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diff --git a/78209-0.txt b/78209-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d0a59f0 --- /dev/null +++ b/78209-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9743 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78209 *** + + + + +THE IMMORTAL FLAME + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration: [See p. 3 + +FOR SOME TIME ISMA STOOD MOTIONLESS LOOKING OUT TO SEA] + + + + + THE + IMMORTAL FLAME + + _By_ + MARIE BJELKE PETERSEN + + _Illustrated_ + + [Illustration] + + Harper & Brothers Publishers + New York and London + + + + + THE IMMORTAL FLAME + + Copyright 1919, by Harper & Brothers + Printed in the United States of America + Published September, 1919 + + I-T + + + + +TO MY FATHER + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PART I + + CHAP. PAGE + + I. THE HIDING-PLACE 3 + + II. THE PALM-GROVE 11 + + III. USELESS CARGO 19 + + IV. THE SEA PEARL 27 + + V. THE BLACK CROSS 37 + + VI. THE DEVIL’S ACRE 49 + + VII. ON FRIENDSHIP’S ALTAR 55 + + VIII. RING-BARKED 60 + + IX. THE THUNDER-STORM 75 + + X. THE BELL-BIRD 79 + + XI. THE FIREWEED 97 + + XII. BURSTING BUBBLES 107 + + XIII. THE BALL 117 + + XIV. A SINISTER SUNSET 134 + + XV. THE MOONLIT ROAD 147 + + XVI. THE BOMB 155 + + + PART II + + I. THE HURRICANE 169 + + II. PAYING TOLL 177 + + III. BARRED GATES 187 + + IV. TRAMPLED FRIENDSHIP 200 + + V. THE FATAL KEY 213 + + VI. THE FLAME GOD 228 + + VII. THE STARING CLIFF 249 + + VIII. THE DAWN 259 + + IX. CRUCIFIED 277 + + X. MIGRATING BIRDS 290 + + XI. THISTLE-DOWN 297 + + XII. SUMMER 305 + + XIII. THE NETTLE 320 + + XIV. BLOODWOOD 332 + + + PART III + + REMEMBERED 341 + + + + +PART I + + +THE IMMORTAL FLAME + + +I + +THE HIDING-PLACE + + +“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. + +“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--_quite safe_,” she repeated, emphatically, in +her low musical voice, making a further attempt to quell her stirring +misgivings. + +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 like a statue carved out of some strange ethereal substance. + +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!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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! + +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. + +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. + +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 from which she had +fled, but it had not given her one single draught of unalloyed joy. + +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! + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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 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--_she_ had stained it! + +Her head sank lower. The horrible irony of it all--the pity of it! + +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? + +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 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. + +But suppose the world should penetrate even to this seclusion--if it +should pursue her here--? + +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. + +Yet if he should come? + +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! + +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! + +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. + +The huge wings of night were spreading over the earth, and under those +dark pinions brooded a strange silence. + +“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.” + +From one of the larger trees a night-bird all at once uttered a fierce, +piercing shriek. + +The girl shivered a little and hurried toward the palm-lined bay below. + + + + +II + +THE PALM-GROVE + + +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. + +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 seemed eager to attract her +attention and rustled in unhappy agitation as they bent toward her. + +Miss Folkestone looked up at them and smiled. + +“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.” + +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. + +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? + +There was the click of the gate. + +Isma glanced down the long palm avenue. A 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. + +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. + +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. + +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--” + +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?” + +“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 skeptical at +first--can you wonder?--but I, having more curiosity than the rest, +came to see.” + +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. + +“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.” + +The gray thoroughbred was pushing its soft muzzle against Captain +Folkestone’s sleeve, but he had no thought for the animal. + +“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 swathe of +turquoise _crêpe de Chine_ was remarkably becoming. + +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. + +“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.” + +“No,” she replied, emphatically, “the way back is _not_ open--it is +barred.” + +“Most effectively barricaded with cobwebs,” he assented, smilingly. + +The girl straightened as she looked coldly into his deriding eyes. + +“By Jove! the rôle _is_ becoming!” he exclaimed, with fresh mockery in +his tones. + +“I suppose you would prefer to see me behind real cloister walls,” she +observed, a dull flush of anger staining her face. + +“My pretty cousin, how can you suggest I should prefer anything so +outrageous!” he exclaimed, with mock horror. “If you were cloistered, +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.” + +She turned a little impatiently from him toward the house half hidden +among the trees. + +“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. + +“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?” + +The horse had grown tired of caressing Falcon’s unresponsive sleeve and +was now fidgeting to get enough rein to reach Isma. + +His master pulled him back with a jerk as the girl replied: “No. Miss +Livingston, my old governess, is with me.” + +“I am glad of that. But do you really intend to settle down here?” + +“Yes. Why not?” + +“It will be very lonely and you might find it--dull.” + +“I shall not find it dull and I like solitude.” + +“Indeed!” There was polite doubt in the exclamation. + +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. + +“What would you recommend me to--think about?” she asked, her eyes +looking probingly into his. + +“Well, as you ask my opinion, I should strongly advise you to give some +thoughts to the subject of--prudence.” + +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?” + +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?” + +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.” + +“It would certainly not do you any harm to have one.” + +“Possibly you would like to offer your services,” she scoffed. + +“I am afraid you would not accept them,” he replied, quietly. + +“Why not? Do you think I should be afraid that your vast amount of +knowledge on the subject would discourage me?” + +Captain Folkestone looked at his cousin in feigned surprise. +“Discourage you! Could anything do that? I was under the impression +that was an impossibility!” + +The gray horse had given up fidgeting; now it gave a loud, impatient +snort. + +“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!” + +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. + +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--” + +Above her the palm leaves drooped in silent consternation and +occasionally a convulsive shudder passed through them. + + + + +III + +USELESS CARGO + + +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. + +Miss Livingston, reclining in a deck-chair among a pile of green +cushions, regarded her companion with a pucker between her scanty +eyebrows. + +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 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. + +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: + +“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?” + +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, fluffy kind of woman, it might not have sounded so absurd; +but for my type--” + +“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!” + +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 _lived_--she is a +woman of the world to-day,” she finished, a slight tremor in her voice. + +“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.” + +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, where she could see the northern headland +beyond the garden jutting out sharply against the clear blue sky. + +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?” + +“Do you think so?” + +“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.” + +The girl sighed. “A good many ships go down, I am afraid.” + +“Yes, and all because they have not the sense or perhaps the courage to +fling away the useless cargo.” + +“Still, it is difficult, for some things cannot be flung away.” + +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 +this afternoon--a great surprise,” she said. Then after a pause she +added, with difficulty, “Falcon is here.” + +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.” + +“Yes, I am quite sure, for he was here just after lunch for a little +while.” + +“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--” + +The girl moved suddenly. “In love with me! Why, he hates me--positively +detests me!” + +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.” + +“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.” + +“But--you don’t mean to say he has turned out _that_ kind of man?” +There was real distress in the old lady’s tones. + +“Oh no, he doesn’t court that sort of thing--he likes being popular, +of course, but I think the 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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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?” + +A bat swooped down and brushed against her hair, but she hardly noticed +the insolent touch of its furry wings. + +“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. + +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!” + +Why should she not go to him, explain all and-- + +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, 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. + +It was long past midnight when at last Isma made her way back through +the scented garden to the sleeping house. + + + + +IV + +THE SEA PEARL + + +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. + +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. + +The soldier stood suddenly quite still and breathed unevenly. + +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. + +He watched with a curious expression in his Irish-blue eyes, which held +no irony or contempt 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? + +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. + +The man watching changed color. + +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. + +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--! + +“Isma,” he said, in a strained voice. “Isma.” + +The wide, clear lids opened slowly and eyes, still heavy with sleep, +looked up, dazed and bewildered. Then she discovered the man beside +her and an agonized flush spread over her face. She sat up quickly and +gathered the wrapper closely about her. + +“I must have been asleep,” she faltered, in deepest confusion. +“I--I--was just going to have a bathe.” + +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?” + +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.” + +“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!” + +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. + +Her cousin followed her, his eyes on the heavy trail of flaxen hair +reaching almost to her knees and gleaming in glossy radiance against +the duskier gold of her gown. + +“Isma,” he said, coming to her side, “why do you hurry so? I want to +talk to you.” + +“When I am presentable I shall be at your disposal.” + +“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.” + +The girl met his remark with disdainful silence and quickened her steps. + +She felt his watchful scrutiny. Did he think she was merely posing, +acting a part? Was that why his face had hardened? + +When they reached the house Isma took her cousin into the drawing-room +and asked him to wait for her there. + +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 +_vieux rose_ and dull umber; these hues mingled in the covering of +chairs, divans, cushions, carpet, curtains, blinds, and ornaments. The +woodwork and doors were a 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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“Yes, I thought of doing so.” + +“Is it--necessary?” he asked, without raising his eyes. + +She ignored the point of his inquiry. “I should like to sell some of +it.” + +“Isma,” he said, with slight hesitation, “if you are in difficulties, +won’t you tell me--won’t you let me--?” + +She interrupted him quickly. “No, thank you, I am not in any +difficulties.” + +“Still--you want to sell?” + +“Yes.” + +“Then I should like to buy the land.” + +“Why do you want it? It is no good for sheep--” + +“No, but I should like to put up a cottage. I have always wanted some +sort of a place close to the sea.” + +“But what is the use when you are not there--not living here, I mean?” + +“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.” + +His cousin looked at him incredulously. Falcon coming back to live at +his old home, leaving his regiment! What could it mean? + +A flood of warmth rushed through her as she listened breathlessly to +his next words. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +“Who else is leaving?” she asked, the friendly smile still hovering +round her lips. + +“Surely you know?” + +“How could I? I have been traveling for months, till quite lately--” + +“But letters--they can always reach you.” His tones were hard and +unapproachable. + +“I have had very few since I came home--I didn’t want any.” + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +“Who?” she asked, scarcely able to formulate the word. Who else could +be coming to spoil her solitude and pry into her seclusion? + +Her cousin’s eyes were like points of steel probing into hers as he +said: + +“Lord Berriedale.” + +Isma caught her breath and every vestige of color ebbed from her face. + +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. + +“Why--why--” she began, but the sentence ended in a gasp. + +The sternness in Falcon’s face vanished instantly and gave place to the +ironical expression she knew so well. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“I always admire friendships between women, it is so beautiful to see +the way they treat one another--they are so loyal, so _true_.” He +smiled deridingly at her. + +She straightened and flushed hotly as he goaded her to retort. “Women +_are_ true to one another and they sometimes think more of a friend’s +happiness than their own reputation!” + +“Of course, and that is why the world, looking on, applauds such +sacrifice so vigorously!” + +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! + +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. + +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? + +“Isma,” said Falcon, after a long pause, in quiet tones, “what about +that land?” + +She turned to him slowly. Why did he want to buy it? To be nearer and +able to spy more readily upon her? + +“I don’t think I will sell it, after all,” she said, evenly. + +“Very well, then,” the soldier replied, picking up his cap. “I suppose +for the future you will be so much taken up with _Lady Berriedale_ that +you will not have much time for me,” and after a formal good-by he left +the room. + +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! + + + + +V + +THE BLACK CROSS + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Australia--Australia,” she murmured, half aloud. “How strange that we +are actually here!” + +There were slow, gentle footsteps behind her. The hectic flush on her +thin cheeks deepened as she turned to the man coming toward her. + +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 in their liquid softness, gazing +lazily beneath golden drooping lashes, could at times light up with +volcanic fires and produce a very disquieting effect. + +“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. + +“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?” + +“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; 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.” + +“Yes,” agreed her husband, half absently, stroking his small, fair +mustache. + +“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!” + +“Didn’t India have the same effect on you?” inquired her companion, +with apparent interest. + +“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.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“You don’t think you have viewed life correctly before?” + +“No, I have a strange feeling that I have missed something vitally +important.” + +“I wonder what that can be?” + +“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: + + “See the swelling breast of the gums, + Hearts panting for the Invisible above, tugging at their chains; + Immortal longing in those wistful shapes; + Waves and waves of leaves pressing up to the Infinite. + There one spray of gray-white blossom. The hope of one brings + Its heart’s blood red to the young tops. + Yet it prays, and will ever pray--as man prays. + +“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.” + +“Perhaps not.” + +“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 are like fire-balls +shooting straight to the feet of the Infinite.” + +“My dear, how imaginative you are to-day!” Lord Berriedale replied, +without enthusiasm. + +Instinctively his wife changed the subject. + +“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?” + +Her companion moved his position and again his long slim fingers went +up to his fair mustache. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“It is her old home, you know, and I suppose the place appeals to her, +as it does to you.” + +“But it can’t have the same effect on her as 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. + +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--” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Darling,” she murmured, “it is so lovely to have you all to myself! +At home you were always so busy, but now--we can have a second +honeymoon.” + +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--” + +“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!” + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +After a short pause Lady Berriedale looked up and her eyes lighted on +the black cross so luminously clear in the sunlight. + +“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--” + +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.” + +“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--” + +Lord Berriedale sat down so that he obscured the ominous part of the +picture and skilfully diverted his wife’s attention to other subjects. + +“Did you see Rita driving that car this morning? Isn’t she getting on +well! She will soon be able to go out alone.” + +“Will that be safe? Are the roads good in this district?” + +“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.” + +His wife turned to him reproachfully. “Neville, 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.” + +“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?” + +“Yes, I think so. They were a great deal together the last few months +in London.” + +“But--but”--the tapering fingers played with the fair mustache +again--“was that--_his_ doing--” + +“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--” + +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.” + +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?” + +“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 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.” + +“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?” + +“You talk as if we were quite old.” He laughed, but there was a forced +note in his merriment. + +“So we are, dear. I have turned twenty-nine and you will be +thirty-eight next birthday.” + +“Folkestone must be over thirty, too.” + +“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--” + +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 been in his service for some years; but Lady Berriedale +neither liked nor trusted him. + +“What is it?” asked the tall, fair man at the window. + +“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.” + +“Any afternoon next week will do,” replied Lord Berriedale, with not +wholly concealed irritation. + +“And the gardener wants to know about the conservatory--” + +“All right, Rex, I’ll go and see him myself,” interrupted his lordship, +cutting him short. + +The two men left the room together, and when they had gone Lady +Berriedale closed her eyes drowsily and was soon fast asleep. + + + + +VI + +THE DEVIL’S ACRE + + +Soon after lunch Lord and Lady Berriedale went off in their big +Rolls-Royce to call on Miss Folkestone. + +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. + +“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!” + +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. + +Miss Brentford did not appear to be in a very happy frame of mind and +was ready to be irritated by trifles. + +She glanced at the man by the window and exclaimed, petulantly, “Rex, +don’t you _ever_ stop smoking!” + +“Of course I do. I give you my word of honor that I never smoke when I +am asleep.” + +“You dream about it then,” came the short retort. + +“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?” + +The girl looked puzzled. “The devil’s acre! What on earth is that?” + +“The library, of course.” + +“I don’t see the connection.” + +“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.” + +“You are not very complimentary to books.” + +“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.” + +“I wonder why it is fashionable to be wicked?” mused Miss Brentford. + +“Because most people haven’t brains enough to excel at anything else.” + +“Still, respectability is very dull, don’t you think?” + +The secretary smiled blatantly. “That depends on what you call +dull. Of course it is only passion-flowers that bear passion-fruit: +passion_less_ flowers alone bear--respectability.” + +The girl blushed. “Now you are talking like a French novel.” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Ugh! Do you think I want to spend the whole afternoon with Miss +Folkestone? I hate that cold creature!” + +“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.” + +“I don’t think she is beautiful at all; she is too over-colored. Her +hair is so yellow and her cheeks so red.” + +“I should have termed the color in her cheeks a vivid pink.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +“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--” + +“And Captain Folkestone,” interjected the man, in his most silky tones. + +The brunette flushed hotly. “He doesn’t like her at all--he can’t bear +the sight of her!” + +“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--” + +“Oh, that was only because he is her only relative and he must look +after her a little.” + +“Yes, of course, and a woman like that would 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.” + +“Dangerous?” + +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. + +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 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!” + + + + +VII + +ON FRIENDSHIP’S ALTAR + + +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. + +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. + +The still figure by the rock watched all while she tried to fight +back the bitter despair in her heart. 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. + +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!” + +She made a little movement with her hands, as if stretching them out to +something which had turned its back on her. + + * * * * * + +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 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. + +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. + +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? + +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? + +“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. + +Isma rose slowly. The sunset had faded and a delicate gloom was +creeping into the great spaces 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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +VIII + +RING-BARKED + + +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. + +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. + +So for a little while danger had been kept at bay and the girl had been +able to avoid unpleasant 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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“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.” + +“Yes, dear--what is it?” + +“Do you believe in omens, in forebodings?” + +“I don’t know; I have never thought about them.” + +“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?” + +“Yes, perhaps they are.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +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 +cannot talk to Neville. Don’t you see it would grieve and upset him if +I spoke of--leaving him?” + +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. + +“What is the matter, dear?” asked Lady Berriedale, a little fretfully, +glancing toward the averted face. + +Miss Folkestone turned to her quickly. “Oh, Beatrice, can’t you +understand that I--?” + +“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.” + +“Then tell me all about it--just how you feel,” responded her +companion, kissing the lined, damp brow. + +“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 _death_ itself--” + +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 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--” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“Yes, I know; still, bad days are the times when Death reveals his +presence and--takes a step nearer.” + +“But to-morrow he will depart again.” + +“No, Death never retreats. He may stand inert for a while, yet his +cold, hollow gaze never leaves his prey for a moment.” + +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?” + +“Dear, Death has awful powers. You cannot know because you have never +felt them. But think of it, he takes life--_life itself_. Isma,” she +went on, impressively, “can’t you imagine what that means?” + +“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.” + +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.” + +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.” + +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--” + +She was suddenly interrupted, for Lady Berriedale had half raised +herself and her shrill voice pierced through the room. + +“Isma--Isma--I feel so ill! Quickly ring for Abbott and let her get me +to bed!” + +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. + +“Isma,” she said, moving her hand across her brow, “what a horrid day +this has been for you!” + +“No, no!” protested her companion, brightly. “I am only too glad to be +with you.” + +“You are a darling and no one in the world is as kind and good as you, +except, of course, Neville.” + +Miss Folkestone lowered her eyes and began to smooth the lacy pillow. + +“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!” + +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: + +“Don’t forget to finish with my favorite from ‘Samson et Dalila.’” + +“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. + +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 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 +_bouffées_ 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. + +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. + +Isma walked over to the piano. + +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, subdued, made +a soft cradle for the tender song-notes to rest in. + +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. + +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. + +At last the singer struck the fluttering, breathless chords of her +friend’s favorite song, and into the afternoon radiance floated the +thrilling words: + + “Softly awakes my heart + As the flowers awaken + To Aurora’s tender zephyr! + But say, Oh, well beloved, + No more I’ll be forsaken. + Speak again, Oh, speak forever! + Oh, say that from Delilah + You never will part! + Your burning vows repeat; + Vows so dear to my heart.” + +Then followed the refrain with its haunting music heavy with passionate +sweetness. + + “Oh, once again do I implore thee! + Oh, once again then say you adore me! + Oh, I here implore thee! + See, I implore thee! + Oh, once again then say you adore me!” + +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. + +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. + +Isma rose instinctively. + +“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. + +The girl made no outward sign that her heart was throbbing wildly. She +was not afraid, but she loathed the inevitable scene before her. + +“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?” + +“I did not wish you to follow me. In fact, I think it a great +impertinence that you have done so!” + +“But you knew I would come.” + +“I had hoped that after a little time to reflect you would have--” + +“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.” + +“Lord Berriedale, I have forbidden you to mention love to me,” said +Isma, with a sudden proud tilt of her head. + +“That is most unfortunate, for it happens to be the very subject I have +come to talk about.” + +“Please let me pass. I want to go back to Beatrice.” + +“I tell you she is asleep, so I am afraid you will have to put up with +my society for the present.” + +“You surely will not keep me here against my will?” + +“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.” + +“Lord Berriedale, I am your wife’s friend and guest. Please let me +pass.” + +He blocked the way more obviously. “Isma, to-day you must listen to me.” + +“I will not listen!” + +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?” + +“I am not playing, and you know it.” + +“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?” + +Miss Folkestone did not reply, yet her silence was not an acquiescence; +rather it seemed a louder protest than any words could have been. + +Still, the man would not be silenced. + +“Isma, I heard you singing that last song. Do you realize what such +words coming from your lips mean to me--?” + +“I only sang them because Beatrice wished it. I had no idea you were +listening,” she explained, coldly. + +“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.” + +“Perhaps now that you have said all this, you will let me go back to +Beatrice?” said Miss Folkestone, quietly. + +“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. + +“How often shall I have to tell you that I will not listen to such +talk!” + +“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!” + +“How can I give you friendliness when you talk to me as you do?” she +said, fixing her steady gaze upon him. + +“Most women like devotion--” + +“I do not appreciate it from my friend’s husband.” + +“But you could learn to value it--I could teach you.” + +“Never!” cried the girl, indignantly. “Whatever you said, you could not +teach me such treachery!” + +“No, perhaps words could not teach you to--love, but--my arms--” + +“How dare you suggest such a thing--how dare you insult me!” she flung +at him, her face aflame, her superb eyes flashing. + +The man before her turned white. “Great God! you are magnificent! It is +worth while making you angry to see you like this!” + +“You are cruel and heartless!” + +“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--” + +He came nearer and made a movement as if he would have caught her to +him. + +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. + +“Isma”--he spoke with difficulty--“you are enough to turn the sanest +man love-mad!” + +The girl stiffened and pressed herself against the wall as if she +expected it to recede with her weight. + +He was bending toward her now, his breast almost touching her own. His +arms moved-- + +Her eyes dilated with horror and she drew a shuddering breath-- + +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 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. + +“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.” + +“I should have thought you would consider the storm a confounded +nuisance, breaking up the picnic,” replied the other man, with scarcely +veiled irritation. + +“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. + +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. + + + + +IX + +THE THUNDER-STORM + + +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. + +Isma started a little. + +Her companion turned to her at once as if curiously aware of her +slightest movement. + +“Are you afraid?” he asked, in a voice she hardly recognized as his. + +“No, thank you,” she replied, in tones which were not too even. “I am +not afraid, only--” + +“Yes?” he asked, not looking at her. + +“Oh, I can hardly explain.” She shuddered slightly. + +“Thunder-storms make you think of--corresponding upheavals in life?” he +suggested, his grip on the wheel tightening. + +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. + +But it was not long before they approached The Palms. + +As the machine slowed down Isma said, “Won’t you come in and wait till +the storm is over?” + +“No, thanks. I think I had better get home.” + +“Well, if you won’t come in I will get out here. The rain may come down +any moment and--” + +From the lowering clouds burst a long, forked streak of light and a +deafening clap followed almost immediately, shaking the earth beneath +them. + +“Go quickly,” she urged, springing out of the car. “The rain coming +will be terrible.” + +“_That_ kind of storm will not hurt me,” he said, grimly, walking over +to the gate and opening it for her to pass through. + +She held out her hand to him. “Thank you, Falcon,” she said, in a soft, +low voice. + +He raised his cap with an odd gravity and held her hand for a moment as +he said good-by. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +That night Isma went to bed early, for she was 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. + +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. + + + + +X + +THE BELL-BIRD + + +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. + +“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.” + +“But--” began the girl, astonished and hesitating. + +“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.” + +Isma glanced at him gratefully. How tactfully he was managing the +embarrassing situation so as not to rouse Lady Berriedale’s suspicions +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. + +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. + +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?” + +“Of course you can’t help being in love with my big, adorable Baby. No +one can--” + +“Falcon, don’t listen to her,” the girl interrupted, coloring and +laughing as she went out to the car. + +It was a glorious morning; every trace of the storm had disappeared. +The sun shone, the earth glistened, birds sang, and the ocean broke +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. + +“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. + +His blue eyes answered her smile as he said: + +“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--” + +The girl’s laugh interrupted him suddenly. + +“You made very sure that I would come!” she said, the gleam still in +her eyes. + +“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.” + +The brightness came back to her eyes again. + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“Everything at its highest is always something else.” + +“I don’t quite see that.” + +“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?” + +“Yes, and a painter when he ceases to be a painter and becomes an +artist.” + +“What would you say was the difference between a painter and an artist?” + +“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.” + +“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 movement in the waves, they look so +somberly restless! By the way,” he added, “why is the sea so restless?” + +“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.” + +“And what are its songs about? Love?” He was looking at the girl again. + +“I should hardly think so. They seem too boisterous, too loud and wild +for that.” + +“Sometimes love is very boisterous and--wild.” + +“Real love?” + +“Yes, certainly, and it can clamor louder in the heart than any wave on +the shore.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +The girl looked away and made no reply, but her cousin felt the slight +sigh which passed through her. A few moments afterward she began to +talk brightly about other things. + +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. + +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--” + +“Do you think they would keep to the same spot all that time?” + +“Most likely. They hardly ever move away from their favorite locality.” + +When the throbbing of the engine had subsided Isma and her cousin sat +quietly listening, gazing expectantly into the green blur of foliage. + +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 dry twig cracked, and sometimes a falling +piece of bark rustled noisily among startled leaves. + +But after a pause there came into the breathing quiet two liquid notes +like the tinkle of a silver bell. + +The man and woman started and looked at each other. + +The idyllic tinkle sounded again--then again. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“What a splendid name for the bell-bird, the Australian will-o’-the-wisp!” + +For a while the cousins were silent again, listening to the liquid +notes dropping into the velvet-green stillness. + +At last Falcon set the engine throbbing once more as he said: + +“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--?” + +“If it happens to be as unreliable as the notes of a bell-bird!” +replied the girl, laughing his sudden gravity away. + +“I wonder if it is?” he said, turning to her. + +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. + +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. + +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, 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. + +All too quickly the morning passed away and lunch-time found Isma and +Falcon at the small hotel where he had ordered their meal. + +It was a wooden place built in bungalow style, with large overhanging +verandas. + +The landlady took the visitors into the dining-room and asked them to +sit at a small table decorated with purple bush-lilies. + +Another motor party had arrived before them and were already having +their dinner at a large table at the other side of the room. + +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. + +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 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. + +“How very discontented that lady looks over there at the other table!” +remarked Isma, when they had finished their first course. “I wonder +why?” + +“Most likely because she has everything she wants.” + +“That is a strange reason for being discontented, surely.” + +“It is the usual one.” + +“Perhaps so. I see you are a keen observer, Falcon.” + +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?” + +The golden-gray eyes met his. “Perhaps I haven’t--” + +“I wonder what it is you--want,” he queried, after a slight hesitation, +“and if I--could give it to you?” + +“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. + +After lunch they went farther up the coast. By a long, quiet beach +Captain Folkestone stopped the car and they walked along the shore for +a short distance. + +“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. + +She blushed under his smiling gaze. + +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. + +“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.” + +“Yes, it looks like that,” she replied, reflectively. + +“If we had the whole world to ourselves, could you be happy?” + +Some note in his voice roused her from her reverie. + +“Yes, I think so, if we had the earth to ourselves, we need not be much +in each other’s way. You could have one hemisphere and I the other.” + +The man broke off a long stalk of grass and put it between his teeth. +“I am afraid that arrangement would not suit me.” + +“You are too sociable,” she teased. “You should be more fond of your +own company.” + +“I have better taste--I prefer yours.” + +“Now you flatter me!” + +“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?” + +“That depends,” she replied, guardedly. + +“On what?” + +“On several things, one of them on the way you treated me.” + +He rolled over on his side so that he faced her. + +“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. + +The girl sat up and looked out to sea. + +“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. + +“If we were alone in the world I should not need to do that. I should +treat you _very_ differently.” + +She turned a pair of laughing eyes upon him. “I wonder in what way?” + +Falcon sat up, too, and edged a little closer. + +“I shall not tell you that unless--” + +“No--I don’t suppose you know, yourself.” Her eyes still laughed at him +beneath their long, drooping lashes. + +“Don’t I! That is all you know!” + +“I wonder should I like it,” she mused, in her provoking banter. + +“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. + +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? + +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 +that their gay intimacy of the morning had vanished. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +As they crossed the wide plain near The Palms Captain Folkestone slowed +down the speed and looked round with strange interest. + +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. + +Presently the motor began to ascend the cliff. + +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. + +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. + +“This view always reminds me of a favorite song of mine, ‘The Little +Winding Road.’ Do you know it?” said Isma, after a pause. + +“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?” + +“I will hum it if you like.” And in her low, rich voice she began to +lilt the romantic song. + +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?” + +Her soft voice repeated the words: + + “I sought for love on that road, + I saw it afar on the plain; + I followed the road + And crossed the plain + Then came to the hill again.” + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +“Oh, you must not take those words too literally. They may only be +written for effect--” + +“Anyhow, it is an effect one often finds in real life,” he remarked, +turning to start the car. + +As they descended the cliff the lights from the house, like yellow +stars, gleamed among the palms. + +“You will come in and have some dinner, won’t you?” asked the girl, +watching the twinkling lights in the valley. + +He accepted readily. + +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. + +An instant change came over Captain Folkestone’s features; he looked +suddenly hard. + +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. + +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.” + +With the lamplight on her face, Falcon noticed how pale she had become +and that the fingers holding the unopened letter were trembling. + +“But of course you will not think of going to The Bluff after--” + +Isma looked out of an open window into the dark-purple dusk for some +moments before saying, “I’m afraid I--must.” + +“Isma, you can’t mean that!” His tones were stern. + +“Falcon, I shall have to go to her.” There was pleading as well as +decision in her voice. + +A steely look came into her cousin’s blue eyes. + +“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. + +“Falcon!” There was searching pain in the word. + +But he did not appear to have heard the cry. + +She followed him to the car. “Falcon, please try to understand. I am +not playing-- Can’t you see--?” she began, tremulously. + +“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.” + +Isma did not take the proffered hand, but stood pale, erect, +motionless, her form flooded by the light from the hall. + +“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. + + * * * * * + +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. + + + + +XI + +THE FIREWEED + + +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. + +Miss Brentford had reached the seat, and she closed her red-silk +parasol and sat down beside him. + +“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.” + +“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!” + +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.” + +The secretary thought of this letter just then and smiled enigmatically. + +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!” + +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?” + +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!” + +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--” + +“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. + +“It certainly would be very--unwise.” + +“Unwise--it would be heartless when my sister is so ill!” she said, +drawing herself up. + +“Ah yes, Lady Berriedale, of course--for the moment my thoughts went in +another direction.” + +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. + +“Are you saying to yourself, ‘he loves me, he loves me not’?” suggested +Rex, with a provoking smile. + +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.” + +“I thought all girls were in love!” + +“That is because you don’t know anything about them.” + +“No, perhaps not. Well, will you come and have a game of tennis?” + +But Miss Brentford had not come out to play tennis. + +“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?” + +“Great Christopher! no! That is why books are so much more popular than +reality. They give people what they want and reality never does.” + +“Do you really believe that?” + +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.” + +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?” + +“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--” + +“He has not taken her out to make love to her,” interrupted Rita, +digging the point of her parasol savagely into the ground. + +“What else is he doing it for?” asked the man, with his most suave air. + +“Why, he has to take his cousin out sometimes. It is merely his duty.” + +“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--” + +“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--?” + +“No, he doesn’t talk to her, but he looks.” + +“How absurd you are! I have never seen him glance at her except in the +coldest way.” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“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--?” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“That is only part of the game.” + +“Part of the game! Why--” + +“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.” + +“Rex, what _do_ you mean?” Rita leaned forward and looked into her +companion’s face with half-relieved anxiety. + +“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?” + +Just then their conversation was interrupted as Lord and Lady +Berriedale came down the avenue toward them. + +The secretary rose and Lady Berriedale sat down on the seat he had +just vacated, a little breathless from her walk. + +“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.” + +“My dear Beatrice, they would be bored to death. What on earth could we +do with them?” + +“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.” + +“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 have to supervise, and +that is very tiring, and you know I am no good at that sort of thing.” + +“I am going to ask Isma to come and stay with us for those days and do +that part of it for me.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“Jealous--” shrugged, the girl, disdainfully. “What is there to be +jealous about?” + +“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.” + +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.” + +“No, thank you. I will wait here till Neville comes.” + +“Poor little Rita is jealous of my beautiful 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.” + + + + +XII + +BURSTING BUBBLES + + +As Isma stepped into the purple car the following afternoon one little +word _lost--lost--lost!_ hammered in upon her consciousness as the +breakers thudded in upon the sand. + +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. + +She looked out on the sea imploringly as if pleading with it to rescue +her, while the syllable _lost--lost_ dinned itself with bursting force +into her sore heart. Falcon had been insulting, she was angry with +him, and yet--anger and love fought desperately in her soul. + +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. + +Isma shivered in the warm sunshine. + +For her all sunlight had faded; she was in cold darkness, and the +future held nothing but a gaping emptiness. + +The machine had passed the rocks and was now skirting a great beach +where snow-crested breakers thundered in upon the sand. + +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? + +Isma looked on the waves again. She saw how discolored the pure foam +became as it lurched 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? + +Along the shore a white mist had gathered over the waves and rose +slowly higher and higher in the glowing afternoon sunshine. + +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. + +Isma sighed. “If I might but be free from the sordid battering on the +sand!” she murmured. “If only--” + +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. + +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. + +Isma started. + +More alarming shrieks! Had the birds come 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-- + +She paled at the thought. + +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 to The Bluff again if she were +specially careful not to be alone with him. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Isma, whatever is the matter with you? Are you not well? Would you +like some wine?” + +“No, no, I am all right, thank you--” she stammered, struggling for +calmness, the color gradually coming back to her cheeks again. + +“Dearest, you did frighten me so. I really thought you were going to +faint.” + +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?” + +Her companion looked agitated again. “Beatrice, I will help you as much +as I can, but I cannot come and stay here--that is _quite_ impossible. +I have left Miss Livingston so much, when she came to live with me in +that lonely place she 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.” + +“But of course, dear, she must come and stay here, too. She will enjoy +a little change and seeing all these people.” + +“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. + +“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!” + +“Truly, Beatrice, I cannot,” replied the girl, with a troubled yet +strangely determined expression in her eyes. + +Lady Berriedale drew herself up and a dark flush spread over her sallow +face. “Of course if you _won’t_ come that settles the matter. I shall +not ask you again,” she answered, icily. + +“Beatrice!” The name came as a cry of pain. + +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 _practical_ +ways.” + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +Lady Berriedale was mollified. She pressed the fair head to her bosom +and kissed the soft round cheeks with her feverish lips. + +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, bleeding and exhausted, it lay crushed in the relentless +snare. + +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. + +Other invitations were then quickly sent out for the house-party and +ball, and preparations were commenced immediately. + +“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. + +Lady Berriedale smiled. “With your splendid help I am sure it will not +hurt me, and I am so much better, you know.” + +“I wish you had not tired of the quiet so soon,” sighed her companion. + +“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 +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!” + +Isma had risen and stood looking out of the window over the plains, +with her back to the room. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +As she went about her daily duties she was utterly unconscious that a +pair of dark, hostile 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. + +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. + + + + +XIII + +THE BALL + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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.” + +“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!” + +“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!” + +“Yes, indeed!” exclaimed Lady Carson, with unmistakable admiration. +“They are quite the handsomest pair on the floor.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“Isn’t this a glorious evening--far too good to spend indoors,” +remarked the girl, glancing round the garden aquiver with white +unearthly beauty. + +“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.” + +“‘Half-lighted intelligence’!” exclaimed his companion, slightly +nettled. “Do you consider lovers semi-idiots, then?” + +“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.” + +“You don’t think it takes brains to make love, then?” + +“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.” + +“But surely one could make love in an original way?” + +A full-blown rose from the branches above suddenly collapsed and fell +noiselessly over the girl’s shoulder into her lap. + +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 it as well as the +most learned professor, probably a little more effectively.” + +The girl moved her small bronze-slippered feet impatiently. “You have +not very high ideals of love, Mr. Rex!” + +“How could I? Falling in love is not very elevating--it is very much +the reverse.” + +“What a horrid idea! I don’t like it a bit!” combated Miss Alcot. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Near the door of the conservatory stood Rita Brentford and Captain +Folkestone. The brunette was dressed in petunia-red _crêpe de Chine_; +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 and her partner glided by, Rita seemed +shriveled and insignificant by comparison. + +As the dark girl caught sight of her brother-in-law and Miss Folkestone +her features stiffened. + +“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. + +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--” + +“Lady Berriedale is a good judge of character. She knows who she can +trust,” replied the man beside her, coldly. + +“I beg your pardon, Captain Folkestone,” Miss Brentford apologized, +quickly, closing her fan with a snap. “I forgot you were cousins.” + +“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?” + +The girl assented, and they walked off together to the supper-room. + +Lord Berriedale had just finished his dance with Isma, and was now +talking to the governor, whom he had known at college years ago. + +“And do you intend to stay on this coast all the time you are in +Australia?” asked Sir George Carson, a fine-looking clean-shaven man +with genial brown eyes and an impressive personality. + +“Yes. Traveling about does not agree with Beatrice.” + +“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.” + +“No, I think not. I hear they have very strong westerlies up there, and +my wife hates wind.” + +“Ah well, you know best. By the way, Berriedale, how does this country +strike you?” + +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.” + +“’Pon my word, that is not a bad description!” laughed the governor, +pleasantly. + +“What do you think of the country, Carson?” + +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 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. + +“Have you come to take Isma away?” asked Lady Berriedale a short time +afterward, when Falcon joined the little group on the dais. + +“Yes, I believe this is my dance,” he replied, smilingly. + +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. + +At his touch the girl suddenly paled, her nostrils quivered, and her +heart fluttered. + +Her partner watched her closely. Were these outward signs of agitation +only symptoms of embarrassment and dislike? + +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. + +He changed color and drew a sharp breath. Her sumptuous white shoulder +was so near his 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?” + +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? + +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.” + +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. + +“By Jove!” he remarked, feelingly, “Miss Folkestone is ripping! I have +always heard she was--” + +“She is dancing with her cousin,” interrupted Miss Brentford, hastily. +“He is leaving the Guards and going to live here.” + +“So I hear. Fine-looking fellow. What a handsome pair they are!” + +His companion turned a darkened face away. + +“Captain Folkestone doesn’t like her,” she could not refrain from +saying. + +“Not like her! Why, he looks like a man pretty badly smitten! Did you +see the way he bent over her then--?” + +“I think you are quite mistaken,” observed the girl, with scarcely +veiled ill humor. “As a matter of fact, they detest each other.” + +“They can act jolly well, then,” replied the man, with a smile, as Miss +Brentford’s next partner came up to claim her. + +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. + +Lord Berriedale had danced with Isma again, and now he stood talking to +her in the middle of the room during an interval. + +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. + +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. + +Lord Berriedale was fully conscious of the observation his marked +attention to her was exciting; 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. + +Of course it was distasteful to Lord Berriedale 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. + +“I should like to go back to Beatrice,” she said, in a level voice. + +“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?” + +“Lord Berriedale, how can you suggest such a thing?” + +“Why not? Flowers cannot hurt you, and there we should be away from +spying eyes.” + +The girl paled. “Please do not talk like that--people will hear you.” + +“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?” + +“You are breaking your promise now.” + +“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--” + +“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. + +As the girl and Captain Folkestone walked toward the other end of the +room the band struck up an alluring melody and dancing commenced again. + +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. + +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.” + +His companion faced him questioningly. “She did not _ask_ you to bring +me?” + +“Well--no,” his eyes met her gaze steadily. “Still, I knew she would be +charmed to meet you. Who would not?” + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +Captain Folkestone introduced his cousin to 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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +He stood before her now, holding out his hand, and she could not very +well avoid taking it. + +“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. + +“Lord Berriedale, how dare you!” she cried, in an undertone, wrenching +her hand away from him. “Please let me pass.” + +He stood aside and allowed her to walk on. + +At the same instant a door on the first floor shut noiselessly and Miss +Brentford stepped back into her room. + +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. + +So that was what Rex had meant! She understood his hints now! How +blind she had been not to have discovered it before! But how could any +one suspect such treachery! + +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! + +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. + +Only one more day and then-- + + * * * * * + +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. + +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, +and as their gaze met something in them had leaped together; but now-- + +Into the face above the gate came an anguish which was terrible. + +Suddenly the man turned away, sprang into the motor, and sped up the +steep road leading over the moonlit cliff. + + + + +XIV + +A SINISTER SUNSET + + +The following morning the viceregal party returned to Sydney. The +remaining visitors spent the morning playing tennis, croquet, and +strolling about the garden. + +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. + +“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 _take my place_.” 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 one of his long, shapely hands with detached interest. + +“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. + +Late in the afternoon four large cars stood panting in front of the +house and the picnickers came out and took their seats. + +Captain Folkestone and other guests from the neighborhood were to join +the party at the river where the fishing had been arranged. + +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. + +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. + +The road led through immense forests, dusky with jungle gloom, brooding +with heavy mystery, 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. + +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. + +Greetings followed, and presently small groups began to stroll about +the river-bank, while the chauffeurs lighted a fire and boiled the +billy. + +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. + +Wild shrieks of birds rang spasmodically through the air, fishes +jumped, and there was the continual whir of large-winged insects. + +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 the river in +his boat, so that they could walk over to the second arm of the stream, +where the best fishing was obtained. + +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. + +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. + +The men were in a hurry to commence the sport, so there was not much +time given to superfluous conversation. + +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. + +When the meal was over the boatman began to row the picnickers across +the stream. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The girl shuddered. + +There seemed forces lurking about her which had power to subdue even +the most desperate resistance. + +As she looked a smudgy, colorless twilight 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. + +Suddenly the weird call of the boo-boo owl rang through the twilight. + +Isma started, a sense of horror came over her, a feeling of awful +foreboding. + +Why had she been kept waiting so long? Why had the boat not returned +for her sooner? + +She listened for the splash of oars. + +She heard it now, but it seemed curiously distant. She waited, +listening, growing more uneasy--the faint splash had ceased altogether. + +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. + +“Is the boat ready?” she asked, mechanically, her senses numbed by the +shock of finding herself alone with her host. + +“No,” replied the man, coming closer. “It has gone with the chauffeurs. +I came over myself to send them off.” + +“But--but--it will come back for--me,” she faltered, rising. + +“No, it will not come back for either _you_ or _me_. 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. + +“Lord Berriedale, what does this mean?” asked Miss Folkestone, now +thoroughly roused. + +“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. + +“So you have trapped me,” she murmured, in a voice which did not seem +her own. + +“There was nothing else to do. You would not listen to pleadings. I +warned you not to strain my endurance too far--” + +“And you had no consideration for me--or my reputation?” Life was +coming back to her voice. + +“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, 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.” + +“Now I know you are absolutely unscrupulous!” + +“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--” + +The girl had closed her eyes for a moment and even in the twilight she +looked pale. + +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, if she appealed to his better nature, he might +relent; she would make the attempt. + +“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--?” + +“Of course I will,” he responded, quickly. “I will lie, pretend--do +anything, if only you will promise to be mine--afterward?” + +“How can you suggest such a thing--when your wife is still--?” + +“Yes, she is still--here, but she will not be here--long.” + +“You are cruel, utterly pitiless, and you--married her,” she reminded +him, sternly. + +“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.” + +“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. + +“I swear I would be true to _you_.” + +“Yes, you have given me a fine display of your faithfulness!” + +“Isma”--he had paled--“don’t you know you could hold any man forever--?” + +A sudden glimmer on the trees made him turn for a moment and look +at the big moon which had 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. + +“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--” + +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. + +Her companion had guessed her thoughts. + +“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, 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.” + +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.” + +“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--” + +There was no answer. + +By the light of the moon the man looked at his watch. “Five minutes +from now,” he said, quietly. + +Again there was no reply. + +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. + +“The five minutes are up,” said Lord Berriedale at last. “Which shall +it be, your promise or--?” + +“I cannot make the promise, for I should only break it afterward.” Her +voice was low, but firm. + +“By Jove! you have pluck! Still, even that fine courage of yours will +not save you now.” He moved toward her. + +“Lord Berriedale, I warn you--I am strong.” + +He gave a hollow laugh. “My love is strong enough to conquer your +resistance. But, Isma, you might as well _give_ me what I want. Believe +me, it would be much better for you if you did.” + +“I can give you--nothing.” + +“Not even those--kisses?” + +“Nothing.” + +“Very well.” + +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. + +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-- + +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! + +Then quite unexpectedly Lord Berriedale relaxed his hold, and Isma, +too, heard the sound which had startled him. + +There were running footsteps on the road. + +As the girl sprang away she gave a sharp, piercing cry. + +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. + + + + +XV + +THE MOONLIT ROAD + + +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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +The officer glanced anxiously at the girl, and in the moonlight saw +that she looked utterly exhausted and that she was trembling violently. + +“I shall take my cousin back to her own home 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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“No, thank you, I am not cold.” + +Falcon looked at her again and clenched his teeth. + +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. + +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. + +“Falcon,” she began, her voice soft and warm, “you have been too +wonderfully good to me--you have simply been--” + +He interrupted her quickly. “Please don’t say anything about +that--only, but tell me, are you feeling better yet?” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“But--I thought you had gone to the other arm of the river where you +could not see the boat arrive?” + +“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.” + +“Yes, and how did you manage?” she asked, breathlessly. + +“Well--it was a little difficult. I did not dare 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.” + +“Oh, Falcon, I shall never be able to thank you enough!” she said, a +deep tremor in the words. + +“I don’t want any thanks--don’t trouble about that.” + +They had joined the coast road now; only another mile and they would be +at Isma’s home. + +The car hummed along by the sea which lay like a sheet of shimmering +silver between the great towering headlands. + +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. + +“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?” + +The girl started. “Falcon, please don’t ask me.” + +“But I must know.” + +“Well, of course, I did not like being there--” + +“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. + +“I can’t--I can’t--” + +“Then I shall have to ask him.” + +“No, no,” she cried, “you mustn’t do that.” + +“Then tell me yourself.” + +There was no answer. + +“Was it really--as bad as that?” + +“Falcon, please don’t!” There was deep pain in her tones. + +“You mean me to infer--?” + +“No, don’t infer anything.” + +“Is there nothing to--infer?” + +Again there was no reply. + +“There is something, then?” + +Her head suddenly drooped. + +“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?” + +“Oh, Falcon, it isn’t that--” Her tones were imploring and her fingers +caught at the gate convulsively. + +“What is it, then?” he asked, his face almost touching her own. “Did he +take any--liberties with you?” + +She started violently. + +“So he touched you?” + +She placed her elbows on the top railing of the gate and buried her +face in her hands while a half-stifled moan escaped her lips. + +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!” + +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! + +“He--he--” She began her confession with a desperate effort. + +“Yes, what did he do?” The words came from panting lips. “Did he--kiss +you?” + +Her head sank lower. “My--hair,” she scarcely breathed. + +“And did he--embrace you?” + +“Y--e--s--” + +“Anything else?” The question held a startling intensity. + +“No,” she whispered. + +He drew a long breath, then took her hands from her face and crushed +them in his own. + +For some minutes neither of them spoke. + +“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. + +Silently they walked toward the house, where the lights in the lower +rooms mingled feebly with the brilliant moonlight. + +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--” + +“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. + +A moment afterward he was gone. + + * * * * * + +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. + + + + +XVI + +THE BOMB + + +“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. + +The secretary was in a motor-coat and carried a cap in his hand; he was +evidently on the point of going out. + +Miss Brentford turned a white face and large, vague-looking eyes toward +him. “Are you going out--before breakfast?” she asked, absently. + +“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. + +The letter lying on top was addressed to Miss Folkestone in Lord +Berriedale’s large, characteristic writing. + +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. + +Rex made a quick movement to secure the letter. + +“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. + +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 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! + +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! + +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! + +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 +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. + +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? + +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 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? + +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! + +The hollow boom of the breakfast gong rumbled through the house. + +Miss Brentford started slightly, rose slowly, and stumbled wearily +across the room. + +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. + +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. + +The girl had not seen her that morning; she 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. + +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. + +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?” + +So she had not been told, after all--why not? + +“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.” + +“Not well, Rita--and no one has told me till now! How strange! I must +drive over and see her presently.” + +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 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.” + +“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! + +“Well,” demanded her sister, watching her with some perplexity. + +The girl swallowed hard. “I was awake all last night, and that +naturally makes me tired to-day,” she replied, making the plunge. + +“Child, how was it that you did not sleep? That is not like you.” + +The girl stiffened. She had committed herself. Now she must go on. + +“I was thinking of something--something which had upset me horribly.” +Her voice was uneven and her breathing labored. + +“Something upset you horribly? Whatever is it?” asked Lady Berriedale, +coming closer and looking at her sister with a puzzled air. + +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. + +“Yes, something which will upset you, too, when you hear it. That is +why I hate telling you.” + +“What can it be?” There was sudden fear in the thin, weak voice. + +“It is about--” + +“Yes, tell me quickly--” + +“Neville.” The word almost choked her. + +“About Neville?” + +“Yes, and--” + +“And some one else?” + +“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.” + +“Tell me,” replied the elder woman, without returning the embrace, a +terrible foreboding making her voice cold and strange. + +“He and Miss--” + +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.” + +“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.” + +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!” + +“If you had seen them on the stairs together after the ball, you would +not have thought them so innocent,” retorted the girl, coldly. + +“What were they doing there?” + +“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.” + +“You are mistaken. Your jealous mind puts such a horrible +interpretation on what was probably an absolutely harmless act.” + +“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 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.” + +“I refuse to believe it. I shall ask Isma herself.” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“No, don’t ask him yet. Get the truth out of Miss Folkestone first, +then you can face Neville with it afterward.” + +“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.” + +“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 she is in a tight corner. See the letter, then you will be able +to judge for yourself.” + +“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. + +“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--” + + * * * * * + +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. + +“My dear, whatever is the matter? You looked so well this morning,” +began her husband, with real concern. + +“I am very well, thank you. I am going over to see Isma directly after +lunch.” + +“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.” + +“You forget she is not well.” + +“She will be more fit for the drive than you. I shall go over presently +and bring her back with me.” + +Rita shot a meaning glance at her sister, but the elder woman did not +appear to notice it. + +“Thank you. I wish to go myself.” + +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. + +“Rita,” she whispered, faintly, “please tell Thomas to get Abbott to +help me up-stairs.” + +Her husband was beside her in a moment, ready to assist her, but she +brushed him aside and preferred to wait for her maid. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +His eyes flashed with a strange fire. + +Yes, Isma would come when she knew about Beatrice--his difficulty was +all at once solved. + + + + +PART II + + +I + +THE HURRICANE + + +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. + +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. + +The girl watched the road expectantly. + +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 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? + +The hot blood mounted to her face and her heart beat in a queer, uneven +way. + +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? + +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? + +She started visibly. + +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, +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? + +She leaned suddenly back in her chair, her whole body aflame with shame. + +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. + +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! + +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! + +The letter had been apologetic enough; still, of course, she could not +trust him any more, and she 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. + +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. + +She rose tremblingly. + +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. + +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. + +Miss Folkestone rose mechanically. She did not move toward her visitor, +but stood motionless, measuring him with proud, angry eyes. + +“How dare you come here!” she said, in tones quivering with suppressed +fury. + +“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.” + +“I am very sorry for Beatrice. Why didn’t you send for the doctor?” + +“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.” + +“There are some things I could never talk her out of--” said the girl, +regarding him with cold, accusing eyes. + +“You mean that she has found out--that she suspects--?” + +“Very likely.” + +“But it can’t be--that.” The man was gently caressing his short +mustache. + +“And why not--?” + +“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.” + +“Put her mind at rest--that she has a faithful husband?” Her eyes +blazed out her contempt for him. + +“Isma--don’t. I may deserve your scorn; still, this is hardly the time +to express it--every moment is of importance.” + +“But you don’t seriously think that I would ever enter your house +again?” + +“Isma, don’t waste time. Can’t you realize how every second might--?” + +“And how am I to know this is not merely another trap you are setting +for me?” + +“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. + +The girl wavered. “Is it really as serious as--that?” + +“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.” + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“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.” + + * * * * * + +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. + +Captain Folkestone sprang up the steps and pressed the bell +emphatically. + +As the maid opened the door the hot wind rushed into the hall and set +the pictures rattling against the walls. + +“Isn’t Miss Folkestone at home?” asked the visitor, as the servant did +not invite him to enter the house. + +“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. + +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. + +“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. + +“No, thanks, I will not trouble her,” said Captain Folkestone, moving +away. + +After the door had closed the man stood by the car irresolute for a +moment. + +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. + + + + +II + +PAYING TOLL + + +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. + +When they reached the house Isma went up to the invalid at once. + +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. + +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. + +“Are you better?” asked the elder woman, holding out her hand in a +formal way. + +Isma took the proffered hand and at the same time bent over the invalid +and kissed the wasted 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. + +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. + +Miss Folkestone stroked the burning forehead soothingly. “Deary, what +has upset you so?” + +“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.” + +“You have doubted me, Beatrice?” asked the girl, the pink bloom fading +from her cheeks. + +“Yes, I have been perfectly wicked all the morning. I have doubted both +you and--” + +Her companion drew back slightly. + +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.” + +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 and suspicion? But she would know all too +soon. The thin voice trailed on. + +“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--” + +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. + +When Lady Berriedale ceased speaking the girl looked up and in her eyes +burned a pain which smote her friend with new penitence. + +“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.” + +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--” + +“No, dear, I would much rather tell you,” replied her friend, firmly, +“for then it gives you the opportunity of denying everything. It +is not for my sake I want to give you this chance, but for your own +and--his.” + +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? + +“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. + +“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. + +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.” + +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. + +“So you can’t deny it,” said the cold voice from the bed. + +The girl pulled herself together quickly. She must say something to +soothe the woman hiding her wounds under this icy exterior. + +“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--” + +“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. + +“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. + +“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 that +the reason you went home? Isma, tell me honestly?” + +The girl’s eyes wavered before the searching dark ones. “No,” she +stammered, at last, “that was not the reason.” + +“Why, then, did you go home? Tell me that?” + +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.” + +“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, _my friend_, than _deceive_ me.” + +Isma winced. Lady Berriedale had emphasized the words “my friend” and +“deceive.” The situation was horrible--gruesome. + +“Beatrice,” began the girl, her golden-gray eyes looking with desperate +sincerity at her companion, “I am not deceiving you--truly I am not.” + +“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?” + +“Lord Berriedale had hurt me last night and he apologized this +morning,” replied Isma, gazing steadily into the flushed face on the +pillow. + +“Have you destroyed that letter?” + +“Not yet.” + +“Will you let me see it?” + +“No, I cannot do that; it wouldn’t be-- You wouldn’t understand.” + +“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. + +“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. + +“Trust you, indeed! Haven’t I trusted you, and what is the result, that +I have been most grossly, most appallingly deceived!” + +“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. + +“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.” + +The kneeling figure drew a shuddering breath, but made no reply. + +“Oh, I thought so,” muttered the harsh voice from the pillows. “You are +guilty, terribly guilty, and--I trusted you so!” + +For a moment Isma raised her head and opened 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. + +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_ +should actually have been the one to keep you near him 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. + +Miss Folkestone shivered. She put her hand across her eyes as if +something had blinded her. “Don’t!” she whispered, faintly; “don’t!” + +“Surely, Isma, you see the comedy it has been, don’t you?” Beatrice +added, with the same mirthless laughter. + +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. + +“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--” + +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. + +She saw nothing as she made her way down the 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. + +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. + +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. + +He would follow her presently, after she had recovered a little from +the ordeal she had been through up-stairs. + +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. + + + + +III + +BARRED GATES + + +“I suppose Isma is in now?” inquired Captain Folkestone when he arrived +at The Palms an hour after his cousin had returned from The Bluff. + +“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?” + +“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 are away may I go and have a wash? I +feel too horribly grimy and gritty to talk to either of you at present.” + +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. + +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.” + +The old lady went up-stairs once more, and the second message had the +desired effect, for Isma said she would be down presently. + +When she entered the room a little later Falcon was alone. + +“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.” + +“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. + +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 were making some +colossal effort to keep them from quivering. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +With a weary little sigh she took the glass and drank its contents. + +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.” + +The girl by the window moved restlessly. + +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. 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. + +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. + +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. It had been turned inside out and was +showing seams, stains, and frays. + +But her cousin’s voice roused her from her dismal thoughts. + +“Isma, something must be done at once. Things can’t go on like +this--they can’t.” + +“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. + +“No, I did not mean that.” + +“Anyhow, I think that is the best thing I can do; hide in a place where +no one shall be able to find me.” + +“That is impossible. There is no such place, for I know one man who +will follow you wherever you go.” + +Of course Falcon was thinking of Lord Berriedale. + +“He will get tired in time, when he sees it is absolutely useless,” she +said, a little coldly. + +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. + +“Of course it is--quite,” she answered, with decision. + +There was rather a lengthy pause. Her cousin had turned away and picked +up a small bronze elephant which he pulled at ferociously. + +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! + +He swallowed hard. + +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. + +“Very well,” he said, in a cool, measured way, “it is just as well to +be clear on those points first.” + +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. + +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: + +“But, Falcon, don’t you think you should have known before? I wanted +you to understand, so that you would not-- I am so sorry if--” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +Falcon made no reply. He still gazed out of the window with narrowed, +half-closed eyes. + +“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. + +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--” + +“Yes?” she inquired, as he stopped. + +Falcon turned and looked at her narrowly 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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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! + +“Well?” he said, at last, as she still did not speak. + +“You must know that such a thing is quite impossible,” she said, in a +hard voice, her face still averted. + +“Why impossible?” + +“I simply couldn’t do it.” + +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! + +“I cannot, Falcon--I cannot,” she repeated, in broken tones. + +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! + +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. + +“Isma,” he began, crushing back the vibration 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!” + +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! + +“O God!” moaned Isma, half aloud, dropping back in her chair and +closing her eyes. + +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! + +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: + +“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.” + +“How can you call it a--sacrifice?” he asked, almostly roughly. + +“Of course it must be--under the circumstances, and I cannot let you +make it--it would be too much for us both.” + +“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.” + +The bitter smile came back to her lips. Falcon could be satisfied +with--_that_! 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. + +“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.” + +“No, of course not,” came the scornful rejoinder. + +“Well, then?” + +“I suppose I might as well consent. The farce need not last--long.” + +“No, not very long,” he agreed, with a strange flatness in his voice. + +Another silence fell between them. + +Then Falcon said, “I may announce our--engagement?” + +“If you like.” She was still peering into the red dusk in the garden. + +“Very well. I must go now. I want to ring up Miss Brentford and tell +her at once.” + +Isma started. She knew how such news would affect Rita. “No, no, not +to-night!” she pleaded, turning to him. + +“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.” + +Isma sighed in resignation. + +Her cousin held out his hand. “Good-by, Isma,” he said, in a strained, +low voice, his eyes upon her face in the gloom. + +“Good-by,” she replied, tonelessly, placing a cold, lifeless hand in +his. + +She watched him walk across the room, listened 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. + +Isma left the window. + +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. + + + + +IV + +TRAMPLED FRIENDSHIP + + +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. + +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! + +But how was it all going to end? + +The furrow on his brow deepened and he stroked his fair mustache as he +slackened his pace and listened again. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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 _crêpe-de-Chine_ +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. + +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. + +Lady Berriedale stood transfixed, staring at the picture with sharp, +severe scrutiny. + +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. + +Beatrice looked with defiant scorn at the splintered glass and Isma’s +eyes with their magnificent tranquillity gazing at her now from the +peacock-green tiles. + +“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. + +“How dare you look at me like that!” cried the shrill voice in +suffocating fury, stamping on the photo again and again. “How--dare--” + +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. + +A look of horror came into the wide, dark eyes. Was she bleeding to +death? + +She gasped noisily and turned a ghastly white. She was strangling. + +Again she gasped, then swayed and fell heavily against the mantelpiece. + +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! + +Suddenly the black cross she had seen illumined 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! + +She gave a piercing shriek of terror. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +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. + +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. + +She shuddered. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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 +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. + +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 +never before given any active trouble; the syncope had been brought on +by shock. + +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. + +Her sister was still in a precarious condition; the doctor was not at +all hopeful about saving her. + +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. + +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. + +She pressed her hands against her throbbing eyes. + +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 Captain Folkestone from his +cousin and securing him for herself! + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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-- + +No! no! She could bear no more. Her thoughts 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? + +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. + +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. + +His presence brought her a sudden sense of relief. + +“Rex,” she exclaimed, stopping in front of him, “whatever brings you +out so early?” + +“My dear Miss Rita, I should be absolutely heartless if I could sleep +when her ladyship is dy--so ill.” He corrected himself. + +The girl winced, but sat down beside him. + +“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. + +“Yes, indeed! But have you heard how the patient is this morning?” + +“No, not yet. Nurse promised to let me know if there was any change, so +apparently there is not.” + +“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 _could_ have given her such a nasty turn! Something must have +done the mischief. I wonder could some meddling gossip have--” + +He stopped and glanced at his companion, who had gripped the seat for +support. “Miss Rita, I do believe you are ill, too!” + +“Nonsense, Rex! I’m all right.” + +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--” + +“What news?” asked the girl, sitting up quickly. + +“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--” + +“Engagement!” stammered Miss Brentford, her pale face becoming grayer. +“Who--?” + +“Is there any need to ask? His beautiful cousin, of course. Who else +could it be?” + +Rita sank back against the seat, her bloodless lips uttering an +inarticulate cry. + +“Great Cæsar!” exclaimed the man beside her. “I believe you are going +to faint. Let me take you indoors.” + +“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--?” + +“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--” + +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. + +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. + +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, 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! + + + + +V + +THE FATAL KEY + + +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. + +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 +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Now the girl entered her friend’s room, her face flushed and her eyes +shining. + +The nurse glanced with tense curiosity at the beautiful visitor and +then quietly withdrew. + +“Isma, you are a saint!” cried Lady Berriedale, stretching out her arms +and pressing the girl to her heart. “Can you ever forgive me?” + +“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.” + +“Darling, you are too good to me!” There were tears in the high-pitched +voice. + +“Beatrice dear, please don’t get upset, or nurse will never allow me to +sit with you again.” + +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--” + +Miss Folkestone put out her hands protestingly. + +“Beatrice, it can’t really be love--only a slight infatuation--” + +“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--” + +Her companion stooped over her quickly, interrupting the words with a +caress. + +“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--” + +Her companion silenced the words with another kiss. “Beatrice, don’t +let us speak of it again.” + +“But now that everything is right between us and I am much better you +won’t grieve any more, will you?” + +“No, no; I shall feel much happier now.” + +Still her friend missed the note of conviction in the voice and looked +at Isma with troubled scrutiny. + +The girl colored painfully and her head dropped. + +“Isma,” began Lady Berriedale, with strange solemnity, “are you quite +sure that you love Captain Folkestone?” + +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.” + +The patient breathed a sigh of relief. “You have always loved him?” + +“Yes, ever since I met him in London, when I came out and hadn’t seen +him for some years.” + +“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!” + +“He didn’t--care.” + +“Not care! How absurd! But is it really only lately that he--?” + +The fair head sank down on her friend’s breast. “I don’t know. I have +not--asked him.” + +“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.” + +Her companion started. “Beatrice, for Heaven’s sake don’t do such a +thing. Promise me you will not!” she cried, in panic. + +“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?” + +“Yes, and he is coming back for me presently.” + +“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.” + +Miss Folkestone’s arms enfolded the shrunken form. “Beatrice, don’t +say _was_--for you are going to be just as happy as you thought.” + +Lady Berriedale looked away into space. “How do you think there could +be any joy for me, when my husband cares for--another woman?” + +“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!” + +The nurse came in just then. It was time for medicine and the patient +was not allowed to talk any more. + +The next morning Isma found her friend much better and awaiting her +eagerly. + +“Darling, I feel so much stronger to-day, and I am so glad, for I am +longing to have a good talk.” + +“Yes,” said the girl, settling down by the bedside when the nurse had +left the room, “now we can enjoy ourselves.” + +“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.” + +“Yes? What have you been thinking about?” + +“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 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--” + +Her companion looked at her with troubled sympathy. + +“Oh, Beatrice, if only I could have spared you--that!” + +The black eyes looked up at her steadily. + +“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.” + +“I am afraid I have never prayed like that,” murmured Isma, with +downcast lashes. + +“Then the explosion in your life has not taken place.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +The girl pressed her hand silently; she could not speak. + +“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--” + +“Perhaps the next world will not be very different from this.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“Yes, surely. Life there will be of colossal dimensions, whether it be +a state of joy or--anguish.” + +“That is very terrible to contemplate.” + +“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.” + +“In that case, it would be an appalling thing to strike a state of +misery.” + +“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.” + +“No, I don’t for a moment suppose our ultimate fate will be determined +by chance; still, I wonder what will decide it?” + +“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--” + +The door opened quietly and the nurse entered. + +“I suppose you have come to send me away?” queried Miss Folkestone. + +“I am afraid so,” the woman in uniform replied, smilingly. + +The girl stooped over her friend and kissed her. + +“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.” + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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 part in the +conversation, but often sat at the other end of the room, occupied with +a book or papers. + +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? + +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 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: + +“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--” + +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. + +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--” + +“Don’t--don’t--” cried the girl, in a frantic whisper, interrupting her +again. + +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--” + +“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. + +“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--” + +“Beatrice,” implored the distracted girl, “for Heaven’s sake don’t talk +like that! He will hear you--” + +“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--” + +There was a movement at the other end of the room. Falcon had risen and +looked out of the window, contemplating the weather thoughtfully. + +“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. + +The girl rose quickly and left the room. + +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.” + +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 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?” + +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. + + + + +VI + +THE FLAME GOD + + +“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. + +“Yes. It was so beautiful. I should like a whole day exactly like the +last one.” + +“Exactly like it?” he inquired. “Don’t you think we might improve on it +to-day?” + +“I am afraid that is impossible.” + +“Why it was only spring then; now it is summer.” + +“Would that make any difference?” + +“Certainly, for spring is only the promise; summer is the fulfilment.” + +Isma did not answer, but looked doubtfully into the white haze +quivering over the road. + +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 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. + +Still, as she gazed into the illumined atmosphere the sorrow in her +soul lightened. + +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. + +“It is going to be very hot to-day,” observed Falcon, after a short +pause. “I hope you will not mind.” + +“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. + +Through the glimmering haze the sun peered down on the earth, its face +strained and white with vehement intensity. + +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. + +Isma breathed more quickly. Summer held deeper joys than spring. She +had never understood summer before. However, she was beginning to +understand it now. + +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. + +The day was passionately virile, it was pale with emotion, yet +audaciously triumphant! + +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. + +She was suddenly conscious that she had been waiting as winter waits, +as spring waits, and now 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. + +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! + +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. + +And what would this summer day bring? + +Surely it could not pass without laying some gift at their feet. It was +too vital, too richly laden with mystic treasures, for that! + +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. + +“Isma, what are you thinking about?” asked her companion, at last. + +“I don’t know that I was thinking at all,” she replied. “I have +just--_lived_.” + +“Lived? What have you lived?” + +“I am not sure, but just--summer.” + +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. + +“One could not help it--to-day.” + +“Isma”--he bent toward her--“I want us both to live like that to-day.” + +“Yes,” she answered, with averted face and a curious softness in her +voice. + +For a while they sped on without speaking. It was exquisite to fly +together through the illumined spaces by the glimmering, half-hidden +sea! + +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. + +“Our sun-bleached Australia!” murmured the girl, her eyes on the creamy +white plains. “Green 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.” + +“Their greenness had been consumed by the sun. They are bleached with +the pallor of death. Summer has done that.” + +“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. + +Her companion turned and looked at her. “You really think so?” + +She did not meet his glance. “I do.” + +He sighed a little. “You evidently don’t know how it can--hurt.” + +She looked away into the luminous haze. + +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! + +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! 