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diff --git a/78882-h/78882-h.htm b/78882-h/78882-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9662722 --- /dev/null +++ b/78882-h/78882-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,21731 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> + +<head> + +<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + +<link rel="icon" href="images/img-cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + +<meta charset="utf-8"> + +<title> +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Unconquered, by Maud Diver +</title> + +<style> +body { color: black; + background: white; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +p {text-indent: 1.5em } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.t1 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 200%; + text-align: center } + +p.t2 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + text-align: center } + +p.t2b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t3 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + text-align: center } + +p.t3b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t4 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + text-align: center } + +p.t4b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t5 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 60%; + text-align: center } + +h1 { text-align: center } +h2 { text-align: center } +h3 { text-align: center } +h4 { text-align: center } +h5 { text-align: center } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; } + +p.thought {text-indent: 0% ; + letter-spacing: 2em ; + text-align: center } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.footnote {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +.smcap { font-variant: small-caps } + +p.transnote {text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.intro {font-size: 90% ; + text-indent: 1.5em ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.intro2 {font-size: 90% ; + text-indent: 0 ; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.quote {text-indent: 4% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.report {text-indent: 4% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</style> + +</head> + + +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78882 ***</div> + + +<p class="t3"> +<br><br> +UNCONQUERED +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="poem"> + "The stars are threshed and the souls<br> + are threshed from their husks."<br> + <i>Blake.</i><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Men and angels, ye<br> + Whom stain of strife befouls,<br> + A light to kindle souls<br> + Bear, radiant, in the stain."<br> + <i>Meredith.</i><br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h1> + UNCONQUERED<br> +</h1> + +<p class="t3b"> + <i>A Romance</i><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> + BY<br> +</p> + +<p class="t2"> + MAUD DIVER<br> +</p> + +<p class="t4"> + <i>Author of "The Strong Hours," "Far to Seek,"<br> + "Lonely Furrow," etc.</i><br> +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> + BOSTON AND NEW YORK<br> + HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br> + The Riverside Press Cambridge<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t4"> + COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY MAUD DIVER<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t4"> + The Riverside Press<br> + CAMBRIDGE * MASSACHUSETTS<br> + PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> + To<br> + MARY<br> +</p> + +<p class="t3"> + IN REMEMBRANCE<br> + OCTOBER 10TH, 1901<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="noindent"> + "A turn, and we stand in the heart of things..."<br> + <i>Browning.</i><br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +AUTHOR'S NOTE +</p> + +<p> +The chapters dealing with France, and the incidents +connected with these, are founded on fact. I merely +mention this because it seems to me that the main incident +gains in effect from the knowledge that it is not mere +invention.—M. D. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +CONTENTS +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap0101"> +BOOK I.—BEL +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap0201"> +BOOK II.—THE UTTER PRICE +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap0301"> +BOOK III.—VIA CRUCIS +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap0401"> +BOOK IV.—VIA LUCIS +</a> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0101"></a></p> + +<h2> +BOOK I +<br> +BEL +</h2> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER I +</h3> + +<p class="intro"> +"Whom does love concern save the lover and the beloved? +Yet its impact deluges a thousand shores."—E. M. FORSTER. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Sir Mark Forsyth pushed back his chair, left the +dinner-table, and strolled over to the bay-window. +He drew out his cigarette-case, but apparently forgot +to open it. He stood there, looking out across the +garden, that merged into rocky spaces of heather and +bracken, and culminated in an abrupt descent to +Loch Etive. Low above the darkening hills the sunset +splendour flamed along the horizon, and all the waters +beneath were alight with the transient glory. But +the man's face wore the abstracted air of one who +dwells upon an inner vision. Though the subdued +flow of talk behind him entered his ears, it did not +seem to reach his brain. "Bobs," his devoted Irish +terrier, crept out from under the table, and joining +his master, made sundry infallible bids for attention, +without success. +</p> + +<p> +Presently alluring whiffs of cigarette smoke, intruding +on his dreams, reminded Sir Mark of the unopened +case in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +"I vote for coffee on the terrace, Mother," he said, +turning his eyes from the glory without to the +dimness of the unlighted dining-room. "Then we'll +have the boats out. There's going to be an +afterglow and a half presently." +</p> + +<p> +"I told Grant about the coffee two minutes ago, +dear," Lady Forsyth answered, smiling; but her +eyes dwelt a little anxiously on the silhouetted view +of her son's profile, as he set a match to his cigarette. +The straight, outstanding nose and square chin +vividly recalled his dead father. But the imaginative +brow was of her bestowing and a splash of light +on his hair showed the reddish chestnut tint of her +own people: the tint she loved. +</p> + +<p> +"Come along, children," she added, including in +that category four out of her five guests—two girls, +unrelated to herself, Ralph Melrose, a Gurkha +subaltern, and Maurice Lenox, an artist friend of Mark's. +</p> + +<p> +Keith Macnair, professor of philosophy—his rugged +face lined with thought, his dark hair lightly frosted +at the temples—was the only genuine grown-up of +her small house-party. A connection of her own, +and devoted to both mother and son, he was so evenly +placed between them in the matter of age that he +could play elder brother to Mark or younger brother +to Lady Forsyth as occasion required. And, whenever +professional claims permitted, occasion usually +did require his presence, in some capacity, either at +Wynchcombe Friars or Inveraig. Between times, +he lived and lectured and wrote philosophical books +in Edinburgh; and never, if he could help it, did he +fail to spend most of his summer holiday at Inveraig. +</p> + +<p> +When the party rose from the table he joined +Mark in the window; and as the two girls stood back +to let Lady Forsyth pass out, she slipped an arm round +each. Her love of youth and young things seemed +to deepen with her own advancing years. But she +had her preferences; and it was the arm round Sheila +Melrose that tightened as they passed through the +long drawing-room to the terrace, where coffee was +set upon a low stone table in full view of the illumined +lake and sky. +</p> + +<p> +"It's splendid to have you safe back again, child," +she said, releasing Monica Videlle and drawing Sheila +down to the seat beside her. "India's monopolised +you quite long enough. There's some mysterious +magnetism about that country. People seem to +catch it like a disease. And I was getting alarmed +lest you might succumb to the infection." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Melrose smiled thoughtfully at the sunset. +"I'm not sure <i>I</i> haven't succumbed already!" she +said in her low, clear-cut voice. "I have vague +tempting dreams of going back with Ralph when +his furlough is up; or with Mona, to help doctor +her Indian women. But probably they'll never +materialise——" +</p> + +<p> +"More than probably, if I have any say in the matter!" +</p> + +<p> +Lady Forsyth spoke lightly, but under the lightness +lurked a note of decision. She had her own +private dreams concerning this girl with the softly +shining eyes under level brows, and the softly resolute +lips that never seemed quite to leave off smiling even +in repose. +</p> + +<p> +At mention of India, Miss Videlle's thoughtful +face came suddenly to life. "It would be lovely for +me," she said. "Too good to be true!" +</p> + +<p> +"Never mind, Miss Videlle," Maurice consoled her almost +tenderly. "This ripping evening's not too good to +be true. And <i>I</i> can put you up to some tips for +squaring Lady Forsyth—in strict confidence of course!" +</p> + +<p> +He bent towards her with a slightly theatrical offer +of his arm, and they moved off to a seat near the +ivy-covered wall, looking towards the distant rapids. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Forsyth glanced after them with a passing +twinge of concern. +</p> + +<p> +The girl—a fairly recent acquisition of Sheila's—was +shy and clever, with a streak of dark blood in her +veins. She had done brilliantly at Oxford, and was +now qualified to take up the medical work in India +on which she had set her heart. Sheila had acquired +her while going through a course of massage and +magnetic healing, for which she showed so distinct +a gift that she had serious thoughts of taking it up +in earnest. A vague idea of going out with Monica +Videlle had been simmering in her brain for the past +week; but she had not spoken of it till to-night. +</p> + +<p> +"Wonder what's come to old Mark," mused Ralph +pensively, stirring his coffee. "Thought this picnic +arrangement was all for his benefit——" +</p> + +<p> +"Rather so!" Mark's voice answered him, as he +and Macnair strolled round the corner of the house. +"Hurry up with the coffee, Mums. I love dabbling +my oars in the sunset. Lenox, old chap, you two +might go on ahead and give the word." +</p> + +<p> +They went on readily enough; and the rest soon +followed them through the wilder spaces of the +garden, down rocky steps to the bay, where sand and +rough grass shelved gently to the water's edge. Here +they found two boats already afloat, with Maurice +and Monica—she was commonly called +Mona—established in one of them. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Forsyth, nothing if not prompt, privately +consigned Ralph to that boat, Mark and Keith to +her own. It was a heavenly evening, and she thanked +goodness they were going to have it to themselves: +quite a rare event since Maurice Lenox had discovered +that superfluous Miss Alison. +</p> + +<p> +"Coming to row stroke for us?" she asked as +Mark handed her in. +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head, smiling down at her. +</p> + +<p> +"That's to be Keith's privilege! I'm for the other +boat." But neither his smile nor the light pressure +of her arm could atone for the refusal. +</p> + +<p> +"Pointed and purposeless," she denounced it +mentally; but within a very few moments his purpose +was revealed. +</p> + +<p> +"Down Connel way first, Keith," he called out, as +he pushed off his own boat and sprang lightly in. "I +want to run up to the village. Miss Alison and her +friend might like to join us." +</p> + +<p> +So they rowed towards Connel at his command: +and for Lady Forsyth the pleasure of the outing was +gone; the peace and beauty of the evening spoilt +by fierce resentment against these intrusive strangers +who had no authorised position in the scheme of +things. And her natural vexation was intensified +by concern for Sheila: though whether the girl took +Mark's sudden and strange defection seriously it +was impossible to tell. She wore that smiling, +friendly graciousness of hers like a bright veil, that +seemed to baffle attempts at intimacy, while it +enhanced her charm. Even with Lady Forsyth, who +loved her as a daughter, she had her reserves, notably +on matters nearest her heart. +</p> + +<p> +"After all, she knows the real Mark almost as well +as I do," Mark's mother reflected by way of +consolation. "And she's wiser than I am, in many ways, +though she <i>is</i> nearly thirty years younger. I'm +probably racing on miles too fast. He's barely +known the girl a fortnight. He <i>couldn't</i> be so crazy!— All +the same, he's no business to—it's distracting!" +she concluded, her irritation flaming up again at +sight of the two figures that were now approaching +the shore, escorted by Mark. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Alison, the taller one, had unquestionably +height and grace to recommend her. Mark, who +stood six feet in his socks, could barely give her a +couple of inches; and the languid deliberation of her +movements had, on Lady Forsyth, the same maddening +effect as a drawl in speech. Her own brain and +body were too quick, in the original sense of the word, +not to make her a trifle intolerant towards the +"half-alive"; and, rightly, or wrongly, Miss Alison was +apt to produce that impression even on her admirers, +though no doubt they expressed it differently. +</p> + +<p> +Personal prejudice apart, Lady Forsyth preferred +the girl's companion, Miss O'Neill, in spite of her +wrong-headed zeal for the Suffrage and Home Rule. +Had Bel Alison been out in search of a foil, she could +have discovered none better than this big-hearted, +fanatical woman of five-and thirty, shortish, and +squarely built, with an upward nose, an ugly, +humorous mouth, and a quantity of rough brown hair in +a chronic state of untidiness. Lady Forsyth gathered +that she was an active philanthropist, and that the +incongruous pair shared a flat somewhere in Earl's +Court. To outward seeming they had certainly +nothing beyond the same address in common. +</p> + +<p> +If Bel's movements were over-deliberate, Miss +O'Neill's were apt to be sudden; and she strode into +the boat with the decision of one given to putting her +foot down to some purpose. +</p> + +<p> +"Steady on! You evidently don't do things by +halves!" Sir Mark remonstrated, laughing, and +consigning her to a cushion in the bows. Bel had +already usurped Maurice's seat astern, and Mark +rowed stroke—this time without need of invitation. +Then they turned about and moved slowly up the +loch, dabbling their oars in the sunset fires and +shivering the purple shadows of the hills. +</p> + +<p> +And if for Helen Forsyth the pleasure of the +evening was over, for Mark it had but just begun. And +she knew it. Therein lay the sting. Though "the +boy" was now very much a man, she could honestly +have said, two weeks ago, that nothing beyond minor +differences and mutual flashes of temper had marred +the deep essential unity of their relation—a unity +the more inestimably precious since he was now all +she had left of her nearest and dearest on earth. +Husband, daughter and younger son had all passed on +before her into the Silence, and of her own people one +brother alone remained. At the moment he was High +Commissioner of New Zealand, and seemed disposed +to stay on there indefinitely when his term of office +expired. The Empire, he wrote, was a saner, sweeter, +more spacious place of abode than twentieth-century +England, which seemed temporarily given over to +the cheap-jack, the specialist, and the party +politician. And she—while loving every foot of her +husband's country and her own—understood too well +the frequent disappointment of those who came, on +rare and hardly earned leave, from the ends of the +earth and failed to find, in picture-palaces and +music-halls, in the jargon of Futurists and demagogues, +the England of their dreams. +</p> + +<p> +For this cause, her sole remaining brother had +become little more than a memory and a monthly +letter. Yet, could she never account herself a lonely +woman, while she had Keith for friend and mentor, +Mark for son, and Sheila for—more than +possible—daughter. What business had this unknown girl to +step into their charmed circle and unsettle the very +foundation of things? Never, till to-night, had it +seemed possible to Mark's mother that she could +arrive at dreading the fulfilment of his heart's desire. +Yet that was what it amounted to. Dread lurked +behind her surface irritation. The touch of second +sight in her composition made her vaguely conscious +of danger in the air. Small wonder if she anathematised +Maurice Lenox for his knack of picking up +promiscuous strangers, and, in this case, aggravating +his offence by failing to appropriate his own discovery. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0102"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER II +</h3> + +<p class="intro"> +"Quand on vous voit, on vous aime; quand on vous aime, où +vous voit-on?" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +For a while the two boats kept in touch, so that talk +passed easily between them. Miss Alison spoke +little. Silence rather became the fair pensive quality +of her charm—and probably she knew it. The +uncharitable supposition was Lady Forsyth's: and she +was fain to confess that pensiveness and silence +harmonised well with the fine, straight nose, the mass of +dull gold hair, and eyes of that transparent blue which +lacks warmth and depth, yet has a limpid beauty of +its own, especially where the pupils are large and the +lashes noticeably long. +</p> + +<p> +Mark, too, had fallen silent: the worst possible +sign. But Miss O'Neill atoned for all deficiencies +by discoursing vigorously to Maurice's swaying +shoulders, upon the latest developments of the suffrage +campaign. Maurice, equal to any emergency, had +no difficulty in airing his own views on the subject—as +it were, through the back of his head—to one +who had hammered shop windows with her own hand, +though she graciously drew the line at firing churches +and wrecking trains. Yet she was a woman of +generous and, at times, noble impulses. The greater +part of her small annuity was lavished on a very +personal form of rescue work—and on Bel. +</p> + +<p> +"It's rank injustice, say what you please," she +declared in her strong vibrant tones, "to imprison +and torture poor misguided girls who have the courage +of the faith that's in them. The real blame lies on +the heads of those who've driven us to extremes." +</p> + +<p> +"That sounds very fine, Miss O'Neill, but I'm +afraid it won't hold water," Macnair put in quietly +from the other boat. "It has been the standing +excuse of fanatics and—dare I add?—criminals all +down the ages. Your latest forms of argument will +simply harden and justify opposition to a cause that +is not without certain elements of justice and right." +</p> + +<p> +His pleasant voice had the clear, leisured enunciation +of the scholar, a quality peculiarly exasperating +to the red-hot enthusiast whose thoughts are, in the +main, emotions intellectually expressed. "Justice +and right indeed!" Miss O'Neill fairly hurled the +words at him. "That's all we're asking, isn't it? +And precisely what we'll never be getting under a +man-made Government and man-made laws." +</p> + +<p> +Macnair smiled and shrugged his shoulders. He +had no mind to let argument and recrimination +desecrate the peace and glowing beauty of a Highland +summer evening; and with practised ease he slid into +the calmer waters of generalisation, as much in the +hope of weaning Lady Forsyth from troubled thoughts +as for the pleasure of expressing his own. +</p> + +<p> +"The truth is," he said, resting on his oars, while +the boats drifted into a luminous bay, "every age, +like every country, has its moral microbe; and the +microbe of this one is 'Down with everything'; +'Can't; won't; shan't; don't; Pass it along the line,' +that's about the tune of it, in all ranks. Kipling +may or may not be a classic poet, but his Commissariat +Camels puts the present-day spirit into a nutshell. +For nearly a hundred years the world has been fed on +a steady diet of revolt; and now we have the climax, +distaste for duties and clamour for rights. The fine, +brave old wisdom of acceptance is altogether out of +court——" +</p> + +<p> +Mark, withdrawing his gaze from Miss Alison's +profile, treated him to a smile of amused approval. +"Why this sudden access of eloquence, old man?" +he asked; and Keith deliberately winked over his +shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +"Miss O'Neill there's to blame; and the modern +world does seem rather egregiously modern when +one's been living for months in a backwater with +Pindar for company." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Keith, have you really found time for your +promised translation of the Odes?" Lady Porsyth—herself +a translator of some distinction—leaned eagerly +forward. +</p> + +<p> +"I've been making time for a few of them," he +answered, pleased with the success of his diversion, +"by neglecting my Bergson book." +</p> + +<p> +"Have you got them here?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. They're in type, awaiting your consideration." +</p> + +<p> +"Well done. You'll publish them, of course?" +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head. "Not even to please you! +I've simply been enjoying myself, exploring a little +deeper into the heart of an old friend; one who could +look life in the face without feeling convinced that +he personally could have made a better job of it. +One suspects even our poets, these days, of being +propagandists in disguise. Pindar is as sublime and +as useless as a snow-peak; and one can no more +convey the essence of him in English than one could +convey the scent of a rose in Parliamentary language! +Yet one is fool enough to try!" +</p> + +<p> +Sheila, who had been listening with her quiet +intentness, remarked softly, "<i>Why</i> don't we all +learn Greek?" +</p> + +<p> +"Because the humanities are out of court in an +age of scientific materialism. Wasn't there a +promise, once, that I should teach <i>you</i>?" +</p> + +<p> +The girl flushed with pleasure. "I thought you'd +forgotten." +</p> + +<p> +"And <i>I</i> thought Miss Videlle had persuaded you +to give up everything for this massage you're so keen +about." +</p> + +<p> +Their talk took a more personal tone, and Lady +Forsyth's attention strayed again towards the other +boat. It had drifted a little farther off, and a change +of seats was in progress between Mark and Miss +Videlle. One moment his tall figure loomed against +the dying splendour; the next, he sank cautiously +down beside Miss Alison, who vouchsafed him a +sidelong glance of welcome. +</p> + +<p> +"We're moving on a bit, Mother," he sang out, +seeing her face turned in their direction. +</p> + +<p> +They moved on accordingly: and it did not occur +to Lady Forsyth that Miss O'Neill, sitting alone in +the bows, obscured from vision of the disturbing pair, +was in much the same mood as herself. Lonely, +passionate, and emotional, her thwarted womanhood +had found in Bel Alison an object on which she could +lavish at once the protective tenderness of a mother +and the devoted service of a man. Unhappily, +this last included a consuming jealousy of those who +had a better natural right to the girl than herself. +Diligently and skilfully, therefore, she had scattered +seeds of prejudice against the unjust half of +creation—which, by the way, she very much appreciated in +units, while denouncing it in the mass. By way of +a more positive deterrent, her slender means were +taxed to the utmost that Bel might have cushions +and flowers and curtains to suit her fastidious taste. +No one, least of all Miss Alison, suspected the extent +of her secret shifts and sacrifices. And, intermittently +she had her reward. But no skill in self-deception +could blind her to the fact that her lavish devotion +was as dust in the balance against the passing +attentions of a baronet, lord of two estates, and a +fine-looking fellow to boot. To-night the conviction +rankled with peculiar keenness by reason of her +suppressed irritation with Macnair. +</p> + +<p> +"Shirking the issue. Just like a man!" she +soliloquised wrathfully. "And dragging in his own +trumpery translations by the heels. The conceit of +the creatures! And the folly of them. Wasting +good abilities over the vapourings of a musty old +Greek poet. Blind as a bat, or simply not caring a +snap that the world's crammed with evils crying out +to be reformed. Let them cry, so long as he can +scribble in peace...." +</p> + +<p> +At this point her somewhat chaotic thoughts were +interrupted by music from the other end of the boat. +Mark was singing Wallace's lullaby, <i>Son of Mine</i>; +half crooning it, at first, for the benefit of Miss Alison, +who did not know it. But as the strong swing of +the melody took hold of him, he let out his voice to +the full—a true, clear baritone; music in its every +cadence; and something more than music, for those +who had ears to hear. +</p> + +<p> +Harry, raging inwardly, heard, and understood +very well that the days of her own dominion were +numbered. Lady Forsyth understood equally well; +but she had passed beyond the raging mood. The +song was an old favourite; every note of it laden with +associations; and in spite of herself tears started to +her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +As for Mark, others might understand or not as +they pleased. He was singing to an audience of one; +to the girl who sat beside him, her uncovered head +lifted and half turned away toward the dark sweeping +curves of the hills. +</p> + +<p> +When the murmur of applause died down she +turned to him with the slow lift of her lashes that, +conscious or no, thrilled him afresh at each repetition. +"I didn't know you could sing like that," she +said softly. +</p> + +<p> +"I can't always," he answered, flushing under her +implied praise. "Sometimes—it just takes hold of +me. Don't you sing yourself? I'm sure you've +got music in you." +</p> + +<p> +She suppressed a small sigh. "Oh yes. It's one +of my poor little half-fledged talents; useless for want +of proper development. My elder sister's the clever +one, and she got all the chances. She found me +convenient sometimes for duets." +</p> + +<p> +"Duets? Good. I know plenty. Let's have a +try. What was her line?" +</p> + +<p> +"Classical. Mostly German." +</p> + +<p> +Mark was silent a moment raking his memory. +Then he had an inspiration. "Mendelssohn's 'I +would that the love'...? Wasn't that the sort +of thing?