cousin to
+the invalid.</p>
+
+<p>Now the girl entered her friend’s room, her face
+flushed and her eyes shining.</p>
+
+<p>The nurse glanced with tense curiosity at the
+beautiful visitor and then quietly withdrew.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma, you are a saint!” cried Lady Berriedale,
+stretching out her arms and pressing the girl to
+her heart. “Can you ever forgive me?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span>“Don’t, Beatrice, don’t,” whispered Isma, trying
+to keep the patient from becoming excited.
+“There is nothing to forgive, deary. You simply
+made a mistake, and even the wisest and best
+make mistakes sometimes.”</p>
+
+<p>“Darling, you are too good to me!” There
+were tears in the high-pitched voice.</p>
+
+<p>“Beatrice dear, please don’t get upset, or nurse
+will never allow me to sit with you again.”</p>
+
+<p>The elder woman made an instant effort to
+calm herself and said, in a different tone: “Neville
+has told me everything, and I know now how true
+and good you have been. But Isma”—the large
+black eyes looked up at her wistfully—“he loves
+you deeply—”</p>
+
+<p>Miss Folkestone put out her hands protestingly.</p>
+
+<p>“Beatrice, it can’t really be love—only a slight
+infatuation—”</p>
+
+<p>“No, you are wrong about that,” replied the
+solemn voice from the pillows. “It is real love.
+He doesn’t only admire your outward beauty, but
+your nobility, courage, your intense sincerity and
+marvelous generosity. He—” She stopped suddenly
+and looked up at the girl with deep pain in
+her glance. “But how terrible of me to talk to
+you like this, when I ought to be congratulating
+you! Isma”—she stretched out her arms again—“kiss
+me and let me wish you all the happiness
+you so richly deserve—”</p>
+
+<p>Her companion stooped over her quickly, interrupting
+the words with a caress.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span>“Darling, what is the matter? Why are you
+trembling so?” asked the elder woman, pushing
+the girl a little away from her so that she might
+look into her face. “Why, there are tears in
+your eyes, tears when you ought to be all smiles
+and joy. Why—?” she persisted, regarding the
+long, moist lashes with deep concern. Then all
+at once she exclaimed: “Oh, Isma, I know what
+has made you sad in the midst of your happiness.
+It is I—”</p>
+
+<p>Her companion silenced the words with another
+kiss. “Beatrice, don’t let us speak of it again.”</p>
+
+<p>“But now that everything is right between us
+and I am much better you won’t grieve any more,
+will you?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, no; I shall feel much happier now.”</p>
+
+<p>Still her friend missed the note of conviction in
+the voice and looked at Isma with troubled
+scrutiny.</p>
+
+<p>The girl colored painfully and her head dropped.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma,” began Lady Berriedale, with strange
+solemnity, “are you quite sure that you love
+Captain Folkestone?”</p>
+
+<p>Instantly the flaxen head lifted and two steady
+gray eyes looked at her with intense sincerity from
+under the wet black lashes. “I love him with all
+my heart. I have never loved another man.”</p>
+
+<p>The patient breathed a sigh of relief. “You
+have always loved him?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, ever since I met him in London, when I
+came out and hadn’t seen him for some years.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span>“So that is why no other man has been able to
+make an impression on you, why you have been
+immune to all love and wooing! But,” she went
+on, a little perplexedly, “why didn’t you marry
+him before? This long delay seems an awful
+waste!”</p>
+
+<p>“He didn’t—care.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not care! How absurd! But is it really only
+lately that he—?”</p>
+
+<p>The fair head sank down on her friend’s breast.
+“I don’t know. I have not—asked him.”</p>
+
+<p>“You strange girl! Fancy not asking your
+lover such an important question. I should have
+wanted to know the exact moment when he fell
+in love with me. I should like to know when
+your cousin first began to care; and if you won’t
+ask him I will.”</p>
+
+<p>Her companion started. “Beatrice, for Heaven’s
+sake don’t do such a thing. Promise me
+you will not!” she cried, in panic.</p>
+
+<p>“My dear child, you are quite incomprehensible.
+I believe you are afraid of him. But of
+course I won’t do it if you would rather I didn’t.
+By the way, I suppose he drove you over this
+morning?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, and he is coming back for me presently.”</p>
+
+<p>“What a dear he is to spare you! Darling,”
+she continued, looking up at her friend with a
+tremulous tenderness in her gaze, “I do hope you
+will be happy—as happy as I thought—I was.”</p>
+
+<p>Miss Folkestone’s arms enfolded the shrunken
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span>form. “Beatrice, don’t say <i>was</i>—for you are
+going to be just as happy as you thought.”</p>
+
+<p>Lady Berriedale looked away into space. “How
+do you think there could be any joy for me, when
+my husband cares for—another woman?”</p>
+
+<p>“Deary, that is only a passing fancy. It is
+nothing, and, now that I am engaged, he will not
+think of—me at all. If only you knew how
+deeply distressed he has been during your illness
+you would know how much he really cares!”</p>
+
+<p>The nurse came in just then. It was time for
+medicine and the patient was not allowed to talk
+any more.</p>
+
+<p>The next morning Isma found her friend much
+better and awaiting her eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>“Darling, I feel so much stronger to-day, and I
+am so glad, for I am longing to have a good talk.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” said the girl, settling down by the bedside
+when the nurse had left the room, “now we
+can enjoy ourselves.”</p>
+
+<p>“Isma,” began the rasping voice, “I have been
+thinking such a lot lately—that is, of course,
+when I have not been under the influence of
+drugs.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes? What have you been thinking about?”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you remember I told you that Neville
+and I were standing on the balcony on the first
+morning after our arrival, looking out on the
+great plains? It seemed to me then that this vast
+country was a place which compelled one to pray—no,
+not the stale, lifeless prayers so often uttered
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span>in churches, or the sentimental ones prompted
+by beautiful music, but the impetuous, volcanic
+prayers bursting from exploding souls. It seemed
+to me that souls living in this vastness would be
+strong, lofty, great, capable of majestic passion,
+and I felt my own life had been so small and mean
+by comparison. I longed for gigantic strength,
+to be able to pray like that, and I had a feeling
+that in this country I should learn. Isma,” she
+turned her face slightly away and her tones lowered
+as she said, “I am learning. The explosion has
+taken place—”</p>
+
+<p>Her companion looked at her with troubled
+sympathy.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Beatrice, if only I could have spared you—that!”</p>
+
+<p>The black eyes looked up at her steadily.</p>
+
+<p>“No, dear, it is a good thing you could not.
+You have been an angel standing between me and
+sorrow all this time, yet believe me it is best—this
+should have come. My soul was so weak and
+flabby before, it had no strength to rise, no power
+to look beyond the dust-heap on which it lay.
+It was a heap of gold-dust, still a dust-heap all
+the same. However, now, though the explosion
+has shattered my heart, it has shot my soul out
+of the dust, given it wings, and though it may
+still be in a feeble way, yet it is beginning to rise,
+beginning to mount with its own prayers, and no
+prayer can go very far unless the soul who prays
+ascends with it.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span>“I am afraid I have never prayed like that,”
+murmured Isma, with downcast lashes.</p>
+
+<p>“Then the explosion in your life has not taken
+place.”</p>
+
+<p>“The explosion not taken place!” Miss Folkestone
+closed her eyes and her cheeks paled. Could
+her heart be more cruelly shattered than it was
+at present? She had prayed, too, at times, but
+prayer had seemed so useless, so ineffective; perhaps
+that was because, as Beatrice said, her own
+soul had not risen with the petitions. But her
+friend was speaking again.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma,” she was saying, “I thought I was—dying—that
+afternoon. It really seemed as if I
+were; and even though I may get over this attack,
+still,” she added, in almost a whisper, “I shall
+not be—here for long.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl pressed her hand silently; she could
+not speak.</p>
+
+<p>“And, deary, I have been wondering where I
+am—going. It is so strange to think of leaving
+all which is familiar and known and not have the
+faintest idea where one is going and what the
+next life will be like. I have thought so much
+about it and wondered—”</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps the next world will not be very different
+from this.”</p>
+
+<p>“In some respects perhaps not. It must at
+least have as many varieties of existence as this,
+only each one magnified in the same proportion
+as eternity is larger than time.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span>“Do you mean to say you believe there would
+be as many grades of joy and happiness, sorrow
+and misery, as here, and each state magnified by
+the huge scale of eternity?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, surely. Life there will be of colossal
+dimensions, whether it be a state of joy or—anguish.”</p>
+
+<p>“That is very terrible to contemplate.”</p>
+
+<p>“Everything can be terrible. Eternity is vaster
+than anything we have ever known, anything we
+could imagine, and its sorrows and joys must be
+on the same enormous scale.”</p>
+
+<p>“In that case, it would be an appalling thing to
+strike a state of misery.”</p>
+
+<p>“You say ‘strike’; do you really think it would
+be a case of chance, a mere coincidence, what state
+we reach? That would be too haphazard to fit
+in with the laws of a universe where everything
+is worked out with mathematical precision.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, I don’t for a moment suppose our ultimate
+fate will be determined by chance; still, I wonder
+what will decide it?”</p>
+
+<p>“It seems to me that in this life we must find
+the key which will unlock our destiny for us.
+And Isma,” the invalid turned to her quickly,
+“do you remember our talk some time ago about
+Death being an executioner and that only criminals
+are executed? If that is so, we shall have a
+very poor chance. Fancy entering eternity as
+criminals—”</p>
+
+<p>The door opened quietly and the nurse entered.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span>“I suppose you have come to send me away?”
+queried Miss Folkestone.</p>
+
+<p>“I am afraid so,” the woman in uniform replied,
+smilingly.</p>
+
+<p>The girl stooped over her friend and kissed her.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t worry,” and lowering her voice, so that
+the nurse, who had gone to the other end of the
+room, could not hear her words, she added, “remember
+you can pray, and that will help you to
+find the right key.”</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>Every morning Falcon called for his cousin and
+drove her to The Bluff. He either returned to
+his own home and came for Isma late in the afternoon
+or he spent the day at The Bluff and waited
+till she was ready to go back to The Palms.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Berriedale made rapid progress, and having
+Isma with her constantly helped her greatly
+toward recovery. She deeply regretted depriving
+Captain Folkestone of so much of his fiancée’s
+society; still, she comforted herself with the
+thought that the engaged couple would spend
+their evenings together, and she would have been
+greatly surprised had she known that Isma and
+her cousin separated as soon as they reached her
+gates, and that even during the brief drives they
+spoke very little to each other.</p>
+
+<p>As strength returned the patient was able to
+walk into the drawing-room, where she and Isma
+spent long days together. Frequently Captain
+Folkestone joined them. He did not always take
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span>part in the conversation, but often sat at the other
+end of the room, occupied with a book or papers.</p>
+
+<p>It was after Lady Berriedale had seen Isma
+and her cousin together in this way for nearly a
+week that she began to feel that all was not right
+between them. They treated each other with
+every courtesy, of course, still they seemed to avoid
+talking to each other, and the girl especially
+fought shy of being alone with her lover. Lady
+Berriedale had several times suggested they should
+go for a walk together. However, Isma always
+declined and insisted on remaining with her friend.
+Of course that might have been merely an act
+of unselfish devotion on her part; still, there were
+other disturbing symptoms which made the elder
+woman uneasy. The thing which troubled her
+most was that neither of them looked happy,
+and she could not understand why. She did not
+doubt that a deep love existed between them.
+Had not the girl herself told her how much she
+cared for the man whose ring she was wearing,
+and had she not sometimes surprised an expression
+in the soldier’s eyes when he looked at his fiancée
+and thought himself unobserved, which told her
+plainly enough that there was no lack of love on
+his side? Still, if they both really cared, why did
+they not seem happy?</p>
+
+<p>One day Lady Berriedale thought she had discovered
+the reason. Isma was so reserved and
+she had such strict notions of propriety that perhaps
+she did not allow the man to whom she was
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span>engaged a lover’s privilege, and that this restraint
+was causing their unnatural attitude toward each
+other. The more she thought of this explanation
+of the difficulty the more she felt sure it was the
+correct one, and, being certain she had come to
+the right conclusion, she made up her mind to
+speak to the girl about it at once. So the same
+day, when the afternoon-tea things had been
+cleared away, and Captain Folkestone sat reading
+at the other end of the room, Lady Berriedale
+began:</p>
+
+<p>“Isma, I am going to give you a good lecture.
+Do you know your lover does not look a bit
+happy, and as an engaged man he ought to be
+brimming over with happiness! I believe it is
+because you are too prudish and you won’t allow
+him to show you any—”</p>
+
+<p>She stopped abruptly, for her companion made
+a violent gesture to silence her as she looked with
+a terrified expression toward Falcon, who, to her
+relief, was still reading and had apparently not
+heard the embarrassing words.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Berriedale continued: “He can’t possibly
+hear over there, and I must say this, it is not right
+you should put such a strain on him. If a man
+loves a woman he naturally wants to—”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t—don’t—” cried the girl, in a frantic
+whisper, interrupting her again.</p>
+
+<p>Still her hostess would not be silenced. “It is
+even hard on yourself—far too great a strain on
+you both; but on the man it is specially—”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span>“Beatrice, do be quiet. You don’t know what
+you are talking about. It is quite all right, I
+assure you. Falcon doesn’t like that sort of
+thing,” Isma murmured, in a frenzied undertone,
+looking fearfully toward her cousin, who was still
+so absorbed in his book that he did not appear
+to notice what was going on at the other end of
+the room.</p>
+
+<p>“Nonsense!” replied Lady Berriedale, emphatically,
+lowering her voice a little, but its high-pitched
+quality still striking terror into the
+embarrassed girl beside her. “Now you are
+talking rank nonsense. All men like that ‘sort of
+thing,’ as you call it, when they are in love. Do
+you mean to tell me that you don’t let your
+fiancé kiss you when you are alone and—”</p>
+
+<p>“Beatrice,” implored the distracted girl, “for
+Heaven’s sake don’t talk like that! He will hear
+you—”</p>
+
+<p>“It doesn’t matter if he does. Isma, don’t be
+so absurd. I never heard anything like it. You
+are really most unnatural! When you are engaged
+to a man you certainly ought to allow him
+a lover’s privileges. It is cruel not to. Now
+don’t try to interrupt me all the time. Do you
+know the best thing to cure you of this silly
+shyness,” she added, with a flash of mischief in
+her dark eyes, “would be for me to ask your lover
+to kiss you here before me—”</p>
+
+<p>There was a movement at the other end of
+the room. Falcon had risen and looked out of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span>the window, contemplating the weather thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma, if you are ready, I think we had better
+make a start. I have one or two things I must
+attend to before dinner. I believe this dry
+weather is going to last for ages,” he added,
+joining the ladies.</p>
+
+<p>The girl rose quickly and left the room.</p>
+
+<p>When she had gone Lady Berriedale said:
+“Isma will be glad to get away from me this afternoon.
+I have been lecturing her and she did not
+like it. On the way home you might ask her
+what I was scolding her about, I believe you
+will agree with me on the subject. But,” she continued,
+in a different tone, “I am afraid I have
+been horribly selfish keeping Isma so much with
+me. However, now that I am better you must
+assert your rights and see more of her; you have
+been far too kind and generous! Now I am going
+to suggest that you have her to yourself to-morrow;
+then you can take her out and have a good time
+together.”</p>
+
+<p>On the way home Falcon did not ask Isma any
+questions about the lecture; he was rather more
+silent than usual. He had evidently not heard
+the embarrassing conversation, for he did not
+make the slightest reference to it, and his companion
+was greatly relieved. Not till they approached
+The Palms did he tell Isma that Lady
+Berriedale had suggested he should take her for
+a trip the following day, and added: “You have
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span>been in the house far too much lately; it will do
+you good to have a day in the open air. So may
+I call for you to-morrow morning?”</p>
+
+<p>It seemed impossible to refuse, for Beatrice
+would be sure to ask when next they met if they
+had been out together, and if she had not it would
+only rouse her friend’s suspicion afresh. So she
+accepted the invitation and arranged that Falcon
+should call for her soon after breakfast the following
+day.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">VI<br>
+<small>THE FLAME GOD</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap2">“ARE you quite sure you would like the same
+run we did before?” asked Captain Folkestone,
+when he and his cousin left The Palms the
+next morning.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. It was so beautiful. I should like a
+whole day exactly like the last one.”</p>
+
+<p>“Exactly like it?” he inquired. “Don’t you
+think we might improve on it to-day?”</p>
+
+<p>“I am afraid that is impossible.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why it was only spring then; now it is
+summer.”</p>
+
+<p>“Would that make any difference?”</p>
+
+<p>“Certainly, for spring is only the promise;
+summer is the fulfilment.”</p>
+
+<p>Isma did not answer, but looked doubtfully
+into the white haze quivering over the road.</p>
+
+<p>Last time she and Falcon had driven this way
+together they had both been exuberantly happy;
+they had talked freely and looked at each other
+with shiny eyes. It was spring then. Nature
+had throbbed with vital life; it had been so gay,
+so irresponsible, so youthfully joyous, and she
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span>and her companion had been joyous, too. Hope
+had pulsated through her being. She had loved
+sitting next to her cousin while they were whirled
+into the radiant sunlight. Of course she still
+loved being beside him, yet there was a terrible
+difference in her feelings to-day, for there was no
+hope in her heart; youth and spring seemed to
+have died out of her life. Since that other delicious
+day together ghastly things had happened,
+and among them there was the farcical engagement
+to the man beside her. Now she knew for
+certainty that he did not care. He had made
+that quite clear on the afternoon when they had
+entered the meaningless bond; there could be no
+hope of happiness for her now.</p>
+
+<p>Still, as she gazed into the illumined atmosphere
+the sorrow in her soul lightened.</p>
+
+<p>It was a typical Australian summer day, both
+ethereal, mystically unreal, and at the same time
+throbbing with a sensuous, vital life. The golden
+sunlight of spring had ripened into the white
+radiance of summer, a radiance which had condensed
+into haze and hung shimmering over the
+road, between trees and bushes, as if it were a
+living, palpable thing.</p>
+
+<p>“It is going to be very hot to-day,” observed
+Falcon, after a short pause. “I hope you will
+not mind.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, not at all. I love the heat,” replied the
+girl, looking dreamily at the cliffs half hidden by
+the wistaria-tinted gossamer veil of summer.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span>Through the glimmering haze the sun peered
+down on the earth, its face strained and white
+with vehement intensity.</p>
+
+<p>Isma looked up toward the pallid ball of fire
+and caught her breath a little. Yes, summer was
+the mysterious fulfilment of spring. The gay,
+hilarious season of youth had matured into this
+tense, pale thing. There was no light-hearted
+laughter in summer, no mischievous banter, no
+childish glee, but there were blinding heat, unswerving
+purpose, blazing passion.</p>
+
+<p>Isma breathed more quickly. Summer held
+deeper joys than spring. She had never understood
+summer before. However, she was beginning
+to understand it now.</p>
+
+<p>A strange elation began to stir within her.
+Sorrow and trouble fell away; there was no room
+for sadness in this vast whiteness. But there was
+room for joy. She was all at once aware that a
+fiery joy burned everywhere about her. It was
+not an exuberant, buoyant gladness, but a still,
+concentrated ecstasy, so fierce that it had blanched
+the earth and made it gasp by its violent intensity.</p>
+
+<p>The day was passionately virile, it was pale with
+emotion, yet audaciously triumphant!</p>
+
+<p>Isma felt its hot, tenacious life, and as she
+became aware of it, it seemed as if its trembling
+fingers touched chords in her being which had
+not been touched before.</p>
+
+<p>She was suddenly conscious that she had been
+waiting as winter waits, as spring waits, and now
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span>all at once summer had come to her, bringing
+with it this luminous heat, breathless excitement,
+and luxuriant maturity. She felt something
+within her expand and enlarge, as life expands
+and enlarges under the powerful rays of the sun.
+What an extraordinary effect summer had on her
+to-day! It thrilled her and filled her with a
+peculiar anticipation.</p>
+
+<p>She and the man she loved were going out
+together into this white beauty of the sun. They
+were going into the fiery radiance. They would
+be alone in the world which was heated and set
+throbbing by the great Flame God riding in
+majestic insolence through the burnished heavens!
+It was wonderful! The thought that Falcon did
+not care for her did not trouble her now. It was
+cast into the background, pushed out of sight,
+and with her was only the consciousness that she
+was near him, that they were speeding together
+into the burning splendor of summer!</p>
+
+<p>They had driven in silence for some miles,
+but the silence between them held no embarrassment
+now; rather it appeared to hold a mute understanding.