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. + +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. + +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. + +Still, even with this anguish staring her in the face, she was +unspeakably glad she loved him. No thought of future pain could daunt +her elation now. + +They had turned toward the coast again, and all at once Falcon stopped +the car. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“It is one of our birds of paradise.” + +“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--” + +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. + +Then, uttering a strange note, the winged thing of color and velvet +flew away. + +When Falcon had started the engine again he said, “Isma, do you know it +is a good omen to see a bird of paradise?” + +“Is it? Why?” + +“Because it indicates you are close to--Eden.” + +“Summer is generally close to Paradise, isn’t it?” + +“Yes, except when it takes the wrong turning and leads to--drought.” + +“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. + +“I quite agree with you--only, when Eden is so close, why not go +straight on and reach it?” + +“If it were possible, yes.” + +“Isma, it is possible, and I hope to prove it to you before the day is +over.” He spoke with sudden earnestness. + +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! + +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. + +Then through the veil of heat the hotel where they were to lunch +appeared, the morning had already passed. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +After dinner they drove farther north till they reached the beach they +had visited before. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +She sat with her hands clasped round her knees, looking at the incoming +waves breaking languidly on the shore. + +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. + +“Isma, tell me,” said Falcon, after a lengthy pause, “are you not +happier to-day than you were--last time we were here?” + +The girl began to sift the sand through her fingers. “Yes, I think so.” + +“I wonder why?” + +“I suppose because it is--summer.” + +“Not because of--anything else?” + +“Isn’t that enough? Summer means so much.” + +“I wonder what it really means to you?” + +She smiled as she picked up another handful of sand and allowed it to +trail slowly back to the beach. + +“Could one explain?” + +“I think you could if you tried.” + +She made no reply, and her companion, still regarding her intently, +began to play with one end of her long veil. + +After a while he released the silken texture, moved restlessly, and, +turning over on his back, lay for some time with closed eyes. + +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. + +“Falcon, why are you smiling?” she asked, the sense of the intimacy +which might have been still strong upon her. + +He looked up at her quickly. + +“Would you really like to know?” + +“Yes. You looked as if your thoughts were interesting.” + +“They were, I assure you,” he replied, the twinkle still in his eyes. + +“Then tell me.” + +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--” + +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. + +“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?” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“No--but of course you wouldn’t,” she stammered, confusedly. + +“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.” + +The girl made no reply; her face was still averted, but the color in +her adorable ear had grown pinker. + +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?” + +She started, and the soft, rich curves of her breast rose and sank in +fluttering confusion. + +The light in his eyes deepened. He looked very alert, every muscle +tense, ready to move at the least sign from her. + +“Isma, tell me, would it really be so hateful to you if I--kissed you?” + +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-- + +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. + +Then an awful thought arrested her. He had not spoken of love: he was +merely asking for her 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? + +She straightened involuntarily. + +The man watching her with alert scrutiny paled as he saw the movement. + +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? + +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. + +She pulled frantically at some grass blades and broke them into small +pieces. Then she made a colossal effort to speak calmly: + +“You have no right to ask--under the circumstances--” + +“Under the circumstances I have. We are engaged.” + +“You know quite well that does not mean anything. It is only--” + +There was a short, sharp pause. + +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. + +Isma watched him with strange, wide eyes; her face, too, had become +colorless. + +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. + +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! + +After a while he came back and suggested it was time to start for home. + +As they got into the motor he said, “On the 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Falcon had said earlier in the day that spring 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The breeze from the ocean gained strength; it grew cooler and stilled +the throbbing fever in the sweltering atmosphere. + +The cliffs near Isma’s home were in sight now and stood out, bulky, +plum-colored shapes against the pale lavender-tinted distance. + +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, demented thing let loose on the flats, seeking +frantically for a lost treasure in the wild chaos of shrubbery. + +The waves on the beach had grown noisy and hoarse and sounded as if +moaning in sudden pain. + +Isma became silent. + +Did her companion notice her short replies or their entire absence? If +so, he did not betray his observation by look or word. + +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! + +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.” + +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. + +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? 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! + +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? + +The car stopped. + +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. + +Then she heard the hum of the motor--he had gone! She stood still, +feeling suddenly faint with longing and disappointment. + +She had refused his request; but, merciful God, how he had punished +her--how he had revenged himself! + +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. + +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. + +But on the other side of the cliff he stopped the machine and, suddenly +covering his face with his hands, groaned aloud. + +“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--” + +He sat for a long time bowed and unmovable; then at last, with another +ejaculation, he set the motor throbbing down the headland. + + + + +VII + +THE STARING CLIFF + + +Isma passed a wakeful, restless night. + +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. + +The girl strolled out under the palms and read the letter again. + +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 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. + +And Falcon’s absence had caused this terrible change in everything! + +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! + +She shivered. + +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 _life_; she was utterly +dependent upon him for everything which made existence tolerable. + +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? + +She sat, pale and wide-eyed, looking unseeingly at the radiant world +about her. + +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! + +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! + +She sat up quickly. + +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. + +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 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? + +She was deeply perplexed. + +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. + +Isma drew a gasping breath. The pain within almost strangled her. + +She got up and began to walk about among the palms; it was impossible +to keep still. + +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? + +Her wonderful eyes looked suddenly blank with agony. Falcon loving +another woman--like that! She felt giddy and faint. + +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-- + +She looked up as one dazed and stunned. + +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. + +She groaned aloud and closed her eyes. + +“Love bleached--love bleached,” she murmured under her breath in +suffocating tones. + +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! + +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. + +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? + + * * * * * + +That night Isma went up to her favorite cliff. + +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. + +The girl watched absently. Then she turned a 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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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? + +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. + +Then suddenly she knew that the great, majestic something hiding in +the lofty spaces, who required this all-concentrating seeking, was the +Infinite Himself. + +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! + +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. + +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! + +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 _That_, 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! + +She stood transfixed with wonder and amazement; so this was--God! + +Why did not everybody talk about Him, rave about Him? Why had no one +ever told her about Him! + +And it was possible to lay a detaining hand on this great, wonderful +Being and speak to Him. Yes, prayer was laying a detaining hand on God +and speaking to Him--she--knew it now! + +She lingered for some time on the cliff, then at last very reluctantly +she turned to go. + + + + +VIII + +THE DAWN + + +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. + +It was getting late; she began to hurry down to the road which climbed +from the flats over the lower shoulder of the headland. + +As she was half-way down the steep slope she saw a tall figure coming +up toward her. + +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. + +All at once she stood still, for she had recognized the man--it was +Lord Berriedale. + +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 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. + +The man had climbed rapidly and reached her now. + +“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.” + +She glanced at him quickly. “Is Beatrice worse?” she inquired, +anxiously. + +“No, she is not worse. But we are not going to The--Bluff--” + +“Whatever do you mean?” the girl asked, perplexedly. + +“Why, just this, that I can’t stand things as they are any longer and +that I am going to--take you away.” + +“Take me away?” she repeated, in uncomprehending astonishment. + +“Yes, away from everything and everybody and have you all to myself,” +he said, with feverish doggedness. + +“But you surely can’t be in earnest--” + +“Of course I am. I have never been so much in earnest about anything.” + +“But--but--” she still spoke with vague bewilderment. + +“There are to be no more ‘buts’; the car is here, our suit-cases in it. +I have ordered rooms--” + +“Our suit-cases--mine?” Her eyes had widened. + +“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.” + +“Lord Berriedale, have you gone quite mad?” she exclaimed, regarding +him in utter amazement. + +“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.” + +Isma had turned very pale. She began to realize that the man before her +was desperate. Whatever could she do with him? + +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.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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. + +“Of course I am serious--” + +“But even if you have forgotten about Beatrice, your wife and my +friend, there is--my cousin.” + +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.” + +“You have no right to say that.” + +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 _marry_ your cousin? Is your engagement a real one, +with kisses and hot embraces?” + +There was no sound in the dimness but the flutter of dusky wings and +the deep thud of waves crashing against the rocks far below them on +the seaward side of the cliff. + +“So he has not even kissed you! I knew it!” + +“I refuse to answer your impertinent questions.” + +“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.” + +“Still, I do belong to my cousin, for I--love him.” + +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.” + +“All the same, I am speaking the truth. I love him with all my heart.” +She made the confession with superb dignity. + +“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.” + +“You could never make me forget him, and I could never love you in any +case.” + +“Isma, I can make you care. Only give me a chance. Come away with me +where I can have you to myself--” + +“Please don’t repeat that horrible insult.” + +“And do you mean to say you blankly refuse to link your future with +mine?” + +“It is unnecessary to answer such a question. And now I really must go +home.” She made a movement toward the road, but he stepped in front of +her and blocked the way. + +“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.” + +“Force?” she questioned, incredulously. “Nowadays a man cannot take a +woman and run away with her against her will. It can’t be done.” + +“I did not mean that. There are other ways of gaining my end.” + +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. + +As there was no reply, her companion said, “Isma, don’t drive me to +anything that might be--distasteful to you.” + +“I don’t understand you,” she said, confident he was powerless to hurt +her. + +“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.” + +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?” + +“I don’t _want_ 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.” + +“But--I should not break off my engagement because of--that.” + +“No, but he will.” + +“No, he will not. He would believe me when I told him the truth,” she +cried, in panting anger. + +“What truth?” inquired her companion, with a leering smile. + +“That--that--” + +“My dear Isma, when to-morrow comes you will not want to meet your +cousin’s searching eyes.” + +She gasped in the darkness. “Have you become a demon as well as a +maniac?” she asked, her eyes wide and dark with horror. + +“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 +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--” + +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! + +“But you cannot have--me at all.” There was no fear in her voice; it +was serene and unwavering. + +Lord Berriedale looked at her wonderingly. Was her courage +unconquerable or did she fail to realize her imminent danger? + +“What is to stop me? I am stronger than you.” + +“God,” she said, raising her face suddenly. “Don’t you believe in Him?” + +“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?” + +“He will take care of me.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Time will tell. However, I did not come here to talk theology; I have +arranged a far more interesting program.” + +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. + +“Great Cæsar! you are lovely!” the man cried, a wild gleam in his eyes. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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 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. + +She turned quickly and rushed up the steep slope that led to the +cone-shaped summit. + +But her companion guessed her intention. In a moment he was beside her +and laid hold of her arm. + +“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?” + +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! + +The man before her repeated his question. + +“A thousand times yes,” she answered, with a courage and dignity he +could not comprehend. + +“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.” + +In the dimness his eyes suddenly glittered upon her with ungoverned +rage and something even more hideous. + +She shuddered and drew back, but he sprang forward and clutched her to +him. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +Another desperate prayer-rocket flashed from her soul. + +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. + +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 rough, uneven slope-- He +who was helping her would see to that! + +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. + +There was a quick clapping on of brakes, the car stopped almost +instantly, and a well-known form leaped from the driver’s seat. + +It was Falcon! She was safe! + +She took a step forward, made a little appealing movement; then his +arms caught her and gathered her to him. + +“Oh, Falcon!” she moaned, piteously, the swift relief and the sense of +the awful horror she had been through mingling in the cry. + +“Good Heavens! Isma, whatever has happened?” her cousin asked, in +terrible agitation. + +But she did not reply. She stood leaning against him, her body shaking +with long, sobbing breaths. + +“Isma, what has happened? For God’s sake, tell me!” he implored, with +frantic concern. “Is it--Berriedale again?” + +She shuddered and suddenly clung to him. + +He breathed in a tense, jerky way as he drew her closer and asked no +more questions. + +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. + +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. + +“Are you feeling better now?” asked Falcon, at length, bending over her. + +He felt the long sigh of utter contentment that passed through her. + +“You are--too good to me, Falcon,” she whispered, in a voice heavy with +happiness. + +“This has--comforted you?” + +Something in his tone roused her. + +“Oh, Falcon, you know it,” she breathed, tremulously, dropping her head +to his shoulder. + +His breast heaved as he strained her to him. + +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 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. + +“Good God! Isma, how shall I ever let you go!” he ejaculated, as he +crushed her to him afresh. + +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. + +There were footsteps approaching, but in their delirious oblivion they +had not heard them. Now Lord Berriedale spoke close beside them. + +Dazed, they drew slowly apart. + +“Sorry--very sorry to--disturb you,” he was saying, “but I am afraid I +must trouble you to drive me home, Folkestone.” + +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. + +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 on the way, but was rushing straight on to The Palms when Isma’s +terror-stricken form arrested him on the road. + +But he must reply to the man who had just spoken. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +Isma came up to him quickly. “Lord Berriedale, did you get hurt--when +you--fell?” + +“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.” + +“Come here into the lamplight and let us see what is the matter,” said +Captain Folkestone, moving to the front of the motor. + +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.” + +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. + +Captain Folkestone started the engine quickly, Isma sat down beside +him, and silently they stole down the steep descent. + +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. + +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.” + +“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--” + +“But you are tired, too, after that long, strenuous day. Please let me +come,” she urged, turning to him. + +“No, I mustn’t be so selfish. You need a good sleep--” + +They had reached the avenue. + +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.” + +“I think I had better come up to the house with you.” + +“No, no, please don’t. Get Lord Berriedale home as soon as possible. He +must be suffering dreadfully.” + +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--” + +“Neither can I--just now.” + +He pressed her hand in a deep, intimate way in the darkness and his +touch was an embrace. + +“Good night,” she whispered. + +“Good night,” he said, stooping over her. “Isma, I am coming to you +to-morrow for my summer and--my Paradise.” + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +IX + +CRUCIFIED! + + +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. + +Miss Livingston opened the door gently and entered the room with a +breakfast tray. + +“Still asleep, Baby?” she said, softly moving nearer the bed and gazing +with admiring devotion on the fresh, luxuriant beauty of the sleeper. + +“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. + +“You had better read the note, dearest. It came from The Bluff just now +and the man--” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“He must have hurried terribly to get back so early--” + +“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!” + +The girl laughed happily. “Are you going to lecture me on that subject, +too! But there is no need now, I assure you. For the future I am not +going to neglect him, I promise you!” + +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.” + +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.” + +Isma bent and kissed the tremulous lips. “Beatrice dear, don’t say such +things. Of course you can comfort--him.” + +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 _you_ can soothe him, _you_ can comfort +him.” She waved the girl’s attempt at protest impatiently aside. “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--” + +The girl started. “You know I do, Beatrice.” + +“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. + +“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--” + +“Ah, I see. I am glad for your sake. Still--how I wish it might have +been--otherwise for--Neville.” + +“Beatrice, you surely can’t wish that!” Isma exclaimed, unutterably +touched by the depths of her friend’s selfless devotion. + +“I do wish it, Isma; I mean it. I should feel happier when I--go if +only you might have--cared for him.” + +Great tears sprang into the golden-gray eyes and splashed down the +girl’s softly curving cheeks. + +“Beatrice,” she whispered, “I can’t bear it--I can’t!” + +“You see, I love him--and you,” said her companion, simply. + +After a sad, tremulous pause Lady Berriedale continued: “Isma, will you +go to him now? He--needs you.” + +Miss Folkestone drew back quickly. “Not that, Beatrice--not that!” she +pleaded, in alarm. + +“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.” + +“Oh no, Beatrice, don’t ask that,” she replied, still struggling +against the inevitable. + +“Now, Isma, be kind. You will have so much happiness in the future, +can’t you at least spare him a little sympathy?” + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The man on the bed moved his left hand as if he would have held it out +to her, then suddenly checked himself. + +“I suppose you would rather not shake hands,” he said, a little +awkwardly. + +“It is hardly necessary,” replied his visitor, in a voice that +harmonized with the serenity of her expression. + +He gazed at her with questioning scrutiny. “I wonder why you have +come?” he reflected, aloud. + +“Because Beatrice wished it and because you are in--pain.” + +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. + +“Don’t--please don’t move,” said Isma, hastily, moving the chair closer +and sitting down beside him. + +“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!” + +“Please don’t refer to that,” replied the girl, looking away. + +“I thought you had come to give me a little--sympathy!” + +“So I have.” + +“Then give it to me about the thing I need it most.” + +The fierce appeal in his voice made her glance at him. He looked +haggard and his eyes seemed strangely glazed. + +Miss Folkestone sighed suddenly. + +“Isma,” he began, regarding her intently, “are you--sorry at last?” + +“I am,” she replied, steadily. + +“You don’t--hate me quite as much as--usual?” + +“I should never have hated you at all if--” She ceased speaking and +looked down at her hands moving restlessly in her lap. + +“I have been a consummate ass! I might have known _you_ 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!” + +“Is that the--_only_ thing you have--found out?” Her clear eyes looked +questioningly into his. + +“No,” he replied, a faint color creeping into his pallid face, “I have +been more than a--fool--I have been--” + +She stopped him with a gesture. “You need not say it.” + +“Isma,” he said, after a silence, “I should like to ask you to--forgive +me; but I suppose that is too much to expect--” + +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--” + +“I am so--very sorry,” murmured his companion, confused and troubled. + +But the man did not seem to hear her. + +“I wonder,” he reflected, aloud, “how many men you have driven to +distraction.” + +“Lord Berriedale, I have not come to discuss these things with you,” +she said, with gentle firmness. + +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!” + +The girl shivered. “How can you say that to me! I have never given men +any--encouragement!” + +“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--” + +“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!” + +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--_hell_!” 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 _that_! + +Instantly she stretched out her hand to him and he clasped it eagerly. +“Isma, do you understand--at last?” + +“I think so,” she replied, very softly. + +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. + +“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.” + +Isma read: + + CRUCIFIED + + As I looked over the earth + I saw cross beside cross. + I saw them raised, + I heard them fall; + Bloodstained were they all. + Crosses for the living + I saw they were. + Crucified they hung, + Pair beside pair. + Strange moans rang into the air, + Sobbing their torment by day and night. + Crucified they hung + To the same brutal wood, + Man to woman, + Soul to soul! + + Not wedded by heart-bonds, + Not tied by love’s rapture, + Condemned to suffer lifelong years, + Bleeding together, hand by hand! + Blanched they hung on the same ghastly tree + Hand to hand, + Foot to foot, + Knee to knee. + Who suffered most + God alone knew! + + If one hand is clenched in rebellious revolt, + And the pair struggle who are tied together, + The nails cut deeper into the wound--! + The flesh must be ripped + If one will be freed. + And yet forever the scar will burn! + Man and woman, + You _must_ learn + Those nails will hold + Till life shall end! + + Never again the gap will heal, + Never will close the bleeding wounds, + Even after days and years. + The torment you shared, + The blood ye bled + At the same moment, + Will bind you together + Till the slumbers of death! + + Once bound, ye hang + Hopelessly chained + Foot to foot, + Hand to hand, + Bearing the nail-prints + Till life’s solemn end-- + Crucified! Crucified! + To the same fatal wood + Man to woman, + Soul to soul! + +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. + +“Yes,” he murmured, an odd glassiness in his gaze. + +Impulsively the girl bent over him. “I forgive you--now,” she whispered. + +“Because you have seen--the cross?” + +“Yes,” she faltered. + +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. + +“Lord Berriedale,” she said, softly, “perhaps it is only from the cross +that we learn to look beyond the scenes of earth--” + +“Yes, perhaps so. But what do we find--there?” he asked, almost wearily. + +A very bright color leaped into the girl’s face and she dropped her +eyes for a moment in reverent shyness. Then she lifted them suddenly +and said, in a low, clear voice, “There we find--God.” + +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.” + +She gazed at him with dazzling tenderness. + +“I am sorry--so very grieved. Still--perhaps from your cross you, too, +will find--the Infinite.” + +He shaded his eyes with his hand, and they were both silent for some +minutes. + +“Perhaps,” he murmured, at last. + +Then with another gentle pressure on his fingers Isma stole softly out +of the room. + + + + +X + +MIGRATING BIRDS + + +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. + +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. + +And Beatrice? She was on the same cross, enduring fresh lacerations +each time her husband tried to break away. + +Isma sat down in one of the low balcony chairs. + +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 +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! + +Isma pressed her hands, tightly against her eyes. So _this_ ghastly +thing was--life! + +Presently her hands dropped from her face and she looked into the +cloudless blue spaces arching high above the endless sun-bleached +plains. + +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? + +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 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. + +The girl closed her eyes. Understanding had suddenly come to her. + +“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. + +“I don’t know about that, but don’t worry over him, Beatrice. All will +come right. He is fighting through.” + +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. + +“Beatrice,” said the girl, taking the hot, restless hands, “I do feel +all is going to come right between you--” + +“How can you say that when you know everything as you do?” There was +deep reproach in the rasping voice. + +“I can’t explain, Beatrice, but I feel it. It came to me quite suddenly +just now.” + +“That all will come right?” + +“Yes.” + +Lady Berriedale sighed. “I don’t see how it can.” + +“No, you may not see that; still, it will.” There was conviction in the +words. + +“Do you really think he will ever--love me?” + +“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. + +“Isma,” said her friend, with awe in her voice, “you are not thinking +of--earth.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +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--” + +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. + +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. + +She hurried down-stairs, picked up the receiver and said a very +breathless “Hullo!” into the instrument. + +“Is that you, Isma?” came Falcon’s low, pleasant voice in her ear. + +“Yes,” she answered, her heart beating so rapidly she could scarcely +speak. + +“How are you--terribly knocked up to-day?” There was keen anxiety in +the words. + +“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. + +“That sounded fine! I was so afraid you would be tired out.” + +“Not at all; but--did you go over to The Palms this morning?” + +“Of course. Do you think I could wait till this afternoon?” + +Her happy laugh rippled into the ’phone. “How nice of you!” + +“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.” + +“That would have been--lovely! I am so sorry I have missed it; but +there is still--to-morrow.” + +“I have other plans for that.” + +“Really? What are they?” + +“I can’t explain just now--I will tell you this afternoon.” + +“Is it something--nice?” + +“Yes, heavenly!” + +“Then I am longing to hear it.” + +“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?” + +“No, of course not.” + +“Alas! I must say good-by till then,” he said, reluctantly. + +“Never mind, time will soon pass and this afternoon will come--” + +“This morning seems to be the longest I have ever spent--but I suppose +three o’clock is bound to come round some time.” + +“Yes--it won’t be long now--so good-by.” + +“Good-by till--summer.” + + + + +XI + +THISTLE-DOWN + + +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. + +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. + +An excited bee shot in from the garden and darted noisily about the +room. + +Falcon watched it with detached interest. The bee made a sudden exit +just as his attention was arrested by the buzzing of a motor. + +He glanced out into the riot of sunshine and flowers, in the direction +where the long drive lined with flame-trees opened into the garden, +and saw a car making its way rapidly toward the house. + +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. + +The chauffeur opened the door and a small, closely veiled woman got +out--it was Miss Brentford. + +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. + +“How very delightful of you to come and see me, Miss Brentford!” he +said, taking her proffered hand. “This is an unexpected pleasure.” + +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. + +Captain Folkestone drew forward a low easy-chair and asked his guest to +be seated. + +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. + +For some time they chatted in their usual friendly way; then Miss +Brentford caught sight 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: + +“I suppose you are rather surprised I should come to you like this?” + +“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. + +“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. + +Captain Folkestone smiled in his disarming way. + +“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.” + +“No, thank you, I would rather stay indoors; the sun is very warm.” + +“I am sure the drive must have been hot. Let me get you an iced drink.” + +“Thank you, I don’t want anything like that. I only want to talk to +you.” + +“That is very charming of you; but let us leave serious things alone; +they are only meant for dull climates and--winter.” + +“But this one cannot wait. When winter comes it might be too late--” + +“It is always wise to wait with formidable things till it is too late,” +her companion observed, pleasantly. + +“Now you are talking nonsense and you ought to be serious,” the girl +replied, a little petulantly. + +“My dear Miss Rita, I always find it such a good plan never to be what +I ought to be,” he laughed. + +“That is most tiresome of you.” + +“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.” + +“Is that an advantage?” + +“Certainly, for no one will stop to contradict you or argue with you, +then.” + +Miss Brentford looked toward the clock again. She moved uneasily. Too +much time was being wasted before she disclosed her errand. + +“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--” + +The man before her laughed genially. “I am 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.” + +“Still, if a friend came to warn you about some--awful danger--” said +the girl, making a violent plunge toward her object. + +“No friend ever comes to warn one; only enemies do that.” + +“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--” + +“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.” + +“And the consequences?” inquired his companion as one who had scored a +point. + +The Guardsman shrugged easily. “One is far too busy making other +mistakes to bother about them.” + +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. + +She drew herself up and her dark eyes flashed as she said, “Captain +Folkestone, I believe you know what I have come to say this morning +and you are trying to keep me from saying it.” + +“In that case I suppose you will see that it is quite superfluous +to--say it.” His quiet, agreeable tones held an underlying significance. + +“No, indeed, for what I have to--tell you would open your eyes--” + +“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.” + +“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. + +He laughed with unruffled serenity. + +“And what man wants to marry the right woman? It is far more amusing +and entertaining to marry--the wrong one.” + +There was a knock at the door and a servant announced that luncheon was +ready. + +“Of course you will take pity on my loneliness and have lunch with me?” +said Captain Folkestone, hospitably. + +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. + +“No, thank you, the car has to be back in time to--take--your cousin +home at two o’clock. It appears she has a very important engagement +early this afternoon. The other motor has gone to town, so I must hurry +back.” + +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. + +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. + +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 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! + +A hard glint came into the black eyes burning behind the closely drawn +veil as she looked unseeingly into the effulgent sunlight. + + + + +XII + +SUMMER + + I did not know, when first I took your hand, + And felt a thrill I could not understand, + How you would turn my world to wonderland-- + I did not know! + + +Isma stood by the mirror in her room fastening some deep-pink roses +into the corsage of her pastel-blue _crêpe-de-Chine_ 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. + +“Captain Folkestone is in the drawing-room,” a maid announced and +withdrew. + +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! + +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 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. + +[Illustration: ISMA] + +“Isma,” he said, “I have come for those--kisses you wouldn’t give me +the other day--” + +A hot wave of color mounted to her face and her glance fell before his. + +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. + +She looked up at him reproachfully. “Oh, Falcon, you know it +wasn’t--that.” + +“Then why in the name of wonder did you--?” + +“I didn’t think--you wanted--” + +“Isma, you couldn’t seriously have thought such a thing.” + +“But I--did.” + +“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--?” + +“Of course,” she breathed, in burning confusion. + +“Then why on earth have you racked us both like this?” + +“I--I--didn’t think you--cared,” she faltered. + +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--” + +“But you did not say _you_ would. You only said ‘one man,’ and I +naturally thought you referred to--” + +“Berriedale? And do you think I should be pressing his--unlawful suit?” + +“I only thought you meant it as a--warning.” + +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. + +His touch unnerved her and she was silent for some moments before +asking, timidly, “When did you find out--last night?” + +“No; I knew before then.” + +The girl glanced up at him quickly. “Before--?” + +“Two days ago I was certain.” + +“What--made you certain--then?” + +“Well, you didn’t seem--very happy on the way home--” + +“And you guessed why?” + +“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--” + +“Oh, Falcon, I was so--miserable that night. I couldn’t help +showing--it,” she said, brokenly. + +He drew her a little closer. “Isma, what made you so--miserable that +night?” + +Her drooping lashes trembled. + +“Tell me, Isma,” he pleaded, as she did not speak. + +“Falcon, you know,” she breathed. + +“Were you--wanting--me as much as I--wanted you?” he murmured, close to +her ear. + +“Of course,” she admitted, almost inaudibly. + +He made no reply, but his breath came in short, panting gasps. Then +suddenly he caught her to him. + +For some minutes they stood without speaking, silenced, made motionless +by the paralyzing sweetness of the contact. + +At last Falcon said, “Tell me, how long have you--cared?” + +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. + +He started. “All that time! Heavens! If I had only known! Isma, how +could you keep it from me so long?” + +“Several times I was afraid you had guessed--” + +“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.” + +“Anyhow, I gave my secret completely away the other day,” she said, her +voice becoming faint again with the narcotic of his embrace. + +“Yes, but I had to drag it from you--use horribly brutal methods--” + +“You knew all the time you were--hurting me?” + +“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.” + +At last she lifted her head slightly and said, “But Falcon, how could +you--love me if you doubted me and thought that I--?” + +“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!” + +“But till quite lately