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. Very much so." +</p> + +<p> +"Right! We'll give them a treat. You take the air." +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head. "You're going much too +fast. I never said I'd sing; and—I've rather forgotten +the words." +</p> + +<p> +"You won't slip out of it that way!" he told her; +and leaning close he crooned under his breath: "I +would that the love I bear thee, My lips in one word +could say; That soft word——" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh yes, I remember now," she cut him short +rather abruptly; but a faint colour showed in her +cheeks and this time she did not lift her lashes. +"Very pretty, but drenched with sentiment. That's +the worst of German songs." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, you can't beat the music of 'em," he persisted, +rebuffed a little by her tone, and hoping it was +assumed for the benefit of Miss Videlle, who was +most vexatiously in the way. "I'm set on it anyhow. +Are you ready?" +</p> + +<p> +Taking her smile for consent he moved one hand, +beating time in the air; then, without preliminary, +their united voices took up the song. Bel's, though +sweet and true within its range, proved too slight an +organ to stand the open-air test, and Mark had need +to moderate his full-toned alto accordingly, thereby +giving an added effect of tenderness to words and +music already sufficiently expressive. +</p> + +<p> +And again Lady Forsyth—a most unwilling +listener—understood everything far too well. Deliberately +she hardened herself against the appeal of the music. +For this time she was simply angry—angry as she +had never yet been with her son; though, needless to +say, she attributed his egregious behaviour entirely +to Miss Alison. +</p> + +<p> +"How can he? How dare he!" was the cry of her +pained heart. "So unlike him. An insult to Sheila. +Flinging his folly in her face." +</p> + +<p> +But Sheila was drawing her finger-tips lightly +through the water, watching the effect with that +shadowy smile of hers, and to all appearances simply +enjoying the song. Almost Lady Forsyth found +herself hoping that it was so. In any case, she was +thankful when the "exhibition" ended, and Maurice's +cheerful voice was heard calling out: "Your turn, +Miss Videlle! Can't you give us a music-hall +masterpiece by way of diversion?" +</p> + +<p> +But Miss Videlle disowned all knowledge of masterpieces, +music-hall or otherwise, and Maurice himself +came nobly to the rescue. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm not up to Mark's style; but I'm top-hole at +genuine Harry Lauders," he volunteered with becoming +modesty. "And as you're all so pressing, it +would be ungracious to hide my light under a bushel." +</p> + +<p> +"Good egg!" sang out Ralph from the second boat. +"Give us 'Roamin' in the Gloamin'.'" +</p> + +<p> +And Maurice, with a deliberate wink at Mark over +Miss Videlle's shoulder, proceeded to give it for all +he was worth, in the broadest of broad Scotch. But +Mark was in no mood to see the joke of a performance +that sounded far too like a travesty of his own chosen +love-song. +</p> + +<p> +"I kissed her-r twice and I asked her-r once if +she would be my br-ride," sang Maurice with insolent +gusto, burring his r's like a policeman's rattle; +and Mark simply wanted to kick him into the loch. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Forsyth, on the other hand, was privately +blessing the boy's foolery, that seemed to clear the +air and sent the boats skimming homeward to the +swing of chorus on chorus; only her son's voice being +conspicuous by its absence. Keith's boat was leading +now; and without turning round deliberately +she could see nothing of the two who haunted her +mind. +</p> + +<p> +This was perhaps fortunate; for Mark's arm lay +along the back of the seat, his shoulder was within +three inches of Bel's; and under cover of the music +they had picked up the dropped thread of their talk +in lowered tones that imparted tender significance to +the simplest remark. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't call your singing a half-fledged talent," +he said with a faint stress on the pronoun. "You've +the gift, anyway. Why not make more of it—study, +practise?" +</p> + +<p> +She smiled and lifted her shoulders. "I've tried, +but I couldn't keep it up. Laziness, perhaps; I +don't know. Vanity, perhaps, a little. I either +want to do things splendidly or else—I can't be +bothered. I need someone to spur me, to encourage me." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I should have thought Miss O'Neill——" +</p> + +<p> +"Harry? Oh yes, she'd lie down and let me walk +over her if I wanted to. But she's swamped in 'the +Cause' and philanthropic work. As for my talents, +when I wanted the helping hand it wasn't there; +and now—it's too late. I've dabbled first in one +thing and then in another, and frittered away what +little ambition I ever had." +</p> + +<p> +The emotionless quiet of her tone suggested a noble +resignation to the general obstructiveness of life; a +resignation that, to the man's strenuous spirit, seemed +alike pathetic and premature. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, you're only on the threshold of things," +he rebuked her gently. "What are the talents you've +dabbled in? Do tell me." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I've written a little and acted a little. I +wanted badly to take that up in earnest. Heavens! +Wasn't there a row! So I fell back on the writing. +Verses, chiefly." +</p> + +<p> +"Have they appeared, any of them?" +</p> + +<p> +"A few. Here and there. I was vain enough +once to have a booklet printed out of my allowance. +Then there was a worse row than ever." +</p> + +<p> +"But why?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well—they weren't exactly of the pretty-pretty +order. And my father's a clergyman: that kind of +clergyman." +</p> + +<p> +"I see." +</p> + +<p> +He saw her, in fact, a creature of fine sensibilities, +striving for self-expression, thwarted, discouraged, +and misprized by those who should have been her natural +helpers, and his heart went out to her the more. +</p> + +<p> +"May I—" he hesitated. "Miss Alison, won't +you let me see some of your verses?" +</p> + +<p> +"No. Not for the world." She flushed suddenly +and her voice had a tremor in it. It was the first +time he had seen her really perturbed. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm sorry," he began; but she was mistress of +herself in a moment and turned the matter off with +a laugh. +</p> + +<p> +"We're both making mountains out of molehills! +The verses were wretched poor stuff, most of them. +Father was quite right to condemn them; but he went +the wrong way about it. He usually does. They +were just the outcome of—an influence; a passing +phase. I hated them myself—afterwards. One does +go through phases, doesn't one? At least I do. It's +rather interesting. Saves one from the bottomless +pit of boredom, the only thing we're really afraid of +nowadays." She made the statement in all seriousness. +"But—looking back—one sometimes wonders +how much that other girl was really me?" +</p> + +<p> +He did not answer at once; partly because he was +trying not to be aware that while she spoke there had +blown through him a chill breeze of doubt: an +unwelcome reminder that after all he knew nothing as +yet of her life, her antecedents, or—if it came to +that—of herself. He only knew that almost from the +first moment of contact she had put a spell upon him +that he had neither the power nor the will to resist. +</p> + +<p> +"Do I seem to be talking utter nonsense?" she +asked suddenly in a changed voice; and doubt fled +like a wraith at sunrise. +</p> + +<p> +"Rather not. I was only hoping—that this <i>is</i> +the real you. I'm not simply a phase—am I?—like +all the rest?" +</p> + +<p> +At that she turned to him with the lazy uplift of +her lashes, and the astonishing blue of her eyes flashed +on him like a light. +</p> + +<p> +"Isn't it—rather too soon to tell?" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Is</i> it?" he challenged her boldly, and exulted to +see the blood rise in her cheeks. More than that he +could not achieve. For another Lauder chorus had +just died down and they were nearing the shore. +</p> + +<p> +"Look here," he said, low and rapidly. "I am off +up the loch to-morrow in my little steam +yacht—fishing. Come along too—will you?" +</p> + +<p> +She gave him a reproachful look. "I can't. You +know I can't." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, well, bring your police dog along if you must; +and I'll get Lenox to make a square. Will that do?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. I'll ask Harry. If it is like to-day—it'll +be lovely." +</p> + +<p> +"Better than to-day, I hope," he muttered, wondering +very much if he could wait till then, and cursing +the wire entanglements of convention. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm going to see you home," he announced as he +handed her out of the boat, and repeated his +intention when all the party was ashore. "Good night, +Mums," he added, laying a hand on his mother's +shoulder. "Lenox is coming along with me. Leave +things open for us, will you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Very well, dear; don't be too late," she said, +looking up at him; but between the gathering dusk +and his own preoccupation he missed the mute appeal +of her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +During the short walk back to the village, Miss +O'Neill took complete command of affairs. Having +at last recovered her treasure, she slipped a retaining +hand through Bel's arm, and never a chance had +Mark of another intimate word. +</p> + +<p> +She graciously fell in with the morrow's plan, +however; and afterwards, as the men strolled back, +smoking, to Inveraig, Maurice was frankly informed +what would be expected of him on the occasion. Mark +betrayed his repressed excitability by speaking rather +more rapidly and abruptly than usual. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm running this show altogether—you understand? +We're not going off on a blooming picnic +to play consequences. No nonsense, mind. And +no Harry Lauder—confound you! All you and Miss +O'Neill are required to do is to make yourselves +scarce. Fact is, you're only there because I couldn't +get—Miss Alison to come alone." +</p> + +<p> +Maurice smiled broadly. "I gathered as much. +But I say, Forsyth," he hesitated and took a pull at +his pipe, "do you really mean business?" +</p> + +<p> +"Rather so. What kind of a cad d'you take me +for?" snapped Mark, whose temper was quick at +the best of times. "Think I'd play the fool with a +girl like that?" +</p> + +<p> +"Sorry, old chap. Didn't intend to rile you. Only +to a mere outsider, it seems just a trifle precipitate. +Besides—one naturally thought——" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, dry up. Nobody asked you to think." +</p> + +<p> +There was pain as well as anger in Mark's tone. +He knew very well what Maurice thought—what +others were likely to think; and although Lady +Forsyth did not guess it, his sensitiveness on Sheila's +account almost equalled her own. It hurt him +horribly that by any act of his he should seem to cast +even the slightest slur on her. And he saw no reason. +For years they had been like brother and sister. +Certainly, since her return from India he had caught +himself wondering—But before wonder could +crystallise into belief, Bel had arisen in her moonlight +beauty and all the stars of heaven had suffered eclipse. +Come to think of it, he owed young Lenox a debt +he could never repay; and for the rest of the way +he made royal atonement for his flash of temper. +</p> + +<p> +"Good night, old chap," he said when they reached +the house. "I'm not turning in just yet." +</p> + +<p> +And for more than half an hour he paced the terrace, +wondering, hoping, dreaming; while his mother +lay awake in her bedroom above, both windows flung +wide, listening to the restless sound of his footsteps; +wondering also; and scarcely daring to hope that he +had already spoken and been refused. +</p> + +<p> +Not until she heard him come in, at last, and shut +the door of his room, did she let her tired body have +its way and fall into a troubled sleep. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0103"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER III +</h3> + +<p class="intro"> +"You know not the limit of this kingdom, still you are its +queen." RABINDRANATH TAGORE. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Miss O'Neill, as might be supposed, proved no +easy subject for diplomatic manipulation. Long +before they had made an end of their picnic-lunch, +in a glen of rocks and birches and purple cushions of +heather, she had effectually given Mr. Lenox to +understand that she was neither to be deceived nor +coerced by his tactful attempts to detach her from +the other two. Years of pushing and shouldering +through obstacles in the Suffrage campaign, had so +far blunted her finer sensibilities that she could +smilingly hold her ground even among those who +obviously wished her elsewhere: and she held it to-day, +till Mark lost patience and frankly took the bull by +the horns. +</p> + +<p> +"I say, Miss O'Neill, you might take pity on Lenox +and honour him with your company up the glen," +he said; and beneath his engaging tone there lurked +a faint note of command. "He's no fisherman, and +he can't keep himself to himself for ten minutes on +end. So you see, it would be a real act of charity to +remove him." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, Sir Mark, I can see that without spectacles," +answered the redoubtable Harry, challenging him +with her greenish-brown eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Good business!" Sir Mark retorted unabashed. +"When you reach the high moor you'll be rewarded +by a view that's worth some climbing to see. Of +course, if Miss Alison would prefer to go with you——" +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Alison's far too comfortable where she is, +thanks!" Bel interposed with her deliberate drawl. +She had settled herself on a low rock and sat dreamily +watching the river, elbows on knees, chin cradled +in her hands. Without changing her attitude, she +glanced up at Sir Mark and her smile seemed to link +them in completest understanding. "If the necessity +for silence becomes too overpowering I can always +go to sleep. I'll be as good as gold, Harry dear—" She +shifted her gaze to Miss O'Neill's resolute, +rebellious face. "And I think Sir Mark can be trusted +not to let me fall into the river!" +</p> + +<p> +The upward jerk of Harry's head implied wholesale +distrust of the species; but finding herself +cornered she surrendered at discretion. "Well, +Mr. Lenox," she said, "since it's a case of obeying orders, +we must make the best of each other. This way, +I suppose?" She strode on before him up the +narrow, stony path; and Maurice, with an abortive +grin at Mark followed in her wake. +</p> + +<p> +Keeping well ahead of him, she toiled on indomitably +till trees were dwarfed to bushes and the primeval +splendour of the high moors came suddenly into view. +Before them, and upon either hand, the heather and +the heavens were all. It was as if they stood upon +the shore of an amethystine sea, studded with islands +of granite and juniper, and shadowed only by +slow-moving continents of cloud. For Maurice, with the +blood of Eldred and Quita Lenox in his veins, such +a vision was among the rare things that could smite +him to silence. He drew a great breath and stood +very still, his young, expressive face glorified, passingly, +by the artist's pure joy in colour, and the Scot's +love of the land. +</p> + +<p> +Miss O'Neill, a townswoman by taste and habit, +would have preferred a throng of human faces, any +day, to the sublime emptiness around them. Hot, +breathless, and in a ferment of anxiety, she sank +gratefully on to the nearest rock and looked up at +her companion; but the light on his face checked her +ever-ready tongue. She liked the boy. He was more +than "a mere he-thing," and that streak of the woman +in him appealed strongly to the masculine strain in +herself. But protracted silence irked her; and very +soon anxiety goaded her into speech. +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Lenox, how long have you known Sir Mark +Forsyth? Are you acquaintances or friends?" +</p> + +<p> +Maurice considered that point without removing +his eyes from the heather. "Rather more than +acquaintances, I should say, and on the way to +becoming friends. I've known him two years on and +off. But I've never yet been to Wynchcombe Friars, +his Hampshire place. He's crazy about it. They +say you never know the real Forsyth till you've seen +him there. I'm going there this autumn, to be +converted from Futurism and Experimental Art in +general! At least that's his notion. He's a splendid +chap. Chockful of ideas. A bit reactionary, some +of them. He's dead against what we should call +industrial progress, and what he calls sacrificing the +man to the machine. They've got a great scheme +on, he and his mother and Macnair, for joining up +all the scattered attempts at reviving handicrafts +and guilds——" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, bother their crafts and guilds!" Miss O'Neill +broke in with scant ceremony. "Sheer fads! Result +of riches and idleness. <i>I</i> want to know is he the +kind of man to take up a girl violently—you see how +it's been—just to pass the time?" +</p> + +<p> +"No!" Maurice rapped out the negative with +unusual vehemence. "As a matter of fact, I believe +he intends to offer her his heart and his title and all +his worldly goods before we get back to them." +</p> + +<p> +Miss O'Neill started visibly. "What—on a fortnight's +acquaintance?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. A trifle steep, isn't it? And, for a man +in his position, a wife's a rather important item." +</p> + +<p> +"Something more than an amiable housekeeper—is +that your meaning?" Miss O'Neill rounded on +him, a flash of temper in her eyes. "I thought better +of you, Mr. Lenox. But you're all alike in the grain. +A man in Sir Mark's position must have a beautiful +figurehead for his dinner-table: a graceful, +accommodating doll, that he can hang with jewels and silks +and satins. But my Bel's no doll-woman, for all her +soft manners and sweet temper. No doubt he flatters +himself that, in a fortnight, he's read her from cover +to cover: and he'll be telling her, sure as fate, that +he's the one man on earth to make her happy, and +think he's paying her the compliment of her life into +the bargain!" +</p> + +<p> +Good-natured Maurice began to feel that Forsyth +had been a trifle inconsiderate saddling him with +a virago whom he was quite at a loss how to appease. +</p> + +<p> +"Well—compliment or no, she's free to refuse him," +he remarked soothingly; "and after all, it's the +natural thing." +</p> + +<p> +Miss O'Neill pounced on the words almost before +they were out. "<i>Of course</i> it's the natural thing for +a man like Sir Mark—spoilt by his mother, one can +see with half an eye—to snatch at a beautiful woman. +And where does a girl's freedom come in when a man +dazzles her brain with extravagant lover's talk? +Besides—he's rich. She's poor. It almost amounts +to bribery. I hate the whole thing. I came away +for her sake, to give her a chance of knowing him +better, just in case— But if it's true, what you say, +I shall go straight down again——" +</p> + +<p> +She sprang up from her rock and faced about; +but Lenox, smilingly determined, stood astride across +the narrow path. +</p> + +<p> +"Excuse me, Miss O'Neill, not if I can prevent it," +he said. "Forsyth's going to have his chance fair +and square. Of course if you're game for a free +fight—well, come on!" +</p> + +<p> +For a second she looked him up and down, a sudden +flicker of humour in her eyes. "I tackled a +policeman once. A bigger fellow than you. And +he was very glad to get rid of me." +</p> + +<p> +"I can well believe it," Maurice answered with +becoming gravity. "But look here, just consider, +what earthly good would you do by deferring the +inevitable—say, twenty-four hours—and probably +annoying Miss Alison into the bargain?" +</p> + +<p> +The last shot told. Harry let out her breath in a +great sigh. "Life's a bewildering business," she mused +aloud. But common sense told her he spoke truth; +and she liked him none the less for backing up his +friend. "Very well, Mr. Lenox, I give it up. You +evidently have instructions from headquarters, and +I'll stay here till you give the word. But scenery +bores me stiff; so please make yourself as interesting +as you know how." +</p> + +<p> +"Right you are," said Maurice; and indicating +her deserted rock he flung himself on the heather at +her feet in such a position that her prosaic figure in +its knitted coat and rough skirt should not intrude +upon his vision of the landscape. Then he proceeded, +in his fluent fashion, to enlarge on the subject +uppermost in his mind—Sir Mark's queer conviction that +a wide-spread revival of handicrafts and guilds would +go far to solve the strike problem by restoring the +creative sense in labour and renewing the broken +link between art and life—— +</p> + +<p> +For Sir Mark himself, at that moment, life held +only one purpose, one achievement worthy of serious +consideration—the linking of his own destiny with +that of the girl who seemed capable of maintaining +indefinitely her graceful pose of contemplation. It +was a pose that revealed to admirable advantage the +long lines of her figure and the beauty of her small +head with its close-fitting coils of hair. Her +discarded hat lay on the heather at her feet. Close to +her chosen rock sprang a young birch, its supple +grace a reflection of her own; its drooping plumes, +stirred by the breeze, dappling her blue dress with +tiny restless shadows. +</p> + +<p> +Was it some day-dream that so held her, Mark +wondered, or pure consideration for the trout that +he had presumably come out to catch? Either way, +her silence and abstraction had the effect of so +intensifying his own emotion that speech seemed +desecration. Besides—he had spoken already. Could there +really be any need to tell her again how swiftly and +strangely she had swept him from his moorings, so +that life held nothing, momentarily, but his glorified +vision of herself? Last night the sound of her voice, +echoing his own confession, had silenced, for good, +the whispers of prudence that strove to curb his +impetuous spirit, counselling delay. If only that +confounded Miss O'Neill had given him a chance +while the glamour was on them both, the whole +thing might have seemed less egregiously precipitate. +Now that he had schemed for half an hour's privacy; +now that she sat there, only a few yards away, +seemingly unaware of his existence, a shiver of uncertainty +chilled him. A fortnight ago to-day, while he and +Maurice were rambling in search of subjects, he +had beheld her for the first time. For him that +fortnight was an indefinable age. For her it might +simply be fourteen days—— +</p> + +<p> +But this sort of havering would never do. He was +a strong man, not unschooled in suffering, but little +used to being thwarted in his desire. And he did not +seriously expect to be thwarted now. Deliberately +he laid aside his fishing tackle, and leaning on one +elbow looked up at the girl, whose rock was set a +little higher along the sloping bank of the stream. +For a few seconds he took his fill of her, from the +coronet of her hair to the seductive curves of her +mouth and chin that made such tender atonement +for the cool directness of her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Still she did not move; but her lips parted in a +small sigh, and the spell was broken. Mark rose +and planted himself before her. +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Alison," he began—and could get no further. +</p> + +<p> +"Well?" she asked with that distracting lift of her +lashes. "Is the precious tackle out of gear?" +</p> + +<p> +Her coolness almost angered him and gave him +sudden command of his tongue. "<i>Tackle</i>? D'you +really suppose I came out here to catch trout?" +</p> + +<p> +"You said so last night. And you seemed to be +making elaborate arrangements——" +</p> + +<p> +"So I was—to get half an hour alone with you," +he announced bluntly, and saw the ghost of a blush +creep up under her skin. He wanted simply to take +her in his arms without more ado. Instead, he sat +down close to the rock, plunged his hands in the +heather, and leaned towards her. +</p> + +<p> +"I was trying to tell you last night. Didn't you +understand?" +</p> + +<p> +"N-no. I thought the music—and the sentiment +had rather carried you away." +</p> + +<p> +"It was <i>you</i> who carried me away. The music +was a kind of safety-valve, that's all." He leaned +still nearer. "Bel—is there a ghost of a chance for +me? Is it sheer conceit and impertinence on my +part to ask—so soon?" +</p> + +<p> +"No—oh no." And suddenly she covered her +face as if the intensity of his gaze affected her like +strong sunlight. +</p> + +<p> +He was silent a moment, watching her and crushing +the heather in his strong fingers. Then, very gently, +he laid a hand on her knee. +</p> + +<p> +"What is it? Tell me. I must know." +</p> + +<p> +At that she dropped her hands. By chance or +design, one of them fell on his own and rested there. +The light contact sent electric thrills up his arm. +</p> + +<p> +"That's just it," she said with her slow smile. +"You must know. But we neither of us do—yet. +It's been a wonderful fortnight. And if I haven't +travelled quite so fast or so far as you, that doesn't +mean——" +</p> + +<p> +"Of course it doesn't. I'm not such a conceited +ass as to suppose you could fall in love with me at +sight. But now I've spoken—isn't there any response?" +</p> + +<p> +"Haven't you felt any?" she asked lightly, and the +hand that rested on his moved in a just perceptible +caress. +</p> + +<p> +"For God's sake don't play with me!" he broke +out, half angry again. "I'm in deadly earnest." +</p> + +<p> +"I know. That's just why one of us must try to +keep a cool head." +</p> + +<p> +"Nonsense! You're simply fencing. And you +haven't answered my question." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm trying to. But I'm half afraid ... to let +myself go. No—don't!" She warded him off with +a gesture, but deliberately replaced her hand over +his. "It's too sudden altogether. Wouldn't it be +wiser—for both of us—to wait a little? You don't +really know me one bit." +</p> + +<p> +He bowed his head and kissed the fingers that +covered his own. "I know I love you," he said simply, +his deep voice low and controlled. "And if you +can say the same, that's enough for me. The rest +will be an enchanted voyage of discovery." +</p> + +<p> +"Voyages of discovery are rather risky things," +she reminded him. "And sometimes—they end in +smoke. You see, you're not just any one. I'm +outside your world; and—your mother doesn't like +me." +</p> + +<p> +"Nonsense," he said again, with less conviction +than before. +</p> + +<p> +"It isn't. I'm sure she wants you to marry Miss +Melrose. And I thought at first—you seem very +intimate." +</p> + +<p> +"Naturally. Our intimacy began when she was +eight and I was twelve." He spoke looking out across +the stream. Something in him winced at her allusion +to Sheila in that connection. But it was only fair +to her to explain things; and he forced himself to +proceed. "Her people are our nearest neighbours +in Hampshire. Her mother's the sort of person who +subsists chiefly on fads and philanthropy—the kind +of philanthropy that makes you abominate charity +and all its works. When we lost... Ailsa, my +little sister, Mother sort of annexed Sheila, unofficially. +But that doesn't imply—that she expects me to do +likewise. We're devoted to her—both of us. She's +a splendid little person;" he turned now and spoke +with greater naturalness and warmth. "Not very +easy to know. But <i>real</i>, right through. You're +bound to love her. There—are you satisfied?" Without +warning he slipped an arm round her. +"Will you give me my answer now?" +</p> + +<p> +He felt her yield under pressure of his hand: then, +with a sudden enchanting simplicity, she lifted her +face to his—— +</p> + +<p> +Presently she sighed; pushed him from her a little +and looked steadily into his eyes—blue, like her own, +but a deeper, tenderer shade, shot through with fine +radiations of orange. Hers seemed still to hold a +question. His were purely exultant. +</p> + +<p> +"Darling, we've done it now," he said under his breath. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. I suppose—we have," she answered in the +same key. +</p> + +<p> +"Suppose? You're not going back on things, +after <i>that</i>. Next question is—when will you marry +me? Next week?" +</p> + +<p> +Her flush, that had died down, mounted again, +clear carmine, beautiful to see. "Oh, Mark! Give +me a few minutes to realise it all. You're so +impatient. Such a boy. You make me feel ... ages +old——" +</p> + +<p> +"Look here, I can't have you talking that sort of +rot," he protested; incorrigibly blunt, even in love. +"It's morbid sentimentalism. You see, I'm the son +of a mother who doesn't know how to feel old at fifty. +'Boy,' indeed! You're a mere child yourself—the +dearest in creation." +</p> + +<p> +"No—no. I'm <i>not</i> a child." Her emphatic protest +rang true. "Perhaps your mother has kept the +bloom on life. Mine has never had any bloom on it, +worth mentioning. I was reared in a groove; a very +virtuous groove; and ... I didn't fit. I wanted to +feel and know and live; to be something more than +a vegetable in a Wiltshire village. I knew I had +talents of sorts; and I felt, if I could only get away +and have a fair chance, I might achieve something +worth doing, or, at least ... meet a man worth +marrying." She spoke looking away from him across +the sun-splashed water. "The only brother I cared +about went off to the ends of the earth before he was +twenty. If I'd been old enough to go with him, I +wouldn't be here now!" +</p> + +<p> +"Poor darling!" He tightened his hold of her. +"Dreadful calamity—isn't it?—to be here now! But +didn't your mother understand you—help you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Poor little mother. She did her best. My +unconventional streak comes from her side. But she's +a very tame edition; watered down by an early +marriage with father, who's as conventional as a +high-road, but unfortunately not as broad! Privately, +I think she was half proud of me and half terrified +of what I might do next, like the hen in Hans Andersen. +It was father's pharisaical attitude towards +my mild vagaries that made me worse, till at last I +kicked clean over the traces, demanded a reasonable +allowance (to my amazement, I got it), and went +off to London, to take the world by storm." +</p> + +<p> +"To Miss O'Neill?" Mark queried, a faint anxiety +in his tone. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh no. Harry's a fairly recent phase. I boarded +with a friendly family in the second-rate theatrical +line. That was my chosen road to achievement. +But it didn't come off—worse luck!" +</p> + +<p> +"Nor the man worth marrying?" +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes lingered in his. "Not to any great extent! +They were rather a mixed lot. And everything +seemed in league against me. I made no headway +anywhere. Still—it was experience. It was life. +One was too busy, either hoping or despairing, to be +dull. Each new phase seemed to be the discovery of +a new kingdom, till you found—you hadn't the key. +There was the writing phase, the acting phase, the +American phase——" +</p> + +<p> +"America? Why on earth——?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I don't know. The chance came. And the +notion attracted me. A bigger, fresher world; +experience——" +</p> + +<p> +"You seem mighty keen on experience," Mark +struck in. "D'you mean knowledge—or simply +new sensations?" +</p> + +<p> +She hesitated. "After all—new sensations are a +form of knowledge. The most interesting on earth. +I'd go almost anywhere to discover the feel of things——" +</p> + +<p> +She stopped short, and Mark frowned into vacancy. +For the first time he caught himself wondering how +old was she. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>I</i> should say better be an ignoramus than a mere +connoisseur in sensations," he remarked quietly. +"But perhaps I missed your meaning." +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps there wasn't any meaning to miss! I +was talking—rather at random." Then very lightly +she leaned her head against his. "Mark—dearest, +don't look like that." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, you mustn't talk like that," he said with +decision. "How long were you in America?" +</p> + +<p> +"Eighteen months. Not very pleasant always. +But it did me no end of good. I even went home +for a time, full of fine resolves. But the poor things +soon shrivelled up in father's atmosphere. Then—it +was Harry to the rescue." +</p> + +<p> +"And now it's Mark!" With sudden fervour he +caught her to him. "No more 'phases' after this, +my Bel. You shall have your freedom and your +chance. I'll make up to you, all I can, for the bad +years. Mother will love you——" +</p> + +<p> +Bel shook her head. "She doesn't like me." +</p> + +<p> +"Darling, she doesn't know you. Mother may +have her cranks and prejudices. But if there's one +woman on earth she can be trusted to love—it's my +wife. I'll take you to her to-night." +</p> + +<p> +"No—no. To-morrow. To-night—there's Harry. +It'll be a blow. You see, when I first came to her, +I was so sick with everything, I swore I'd never +marry. She's jealous already——" +</p> + +<p> +"Poor soul!" Mark said tenderly. "But I'm +jealous too. I can't share you with Miss O'Neill. +If it comes to a tug, you'll have to choose between us." +</p> + +<p> +"I have chosen." She spoke with genuine fervour; +and leaning against him, she closed her eyes. So +seen, her face looked years younger and of a +saint-like purity. Doubts and qualms seemed sacrilege. +Without a word he kissed her lowered lids, and found, +to his surprise, that her lashes were wet. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0104"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER IV +</h3> + +<p class="intro2"> + "I am of an age with each; what<br> + Matter if my hair turns grey?"<br> + —SIR RABINDRANATH TAGORE.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +That radiant day of summer, all too short for Mark, +taxed to the utmost his mother's impatient spirit +that could bear any ill better than the ache of +suspense, sharpened by premonition of the worst. +Mark's offhand manner of announcing the day's +programme to the breakfast-table in general confirmed +her own secret fear. And if he were really crazy +enough to speak, the result was a foregone +conclusion. She would be asked to love, as a daughter, +this alien girl, of whom she knew nothing except that +she was not the real mate of the real Mark. +</p> + +<p> +At the thought, a horrid sense of helplessness +overwhelmed her. Open opposition would be worse than +futile: yet smiling acquiescence was beyond her. +Truth of intercourse—finest of all fine arts—was, +for both mother and son, a necessity of their natures. +To it they owed that deeper intimacy not often +attained between one generation and another; but, in +the present dilemma, it would make things so much +harder for them both that dread almost outweighed +her longing for his return. +</p> + +<p> +Breakfast ended, Ralph announced his intention +of carrying both girls off for a long walk. Keith +retired to the study with the <i>Scotsman</i> and a formidable +pile of correspondence, leaving Helen to her own +devices. Nothing she liked better, in normal +circumstances; for her devices were many and absorbing. +But to-day the silence and emptiness seemed +to affect her like a ghostly presence, impalpable, yet +vaguely threatening. A chill sense of impending +disaster swept through her. She felt suddenly tired; +oppressed by the dead weight of the years that she +carried with such valiant elasticity of body and spirit +and heart. +</p> + +<p> +Half a century of life had dulled but scarcely +silvered her red-brown hair; had pencilled fine lines +between her brows and at the corners of her too +sensitive mouth. But youth still triumphed in the eyes, +in the slender alertness of her figure, in the swift +impulsion of thought and speech. Yet she lived and +felt life—the whole world's life—too intensely not to +suffer moments of sharp reaction; and this was one. +Hitherto, she had seen Mark's marriage as the chance +of regaining a daughter. Now she saw it, rather, as a +risk of losing her son, and her heart cried out that +this was more than she could bear. In the past +twelve years, she had suffered loss on loss, with a +sort of fierce stoicism, the nearest approach to +resignation that one of her nature could achieve. Now, +being a mere mother, she must stand aside and watch +him drifting on to the rocks—— +</p> + +<p> +It simply did not bear thinking of; and, gathering +up her letters, she went in search of work, the unfailing +anodyne for every ill. +</p> + +<p> +At that time, under Keith's critical supervision, +she was translating Emile Faguet. She was also +studying Russian, with other translations in view; +and she had correspondents in all parts of Europe, +many of whom she had never seen. But these +activities were fringes merely on the main work of her +life—the revival of arts and crafts and home +industries among Mark's people and the linking up of +all similar efforts throughout the United Kingdom. +</p> + +<p> +Yet, for all her activities and far-reaching aims, +her true life had always been centred in her home. +And she was content that it should be so; content +to let outsiders dub her "Victorian," for refusing to +be swept into the maelstrom of modern restlessness; +to let the "progressives" swirl past her—social +reformers, seekers after new religions, new panaceas +for every ill; content to find time for cultivating the +art of friendship, not merely in her own class, but +among Mark's tenants on both estates. +</p> + +<p> +Leisure to possess her own soul and the hearts of +others was, for her, a simple necessity of life; and +that very necessity, by limiting her sphere of action, +was half the secret of her influence and charm. Ideals +are uncomfortable things socially, but they have the +merit of keeping their owners fresh; and the world's +more strenuous workers found in her home atmosphere, +a refreshment and inspiration worth some +sacrifice of activity to preserve in an age of +wholesale experiment in life and art and religion. They +might rate her for living in a backwater; but, as +intimacy grew, they realised that she was more vitally +in touch than themselves with the world's greater +issues; that her uneventful days were rich in +experience, informed by a central purpose and an unshaken +faith in certain abiding truths—periodically obscured +and neglected, yet as certain to return with power +as sunshine after rain. +</p> + +<p> +"When religion decays and irreligion prevails, +then I manifest Myself. For the protection of good, +for the destruction of evil, and for the firm establishment +of national righteousness, I am born again and +again." +</p> + +<p> +Krishna's ancient prophecy, printed in gold on an +illuminated scroll, confronted her as she entered her +sanctuary. The scroll had been a birthday "surprise" +from Mark; an achievement of schoolboy days +when he was altogether her own; and the thought +upset her equanimity afresh. +</p> + +<p> +Look where she would, the room was full of him: +a friendly, intimate room, set in the bastioned tower +that dated from feudal times. But arrow-slits had +long given place to unlimited light and air; and, like +all rooms that are loved and genuinely lived in, it +was quick with the personality of one who imparted +something of herself to the very chair she used and +the books and pictures on her walls. These last were +few and individual; but of the books there was no +end. A catholic assembly, they climbed the only +bit of wall-space not occupied by the grate. They +stood about invitingly in revolving cases; and a +privileged company was piled upon the floor near +her chair. Keith often accused her of having an +untidy mind: and the state of her room betrayed +her. The one tidy spot was the writing-table, which +she never used. +</p> + +<p> +Over the mantelpiece hung an early portrait of +her husband, that might almost have been a portrait +of Mark. But Sir Richard's face was heavier than +his son's; the brow more massive, the lower lip more +prominent. It was a shrewd, virile Anglo-Saxon +face, unillumined by the Gaelic strain that Mark +had from his mother. +</p> + +<p> +Yet, throughout, Sir Richard had respected his +wife's ideals and enthusiasms, had smiled indulgently +over her panacea for the democratic peril, and had +allowed her a fairly free hand in the education of his +sons. So long as the heir of Wynchcombe Friars +remained a staunch Imperialist, he might be as +constructive as he pleased: and if there was the remotest +truth in Helen's convictions, let Mark stand for +Winchester and air his views in Parliament. That had +been Sir Richard's practical contribution to the subject. +</p> + +<p> +But the Baronet had now been dead ten years; +and, so far, Mark had made no bid for Parliamentary +fame. Helen Forsyth had spent the first years of +her widowhood travelling in Europe with Keith and +Mark, who gave promise of developing into a sculptor +of originality and power. For his benefit as an artist +they had lived mainly in Florence, Rome, and Greece, +with a bias in favour of the first. For in the great +Florentine, young Mark had found his acknowledged +master of his own thoughtful yet fiery spirit. But, +for his education as a man, Lady Forsyth had insisted +on more than a nodding acquaintance with the rest +of Europe; and finally Mark had spent two years +leading voraciously at Oxford, largely with the art +and labour problem in view. +</p> + +<p> +Since his coming of age, he had devoted himself +heart and soul to sculpture and the management of +his estates. But the notion of Parliament still +remained in abeyance. The rise of the lawyer-politician +and the commercial magnate had intensified his +native distrust of democracy, while the increasing +narrowness and bitterness of party spirit had +effectually quenched his natural ambition to stand for +the county of his birth. One Forsyth uncle already +represented the family. In Mark's opinion that +sufficed; and neither Keith nor his mother had +quarrelled with his decision. +</p> + +<p> +It was as artist and responsible landowner that +she longed to see him pre-eminent; and every year +he had given clearer promise of fulfilling her hope. +At seven-and-twenty there remained only the last +and most critical achievement—his marriage. On +this score alone he had caused her more than one +flutter of anxiety; and now——! +</p> + +<p> +She clenched her teeth to keep back the futile +curse; and, for the next hour or so, kept her attention +chained to the intricate task of transposing idiomatic +phrases and fine shades of meaning from one language +into another. +</p> + +<p> +It was nearly twelve when the door opened and +Sheila appeared, bringing the <i>Times</i> and the midday +post: Sheila, with a bright spot of colour in each +cheek and a smile that radiated sweetness and light. +How on earth could Mark——? But that bitter, +useless question was taboo. +</p> + +<p> +Her own smile was more natural than it had been +at breakfast; but Sheila did not fail to detect the +lurking shadow in her eyes, or the significant fact +that she did not eagerly tear open the paper and +plunge into the latest letter from Belfast. +</p> + +<p> +"Mums, haven't you spent enough of this glorious +morning grinding at Emile Faguet?" she said, kneeling +down and laying a hand over the open page. +"You look tired—worried." +</p> + +<p> +"I <i>am</i> worried," Lady Forsyth admitted with a +direct look, and Sheila's colour ebbed a little. +</p> + +<p> +"Unhappy, are you—about Mark?" she asked very low. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. Haven't I reason to be?" +</p> + +<p> +"But, Mums—she seems a very sweet person. +And if he cares——" +</p> + +<p> +"My dear, you're as bad as the rest of them about +that girl." +</p> + +<p> +Lady Forsyth was so rarely impatient with her +that Sheila set her lips a moment before venturing +further. "Well, you know, she <i>is</i> extraordinarily +attractive." +</p> + +<p> +"Is she? I don't see it." +</p> + +<p> +"Isn't that, perhaps, because—you won't see it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Sheila!" +</p> + +<p> +"Dearest—I'm sorry. But surely he must know +her better than we do, because—he cares. And you +don't give her a chance if you shut your heart against +her. It's so unlike you. And it will be very hard +on Mark ... if she——" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, child, be quiet!" Championship from this +quarter was intolerable; and setting her hands on +the girl's shoulders she gave them a gentle shake. +"There's no call to waste any of your sweet pity on +Mark. If he speaks to-day—and I have a horrid +feeling he will—<i>she's</i> not likely to refuse him. And +that's all he cares about at the moment. I'm not +being unjust to him, dear. I'm facing the truth; +which is sometimes quite as difficult as facing cannon. +But—well, I can't talk about it. You talk, instead. +You haven't told me half enough about India. I've +an idea—something happened out there. Am I right?" +</p> + +<p> +The girl nodded, looking out seaward. "I've been +wanting to tell you and yet rather shirking it. This +one—hurt me a good deal." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Another</i> 'poor thing'?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; badly poor. What Mark would call a worm. +The third in two and a half years! I begin to be +ashamed of myself! And—a little afraid too." She +paused. "Mums, because I'm not a wobbler myself, +will it always be the wobbling men who insist on +clinging to me? Shall I perhaps be driven by this +troublesome law of opposites to choose between +marrying some pitifully lovable 'poor thing' or—never +marrying at all? Not lively alternatives—are +they?" +</p> + +<p> +Lady Forsyth's hand slipped from the girl's shoulder +to her waist. "Darling, I hope it won't come to +that." +</p> + +<p> +"So do I. Naturally I'd ... prefer to marry. +I—" she hesitated and coloured a little—"I would +feel desolate ... without children. Am I very +... premature?" +</p> + +<p> +Lady Forsyth drew her close and kissed her warm cheek. +</p> + +<p> +"You're very woman," she said. "And Fate may +have better things in store for you than the most +importunate wobbler of them all. I hope you +discouraged this last one more decisively than his +predecessor." +</p> + +<p> +Sheila shook her head. "I simply couldn't. +They do tug badly at my heart-strings. No denying it." +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose that means he's still hanging on? And +hurting you every time he gives a fresh tug? A fine +exhibition of masculine selfishness!" +</p> + +<p> +"Mums, he doesn't realise it hurts. And—he +has so much against him: if you only knew——" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I <i>want</i> to know." Pushing aside her manuscript +she drew a low stool close to her chair, and +Sheila settled down on it, with a small sigh of content. +"Now tell me. What has he against him?" +</p> + +<p> +"Loneliness and poor health; and an ugly little +desert station at the end of nowhere; and hating the +country—and—and drink!" +</p> + +<p> +"Darling! You've outdone yourself this time!" +</p> + +<p> +Sheila turned quickly. "<i>Please</i> stop bothering +about me, and be sorry for him. You would be, if +you'd seen him. So worn and sallow; though he's +barely thirty. Clever—very. Too many brains and +too few convictions I used to tell him. And then, +there had been a girl—when he was home on his first +leave. She made violent friends with him: she drew +him on till he lost his heart to her; only to find that +she had deliberately used him as a stalking-horse for +another man, who afterwards turned out to be +married already. He heard that she went off with +him in spite of it, but <i>that</i> he can't believe. A dismal +tale, isn't it? The trouble was he couldn't stop +loving her, even though he knew she was worthless——" +</p> + +<p> +"Until he found in my beautiful Sheila the privileged +bit of sticking-plaster to mend his heart!" Lady +Forsyth interrupted her with a touch of heat. +"I wonder he had the face to tell you——" +</p> + +<p> +"He didn't tell me till I'd refused him—twice. +Then we had a long talk and he poured out all his +bottled-up miseries. And I wasn't <i>only</i> a bit of +sticking-plaster. He'd stopped loving her long ago. +Do be fair to him, dearest. You're in a wicked mood +to-day!" +</p> + +<p> +"I've never been in a worse. And the tale of +your latest 'poor thing' isn't exactly a specific for +the blues! How about the drinking? And what was +the final understanding, after refusals followed by +confidences?" +</p> + +<p> +The hand that rested on her knee moved in a slow, +soothing caress. "I'm afraid you won't approve. +Ralph didn't. But I overruled him. He—Mr. Seldon—begged +me so hard not to throw him over +altogether that I said he might write once a month. +And the thing that arrives is more like an intimate +diary than a letter. He can write, Mums. And he +isn't drinking—like he was. That was part of the +compact. It began in a bad cholera season: no one +to notice; no one to care. He says the average man +never realises, till he has to spend months alone, that +what he calls the voice of his conscience is much more +often the voice of other people's! So now—I'm his +'other people'! He gave me his word and he writes +quite honestly about it. If ever he really slips back +again he says he'll stop writing and chuck +everything.—There! That's my poor little tale; I'm happier +now it's out. You may scold me; but you'd have +done just the same yourself!" +</p> + +<p> +For answer, Lady Forsyth put both arms round her +and kissed her fervently. "Be as angelic as you +please to your poor things, darling," she said. "But +for heaven's sake don't marry them." +</p> + +<p> +"I couldn't," Sheila answered softly. "I'd sooner—go +without." +</p> + +<p> +In the silence that followed Lady Forsyth felt as +if the girl must hear her vehement thoughts. But +very soon Sheila spoke again. +</p> + +<p> +"I told Mr. Seldon about our little colony of arts +and crafts, and he is ever so interested. He says +machinery's gaining ground fearfully fast in India; +cheapening and speeding up everything and killing +the craftsman's joy in his work, just as it's done over +here. I had a letter yesterday. He enclosed some +Indian designs for carving. I <i>must</i> show you." +</p> + +<p> +She ran off to fetch them; and thenceforward +"shop" banished every subject from the field. They +were still at it when the gong sounded for lunch, and +half the interminable day was gone. +</p> + +<p> +Lunch would be rather an effort. Helen's eager +interest in the panorama of life made it a matter of +course that she should lead the talk at table, and she +was in no mood for it to-day. +</p> + +<p> +To her relief, she found herself spared the trouble. +Keith, who had an uncanny knack of divining her +needs, came in armed with a book that had arrived +by the second post and made havoc of his morning's +work. His feigned inability to part with it was +obviously an excuse to make it the main topic of the +meal. +</p> + +<p> +"Calls itself an Essay on the <i>Confusion of the Arts</i>," +he said, placing a spare knife between the leaves. +"I ordered it for Mark on Stoddard's +recommendation. But I'm inclined to think it really belongs +to you. The writer upholds so many of your pet +convictions.—Listen here." The knife was removed. +"'Of course the present movement may continue +indefinitely; we may have ideas of education still +more undisciplinary; a still more pathological +outpouring of fiction;... In short, the dehumanizing +of life and literature may go on for ever. But we +should not count upon it. Reactions have been +known to occur, and they have occasionally been +sudden. The world may even now be threatened +with a subliminal uprush of common sense, however +disconcerting the prospect may be to Mr. Bernard +Shaw and his followers. But prophecy is vain. +Everything depends on leadership; and one can never +tell whether the right persons will take the trouble +to be born!'" +</p> + +<p> +"One only knows they are notoriously lazy in that +respect!" Lady Forsyth struck in with a chuckle of +appreciation. "I like your new friend. Any more +gems of that quality?" +</p> + +<p> +"Several. Ah—here we are. Don't you seem to +recognise your own voice? 