+It seemed as if barriers, reserves, and
+the terrible constraint their empty engagement had
+caused had vanished and that they were now free
+to enjoy the long day which lay before them.</p>
+
+<p>And what would this summer day bring?</p>
+
+<p>Surely it could not pass without laying some
+gift at their feet. It was too vital, too richly
+laden with mystic treasures, for that!</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span>Isma glanced again at the pulsating splendor
+enveloping the distant hills, half veiling the sea,
+descending on breakers and headlands, penetrating
+jungles, caressing leaves and flowers, folding
+trees in smothering embraces, and lying, panting
+and mute, on crescent beaches.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma, what are you thinking about?” asked
+her companion, at last.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know that I was thinking at all,” she
+replied. “I have just—<i>lived</i>.”</p>
+
+<p>“Lived? What have you lived?”</p>
+
+<p>“I am not sure, but just—summer.”</p>
+
+<p>Her cousin glanced at her quickly. “Summer
+is the time when nature lives its hottest, its intensest,
+life. Were you living like that just now?”
+There was a peculiar quiet in his tone like the
+breathless quiet around them.</p>
+
+<p>“One could not help it—to-day.”</p>
+
+<p>“Isma”—he bent toward her—“I want us both
+to live like that to-day.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” she answered, with averted face and a
+curious softness in her voice.</p>
+
+<p>For a while they sped on without speaking. It
+was exquisite to fly together through the illumined
+spaces by the glimmering, half-hidden sea!</p>
+
+<p>After a time they left the coast-line and turned
+inland, dashing through great stretches of sun-bleached
+country, which gleamed in the fierce
+light like wastes of shimmering stars.</p>
+
+<p>“Our sun-bleached Australia!” murmured the
+girl, her eyes on the creamy white plains. “Green
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span>fields are very good to look at, only they always
+seem to me very earthy and substantial. These,”
+she pointed to the grass-covered flats, “look so
+ethereal and spiritual—as if they were all soul.”</p>
+
+<p>“Their greenness had been consumed by the
+sun. They are bleached with the pallor of death.
+Summer has done that.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I know the sun’s power can be terrible
+as well as beautiful. Still, it seems to me there is
+something grand about this bleaching into ethereal
+whiteness.” She spoke with exaltation. To her
+it appeared just then wonderful to be consumed
+by the hot passion of the sun. It seemed to her
+that the devouring heat was cleansing, that it
+had power to purify and make spiritual.</p>
+
+<p>Her companion turned and looked at her. “You
+really think so?”</p>
+
+<p>She did not meet his glance. “I do.”</p>
+
+<p>He sighed a little. “You evidently don’t know
+how it can—hurt.”</p>
+
+<p>She looked away into the luminous haze.</p>
+
+<p>Not know how it could hurt—how little he
+understood! Was not her heart like these great
+sun-bleached plains, parched, laid waste by
+scorching powers! But she was not sorry; to-day
+she felt strangely glad because of it. It seemed a
+superb thing to be dominated by, wholly yielding
+to, these fiery emotions!</p>
+
+<p>The elation within her increased. It was wonderful
+to feel her whole being aflame with the fire
+which burned in the dazzling splendor about her!
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span>And the warmth in her was all for the man beside
+her. She felt herself opening out to him in a new,
+extraordinary way, as if she had all at once
+received a wonderful gift for loving. She was
+nothing but love, every part of her a burning
+cinder, body and soul one leaping flame of love!
+Everything else had fallen away from her; the
+past was forgotten, the future did not exist; all
+beings save the man at her side had been wiped
+off the face of the earth; only Falcon and her
+great love lived; she herself did not exist any
+more except as one big, blazing fire.</p>
+
+<p>The mortification she had felt before because of
+her emotion had died out of her heart. There
+was no need of shame for this exalted thing; she
+wondered now that she could ever have felt shame
+because of this heat that purified, that burned
+away not only selfishness, but the whole of the
+self-life with its detailed sordid smallness. It was
+something to revel in, feel proud of, even if the
+man she cared for should have discovered its
+existence.</p>
+
+<p>But the more she was subjected to this immense
+power the more she was conscious that it would
+bring greater suffering into her life. It must
+bring deepest sorrow. Falcon did not love her,
+would never really care. She would have to love
+alone, suffer alone, feel parched with her need of
+him.</p>
+
+<p>Still, even with this anguish staring her in the
+face, she was unspeakably glad she loved him.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span>No thought of future pain could daunt her elation
+now.</p>
+
+<p>They had turned toward the coast again, and
+all at once Falcon stopped the car.</p>
+
+<p>“Look!” he cried; “there is a rifle-bird on that
+low branch over there,” and he leaned over Isma
+and directed her gaze to a bird the size of a magpie
+sitting on a low bough close to the road.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, isn’t it lovely!” exclaimed the girl, in an
+excited undertone so as not to frighten the gorgeous,
+timid thing. “I have never seen one
+before.”</p>
+
+<p>“It is one of our birds of paradise.”</p>
+
+<p>“What a wonderful black! It is like the richest
+plush and satin rolled into one, and look how it
+gleams fiery purple and emerald green—”</p>
+
+<p>The bird suddenly moved from under some
+shading leaves into the opening, and the half-veiled
+sunlight fell on its plumes. It preened its
+feathers, opened and shut its wings, its luster
+varying with each new movement from a red
+metallic purple to the richest shades of green,
+and each riotous hue a mere ethereal sheen on its
+plushy black plumage.</p>
+
+<p>Then, uttering a strange note, the winged thing
+of color and velvet flew away.</p>
+
+<p>When Falcon had started the engine again he
+said, “Isma, do you know it is a good omen to
+see a bird of paradise?”</p>
+
+<p>“Is it? Why?”</p>
+
+<p>“Because it indicates you are close to—Eden.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span>“Summer is generally close to Paradise, isn’t it?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, except when it takes the wrong turning
+and leads to—drought.”</p>
+
+<p>“It very often seems to do that. Still, if one has
+had the beauty of summer even for a little while,
+one oughtn’t to mind about the drought—afterward.”
+There was strong conviction in her voice.</p>
+
+<p>“I quite agree with you—only, when Eden is so
+close, why not go straight on and reach it?”</p>
+
+<p>“If it were possible, yes.”</p>
+
+<p>“Isma, it is possible, and I hope to prove it to
+you before the day is over.” He spoke with
+sudden earnestness.</p>
+
+<p>She looked away into the bush. What did he
+mean? Could he know what Paradise meant to
+her? Perhaps he only thought it meant giving
+her an enjoyable day!</p>
+
+<p>However, it did not matter. Nothing mattered
+but being with him, being together, speeding into
+summer, losing themselves in the filmy haze
+which enveloped the hills, the bush, the sea, the
+breakers, and made all seem peculiarly soft and
+unreal.</p>
+
+<p>Then through the veil of heat the hotel where
+they were to lunch appeared, the morning had
+already passed.</p>
+
+<p>Captain Folkestone stopped the motor and once
+more they made their way into the quaint, long
+dining-room to the small table where they had
+sat before, which was now decorated with greeny-white
+flannel-flowers.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span>Isma took her seat as in a dream. Still, her
+dreamy state did not last long, for now when she
+sat opposite her cousin, when he looked full into
+her face and she met the strong light in his eyes,
+the elated loftiness she had felt out in the dense
+sunlight vanished. She became human again.
+Little things returned to her life. She was conscious
+of embarrassment once more. One look
+from Falcon could set her face aflame and make
+her strangely, sweetly confused. It had been
+glorious to feel the exaltation dominating her
+during the morning, but it was even more exquisite
+to realize how Falcon’s every glance, his
+movements, the least inflection of his voice,
+affected her. During the drive she had been
+wholly absorbed by her love for him; now she was
+wholly dominated by himself, and her joy was
+intensified.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>After dinner they drove farther north till they
+reached the beach they had visited before.</p>
+
+<p>They walked along the sand, looking for the
+spot where they had rested on their previous
+outing. It was not long before they found it.
+However, this time they went higher up among
+the sand-dunes in the shade of a thicket of bottle-brushes.</p>
+
+<p>Isma did not want to lie down, but sat leaning
+against a sand-bank, while her companion threw
+himself down close beside her. He lay on his side,
+gazing at her with intent blue eyes.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span>She had thrown back her long, golden veil, and
+her hair, under the wide brim of her black hat,
+looked weighted with gold; her skin, fair as the
+petals of white magnolia-flowers, was strangely
+radiant, and her eyes, very golden in the suffused
+brightness, burned with a dazzling intensity.
+She seemed curiously, vitally alive as the day was
+fiercely, hotly alive.</p>
+
+<p>She sat with her hands clasped round her knees,
+looking at the incoming waves breaking languidly
+on the shore.</p>
+
+<p>The haze had thickened. It shut out the horizon,
+the hills and bush, everything, except the
+immediate foreground, and it gave the man and
+woman on the sands a sense of being peculiarly
+isolated and alone. Through the dense layers of
+gossamer the sun burned down with violent persistence,
+all the more powerful, perhaps, because
+the Fire God was entirely obscured from view
+and attacked from its safe fort in the heavens.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma, tell me,” said Falcon, after a lengthy
+pause, “are you not happier to-day than you
+were—last time we were here?”</p>
+
+<p>The girl began to sift the sand through her
+fingers. “Yes, I think so.”</p>
+
+<p>“I wonder why?”</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose because it is—summer.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not because of—anything else?”</p>
+
+<p>“Isn’t that enough? Summer means so much.”</p>
+
+<p>“I wonder what it really means to you?”</p>
+
+<p>She smiled as she picked up another handful
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span>of sand and allowed it to trail slowly back to the
+beach.</p>
+
+<p>“Could one explain?”</p>
+
+<p>“I think you could if you tried.”</p>
+
+<p>She made no reply, and her companion, still
+regarding her intently, began to play with one
+end of her long veil.</p>
+
+<p>After a while he released the silken texture,
+moved restlessly, and, turning over on his back,
+lay for some time with closed eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Isma could feast her eyes on him now. She
+loved looking at his well-cut features, his firm
+but tender mouth, the resolute chin, his delightful
+hair. He was so close to her she could have
+stretched out her hand and touched him—if only
+she had the right! A great stillness crept into
+her soul, a wonderful awe. If only their engagement
+had been real, then at this very moment
+she might have— But her thoughts were interrupted
+by a sudden smile curving the well-formed
+lips she was watching.</p>
+
+<p>“Falcon, why are you smiling?” she asked, the
+sense of the intimacy which might have been still
+strong upon her.</p>
+
+<p>He looked up at her quickly.</p>
+
+<p>“Would you really like to know?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. You looked as if your thoughts were
+interesting.”</p>
+
+<p>“They were, I assure you,” he replied, the
+twinkle still in his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“Then tell me.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span>He turned on his side again, facing her. “I
+was just wondering what would have happened
+if Lady Berriedale had carried out her threat
+yesterday afternoon—”</p>
+
+<p>For a moment the girl did not stir. Yesterday
+was so far away it almost seemed as if it had not
+been. Whatever did Falcon refer to? She glanced
+at him wonderingly. “What—threat?” she asked,
+a sudden instinctive fear sending the blood to her
+cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, the threat Lady Berriedale made, when
+I stood up and rescued you by asking if you were
+ready to go home— Have you forgotten so
+soon?”</p>
+
+<p>So Falcon had heard those awful remarks, after
+all! A wave of heat surged through her. She
+did not speak, but her eyes fell before his disconcerting
+gaze.</p>
+
+<p>“I was wondering just now what you would
+have done if Lady Berriedale had asked me
+to—” He stopped a moment before adding,
+“For of course I should have had to do it—just
+to save the situation, you know.”</p>
+
+<p>Isma turned her face away hastily. Still, he
+saw the deep flush creeping over her white throat
+and dyeing her perfectly shaped ear a vivid pink.</p>
+
+<p>“I can’t make out what made you say I did
+not like that sort of thing. I never remember
+telling you that I did not.”</p>
+
+<p>“No—but of course you wouldn’t,” she stammered,
+confusedly.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span>“I wouldn’t be quite so sure about that if I
+were you. By the way, I hope you have taken
+your friend’s advice to heart and that you will act
+on it.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl made no reply; her face was still
+averted, but the color in her adorable ear had
+grown pinker.</p>
+
+<p>Captain Folkestone sat up now. “Isma,” he
+said, in low tones, “you are wearing my ring.
+Don’t you think you might give me a few of the
+privileges such a ring generally bestows?”</p>
+
+<p>She started, and the soft, rich curves of her
+breast rose and sank in fluttering confusion.</p>
+
+<p>The light in his eyes deepened. He looked very
+alert, every muscle tense, ready to move at the
+least sign from her.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma, tell me, would it really be so hateful to
+you if I—kissed you?”</p>
+
+<p>In spite of her overwhelming shyness, she
+glanced up at him. It seemed as if he compelled
+her. But her eyes dropped instantly before his
+and she felt herself tremble as if he were already
+touching her lips. A dreadful weakness came over
+her. Falcon’s lips against her own, his arm
+round her folding her to him—</p>
+
+<p>She turned giddy. It seemed impossible not to
+yield. She was almost swaying toward him,
+making the one movement, however slight, he
+was waiting for, watching for.</p>
+
+<p>Then an awful thought arrested her. He had
+not spoken of love: he was merely asking for her
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span>kisses. Did he only ask because it was summer
+and the world was astir with passionate abandonment,
+because she was beautiful and her beauty
+appealed to him? Even in the days when he
+hated her her beauty had strangely affected him.
+Now when he no longer disliked her did he feel
+it would give him pleasure to caress her and enjoy
+her physical charm? After all he had done for
+her, did he consider she might grant him this
+intimacy? Were these his only reasons for wanting
+her kisses? Surely, for if he had cared would
+he not have told her that first?</p>
+
+<p>She straightened involuntarily.</p>
+
+<p>The man watching her with alert scrutiny
+paled as he saw the movement.</p>
+
+<p>Or perhaps Falcon was testing her, the girl
+continued to reason. Perhaps he only wanted to
+see if she held her caresses cheap and was ready
+to give them to any fascinating man audacious
+enough to ask for them. Was he trying to see if
+she were temptable?</p>
+
+<p>If this were so, good Heavens, what cruelty!
+How could any man be so merciless! But of
+course he could not know how desperately she
+cared; could not know that her whole being was
+quivering to give him what he desired.</p>
+
+<p>She pulled frantically at some grass blades and
+broke them into small pieces. Then she made a
+colossal effort to speak calmly:</p>
+
+<p>“You have no right to ask—under the circumstances—”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span>“Under the circumstances I have. We are
+engaged.”</p>
+
+<p>“You know quite well that does not mean anything.
+It is only—”</p>
+
+<p>There was a short, sharp pause.</p>
+
+<p>The face of the man had undergone a great
+change. All at once he jumped up, took a few
+steps, bent down and examined a shell, straightened
+again, and walked still farther away.</p>
+
+<p>Isma watched him with strange, wide eyes;
+her face, too, had become colorless.</p>
+
+<p>Was he angry with her? No, he did not seem
+annoyed. He walked about as if leisurely contemplating
+the bunches of coral seaweed and the
+various flotsam on the beach.</p>
+
+<p>The girl gazed after his tall, splendid form
+hungrily. Why had he left her—oh, why? Was
+he displeased in spite of his apparent nonchalance?
+Had he expected her to yield, to understand that
+he was a man and that he wanted what other men
+coveted? Somehow she had never thought of
+this before. Falcon had always seemed to her a
+being apart—made of different material from the
+other men she had known, a man who lived up
+to a punctilious standard of conduct; but did he,
+after all, yearn for the warm, soft things women
+could give? Of course if only he had cared, how
+gladly she would have given what he asked!</p>
+
+<p>After a while he came back and suggested it
+was time to start for home.</p>
+
+<p>As they got into the motor he said, “On the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span>whole the advice Lady Berriedale gave you was
+excellent, and if you were wise you would take it.”
+With that he closed the subject and did not refer
+to it again.</p>
+
+<p>On the way home Falcon talked in his brightest,
+most entertaining way. But he sat well away
+from her, and their shoulders did not touch as they
+had frequently done during the morning.</p>
+
+<p>That was the worst of her cousin, he was such
+an adept at covering his tracks. If he retreated,
+no one knew if it were a retreat or if the move
+had not been part of his original plan.</p>
+
+<p>As Isma listened to his easy conversation she
+felt confused and puzzled. Was this really the
+man who had asked for her kisses, whose eyes had
+looked so irresistibly into her own, who now talked
+in this nonchalant way as if nothing unusual had
+happened? But his eloquence saddened her, his
+amusing stories hurt her.</p>
+
+<p>She looked at the many sand-dunes bordering
+the seaward side of the road with pensive eyes.
+She remembered that in the morning as they
+passed them they had seemed glimmering mountain-tops
+aglow with an exultant peace; now
+they appeared to her mere grotesque shapes,
+gloating monsters watching by the shore for prey.</p>
+
+<p>The whole world had changed. The great
+white radiance round them held no breathless
+ecstasy now; it was only a huge, opaque void
+holding nothing but smarting disappointment.</p>
+
+<p>Falcon had said earlier in the day that spring
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span>was the promise and summer the fulfilment—where
+was the fulfilment? The bird of paradise
+had not brought them to Eden. There was no
+Paradise; summer only led to—drought.</p>
+
+<p>All at once the haze warmed and reddened as
+if some huge fire burned behind its gauzy entanglements.
+In the bush the white sheen had
+deepened to lavender and purple and hung with
+caressing softness between majestic trees and
+matted undergrowth. Opaline sun glints dipped
+into the reed-edged pools and motionless lagoons.</p>
+
+<p>Then a faint breath of air came in from the sea.
+It blew very gently against the filmy, iridescent
+haze, which shivered perceptibly, then slowly
+drifted toward the heavily timbered hills.</p>
+
+<p>Isma watched its hesitating, retreating footsteps.
+She saw the trees and shrubs creep out
+from the violet sheen in the forest and stand out
+with definite clearness. The red disk of the sun
+became visible in the smoky heavens and hung
+as a huge round furnace dropping slowly toward
+the western hills.</p>
+
+<p>The breeze from the ocean gained strength;
+it grew cooler and stilled the throbbing fever in
+the sweltering atmosphere.</p>
+
+<p>The cliffs near Isma’s home were in sight now
+and stood out, bulky, plum-colored shapes against
+the pale lavender-tinted distance.</p>
+
+<p>As the car approached the last plain the girl
+could see the breeze moving among the trees and
+bushes. It appeared to her as if it were some distraught,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span>demented thing let loose on the flats,
+seeking frantically for a lost treasure in the wild
+chaos of shrubbery.</p>
+
+<p>The waves on the beach had grown noisy and
+hoarse and sounded as if moaning in sudden pain.</p>
+
+<p>Isma became silent.</p>
+
+<p>Did her companion notice her short replies or
+their entire absence? If so, he did not betray his
+observation by look or word.</p>
+
+<p>They had crossed the plain and were ascending
+the last cliff. Would Falcon stop the motor where
+he had stopped it the other day? Surely he
+would give her another chance before they parted!
+If only he would, how gladly she would yield to
+him now!</p>
+
+<p>But no, he rushed on without even glancing
+at the spot where they had stood together and
+watched the scenery and she had hummed to him
+“The Little Winding Road.”</p>
+
+<p>Isma’s heart contracted in a suffocating anguish
+and her eyes filled with blinding tears. She
+turned her face away quickly, still not till her
+companion had seen something moist drop from
+her lashes to her cheeks. He paled and bit his
+lip, but a moment afterward he continued the
+conversation.</p>
+
+<p>As they came in sight of her gates a terrible
+desperation seized her. It made her almost cry
+out for mercy, implore him to take what she so
+frantically yearned to give—for, after all, even
+if he had not spoken of love, were not her lips his?
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span>Had they not been kept for him all these years!