you were always so sarcastic and contemptuous--” + +“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--” + +“Still, you knew all the time that I didn’t--” + +“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!” + +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!” + +He stroked her soft cheek tenderly. + +“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--” + +A tremor passed through her. “And--you don’t want to know--before?” she +breathed into his coat. + +“No, for whatever happened, it could not have been your fault.” + +“Oh, Falcon,” she whispered, “you _do_ care as much as, or more +than--he.” + +He frowned. “Who dared to say I didn’t?” + +“He said--” + +“What did he say?” + +“That--you wouldn’t have anything more--to do with--me if--if--” + +He held her to him with bruising force. “He dared to talk to you +about--such things--” + +In the silence that followed he felt her burning humiliation and +hastened to say, “Isma, don’t let us think of it just now--” + +“But, Falcon, I must tell you this,” she whispered into his shoulder. +“I was wonderfully protected last night. God sent you to me--” + +“Heaven be praised I managed to reach you when I did!” he murmured, +huskily. + +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! + +“Falcon. I have something beautiful to tell you--” + +“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--” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“But Isma,” he went on, after a pause, “do you know you haven’t given +me those kisses yet?” + +Her breathing grew perturbed and she pressed her face nervously against +his shoulder. + +“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. + +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. + +“Good God! how I love you, Isma!” cried Falcon, in a voice stifled with +emotion. + +The girl paled and something blinded her. + +The next moment their lips had met in a long, convulsive kiss. + +Staggering and stunned, they drew apart, only to be swept together +again and again. + +“Oh, Falcon,” she half sobbed, reeling against him as his lips released +her at last, “I can’t--” + +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 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.” + +She stirred slightly. “Didn’t I do it--before?” she asked, faintly. + +“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--” + +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. + +He bent over her and drank thirstily of the love-wine her soul poured +out to him. + +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 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. + +He responded at once to her changing mood. + +“Well,” he said, at length, “and what do you think of--your property?” + +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. + +He suddenly paled. + +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!” + +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!” + +She leaned back in his arms and surveyed him laughingly, teasingly. +“But you don’t really love me as much as I--” + +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--” + +“Falcon,” she half cried and half laughed, “I am so happy I don’t know +what I am doing or saying.” + +“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!” + +“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. + +“No, it doesn’t matter in the least, provided we have enough sense left +to go through the--marriage ceremony to-morrow.” + +She sat up quickly. “What _are_ you talking about?” + +“Your and my wedding, of course,” he replied, in a level voice. + +She looked at him in breathless astonishment. “Falcon, you are not +serious?” + +“I was never more serious in my life. It is all being arranged--” + +Her mood changed again. “But I can’t--” she whispered, in sudden +consternation. + +“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--” + +A rich color dyed her face and throat. “Oh, not so soon!” + +“Isma, don’t you love me well enough to want to be with me--all the +time?” + +The hurt in his tone touched her. “Of course, but, Falcon, you don’t +understand--” she said, beginning to tremble. + +“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?” + +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. + +“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. + +She laughed blushingly. + +“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!” + +“But--I love you--as much--” + +“Yet you don’t want to marry me!” + +“Yes, I do--” + +“So you do, do you! All I can say is you have a funny way of showing +it.” + +She leaned against him suddenly and there was utter abandonment in the +movement. + +“Then you will--come with me--to-morrow?” + +“Of course--if you wish it,” she breathed, tremulously. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +Her soft arms stole about his neck as she gently pressed him to her. + +The soldier drew a long, blissful sigh. “Isma--this is--heaven,” he +murmured, in tones laden with ecstasy. + +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 at the Blue +Mountains, and, Isma--I shall not need to--say good-by.” His voice held +a curious exultation. + +“Falcon,” she whispered, laying her cheek against his, “I can’t think-- +It will all be too--wonderful--” + +“You are glad now I arranged it so--soon?” + +The glistening arms about his neck tightened. “After being with you +like--this I couldn’t--bear it--if you--hadn’t--” + +He crushed her to him. “Isma, only this one good-by and--then--” + +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. + + + + +XIII + +THE NETTLE + + +“Neville, what do you think has happened?” cried Miss Brentford, almost +hysterically, as she swept into her brother-in-law’s room. + +“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. + +The girl began to pace the floor in frenzied excitement. + +“What is it?” inquired the patient, realizing that something unusual +had taken place. + +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.” + +She stopped breathlessly, waiting for some fiery response, but none +came; the man among the pillows did not stir. + +“Neville, how can you lie there so quietly, 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. + +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. + +“Rita, I am not pretending. Only,” he sighed deeply, “I knew this had +to--come--” + +“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. + +“Didn’t love him, Rita! If ever a woman loved a man she loved--him!” + +“I don’t believe it. She could not love anybody--doesn’t know the +meaning of the word!” she flung at him, hotly. + +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. + +“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--” + +Lord Berriedale’s abstraction had vanished. “Yes, and what did he say?” + +“He didn’t say anything. He simply refused to discuss her; wouldn’t +even let me mention her name.” + +“How could he prevent that?” One slim hand began to tug at his +honey-colored mustache. + +“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.” + +“Rita, that was because he knew you don’t understand his cousin.” + +“Who can understand such depths of treachery!” + +“You are absolutely wrong. There is no treachery about--Isma. She is +the finest, grandest woman--” + +“You ought to be the last man to say that, for you know better--” she +interrupted him, vindictively. + +“I know better than any one how utterly--untemptable she is.” + +“You men always shield a beautiful woman!” + +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!” + +Her companion sighed heavily, but he did not speak. + +“I shall go mad--I know I shall--” + +All at once she came over to the bed and threw herself into an +easy-chair beside it and buried her face in the counterpane. + +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!” + +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--?” + +“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.” + +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.” + +“I am resigned--that is why,” he replied, meeting her glance calmly. + +“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. + +“What would be the use? I am helpless. I must stay--here, while +another--” + +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. + +“You need not pity me. I deserve it all; besides, I could never have +made her happy.” + +“Would that count as long as you--had her?” + +“It didn’t count before. I would have taken her at all costs. But it +counts now.” + +“Why now?” + +“I can hardly explain, only I have been thinking about--God.” + +His companion, stared at him in astonishment. “Good gracious, Neville, +you don’t mean to say you are turning religious!” + +“Why not?” he asked, in level tones. + +“Well--you are hardly a--suitable subject for--that kind of thing, are +you?” she replied, with merciless candor. + +“It is men like me who need religion most--” + +“And what good can it do you?” she challenged him, scornfully. + +“I don’t know yet. Perhaps religion may not help me, but God might.” + +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. + + * * * * * + +“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. + +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. + +“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. + +“Anything gone wrong indeed! What do you think, Neville has +turned--religious!” + +Rex showed distinct signs of disappointment. + +“Is that all?” he said, indifferently, picking up his book again. “You +really frightened me and made me think it was something serious.” + +“Well, isn’t it serious that Neville is going mad?” + +“Do you consider religion a madness?” + +“Of course. Don’t you?” + +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. + +“Rex!” exclaimed Miss Brentford, angrily, “you are only playing, and I +am in no mood for jokes.” + +“Indeed I mean what I say.” + +“But you are not religious--far from it.” + +“That doesn’t say I don’t approve of it. I don’t take exercise myself, +yet I thoroughly believe in it, all the same.” + +“You are too lazy,” commented his companion. + +“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.” + +“Strain on their bodies?” queried the girl, in surprise. + +“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.” + +“Still, if you believe in it, why aren’t you religious yourself?” +interrogated the girl, uncertain whether her companion was in earnest +or not. + +“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.” + +“Isn’t that rather foolish?” suggested Rita, with a veiled display of +interest in spite of her scoffing tones. + +“Of course, madly foolish. But then, with all our twentieth-century +culture, cleverness, and 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--” + +“What would be the use--we can’t alter the fact,” interrupted Miss +Brentford, impatiently. + +“We certainly cannot alter the fact that Death is at our heels, yet we +might alter--others.” + +“What others?” + +“Our fate Beyond.” + +“Rex, do you really mean _you_ believe in a state Beyond?” + +“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.” + +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.” + +“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.” + +Rita sat in silence for a while. Before her mind had risen a torturing +vision of two people flying 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. + +“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.” + +“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 _treated_ as obnoxious weeds.” + +The girl rose hastily. _Nettle--nettle!_ The horrid little word pressed +itself into the tissues of her brain. + +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 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! + +“Some people think Death transforms us into angels,” Rita flung at the +secretary, after a pause. “That is a much nicer theory than yours.” + +Rex smiled ironically. “Yes, and almost as reasonable as the Santa +Claus illusion.” + +“And why shouldn’t it be true?” demanded Rita, defiantly. + +“The Santa Claus myth?” + +“No, no, you stupid man, not that--” + +“Oh, I see; you mean the angel theory?” + +“Of course.” + +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.” + +“In that case it kills outright.” + +“Yes, the garment, but not the wearer.” + +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-- + +“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. + +“My dear girl, I assure you I had no hand in inventing or making +Australia.” + +“But you like it,” she protested, wrathfully. + +“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.” + +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 whirled like an atom +into fathomless immensities, to be thrown into its flaming purgatory? +Ah, why? + +The girl stood still, regarding Rex for some moments in curious +silence, then she turned and walked slowly out of the room. + + + + +XIV + +BLOODWOOD + + +When tea was over that afternoon Lady Berriedale went to see her +husband and sit with him for a while. + +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: + +“Neville, I have been so--sorry for you all day--” + +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. + +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 he drew his hand +away and moved it shadingly across his eyes as if to hide something he +did not wish her to see. + +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.” + +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. + +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.” + +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.” + +She picked up the paper again and finished the verses, while the color +in her husband’s cheeks faded to an ashen pallor. + +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. + +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. + +“Neville,” she said, at length, breaking the dreadful pause, “your life +has been--like that?” + +He made no answer, and his eyes evaded hers. + +“Neville, why didn’t you--let me--know sooner and I would have--set you +free?” + +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. + +“You could not,” he replied, after a short silence, forced to +undeviating sincerity. + +“Yes, I could. I would have--gone away, and after a time you could have +had a--divorce on grounds of desertion.” + +“That would have been--useless.” + +“You mean she would not have--married a divorced man?” + +“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.” + +Lady Berriedale sat looking vacantly before her as if her inner eyes +were gazing into some terrible reality she must accustom herself to +face. After a pause she repeated, absently: + + “Hand to hand, + Foot to foot, + Man to woman, + Soul to soul.” + +The man on the bed shuddered. “Don’t, Beatrice, don’t,” he pleaded, +closing his eyes. + +For some time neither of them spoke and in the silence the wide, black +chasm of despair stretched out before them in paralyzing desolation. + +“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. + + * * * * * + +It was midnight. Through Lord Berriedale’s wide-open windows gleamed +the summer-night sky with its myriad host of tranquil stars. + +The door opened gently, and a white-clad form moved softly toward the +bed. + +“Are you asleep, Neville?” whispered his wife, coming close to him. + +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. + +“No,” he replied, in schooled tones, “I am not.” + +Lady Berriedale hesitated, her fingers fidgeting 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. + +“Neville, I want to--talk to you,” she said, with apparent effort. + +“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. + +“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 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. + +Her husband clasped her hand in quick sympathy. “Of course, Beatrice, +of course I can.” + +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! + +“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 +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!” + +The soft darkness veiled the trembling form among the pillows and the +moisture glistening in the black eyes. + +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.” + +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.” + + * * * * * + +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. + + + + +PART III + + +REMEMBERED! + + +The nurse came down-stairs as Captain and Mrs. Folkestone entered The +Bluff. + +Isma scanned the older woman’s face anxiously as she said, “We are not +too--” + +“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.” + +“Can I go to her at once?” asked Mrs. Folkestone, her large eyes +glistening with troubled eagerness. + +“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. + +Isma looked round the familiar room and her face showed that it did +not bring back happy memories. + +She took off her hat and long dust-coat; then she sighed deeply and +went over to the window. + +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. + +“I am more grieved for you,” she replied, without moving. + +Her husband bent lower, looking over her shoulder at her beautiful +profile. Then he drew her slightly backward till she rested against him. + +She closed her eyes for a moment. “Oh, Falcon, it is lovely to have you +with me!” she murmured under her breath. + +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. + +“Falcon,” she said, turning to him, after a pause, “it must be +terrible for Beatrice to--go.” She shivered slightly. + +“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.” + +She looked up at him with eyes which held a dewy radiance. “Of course! +What a dear you are to remind me!” + +He smiled down on her. “You impressed it so strongly on my mind, now I +can’t forget it, you see.” + +There were footsteps in the hall. + +Isma and Falcon drew gently apart. + +The door opened slowly and Lord Berriedale, looking pale and worn, his +arm still in a sling, entered quietly. + +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.” + +“We are so glad you did,” said Captain Folkestone, and there was a +strong undercurrent of sympathy in his even tones. + +“I wish you had let us know sooner that Beatrice wanted me,” murmured +Isma, regretfully. + +“She wouldn’t allow me to disturb you until it was absolutely +necessary. But you had better come at once--she wants you both,” and +silently he led them up-stairs. + +As they entered the sick-room Isma glanced anxiously toward the +luxurious bed with its fine, embroidered linen and rich silk hangings. + +The patient lay waxlike and shrunken, her eyes looking enormous in the +wasted face and staring with glassy fixity into space. + +In a moment Mrs. Folkestone was beside the bed, stooping over the +shriveled form and kissing the sunken cheeks. + +Slowly recognition dawned into the lusterless eyes and a feeble smile +hovered over the purple lips. But she did not speak for some minutes. + +The silence in the room was heavy with an awful pall. + +At last the patient’s lips moved. + +The girl bent over her quickly and caught the words, “Isma--I +am--going.” After each word there came a slight rattling sound. + +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?” + +“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. + +“Yes, dearest, of course.” + +“And you will not forget--what I asked?” + +“No--never.” + +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. + +“Yes--yes, we will,” Isma assured her, quickly. + +The dark eyes looked up with terrible intensity. + +“Tell them it is awful to--to pass into--eternity unless He +will--remember us.” + +She looked at them imploringly till they had both made the promise; +then her eyes closed wearily and she lay very still. + +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. + +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. + +The soldier understood at once. “Yes, I will take care of her,” he +said, as one making a solemn vow. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +Then under her rattling breath they heard her murmur the words: + +“Lord, remember--me--now Thou art in--Thy kingdom--” + +For a time there was no sound in the room but the tense breathing of +people holding back tears. + +Suddenly a marvelous change came over the 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. + +“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. + +“The portals are opening--opening! And--He _has_--remembered--me--” + +The next instant the frail form fell back among the pillows--dead. + +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. + + +THE END + + + + +TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: + + + Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. + + Perceived typographical errors have been corrected. + + Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. + + Archaic or variant spelling has been retained. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78209 *** |