'Any one who makes a +stand for vital and humane concentration is set down +as a mere laggard or reactionary, whereas he may find +himself, rather, a pioneer and leader of a forlorn +hope—not all forlorn.... The revival of broad, vigorous, +masculine distinctions between art and art alone can +save us from the confusions that have crept into +modern life and literature, and which I trace to two main +sources—emotional unrestraint and pseudo-science.... +To set colour above design, illusion above +informing purpose, suggestion above symmetry, is to +set the feminine virtues above the masculine—and +that has been the chief cause of the corruption of +art and literature in the past century.'" +</p> + +<p> +An indictment so sweeping roused Mona, fresh +from her Oxford triumphs. "But, Mr. Macnair, +I call that heresy!" she protested; and Keith smiled +indulgently at her unusual warmth. +</p> + +<p> +"Heresy, my dear young lady, is, after all, only +the truth as seen by the fellow in the opposite camp. +And there still remain certain unregenerates in the +other camp who are praying for the rediscovery of +Man." +</p> + +<p> +"Or a German invasion!" murmured Lady Forsyth. +"With apologies to Mona, I'm afraid nothing milder +will save us from the petticoat peril!" +</p> + +<p> +At that Ralph looked up from his mayonnaise. +In a wilderness of abstractions, here was something +he could understand. +</p> + +<p> +"I say, Lady Forsyth! Rather a costly form of +salvation, don't you think?" +</p> + +<p> +"Salvation is always costly, Ralph," she answered +him gravely. "And it is always worth the price paid." +</p> + +<p> +Here Mona struck in again; and the argument, as +Keith had intended, carried them well through lunch. +</p> + +<p> +The meal over they adjourned to the shade of +three ancient pines on the terrace; but very soon +Ralph, who was frankly bored, persuaded Mona to +come out on the loch, and Keith's contentment was +complete. +</p> + +<p> +The new book lasted them till tea-time. Then as +none of the wanderers reappeared, he was persuaded +to fetch his translations and read them to the +audience of two for whom they had probably been +written, if the truth were known. It was sometimes +said of Macnair that men delighted in his lectures +almost as much for the quality of his voice as for the +lucidity of his thought: and to-day, when instrument +and music were in perfect accord, the effect on Helen's +troubled, sensitive spirit was all that he could have +desired. She possessed in full measure the artist's +gift of surrender to a mood. Sheer beauty of thought +and language, serene and splendid harmonies, drawn +from the discords of life, stirred her like organ music; +and for Keith her abstracted silence was the +quintessence of praise. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, round a bend of the loch, a white sail +dipped into view:—and the spell was broken. Keith +who had seen it also, still read on; but he no longer +had the ear of her spirit. She was simply listening +for the sound of Mark's footstep—and another. +</p> + +<p> +To her relief, the scrunch of gravel, when it came, +plainly bespoke masculine boots. Then the two +men appeared round the corner of the house, and +Mark waved his stick. Bobs, who had been left at +home, flung himself headlong on his recovered master +with little sobbing squeals of joy, and, for one wild +moment, hope revived in Helen's heart. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, you three look jolly comfortable there," +Mark greeted them, as he came up; and it was Keith +who answered him. His mother seemed to be looking +for her scissors. One glance at his face had sufficed. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0105"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER V +</h3> + +<p class="intro"> +"Of love it may be said, the more unearthly, the more +invisible."—HARDY. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The first moment that escape was decently possible, +Lady Forsyth left the group under the pines and went +straight to her bedroom. Mark would follow her, +of course, but she had desperate need of a few minutes' +breathing space. She knew now that what Keith +called "the brave old wisdom of acceptance" was +still far from her; that she had not really faced the +truth till she saw it in Mark's eyes. And while her +pulses still throbbed unevenly his voice sounded at +the door. +</p> + +<p> +"Mother, can I come in?" he asked; and the +next moment stood before her—a glowing embodiment +of victory. +</p> + +<p> +"Congratulate me, Mums," he said. "I've brought +off the great event with honours. Miss Alison—Bel +has promised to be my wife." +</p> + +<p> +"I know. I have known it—all day," she +answered him, with a brave attempt at a smile. +</p> + +<p> +"More than I have! Hadn't the cheek to count +on her. It was rather sharp work, and I'm not what +you might call a fascinating chap. But I simply +couldn't wait. It's the most amazing luck——" +</p> + +<p> +He broke off as if he had come into actual collision +with her thought. For nearly half a minute she +endured the challenging scrutiny of his gaze. Then: +"Mother, what's up?" he asked, in a changed voice. +"Aren't you going to congratulate me?" +</p> + +<p> +She drew in a steadying breath. He had given +her a cue that made plain speaking a shade less difficult. +</p> + +<p> +"My darling boy," she said quietly, "I've never +played at pretences with you and I can't do it now. +You admit this has been sharp work. And, honestly, +I wish you had waited. I should have thought +better of your judgment and the quality of—your love." +</p> + +<p> +He frowned sharply. "Oh Lord, I didn't come +here for a preachment. The last thing one would +expect from you. I suppose it means you've taken +one of your prejudices against her." +</p> + +<p> +"Dear, I don't <i>know</i> her yet. No more do you." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, anyway, I love her. Strikes me that's the +straightest road to knowledge. And as she loves +me——" +</p> + +<p> +"Did she tell you so, Mark—quite unmistakably?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, of course," he retorted with rising temper; +and was suddenly confronted by the realisation that +Bel had done nothing of the kind. The discovery +made him angrier than ever; but there was no +untruthfulness in him. "I don't know about +unmistakably. You don't expect a girl to make passionate +declarations. Isn't the fact of her accepting me +proof enough for any one?" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Is</i> it?" Lady Forsyth had herself in hand now, +and she could not forego her one chance of candour +even while she perceived the futility of reasoning +with a man in his exalted state. "Don't you realise +that, in your case, there are ... other factors? +Your position, your title..." +</p> + +<p> +"My—? Great Scott!" He stood speechless. +The thing had simply not occurred to him. Title +and position were, for him, as much a matter of +course as the hair on his head. Then, as surprise +subsided, anger flared up again. "Upon my soul, +Mother, I don't know what's come to you. One +would hardly think it was from you I'd learnt to +credit people with the best motives. Are you +trying to insinuate that she may have fooled me? +Accepted all my worldly goods under a pretence of +caring——?" +</p> + +<p> +"No: not pretence," she interrupted, with a flash +of impatience. "How can I make myself clear to +you if you won't let me finish a sentence? I meant +that your sudden infatuation—I can call it nothing +else—might very well turn any girl's head and tempt +her to imagine herself in love with you when she is +really in love with the whole thing—flattered—attracted——" +</p> + +<p> +"Mother, be quiet! I <i>will</i> not hear you!" There +was pain as well as anger in the cry. "You don't +understand her. You won't try to understand her. +You're simply jealous—prejudiced. And I was +counting on you—oh, confound it all——" +</p> + +<p> +He swung round on his heel and strode away from +her that she might not see how deeply he was wounded +by the failure of one who had never failed him yet. +</p> + +<p> +And she, feeling suddenly exhausted, sank down +on the sofa near which she had been standing; her +lips compressed, her face strained and hard. +</p> + +<p> +The silence lasted little more than a minute; but +to both it seemed interminable. Their deep and +real devotion had never been less apparent than now; +yet, even in that antagonistic pause, each knew it +unshaken, unshakable, by anything that either might +say or do. Hence its infinite capacity for inflicting +pain. +</p> + +<p> +Mark remained standing by the window; and Lady +Forsyth's answer, when it came, was addressed to +the unpromising outline of his back and shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +"If you won't hear me, Mark, there is no more to +be said. It has been difficult enough to speak at +all at such a moment——" +</p> + +<p> +"Then I wish to God you'd held your tongue," +he flashed round upon her. "You haven't succeeded +in shaking my faith—in her. You've only taken the +shine out of the happiest day of my life. If that's +any consolation to you!" +</p> + +<p> +Without giving her time to answer he swung out +of the room; and the trivial fact that he refrained +from slamming the door seemed cruelly to emphasise +that his words had not been spoken in temper, but +wrung from him by the bitterness of disappointment +and hurt pride. +</p> + +<p> +For a time she remained as he had left her, sitting +very still and upright, looking into vacancy. Then +she covered her face and bowed her head upon the +carved end of the sofa. But no tears came. She +would not suffer them. She was still too angry with +Fate, with Mark, and, above all, with the girl who +had so transformed him. And tears, after forty, +hurt too poignantly to bring relief. She was suffering, +merely, and realising the power of those words, +spoken by them both in the heat of the spirit, to +disfigure the finer fabric of their lives. Between +two natures equally frank and fiery, lightning flashes +of temper were inevitable; but never before had they +revealed such threatening depths of division. Worst +of all, that division could not be hidden from others. +The fact and the reason would be obvious to them +all: a thought intolerable to her sensitive pride that +shrank from scrutiny even of sympathetic eyes. +</p> + +<p> +And to-morrow—and to-morrow——? +</p> + +<p> +The ghost of a shiver ran through her. Life with +an estranged Mark and an unloved daughter-in-law +was the last impossibility. She was a fool to have +spoken while the ardour and thrill of possession were +so fresh upon him. Yet, had she kept silence, he +would eventually have forced the truth from her. +It was the price of her proudest achievement; but +it cannot be said that she paid it willingly—— +</p> + +<p> +At this point her thoughts were checked by the +sound of his footstep. She might have known he +would come. Instantly she was on her feet: her +heart too full of relief for any thought of what she +should say. +</p> + +<p> +Outside the door he paused—and she held her +breath. Then, very gently, he turned the handle +and came in. +</p> + +<p> +The temper had gone out of his face but not the +pain. He came straight up to her and set both hands +on her shoulders. "Mother, I'm sorry," he said +simply. "I was a brute. But one doesn't expect +unfairness from you." +</p> + +<p> +"Darling, it was clumsy of me—I didn't mean to +be unfair," she answered, grasping his wrists. "But +it's always been the truth between us. I couldn't +insult you with empty insincerities." +</p> + +<p> +"And it didn't strike you that you were insulting +<i>her</i>?" +</p> + +<p> +His fervent stress on the pronoun was indiscreet, +to say the least of it, and Lady Forsyth winced +visibly. +</p> + +<p> +"Mums, don't be a fool," he said, with gruff +tenderness, gently pressing her down on to the sofa. +"If you're going to start with being jealous——" +</p> + +<p> +"It's not jealousy, Mark." +</p> + +<p> +"Then what the deuce is it?" +</p> + +<p> +One thought sprang to both their minds, but +neither could or would speak it. +</p> + +<p> +"We've got to know where we stand about this +business," Mark went on. "If you're going to +dislike and distrust her, the position's impossible. +The trouble is, she suspects something of the +sort. But of course I told her it was all rot. +Mother, you simply must be good to her. She +seems to have had a pretty rank time of it with her +own people." +</p> + +<p> +"In what way?" +</p> + +<p> +"D'you really care to hear?" +</p> + +<p> +"Of course I do, seeing how vitally her past +concerns your future." +</p> + +<p> +Mark grimaced indulgently. "Can't you drop +me and take a little decent interest in her?" +</p> + +<p> +"I'll try—if you'll give me a chance! What about +her people, and this Miss O'Neill? I've often wondered——" +</p> + +<p> +He told her, in clipped phrases, pacing to and fro, +as his habit was when moved or trying to express his +thoughts. He seldom sat down except to eat or read; +and always seemed most completely himself when +squarely planted on his feet. +</p> + +<p> +His version of Bel's very mixed experiences—glorified +inevitably—failed to dispel his mother's instinctive +sense of something lacking in the girl, precisely +what, it was too soon to tell. +</p> + +<p> +"Poor child!" she said, when he had finished. "I +wonder—how old is she?" +</p> + +<p> +Mark frowned. "I haven't the remotest. We +didn't exchange birth certificates. About +five-and-twenty——" +</p> + +<p> +"More than that." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, if she was forty it would make no earthly +difference," he retorted. "The point is—will you +be decent to her, if it's only for my sake? She doesn't +seem ever to have had a home worth mentioning. +I want her to feel she has a real one here." +</p> + +<p> +She sighed and rose to her feet. "Darling, I'll +do my best." A deep metallic sound vibrated through +the house—"Good gracious! There's dinner and +I haven't changed." +</p> + +<p> +"Who cares? You look awfully sweet in that blue +thing. Come along." +</p> + +<p> +He slipped a hand through her arm and led her +out on to the landing. But at the head of the stairs +he paused. A vision of Sheila skimming down the +lower flight reminded him sharply that there were +others to be told. There were also congratulations +to be endured. +</p> + +<p> +"I say, Mums, you might go ahead and break the +ice," he said, giving her a gentle forward push. "I +feel most beastly shy of them all." +</p> + +<p> +Shyness was the least part of her own acute +discomfort; but the obedience of a wife is as nothing to +that of a well-trained mother. So she went before +to do his bidding; and, being a mother, she would +not have had it otherwise. Indeed the boyish request, +following upon his casual compliment, seemed to +bring her nearer to him than she had felt for days. +</p> + +<p> +But in spite of her good services, Mark found +dinner, flavoured with discreet congratulations, a +singularly unappetising meal. His mother's doubtful +attitude worried him more than he cared to confess. +Amongst the others also, he felt—or imagined—a +lack of genuine sympathy in the air; and the obvious +word "congratulation" was conspicuous by its +absence. Pure accident, no doubt; but it jarred. +Of a sudden he felt vaguely "out of it," and more +than a little aggrieved that his happiness—which +should have added the perfecting touch to their +summer party—seemed instead to have put things +indefinably out of gear. +</p> + +<p> +Matters were not much better in the drawing-room +after dinner—the friendliest hour of the day at +Inveraig. Keith took up a book. Lady Forsyth +obliterated herself behind the <i>Times</i>; and Sheila, soon +after the men came in, slipped quietly out of the room. +Ralph, kicking his heels on the window-seat, +proposed Bridge. Mark refused without ceremony; +and Maurice proceeded to monopolise Miss Videlle, +by way of reward for duty done. +</p> + +<p> +Mark, in his highly strung mood, felt unjustifiably +annoyed with them all, and the more he suspected +their lack of sympathy the more his chivalrous nature +swerved towards Bel. He gave it up at last and +decided to go to The Rowans. There at least he would +be welcome and could talk naturally. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm going for a stroll, Mother," he announced to +the vast expanse of the <i>Times</i>. "Leave something +unlocked if I'm late." +</p> + +<p> +He wondered—would Keith offer to accompany +him? But Keith made no move. +</p> + +<p> +In the hall his happy impulse was checked by the +recollection of Harry—probably antagonistic and +quite certain to speak her mind without reserve. +His unexpected appearance might only make things +difficult for Bel. He felt checked at every turn. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh damn it all!" he muttered aloud, and in the +same breath caught sight of Sheila coming slowly +downstairs. +</p> + +<p> +The light falling on her from above burnished the +outward sweeping waves of her dark hair, made +shadowed mysteries of her eyes, and luminously +caressed the curves of her face, that, like her voice, +was at once clear-cut and soft. Her high-waisted, +silver-grey gown added a cubit to her stature; and +Mark, watching her unperceived, was smitten afresh +by her natural wild-flower grace, the very antithesis of +Bel's more exotic charm. Seen thus, Sheila looked no +less than beautiful; but Mark's mind, just then, was +concentrated on Bel. If only he could enlist Sheila's +championship, the girl would have twice the chance +with his mother. +</p> + +<p> +Straightway he resolved on a direct appeal, and +going quickly forward, planted himself on the mat, +one hand grasping the balustrade. +</p> + +<p> +She started and came to a standstill two steps +above him, so that their eyes were almost level. +</p> + +<p> +"What is it? Mums wanting me?" she asked, and +he thought she looked paler than usual, but perhaps +it was only the light. +</p> + +<p> +"No. <i>I</i> am though," he said, with his usual +directness. "Are you frightfully busy? Or frightfully +bored with me and my engagement?" +</p> + +<p> +"Neither," she answered, a smile flickering in her +eyes. "Why?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, the rest seem to be. And mother was +quite upset. I had no end of a scene with her." +</p> + +<p> +"Poor darling!" Sheila murmured distressfully, +and Mark made a whimsical grimace. +</p> + +<p> +"Which? Her or me?" +</p> + +<p> +Her pallor vanished. "Mums, of course. Still, +I'm sorry all round. It'll spoil things for you both." +</p> + +<p> +"Rather! But I'm thinking you could do a deal +to smooth matters, Sheila—if you choose. It's Bel, +I'm bothered about. I want you all to make her +feel welcome. And things don't look promising so +far. Come out for a stroll, will you! I've a lot to +say." +</p> + +<p> +"I'd love to." +</p> + +<p> +He stood back to make way for her, and as she +reached his side his hand closed lightly on her arm. +"Sure you'll be warm enough in this?" he said. +</p> + +<p> +She nodded and went rather quickly on before him +into the garden. +</p> + +<p> +Avoiding the terrace, they turned into a coppice +of birch and pine, and so passed out on to an open +stretch of heather, duskily purple and bronze in the +fading light. +</p> + +<p> +Mark did most of the talking, and—in the repetition +of her story to more sympathetic ears—Bel shone +out with fresh lustre as the heroine of a plucky, if +somewhat erratic, fight against the tyranny of +circumstance and unfavourable early surroundings. +</p> + +<p> +Sheila listened to it all in her quietly intent fashion +that was balm to the excitable natures of both mother +and son. She had the true gift for listening, which +is even rarer than the gift of speech; and for Mark +her silence had a quality of its own. It was a living +thing, alert and aware. When a man felt worried +it seemed to distil a sympathy that called for no +embarrassing response. And her brief contributions +to their talk were more than satisfactory. +</p> + +<p> +Of course she would love his Bel as a sister, and +"Mums" would be sure to come round in time. To +doubt it were a poor compliment to Bel, she reminded +him; and he wondered how he had overlooked that +obvious truth. +</p> + +<p> +Only once she spoke of herself. "You know, I'm +afraid," she said, "however well things turn out, +Mums will never quite be able to put her in my place. +And I'm also afraid...," she hesitated and looked +up at him, "that I wouldn't have it otherwise." +</p> + +<p> +"No more would I," he agreed, with sudden fervour. +"You belong—to us both. And you always +will." +</p> + +<p> +When, at length, darkness and falling dew drove +them in, she had charmed him completely from his +mood of vague doubt and irritation. But for the +new name on his lips, and the stir of excitement in +his veins, it was almost as if they were the Mark and +Sheila of a month ago: almost—but not quite. +</p> + +<p> +In the hall he held out his hand. "I'd rather not +go in there again. Tell them I haven't gone out, +will you?" He paused. "I'm a rotten hand at +saying things, Sheila. But, somehow, you've made +everything look different. And you'll square mother +all right. I can trust you." +</p> + +<p> +He grasped her hand harder than he realised; +but she bore it without wincing. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, Mark," she said, "you can trust me. I'll +do my very best." +</p> + +<p> +And none knew better than he the measure of her +very best. He ran upstairs with a lighter heart. +One could rely on Sheila, though the heavens fell; +and his doubts—as she had said—were an injustice +to Bel, who would probably twist them all—including +his mother—round her little finger, once she set +herself to the task. His last thought was of their +meeting on the morrow. But it was Sheila's face, +softly radiant in the lamplight, that perversely +haunted his dreams. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0106"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER VI +</h3> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot,<br> + And all things turn to fair that eyes can see!...<br> + Both grace and faults are loved of more and less:<br> + Thou makest faults graces that to thee resort."<br> + SHAKESPEARE.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Mark stepped back from his modelling pedestal and +critically surveyed the result of his morning's work—a +terra-cotta study of Contemplation, inspired by +his vision of Bel under the birch-tree on that day +of very mixed memories which seemed infinitely +more than two weeks ago. +</p> + +<p> +The small statue, classic in its serenity and simplicity +of treatment, was a perfect thing of its kind; +as unlike the bulk of Mark's rugged, individual +studies as Bel's whole attitude to life was unlike his +own. Every line of it rested the eye, even as the +girl's cool deliberate nature rested his own ceaselessly +questing brain. +</p> + +<p> +So far he had found no trace in her of the hidden +conflict between spirit and matter that was the keynote +of his art. Already he recognised her spasmodic +rebellions rather as a series of skilful evasions that +implied no deep questioning of life or desire of +knowledge. She was not a genuine rebel, like Miss +O'Neill. Almost he suspected her of being an +impressionist in life. But doubts and discoveries +notwithstanding, the charm still held, and would probably +continue to hold—irrespective of anything that +she might be or do. Incidentally, she was proving +herself an admirable model. This was the third +morning he had victimised her, and she was still +enduring it with the patience of a Griselda; still +sitting, as she had sat for a good hour, on a long +low stool at the far end of the room, in a blue wrapper +with falling sleeves that revealed her arms. Elbows +on knees, chin cradled in her hand—was she thinking, +dreaming, or mildly bored? He would have +asked her had they been alone. But Lenox was +ensconced in the deep window-seat behind him, +working at a post-impressionist pastel—a challenge +to Mark's insistence on the classic note. +</p> + +<p> +"Tired—are you?" he asked instead; and she +gave him a sidelong glance with the slow lift of her +lashes that still stirred him, though he knew it now +for a conscious trick of manner. "Could you hang +on for another fifteen minutes without a serious +collapse?" +</p> + +<p> +"I could—just; if I may have a cigarette directly +it's over." Mark, as well she knew, held ridiculously +old-fashioned opinions on that subject, and a cigarette +just before lunch was the depth of demoralisation. +</p> + +<p> +"I call that taking a mean advantage," he reproved +her without severity. "But I admit you've earned it." +</p> + +<p> +"A very sustaining admission! And the prospect +of getting it is more sustaining still." +</p> + +<p> +Her cool, provocative smile made him confound +Lenox for being present, which was precisely what +she intended. Then, with a sigh of resignation she, +so to speak, absented herself, and her gaze reverted +to a large and vigorous bas-relief that occupied the +centre of a deep wall-shelf right before her. +</p> + +<p> +It was a recent achievement; a thing of signal +beauty and power, as magnificently impetuous as +the figure on the table was gracious and controlled. +It portrayed the death of a Viking self-immolated +on the deck of his blazing barque in a storm off the +coast of Norway. In the background, the savage +peaks of the mainland were roughly indicated. The +rest was a whirl of wind-battered clouds and waters, +scrolls of smoke and twisted blades of fire that +wreathed and devoured the doomed ship. Her prow, +a Valkyrie with winged helmet and lifted spear, rode +high on the crest of a wave, poised, as it were, for the +flight to Valhalla when her hero on the sloping deck +should have finished his last fight. And it was not +finished yet. Raised on one elbow, his head flung +upward, his long locks, beard, and eyebrows were +blown abroad by the wind. He seemed less to be +awaiting the stroke of death, than rejoicing in the +majestic duel between the gods of fire and storm. +Though dwarfed by his mighty surroundings, that +dying fragment of flesh and bone and sinew dominated +all—a serene and splendid figure of defiance; a +symbol, finely conceived and wrought, of the unconquering +yet unconquered spirit of man. That, for Mark, +had been the inner significance of his theme, above +and beyond his sheer joy in the swirl of the tempest, +with one quenchless spark of human will and courage +for the point of stillness in the midst. +</p> + +<p> +For days, while working at it, he had scarcely been +off his feet or sat down to a meal, and his final spurt +of inspiration had kept him going from breakfast-time +one day till four o'clock next morning. The +thing was unquestionably his finest achievement yet. +He had put more of himself into it than into any +work of