+Of course he had a right to them. How foolish
+she had been not to have realized this before!</p>
+
+<p>However, he evidently did not want her kisses
+now. But was he so capricious that he ceased to
+wish for a thing if he could not have it the moment
+he asked for it? No, that was impossible; he
+must have merely been testing her. Still, why
+had his smiling eyes gazed so irresistibly into her
+own? Why had he said earlier in the day he
+wished them both to live summer, that they were
+on the road to Paradise?</p>
+
+<p>The car stopped.</p>
+
+<p>Her cousin helped her to alight. She thanked
+him for the beautiful drive, and then, as in some
+ghastly trance, she found herself walking away
+from him. But even as she went some awful
+power tugged at her and almost compelled her to
+return to him. She walked with difficulty; the
+violent force dragging at her made it almost
+impossible to proceed.</p>
+
+<p>Then she heard the hum of the motor—he had
+gone! She stood still, feeling suddenly faint with
+longing and disappointment.</p>
+
+<p>She had refused his request; but, merciful God,
+how he had punished her—how he had revenged
+himself!</p>
+
+<p>As the man drove up the steep ascent he caught
+a glimpse of Isma among the palms, standing
+perfectly still, her head thrown back and her hands
+tightly clasped.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span>He gripped the steering-wheel ferociously and
+looked for a place to turn the car. However,
+what would be the use of going back? Hadn’t
+she already refused his love that day? Of course
+she knew that he cared, yet she chose to put this
+terrible strain on him. He gave up the idea of
+returning and proceeded up the headland, his
+face ashen and grim.</p>
+
+<p>But on the other side of the cliff he stopped the
+machine and, suddenly covering his face with his
+hands, groaned aloud.</p>
+
+<p>“Great God! Isma,” he muttered under his
+breath, “why are you torturing me like this—making
+us both suffer! You do care, I know it
+now—but why in Heaven’s name do you pretend
+you don’t! Is it your pride standing in the way,
+your shyness, or—what—? Isma, if you go on
+like this you will drive me to distraction—”</p>
+
+<p>He sat for a long time bowed and unmovable;
+then at last, with another ejaculation, he set the
+motor throbbing down the headland.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">VII<br>
+<small>THE STARING CLIFF</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">ISMA passed a wakeful, restless night.</p>
+
+<p>When she came down to breakfast, rather
+late the next morning, she found a note from
+Falcon saying there had been serious trouble on
+one of his northern stations; that he would have
+to go and settle the difficulty himself, and would
+therefore be unable to see her that day. He also
+said that he had rung up and inquired after Lady
+Berriedale and explained that he and his cousin
+would be unable to see her till the following morning.
+In conclusion he begged her on no account
+to go to The Bluff in his absence. The note was
+very brief; he had evidently written it in a hurry
+before starting on his long journey, and sent it
+over by a special messenger.</p>
+
+<p>The girl strolled out under the palms and read
+the letter again.</p>
+
+<p>So she would not see Falcon for a whole day!
+The news brought a sickening dullness to her
+heart. How colorless the day stretched out before
+her! It seemed as if all light and warmth had
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span>gone out of it—it would only be to her now a
+succession of weary hours of clamoring emptiness.
+She looked into the sunlit atmosphere, which
+seemed to have paled. The world around her
+had all at once faded, its brightness departed;
+the big, fan-shaped palm leaves had grown uninteresting
+and dull; even the profusion of roses
+in the garden looked colorless and without beauty.</p>
+
+<p>And Falcon’s absence had caused this terrible
+change in everything!</p>
+
+<p>She rose suddenly, as if she would have fled
+from something which filled her with panic.
+But she sat down again. What was the use of
+running away? She could not escape. Months
+ago it had been possible to take flight. It had
+been awful to cut herself away from Falcon, but
+it had been possible—now it could no longer be
+done. The color ebbed away from her cheeks
+as she realized this. If her life depended on it
+she could not go away, could not leave him now.
+If even one day without the sound of his voice,
+the touch of his hand, a look into his dear eyes,
+was a hideous blank, what would a lifetime away
+from him be like!</p>
+
+<p>She shivered.</p>
+
+<p>She could not live without him; he had become
+an absolute necessity. He was to her what the
+sun was to the world, the giver of light, warmth,
+and life itself. Falcon had become her <i>life</i>; she
+was utterly dependent upon him for everything
+which made existence tolerable.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[251]</span>She looked down on the diamonds glittering on
+the third finger of her left hand. She was wearing
+his ring. At present she and her cousin met constantly;
+they drove together to and from The
+Bluff, saw each other daily—the engagement
+which had caused her so much pain had at least
+brought her that; but this state of things could
+not go on forever. Some day soon she would
+have to return his ring. After that, of course,
+they would not meet. People who had been
+engaged and broken it off could not go on seeing
+each other; that was impossible. And even if in
+the distant future they might resume the intercourse
+afforded by their relationship, what comfort
+could such a cold, lifeless thing bring her?</p>
+
+<p>She sat, pale and wide-eyed, looking unseeingly
+at the radiant world about her.</p>
+
+<p>She thought again of the previous day—how
+beautiful it had been and how terrible! Every
+detail came back to her—her fancies, the deep
+exaltation she had felt as she and the man she
+loved sped into the quivering white heart of summer!
+Her own heart had been aflame with a
+heat as intense and white as the blazing force
+throbbing in the illumined spaces, and even when
+the thought came to her that it might bring
+anguish which blistered and blighted, her elation
+had not diminished. She had felt strong and
+able to bear, if need be, a sorrow which could
+crush a world. But Falcon had been with her
+then, and that had made all the difference!</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[252]</span>She remembered, too, when they passed the
+sun-scorched plains she had remarked that it
+seemed a grand thing to be bleached into that
+spiritual whiteness, and her cousin had said, with
+a little sigh, that she could not know how such a
+scorching hurt. All at once it struck her, though
+it had not occurred to her at the time, that Falcon
+had spoken as if he knew, knew only too well
+what an experience of that kind meant. So Falcon
+had cared—cared like that!</p>
+
+<p>She sat up quickly.</p>
+
+<p>Of course she was quite aware he could not
+have reached his mature manhood without love
+having come into his life. She was used to seeing
+him extremely nice to women, and she had guessed
+that some one must at some time or other have
+touched his heart; but that he should have felt
+any emotion strong enough to make him connect
+it with powers that bleached and scorched had not
+suggested itself to her, and the thought made her
+suddenly feel cold.</p>
+
+<p>Who could the woman be he had loved like
+that? Her mind ran quickly over his women
+friends in London; but she could not recall any
+one he had specially singled out. However, Falcon
+was so reserved and sensitive he would not
+show his feelings to others. In any case, the
+affair must have ended in disappointment, as he
+had not married. She had often wondered why
+he had remained single; this must be the reason.
+Poor Falcon, so he, too, had undergone this awful
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[253]</span>scorching, and was evidently suffering still, or
+why had he sighed? Yet, why had he spoken to
+her yesterday about Paradise and summer in the
+way he did? Why had he asked for her kisses?
+Why the burning kiss on her fingers weeks ago?
+Why so many other things?</p>
+
+<p>She was deeply perplexed.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps he was trying to fill the aching void,
+trying to see if she could not bring him comfort
+and teach him to forget! There could be no other
+explanation of his conduct.</p>
+
+<p>Isma drew a gasping breath. The pain within
+almost strangled her.</p>
+
+<p>She got up and began to walk about among
+the palms; it was impossible to keep still.</p>
+
+<p>And he was her summer, her light, warmth, her
+life—everything! She could not do without him,
+she could not! She clasped her hands together
+in anguish. What was she to do?</p>
+
+<p>Her wonderful eyes looked suddenly blank with
+agony. Falcon loving another woman—like that!
+She felt giddy and faint.</p>
+
+<p>She sank down on the seat in a heap, her face
+deathly white, her nostrils quivering. A half-stifled
+moan escaped her trembling lips. She
+could not bear this blinding pain—</p>
+
+<p>She looked up as one dazed and stunned.</p>
+
+<p>She was like the plains they had passed yesterday,
+helpless and powerless, lying passive and
+defenseless while the Flame God scorched her by
+his cauterizing power.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[254]</span>She groaned aloud and closed her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“Love bleached—love bleached,” she murmured
+under her breath in suffocating tones.</p>
+
+<p>She had admired the spiritual whiteness of the
+flats yesterday. Green fields had seemed earthly
+and material in comparison with them. Falcon
+was right: the bleaching hurt, it was death-agony
+to have the green changed to white!</p>
+
+<p>Then she suddenly thought of Beatrice. That
+frail little woman had suffered—this; had even
+said she was glad the grief had come, for it had
+been the explosion to propel her spirit upward;
+that before it came her soul had lain on a dust-heap,
+but the dynamite of sorrow had shot her
+out of the dust.</p>
+
+<p>All at once Isma realized that her soul had also
+lain in the dust. It had reared its head once or
+twice and looked up wonderingly, but had soon
+lain down again and forgotten. However, was
+this splintering agony the explosion which would
+send her soul on its upward flight?</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>That night Isma went up to her favorite cliff.</p>
+
+<p>She stood for some time gazing out to sea over
+the great expanse of soft, lilac-colored water,
+toward the misty, opal-tinted horizon. Ocean
+and sky seemed peculiarly blended into one. It
+looked as if the sky had descended and that the
+ocean was slowly rising out of itself, spiritualized
+into the unexplored dome of heaven.</p>
+
+<p>The girl watched absently. Then she turned a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[255]</span>little and glanced up the coast-line and caught
+sight of the distant bluff with its tinted face and
+its half-blind eyes gazing out to sea. She remembered
+watching it some months ago. Had it
+been lying staring into space ever since? Why
+was it so preoccupied? Other headlands stood
+complacently absorbed in themselves. But this
+far-away block of stone had turned its back
+entirely on earth and gazed beyond the coast-line
+and the heaving waves into the unfathomable
+spaces above.</p>
+
+<p>Isma looked toward it with deeper interest.
+Had that silent, rocky monster found what it
+was seeking, what it had stared itself half blind to
+find, or was it still pursuing its quest with undaunted
+persistence? How bare, how uncompromising
+it looked! It seemed as if it had worn
+off every blade of grass, every vestige of foliage,
+in its relentless search.</p>
+
+<p>Its crude barrenness suddenly fascinated her.
+She saw in it a resemblance to her own life. Had
+she not been stripped of everything that was dear
+to her, everything that could make her life glad
+and beautiful? She had possessed so much, but
+gradually everything had been torn from her till,
+naked and bare, her soul stood alone in a vast
+desolation.</p>
+
+<p>Would her spirit, too, learn to turn its back on
+earth and stand ever gazing into the spaces beyond
+the boundary-line of time? What would she find
+in these mighty spaces?</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[256]</span>What was the distant headland seeking? Or
+had it already obtained satisfaction? And was
+that the reason it could be so silent and unstirring,
+so oblivious to its own cruel nakedness, its austere
+isolation?</p>
+
+<p>Would such a satisfaction come to her if she
+gazed long enough in the same direction? Was
+life only one incessant fumbling for something
+beyond the border-land of earth and sky? What
+was this elusive something which needed this
+terrible, concentrated seeking, this cruel stripping
+of earth glamours, before it could be found? It
+must be something colossal, something overwhelmingly
+satisfying, if it were worth the cruel
+rigors by which alone it could be obtained.</p>
+
+<p>Then suddenly she knew that the great, majestic
+something hiding in the lofty spaces, who required
+this all-concentrating seeking, was the Infinite
+Himself.</p>
+
+<p>She had not thought much about Him before;
+she had taken Him for granted, as she had taken
+great abstract things for granted. But now He
+became a person, a living reality. Her spirit
+had all at once pressed upward, seen Him, found
+Him!</p>
+
+<p>She knew now that, all unconsciously to herself,
+she had been groping for Him all her life,
+that all souls fumble for Him even though they
+may not be aware of it; but that very few press
+up to Him until they had been bleached white
+by sorrow.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[257]</span>Now she knew He permeated all. His majesty
+hung like a trailing robe illumining the throbbing
+atmosphere. He was everywhere. He was everything.
+How dense she had been not to comprehend
+Him before!</p>
+
+<p>As she looked into the shimmering spaces it
+seemed all at once as if her soul had become a
+filmy fragment of the luminous beauty above her
+and that it rose timidly, but eagerly, and touched
+the royal, majestic garments of the Infinite. And
+somehow she was aware that He felt her pressure
+and that for the rest of her life there would be
+some wonderful bond between them! He would
+never forget the touch, and she could not; it had
+been like touching the mainspring of life, coming
+in contact with the Power Station of the universe,
+the gigantic Power House that set all the machinery
+of stars, moons, suns, and comets in motion
+and kept them ever supplied with the forces they
+needed for their brain-reeling circuits. She had
+touched <i>That</i>, and it was not a that; it was a
+Person, a living, vital, magnetic Being, approachable,
+sensitive to touch, waiting for appeal, and
+eager to be sought!</p>
+
+<p>She stood transfixed with wonder and amazement;
+so this was—God!</p>
+
+<p>Why did not everybody talk about Him, rave
+about Him? Why had no one ever told her about
+Him!</p>
+
+<p>And it was possible to lay a detaining hand
+on this great, wonderful Being and speak to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[258]</span>Him. Yes, prayer was laying a detaining hand
+on God and speaking to Him—she—knew it
+now!</p>
+
+<p>She lingered for some time on the cliff, then at
+last very reluctantly she turned to go.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[259]</span>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">VIII<br>
+<small>THE DAWN</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">ISMA began to descend the headland; in her
+heart burned a great exaltation and in her eyes
+shone an infinite peace. A solemn, majestic twilight
+crept up from the plain below, wrapping its
+dusky mantle about the far-away hills and the
+imposing cliffs.</p>
+
+<p>It was getting late; she began to hurry down to
+the road which climbed from the flats over the
+lower shoulder of the headland.</p>
+
+<p>As she was half-way down the steep slope she
+saw a tall figure coming up toward her.</p>
+
+<p>Could Falcon have returned earlier than he
+expected? He did not think he could reach home
+till midnight or the next morning. Her heart gave
+a joyous bound. But no, this was not her cousin’s
+strong, broad-shouldered figure.</p>
+
+<p>All at once she stood still, for she had recognized
+the man—it was Lord Berriedale.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment a horrible fear seized her. The
+thought of the utter loneliness of the place, Falcon
+miles and miles away, not a house in sight, her
+home too far away for protection, no one able to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[260]</span>hear her call, made her waver in alarm. But she
+shook her fears from her. Why should she be
+afraid? Were not the spaces above her filled with
+the Infinite to Himself, the God she had just discovered?
+Nothing could harm her in His presence.
+Her lofty peace returned.</p>
+
+<p>The man had climbed rapidly and reached her
+now.</p>
+
+<p>“Good evening, Isma,” he said, a little out of
+breath, and the girl noticed he looked strangely
+excited. “Isma,” he continued, with curious
+agitation, “I have come to—take you—away.”</p>
+
+<p>She glanced at him quickly. “Is Beatrice
+worse?” she inquired, anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>“No, she is not worse. But we are not going
+to The—Bluff—”</p>
+
+<p>“Whatever do you mean?” the girl asked, perplexedly.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, just this, that I can’t stand things as
+they are any longer and that I am going to—take
+you away.”</p>
+
+<p>“Take me away?” she repeated, in uncomprehending
+astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, away from everything and everybody
+and have you all to myself,” he said, with feverish
+doggedness.</p>
+
+<p>“But you surely can’t be in earnest—”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course I am. I have never been so much
+in earnest about anything.”</p>
+
+<p>“But—but—” she still spoke with vague bewilderment.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[261]</span>“There are to be no more ‘buts’; the car
+is here, our suit-cases in it. I have ordered
+rooms—”</p>
+
+<p>“Our suit-cases—mine?” Her eyes had widened.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. Everything is arranged. I went to your
+house first, you know, saw Miss Livingston, who
+directed me here. I told her Beatrice was much
+worse and that I am going to take you back with
+me and asked her to put you up a few things, and
+she packed your suit-case, and your coat and hat
+and everything are in the car.”</p>
+
+<p>“Lord Berriedale, have you gone quite mad?”
+she exclaimed, regarding him in utter amazement.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I think I am mad, but it is all with love
+for you. I only know that I want you and that
+I am going to have you.”</p>
+
+<p>Isma had turned very pale. She began to
+realize that the man before her was desperate.
+Whatever could she do with him?</p>
+
+<p>However, before she could reply, he continued,
+rapidly: “Isma, if you will only come with me I
+promise to make you happy! I know you are
+afraid of a conventional law which binds me at
+present to—another. But I tell you conventions
+are nothing; they are only like obstacles
+in a race made to be leaped over by those who
+have courage and dash enough to take them!
+And you need not fear the censure of the world.
+Society always applauds those who audaciously
+clear the barriers placed to scare away the feeble
+from their desired goal.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[262]</span>“You are quite mistaken, Lord Berriedale.
+Conventions are not like hurdles in a race; they
+are protecting fences, keeping people from slipping
+into horrible ditches.” She spoke evenly and
+calmly.</p>
+
+<p>“Even pitfalls may be safely crossed. I will
+see that you do not get hurt. I swear it! We
+will soon be able to marry and in a few years go
+home, and then everything will be all right.”</p>
+
+<p>“I absolutely refuse to believe you can be serious,
+that you really mean to insult me by making
+such an outrageous proposition!” Isma suddenly
+seemed to have grown taller.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course I am serious—”</p>
+
+<p>“But even if you have forgotten about Beatrice,
+your wife and my friend, there is—my cousin.”</p>
+
+<p>He laughed mirthlessly. “Now don’t refer to
+that sham engagement of yours. Good Lor’!
+Isma, what do you take me for? Do you think I
+am taken in by that hoax! Why, any fool can
+see it is only a fake, one of your cousin’s ingenious
+devices to shield you from—scandal.”</p>
+
+<p>“You have no right to say that.”</p>
+
+<p>He took a step nearer and looked her full in the
+face. “You know it is the truth. Now, Isma,
+can you give me your word of honor that you
+are really going to <i>marry</i> your cousin? Is your
+engagement a real one, with kisses and hot
+embraces?”</p>
+
+<p>There was no sound in the dimness but the
+flutter of dusky wings and the deep thud of waves
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[263]</span>crashing against the rocks far below them on the
+seaward side of the cliff.</p>
+
+<p>“So he has not even kissed you! I knew it!”</p>
+
+<p>“I refuse to answer your impertinent questions.”</p>
+
+<p>“They are not impertinent. I have a right to
+find out; for if you are not another man’s property,
+it is all the more reason why you should be
+mine.”</p>
+
+<p>“Still, I do belong to my cousin, for I—love
+him.”</p>
+
+<p>The man confronting her laughed again. “Do
+you really expect me to believe that, when you
+don’t even allow him to kiss you? No, Isma,
+women do not treat men they love the way you
+treat him.”</p>
+
+<p>“All the same, I am speaking the truth. I love
+him with all my heart.” She made the confession
+with superb dignity.</p>
+
+<p>“But, Isma, I can teach you to forget him.
+If you are taken from him, you will in time love
+me. I can always make women love me, if I try.”</p>
+
+<p>“You could never make me forget him, and I
+could never love you in any case.”</p>
+
+<p>“Isma, I can make you care. Only give me a
+chance. Come away with me where I can have
+you to myself—”</p>
+
+<p>“Please don’t repeat that horrible insult.”</p>
+
+<p>“And do you mean to say you blankly refuse
+to link your future with mine?”</p>
+
+<p>“It is unnecessary to answer such a question.
+And now I really must go home.” She made a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[264]</span>movement toward the road, but he stepped in
+front of her and blocked the way.</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t suppose I shall let you go, do you?
+After all this waiting and these weeks of torment
+I mean to have what I want now, and if I cannot
+have it with your consent I must take it without.
+But, Isma”—he had spoken bruskly; now he
+added, in a softer tone—“I do not want to hurt
+you, do not want to use force.”</p>
+
+<p>“Force?” she questioned, incredulously. “Nowadays
+a man cannot take a woman and run away
+with her against her will. It can’t be done.”</p>
+
+<p>“I did not mean that. There are other ways
+of gaining my end.”</p>
+
+<p>What could he mean? Would he embrace
+and caress her as he had commenced to do on the
+night of the picnic? Her heart beat with sudden
+alarm; the thought of his touch was revolting.
+Still almost instantly she grew calm again. God
+was there, brooding over the earth. He would
+protect her.</p>
+
+<p>As there was no reply, her companion said,
+“Isma, don’t drive me to anything that might
+be—distasteful to you.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t understand you,” she said, confident
+he was powerless to hurt her.</p>
+
+<p>“Then I will explain. It comes to this. I mean
+to have you at any cost. If you will not do as I
+ask, I will keep you here all night, and when
+to-morrow comes—you will be glad enough to—comply
+with my terms.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[265]</span>She drew a hard breath. “Lord Berriedale, is
+it possible you can be such a fiend as to deliberately
+set about ruining my reputation? Haven’t
+you hurt me enough already?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t <i>want</i> to do it; that is just what I am
+trying to make clear to you. But if you refuse
+my request—can’t you understand there is nothing
+else for me to do? You see,” he continued,
+“though that fool engagement of yours does not
+mean anything, it has annoyed me a good deal.