his hands; and he wondered, now, whether +Bel was seeing it merely as a vigorous bit of drama, or +feeling it, understanding it, as every artist craves +that his work should be felt and understood. +</p> + +<p> +She had made few comments when first he showed +her his studio, his inner self, except that she had not +realised she was going to marry a genius and she +hoped he was not one of the too uncomfortable kind. +He had promptly reassured her by waiving all claim +to genius and promising not to be "uncomfortable" +if he could possibly avoid it. A faint, very faint, +twinge at his heart had been loyally ignored; and +before long she had charmed him—almost—into +forgetfulness that it had ever been there. +</p> + +<p> +Still, it could not be said that they made swift +progress in intimacy. One day she would seem +exquisitely near him, and the next would slip +distractingly out of reach. At first this had puzzled him. +Then he suspected it of being deliberate; and +suspicion was tinged with resentment. He neither +understood nor appreciated the feline element +inherent in certain women. Nor did he relish the +suspicion that at times Bel could, and did, play upon +him, as a skilled musician plays upon an instrument; +that she could even exasperate him to the point of +fury without losing an iota of her charm. That +charm she was at small pains to exercise on the other +members of the household, except in the case of +Maurice and Ralph. With them it was instinctive, +simply; with the rest it would have been something +of an effort, which apparently was not worth making. +</p> + +<p> +As regards Lady Forsyth—though Sheila had been +better than her word—things did not, so far, look +promising. Just at first, for Mark's sake, the two +had made a genuine effort at friendliness; but on +both sides the effort was so much more in evidence +than the friendliness that they very soon found +themselves tacitly avoiding any attempt at intimate +talk... For this unhappy state of things Mark, not +unnaturally, blamed his mother rather than Bel. +She, after all, was the older woman. A convincing +lead from her might have worked wonders; but the +very sincerity he had always so loved in her had now +become a stone of stumbling. That he could +understand, being cast in the same mould. What he +secretly resented was her blindness—wilful or +otherwise—to Bel's charm; to the sweetness and goodness +in her that would only, he fancied, blossom freely in +an atmosphere of sympathetic appreciation, his +mother's most notable gift. How deeply he had +counted on this, he now began to realise; but for +fear of hurting her and making matters worse, he +bridled his tongue, with the result that he, too, +found himself avoiding occasions for personal talk. +His people, it seemed, could not, or would not, +assimilate Bel; while Bel's whole attitude politely +implied that she was marrying him, not his people. +But they three—his mother, Keith, and Sheila—were +so closely linked with his main interest in +life that it was hard to see how matters would range +themselves when it came to the point of marriage. +And he intended to marry soon. An engagement +was an unsatisfactory state of affairs, and there was +nothing to wait for that he could see—— +</p> + +<p> +"There! The fifteen minutes is up," he said +suddenly, consulting his watch and stepping back again +for another critical survey. "I won't keep you a +second longer. She shall have her finishing touches +to-morrow." +</p> + +<p> +Bel rose, yawned, stretched herself gracefully at +some length, and then stood smiling at him, hands +clasped behind her head. +</p> + +<p> +Maurice—unnoticed by Mark, but not by Bel—took +up a fresh piece of paper and began a lightning +sketch of her pose. +</p> + +<p> +"You're a model of a model!" Mark commended +her warmly. Then his gaze moved from her to the +bas-relief, as if contrasting the two things he loved +almost equally with two different sides of his nature. +</p> + +<p> +"Have you made friends with my Viking?" he +asked, and she pursed her lips as if considering. +</p> + +<p> +"Frankly—I've tried to; but I can't. The wind +of him blows even one's thoughts about. He's +magnificent, of course. But too stormy and +uncomfortable for my taste; so uncomfortable that I +was rather wondering how you could have enjoyed +doing him?" +</p> + +<p> +Mark raised his eyebrows. "That doesn't lend +itself to explanation," he said lightly. "Some sort +of natural affinity, perhaps. I'm a bit stormy and +uncomfortable myself, in certain moods." He opened +his cigarette-case and held it out to her. "I +apologise for blowing your thoughts about. We'll change +your view to-morrow." +</p> + +<p> +"Now you're angry!" she said sweetly, taking a +cigarette and tapping it on the back of her hand. +As she did so a half hoop of diamonds flashed into +view. "Honesty's not the best policy, let the +copybooks never so virtuously rage!" +</p> + +<p> +"I prefer it anyway," he said. "Have a light." He +struck a match and held it for her. "I hope my +Lady of Dreams is more to your taste. She's +warranted not to stir the ghost of a breeze in any one's +thought!" +</p> + +<p> +Bel came forward now and contemplated herself +with undisguised satisfaction. "Mark, you <i>have</i> +improved her. She's lovely!" +</p> + +<p> +"Naturally. She can't help herself, bless her," +he said under his breath, for the pure pleasure of +calling up a blush. "Now then, Lenox," he added +aloud, "have you the cheek to produce your +caricature of my future wife?" +</p> + +<p> +"Rather!" Maurice promptly held up for +inspection a curious blur of blues and greens, of pale +gold hair and flesh tints of doubtful fleshliness. +After some looking, the suggestion of a woman +emerged; and later still, a ghostly suggestion of Bel. +It was unquestionably clever—and nothing more. +Mark laughed aloud. +</p> + +<p> +"Call that a portrait! By the yellow blob on the +top one would just know which way to hang it!" +</p> + +<p> +"Mark, you're very rude!" Bel waved him aside +with her cigarette. "It's queer and perverse; but +<i>I</i> rather like it." +</p> + +<p> +Maurice sprang to his feet and executed a low bow. +"Miss Alison, it is yours——" +</p> + +<p> +He broke off and straightened himself, for the door +opened to admit Keith with the <i>Times</i> in his hand. +"Your mother wants lunch at once," he said. "I'm +driving her into Ardmuir early on business. Would +you care to come?" +</p> + +<p> +"Thanks no. We've a private picnic on, across +the loch." +</p> + +<p> +Mark glanced at the open sheet. "Any fresh news?" +</p> + +<p> +"A few more details about that Irish shooting +affray; an ugly, ominous business. While our precious +politicians are hurling epithets at each other, +things over there are rapidly drifting towards +bloodshed on a big scale." +</p> + +<p> +Mark's eyes flashed and he thrust out his chin. +"If fighting's imminent, the sooner you and I pack +our things and cross over to Belfast the better. At +least we can help to stiffen the ranks." +</p> + +<p> +"Mark—you don't <i>mean</i> that?" Bel broke in, a +touch of sharpness in her startled tone. +</p> + +<p> +"Every word of it," he answered quietly, and +Macnair's long mouth twisted as he looked from one +to the other. "I could name a dozen good fellows +here who'd come with me like a shot." +</p> + +<p> +"But—what do <i>you</i> know about soldiering?" +</p> + +<p> +He laughed. "More than you think for. I've +been put through my paces in the O.T.C. I can +ride; I can flag-wag; and I'm a marksman, which +is very much to the point. You've not discovered +all my talents yet by any means!" +</p> + +<p> +But Bel was scarcely listening. Her eyes were on +Keith, whom already she recognised as an authority +on most things, including Mark himself. +</p> + +<p> +"You're not really going, are you, Mr. Macnair?" +she asked in a tone of faint dismay. "The Government +would surely never let it get as far as civil war." +</p> + +<p> +Keith, more charmed than he cared to own, +reassured her with his kindliest smile. "I sincerely +hope not, Miss Alison, for all our sakes. This Austrian +ultimatum to Serbia may very well set Europe ablaze; +and at such a moment we should be worse than fools +to start cutting each other's throats at home." +</p> + +<p> +Bel looked distinctly relieved. In spite of her +American phase, she remained essentially an islander. +For her, Europe was a vast vague region across the +Channel, chiefly represented by Paris and the Riviera. +But with Mark it was otherwise. +</p> + +<p> +"I say, Keith," he asked sharply. "Is that Serbian +business really going to make things buzz? I've done +no more than squint at headlines lately. And we've +had such a surfeit of 'Wolf, Wolf!' one gets a bit +sceptical!" +</p> + +<p> +Keith smiled. "When you can find time to 'squint' +at two letters I've had from Vienna and Rome, you'll +be sceptical no longer. If Austria wrings the last +humiliation from little Serbia, Russia will be in it; +which means France will be in it too——" +</p> + +<p> +"In <i>what</i>, Mr. Macnair?" Bel's relief was swiftly +evaporating. +</p> + +<p> +"The conflagration of Europe," Keith said gravely; +and the plain statement sent an odd, uncomfortable +thrill through them all. +</p> + +<p> +"But we're not Europe. It would not mean us?" +</p> + +<p> +Keith gave her a direct look. "In my opinion, +Miss Alison, we <i>are</i> Europe and it would mean us. +Unless we recognise that obvious fact in time, we shall +simply be marched over. Whether our reigning +politicians will take your view or mine, remains to +be proved.—But there goes the gong. And we must +feed, though dynasties fall!" +</p> + +<p> +He hurried out and Maurice followed him. +</p> + +<p> +As the door closed on them, Mark, in his silent, +impetuous fashion, turned and took the girl in his +arms. "Poor darling! Did I frighten her badly?" +</p> + +<p> +"No. You made her very angry!" she answered, +in her most seductive voice; and for all apology he +kissed her passionately. +</p> + +<p> +"It <i>will</i> be all right, won't it?" she questioned, +still in her childlike vein. +</p> + +<p> +"God knows. I hope it will," he said. "Anyway, +if we are sitting on a live crater, we'll take our fill of +peace and sunshine this afternoon. Come along!" +</p> + +<p> +But at lunch there was more disturbing talk about +Ireland. Mark still spoke of going over if the +tension snapped, though Bel had taken his caresses for +a sign of grace. Ralph clamoured to accompany him. +Sheila threatened to beg, borrow, or steal a uniform +and go with them. As for Lady Forsyth she seemed +as bad as any one. A spot of colour in each cheek +heightened the blue of her eyes. She felt the whole +tragic tangle of right and wrong keenly, vividly, as +she felt everything, from a pin-prick to an earthquake +in the antipodes; and, like all truly imaginative +natures, she could sink the personal point of view +when larger issues held the field. Bel, very wisely, +kept silence. Anything she might have to say on the +subject was for one ear alone. Meantime, she +privately reiterated her opinion that Lady Forsyth was +an odd, uncomfortable sort of person, quite unworthy +to be the mother of Mark. +</p> + +<p> +Lunch ended, the "uncomfortable person" retreated +to her turret-room to write a couple of notes +before starting, and thither Mark followed her—an +event so rare these days that she started when the +door opened and he came in. +</p> + +<p> +"Mother," he plunged as usual, "the others were +mostly joking at lunch. But I meant what I said. +Did you?" +</p> + +<p> +She looked up quickly, and her eyes caressed his +fine, strong face. "Of course I did." +</p> + +<p> +"Thought so. You <i>are</i> a real sportswoman, Mums." +</p> + +<p> +She sighed and smiled almost in one breath. "A +fair imitation! I shall pray more fervently than ever +for a peaceful solution. Besides—" a tentative +pause—"How about Bel?" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>She'd</i> be all right. Why shouldn't she?" +</p> + +<p> +But the touch of sharpness in his tone betrayed +him—and Bel also. "You might credit her with a +few good qualities. She's got as many as most people +if you'd honestly look for them. But you won't." +</p> + +<p> +"Dear, that's not true. You might try and be +fair to me. I've done my best." +</p> + +<p> +"So has she, no doubt, though you probably haven't +noticed it. But it seems precious little use either +way. So the less said the better." He swung round +and took a step toward the door. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Mark!" she murmured, and checked herself. +He was right. Words only widened the breach. +But the low sound brought him back to her side. +"Mums," he said, a hand on her shoulder, "is this +rotten state of things always going on between us?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I hope not." She laid her fingers over his. +"'My faith is large in time.' We two impatient +folk must manage to have patience with each other. +The trouble is—forgive me, dear—I can find so +little in her to take hold of. It's rather like trying +to grasp a cloud. Later on I may arrive at the +substance that must be there!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, it's <i>there</i> right enough." Mark's tone was +curiously quiet, considering how she had dared. "Are +you yet convinced, Mother, that she cares, or do you +still believe she's marrying my title and possessions?" +</p> + +<p> +Lady Forsyth started. "Have you any doubt yourself?" +</p> + +<p> +"If I have, it's all your fault. What d'you really +think? Tell me." +</p> + +<p> +"I think she cares more now than she did at first, +though not nearly so much as she ought to before she +becomes your wife. You've won her, nominally, +by the primitive process of snatching. But you've +yet to win her actually. So don't be in a hurry to +snatch at marriage. You're still comparative strangers. +Give yourselves a year at least." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh Lord!" he groaned, "I was thinking of Christmas. +I'm blest if I could keep it up for a year." +</p> + +<p> +"Keep up—what?" she asked, amused and amazed. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh—you know!" he flung out an expressive hand. +"This lovering business. I'm not much of a hand +at the sentimental touch. Little compliments and +attentions and all that. <i>Your</i> fault again! You +haven't reared me that way. Mind you, it's not that +I don't care——" +</p> + +<p> +"Of course not!" Her amusement was full of +understanding. "It's only that you're even more of +a Scot than I thought you were! Poor Bel!" +</p> + +<p> +"Not a bit of it!" he retorted; but that first touch +of sympathy pleased him. "I believe I'm improving. +But—after marriage, she wouldn't expect so +much—eh?" +</p> + +<p> +"She might—and she might not. Women mostly +do. And when they marry the non-lovering type of +Scot—they suffer. A friend of mine—an Irishwoman +and childless—was so completely withered by ten +years of life with a dour and devoted Scottish +husband that she simply had to leave him, and to this +day he doesn't understand why." +</p> + +<p> +"Hurry up, Helen! What's come to you?" Keith's +voice rang out from the stairs; and Lady Forsyth +leapt to her feet. "Bad boy to delay me like this! +But do give yourself time to get your hand in. Promise." +</p> + +<p> +He smiled at her characteristic urgency. She +looked ridiculously, engagingly young, he thought, +in her blue motor bonnet with its long veil floating +over her shoulder, and the eyes that answered his +smile were suspiciously bright. Obeying a rare +impulse, he stooped and kissed them. "Well—just +to please you," he said, "I'll try and hang on till +Easter." +</p> + +<p> +"Bless you!" she whispered. Then she waved to +him from the threshold and was gone. +</p> + +<p> +For several minutes he stood there looking round +the familiar room—that still seemed alive with her +presence—in a very mixed frame of mind. It was +puzzling, and it hardly seemed right somehow; but +the fact remained that, even now, this vivid, virile +little mother of his was easily the biggest thing in +his life. To please her he had promised to wait till +Easter. Rather an unflattering discrepancy, when +you came to think of it, between nine months' +engagement and his original proposal to marry in a +week. And, with a sudden twinge of compunction, +he hurried out in search of Bel. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0107"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER VII +</h3> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won,<br> + Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assailéd;<br> + And when a woman woos, what woman's son<br> + Will sourly leave her till she have prevailéd?"<br> + SHAKESPEARE.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +That picnic on the farther shore of the loch marked +a definite step in the progress of their intimacy. +</p> + +<p> +Bel, in a distinctly coming-on disposition, proved +herself at once a more enchanting and disturbing +possession than Mark had found her hitherto. First +she must discover a hollow full of bracken for his +"arm-chair"; then she must take possession of the +tea-basket and proceed to "play at being married" +with all the airy innocence of nineteen. But nineteen +never could have worked so simply yet skilfully +on a man's heartstrings that, before their idyllic meal +was over, the man in question found himself more +than half regretting that promise to his mother. It +was almost as if Bel had guessed at his defection and +set out to punish him. +</p> + +<p> +When tea was over he proffered his cigarette case. +"More demoralisation, I suppose?" +</p> + +<p> +"No; the reward of virtue!" she said, deftly extracting +one with each hand. +</p> + +<p> +"I say! Sheer greed! What about virtue being +its own reward?" +</p> + +<p> +She wrinkled her nose very prettily. "Can't say +I've ever found it so. But then—I'm not overburdened +with virtue. So I'm entitled to the reward!" +</p> + +<p> +"Not in that form. You're my wife this afternoon!" +</p> + +<p> +"So you can be as hectoring as you please? At +that rate I vote we remain engaged to the end of the +chapter!" +</p> + +<p> +"Bel—if you talk like that, I'll marry you +to-morrow," he threatened her, tempted beyond +endurance; but she was gravely considering her two +cigarettes. Then, lifting her lashes, she regarded him +with lazy tenderness. "I'll be very good," she said, +"and give up one of them in exchange—for a kiss!" +</p> + +<p> +Thus challenged he seized her and kissed her +vehemently—lips, eyes, and hair. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh—oh!" she breathed, half in ecstasy, half in +remonstrance; and he desisted without releasing her. +</p> + +<p> +"You brought it on yourself," he said huskily. +"Bel—you're a witch. You <i>do</i> know how to make +a man crazy for you." +</p> + +<p> +Her sigh expressed contentment unabashed. But +she seemed chiefly concerned with the cigarette in +her left hand. It was crumpled into a limp wreck. +</p> + +<p> +"There now, you've killed the poor thing," she +said, holding it up for his inspection. "And I might +just as well have enjoyed it. Do look at Bobs over +there, disapproving visibly of your behaviour." +</p> + +<p> +Mark looked; and the Irish terrier's stump of a +tail moved to and fro in small jerks. The rest of him +remained motionless, watchful, nose between paws, +obviously prepared for active intervention, if need +arose. +</p> + +<p> +"Good old Bobs!" murmured Mark; and two +velvet ears, several shades darker than the chestnut +head, twitched in response, as who should say: "I +appreciate the attention, but we can't enjoy ourselves +properly till we're rid of her." +</p> + +<p> +Bel snapped her fingers in friendly invitation. +But he paid no heed. "He's quite uncomfortably +human, that dog, and he hasn't accepted me yet. +He's a jealous red-head, like his master—almost as +jealous as his master's mother!" +</p> + +<p> +"Why do you think she's jealous?" Mark asked, +instinctively on the defensive at the mention of her +name. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't think. I know. It's quite natural. I +should be horribly jealous—of my son." +</p> + +<p> +"You would—would you?" he asked in a changed +voice; and she, resting her head against him, answered +nothing. Possibly she thought the allusion might +induce him to speak more definitely of their marriage; +but he merely continued to hold her, more gently +now, and to stroke her ruffled hair. +</p> + +<p> +For several minutes they remained thus, thinking +their own curiously divergent thoughts. Then by +degrees she drew herself away, laid the crumpled +cigarette on his knee and put the other between her +lips. "Light, please," she said, and as he held the +match for her, she looked searchingly into his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Bel—" he began vehemently; but she checked +him with a gesture. "Pax! I want to enjoy my +cigarette unmolested. Tell me more about the +Hampshire home. I've heard next to nothing about +it yet." +</p> + +<p> +She settled herself to listen, hands lightly clasped +round her knees, her eyes gazing dreamily out over +the water. Like all women who pose habitually and +instinctively, she had the art of seeming more natural +than genuine simplicity can ever appear. And she +had touched the right spring. If Mark loved any +place in the world better than Inveraig, it was +Wynchcombe Friars. His feeling for both was too personal, +too deep-seated to be articulate; but he could at +least describe externals; and he did it well. He told +her of the long, rambling Elizabethan house, with its +oak panelling and dark roof beams; of the great +flagged terrace, flanked by moss-covered urns, +overlooking a forest of Scotch firs that trooped down into +the valley and climbed the opposite ridge in massed +battalions. +</p> + +<p> +"Outside my bedroom and studio windows," he +said, "there's a very sea of pine tops, sinking into +the hollow and rising again till they are splashed like +dark foam against the sky. Magnificent trees. Most +of 'em hundreds of years old. And the charm of it +is that, on the other side of our ridge, behind the +house, we drop down into typical English country: +meadows and park land, and the Wynch flowing lazily +through it; great lonely beeches and oaks, with all +space to spread themselves in, and the grand old +ruins of Wynchcombe Abbey. You'll simply love it. +I'm longing to take you all over it." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm longing too. It sounds very beautiful," she +said with feeling; then paused, as if picturing the +scene. But her feminine brain was revolving matters +more practical than pine forests and ruined abbeys. +</p> + +<p> +"Horses to ride?" she asked casually. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; and to drive. We're not motor-folk really. +But mother succumbed to one at last for long distances." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm glad. I love motoring. Are you within +reasonable distance of town?" +</p> + +<p> +"Seven miles from a branch line station and bad +connections. We usually motor to the main line +thirteen miles off. But we're not great Londoners, +either of us. We've too much that's keenly interesting +on the spot." +</p> + +<p> +"Rather narrowing, isn't it?" +</p> + +<p> +"I haven't found it so." +</p> + +<p> +Again she was silent, contemplating the blurred +beauty of inverted hills in the loch. +</p> + +<p> +"And Wynchcombe Friars," she asked, "would +be our main residence?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well—where else?" he said, smiling at her pensive +profile and wondering what she was driving at. +"There's only this, besides. This is mother's little +place—a legacy from a bachelor godfather. I don't +run to half a dozen establishments." +</p> + +<p> +"But surely"—she turned to him now, half eager, +half anxious—"surely you have a house in town?" +</p> + +<p> +"Rather not. Don't want it, and couldn't afford +it. I'm not a cocoa or a patent medicine millionaire. +Keeping up two estates—though Inveraig is not +large—takes a fair amount of money. And I've put a +good deal into our arts and crafts centre." +</p> + +<p> +Her face fell so noticeably that he slipped a +consoling hand through her arm. "Poor little girl! +Is it a house in town she's after?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, naturally I"—she coloured a little—"I +thought—you kind of people always went the regular +round—London, Scotland, and the country." +</p> + +<p> +"So we do; the social sort. Mother and I aren't +the social sort. I didn't suppose you were either." +</p> + +<p> +"I haven't had half a chance. But I'd like to be. +A flat wouldn't ruin you, would it, Mark? Just for +the season." +</p> + +<p> +This time it was his face that fell. "Oh Lord! +I could never stick out a London season, Bel. The +very best time in the country too." +</p> + +<p> +"And <i>I</i> could never exist all the year round out +of town." She stated the fact sweetly but with +entire conviction. +</p> + +<p> +"Hang it all! This is rather a serious state of +affairs!" he said, with a lightness he was far from +feeling. "We must see if we can't effect a compromise." +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly he remembered his mother's words a +fortnight ago; and impulsively he spoke his thought. +"Of course if you feel—you've been let in; accepted +a baronet under false pretences——" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh be <i>quiet</i>!" she entreated, pain and passion in +her low tone. "It's <i>you</i> I've accepted." +</p> + +<p> +"And you'll take me as you find me? That's all +right." His fingers pressed her arm. "You do +care—actively, Bel? It's not simply a case of 'L'un +qui baise...?'" +</p> + +<p> +It was a question to rouse the incurable coquette +in her; and she flashed him a fugitive smile. +</p> + +<p> +"In the course of my variegated life," she said, +"I've mostly found it more blessed to receive than to +give. But in your case—isn't my rather precipitate +acceptance proof enough for you? And the fact +that you can reduce me—<i>me</i>, to asking for kisses?