+I can’t stand seeing you regarded as another man’s
+property. You have dangled that confounded
+cousin of yours before me too long, and now the
+engagement must come to an end.”</p>
+
+<p>“But—I should not break off my engagement
+because of—that.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, but he will.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, he will not. He would believe me when
+I told him the truth,” she cried, in panting anger.</p>
+
+<p>“What truth?” inquired her companion, with a
+leering smile.</p>
+
+<p>“That—that—”</p>
+
+<p>“My dear Isma, when to-morrow comes you
+will not want to meet your cousin’s searching
+eyes.”</p>
+
+<p>She gasped in the darkness. “Have you become
+a demon as well as a maniac?” she asked,
+her eyes wide and dark with horror.</p>
+
+<p>“I may be both to-night; still I—love you!
+And Isma,” he went on, “if you want to know
+who loves you most you can find out now. After
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[266]</span>to-night your cousin will never come near you
+again; he will not touch you or have anything
+more to do with you—that is the extent of his
+affection! Now mine is different! I would take
+you stained, smirched, any way, anyhow, as long
+as I had you. Your cousin will only take you
+if he can have flower, bloom, and all. I would
+receive you even if all the bloom had been rubbed
+away. Still, of course—I would rather have you
+as you are—”</p>
+
+<p>While he was speaking she had crushed back
+her dread. She refused to believe that God could
+forsake her; her soul had pressed up toward Him,
+she had touched Him, He would not forget that
+touch!</p>
+
+<p>“But you cannot have—me at all.” There was
+no fear in her voice; it was serene and unwavering.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Berriedale looked at her wonderingly.
+Was her courage unconquerable or did she fail to
+realize her imminent danger?</p>
+
+<p>“What is to stop me? I am stronger than you.”</p>
+
+<p>“God,” she said, raising her face suddenly.
+“Don’t you believe in Him?”</p>
+
+<p>“God,” he repeated, taken aback. “I dare say
+there is such a Being. I wouldn’t refute the
+theory; but what has He got to do with it?”</p>
+
+<p>“He will take care of me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you think He has time to patrol these
+lonely shores looking after one woman? He is too
+much occupied with stars, suns, and millions of
+worlds.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[267]</span>“He is everywhere,” she said, with quiet solemnity.
+“He is here filling these great spaces,
+bending over the world. I have found that out
+to-night. He is great enough to look after everybody.
+He has fought even for one woman who
+needs Him on these lonely shores.”</p>
+
+<p>“Time will tell. However, I did not come here
+to talk theology; I have arranged a far more interesting
+program.”</p>
+
+<p>The dusk had deepened; but even in the semi-darkness
+Isma looked beautiful. The suggestion
+of white skin, flashes of luminous eyes, the slender
+lines of her form, the grace of shoulders and hips,
+were made mystically alluring by the veiling
+shadows.</p>
+
+<p>“Great Cæsar! you are lovely!” the man cried,
+a wild gleam in his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Then he made a movement as if he would have
+caught her to him, but she recoiled in horror, her
+face blanched to a deathlike pallor.</p>
+
+<p>Was Lord Berriedale right? Had God no
+thought for one individual? Was He too much
+occupied with worlds and stars to notice her pitiless
+plight!</p>
+
+<p>She heard the gulping of the waves on the other
+side of the headland. It seemed as if they were
+trying to attract her attention, hoarsely calling
+her to them.</p>
+
+<p>If God would not protect her, the sea might;
+in its cold arms she would be safe. Of course that
+would mean she could never see Falcon again, yet
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[268]</span>if the Infinite did not send her help she would not
+be able to look into her cousin’s clean, questioning
+gaze in any case. There was no alternative but—the
+waves.</p>
+
+<p>She turned quickly and rushed up the steep
+slope that led to the cone-shaped summit.</p>
+
+<p>But her companion guessed her intention. In
+a moment he was beside her and laid hold of her
+arm.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma,” he said, in a voice shaking a little,
+“you shall not do that, you shall not! Isma,” he
+went on, facing her, “would you really rather be
+embraced by the cold waves of death than by—me?”</p>
+
+<p>For a moment her confidence had wavered,
+and in her desperation she would have thrown
+herself into the sea. Now her trust returned.
+God could not, would not leave her in the lurch.
+He must protect her!</p>
+
+<p>The man before her repeated his question.</p>
+
+<p>“A thousand times yes,” she answered, with a
+courage and dignity he could not comprehend.</p>
+
+<p>“But you have no choice.” He laughed, in an
+ugly, blood-curdling way. “To-night we shall
+see who is the stronger, your—God or the demon
+in me.”</p>
+
+<p>In the dimness his eyes suddenly glittered upon
+her with ungoverned rage and something even
+more hideous.</p>
+
+<p>She shuddered and drew back, but he sprang
+forward and clutched her to him.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[269]</span>She closed her eyes in terror and everything
+reeled into an agonized blackness. But instantly
+she pulled herself together. No, she must not
+faint, must not lose courage; even on the brink of
+ruin help would be sent her; the man holding her
+in the strangling embrace would not be allowed
+to conquer.</p>
+
+<p>She opened her eyes and as she looked over his
+shoulder her attention was arrested by two points
+of light rushing madly across the plain. It was
+a motor, driven at a frenzied speed toward the
+cliff.</p>
+
+<p>Some human being was near, help was at hand!
+If only she could reach the road before the car
+passed the top of the track and turned down the
+other side of the headland! But how was she
+to get away from the iron grip which held her?</p>
+
+<p>Another desperate prayer-rocket flashed from
+her soul.</p>
+
+<p>In the struggle they had moved and Lord
+Berriedale suddenly stumbled over a large stone.
+His hold on Isma relaxed for a second. She
+wrenched herself away. He fell heavily to the
+ground and she ran frantically toward the road.</p>
+
+<p>The car was mounting the steep ascent now.
+In a few minutes it would reach the summit of the
+hill; she rushed on faster. To call would be useless;
+no voice could be heard from a distance
+above the loud panting of the machine. She hastened
+her flying steps. She must not stumble;
+if she fell— But no, she would not fall on the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[270]</span>rough, uneven slope— He who was helping her
+would see to that!</p>
+
+<p>A few more steps and she had reached the road
+and stood, a white, ghostlike figure, a few yards
+in front of the rapidly approaching motor.</p>
+
+<p>There was a quick clapping on of brakes, the
+car stopped almost instantly, and a well-known
+form leaped from the driver’s seat.</p>
+
+<p>It was Falcon! She was safe!</p>
+
+<p>She took a step forward, made a little appealing
+movement; then his arms caught her and gathered
+her to him.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Falcon!” she moaned, piteously, the swift
+relief and the sense of the awful horror she had
+been through mingling in the cry.</p>
+
+<p>“Good Heavens! Isma, whatever has happened?”
+her cousin asked, in terrible agitation.</p>
+
+<p>But she did not reply. She stood leaning against
+him, her body shaking with long, sobbing breaths.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma, what has happened? For God’s sake,
+tell me!” he implored, with frantic concern. “Is
+it—Berriedale again?”</p>
+
+<p>She shuddered and suddenly clung to him.</p>
+
+<p>He breathed in a tense, jerky way as he drew
+her closer and asked no more questions.</p>
+
+<p>They stood for some time in deep, agitated
+silence, heart throbbing against heart, frenzied
+anxiety mingling with remembered terrors and
+quivering relief; a silence which held clinging
+arms, enfolding protection, a strength steadying
+weakness.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[271]</span>Then gradually into the stillness crept an
+exquisite peace. The girl’s shuddering sobs abated.
+The ghastly horrors, the hideous scene on the
+cliff receded, and Isma was conscious only of the
+man who held her. She was resting against his
+breast and in his embrace was something stronger
+than protection. A great joy stole into her heart;
+her breathing became deep, even, calm.</p>
+
+<p>“Are you feeling better now?” asked Falcon, at
+length, bending over her.</p>
+
+<p>He felt the long sigh of utter contentment that
+passed through her.</p>
+
+<p>“You are—too good to me, Falcon,” she whispered,
+in a voice heavy with happiness.</p>
+
+<p>“This has—comforted you?”</p>
+
+<p>Something in his tone roused her.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Falcon, you know it,” she breathed, tremulously,
+dropping her head to his shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>His breast heaved as he strained her to him.</p>
+
+<p>Her languorous serenity had gone. A wild joy
+rushed into her soul! He loved her! She knew
+it now! There was famine in his arms, an insatiable
+hunger. His touch reminded her of the
+drought-stricken plains, his words about the pain
+of being scorched came back to her. He had been
+terribly scorched; she could feel how cruelly he
+had burned and suffered. The knowledge strangely
+excited her and set her aflame with a desperate
+yearning to satisfy his parched emotions. And
+with her longing to comfort him she became more
+acutely conscious of his nearness; the delight of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[272]</span>lying pressed against his breast grew into an
+agonized sweetness almost too intense to be borne!
+The strength went out of her limbs, her whole
+body trembled with an ecstasy of weakness.</p>
+
+<p>“Good God! Isma, how shall I ever let you go!”
+he ejaculated, as he crushed her to him afresh.</p>
+
+<p>He had drawn her away from the glare of the
+motor-lamps and the soft darkness enveloped and
+isolated them. They stood panting, moved with
+an agitated rapture, conquered by their emotions,
+cemented together by an anguish of love.</p>
+
+<p>There were footsteps approaching, but in their
+delirious oblivion they had not heard them. Now
+Lord Berriedale spoke close beside them.</p>
+
+<p>Dazed, they drew slowly apart.</p>
+
+<p>“Sorry—very sorry to—disturb you,” he was
+saying, “but I am afraid I must trouble you to
+drive me home, Folkestone.”</p>
+
+<p>Instantly Isma and her lover became conscious
+of their surroundings. They were standing on
+the cliff road beside the car. Their minds began
+to pick up the threads of the past. The horrible
+experience the girl had passed through came back
+to her, only softened and robbed of its power to
+hurt her.</p>
+
+<p>Falcon remembered the long, harassing day
+he had spent, the terrible speed at which he had
+traveled all those hot sun-scorched hours, beset
+by fear and awful foreboding that urged him ever
+at a more frantic pace toward the girl who might
+need him! He had not stopped at his own home
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[273]</span>on the way, but was rushing straight on to The
+Palms when Isma’s terror-stricken form arrested
+him on the road.</p>
+
+<p>But he must reply to the man who had just
+spoken.</p>
+
+<p>“I wonder you dare to come near me, Berriedale,”
+he said, trying to control his anger. “Don’t
+you know that I am the last man you should
+encounter just now?”</p>
+
+<p>“You are not a brute, Folkestone, and I am
+badly hurt—arm smashed, knee injured as well;
+can’t possibly drive my car back, and I am alone
+to-night.”</p>
+
+<p>Isma came up to him quickly. “Lord Berriedale,
+did you get hurt—when you—fell?”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” he answered her, hastily, “not then, only
+as I was trying to reach the track I must have got
+out of my course a bit, for I stepped into air and
+landed on some jagged rocks—that did the damage.”</p>
+
+<p>“Come here into the lamplight and let us see
+what is the matter,” said Captain Folkestone,
+moving to the front of the motor.</p>
+
+<p>But the injured man refused. “No, thanks,”
+he said, decidedly. “I am not going to have Miss
+Folkestone harassed with that sight. However,
+if you will be kind enough to let me sit down and
+take me home at once I shall be grateful.”</p>
+
+<p>Falcon opened the door of his motor and Lord
+Berriedale limped into the nearest seat, and they
+noticed his left hand held the right arm bent
+against his chest.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[274]</span>Captain Folkestone started the engine quickly,
+Isma sat down beside him, and silently they stole
+down the steep descent.</p>
+
+<p>The girl looked into the soft darkness where the
+cliffs stood out like phantom battlements against
+the dim summer-night sky. The air was warm
+and laden with languorous fragrance from the
+bush and the pungent odor from the sea. Far
+down in the swarthy gloom she could hear the
+passionate sighs of the waves as they cast themselves
+against the rocks.</p>
+
+<p>As they approached The Palms, Isma said,
+without looking at her cousin: “Falcon, will you
+let me come with you to The Bluff? I may be of
+some use and—I—” she added, in a lower voice—“I
+want to come.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, not to-night,” he said, reluctantly. “You
+see, I may be very late getting back. I must get
+Berriedale to bed and wait till the doctor arrives.
+It would be too much for you; you are tired—”</p>
+
+<p>“But you are tired, too, after that long, strenuous
+day. Please let me come,” she urged, turning
+to him.</p>
+
+<p>“No, I mustn’t be so selfish. You need a good
+sleep—”</p>
+
+<p>They had reached the avenue.</p>
+
+<p>Falcon sprang out to help the girl to alight and
+walked over to the gate with her. There she
+stopped him, saying: “Now don’t come any
+farther. I shall be all right. Take him home
+quickly. He is in great pain.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[275]</span>“I think I had better come up to the house with
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, no, please don’t. Get Lord Berriedale
+home as soon as possible. He must be suffering
+dreadfully.”</p>
+
+<p>She held out her hand to him as she said, in
+moved tones: “Falcon, I can’t express all I want
+to say to-night. I—”</p>
+
+<p>“Neither can I—just now.”</p>
+
+<p>He pressed her hand in a deep, intimate way
+in the darkness and his touch was an embrace.</p>
+
+<p>“Good night,” she whispered.</p>
+
+<p>“Good night,” he said, stooping over her.
+“Isma, I am coming to you to-morrow for my
+summer and—my Paradise.”</p>
+
+<p>Isma was still by the gate when the throb of the
+machine had died into silence. She stood riveted
+to the spot where her lover’s hand had touched
+her and where he had bidden her the brief but
+significant good night. She felt dazed and numb,
+yet curiously alive. So much had happened since
+she left the palm avenue some hours before. The
+night had been crowded with events. First, there
+had been the exalted experience on the cliff—the
+never-to-be-forgotten finding of God! The headland
+had been a lofty temple, a sacred Bethel
+where the spaces had revealed to her the presence
+of the Infinite.</p>
+
+<p>Then had come the horror of her encounter
+with Lord Berriedale. She shivered again as she
+thought of it. But the fearful wrestling with evil
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[276]</span>had given her new confidence in God. He had
+not forsaken her. He had sent Falcon to rescue
+her, save her! Her eyes suddenly shone in the
+darkness. This beautiful, dreadful evening had
+also brought her the revelation of her cousin’s love.
+Her breathing fluttered and one hand went up
+as if to steady her throbbing heart. The thought
+of their time together on the road overwhelmed
+and bewildered her.</p>
+
+<p>Above her the palm leaves murmured drowsily
+and at intervals she heard the dull crash of sleepy
+waves as they tumbled headlong and confused
+on the dreaming sand.</p>
+
+<p>The girl also began to feel oddly confused. She
+tried to think clearly, but could not. Everything
+had all at once become blurred and unreal; nothing
+was real any more except the burning pressure
+of Falcon’s arms and—her great trust in the
+Infinite.</p>
+
+<p>She made her way slowly toward the house.
+She was very tired. She must go to bed, sleep
+long, and dream of her lover’s embraces and the
+watching, caring—God.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[277]</span>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">IX<br>
+<small>CRUCIFIED!</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">IT was nine o’clock. The sun streamed into
+Isma’s room, but the girl was still fast asleep,
+her long hair billowing like a cloud of flaxen gold
+around her.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Livingston opened the door gently and
+entered the room with a breakfast tray.</p>
+
+<p>“Still asleep, Baby?” she said, softly moving
+nearer the bed and gazing with admiring devotion
+on the fresh, luxuriant beauty of the sleeper.</p>
+
+<p>“I brought your breakfast up, deary,” she said,
+a little louder, placing the tray on a small table
+near the bed, and as the girl stirred and opened
+her long-fringed eyelids, heavy with sleep, she
+continued, “so you came back, after all, last night.
+Minnie heard you come in. Here is a letter for
+you,” she added, as Isma, now awake, held out
+gleaming white arms for her morning embrace.</p>
+
+<p>“You had better read the note, dearest. It
+came from The Bluff just now and the man—”</p>
+
+<p>Her companion sat up, tore open the envelop,
+and read its contents hurriedly. As she read the
+rich bloom faded a little from her cheeks.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[278]</span>“Lord Berriedale had an accident on the cliff
+last night,” Isma explained to the elder woman
+when she had put down the note. “He stepped
+into one of those deep, rocky hollows and was
+very much hurt. Falcon drove him home. Beatrice
+says his right arm is badly fractured, a nerve
+is injured, and the doctor doesn’t think he will
+ever get the use of his arm again. Also one knee
+is sprained. Of course Beatrice is dreadfully
+upset. I must get up and go to her immediately.
+I won’t wait for breakfast.”</p>
+
+<p>“You needn’t hurry so much as that. The
+chauffeur has to find Lord Berriedale’s car. It
+appears he left it somewhere up on the cliff
+road last night. That will take a little while, so
+you will have plenty of time for breakfast. By
+the way, I thought Falcon had gone up north.
+How did he happen to be in this neighborhood,
+too?”</p>
+
+<p>“He must have hurried terribly to get back so
+early—”</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose he came to look after you. Isma, I
+wonder do you half appreciate his wonderful care
+of you? It is really marvelous the way he watches
+over you. I have never seen such devotion!
+And you are so horribly cruel to him. Fancy, all
+the time you have been engaged you have not
+given him one single evening. It is a wonder he
+puts up with it!”</p>
+
+<p>The girl laughed happily. “Are you going to
+lecture me on that subject, too! But there is no
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[279]</span>need now, I assure you. For the future I am not
+going to neglect him, I promise you!”</p>
+
+<p>When Isma was ready to start she said to Miss
+Livingston: “If Falcon comes over this morning,
+please explain that Beatrice sent for me, and ask
+him to come back this afternoon. I shall be
+home by three o’clock; but tell him I don’t want
+him to come to The Bluff for me. I want to see
+him here.”</p>
+
+<p>Lady Berriedale was lying on a couch in the
+sunny morning-room when Miss Folkestone arrived.
+She stretched her hand out to the girl and
+said, in a choked little voice: “You are a dear to
+come. I want you specially to-day, for you will
+be able to—comfort Neville. I—cannot.”</p>
+
+<p>Isma bent and kissed the tremulous lips.
+“Beatrice dear, don’t say such things. Of course
+you can comfort—him.”</p>
+
+<p>The frail, agitated woman took the girl’s cool
+hands between her own feverish ones and pressed
+them solemnly. “Isma, you don’t know what it
+means to see the man I worship suffering as Neville
+is suffering and being unable to make things easier
+for him! You can have no idea what it is like to
+stand aside helpless and inert—lie in here because
+I am not wanted—there.” She made a pathetic
+little gesture in the direction of her husband’s
+room. Then all at once she turned her large,
+burning eyes on her companion. “But <i>you</i> can
+soothe him, <i>you</i> can comfort him.” She waved
+the girl’s attempt at protest impatiently aside.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[280]</span>“No, Isma, it is no use bolstering me up with
+false hope. I have had my eyes opened. Neville
+told me—this morning”—she lowered her eyes
+and the flush in her cheeks deepened—“what he—meant
+to—do— All. Only, Isma”—she glanced
+up imploringly—“don’t judge him too harshly.
+Remember he was desperate, beside himself, mad
+with longing and love! Life had become unbearable
+without you. Can’t you understand? But
+he does love you, he does—in the same hot, impetuous
+way that I—love him.” She stopped
+suddenly, choking, then, making a great effort to
+control her voice, she continued, “Isma, do you
+really—love your cousin, for—if you don’t—”</p>
+
+<p>The girl started. “You know I do, Beatrice.”</p>
+
+<p>“You have said so, but you have not acted like
+it, and that made me think that if, after all—you
+didn’t—care for him, there might be—hope for—Neville—later,”
+she finished with supreme courage.</p>
+
+<p>“Beatrice, how can you—suggest such a thing?”
+cried the girl, her eyes wide with pain. “It is too
+terrible! Besides, I swear to you I love Falcon.
+There was a misunderstanding between us, but it
+has been cleared away now—”</p>
+
+<p>“Ah, I see. I am glad for your sake. Still—how
+I wish it might have been—otherwise for—Neville.”</p>
+
+<p>“Beatrice, you surely can’t wish that!” Isma
+exclaimed, unutterably touched by the depths of
+her friend’s selfless devotion.</p>
+
+<p>“I do wish it, Isma; I mean it. I should feel
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[281]</span>happier when I—go if only you might have—cared
+for him.”</p>
+
+<p>Great tears sprang into the golden-gray eyes
+and splashed down the girl’s softly curving cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>“Beatrice,” she whispered, “I can’t bear it—I
+can’t!”</p>
+
+<p>“You see, I love him—and you,” said her companion,
+simply.</p>
+
+<p>After a sad, tremulous pause Lady Berriedale
+continued: “Isma, will you go to him now? He—needs
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>Miss Folkestone drew back quickly. “Not
+that, Beatrice—not that!” she pleaded, in alarm.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” persisted the woman on the couch,
+eagerly. “I want you to do it, Isma. Do it for
+my sake if you will not do it for—his.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh no, Beatrice, don’t ask that,” she replied,
+still struggling against the inevitable.</p>
+
+<p>“Now, Isma, be kind. You will have so much
+happiness in the future, can’t you at least spare
+him a little sympathy?”</p>
+
+<p>Her companion saw it was useless to try to
+escape the ordeal. “Very well, if you insist on it,
+I will go, but only if you come with me.”</p>
+
+<p>The invalid rose from among the cushions and,
+leaning on the arm of her tall, strong friend, they
+walked together to the injured man’s apartment.</p>
+
+<p>On the threshold Lady Berriedale stood still
+and said, “Isma has come to see you, Neville”;
+then she pushed the girl gently into the room and
+closed the door behind her.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[282]</span>Lord Berriedale lay white and large-eyed among
+a pile of elaborate pillows, his damaged arm, bandaged
+and in splints, resting stiffly on the coverlet.
+His face was drawn and its pallor accentuated by
+his black eyes and his pale-blue silk sleeping-suit.</p>
+
+<p>A light flittered over his features as Isma came
+toward him. The color had died out of her cheeks,
+but her face looked peculiarly calm.</p>
+
+<p>The man on the bed moved his left hand as if
+he would have held it out to her, then suddenly
+checked himself.</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose you would rather not shake hands,”
+he said, a little awkwardly.</p>
+
+<p>“It is hardly necessary,” replied his visitor, in a
+voice that harmonized with the serenity of her
+expression.</p>
+
+<p>He gazed at her with questioning scrutiny. “I
+wonder why you have come?” he reflected, aloud.</p>
+
+<p>“Because Beatrice wished it and because you
+are in—pain.”</p>
+
+<p>He laughed in a hollow, mocking way. “And
+so you are sorry for me because of—this.” He
+pointed scornfully to the bandaged arm. “A
+slight hurt like that will rouse your pity, but when
+I am racked body and soul in the inferno itself
+you pass me by unmoved!” He tried to raise
+himself, dragging at the injured arm in his effort
+to reach out and draw a chair nearer the bed.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t—please don’t move,” said Isma, hastily,
+moving the chair closer and sitting down beside
+him.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[283]</span>“What does it matter about these wretched
+limbs!” He laughed again. “The pain in them
+is a mere pin-prick, a pleasure, a delight, compared
+to—the other!”</p>
+
+<p>“Please don’t refer to that,” replied the girl,
+looking away.</p>
+
+<p>“I thought you had come to give me a little—sympathy!”</p>
+
+<p>“So I have.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then give it to me about the thing I need it
+most.”</p>
+
+<p>The fierce appeal in his voice made her glance
+at him. He looked haggard and his eyes seemed
+strangely glazed.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Folkestone sighed suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma,” he began, regarding her intently, “are
+you—sorry at last?”</p>
+
+<p>“I am,” she replied, steadily.</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t—hate me quite as much as—usual?”</p>
+
+<p>“I should never have hated you at all if—”
+She ceased speaking and looked down at her hands
+moving restlessly in her lap.</p>
+
+<p>“I have been a consummate ass! I might have
+known <i>you</i> were not won the way I have always
+tried to—gain you,” he said, bitterly. “Your
+cousin was wiser than I, after all. Last night I
+thought him a perfect fool for not making better
+use of his opportunities; but I see now he knew
+what he was about; he could wait, and that is
+where I have failed!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[284]</span>“Is that the—<i>only</i> thing you have—found out?”
+Her clear eyes looked questioningly into his.</p>
+
+<p>“No,” he replied, a faint color creeping into his
+pallid face, “I have been more than a—fool—I
+have been—”</p>
+
+<p>She stopped him with a gesture. “You need
+not say it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Isma,” he said, after a silence, “I should like to
+ask you to—forgive me; but I suppose that is too
+much to expect—”</p>
+
+<p>She did not reply at once, so he continued: “I
+meant to— Well, you know what I—intended
+last night—but please remember that I was maddened
+with longing for you. I couldn’t endure
+the talk of your marrying your cousin, couldn’t
+tolerate seeing him near you—though he had little
+enough for an engaged man, Heaven knows! But
+you made it all up to him last night, didn’t you!
+Can you imagine what it meant to me to see you
+together—like that! The sight has been with me
+ever since. I can’t forget it; it has been burned
+into the very tissues of my brain! Isma, I am
+being punished—fearfully punished—”</p>
+
+<p>“I am so—very sorry,” murmured his companion,
+confused and troubled.</p>
+
+<p>But the man did not seem to hear her.</p>
+
+<p>“I wonder,” he reflected, aloud, “how many
+men you have driven to distraction.”</p>
+
+<p>“Lord Berriedale, I have not come to discuss
+these things with you,” she said, with gentle
+firmness.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[285]</span>Again he did not heed her. “Isma, why don’t
+you understand? Why have you no sympathy
+with the poor devils you are sending—to hell!”</p>
+
+<p>The girl shivered. “How can you say that to
+me! I have never given men any—encouragement!”</p>
+
+<p>“I know it. It is not your fault, of course. It
+is your magnetic, extravagant womanhood, your
+bewildering loveliness, which does the damage!
+You are no coquette; no one knows this better
+than I. You are the purest, the most noble woman
+I have ever come across; still, you draw us to our
+destruction all the same. Your personality is like
+champagne that goes to the head—”</p>
+
+<p>“Lord Berriedale, please don’t talk like that or
+I shall have to leave you. You mentioned beauty
+of character. Why are you so blind? Why can’t
+you see that the most beautiful, most self-sacrificing
+woman who ever lived is the one linked to
+your life? She is the personification of selflessness
+and goodness! If you had heard what she said to
+me this morning, I think it would have touched
+even your heart and made you rejoice that you
+had been given such a wife!”</p>
+
+<p>The man beside her sighed deeply. “Beatrice
+is good,” he assented, “and if I had only been her
+brother— But her husband—” A shudder passed
+through his frame. “Isma, you can’t know what
+it means to be—that to a woman you feel toward
+as a—sister, while your whole vitalized manhood
+clamors for—some one else! Isma, it is—hell—<i>hell</i>!”
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[286]</span>He reiterated the last word in a voice
+which made the listening girl turn cold. She
+thought all at once what it would mean to surrender
+her womanhood to any one but Falcon.
+It would be ghastly! So the man beside her had
+suffered like <i>that</i>!</p>
+
+<p>Instantly she stretched out her hand to him
+and he clasped it eagerly. “Isma, do you understand—at
+last?”</p>
+
+<p>“I think so,” she replied, very softly.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Berriedale released her hand and took a
+pocketbook from under his pillow, opened it, and
+took out a few loose papers on which were written
+some verses.</p>
+
+<p>“This is a Danish poem,” he said, handing her
+the sheets. “A friend of mine translated it and
+gave me a copy. The translation is a very rough
+one, but the meaning is clear. Read it and you
+may understand a little more fully what I have
+been through.”</p>
+
+<p>Isma read:</p>
+
+<p class="center">CRUCIFIED</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">  As I looked over the earth</div>
+<div class="verse">I saw cross beside cross.</div>
+<div class="verse">I saw them raised,</div>
+<div class="verse">I heard them fall;</div>
+<div class="verse">Bloodstained were they all.</div>
+<div class="verse">Crosses for the living</div>
+<div class="verse">I saw they were.</div>
+<div class="verse">Crucified they hung,</div>
+<div class="verse">Pair beside pair.</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[287]</span>
+<div class="verse">Strange moans rang into the air,</div>
+<div class="verse">Sobbing their torment by day and night.</div>
+<div class="verse">Crucified they hung</div>
+<div class="verse">To the same brutal wood,</div>
+<div class="verse">Man to woman,</div>
+<div class="verse">Soul to soul!</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">Not wedded by heart-bonds,</div>
+<div class="verse">Not tied by love’s rapture,</div>
+<div class="verse">Condemned to suffer lifelong years,</div>
+<div class="verse">Bleeding together, hand by hand!</div>
+<div class="verse">Blanched they hung on the same ghastly tree</div>
+<div class="verse">Hand to hand,</div>
+<div class="verse">Foot to foot,</div>
+<div class="verse">Knee to knee.</div>
+<div class="verse">Who suffered most</div>
+<div class="verse">God alone knew!</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">If one hand is clenched in rebellious revolt,</div>
+<div class="verse">And the pair struggle who are tied together,</div>
+<div class="verse">The nails cut deeper into the wound—!</div>
+<div class="verse">The flesh must be ripped</div>
+<div class="verse">If one will be freed.</div>
+<div class="verse">And yet forever the scar will burn!</div>
+<div class="verse">Man and woman,</div>
+<div class="verse">You <i>must</i> learn</div>
+<div class="verse">Those nails will hold</div>
+<div class="verse">Till life shall end!</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">Never again the gap will heal,</div>
+<div class="verse">Never will close the bleeding wounds,</div>
+<div class="verse">Even after days and years.</div>
+<div class="verse">The torment you shared,</div>
+<div class="verse">The blood ye bled</div>
+<div class="verse">At the same moment,</div>
+<div class="verse">Will bind you together</div>
+<div class="verse">Till the slumbers of death!</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[288]</span>
+<div class="verse">Once bound, ye hang</div>
+<div class="verse">Hopelessly chained</div>
+<div class="verse">Foot to foot,</div>
+<div class="verse">Hand to hand,</div>
+<div class="verse">Bearing the nail-prints</div>
+<div class="verse">Till life’s solemn end—</div>
+<div class="verse">Crucified! Crucified!</div>
+<div class="verse">To the same fatal wood</div>
+<div class="verse">Man to woman,</div>
+<div class="verse">Soul to soul!</div>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<p>For a long time she did not raise her eyes from
+the paper, but when at last she looked up tears
+glistened in her lashes and her lips trembled.
+“Is it like that?” she breathed, a sob in her voice.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” he murmured, an odd glassiness in his
+gaze.</p>
+
+<p>Impulsively the girl bent over him. “I forgive
+you—now,” she whispered.</p>
+
+<p>“Because you have seen—the cross?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” she faltered.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Berriedale looked out of one of the windows
+at the stirring, sunlit ocean, and the curious fixedness
+in his glance made Isma think suddenly
+of the bare cliff she had watched the night before,
+gazing abstractedly out to sea.</p>
+
+<p>“Lord Berriedale,” she said, softly, “perhaps it
+is only from the cross that we learn to look beyond
+the scenes of earth—”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, perhaps so. But what do we find—there?”
+he asked, almost wearily.</p>
+
+<p>A very bright color leaped into the girl’s face and
+she dropped her eyes for a moment in reverent
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[289]</span>shyness. Then she lifted them suddenly and
+said, in a low, clear voice, “There we find—God.”</p>
+
+<p>The man turned to her. “And—God protected
+you, after all—last night. He did not fail you and—He
+was stronger than the demon in me. Isn’t
+it strange,” he continued, looking down on his
+bandaged limb, “that the arm which held you so
+cruelly will never be of—use to me—again.”</p>
+
+<p>She gazed at him with dazzling tenderness.</p>
+
+<p>“I am sorry—so very grieved. Still—perhaps
+from your cross you, too, will find—the Infinite.”</p>
+
+<p>He shaded his eyes with his hand, and they were
+both silent for some minutes.</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps,” he murmured, at last.</p>
+
+<p>Then with another gentle pressure on his fingers
+Isma stole softly out of the room.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[290]</span>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">X<br>
+<small>MIGRATING BIRDS</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">WHEN Isma left Lord Berriedale’s room she
+walked out on the balcony and stood looking
+over the vast country that stretched beyond
+the garden and avenue.</p>
+
+<p>She wanted to be alone and have time to think.
+Her whole being was in a turmoil. She felt as if
+she had been standing at the foot of a cross and
+witnessed a terrible crucifixion. The man she
+had just left was hanging on the cruel wood; she
+had never realized his suffering before. Now her
+heart went out to him in burning pity. He had
+sinned, sinned hideously; he had made desperate
+attempts to tear away from the nails which held
+him; but each effort had only torn at the wounds
+and increased his pain.</p>
+
+<p>And Beatrice? She was on the same cross,
+enduring fresh lacerations each time her husband
+tried to break away.</p>
+
+<p>Isma sat down in one of the low balcony chairs.</p>
+
+<p>The world was full of crosses; she could see
+them now. It seemed as if it held nothing but
+those instruments of torture—a whole vast globe
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[291]</span>full of them! Cross beside cross, rearing up their
+naked, cruel forms, as desolate sentinels on graves!
+The earth had been changed into a great cemetery—not
+a calm resting-place for the dead, but a
+graveyard for the living. This acre of the dead
+held alive men and women, who could moan, weep,
+laugh harsh, bitter laughter, abuse one another,
+tear at one another’s wounds, men and women
+who bled, who made themselves and one another
+bleed!</p>
+
+<p>Isma pressed her hands, tightly against her
+eyes. So <i>this</i> ghastly thing was—life!</p>
+
+<p>Presently her hands dropped from her face
+and she looked into the cloudless blue spaces arching
+high above the endless sun-bleached plains.</p>
+
+<p>For some time she sat motionless, gazing into
+the immense blueness. Out there was the Infinite
+and peace. But if He were all-powerful, living
+Himself in the region of calm, why did He allow
+this agonized suffering on the earth? Could He
+not bring peace there also? He had made the
+earth beautiful, ravishingly lovely! It was a vast,
+enchanting paradise ablaze with flowers, alive with
+chirping birds, humming with insects, shimmering
+with white, radiant sunlight. Why had this place
+of wonderful beauty been turned into a graveyard?
+Why—why?</p>
+
+<p>Then suddenly as she glanced dreamily about
+her the bare, ugly crosses seemed to change. They
+were no longer instruments of torture, hewn together
+to rack their unfortunate victims. They
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[292]</span>had all at once become pillars which raised those
+who hung on them above the earth, so that they
+might have a clear vision of the Infinite who was
+trying to draw their attention to Himself.</p>
+
+<p>The girl closed her eyes. Understanding had
+suddenly come to her.</p>
+
+<p>“So here you are, Isma! I did not know you
+had left Neville. How is he? Were you able to
+comfort him?” asked Lady Berriedale, who had
+just come out on to the balcony.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know about that, but don’t worry over
+him, Beatrice. All will come right. He is fighting
+through.”</p>
+
+<p>A great tenderness welled up in Isma’s heart
+for the friend who loved so desperately, so selflessly,
+the man chained to her who had failed to
+satisfy her burning passion.</p>
+
+<p>“Beatrice,” said the girl, taking the hot, restless
+hands, “I do feel all is going to come right
+between you—”</p>
+
+<p>“How can you say that when you know everything
+as you do?” There was deep reproach in
+the rasping voice.</p>
+
+<p>“I can’t explain, Beatrice, but I feel it. It
+came to me quite suddenly just now.”</p>
+
+<p>“That all will come right?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p>Lady Berriedale sighed. “I don’t see how it can.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, you may not see that; still, it will.” There
+was conviction in the words.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you really think he will ever—love me?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[293]</span>“Yes,” Isma replied, with a far-away look in
+her eyes. Apparently she was gazing at something
+so distant that it was beyond the scene
+spreading before her.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma,” said her friend, with awe in her voice,
+“you are not thinking of—earth.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, I was thinking of a beautiful experience
+I had early last evening,” and she told her eager
+listener about the staring bluff and the discovery
+she had made on the headland. “And do you
+know, Beatrice,” she continued, a flush in her
+cheeks and warmth in her voice, “that it has
+made everything different. On the way here this
+morning, as I looked at the sea, the coast-line,
+the breakers, the flowers, the hills, the clouds, it
+came to me that all the color, the exquisite outline
+of form, the grace, the radiance, were merely
+the shadow of His wonderful personality; that
+the tender loveliness here was only God’s shadow
+cast on the earth to remind us of Him and His
+gorgeous beauty.”</p>
+
+<p>“Isma, how glorious! How I wish I had
+thoughts about God like that! Still,” she continued,
+perplexity coming in her voice once more,
+“I don’t see the connection between that and
+Neville loving me again.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, don’t you see when He is so close, when
+He has power to do everything, He can put things
+right for you? There was a terrible misunderstanding
+between Falcon and myself, but He put
+it right last night.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[294]</span>“I am truly glad to hear that, but—I have only
+such a little time—left.” The big black eyes
+glistened with a dewy brilliance.</p>
+
+<p>“Life for all of us is only brief. We are like
+birds that come here for the summer, build nests,
+and then migrate to another shore.”</p>
+
+<p>Her companion shivered. “Isma—the migrating
+is so—terrible—the flight over the fathomless
+ocean with its engulfing water awful!” She
+trembled again. “If only, like the birds, we
+might migrate in flocks, have warm companionship,
+familiar forms taking the journey with us— But
+for one solitary little bird to start alone across
+those heaving waters—”</p>
+
+<p>There were footsteps in the hall. Now Rex
+appeared in the doorway. “Captain Folkestone
+is at the ’phone and wants to speak to you,” he
+said, addressing Isma.</p>
+
+<p>The girl rose. The thought of Falcon suddenly
+overwhelmed her; she had been living in the sorrows
+of others. Now her own happiness returned
+to her with the suddenness of a delicious shock.</p>
+
+<p>She hurried down-stairs, picked up the receiver
+and said a very breathless “Hullo!” into the
+instrument.</p>
+
+<p>“Is that you, Isma?” came Falcon’s low, pleasant
+voice in her ear.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” she answered, her heart beating so
+rapidly she could scarcely speak.</p>
+
+<p>“How are you—terribly knocked up to-day?”
+There was keen anxiety in the words.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[295]</span>“No, splendid, thank you!” she assured him,
+with a sudden radiance in her tones. His tender
+concern had steadied her and brought her an
+exuberant joy.</p>
+
+<p>“That sounded fine! I was so afraid you would
+be tired out.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not at all; but—did you go over to The Palms
+this morning?”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course. Do you think I could wait till
+this afternoon?”</p>
+
+<p>Her happy laugh rippled into the ’phone. “How
+nice of you!”</p>
+
+<p>“I should have come to The Bluff after you if it
+hadn’t been for your message telling me to wait.
+I really came to carry you off for the day. I
+wanted to take you a few miles up the coast and
+make you rest on the sands all day and—play
+with me.”</p>
+
+<p>“That would have been—lovely! I am so
+sorry I have missed it; but there is still—to-morrow.”</p>
+
+<p>“I have other plans for that.”</p>
+
+<p>“Really? What are they?”</p>
+
+<p>“I can’t explain just now—I will tell you this
+afternoon.”</p>
+
+<p>“Is it something—nice?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, heavenly!”</p>
+
+<p>“Then I am longing to hear it.”</p>
+
+<p>“You sha’n’t wait a moment longer than I
+can help! But I mustn’t keep you standing any
+longer. You won’t be late this afternoon, will you?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[296]</span>“No, of course not.”</p>
+
+<p>“Alas! I must say good-by till then,” he said,
+reluctantly.</p>
+
+<p>“Never mind, time will soon pass and this afternoon
+will come—”</p>
+
+<p>“This morning seems to be the longest I have
+ever spent—but I suppose three o’clock is bound
+to come round some time.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes—it won’t be long now—so good-by.”</p>
+
+<p>“Good-by till—summer.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[297]</span>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">XI<br>
+<small>THISTLE-DOWN</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">CAPTAIN FOLKESTONE had just finished
+speaking to Isma on the ’phone and had gone
+into his sitting-room and stood by the mantelpiece
+looking at a large bowl of sulphur-colored
+roses; his cheeks were flushed and in his eyes
+was still the strong light his talk with the girl had
+brought there.</p>
+
+<p>The room was very charming with its high-paneled
+wainscoting of blackwood, its dark-brown
+felt carpet strewn with golden-brown rugs, its
+handsome blackwood furniture and long tusser
+curtains that hung in graceful folds by the large
+open windows through which the warm summer
+air, heavily perfumed by flowers, came softly
+into the room.</p>
+
+<p>An excited bee shot in from the garden and
+darted noisily about the room.</p>
+
+<p>Falcon watched it with detached interest.
+The bee made a sudden exit just as his attention
+was arrested by the buzzing of a motor.</p>
+
+<p>He glanced out into the riot of sunshine and
+flowers, in the direction where the long drive
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[298]</span>lined with flame-trees opened into the garden,
+and saw a car making its way rapidly toward the
+house.</p>
+
+<p>He started a little; it was Lord Berriedale’s big
+motor. It took the turning to the front door
+with an elegant swing and stopped abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>The chauffeur opened the door and a small,
+closely veiled woman got out—it was Miss Brentford.</p>
+
+<p>If Captain Folkestone was surprised, his face
+did not betray his feelings when presently the
+visitor was shown into the room and he greeted
+her in his usual courteous manner, which held
+graceful ease as well as a touch of formality.</p>
+
+<p>“How very delightful of you to come and see
+me, Miss Brentford!” he said, taking her proffered
+hand. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl had thrown back her veil. “What a
+delightful room!” she exclaimed, looking round
+the sunlit, luxurious apartment with its valuable
+paintings, numerous books, fine bronze statues,
+and Persian rugs with their long silk fringes.</p>
+
+<p>Captain Folkestone drew forward a low easy-chair
+and asked his guest to be seated.</p>
+
+<p>Rita sank down among a profusion of yellow
+cushions, allowing herself a few minutes’ pleasant
+talk with her handsome host before disclosing the
+real object of her visit, which she knew would be
+distasteful to him.</p>
+
+<p>For some time they chatted in their usual
+friendly way; then Miss Brentford caught sight
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[299]</span>of a clock on the mantelpiece and saw it was
+getting dangerously near lunch-time. She sat
+up with a jerk and her face looked all at once perturbed
+as she said:</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose you are rather surprised I should
+come to you like this?”</p>
+
+<p>“Not at all. It is the most natural thing for
+my friends to come to see me and they are always
+welcome here,” he assured her, graciously.</p>
+
+<p>“It is very nice of you to be so cordial. However,
+I wouldn’t have come—unasked—unless
+there had been—serious issues at stake,” she
+ventured, heading in the direction of her goal.</p>
+
+<p>Captain Folkestone smiled in his disarming way.</p>
+
+<p>“Serious issues! Why, that sounds quite formidable,
+and formidable things are not for the
+summer. If I were you I wouldn’t worry about
+them on a day like this. Come out in the garden
+and let me show you my flowers; that is far more
+appropriate in this splendid weather.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, thank you, I would rather stay indoors;
+the sun is very warm.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am sure the drive must have been hot. Let
+me get you an iced drink.”</p>
+
+<p>“Thank you, I don’t want anything like that.
+I only want to talk to you.”</p>
+
+<p>“That is very charming of you; but let us leave
+serious things alone; they are only meant for dull
+climates and—winter.”</p>
+
+<p>“But this one cannot wait. When winter
+comes it might be too late—”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[300]</span>“It is always wise to wait with formidable things
+till it is too late,” her companion observed,
+pleasantly.</p>
+
+<p>“Now you are talking nonsense and you ought
+to be serious,” the girl replied, a little petulantly.</p>
+
+<p>“My dear Miss Rita, I always find it such a
+good plan never to be what I ought to be,” he
+laughed.</p>
+
+<p>“That is most tiresome of you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not at all. It is the people who are what they
+should be who are tiresome, for they have the
+annoying habit of expecting every one else to
+come up to their own immaculate perfection, and
+that is horribly aggravating of them! And, by
+the way, talking nonsense is most sensible, for
+then people do not believe you mean what you
+say.”</p>
+
+<p>“Is that an advantage?”</p>
+
+<p>“Certainly, for no one will stop to contradict
+you or argue with you, then.”</p>
+
+<p>Miss Brentford looked toward the clock again.
+She moved uneasily. Too much time was being
+wasted before she disclosed her errand.</p>
+
+<p>“Captain Folkestone,” she said, a little nervously,
+for it was very difficult to screw herself
+up to the point of attack when confronted by those
+smiling, dominating eyes, “I have come to speak
+to you on a very delicate matter this morning,
+and I do hope—you will not be offended with
+me—”</p>
+
+<p>The man before her laughed genially. “I am
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[301]</span>never offended at anything people say to me.
+Why should I be? Words are only like thistle-down,
+and no one in their right mind will take
+thistle-down seriously. One only brushes it away
+and—forgets.”</p>
+
+<p>“Still, if a friend came to warn you about
+some—awful danger—” said the girl, making a
+violent plunge toward her object.</p>
+
+<p>“No friend ever comes to warn one; only
+enemies do that.”</p>
+
+<p>“I cannot agree with you there. If you were
+on the point of making some terrible mistake,
+undoubtedly it would be your friend’s duty to
+try and prevent it—”</p>
+
+<p>“My dear Miss Brentford, you surely wouldn’t
+be cruel enough to prevent any one from making a
+mistake, would you? Why, the only enjoyable
+thing in life is making mistakes.”</p>
+
+<p>“And the consequences?” inquired his companion
+as one who had scored a point.</p>
+
+<p>The Guardsman shrugged easily. “One is far
+too busy making other mistakes to bother about
+them.”</p>
+
+<p>It was just dawning on the girl that her host
+was deliberately keeping her from accomplishing
+her plan, and a hot anger leaped up in her toward
+the woman who was so sacred to him that he
+courteously yet decidedly made it clear he refused
+to discuss her.</p>
+
+<p>She drew herself up and her dark eyes flashed
+as she said, “Captain Folkestone, I believe you
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[302]</span>know what I have come to say this morning and
+you are trying to keep me from saying it.”</p>
+
+<p>“In that case I suppose you will see that it is
+quite superfluous to—say it.” His quiet, agreeable
+tones held an underlying significance.</p>
+
+<p>“No, indeed, for what I have to—tell you would
+open your eyes—”</p>
+
+<p>“Open my eyes! Whoever wants his eyes
+open! Why, the reason the world is so interesting
+and people so fascinating is because one always
+looks at them with one’s eyes shut.”</p>
+
+<p>“But if you marry with your eyes closed you
+will marry the wrong woman,” she retorted, making
+a desperate attempt to break through his
+wordy entanglements.</p>
+
+<p>He laughed with unruffled serenity.</p>
+
+<p>“And what man wants to marry the right
+woman? It is far more amusing and entertaining
+to marry—the wrong one.”</p>
+
+<p>There was a knock at the door and a servant
+announced that luncheon was ready.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course you will take pity on my loneliness
+and have lunch with me?” said Captain Folkestone,
+hospitably.</p>
+
+<p>The girl stood for a moment, pale, irresolute,
+her face working, her hands moving nervously.
+She had been defeated, hopelessly defeated, and
+now there was nothing for her to do but to make
+as dignified a retreat as possible.</p>
+
+<p>“No, thank you, the car has to be back in time
+to—take—your cousin home at two o’clock. It
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[303]</span>appears she has a very important engagement
+early this afternoon. The other motor has gone
+to town, so I must hurry back.”</p>
+
+<p>Her host saw her to the car, shook hands elaborately,
+and then the girl was whirled hastily
+away from the flower-laden garden that gleamed
+in the midday sunlight as if it had been strewn
+with gorgeous jewels.</p>
+
+<p>However, Rita did not notice the flowers. She
+leaned back in the mauve-colored, well-padded
+seat, feeling suddenly weak with impotent rage.
+She had been beaten, horribly beaten. The
+soldier had rendered her utterly powerless! It
+had cost her a good deal to make this attempt
+to save him from a disastrous fate; but her endeavor
+had been a failure, her purpose thwarted,
+and her thrust foiled. In fact, she had not even
+been permitted to strike; her smiling host had
+politely but uncompromisingly taken her weapon
+from her before she could use it.</p>
+
+<p>She recognized her complete helplessness as
+she sped homeward under the glittering flame-trees.
+Why had she been so ineffectual? How
+was it her words never carried weight? No one
+took any notice of her opinion; she could not
+influence anybody, not even her sister. Why
+was it—why? But everybody listened to Miss
+Folkestone. She could sway all the people around
+her. Was this merely because of her beauty?
+Ah, that fatal fairness! It seemed to the girl
+like a dreadful juggernaut crunching its way
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[304]</span>relentlessly over all her plans and desires. If
+only she could see that vivid, colorous blondness
+lying cold and inert, deprived of its riotous
+vitality in the narrow bed of the dead! Then
+alone she would be safe and able to have her way!</p>
+
+<p>A hard glint came into the black eyes burning
+behind the closely drawn veil as she looked unseeingly
+into the effulgent sunlight.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[305]</span>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">XII<br>
+<small>SUMMER</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">I did not know, when first I took your hand,</div>
+<div class="verse">And felt a thrill I could not understand,</div>
+<div class="verse">How you would turn my world to wonderland—</div>
+<div class="indent4">I did not know!</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">ISMA stood by the mirror in her room fastening
+some deep-pink roses into the corsage of her
+pastel-blue <i>crêpe-de-Chine</i> gown. She had returned
+from The Bluff half an hour before; it was
+now five minutes to three and Falcon might
+arrive at any moment. Her fingers moved with
+nervous haste. She dropped a dawn-flushed bud,
+picked it up quickly and pinned it in more
+securely. Then she surveyed her superb reflection
+in the glass with absent-minded scrutiny.
+She had made her toilet carefully; on this day of
+days everything must harmonize with the greatness
+of the occasion. She had chosen this frock
+with its rich embroidery and girdle of tawny gold
+because Falcon had specially admired it.</p>
+
+<p>“Captain Folkestone is in the drawing-room,”
+a maid announced and withdrew.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[306]</span>The color in Isma’s cheeks deepened. A
+strange, fierce excitement made her suddenly
+tremble, feel weak and unable to move. She
+stood gazing into the mirror with parted lips and
+unseeing eyes. The roses on her bosom shook.
+How was she to walk down-stairs and into that
+room? How was she to face her cousin, meet
+that intent blue gaze and greet him calmly? If
+only she could have rushed to him and buried her
+blushing face on his shoulder before he had time
+to look at her! She wanted to hide—must hide.
+Her shyness was overwhelming!</p>
+
+<p>But she must not keep Falcon waiting. With
+a violent effort she pulled herself together and
+hurried down-stairs. However, as she opened
+the drawing-room door and entered, everything
+swam before her. She saw only a blurred vision
+of roses, masses of roses everywhere, dark red,
+pink, and cream, their perfume scenting the air
+with heavy sweetness. Amid this profusion of
+flowers a stalwart figure was coming toward her.
+One look into his eager, smiling eyes and her
+vision was blurred no longer; it cleared instantly.
+She lost consciousness of the flowers, their drowsy
+perfume, her own nervous shyness, and her whole
+attention became absorbed by the man approaching
+her. In one glance she took in every detail
+of his appearance. It seemed to her he had
+never looked so adorable as he did at that moment,
+his face flushed and his eyes shining with something
+which sent a riotous joy pulsating through
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[307]</span>her veins! Then very gently his dear hands were
+laid on her shoulders and, holding her at arm’s-length,
+he looked at her with an expression which
+made her feel completely in his power.</p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+  <img src="images/i-306.jpg" width="450" height="597" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+      <p class="caption">ISMA</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<p>“Isma,” he said, “I have come for those—kisses
+you wouldn’t give me the other day—”</p>
+
+<p>A hot wave of color mounted to her face and
+her glance fell before his.</p>
+
+<p>As no answer came he went on: “Isma, why
+wouldn’t you give them to me? Why have you
+been pretending you did not—care? Did you
+want to see what I look like when I am demented?”
+He was still smiling, but his tone held a slight
+unsteadiness.</p>
+
+<p>She looked up at him reproachfully. “Oh,
+Falcon, you know it wasn’t—that.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then why in the name of wonder did you—?”</p>
+
+<p>“I didn’t think—you wanted—”</p>
+
+<p>“Isma, you couldn’t seriously have thought
+such a thing.”</p>
+
+<p>“But I—did.”</p>
+
+<p>“How could it be possible? And how was it
+your own feelings didn’t help you to understand
+mine? Tell me, Isma”—he bent over her now—“didn’t
+you ever want me—close? Want me
+to—?”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course,” she breathed, in burning confusion.</p>
+
+<p>“Then why on earth have you racked us both
+like this?”</p>
+
+<p>“I—I—didn’t think you—cared,” she faltered.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[308]</span>He drew back in utter astonishment and his
+hands fell from her shoulder. “Not cared!” he
+exclaimed, incredulously. “After I had thrown
+up everything and followed you across the world,
+been at your beck and call ever since—simply
+lived for you! Besides, I told you myself on the
+day we became engaged—in this very room,
+don’t you remember?—that I would follow you
+wherever you went, and you said it was absolutely
+useless. You didn’t give me one ray of hope—”</p>
+
+<p>“But you did not say <i>you</i> would. You only
+said ‘one man,’ and I naturally thought you
+referred to—”</p>
+
+<p>“Berriedale? And do you think I should be
+pressing his—unlawful suit?”</p>
+
+<p>“I only thought you meant it as a—warning.”</p>
+
+<p>He looked at her in perplexed amazement.
+“Good God! Isma, what a misunderstanding!
+Still,” he added, after a pause, “what a mercy I
+discovered you did care—a little bit, after all!”
+As he said the last words he laid his hands caressingly
+on her shoulders again.</p>
+
+<p>His touch unnerved her and she was silent for
+some moments before asking, timidly, “When did
+you find out—last night?”</p>
+
+<p>“No; I knew before then.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl glanced up at him quickly. “Before—?”</p>
+
+<p>“Two days ago I was certain.”</p>
+
+<p>“What—made you certain—then?”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, you didn’t seem—very happy on the
+way home—”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[309]</span>“And you guessed why?”</p>
+
+<p>“I—couldn’t very well help it. Besides, there
+were other things that day. To be quite frank
+with you, there had been things all along which
+pointed—in that direction; for instance, on the
+night of the ball when my arm—touched you,
+you seemed to find it difficult to—”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Falcon, I was so—miserable that night.
+I couldn’t help showing—it,” she said, brokenly.</p>
+
+<p>He drew her a little closer. “Isma, what made
+you so—miserable that night?”</p>
+
+<p>Her drooping lashes trembled.</p>
+
+<p>“Tell me, Isma,” he pleaded, as she did not
+speak.</p>
+
+<p>“Falcon, you know,” she breathed.</p>
+
+<p>“Were you—wanting—me as much as I—wanted
+you?” he murmured, close to her ear.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course,” she admitted, almost inaudibly.</p>
+
+<p>He made no reply, but his breath came in short,
+panting gasps. Then suddenly he caught her to
+him.</p>
+
+<p>For some minutes they stood without speaking,
+silenced, made motionless by the paralyzing
+sweetness of the contact.</p>
+
+<p>At last Falcon said, “Tell me, how long have
+you—cared?”</p>
+
+<p>The question roused her from the physical
+lassitude his embrace had produced in her. “Ever
+since we first met—in England,” she replied, in a
+low voice.</p>
+
+<p>He started. “All that time! Heavens! If I
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[310]</span>had only known! Isma, how could you keep it
+from me so long?”</p>
+
+<p>“Several times I was afraid you had guessed—”</p>
+
+<p>“I did think now and again that— But whenever
+you had given me the least ray of hope you
+always took such care to be specially indifferent
+and aloof afterward—that put me off the scent.”</p>
+
+<p>“Anyhow, I gave my secret completely away
+the other day,” she said, her voice becoming faint
+again with the narcotic of his embrace.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, but I had to drag it from you—use horribly
+brutal methods—”</p>
+
+<p>“You knew all the time you were—hurting
+me?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, but I couldn’t help it. It seemed the
+only way of making you—surrender, and I assure
+you it hurt me more than it hurt you.”</p>
+
+<p>At last she lifted her head slightly and said,
+“But Falcon, how could you—love me if you
+doubted me and thought that I—?”</p>
+
+<p>“Isma, I never really doubted you. In my
+heart I knew all the time that you were the dearest,
+most unselfish little girl in the world!”</p>
+
+<p>“But till quite lately you were always so sarcastic
+and contemptuous—”</p>
+
+<p>“That was only because I was desperate. I
+saw how the world misjudged you, and I was
+just trying to sting you into prudence. Isma,
+can’t you understand how I felt about it? It was
+terrible to have such a slur cast on you—”</p>
+
+<p>“Still, you knew all the time that I didn’t—”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[311]</span>“Of course I knew—knew that you were only
+sacrificing yourself, your reputation—everything
+for your friend. All the same, I was distracted
+with anxiety in case your courage might be the
+means of entrapping you. Isma, I was at my
+wit’s end to know how to guard you!”</p>
+
+<p>She looked up at him with shiny eyes. “Oh,
+Falcon, you have been perfectly wonderful! No
+one in the world would have been so good
+to me!”</p>
+
+<p>He stroked her soft cheek tenderly.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma,” he said, after a pause, “when we are
+married and you have got used to me I want you
+to tell me about—last night—”</p>
+
+<p>A tremor passed through her. “And—you
+don’t want to know—before?” she breathed into
+his coat.</p>
+
+<p>“No, for whatever happened, it could not have
+been your fault.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Falcon,” she whispered, “you <i>do</i> care as
+much as, or more than—he.”</p>
+
+<p>He frowned. “Who dared to say I didn’t?”</p>
+
+<p>“He said—”</p>
+
+<p>“What did he say?”</p>
+
+<p>“That—you wouldn’t have anything more—to
+do with—me if—if—”</p>
+
+<p>He held her to him with bruising force. “He
+dared to talk to you about—such things—”</p>
+
+<p>In the silence that followed he felt her burning
+humiliation and hastened to say, “Isma, don’t let
+us think of it just now—”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[312]</span>“But, Falcon, I must tell you this,” she whispered
+into his shoulder. “I was wonderfully
+protected last night. God sent you to me—”</p>
+
+<p>“Heaven be praised I managed to reach you
+when I did!” he murmured, huskily.</p>
+
+<p>The underlying depth of feeling in his tone
+made the girl all at once realize it would be lovely
+to confide to him her beautiful experience on the
+cliff; but she would wait a little. He was sure to
+stay for the rest of the day, and when twilight
+came they would stroll out under the palms.
+That would be the time to share with him her
+sacred things. The thought of telling him about
+God thrilled her suddenly; the intimacy it implied
+held a new, delicious sweetness!</p>
+
+<p>“Falcon. I have something beautiful to tell
+you—”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, little girl,” he replied, in a low voice.
+“You don’t know how I long for your confidence,
+have you talk to me freely—open out to me, share
+everything—”</p>
+
+<p>“But I think I would rather wait till to-night.
+You will stay all the evening, won’t you?—so
+after dinner we will go out under the palms and
+talk.”</p>
+
+<p>“That will be perfectly delightful. What a
+gorgeous evening we shall have, and evening is
+the time for confidences, isn’t it?—and we have
+so much to say to each other, so much to make up!”</p>
+
+<p>“But Isma,” he went on, after a pause, “do
+you know you haven’t given me those kisses yet?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[313]</span>Her breathing grew perturbed and she pressed
+her face nervously against his shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>“Isma, you are surely not shy with me again?
+Just give them to me at once and you will feel
+much better.” As he spoke he raised her head
+and she made no resistance.</p>
+
+<p>For some moments he stood looking into the
+confused, upturned face, with its flushed cheeks,
+quivering nostrils, and long, downcast lashes.
+Then beneath his gaze the heavily fringed lids
+opened slowly and the golden-gray eyes lifted
+timidly to his. But the cloudy shyness vanished
+as their glances met, caressed, melted into one
+and clung together, and something which was
+half a gleam and half a mist came into the two
+pairs of eyes which held each other as if they could
+not tear apart.</p>
+
+<p>“Good God! how I love you, Isma!” cried Falcon,
+in a voice stifled with emotion.</p>
+
+<p>The girl paled and something blinded her.</p>
+
+<p>The next moment their lips had met in a long,
+convulsive kiss.</p>
+
+<p>Staggering and stunned, they drew apart, only
+to be swept together again and again.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Falcon,” she half sobbed, reeling against
+him as his lips released her at last, “I can’t—”</p>
+
+<p>His iron strength steadied her, and, leading her
+to a couch in a corner of the room, he sat down
+beside her and took her into his arms, pillowing
+her head on his breast. For some time he sat
+regarding the golden head resting against his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[314]</span>heart with strange, glistening eyes; then he said,
+in a curious, vibrant tone: “Isma, do you know
+what happened just now? In those kisses you
+gave yourself to me body and soul.”</p>
+
+<p>She stirred slightly. “Didn’t I do it—before?”
+she asked, faintly.</p>
+
+<p>“Not fully. You gave me your love before.
+Now you have given me yourself, made that complete
+surrender it has been so hard for you to—”</p>
+
+<p>She was fully roused again. “Falcon, it wasn’t
+hard, truly it was not. I—I—have just been
+longing to—” she assured him quickly, raising her
+head and looking up at him with eyes which were
+deep and dark with passionate yielding.</p>
+
+<p>He bent over her and drank thirstily of the love-wine
+her soul poured out to him.</p>
+
+<p>His kisses and the paroxysms of emotion which
+had swept over them had in some mysterious way
+brought them closer, and it seemed to Isma that
+every thread of obscuring garment had for the
+moment been torn aside and that he looked
+straight into her heart. Her shyness vanished
+as if by magic. It became a delight to lay her
+inmost feelings bare to him. She could have no
+secrets from him any longer; she did not wish to
+have any. She was his, every part of her belonged
+to him; he had a right to every emotion stirring
+in her soul. The passion of their lips had made
+them one. And the knowledge of this brought
+with it a deep elation, an overwhelming happiness.
+She could not repress it, could not keep it out
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[315]</span>of her eyes; they sparkled suddenly into his,
+brimmed with a reckless joy which dared to look
+at him with the triumphant right of a possessor.
+She regarded his immaculately shaved cheeks,
+the brown waves of his hair, the soft cleft in his
+firm chin with adoring scrutiny.</p>
+
+<p>He responded at once to her changing mood.</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” he said, at length, “and what do you
+think of—your property?”</p>
+
+<p>She colored slightly, but met his probing gaze
+with dauntless approbation. “I think it is just the
+dearest, the most lovable thing God ever made!”
+Her golden eyes caressed his every feature.</p>
+
+<p>He suddenly paled.</p>
+
+<p>But the emotion he showed spurred her on to
+gayer abandonment, and she laughed the happiest,
+silvery laugh that had ever rippled over her
+scarlet lips. “Oh, Falcon, it is a perfect disgrace,
+the way I show you how much I love you—but I
+can’t help it!”</p>
+
+<p>He caught her to him and there was fire in his
+embrace. “It is the most delicious thing you
+ever did, you adorable little summer witch!”</p>
+
+<p>She leaned back in his arms and surveyed him
+laughingly, teasingly. “But you don’t really love
+me as much as I—”</p>
+
+<p>He closed the red, tantalizing lips with his, and
+his kisses leaped through her like flames. “Take
+that back! If you dare to say these outrageous
+things and smile at me in that bewildering way,
+I shall—”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[316]</span>“Falcon,” she half cried and half laughed, “I
+am so happy I don’t know what I am doing or
+saying.”</p>
+
+<p>“Isma, stop being so absolutely bewitching!
+Can’t you see you are making my brain reel, that
+you are confusing me, intoxicating me—with your
+alluring ways!”</p>
+
+<p>“But, Falcon, it doesn’t really matter if we go
+quite mad over each other, does it?” she said,
+regarding him with eyes that smoldered with love
+and tenderness under their long, drooping lashes.</p>
+
+<p>“No, it doesn’t matter in the least, provided we
+have enough sense left to go through the—marriage
+ceremony to-morrow.”</p>
+
+<p>She sat up quickly. “What <i>are</i> you talking
+about?”</p>
+
+<p>“Your and my wedding, of course,” he replied,
+in a level voice.</p>
+
+<p>She looked at him in breathless astonishment.
+“Falcon, you are not serious?”</p>
+
+<p>“I was never more serious in my life. It is all
+being arranged—”</p>
+
+<p>Her mood changed again. “But I can’t—”
+she whispered, in sudden consternation.</p>
+
+<p>“My dear little girl, you can. All you have to
+do is to step into my car to-morrow morning and
+say—‘I will’ a little later on—”</p>
+
+<p>A rich color dyed her face and throat. “Oh,
+not so soon!”</p>
+
+<p>“Isma, don’t you love me well enough to want
+to be with me—all the time?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[317]</span>The hurt in his tone touched her. “Of course,
+but, Falcon, you don’t understand—” she said,
+beginning to tremble.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course I do,” he answered, his eyes eloquent
+with comprehension. “Don’t you think I knew
+you were shy and nervous when you came into
+the room this afternoon? But—wasn’t it all
+right? I didn’t overwhelm you too suddenly, did
+I—and don’t you think you can trust me to make
+everything all right for you to-morrow and—afterward?”</p>
+
+<p>She clung to him suddenly. “You know I
+trust you absolutely. You always make everything
+easy for me, and you don’t know how much
+I love you for it!” she murmured, her lips close
+to his neck.</p>
+
+<p>“So you want me to make love to you again!”
+he smiled, cuddling her to him. “Isma, when
+we are married I am going to show you what I
+really can do in that line.” Then he held her at
+arm’s-length and gazed at her with passionate
+adoration.</p>
+
+<p>She laughed blushingly.</p>
+
+<p>“Now don’t you look like that again or I shall
+have to— Oh, Isma,” he broke off all at once,
+“why won’t you understand that I can’t possibly
+wait! First you dazzle and bewilder me till I
+go clean off my head with longing for you, then
+you wonder why I love you so frantically that I
+can hardly wait another day to have you!”</p>
+
+<p>“But—I love you—as much—”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[318]</span>“Yet you don’t want to marry me!”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I do—”</p>
+
+<p>“So you do, do you! All I can say is you have
+a funny way of showing it.”</p>
+
+<p>She leaned against him suddenly and there was
+utter abandonment in the movement.</p>
+
+<p>“Then you will—come with me—to-morrow?”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course—if you wish it,” she breathed,
+tremulously.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>It was dark. But a mellow, roseate light found
+its way into the garden through one of the drawing-room
+windows and fell softly on Isma’s figure
+as she stood under an archway of creepers saying
+good night to her lover. Her black Ninon evening
+gown was sleeveless and in the semi-darkness her
+lovely shoulders and arms gleamed strangely
+white.</p>
+
+<p>Falcon regarded her silently for some moments.
+Then all at once he folded her to him and buried
+his face against the sumptuous whiteness of her
+shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>Her soft arms stole about his neck as she gently
+pressed him to her.</p>
+
+<p>The soldier drew a long, blissful sigh. “Isma—this
+is—heaven,” he murmured, in tones laden
+with ecstasy.</p>
+
+<p>After a pause he raised his head reluctantly.
+“But I must tear myself away. It is getting late
+and you must have a good sleep. But think of it—to-morrow
+about this time we shall be together
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[319]</span>at the Blue Mountains, and, Isma—I shall not
+need to—say good-by.” His voice held a curious
+exultation.</p>
+
+<p>“Falcon,” she whispered, laying her cheek
+against his, “I can’t think— It will all be too—wonderful—”</p>
+
+<p>“You are glad now I arranged it so—soon?”</p>
+
+<p>The glistening arms about his neck tightened.
+“After being with you like—this I couldn’t—bear
+it—if you—hadn’t—”</p>
+
+<p>He crushed her to him. “Isma, only this one
+good-by and—then—”</p>
+
+<p>In the warm, perfumed darkness two figures
+clung tremblingly together, while their lips met
+in a caress which held agonized longing as well as
+rapturous anticipation.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[320]</span>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">XIII<br>
+<small>THE NETTLE</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">“NEVILLE, what do you think has happened?”
+cried Miss Brentford, almost hysterically, as
+she swept into her brother-in-law’s room.</p>
+
+<p>“My dear Rita, how can I guess what happens
+anywhere when I am a prisoner between these
+four walls?” replied the pale man on the bed,
+with a touch of irritation.</p>
+
+<p>The girl began to pace the floor in frenzied
+excitement.</p>
+
+<p>“What is it?” inquired the patient, realizing
+that something unusual had taken place.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Brentford stood still and there was a wild,
+desperate look in her black eyes as she said:
+“Captain Folkestone has just rung up to say—good-by.
+He and Isma were just starting for
+Sydney. They are to be—married this afternoon.
+All is arranged.”</p>
+
+<p>She stopped breathlessly, waiting for some
+fiery response, but none came; the man among
+the pillows did not stir.</p>
+
+<p>“Neville, how can you lie there so quietly,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[321]</span>staring into space as if this meant nothing to you?
+Stop acting—you don’t need to pretend with me.”
+She almost screamed at him in her exasperation.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Berriedale’s dark eyes moved slowly from
+the windows through which long rays of sunlight
+streamed into the room and lay in large golden
+pools on the purple carpet, to the trembling form
+standing before him.</p>
+
+<p>“Rita, I am not pretending. Only,” he sighed
+deeply, “I knew this had to—come—”</p>
+
+<p>“How did you know that?” his companion
+demanded, fiercely. “She did not love him
+and—” She stopped, making a little choking
+sound in her throat.</p>
+
+<p>“Didn’t love him, Rita! If ever a woman
+loved a man she loved—him!”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t believe it. She could not love anybody—doesn’t
+know the meaning of the word!”
+she flung at him, hotly.</p>
+
+<p>An odd, ghostlike smile hovered for a moment
+about Lord Berriedale’s pale lips and his gaze
+seemed all at once fixed upon a scene which was
+not visible to the girl beside him. “Rita, you
+don’t know what you are talking about. In any
+case, do you think she could satisfy a man like
+Folkestone if she could not answer fire with fire?
+I used to think him cold, but, by Jove!—” Again
+his eyes looked abstractedly into space.</p>
+
+<p>“Neville, I went to him two days ago to try
+and—make him give her up. I was going to tell
+him everything and open his eyes—”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[322]</span>Lord Berriedale’s abstraction had vanished.
+“Yes, and what did he say?”</p>
+
+<p>“He didn’t say anything. He simply refused
+to discuss her; wouldn’t even let me mention her
+name.”</p>
+
+<p>“How could he prevent that?” One slim
+hand began to tug at his honey-colored mustache.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, you know his way! He just smiled,
+looked more handsome than ever, fenced and
+talked; everything I said he turned off—wouldn’t
+allow me to approach the subject.”</p>
+
+<p>“Rita, that was because he knew you don’t
+understand his cousin.”</p>
+
+<p>“Who can understand such depths of treachery!”</p>
+
+<p>“You are absolutely wrong. There is no treachery
+about—Isma. She is the finest, grandest
+woman—”</p>
+
+<p>“You ought to be the last man to say that,
+for you know better—” she interrupted him,
+vindictively.</p>
+
+<p>“I know better than any one how utterly—untemptable
+she is.”</p>
+
+<p>“You men always shield a beautiful woman!”</p>
+
+<p>The girl began to pace the room again, her
+ungoverned despair sweeping over her once more.
+“Oh, Neville, I shall go absolutely crazy. I—I—can’t
+bear it—I can’t!”</p>
+
+<p>Her companion sighed heavily, but he did not
+speak.</p>
+
+<p>“I shall go mad—I know I shall—”</p>
+
+<p>All at once she came over to the bed and threw
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[323]</span>herself into an easy-chair beside it and buried
+her face in the counterpane.</p>
+
+<p>One long, slim hand was laid on the black,
+girlish head. “Poor little Rita!” whispered a
+voice so full of sympathy that she hardly recognized
+it as her brother-in-law’s. “If only I
+could make it easier for you!”</p>
+
+<p>The girl lifted her face and looked long into the
+kind eyes regarding her. “Neville, do you think
+my going to him spurred him on to—?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, dear, not at all. Folkestone would have
+done it, anyway. He has waited a long time,
+shown excellent self-control, and behaved with a
+restraint I envy him. But a man like that will
+not wait always, and when he does act he means
+business.”</p>
+
+<p>Miss Brentford looked at him in amazement.
+“How can you bear to talk of it so—calmly! You
+speak as if it did not concern you in the least.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am resigned—that is why,” he replied, meeting
+her glance calmly.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t you want to—kill the man and take
+her from him?” Her eyes held a fierce, merciless
+glitter, and the man beside her felt thankful that
+Isma was safely out of Rita’s way at present.</p>
+
+<p>“What would be the use? I am helpless. I
+must stay—here, while another—”</p>
+
+<p>The expression on his face made the girl all at
+once realize what he was passing through. “Poor
+Neville!” she murmured, for a moment forgetting
+her own grief in her realization of his.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">[324]</span>“You need not pity me. I deserve it all; besides,
+I could never have made her happy.”</p>
+
+<p>“Would that count as long as you—had her?”</p>
+
+<p>“It didn’t count before. I would have taken
+her at all costs. But it counts now.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why now?”</p>
+
+<p>“I can hardly explain, only I have been thinking
+about—God.”</p>
+
+<p>His companion, stared at him in astonishment.
+“Good gracious, Neville, you don’t mean to say
+you are turning religious!”</p>
+
+<p>“Why not?” he asked, in level tones.</p>
+
+<p>“Well—you are hardly a—suitable subject for—that
+kind of thing, are you?” she replied, with
+merciless candor.</p>
+
+<p>“It is men like me who need religion most—”</p>
+
+<p>“And what good can it do you?” she challenged
+him, scornfully.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know yet. Perhaps religion may not
+help me, but God might.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl had risen. She stood looking in cold
+defiance at her brother-in-law. Then she suddenly
+burst out laughing, a hideous, horrible
+laugh. “Neville, you are crazy already, absolutely
+dotty!” and with another ugly laugh she
+bolted out of the room.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>“Rex, is the world coming to an end or what?”
+asked Miss Brentford, bursting into the library
+where she knew the secretary was comfortably
+installed with a novel and his cigarettes.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[325]</span>The man in the deep armchair put down the
+book he was reading and looked up in indolent
+anticipation. He had heard the girl’s conversation
+on the ’phone with Captain Folkestone and
+knew about the coming wedding, and looked forward
+to an interesting talk on the subject.</p>
+
+<p>“Has anything else gone wrong?” He spoke
+with solemn intonation which seemed to refer to
+Lord Berriedale’s accident and that the secretary
+hoped no more calamities had taken place.</p>
+
+<p>“Anything gone wrong indeed! What do you
+think, Neville has turned—religious!”</p>
+
+<p>Rex showed distinct signs of disappointment.</p>
+
+<p>“Is that all?” he said, indifferently, picking
+up his book again. “You really frightened me
+and made me think it was something serious.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, isn’t it serious that Neville is going
+mad?”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you consider religion a madness?”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course. Don’t you?”</p>
+
+<p>A light shot suddenly into the pale-blue eyes.
+The secretary saw a new excitement ahead of him,
+a fresh way of tormenting another being. “No,
+on the contrary, I think it shows jolly good sense,”
+he answered, settling down to enjoy himself.</p>
+
+<p>“Rex!” exclaimed Miss Brentford, angrily,
+“you are only playing, and I am in no mood for
+jokes.”</p>
+
+<p>“Indeed I mean what I say.”</p>
+
+<p>“But you are not religious—far from it.”</p>
+
+<p>“That doesn’t say I don’t approve of it. I
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">[326]</span>don’t take exercise myself, yet I thoroughly
+believe in it, all the same.”</p>
+
+<p>“You are too lazy,” commented his companion.</p>
+
+<p>“Exactly. Most people are too lazy to be
+religious. It is too great a strain on their intelligence
+and too great a strain on their bodies.”</p>
+
+<p>“Strain on their bodies?” queried the girl, in
+surprise.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, of course. When people become religious
+the body has to toe the line as well as the soul,
+and between ourselves I believe it is the strain
+on the body that keeps most people from religion.
+They don’t say so, naturally. They have far
+nicer little ways of explaining the situation. They
+are either assailed by doubts or they are too
+enlightened and clever or too large-minded to
+accept such old-fashioned ideas. But all the time
+it is the strain on the body it involves that frightens
+them off.”</p>
+
+<p>“Still, if you believe in it, why aren’t you
+religious yourself?” interrogated the girl, uncertain
+whether her companion was in earnest or not.</p>
+
+<p>“For the simple reason that others fight shy
+of it. I don’t want my habits interfered with.
+I like too many things religion condemns, so I
+keep away from it and stick to my habits.”</p>
+
+<p>“Isn’t that rather foolish?” suggested Rita,
+with a veiled display of interest in spite of her
+scoffing tones.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course, madly foolish. But then, with all
+our twentieth-century culture, cleverness, and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">[327]</span>knowledge, we are nothing but a set of innate
+fools! We know the great monster Death is after
+us, that sooner or later it will track us down. If
+we had one iota of sense, we would—”</p>
+
+<p>“What would be the use—we can’t alter the
+fact,” interrupted Miss Brentford, impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>“We certainly cannot alter the fact that Death
+is at our heels, yet we might alter—others.”</p>
+
+<p>“What others?”</p>
+
+<p>“Our fate Beyond.”</p>
+
+<p>“Rex, do you really mean <i>you</i> believe in a state
+Beyond?”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course I do; no one with any reasoning
+power could help it. There is no waste in nature;
+life everywhere rises out of life; death is just a
+crisis, a horrible, disgusting crisis; still, merely
+a critical juncture—an autumn crisis in which
+decaying vestures are shed. But the real life is
+not cast off in autumn. It is left free to be robed
+again in fresh garments, and the new garments
+will be on the same pattern as the old.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl regarded the secretary skeptically;
+however, in her skepticism smoldered a secret
+fascination. “That sounds very plausible; yet,
+after all, we don’t know—no one has told us.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, but we have been given minds which can
+think, conjecture, reason. We were never told
+about the power of electricity, still, by conjecturing
+and reasoning it was found.”</p>
+
+<p>Rita sat in silence for a while. Before her mind
+had risen a torturing vision of two people flying
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">[328]</span>along in a car on dry, summerlit roads, and soon—soon— No!
+She could not tolerate the idea;
+it was preposterous, unthinkable! She must make
+Rex talk again, anything to keep her brain from
+the picture it insisted on bringing before her. It
+was difficult to switch off her mental energy into
+another direction, yet these new thoughts and the
+astounding fact that Rex should expound them
+made them seem peculiarly interesting.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” she admitted, half absently, “but we
+have got away from the main issue. I don’t see
+that that has anything to do with it. If there is
+an after-state, we shall arrive at it whether we
+are religious or not.”</p>
+
+<p>“Certainly. All the same, religion has a great
+deal to do with it, for it makes people sow wheat
+and not tares; it is very insistent on that point.
+Now don’t you see the connection? The coming
+life must spring from the seed of this one, and,
+as a plant cannot one season be a nettle and the
+next a rose, it follows that if we are nettles here
+we must be nettles There and be <i>treated</i> as obnoxious
+weeds.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl rose hastily. <i>Nettle—nettle!</i> The horrid
+little word pressed itself into the tissues of her
+brain.</p>
+
+<p>A couple of days ago she had wondered why
+she had so little power over other people; why
+her words carried no weight; why she was ineffectual,
+influenced nobody; why no one had come
+very intimately into her life; why every one kept
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">[329]</span>her at arm’s-length, and now she suddenly saw
+the reason—she was a nettle, a horrible nettle
+which stung anybody who touched it. She had
+nearly stung her sister to death; she wished to
+sting Isma into her grave; her words had been
+full of spite and venom, her actions obnoxiously
+selfish! She saw herself as a loathsome nettle
+stinging all who touched her life. And if there
+really was a state Beyond, what would happen to
+her? Would she still go on stinging so poisonously,
+so venomously, that she would be forever
+unloved and abhorred? What a terrible destiny!</p>
+
+<p>“Some people think Death transforms us into
+angels,” Rita flung at the secretary, after a pause.
+“That is a much nicer theory than yours.”</p>
+
+<p>Rex smiled ironically. “Yes, and almost as
+reasonable as the Santa Claus illusion.”</p>
+
+<p>“And why shouldn’t it be true?” demanded
+Rita, defiantly.</p>
+
+<p>“The Santa Claus myth?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, no, you stupid man, not that—”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I see; you mean the angel theory?”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course.”</p>
+
+<p>Rex sighed patiently. “Now do use your
+brains! How could Death transform one into an
+angel? Can the canker-worm develop the bud
+it attacks into a flower? Death has no power
+except to decay. It is like a moth getting into a
+garment; it doesn’t beautify—it destroys.”</p>
+
+<p>“In that case it kills outright.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, the garment, but not the wearer.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">[330]</span>Rita walked toward the window. However,
+the sight of the hot sunshine glistening on trees
+and flowers made her turn away hastily, for in
+this blinding radiance two people were driving—</p>
+
+<p>“I hate all this sunlight!” she said, her cheeks
+all at once paling. “This is a horrid country;
+everything is ablaze; it is a land on fire that
+glitters and burns. I loathe it!” she cried, turning
+on the secretary with sudden vehemence.</p>
+
+<p>“My dear girl, I assure you I had no hand in
+inventing or making Australia.”</p>
+
+<p>“But you like it,” she protested, wrathfully.</p>
+
+<p>“This certainly is a flame-land. It is vivid like
+fire. Its breath is like the breath of a furnace;
+even the wide spaces above are scorched by the
+heat from its great body; its voice is the roaring
+voice of flames! It is a land that sets people on
+fire, and, Miss Rita, if I stay here much longer”—Rex
+looked up at her with eyes that glowed with
+a sudden, mysterious light—“I shall be in flames
+myself.”</p>
+
+<p>Australia was an extraordinary country. It
+had changed her whole world, made all familiar
+things crumble into dust and strange new ones
+take their place. Captain Folkestone had gone
+out of her life—she writhed again. Neville had
+become religious! Beatrice was dying! Rex
+talked like a bishop and said he was catching fire!
+And Australia was responsible for this horrible
+conglomeration of upheavals! Why had she come
+to this place of wild, abnormal things to be
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">[331]</span>whirled like an atom into fathomless immensities,
+to be thrown into its flaming purgatory? Ah,
+why?</p>
+
+<p>The girl stood still, regarding Rex for some
+moments in curious silence, then she turned and
+walked slowly out of the room.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">[332]</span>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak">XIV<br>
+<small>BLOODWOOD</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">WHEN tea was over that afternoon Lady
+Berriedale went to see her husband and sit
+with him for a while.</p>
+
+<p>She had a nasty paroxysm of coughing as she
+sat down beside the bed. When the coughing
+had subsided she made a few preliminary remarks
+before saying, a little nervously:</p>
+
+<p>“Neville, I have been so—sorry for you all
+day—”</p>
+
+<p>Lord Berriedale made a restless movement as
+if he wished to check her, but she would not be
+interrupted. “Dear,” she continued, making a
+further effort, “I am going to say what I want,
+so just listen to me. I should like you to know
+that I had planned—everything so differently.
+I wanted you to have had what you—desired,
+after I had—gone. But now—” She hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>The man’s left hand closed over his wife’s
+trembling one. “Beatrice, you have been far too
+generous,” he said, in a voice which shook slightly.
+“I have not deserved such—kindness.” Then
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">[333]</span>he drew his hand away and moved it shadingly
+across his eyes as if to hide something he did not
+wish her to see.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Berriedale turned her head away and her
+brimming glances searched the room for something
+to distract her attention and help her to
+composure. After a time her eyes lighted on
+some loose papers lying on a small table in front
+of her. Mechanically she picked up the sheets
+and saw that they held some verses written in a
+hand she did not recognize. Half absently she
+began to read “Crucified.”</p>
+
+<p>Her attention became suddenly fixed, the hectic
+flush in her cheeks deepened, and she sat so still
+that her husband looked up, wondering what
+kept her so motionless.</p>
+
+<p>A deep stain crept into his pallid face as he discovered
+what she was reading. “Beatrice, don’t;
+please don’t,” he said, in agitated tones. “It will
+only hurt you.”</p>
+
+<p>She dropped the paper and met his disturbed
+gaze with eyes that held an unearthly calm, then
+she said: “Nothing can hurt me more than I
+am already hurt. I have lost—all; or, rather,
+found—I had nothing to—lose.”</p>
+
+<p>She picked up the paper again and finished the
+verses, while the color in her husband’s cheeks
+faded to an ashen pallor.</p>
+
+<p>For some time she sat with the thin sheets before
+her, staring fixedly at the words as if they had
+cast a hypnotic spell over her.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_334">[334]</span>The stillness in the room was like the silence
+that follows the verdict of doom; it held an awful
+fatality, a sense of irrevocable destiny.</p>
+
+<p>“Neville,” she said, at length, breaking the
+dreadful pause, “your life has been—like that?”</p>
+
+<p>He made no answer, and his eyes evaded hers.</p>
+
+<p>“Neville, why didn’t you—let me—know sooner
+and I would have—set you free?”</p>
+
+<p>If she had spoken such words before, he would
+have assured her he did not want release; but
+now empty avowals were useless and the moment
+too solemn for prevarication. To have uttered
+an untruth just then would have been like uttering
+it before Eternity itself. Their naked souls
+stood face to face with each other at last; all
+veiling garments of falsehood and insincerity had
+fallen away.</p>
+
+<p>“You could not,” he replied, after a short
+silence, forced to undeviating sincerity.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I could. I would have—gone away, and
+after a time you could have had a—divorce on
+grounds of desertion.”</p>
+
+<p>“That would have been—useless.”</p>
+
+<p>“You mean she would not have—married a
+divorced man?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, she wouldn’t have done that even if
+she had—cared: But,” he went on, in a different
+tone, “do not regret anything. It could not be—helped.
+Nothing could have altered it. Marriage
+binds till—death.”</p>
+
+<p>Lady Berriedale sat looking vacantly before
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_335">[335]</span>her as if her inner eyes were gazing into some
+terrible reality she must accustom herself to face.
+After a pause she repeated, absently:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="first">“Hand to hand,</div>
+<div class="verse">Foot to foot,</div>
+<div class="verse">Man to woman,</div>
+<div class="verse">Soul to soul.”</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>The man on the bed shuddered. “Don’t,
+Beatrice, don’t,” he pleaded, closing his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>For some time neither of them spoke and in the
+silence the wide, black chasm of despair stretched
+out before them in paralyzing desolation.</p>
+
+<p>“The cross holds till—death,” she said at last,
+staring fixedly at the fatal verses; then after what
+seemed another interminable pause she rose and
+walked slowly out of the room.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>It was midnight. Through Lord Berriedale’s
+wide-open windows gleamed the summer-night
+sky with its myriad host of tranquil stars.</p>
+
+<p>The door opened gently, and a white-clad form
+moved softly toward the bed.</p>
+
+<p>“Are you asleep, Neville?” whispered his wife,
+coming close to him.</p>
+
+<p>The figure among the pillows shrank away a
+little, but the merciful darkness hid the sudden
+movement, also the hostile expression in the
+sleepless eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“No,” he replied, in schooled tones, “I am not.”</p>
+
+<p>Lady Berriedale hesitated, her fingers fidgeting
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_336">[336]</span>with the silken bedspread, while her husband lay
+gazing at the white blur beside him, not choosing
+to assist her in overcoming her evident embarrassment.</p>
+
+<p>“Neville, I want to—talk to you,” she said,
+with apparent effort.</p>
+
+<p>“Couldn’t you talk to me—in the daytime?
+If you become—excited now, you know you will
+not be able to—sleep at all,” he said, with a distinctly
+uncompromising note in his voice.</p>
+
+<p>“I shall not be able to—sleep, anyhow, and—it
+will help me to—talk to you. I have been
+thinking of those—verses and—everything,” she
+went on, more hurriedly. “How could I help it!
+It all seemed so hopeless, such an irremediable
+tragedy! Life, generally, appeared a fearful
+chaos, a cruel muddle, and I was almost distracted
+as I thought about it. Then all at once some
+talks with Isma came back to me. We were
+speaking about life and came to the conclusion
+it was only a prison-existence; that this planet
+was merely a prison-house for the criminals of
+the universe—the worst criminals, for every one
+sent here is executed. It seems to me this thought
+alone can explain all the suffering, misery, and
+heartache abounding on this earth. But, Neville,
+fancy entering the next world as criminals! Isn’t
+it awful! What chances of happiness could we
+have under such circumstances! And perhaps
+Death is not even the execution; it may merely
+be a door, a horrible door, that leads to—a worse
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_337">[337]</span>doom. Neville, when I am so—near, when I
+shall enter it so—soon, can’t you understand that
+I should be terribly anxious?” She spoke rapidly,
+excitedly now.</p>
+
+<p>Her husband clasped her hand in quick sympathy.
+“Of course, Beatrice, of course I can.”</p>
+
+<p>After a slight hesitation she went on more
+calmly, a gentle hush coming into her tones.
+“But, Neville, I have been praying lately, not just
+offering formal petitions to some far-away, unheeding
+Being, but talking to a real Person—what
+Isma calls laying a detaining hand on God and
+speaking to Him. I have asked Him about—everything
+and to help me when all alone I shall
+enter the Great Beyond. I have been horribly
+afraid of it, Neville; but”—in the starlit gloom
+he saw the sudden light that came into her large,
+shadowy eyes—“I am not afraid any more, for
+all at once I remembered something I have not
+thought of for years, and it has taken away all my
+fears. It is this.” She lowered her voice before
+saying: “Neville, God so loved us that He sent
+His only Son down to this desolate prison-house
+to die for us poor criminals. Think of it—die
+for us! He was put on the scaffold of the cross
+for our sakes, and now—we can enter eternity,
+not as malefactors, but—free! Oh, Neville, you
+can’t imagine what this means to me!</p>
+
+<p>“I unearthed my Bible to read about it, and
+do you know the first place my eyes lighted on
+as I opened the hook was the passage about the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_338">[338]</span>dying thief, and as I read it seemed to me he
+really represents the whole of suffering humanity—dying
+on the cross of sorrow and pain—yet unable
+to open the gates of—Paradise. It was only
+when the thief asked the Spotless One at his side
+to remember him when He came into His kingdom
+that he received the immediate promise of—Eden.
+And Neville, isn’t it wonderful! We can all ask
+Him—everybody can—to remember us; and He
+is not far away; He is beside us, and the moment
+we really ask we receive the promise that we
+shall be with Him in Paradise! Isn’t it beautiful!”</p>
+
+<p>The soft darkness veiled the trembling form
+among the pillows and the moisture glistening
+in the black eyes.</p>
+
+<p>There were some moments’ silence; then Lord
+Berriedale raised his wife’s emaciated hand to his
+lips and kissed it reverently before saying, brokenly,
+“And, Beatrice, it is only when we are on
+the cross ourselves that we learn to think of—the
+Crucified One and ask Him to—remember us.”</p>
+
+<p>In the dimness he saw her face transfigured as
+she said, softly, “The cross is the trysting-place
+between heaven and earth; the cross is the ladder
+to—Paradise.”</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>Outside in the still, warm night a shuddering
+sigh went through the dreaming flowers in the
+garden and the stars gleamed as if they were
+smiling down on the earth through tears.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_339">[339]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">PART III</h2>
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_340">[340]</span>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_341">[341]</span>
+<h3 class="nobreak"><small>REMEMBERED!</small></h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">THE nurse came down-stairs as Captain and
+Mrs. Folkestone entered The Bluff.</p>
+
+<p>Isma scanned the older woman’s face anxiously
+as she said, “We are not too—”</p>
+
+<p>“No, you are not too late,” the woman in the
+pink uniform hastened to assure her, “but I am
+afraid there is not much time left. Lady Berriedale
+is sinking fast. I saw your car coming, so
+hurried down to let you know how she is.”</p>
+
+<p>“Can I go to her at once?” asked Mrs. Folkestone,
+her large eyes glistening with troubled
+eagerness.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, she is hardly conscious just now; she
+lies for hours in a semi-conscious state. His lordship
+is with her. He has been in her room all
+the morning. He hardly ever leaves her, day or
+night. He is a most devoted husband. I will
+tell him you are here. Will you come into the
+library for a little while, and when Lady Berriedale
+is fully awake I will let you know.” As she
+spoke she opened the library door, and after they
+had entered she closed it gently behind them.</p>
+
+<p>Isma looked round the familiar room and her
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_342">[342]</span>face showed that it did not bring back happy
+memories.</p>
+
+<p>She took off her hat and long dust-coat; then
+she sighed deeply and went over to the window.</p>
+
+<p>Her husband followed her. “Isma, I am so
+awfully sorry you should have—this—just now,”
+he said, coming up and standing close behind her.
+“I wanted our”—his voice lowered—“honeymoon
+to have been all joy.” His hand caught
+one of hers and held it closely.</p>
+
+<p>“I am more grieved for you,” she replied, without
+moving.</p>
+
+<p>Her husband bent lower, looking over her
+shoulder at her beautiful profile. Then he drew
+her slightly backward till she rested against
+him.</p>
+
+<p>She closed her eyes for a moment. “Oh, Falcon,
+it is lovely to have you with me!” she murmured
+under her breath.</p>
+
+<p>The pressure on her hand increased. His
+touch was warm, close, intimate. It not only
+held intensest sympathy, it held more; it reminded
+her of all their happiness, what they had
+been to each other during the last few weeks,
+their riotous joy, the wonderful satisfaction their
+new relationship had brought them, the blinding
+rapture they had tasted in each other’s arms.
+She felt that Falcon meant his touch to recall
+this to her mind so that it might strengthen her
+for the heartrending scene which awaited her.</p>
+
+<p>“Falcon,” she said, turning to him, after a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_343">[343]</span>pause, “it must be terrible for Beatrice to—go.”
+She shivered slightly.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, little girl,” he replied, with serious tenderness,
+“but remember she is going out to your
+beautiful God of the wonderful spaces—don’t
+forget that.”</p>
+
+<p>She looked up at him with eyes which held a
+dewy radiance. “Of course! What a dear you
+are to remind me!”</p>
+
+<p>He smiled down on her. “You impressed it so
+strongly on my mind, now I can’t forget it, you
+see.”</p>
+
+<p>There were footsteps in the hall.</p>
+
+<p>Isma and Falcon drew gently apart.</p>
+
+<p>The door opened slowly and Lord Berriedale,
+looking pale and worn, his arm still in a sling,
+entered quietly.</p>
+
+<p>When the brief greetings were over he said:
+“Beatrice is conscious now and wants to see you.
+I am deeply grieved to have called you back so
+soon; but she was always asking for you. In
+fact,” he went on, addressing Isma, “your name
+has been constantly on her lips since you have
+been away, and when the doctor said last night
+that—the end was so near I—wired.”</p>
+
+<p>“We are so glad you did,” said Captain Folkestone,
+and there was a strong undercurrent of
+sympathy in his even tones.</p>
+
+<p>“I wish you had let us know sooner that Beatrice
+wanted me,” murmured Isma, regretfully.</p>
+
+<p>“She wouldn’t allow me to disturb you until
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_344">[344]</span>it was absolutely necessary. But you had better
+come at once—she wants you both,” and silently
+he led them up-stairs.</p>
+
+<p>As they entered the sick-room Isma glanced
+anxiously toward the luxurious bed with its fine,
+embroidered linen and rich silk hangings.</p>
+
+<p>The patient lay waxlike and shrunken, her eyes
+looking enormous in the wasted face and staring
+with glassy fixity into space.</p>
+
+<p>In a moment Mrs. Folkestone was beside the
+bed, stooping over the shriveled form and kissing
+the sunken cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>Slowly recognition dawned into the lusterless
+eyes and a feeble smile hovered over the purple
+lips. But she did not speak for some minutes.</p>
+
+<p>The silence in the room was heavy with an
+awful pall.</p>
+
+<p>At last the patient’s lips moved.</p>
+
+<p>The girl bent over her quickly and caught the
+words, “Isma—I am—going.” After each word
+there came a slight rattling sound.</p>
+
+<p>Her friend dropped on her knees and took the
+emaciated form in her strong young arms. “Beatrice,”
+she whispered, a little unsteadily, “you
+don’t—mind?”</p>
+
+<p>“No—not now.” Her voice had grown stronger,
+and she added, “Isma—you remember the letter I
+wrote you—telling you about—the dying thief—on
+the cross?” The dusky eyes were turned full
+on the fair, girlish face.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, dearest, of course.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_345">[345]</span>“And you will not forget—what I asked?”</p>
+
+<p>“No—never.”</p>
+
+<p>The dying woman’s glance strayed to her husband,
+who was standing at the other side of the
+bed, as if to include him in what she said. “I
+want you both to promise me that—you will tell
+everybody about—Paradise. Tell them to read
+about it in the—Book. Tell them to ask Him to—remember
+them—” She stopped and gasped
+for breath.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes—yes, we will,” Isma assured her, quickly.</p>
+
+<p>The dark eyes looked up with terrible intensity.</p>
+
+<p>“Tell them it is awful to—to pass into—eternity
+unless He will—remember us.”</p>
+
+<p>She looked at them imploringly till they had
+both made the promise; then her eyes closed
+wearily and she lay very still.</p>
+
+<p>By one of the farthest windows stood Rita,
+looking out on the hot, glittering sea. There was
+a sullen despair in her coal-black eyes. She was
+left out again; no one took any notice of her; but
+then she was the nettle, and no one wanted a
+stinging nettle; it was left severely alone. An
+expression of morose hopelessness settled on her
+face.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Berriedale turned to Captain Folkestone
+and her glance summoned him to her. When he
+was beside her she looked up at him with mute
+appeal; then her eyes dropped to the flaxen head
+pressed closely against her breast.</p>
+
+<p>The soldier understood at once. “Yes, I will
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_346">[346]</span>take care of her,” he said, as one making a solemn
+vow.</p>
+
+<p>After a pause Beatrice looked up at her husband
+with a deep wistfulness in her glassy eyes and her
+lips moved as if she were trying to speak.</p>
+
+<p>Isma rose and Lord Berriedale stooped over his
+wife, his face close to hers. At last she was able
+to formulate the words. “Neville—don’t grieve.”
+One of her thin hands sought his. “Wherever I
+go, I shall always—love you, and”—her lips
+twisted into a smile—“our—romance will come
+right—some day.”</p>
+
+<p>A sob shook the man bending over her. “Beatrice—if
+only you could stay with me and it
+could come right—here!” and he kissed her as he
+had not kissed her for years.</p>
+
+<p>For an instant a beautiful smile lighted up her
+face and her eyes looked happily into his. Then
+the smile faded and a peculiar, far-away expression
+took its place. It seemed as if her attention
+was being gradually withdrawn from her surroundings
+and gently fixed on something else.
+At the same time her face grew more waxy and
+the pinched look about her features increased.</p>
+
+<p>Then under her rattling breath they heard her
+murmur the words:</p>
+
+<p>“Lord, remember—me—now Thou art in—Thy
+kingdom—”</p>
+
+<p>For a time there was no sound in the room but
+the tense breathing of people holding back tears.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly a marvelous change came over the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_347">[347]</span>dying woman. The lines, the sallowness, the
+pinchedness vanished from her face and in their
+place came a strange look of youth—not the
+youth of flesh and blood that fades and withers,
+but a spiritual youthfulness that suggested an
+eternal preservation. And with it came an
+abnormal strength; it seemed as if all weakness
+had dropped from her like a worn garment flung
+aside. She sat up in bed, her arms outstretched,
+her face illumined with a white, unearthly radiance.
+She did not appear to see the little group about her.
+She gazed beyond them, gazed with passionate intensity
+at something no one else could see.</p>
+
+<p>“Paradise—Paradise!” she cried, her voice
+ringing through the room with triumphant clearness.
+“It is there—there!” Her eyes widened,
+dilated with rapturous awe, and once more her
+voice sounded through the breathless chamber.</p>
+
+<p>“The portals are opening—opening! And—He
+<i>has</i>—remembered—me—”</p>
+
+<p>The next instant the frail form fell back among
+the pillows—dead.</p>
+
+<p>To the tear-blinded eyes watching it did not
+seem as if life had ebbed away; it rather appeared
+as if a new strength had vitalized the departed,
+giving her power to burst the casket which held
+her to earth and, leaving death in her wake, she
+had soared in sublime ecstasy through the portals
+that opened into—Paradise.</p>
+
+<p class="center">THE END</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+<div class="transnote">
+<p class="ph1">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p>
+
+<p>Perceived typographical errors have been corrected.</p>
+
+<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.</p>
+
+<p>Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.</p>
+</div></div>
+
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78209 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
author	www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org>	2026-03-14 14:14:01 -0700
committer	www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org>	2026-03-14 14:14:01 -0700
commit	4820231f031f0a4b27374a576e36dd3e86032fae (patch)
tree	cfc1e40ab212f52ef4355892a80ea74c00062ed5 /78209-h/78209-h.htm