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh—kisses!" he dismissed them with a shrug. +</p> + +<p> +"Well—if it's more practical proof you're wanting"—she +hesitated, then turned full upon him, her +languor discarded like a garment. "I simply can't +bear this crazy talk about going to Ulster. It's no +earthly concern of yours. Mark—darling, <i>don't</i> go, +even if they are fools enough to fight." +</p> + +<p> +She leaned urgently towards him. Her whole +sweet face looked younger, tenderer, more appealing +than he had seen it since that momentous afternoon +in the glen. So swift, so surprising was her change +of front, that he looked openly dismayed. +</p> + +<p> +"You don't seem very keen on practical proofs after +all," she said, bringing her face a shade nearer to his. +"I did think your mother would have the sense to +discourage you." +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head. "Mother understands." +</p> + +<p> +"That really means she gives in to your every whim. +It's the way mothers are made. Specially when +they own a son with a chin like yours! But the +modern wife isn't quite so accommodating. And +I suppose my feeling about it counts for something?" +</p> + +<p> +"Of course it does—tremendously." +</p> + +<p> +"Then say you won't go; and there'll be no more bother." +</p> + +<p> +He thrust out his formidable chin and looked +across the loch with troubled eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Darling," she persisted, "where's the <i>point</i> of +mixing yourself up with a purely Irish quarrel?" +</p> + +<p> +He shrugged his shoulders, still keeping his eyes +away from her face. +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose—a natural prompting of the blood. +Mother's a Stuart, of these parts, with a strain of +North Ireland in her; and there's a link between +Ulster and the south-west of Scotland that only +those who belong there quite understand. In very +old days, the two coasts were so close, at points, that +men could row to and fro in ordinary sea-boats. +And it's not a purely Irish quarrel, Bel. It's of the +first importance that the United Kingdom should +remain united—especially just now. Nothing would +suit Germany better than Home Rule and 'Ireland-a-nation' +before she throws off her mask. Personally, +I admit I'm keen for a share in the scrap, +if it comes to scrapping. I've the blood of fighters +in my veins. But of course—if you're dead against it——" +</p> + +<p> +"I <i>am</i> dead against it," she said, softly implacable, +edging closer still. "And <i>you're</i> too strong to be +obstinate. Mark—you're not going to refuse the +first thing I seriously ask you to do for me?" +</p> + +<p> +Her low-toned tenderness disarmed him utterly. +"No, I'm <i>not</i>," he said, with sudden vehemence, +drawing her to him. "I won't go to Ireland, Bel. +No need to worry any more." +</p> + +<p> +With a sigh of relief, she put her free arm round +his shoulder, lifted her head, and kissed him on the +lips. It was the first time she had done so spontaneously; +and, at the moment, it eased considerably his +bitter sense of disappointment. He said nothing, +however, and for the rest of the evening Bel was all +tenderness and simplicity; not a shadow of coquetry +to mar the effect. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"I think my concession deserves a special reward," +he said later on, as he grounded the boat under +Inveraig, and handed her ashore. "You might chuck +your Harry for once and come on up to dinner." +</p> + +<p> +But she demurred at that. Honestly she couldn't +chuck Harry to-night. Considering Harry's views +and her devotion and her resentment, she was taking +it all beautifully—in the intervals. "She's done more +for me in three years," Bel concluded, "than my own +people have in the rest of my life. So you oughtn't +to grudge her the crumbs that fall from your table! +You've monopolised me all day; and she hates being +alone in the evening." +</p> + +<p> +"Bring her along then. <i>I</i> don't mind." +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps not, Mr. Egoist. But she would. She +wants me to herself, just as you do. Don't you see?" +</p> + +<p> +Mark grimaced. "No, I don't see. A couple of +women. Morbid rot! Mother says the Suffrage +business is increasing that sort of thing. I'll be glad +to get you out of the atmosphere and away from all +that rescue work of hers." +</p> + +<p> +"But, Mark, it's splendid work——" +</p> + +<p> +"Of course it is, for her. Quite unsuitable, though, +for you. If you really won't come up, I'll see you +home." +</p> + +<p> +No, she really wouldn't. She was resolute on that +point. +</p> + +<p> +"Your people up there have had enough of me to-day," +she added, smiling into his dissatisfied face. +"They're like Bobs. They haven't quite accepted +me yet. And—honestly, I don't seem to catch on, +somehow, except with Mr. Lenox——" +</p> + +<p> +"Not Sheila?" he asked, a little anxiously. "I'm +very keen you two should be good friends." +</p> + +<p> +"She evidently knows that, and she's doing her +best. She's sweetness itself to me. But still——" +</p> + +<p> +"Well? What's wrong with her?" He was on +the defensive again. +</p> + +<p> +"My dear, there's nothing wrong. If there was, +she'd probably be twice as charming. She's the kind +of tranquil angel who would show up beautifully +against a tragic background. But, in ordinary life, +she seems almost too good to be true." +</p> + +<p> +"She's nothing of the kind," he retorted hotly, +which did not improve matters. But for the life of +him, he could not keep cool. "She's the right sort +all through." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, if she's such a living wonder, why on earth +don't you marry her instead of me?" Bel countered +with perfect good temper. +</p> + +<p> +"For a very obvious reason, which you don't +deserve to be told in so many words." +</p> + +<p> +"Mark, you're horrid!" she pushed him lightly +with her shoulder. "Don't let's spoil our beautiful +afternoon squabbling over a side issue. No doubt +we shall shake down together in the end. Only give +us time." +</p> + +<p> +Her sweet reasonableness disarmed him—for the +moment. But he was a long while falling off to +sleep that night. Things did not easily worry him; but +within the last twelve hours several events of more +than minor importance had conspired to that end. +</p> + +<p> +First, Bel's frankness made it clear that at Inveraig +she found no atmosphere of genuine welcome or +of home. He must give them time, as she had said; +but it was an unpropitious start. Second, he had, +in effect, saddled himself with two promises that +would be far from easy to keep. Third, there was +the unwelcome prospect of that possible flat in town. +If Bel seriously set her heart on it, he did not see +himself refusing her; though goodness knew where +the money was coming from, or how he was going +to survive large doses of London society. Son of a +mother who treated life as an art, he lacked the +herd-instinct of the social type. But for all her indulgence, +and his own imperious ways, he was not radically +selfish; and beneath his blunt, Scottish exterior there +dwelt a deep, natural tenderness for woman, as +woman, common to the essentially masculine man. +</p> + +<p> +Marriage, he supposed, meant compromise; and +he began to see that, with Bel for wife, he would +have to do his full share of it. Looking back over +their "beautiful afternoon," he was uncomfortably +aware of certain fundamental discords; still more +aware that his mother had been right in several +respects. It was an annoying trick of hers. She +had been right about Ulster; about Bel's eye to +worldly advantage; even about the minor matter +of her age. For Mark had discovered, incidentally, +that she was twenty-nine in June, two years older +than himself. Not that a year or so mattered this +way or that. But it was an additional score for his +mother; and gave greater weight to her curious +antipathy to the girl of his choice. +</p> + +<p> +His disappointment about Ulster was keener even +than he cared to admit; and here again—as his +acutely wide-awake brain recalled words and looks +and tones—a sudden vexatious doubt assailed him. +Had her tenderly urgent request been as spontaneous +as it seemed: a genuine response to his question +about active caring? Or had she been skilfully +leading him towards it all along? Her pretty +coquetting with the tea-things, her pretence at being +married, and her casual mention of a son—had it +all been cleverly designed to stir him to the depths +and so make victory secure? He hated himself for +the suspicion. It persisted none the less. Yet he +knew quite well that it would evaporate at the sight +of her face and the touch of her lips. Only when the +spell of her presence was removed was he capable of +doubting her for an instant; and even so, he saw +those doubts as a reflection on himself rather than +on her. He was tired, simply; and—yes, more than +a little disappointed. That was all; and the sooner +he got to sleep the better. +</p> + +<p> +Springing out of bed he stood a few minutes at the +window looking out upon a world of stars in the +heavens above and the waters below. Fitfully, through +the silence, came the clear night note of the curlew; +and the sound of the ebbing tide was like hushed voices +talking secrets the stars must not overhear. As a +small boy, lying wakeful in the summer twilight, +Mark had woven entrancing tales about those +mysterious confidences between the retreating waters and +the shore: tales that had become part of the fabric +of his inner life. +</p> + +<p> +A few deep breaths filled his lungs with clean cool +air and quieted his brain. Metaphorically, he wrung +the serpent's neck and flung him into the loch. Then +he went quietly back to bed. Happen what might +Bel was Bel: a bewildering wonder of womanhood, +neither to be analysed nor criticised; but simply to be +loved and cherished and—so far as possible—obeyed. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0108"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER VIII +</h3> + +<p class="intro2"> + "England clasps in her embraces<br> + Many. What is England's state?<br> + Warn her, Bard, that Power is pressing<br> + Hotly for his dues this hour:<br> + Tell her that no drunken blessing<br> + Stops the onward march of Power.<br> +</p> + +<p class="intro2"> + Has she ears to take forewarnings,<br> + She will cleanse her of her stains;<br> + Feed and speed, for braver mornings,<br> + Valorously, the growth of brains."<br> + GEORGE MEREDITH.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Two days later the head-lines of every newspaper +in the kingdom announced in heavy-leaded type +"Austria declares War," "Partial Russian Mobilisation." +</p> + +<p> +At hundreds of breakfast-tables incredulous people +read out those few and fateful words. Even at this +late hour, the majority could scarcely bring +themselves to believe that the Titanic struggle—long +prophesied to deaf ears—had begun at last; that +Austria was the megaphone merely through which +Germany cried aloud her challenge to the world. +</p> + +<p> +Keith Macnair, it need hardly be said, was +numbered among the minority who had seen, with anger +and dismay, warning after warning scoffed at or +ignored by a pacific Government and a comfort-loving +people; yet he neither exclaimed, nor cursed the +blind guides who had been sedulously whittling down +the fighting strength of the British Isles. +</p> + +<p> +"Hullo! The fat's in the fire," he remarked coolly, +having pulled in his chair and opened the <i>Scotsman</i> +with his customary deliberation. "The voice is the +voice of Jacob; but the hand is the hand of Esau." +</p> + +<p> +It was Lady Forsyth, standing behind him, who +exclaimed and read out snatches from the Summary +of Contents with heightened colour and quickened +breath. +</p> + +<p> +Though Keith had all the natural man's objection +to these peculiarly feminine methods, he bore the +infliction without a murmur, till Mark, towering +behind his mother, took her waist between his hands +and propelled her towards the sputtering kettle. +</p> + +<p> +"Steady on, Mums, and feed your sheep," he +commanded, standing guard over her. "Your righteous +wrath will only give you indigestion, and the +elderly gentlemen who are engineering this eruption +won't be one penny the worse." +</p> + +<p> +"And you ought to be grateful to them really!" +Mona remarked, with a wicked twinkle. "What +about the German invasion you were praying for?" +</p> + +<p> +They all "ragged" her, young and old. She was +irresistible; and unquenchable. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, at least we can fight invading Germans, +and we couldn't fight the petticoats!" she retorted, +while Mark thrust a caddy spoon into her inattentive +hand. "But it still remains to be seen whether our +<i>pax vobiscums</i> will permit us to hurt a single hair of +a single 'kindred Teuton' head!" +</p> + +<p> +The tea was made by now, thanks chiefly to Mark; +and for five minutes she managed to concentrate her +attention on cups and saucers. But throughout the +meal they could talk of little else than the veiled +drama of the nations and its probable developments. +Mark himself was rather quieter than usual; but +perhaps he thought the more. +</p> + +<p> +When the younger ones went out on to the terrace, +he followed Keith into the study, and for some time +the two—who were as brothers in all but blood—sat +together in a smoky, companionable silence, each +absorbed in his own printed sheet. The Irish news +was by no means reassuring. But Mark, to Keith's +surprise, had tacitly dropped the subject; and it was +the older man who spoke first. +</p> + +<p> +"I'd give something for a glimpse, this minute, +into Germany's barracks and her sacred Kiel Canal. +If I know anything of the Kaiser and his gang, she's +on the move already; counting on our neutrality of +course. God send she may find herself mistaken; +but Grey will leave no stone unturned to avoid war. +As a philosopher and a man of letters, I'm with him +there. But the rest of me is convinced that nothing +short of Treitschke's 'terrible medicine' will shake +us out of our democratic fiddle-faddling and partisan +squabbling. It would link up the men and women, +not to mention the Empire; and as for the Irish—at +the first hint of real business, they'd be falling on +each other's necks. In that case, Mark, you and I +would be for offering our services elsewhere." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—of course. Rather so!" Mark agreed with +fervour; then checked himself and fell silent. +</p> + +<p> +Keith said nothing; but his thoughts were +effectually diverted from the threat of war to a more +personal threat that touched him very nearly, because +Mark was Helen's son. Being a man, he understood, +as she could never do, the nature of Mark's infatuation +for this alluring girl—"the ideal mistress" he +classified her mentally; the siren-type, who sits +combing her hair in the sunset and smilingly wrecks the +souls of men. The straighter and cleaner a man's +record, the more easily she flings her gold dust in his +eyes; and should she chance to fall in love—— +</p> + +<p> +Macnair had not yet made up his mind on that +score. He was concerned at the moment with one +painful, practical question: could she, in the event of +war, conceivably induce Helen's son to play the +coward's part? He knew Mark for a man of strong +passions; but he believed him equally strong in spirit +and in will. He felt troubled and anxious none the +less. Had he known of that recent surrender he +would have felt more anxious still. +</p> + +<p> +Mark left the study without further allusion to the +subject; and later in the morning Bel appeared +serenely graceful, in a new yellow silk golf coat and a +distractingly becoming hat. With such a vision +before his eyes no man in his senses could feel seriously +concerned about European thunderclouds that might +still, at the eleventh hour, dissolve in a harmless +shower of rain. +</p> + +<p> +Bel, of course, was airily convinced they would. +"Besides," she concluded, with her engaging air of +sagacity, "where's the earthly use of being an island, +with an invincible Navy, if we're to be scared by every +little flare-up across the Channel?" +</p> + +<p> +Mark smiled and shook his head at her. She was +ensconced in the deep window-sill of the studio, +lightly swinging one foot. +</p> + +<p> +"It's not a case of being scared, but of being +prepared," he said, fingering the stray tendrils in the +nape of her neck. "If Germany's engineering this +squabble it'll be the biggest flare-up the world's ever +seen; and before many days are out we may be +thanking Prince Louis on our knees for having kept +the Fleet in being——" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, be quiet!" she commanded, slapping the +hand that caressed her. "You're as bad as +Mr. Macnair." She leaned half out of the window. +"It's a divine morning. A boat on the loch would +be more to the purpose than all your horrid +battleships put together. Here comes the midday +post." +</p> + +<p> +"The <i>Times</i>!" cried Mark, and was promptly extinguished. +</p> + +<p> +"You aren't going to look at the <i>Times</i> till to-night," +she said. "You're to look at me in my new clothes. +What else did I put them on for?" +</p> + +<p> +The word "clothes" reminded him of an expected +parcel. "You wait there a minute," he said +mysteriously; and very soon reappeared with two of them. +From the smaller, he extracted a rope of amber beads; +from the larger, a snow leopard skin, lined with satin, +to form a natural cloak. +</p> + +<p> +Bel's face, during these proceedings, was certainly +better worth looking at than the <i>Times</i>. The beads +were the very colour of her coat; the pale tones and +dusky markings of the skin harmonised perfectly +with her hair; and her delight in both was too genuine +to be marred by minor affectations. By lunch-time +Mark had almost forgotten the International Crisis, +and the threat of war. +</p> + +<p> +But throughout that unforgettable week—when +the world's destiny hung in the balance—events in +Europe moved swiftly toward the great upheaval; +while in England the tension of anxiety increased +daily. Between those who feared that an enlightened +Liberal Government would be criminal enough to +fight, and those who feared the worse criminality of +its failure to stand by France, there could be little +peace of mind anywhere, except among the wilfully +or constitutionally blind—a large majority in every +country. +</p> + +<p> +At Inveraig they could talk of little else, except in +snatches. And Mark—reared by his mother to live +in touch with the whole vast sweep of life—was as +bad as the rest: though Bel, in her leopard-skin cloak +and amber beads, was a vision enchanting enough to +distract any man's thoughts from graver matters: +and indeed she did her utmost to that end with fitful +success. In her heart she hated this looming shadow, +chiefly because it dwarfed her proudest achievement—the +conquest of Mark: and as the week drew on, +she became bored; even faintly irritable. She began +to find or invent excuses for avoiding meals at +Inveraig, and when Mark remonstrated, she candidly +owned to being tired of the subject. She wasn't +accustomed to that sort of talk, and a little of it went +a long way. She would give him a holiday on Friday, +she concluded graciously. They had friends coming +to join them at The Rowans—Mr. and Miss Maitland +from his part of the world. +</p> + +<p> +Mark raised his eyebrows. "Maitland?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. He's classical master at High Rough School. +D'you know him?" +</p> + +<p> +"'M—slightly. I've not much use for him. Sort +of chap whose veins run ink instead of blood." +</p> + +<p> +She flushed a little and lifted her head. "He's a +great friend of mine; so you needn't make rude +remarks." +</p> + +<p> +"A <i>great</i> friend?" +</p> + +<p> +Mark bent a searching glance upon her. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes: in his lukewarm way." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, if he's lukewarm, he'll do! Didn't I say his +veins ran ink? I'll let you be polite to him on Friday, +and I must have Saturday afternoon and evening +entire as a reward!" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +But even while they talked, Europe hummed with +the stir of gathering armies; and by Saturday morning +the head-lines announced "Russian Mobilisation +Complete." Germany, who had secretly forestalled +that event, responded by declaring a state of war, and +an impenetrable veil fell between her and the outer +world. +</p> + +<p> +Keith handed the paper to Mark, who had come in +late for breakfast. "There you are, old boy. I said +the end of the month, didn't I? Russia brings in +France automatically. It only remains for Italy +and England to show their hands. I back Italy to +keep hers clean and stay out of it." +</p> + +<p> +"And I back England to fight." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—if we've still enough of the old leaven to +save us from the curse of legal verbiage and inaction." +</p> + +<p> +For the rest of the meal he confined himself to +intermittent "rumblings" (the word was Lady +Forsyth's) against peace-cranks, Internationals, and +so forth; but it was not until he had talked over +the telephone to a friend in Edinburgh that he really +let himself go—an event as rare as the proverbial +"blue moon." +</p> + +<p> +For it transpired that his friend—a professor of +distinction—had just promised his signature to a +neutrality letter strongly protesting against England's +intervention in a Continental quarrel. +</p> + +<p> +"Continental quarrel, forsooth! And the damned +fools, not content with their egregious letter, are +moving heaven and earth—that's to say International +and Labour lights—to get up a Neutrality Committee, +by way of further assisting a divided Government +that stands shivering on the brink. Here we are, +sunk deep in the ruts of peace in its most repellent +form—peace, that has almost landed us in civil war; +yet sober-minded men and women cry out against +our taking the only course that can conceivably save +half Europe, including ourselves, from the domination +of the German machine." +</p> + +<p> +His quiet grey eyes had a glint of steel in them, as he +stood there beside the telephone in the study, swept, +by intensity of conviction, so completely out of his +philosophic calm, that Helen and Mark, the natural +talkers, never dreamed of interposing a word. On the +rare occasions when the spirit of speech moved him, +they were willing to listen ad infinitum. +</p> + +<p> +He had descended to a lower plane now, and was +confounding the tyranny of the week-end habit, the +curse of the country, that would send responsible +people scuttling out of town on a Friday, though the +last trump were sounding in their ears. He also +confounded, for the first time in his life, that sacrosanct +institution the Scottish Sunday, which would cut them +off from letters, telegrams, and papers for twenty-four +hours. +</p> + +<p> +"Never mind, old man, we've got the blessed +telephone," Mark consoled him, clapping a hand on +his shoulder. "And we can jolly well make ourselves +a nuisance to all our friends and relations. What else +is a telephone for? I vote we run down to Glasgow on +Monday and sleep the night. We'd feel a bit closer +to things——" +</p> + +<p> +An imperious tinkle interrupted him. Admiral Sir +John Forsyth this time. Unlike the heads of the +political world, he had come up post-haste from Dorset, +and he wanted a few words with his nephew. +</p> + +<p> +It was while these things were in progress that Bel +arrived, eager for a sight of Mark, and found herself +relegated to the drawing-room with Sheila and Mona +for company. Sheila apologised in her friendliest +fashion; but that was quite beside the point. The +appearance of the tea-tray brought in Lady Forsyth; +but not till tea was half over did the telephone release +Mark. Then at last came her chance of escape; +and the lovers wandered off through the pine copse on +to the small patch of open moor overlooking the loch. +</p> + +<p> +"A shame to keep her waiting," he apologised +tenderly. "But this is history, darling, on a +tremendous scale; so you must make allowances." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm trying to." She dropped her lips with a +bewitching air of martyrdom. "But tremendous +things are rather exhausting. I can't get into a state +of thrill, like your mother and the rest. And I'm +very glad—you may think what you like!—that there +really is a chance we shall keep out of it. +Mr. Maitland says Sir Edward Grey has admitted that the +Entente's not binding, and a Liberal Government +can't drag a free people into the horrors of war." +</p> + +<p> +"Damn Maitland!" Mark flashed out; then reddened +and drew in his lip. "Sorry. But if you don't +want fireworks you'd better keep that chap's inspired +remarks to yourself. Besides, you're practically +one of us now; and I can't have you talking pacifist +twaddle." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, don't let's talk of it at <i>all</i>. I'm sick of the +whole thing." +</p> + +<p> +Mark said nothing, and they walked on in silence +through the heather. Then she turned to him and +slipped a hand through his arm. "Darling, let's +go off somewhere to-morrow for the whole day and +forget all about everything, except each other." +</p> + +<p> +"Bel!" He stood regarding her with an enigmatical +smile. For an instant she thought he would consent. +"I'd love to, of course," he said honestly. "But I +simply couldn't do it. Though we can't get papers, +there's the telephone; and my mind would be on the +stretch the whole time." +</p> + +<p> +She shrugged, with a faint reflection of his smile. +"Very well. I'll join the others. They're going for +an outing in any case. Your Scotch Sunday is so +desolating." +</p> + +<p> +"Then I'll call in for you after supper, if you're +not too tired. Keith and I are going to Glasgow on +Monday for the night. See how they're taking things +there." +</p> + +<p> +She sighed. "This wretched war is simply spoiling +everything." Her shoulder touched his as she spoke, +and at once he put his arm round her. "It seems to +shut me out." +</p> + +<p> +"Only because you refuse to come in." +</p> + +<p> +"But, Mark—it's such a horror." Her shiver was +not pure affectation. "And I've no taste for horrors. +I can feel it hovering there, across the Channel, like +a tiger waiting to spring. And when I try to forget it, +you don't help me. As you won't come to-morrow, +I shall console myself by asking Mr. Lenox. I like +him the best of your lot." +</p> + +<p> +"All right; ask him. He can keep an eye on you. +See that you don't flirt with Maitland." +</p> + +<p> +"But I do—always. It's an understood thing +between us. And if I can't have you, I must get +what fun I can out of him!" +</p> + +<p> +Maurice, though feeling the strain in his own way, +accepted Bel's invitation, plus her proviso that no +one was to say "War" or "Politics" from start to +finish. Privately she felt Mark's defection more +keenly than she cared to admit, but she intended to +enjoy herself in spite of it; and she succeeded, by the +primitive process of playing the two men off against +each other. Maitland—a loose-limbed narrowly built +person of nondescript colouring—had for years been +discreetly in love with her. He was of those for whom +discretion is the better part of everything. For which +cause a penniless Bel could never become Mrs. Maitland. +But the moth persisted in hovering round the +candle, and he had heard with a mild pang of her +engagement to Sir Mark. +</p> + +<p> +Like many schoolmasters of second-rate quality, +Maitland was less a man of intellect than of specialised +culture. Years of close touch with the "humanities" +had failed to make him human. He was humanitarian, +merely: a very different pair of sleeves. +</p> + +<p> +Maurice, watching him with Miss Alison, saw the +girl in a new light, and wondered a little what Forsyth +would think about it. But on his return he simply +remarked that Maitland seemed the sort of schoolmaster +who disseminated ignorance; that Miss Alison +had been in great form, and they had had a ripping +day. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Early on Monday afternoon the two men set out for +Glasgow; and to Lady Forsyth the house, bereft of +their presence, seemed a dead thing. A man's woman +in the finest sense of the phrase, her men were the +first best gifts of God to her. She was their born +comrade. She had the rare gift of seeing life with +their eyes; and through her nature ran a streak of +inconsistency, peculiarly endearing to the more +consistent half of creation. +</p> + +<p> +Even in the midst of her real anxiety lest a +Government wedded to peace should withhold England from +the path of honour and safety, her sensitive spirit +revolted against the oncoming holocaust of death and +suffering, with a fierce intensity of which Bel's nature +was purely incapable. She felt it as a vast thundercloud, +stealthily, inexorably blotting out the light of +heaven. These days of waiting—days of tense and +awful quiet for all who were far from the throbbing +heart of things—were as the pause of utter stillness +that precedes the crash of the storm. And in that +stillness she could see and feel too vividly things that +filled her with a shuddering dread. The whole world's +sorrow seemed to beat upon her heart, and at intervals +through the vast diapason of universal anguish came +the piercing note of personal pain. +</p> + +<p> +She knew—triumphantly, yet shiveringly she knew—what +it would mean for her if England went into +the war, not merely as a protective Power, but as a +united Empire to challenge conclusions with her +most insidious and most formidable enemy. Mark +would go out to France; and he would lose no time in +going. That was his way. He had said no word of +it, so far, either to her or Bel. But she knew his +intention, if the girl did not; and even while she +shrank from the surrender of her last best treasure, +she never dreamed of withholding him. If it were +really to be war on a big scale, everything, everyone +must go.... +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0109"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER IX +</h3> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Thy trumpet lies in the dust...<br> + Help me to don my armour!<br> + Let hard blows of trouble strike fire into my life.<br> + Let my heart beat in pain—beating the drum of thy victory.<br> + My hands shall be utterly emptied to take up thy trumpet."<br> + RABINDRANATH TAGORE.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"War declared—<i>at last</i>!" Keith announced, in his +quiet impressive voice; and Lady Forsyth heard the +words with an odd mingling of relief and dread. +</p> + +<p> +The next moment she was startled by a stab of +almost physical pain near her heart. That it was not +physical she knew very well. Instinctively she glanced +at Mark, whose eyes were already on her face; and +there passed between them a swift, unspoken message +that eased the hearts of both. +</p> + +<p> +Breakfast, usually a cheerful meal, was rather a +silent affair; and the minute it was over Lady Forsyth +slipped away to her turret-room. Sheila was helping +Ralph pack, that he might hurry down south and +report himself at the India Office. Mark had gone off +to the study with Keith; and Lady Forsyth had been +sitting in her chair by the window for nearly half an +hour before she heard his step outside the door. +</p> + +<p> +She turned, with his name on her lips; but her +throat felt constricted, and no sound came. +</p> + +<p> +In response to that mute appeal, he dropped on +one knee beside her and laid his hands in her lap. +It was his old boyish trick when he came to confess a +delinquency and knew himself forgiven in advance. +</p> + +<p> +"Mother," he said, "we've got to put everything +into this, you and I—to the uttermost farthing. All +our men must go. And I must give 'em the lead +myself." +</p> + +<p> +His voice was steady, and there was a light in his +eyes that she had never seen there yet. For all her +courage, her own smile was a rather misty affair. +</p> + +<p> +"You're my uttermost farthing," was all she could say. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. It's bitter hard luck on you. But—you +don't grudge my going?" +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head. "The greater my treasures +the greater my gift. This widow's mite is a very large +mite!" she added, smiling bravely now, and passing +her hands slowly over his broad shoulders down to his +elbows where they rested. +</p> + +<p> +For answer he looked steadily into her eyes. The +faint, yet perceptible barrier raised by his engagement +was levelled utterly; the old blessed sense of +comradeship restored. Friction between them was purely a +surface affair. The moment they touched fundamentals, +they were one. And Mark, for his part, +was aware of a restfulness in this deeper understanding; +a restfulness that he had missed of late without +knowing it. +</p> + +<p> +He knew now, very well; and she saw that he knew: +but he only said, "I was sure I could count on you. +Keith, approves, of course. I rather thought of going +down at once with Ralph. You know—it's enlisting +I'm after. The quickest way——" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh Mark—not that!" Her hands went up in +protest; and, for the first time, there was sharp pain +in her voice. +</p> + +<p> +"Now be a good Mums and listen without interrupting," +he commanded, imprisoning her hands. "We're +simply going to have the biggest rush to the colours +that the world's ever seen. I'm sure of it. And it's +up to us 'aristocratic noodles' to give the sacred +working-men, of our sacred democracy, a thumping +good lead. That's what I meant about my own +fellows. Thought you understood——" +</p> + +<p> +"But, my dear—" she checked herself, half +laughing. "Have you done? May I interrupt now?" +</p> + +<p> +"You have interrupted! Always do. Go ahead!" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, this is how <i>I</i> feel about it. Scores and scores +of our blessed noodles will enlist, for the very reason +you've given. The thing will be overdone, and if +there's a shortage anywhere, it'll be among the +officers. Then the wrong sort of men will get +commissions and numbers of the right sort will remain +stuck in the ranks: one way of democratising the +Army! Horrible idea! I believe, as you very well +know, in the true aristocracy of breeding and +character, in its duties even more than its privileges; +and above all in its innate spirit of leadership, that +can be trained but not made. That's why—especially +in a war that will exceed all others in horror and +intensity—I strongly object to wholesale squandering +of officer material, our most precious possession." +</p> + +<p> +"But, mother, I'm not an officer," Mark protested, +adding with a twinkle: "You're having a jolly long +innings, you know!" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I must speak now. It's my only chance. +And you're officer material, Mark. You'd make a +fine one, with a minimum of training. You've got it +in you. Will you—for once admit I may be in the +right?" +</p> + +<p> +He regarded her quizzically. "I was determined +not to, when you started." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, at least consult Keith and Uncle John and +Uncle Everard before you do anything drastic! You +wouldn't have to wait long for a commission. We've +heaps of interest—Frank Gordon and Jim Stuart, +not to mention others, would do anything for you in +that line. I don't want to be selfish or unpatriotic, +but you've admitted it comes hard on me. Why +make it needlessly harder?" +</p> + +<p> +To her entire amazement he flung his arms round her +and leaned his head against her shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +"You blessed little mother," he said under his +breath. "You're as plucky as they're made. Our +share in this war shall begin with a private victory for +you! And let's hope it may be a good omen!" +</p> + +<p> +Taking her head between his hands he kissed her +fervently, and she clung to him without a word. +</p> + +<p> +At last he sighed and stood up, very erect, looking +out across the sunlit water to the shadowy hills. Her +eyes took the same direction; but the familiar scene +was no more than a bright quivering blue of colour. +For a moment they both felt oddly shy of each other. +</p> + +<p> +Presently it passed, and Helen looked up at her son. +"I can't say what I'm feeling, Mark. But I don't +think you'll regret my victory. Besides, there's Bel." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. Poor Bel," he said in a changed voice. +"She hates the whole business. And she'll hate it +worse than ever now. But if she plays up as you have, +she'll do!" He glanced at his watch. "She'll be +here in a minute. I must go and meet her. Don't +stay and brood alone, Mums. Go down and talk to +Keith. He wants to rush into Ardmuir this morning +and fix up a recruiting show for Friday. Sir Mark +Forsyth in the chair! On Saturday I vote we go +south. There'll be a thundering lot to do. This food +panic's disgraceful. Famine, indeed! As if we hadn't +a ship afloat." +</p> + +<p> +She put her hands to her temples. "It makes +one's head spin. I'll go soon, dear, but I must have a +few minutes alone—to take it all in." +</p> + +<p> +So he left her, and went slowly down-stairs with a +preoccupied look in his eyes. It was scarcely the +look of a lover eager to meet the beloved after two +days' absence; and in truth his natural eagerness was +dimmed by a lurking doubt as to how Bel would +receive his announcement. The contrast between +the utter confidence he had felt in his mother's +acquiescence and his curious lack of confidence in the +girl he meant to make his wife hurt him horribly. He +blamed himself for it, as a matter of course; but deep +down, he knew that doubt did not come readily to his +nature; that never yet had he doubted where he loved. +</p> + +<p> +From the front door he caught sight of her at the +far end of the drive, moving in her graceful, leisurely +fashion, head bent, eyes on the ground. She was +wearing the yellow silk golf coat and the amber +beads, and the distractingly becoming hat; and, of a +sudden, Mark realised with a pang, how, in the last +few days, the great issues at stake had dwarfed +everything—even Bel. +</p> + +<p> +But now that the tension was over, the die cast, her +spell reasserted itself; and a great wave of tenderness +flowed through him. It would be hateful having to +leave her: but he was so made that the question of +choice simply did not enter his head. +</p> + +<p> +Now he hurried forward, convinced that so great an +occasion must lift her above herself. It was always +the same: at sight of her, doubt grew shamefaced—and +fled. +</p> + +<p> +Before he reached her, she looked up and waved +with her parasol, and Bobs, suddenly recognising +her, bounded forward with eloquent tongue and tail. +While she was patting him, Mark came up and quietly +slipped a hand through her arm. +</p> + +<p> +"That's good," he said, with a sigh of satisfaction. +"Come to our summer-house on the heather and have +a talk." +</p> + +<p> +As he led her towards the copse she gave him one of +her soft side-long glances, whether of scrutiny or +affection it were hard to say. +</p> + +<p> +"Bobs is more demonstrative than his master." +</p> + +<p> +The answering flash of his eye and tongue were +direct as his whole nature. "You won't induce me to +kiss you in the open drive by your base insinuations!" +</p> + +<p> +And it was not till they reached the depth of the +little wood that he came to a standstill; a strange light +of exaltation on his face. Then he drew her to him +and kissed her with a still intensity of passion, as if +he would make her understand the measure of his +love before telling her that which, perversely taken, +might seem to throw a doubt on it. +</p> + +<p> +When he released her, she stood back a little and +smiled on him, rosy from his kiss, hands laid lightly +on his breast. +</p> + +<p> +"Are you as glad—as all that, to get her back?" +she asked. +</p> + +<p> +"More than all that—heaps more. I agree with +Robert Louis. Separation has its good points! +But we'll soon be suffering from too sharp a taste of +it—scores of us. I suppose you deigned to glance at the +head-lines this morning?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, of course." She frowned. "It's horrible—beyond +belief. Rex says it simply means that, in +spite of all our science and progress, the world's not +civilised yet." +</p> + +<p> +"More fool he, to imagine it was. Patches of it are +half-civilised, that's about all. And enough too. +Over-civilisation, goodness knows why, has a queer +tendency to rot men's souls. Makes the body too +comfortable, perhaps." +</p> + +<p> +"Rubbish! That's one of your fads just because +you're against progress." +</p> + +<p> +"Not I, in the right direction. I'm only against +the modern craze for rushing wildly round a fixed +point and getting nowhere. This war may set the +clock back, but I bet it'll get us somewhere before it's +done with us." +</p> + +<p> +He was back at the unavoidable subject again; +and this time he resolved to have done with shilly-shallying. +</p> + +<p> +They had reached the summer-house fronting moor +and loch; and as he stood aside to let her pass in, she +said, smiling: "I like the way you barbarians justify +your own point of view! Anyway, I suppose you're +all satisfied now, and things will be a little more +normal?" +</p> + +<p> +"Normal?" His shock of surprise sounded in his +tone. "How can they be normal when we've got to +fight for our lives against a Power like Germany? +Who'd wish them to be? I'm afraid you haven't +read much <i>more</i> than the head-lines, Bel. There's no +end to think of: no end to do. As soon as I've +rounded up my fellows here, we must go back home +and round 'em up there. I wanted to enlist myself, +but mother's persuaded me to apply for a commission. +She's splendid about it, and I'm counting on you to +be the same." +</p> + +<p> +"Mark!" Her surprise was no less than his own. +She sank upon a wooden seat near the window and +looked up at him, with eyes that had gone suddenly +chill and hard, like bits of blue glass. "Have you +quite gone off your head?" +</p> + +<p> +Words and tone produced a horrid revulsion of +feeling. But he answered her with studied quietness. +"I was never saner in my life." +</p> + +<p> +She received that statement with a faint lift of her +brows. +</p> + +<p> +"You can stand there and tell me—me—you're +going to fight in the most awful war there's ever been, +as calmly as if you were talking about ordering a new +suit, in spite of all I said about Ulster?" +</p> + +<p> +"Ulster! Good Lord, you're not building on <i>that</i>?" +he cried, enlightened at last. "My darling girl, +can't you see for yourself that there's no shadow of +comparison? That was a matter of personal choice. +Something I could give up for your sake—and I did." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, if you really—care, you ought to give up +this too. It's not fair on me, or your mother. Fighting +is the soldiers' business. Leave it to them." +</p> + +<p> +"A few hundred thousand against millions—eh?" +</p> + +<p> +"That's the Government's fault. Besides, we've +plenty of Territorials and things." +</p> + +<p> +His short laugh sounded more impatient than +amused. +</p> + +<p> +"A lot you know about Territorials and things! +They're thousands below strength. And anyway, +Bel, it's not a question of Territorials—or of caring. +It's a plain matter of duty." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, you've money and brains. You could do +quite good work in lots of other ways." +</p> + +<p> +"And round up better chaps than myself to go out +and fight for me? No, thank you! There'll be too +many ready to take shelter behind that plausible +excuse. If they feel they can do so honestly, let +them. Anything I could do at home could be equally +well done by mother and Keith. Did you happen to +notice the 'Call to Arms'? Do words like that leave +you unmoved?" +</p> + +<p> +"N-no. But it means common men, not men with +big responsibilities like you." +</p> + +<p> +"Bel, that's pure quibbling. It says 'All,' and it +means 'All.' Could any man, I ask you, with a +shred of conscience or love for his country, read that +and remain at home rotting round with recruits and +committees? I couldn't, that's flat. This war is +either a crusade or a meaningless horror. And for +me—it's a crusade. I'm not talking hot air. There's +too much of that in the papers already. I'm only +trying to make you see that I've no choice. I can't +stand outside—even for you." +</p> + +<p> +"That simply means you won't," she said very +low. He sighed and stood silent, baffled, yet unshaken, +looking out over the sun-splashed heather. Then it +occurred to him that, being a woman, persuasion +might move her though argument failed. +</p> + +<p> +He sank on one knee and put his arm round her. +"Darling," he urged, "I can't bear hurting you like +this. War is cruelly hard on the women: but you +only make things worse for us both if you let it come +between us." +</p> + +<p> +He felt her stiffen under his hand. "It has come +between us utterly," she said. "All this week it's +been getting worse. If you talk till all's blue, I shall +never see this—with your eyes. So it just amounts +to this. You must either give up your quixotic +notion of patriotism, or ... you must give up ... me." +</p> + +<p> +She spoke with more than her usual deliberation. +The words seemed to drop out clear and hard as +pebbles. +</p> + +<p> +"Bel! You don't mean that!" he cried, hurt to the +quick. "It would simply break my heart." +</p> + +<p> +His sincerity was so plain, that her own heart +thrilled in response. She slipped a hand round his +head. Her fingers drifted with a slow caressing +movement over his hair; and her voice took its most +seductive tone. +</p> + +<p> +"Mark, darling, if that's true, keep me—keep +me. I'm yours, if only ... you'll stay out of the +fighting!" +</p> + +<p> +Instantly he released her and sprang to his feet—angry, +miserable, desperate. Yet still, in his very +desperation, he argued, pleaded, and exhorted her +afresh: without result. He had struck the layer of +adamant beneath her skin-deep tenderness. She +could not, or would not, see things in their true +proportion; and, finally, her hardness stung his pride +into life. +</p> + +<p> +"It's Maitland, I suppose, who's been perverting +you," he flung out angrily. "Better marry him, if +you're so keen on a husband who prefers to let others +do his fighting for him." +</p> + +<p> +At that she swept to her feet, the incarnation of +dignity, and looked him full in the eyes. "Rex has +nothing whatever to do with it. And your other +suggestion doesn't deserve an answer." She stood +silent a moment; but he neither spoke nor +moved. Then: "I—I'm going now," she said. +"We shall be leaving here very soon." +</p> + +<p> +"No hurry. We're going ourselves on Saturday." He +was watching her fingers. She had drawn +off his ring, and she tendered it him without a +word. +</p> + +<p> +Still he made no move. +</p> + +<p> +"Take it," she whispered, "it's yours—now!" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>I've</i> no use for the beastly thing," he answered +between his teeth, and lifting it from her palm he +flung it out into the heather. +</p> + +<p> +Her dignity and coldness went to pieces in a flash. +"Oh Mark—what a sin!" she cried sharply; and +hurrying out, she knelt down and began feeling, with +fingers that shook a little, for her vanished treasure. +</p> + +<p> +Mark, watching her from the threshold of the +summer-house, did not so much as notice that faint +tremor. The red mist of anger clouded his brain. +</p> + +<p> +"So much for a woman's sense of proportion!" +he said bitterly. "It's not a sin for you to smash +me up because I refuse to play the shirker. But it's +a sin to chuck away fifty pounds' worth of diamonds. +Money's sacred—if nothing else is. Keep it if you +find it, or it'll go straight into the loch." +</p> + +<p> +As she rose to answer him, her eye lighted on the +gleaming thing, and with a sigh of relief she picked +it up. "Sooner than that, I will keep it, though I +can't wear it," she said. "Besides, you may think +better of this." +</p> + +<p> +"Not until the Germans do," he answered, and +she knew he meant it. "Don't return any other +trifles, or they'll go the same way as the ring." +</p> + +<p> +"Then I suppose—it's good-bye." +</p> + +<p> +He heard the faint tremor in her voice. But at that +moment her very tears would scarce have moved him. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, good-bye," he said casually, his face hard +as a rock. "Whatever happens, let's preserve the +decencies." +</p> + +<p> +She caught her breath as if he had struck her; then +turning she walked away through the heather, +gracefully, deliberately, with the familiar swing of her +parasol at each step; even as he had seen her walking +towards him half an hour ago. +</p> + +<p> +He had blamed himself for doubting her, and she +had justified his doubts up to the hilt. In spite of the +dull pain and anger within him, his eyes followed +her, clung to her, till the last gleam of her yellow coat +disappeared among the trees. +</p> + +<p> +Then, with the look of a man stunned, he sat down +near the window-ledge and bowed his head upon his +arms. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0110"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER X +</h3> + +<p class="intro2"> + Vanish every idle thought,<br> + Perish, last of Folly's ways!<br> + All that pride of eye hath sought,<br> + All that rebel flesh hath wrought,<br> + Utterly reduced to naught,<br> + How can ye outlive these days?<br> + X.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +That was how his mother found him when she came +in search of him. The lunch-gong had brought no +Mark; and no one had seen him, except Maurice, +who, from his window, had caught sight of the lovers +entering the wood. All the morning she had been +secretly anxious. Now she felt certain something +was wrong, and telling the others not to wait, she +fled out to his favourite haunt, hardly knowing what +she expected to find. +</p> + +<p> +He did not hear her till she set foot in the +summer-house; and the wild idea smote him—Could it be Bel? +</p> + +<p> +With a start he looked up; and at sight of his face +Lady Forsyth's heart stood still. +</p> + +<p> +"My darling Boy, what <i>has</i> happened?" +</p> + +<p> +Mark frowned and straightened his shoulders. +"She's chucked me—that's all," he said in a dazed +voice. "They've poisoned her point of view between +them." His eyes challenged hers. "Mother, you've +been right all along. I suppose—you even foresaw—this!" +</p> + +<p> +"Dear, indeed I didn't." Her hand closed on the +rough woodwork. She so longed to gather him to her +heart. "I was anxious—a little. But I hoped better +things of her." +</p> + +<p> +"So did I. We were a pair of fools, it seems. And +there's an end of <i>that</i>." With a gesture he dismissed +the subject, and added, almost in his normal voice, +"What about the meeting? Any luck?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. People are quite keen. But—you'll hardly +feel like speaking." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I'll speak all right. The King's affairs come a +long way first. I've had enough of false perspectives +this morning. I'll probably speak all the better for +having—flung in everything." He sighed. "Give +me to-morrow, Mums, to pull myself together, and +I'll do any mortal thing that's required of me. But I +can't show up yet—you understand? And it's you +that must do the telling—as before!" +</p> + +<p> +A spasm of pain crossed his face and she passed a +hand over his hair. +</p> + +<p> +He drew back sharply. "Oh—not that," he +murmured; then checked himself and tried to smile. +"Sorry. I'm feeling—all raw, Mother. I can't +be civil even to you." He could not tell her why +the feel of a woman's hand on his hair was unendurable, +and would be, for some time to come. +</p> + +<p> +"I understand, dear," she said, and turned to go. +"Shall I send anything to the studio?" +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head. "Later on, perhaps. Dinner +time. You might come up yourself." +</p> + +<p> +"Of course I will." +</p> + +<p> +And so she left him. +</p> + +<p> +Lunch was nearly over when she got back. They +had kept some hot for her; but she hardly touched it. +</p> + +<p> +Briefly, without comment, she told them her news: +and escaped with Keith into the study. To him she +could speak more freely. He loved Mark like a +brother; a good deal more, indeed, than the average +brother: and she knew—though neither had spoken +of it—that he had shared her distrust of Bel. +</p> + +<p> +But her thoughts and her words were of Mark only +as she stood beside the man who so intimately shared +their lives, her small hand clenched upon the edge of +the high mantelshelf; tears in her eyes; but none in her +voice. +</p> + +<p> +"He faces trouble so exactly like his father," she +said, when she had told him of Mark's refusal to +postpone the meeting. "But Richard's phlegm went +deeper. Mark, underneath, has all my terrible +sensibility; though he won't let me see it except +accidentally." +</p> + +<p> +Keith said nothing. He was not given to superfluous +comment; and on the whole she found his silences +more satisfactory than other people's talk. He knew +she was more or less thinking aloud. She was not +even looking at him, but at a full-length photograph +of her husband—a powerful figure of a man. +</p> + +<p> +"It's so strange," she went on in the same subdued +tone. "I sometimes see Richard's very self looking +at me out of Mark's eyes. When the look comes I +seem actually to feel him there. Twice this morning +I've seen it. Once when Mark spoke of war and +again when he spoke of—that wretched girl. Oh +Keith—I hate her!" +</p> + +<p> +The low voice broke unmistakably; and she bowed +her forehead on the back of her hand. +</p> + +<p> +Macnair stood looking at her, his keen eyes clouded +with tenderness. A moment he seemed to hesitate, +then deliberately, he laid his hand on her shoulder. +"Helen, don't break your heart over it," he said. +"We men pull through these things: and Mark is +made of sterner stuff, if I know him, than to let a girl +like Miss Alison smash him up for good. More +likely to do that by marrying him than by leaving +him. There's a crumb of consolation for you!" +</p> + +<p> +She raised her head now and smiled at him through +tears that were not allowed to fall. +</p> + +<p> +"If there is such a crumb anywhere, trust you to +find it! What a blessing you are to us, Keith!" As +his hand slipped from her shoulder she caught and +held it a minute. Then her thoughts went back to +her son. "I wonder—will he ever have eyes for +Sheila again, after this?" +</p> + +<p> +"More likely after this than before. Sheila's a +born mother-woman, a little Sister of Compassion. +And we men are such fools, that we're very apt to +overlook the beauty of that type till we've suffered +a few hard knocks from the other sort. The revulsion +from that type, when it comes, is curiously complete. +But it takes time. As for our Sheila, whether she +would have him, after this, is another matter." +</p> + +<p> +Helen sighed. "I can't forgive Maurice yet," she +said. "I wonder if he'll enlist?" And their talk +slid back to the one all-absorbing subject—the War. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +As for Mark, he spent that interminable afternoon +tramping endlessly, aimlessly over the hills; hoping +by the mechanical motion to deaden thought and ease +the pain within. Where all memory was intolerable, +it hurt him most to recall how cruelly she had tempted +him by tone and touch; as it were bribing him to be +false to his own convictions. The whole thing +bewildered almost as much as it hurt him. There were +moments when he came near to hating her; proof, +though he did not realise it, that the love she evoked +was strongly tinctured with baser metal. +</p> + +<p> +And all the while Bobs, the incurably faithful, +trotted to heel or gambolled coquettishly under his +master's eyes without eliciting a word or caress. +</p> + +<p> +Hunger and lengthening shadows drew him back +at last to the home he loved yet now acutely desired +to avoid. She had poisoned even that. Yet how his +heart ached for her! How the unregenerate blood in +his veins craved the touch of her lips and hands. +</p> + +<p> +He reached his study without encountering anything +more human than a stray housemaid; and there +the first thing he lighted on was his own tender and +beautiful little Study of Contemplation. Standing +just inside the door, he feasted his eyes on the soft, +still face, the small head with its close-fitting cap of +hair and the long-limbed grace of her figure. Then +rage flamed in him. He felt like smashing the thing +with a hammer and flinging away the pieces as he had +flung away her ring. A mere pulse-beat of hesitation +saved him and the artist prevailed over the man. He +could not murder the work of his hands. Later on, +he would give it to Maurice to wean him from the sin +of impressionism. Meanwhile, he lifted it as tenderly +as he would have touched the original, put it away in a +corner cupboard and turned the key. +</p> + +<p> +He had scarcely done so when he heard his mother outside. +</p> + +<p> +"Open the door, dear," she said. "My hands are full." +</p> + +<p> +He opened it and relieved her of a tray set out with +appetising food and wine. +</p> + +<p> +"Stunning of you, Mums," he said. "I'm hungry." +</p> + +<p> +To her delight he ate everything and drank three +glasses of wine, while they discussed ways and means; +the money they could realise, the men they could raise +for England in this most critical hour of her destiny. +Except for the absence of laughter and badinage in +their talk, it was as if nothing abnormal had happened. +But Lady Forsyth did not fail to note the disappearance +of his terra-cotta treasure; and she was sinful +enough to hope it had been destroyed. +</p> + +<p> +She stayed more than half an hour and left him with +a fervent "God bless you!" But this time she +attempted no caress. She understood. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Next morning, after breakfast, she lingered in her +turret-room, wondering what he would do with himself, +hoping he would come and let her know. He did +come; and her heart ached at the tired look in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm going to take the <i>Watersprite</i> up the loch, +Mums," he told her. "And I'll be away all day. +Grant has stocked her well, so I shan't starve. Don't +be an idiot if I'm late and go imagining I've drowned +myself. At a time like this, a man's life is not his own +to chuck away. Besides, I'm not the sort. And—there +happens to be you," he added with a travesty +of a smile. "On the whole I'd sooner have the +honour of being shot by the Germans——" +</p> + +<p> +"Mark—don't!" She drew in a sharp breath. +</p> + +<p> +"Sorry, Mums. But it's true. By the way, as +I'm wasting some valuable time hadn't we better +stay over Sunday?" +</p> + +<p> +"That would make things easier," she admitted. +"But I thought—you'd rather get away soon." +</p> + +<p> +"My dear Mother, don't fash yourself with fancies. +If it'll ease things, we'll jolly well stay. <i>I</i> don't +care a damn." +</p> + +<p> +The spark of irritation was purely refreshing: and +he never apologised to her for "language" accidental +or otherwise. So complete was the comrade spirit +between them that he prided himself on his habit of +speaking to her straightly as man to man. More +than once, in University days, he had filled some +prospective visitor with envy by the casual remark: +"Don't be alarmed if you hear me scrapping with my +mother. She's the right sort. I can talk to her just +exactly as I talk to you." +</p> + +<p> +Now, in answer to his outburst, she said quietly: +"Very well, Monday. I'll tell the others." +</p> + +<p> +"That's all right. And don't you be a fool about me!" +</p> + +<p> +So he left her and she did her best to obey him; +but the faint consolation that his trouble brought +him nearer to herself was obliterated by her acute +consciousness of his hidden pain and resentment against +the cause of it. +</p> + +<p> +That grey, weary Thursday seemed as if it would +never pass. Clouds had rolled up out of the west. +Scudding showers lashed the loch; and through them +she could picture Mark driving the little steam-yacht +he loved. Long after sunset he came back wet +to the skin; but looking, on the whole, more like +himself. He had fought and conquered something +out there in the rain and wind. But he spent what +remained of the evening in his studio as before. +</p> + +<p> +On Friday evening, when they were gathered in the +square hall waiting to start, he strode casually +downstairs and nodded his greetings as if he had merely +been away for a couple of nights. He had prepared +a speech, he said, that ought to make the men of +Ardmuir sit up to some purpose: and Keith, watching +the little incident from the study threshold, murmured: +"Well done, old boy!" +</p> + +<p> +A second car had been ordered to accommodate +the party; and while they made ready, Mark was left +momentarily alone with Sheila in the hall. +</p> + +<p> +Then she took courage and looked up at him. +</p> + +<p> +"Mark—I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I may +say that much, mayn't I?" +</p> + +<p> +For a second he held her gaze. Then: "You may +say anything you please," he answered, "when you +look like that! Truth is," he paused, "she's never +been taught to see things the right way. It was +just—that one couldn't make her understand." +</p> + +<p> +"Poor Bel! She must be very unhappy." +</p> + +<p> +"Bel—unhappy!" His astonishment was manifest. +But then—Sheila had not seen the look in +her eyes. "I doubt it," he added with a touch of +bitterness. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>I</i> don't," the soft voice persisted. "She's bound +to be—if she cares." +</p> + +<p> +"But if she cared, how <i>could</i> she——?" +</p> + +<p> +The note of pain in his voice gave her still more +courage. +</p> + +<p> +"You said—she didn't understand, and that poisons +everything." +</p> + +<p> +Touched to the heart he said impulsively, "Sheila, +what a wise little Mouse you are!" +</p> + +<p> +It was his old nickname for her and she drew in a +quick breath. "Not so very! But I do know—about caring." +</p> + +<p> +"The first best knowledge surely," he said: then +Keith appeared and bade them hurry up. +</p> + +<p> +But her eyes, shining on him through tears, and her +words that gave him a new point of view lingered in +his memory. Odd how readily he could speak of Bel +to Sheila, how hardly to his mother, with whom he +could talk of everything in earth or heaven. And +surely no one but Sheila could have been inspired to +couple sympathy for himself with so tender and delicate +a plea for Bel. If she were right, if Bel were +really suffering, the door of hope might still be ajar. +Meantime there was his speech; for which he had +made comprehensive notes; there were convictions +and appeals that he must drive home to the hearts +of his hearers; and while he sat smoking in silence +beside Keith—who drove the car—words full of +vigour and fire came crowding into his brain—— +</p> + +<p> +When at length he stood on the platform waiting +for his clamorous welcome to subside, the flame of his +conviction burnt away all nervousness, all dread of +failure; and for half an hour he spoke as none had +imagined he could speak, himself least of all. +</p> + +<p> +"First rate," Keith said quietly as he sat down +amid a storm of cheers. +</p> + +<p> +"Heaven knows how I did it!" he answered under +cover of the noise. "Wish I could bolt now." +</p> + +<p> +But the Provost had risen and was praising him to +his face; a far worse ordeal than the one he had so +triumphantly weathered. The recruiting result, in +figures, was not sensational: but Ardmuir was obviously +impressed. It begged leave to distribute Sir Mark's +"great recruiting speech" as a leaflet; and Sir Mark, +privately overwhelmed, gave gracious consent, with +the air of one who made brilliant speeches as easily as +he ate his breakfast. +</p> + +<p> +"Really, old boy, you ought to stand for Parliament," +Keith said as they drove home. "If that +speech of yours is well distributed, the men will soon +be tumbling in. One has to give them time up here. +The Radical spirit is so strong in our beloved country." +</p> + +<p> +"And the beauty of it is that the bulk of 'em, if +they only knew it, remain Radicals just <i>because</i> they're +so conservative!" Mark retorted with a flash of his +mother's humour. "But Parliament—no thanks; +not yet awhile." +</p> + +<p> +Saturday was given over to rounding up his own +men and business connected with his mother's small +estate. That evening he conquered, not without +difficulty, a temptation to stroll down into the village +and discover whether The Rowans was yet empty of its +treasure; and when the last post came in he knew. +</p> + +<p> +Glancing through half a dozen envelopes, he came +suddenly on Bel's handwriting. His mother, who +was watching him, saw, without appearing to see, +that he pocketed all his letters unopened and, after a +reasonable interval, rose and left the room. It was +easy to guess what had happened; and she rated herself +for the horrid sinking at her heart. She could not +sleep till she knew: but as Mark did not reappear, +she went up early and, in passing, knocked at his +door. +</p> + +<p> +"Good night, dear," she said. +</p> + +<p> +He opened it and stood before her—transfigured. +</p> + +<p> +"Come along in, Mums." Drawing her forward +he closed the door behind her. "Read that!" +</p> + +<p> +He thrust a faintly scented sheet of note-paper into +her hand, and she obeyed. +</p> + +<p> +Bel's communication was brief, moving, and very +much to the point. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Are you generous enough to forgive me—and +come to me?" she wrote without preamble. "If +you can keep it up—<i>I can't</i>. I saw and heard you at +Ardmuir. You are <i>brave</i>. As for me, I'm bitterly +sorry and ashamed. I hate it all still. But if you +wish it, I am yours—unconditionally, BEL. I shall +be alone here after 10.30. I can't face Inveraig." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Lady Forsyth had to read that note more than once +before she could feel sure of her voice. To her it +seemed studied, consciously written for effect: and +the writing itself was equally studied, with the same +touch of hardness in it that showed in the level line of +eyelids and brows. +</p> + +<p> +"Well?" Mark was growing impatient. +</p> + +<p> +"You can forgive her?" she asked, looking steadily +up at him. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course I can. And you must too. She's +sorry. She—cares. Isn't that enough for any one?" +</p> + +<p> +"But she's not convinced." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>I'll</i> convince her, in time. I hope she'll come +south with us to-morrow." +</p> + +<p> +Lady Forsyth drew in her lips and at once his +hands came down on her shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +"Look here, Mums, I won't have you antagonising +and doubting her any more—after this. It spoils +everything. You might make an effort if only for +my sake. It's beyond belief getting her back; and +your attitude's the only flaw in my happiness. Has +been all along." +</p> + +<p> +She was silent a minute, then she put her two hands +on his breast. "Dear, I will make an effort for your +sake. I refuse to be the flaw in your happiness! +It's a degrading position for a mother." +</p> + +<p> +He stooped and kissed her for the first time since +Wednesday morning. "Bless you!" he said. "Good +night." +</p> + +<p> +Alone in her room, confronting this new, unwelcome +development, she realised how, through all the pain +of his grief, she had been upheld by the secret conviction +that his loss was gain; some day he would know +it. Now the old miserable uncertainty was nagging +at her afresh. In her heart, she distrusted the +sincerity of the whole incident. But she had given her +word to Mark, and Bel should have the benefit of all +the doubts in creation. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Mark's watch was three minutes short of the half-hour +when he stood outside the square grey house +perched on the hillside above the road. A white +curtain fluttered; and a glimpse of Bel's face signified +that the coast was clear. +</p> + +<p> +When he entered the homely sitting-room and +closed the door she did not run to meet him as a simpler +woman would have done. She remained standing +near the mantelpiece on the farther side of the square +table, smiling her cool provocative smile. +</p> + +<p> +"Mark!" she said softly. "I've been wondering +and wondering would you really come?" +</p> + +<p> +By that time the square table was no longer between +them and Mark was holding her as if he could never +let her go. +</p> + +<p> +"Would you have broken your heart, if I hadn't?" +he asked at last. +</p> + +<p> +"Very nearly!" she admitted, with the slowest +possible lift of her lashes. +</p> + +<p> +"But, Bel—if you cared, how could you pull it +through? How could you look at me with your eyes +like bits of glass?" +</p> + +<p> +"You forget," she said, "I can act. It was +because—I cared so much; because I couldn't bear the +idea of your taking part in that horror out there; +and because you were so obstinate, that in the end +I put on the strongest screw I could think of—and +it wasn't so strong as I supposed. That's the inner +history of the last three days." +</p> + +<p> +He regarded her searchingly, taking it all in. +"Women are queer things," he said. "Did you really +suppose I'd capitulate—under the screw?" +</p> + +<p> +"I half hoped so—till I heard your speech. Then +I began to see that I'd never known the real Mark: +only Bel's lover." +</p> + +<p> +"And—did you approve of the real Mark?" +</p> + +<p> +She laughed and kissed him. +</p> + +<p> +"Honestly, I found him rather alarming. Too big +altogether for a mere Bel. But I wanted him more +than ever. And now I know he's still mine, I can't +let him go!" +</p> + +<p> +For Mark there was only one flaw in those first +raptures of reunion: and for that flaw his mother was +unwittingly responsible. Nothing would induce Bel +to come up to Inveraig or to travel south with the +Forsyths on Monday. +</p> + +<p> +"I can't face them yet awhile," she persisted, +"specially your Mother. She won't easily forgive +me for hurting you so. No real mother could. +Besides, she was probably thanking her stars for your +escape; and now I've turned up again, like a bad +penny!" +</p> + +<p> +"Bel!" +</p> + +<p> +But she laid her hand upon his lips. +</p> + +<p> +"Hush and listen to me. It wouldn't be fair on +Harry either; stranding her with those two. In ten +days, we can both come south and a regenerate Bel +can dare to pay you a visit. Their minds will be full +of such big terrible things by then that they'll take +me for granted. As for you—the real Mark will be so +swamped with his responsibilities that there would +be no time for love-making, even if I came." +</p> + +<p> +In the end he was forced to admit that she was +right. Three days of fighting himself had not been +without a steadying effect on his impatient spirit: +and so the matter was settled. +</p> + +<p> +Rain and wind had ceased. They spent all the +afternoon and evening together on the water; and on +Monday the Forsyth party travelled down to +Wynchcombe Friars. +</p> + +<p> +At no time could Lady Forsyth leave Inveraig +without a pang: and never had it been sharper than +on that 10th of August with the glory and anguish +of Belgium's gallant stand beating on her brain, +and the poignant question at her heart—when, and +in what circumstances, would they four see that grey +rugged house and the lochs and hills of Scotland +again? +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0201"></a></p> + +<h2> +BOOK II +<br> +THE UTTER PRICE +</h2> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER I +</h3> + +<p class="intro2"> + In my heart there burns a flame;<br> + But no smoke shows;<br> + And no one knows.<br> + <i>Japanese Song.</i><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Wynchcombe Friars was a singularly perfect relic +of the Tudor period. It rambled, it blossomed into +irrelevant gables, it took you to its heart. The lordly +spaciousness of an eighteenth-century mansion seemed +dull and featureless, by contrast with its individuality, +its friendly charm. And of all its beautiful old rooms +was none more individual than Mark's studio, with +its oak-pannelled walls, deep window-seats and leaded +casements that opened upon the sea of pine tops he +had described to Bel. For him and his mother, it +was the soul of the house; and in nothing was their +intimacy more evident than in the fact that this, his +holy of holies, was hers also. A certain square +bay-window that caught the last of the sun upon the pines +held her armchair of dull blue brocade, her book-case +and elbow table. Blue prevailed also in the window-seats, +the casement curtains and the Turkish rugs on +the polished floor. +</p> + +<p> +The studio itself contained little beyond Mark's +paraphernalia, his writing-table and a few pieces of +priceless old furniture. The spirit of Michael Angelo +pervaded the place:—models of his statues and groups, +sepia studies by Mark from the great friezes; and a +portrait of the Florentine's rugged head occupied the +place of honour above the mantelpiece. The blue-tiled +fireplace beneath was flanked by Mark's first +two essays in statuary: symbolic figures of Triumph +and Defeat. Triumph, a splendid nude, stood +poised upon a rock; arms uplifted, head flung back. +Defeat, a fallen Lucifer, still sullenly defiant, leaned +upon his battered sword; a figure of sombre strength. +The Viking, who accompanied Mark on his moves, +was set in a dark oak niche that served for frame and +threw him into strong relief. +</p> + +<p> +Still, beneath all the beauty and friendliness of the +room, there lurked the same unobtrusively ascetic +note that had been more marked in the simpler studio +at Inveraig. +</p> + +<p> +So at least thought Maurice Lenox, who lounged +smoking in an armchair, wondering, secretly, how +Mark could bring himself to leave it all, patriotism +or no. He, personally, had found it quite enough of a +wrench to shut up his modest rooms in Chelsea—till +when? God, or the devil, alone could tell. +</p> + +<p> +He had gone straight from Inveraig to his home in +Surrey, wondering what possible use there could be +for such as he in this terrible <i>galère</i>:—he, who had small +knowledge of firearms and so heartily detested taking +life that he could not even find pleasure in fishing. +Mark had suggested enlisting in the Artists' Rifles: +a suggestion since confirmed by Sir Eldred Lenox, +with a blunt admonition to look sharp about it. +Sir Nevil Sinclair, of Bramleigh Beeches, commanded +them. He would send the boy's name up for a +commission the moment he was reasonably fit for it: and +on the whole Maurice found it a relief to have the +question of choice taken out of his hands. He had +stipulated for a few days of his promised visit to +Wynchcombe Friars, before taking the plunge; and +those few days—with Macnair for the only other +guest had laid the foundation of a genuine friendship +with Forsyth, whose finer qualities shone out notably +in this hour of crisis. +</p> + +<p> +Whereas at Inveraig he had at times seemed selfish +and a trifle dictatorial, here, as responsible +land-owner, his mastery and force of character showed +in a new light. And as for selfishness—his whole +mind seemed set upon the welfare of his people and +his place in the coming time of stress. Now, at the +very moment when he was most needed, and most +longed to be on the spot, he was cheerfully and actively +engaged in transferring the reins of government into +other hands. To Maurice—a man of random moods +and many points of view—such strength and singleness +of purpose seemed enviable as it was admirable; +and the fact that Forsyth had remained unshaken +even by Miss Alison's defection had made a deep +impression on the lighter nature of his friend. Since +then, he had learnt a good deal more, not only of +Sir Mark in a fresh manifestation, but of England's +greatest asset—sadly misprized in a democratic +age—the hereditary lords of the land. +</p> + +<p> +To-day his brief respite was over. +</p> + +<p> +At the moment, he and Mark had effected their +escape from the infliction of war-talk, as perpetrated +by Mrs. Melrose and the Vicar's wife, at the tea-table +on the terrace. Sir Mark's sudden engagement, by +the way, had been a severe shock to Mrs. Melrose, +who suspected that Sheila must have played her +cards remarkably ill. But that, after all, was how +one might expect her to play cards of any worldly +value. She was her Melrose grandmother all over. +Not a drop of Burlton blood in her veins. But +the war had dwarfed that personal disappointment: +and the good lady was brimming with benevolent +schemes for herself and the whole neighbourhood. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime the Vicar's wife held the field. Having +come in quest of a subscription, she had stayed to +murmur decorous and very premature lamentations +over the undesirable features of billeting and of the +Territorial camps: the sort of thing that reduced Lady +Forsyth to speechless exasperation. Mark, divided +between sympathy and amusement, had watched +her holding herself in, till the assertive voice of +Mrs. Melrose created a diversion and dubious murmurs +were drowned in a flood of propositions for the local +housing of Belgians and the conversion of Wendover +Court into a luxurious hospital for officers. +</p> + +<p> +"You, Lady Forsyth, with this heavenly place, +ought to specialise on convalescents or +nerve-cases"—Mrs. Melrose dearly loved making other people's +plans—"If we all take a <i>distinctive</i> line, there'll be +no muddle or overlapping. And of course dear little +Lady Sinclair will devote herself to the Indians—when +they come." +</p> + +<p> +Privately Helen reflected that if her neighbours +continued so to afflict her, the first nerve-case for +Wynchcombe Friars would be its own mistress. +</p> + +<p> +It was at this point that Mark had given up waiting +for the Sinclairs. Not even the presence of Sheila—who +had come over with her mother and was staying +on to discuss "War plans"—could detain him, once +Mrs. Melrose held the field. Basely deserting Lady +Forsyth he left word that Sir Nevil, if he should turn +up, would be very welcome in the studio. +</p> + +<p> +Now, while Maurice lounged and reflected, he sat +at his littered writing-table, a pipe between his teeth, +two deep furrows in his forehead. Beyond that +littered table the room held no other signs of work. +Easel and modelling pedestal stood empty. A woeful +tidiness prevailed, and Mark himself looked older, +Maurice thought. Small wonder, seeing all that +he must forgo at a stroke when his name appeared +in the <i>Gazette</i>. +</p> + +<p> +So, throughout Great Britain, in the same casual +unemotional fashion, men of every grade were making +the supreme sacrifice, cheerfully putting behind them +all that made life worth living—possessions, talents, +hardly earned distinction, cherished hopes and still +more cherished homes. No doubt many of them, like +Maurice, privately rebelled; but they, too, were +carried forward by the infection of brave example, +if by no higher motive. In Mark's company, Maurice +had felt that infection strongly: but on this his last +evening of freedom the artist in him raged afresh +against the hideousness and waste and cruelty of +modern war. +</p> + +<p> +For ten minutes Mark had been smoking steadily +and silently. He had a difficult letter on his mind. +Maurice, who had the horrors of Tirlemont on his +nerves, felt suddenly impelled to more candid speech +than he had hitherto indulged in, lest he be misjudged. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know what your private feelings are, +Forsyth," he plunged boldly; and Mark started as if +he had been waked from a dream. "But the more +I look at this business of enlisting and going out to +slaughter Germans—not to mention the chance of +their returning the compliment—the more heartily +I hate the whole thing. It's nothing so simple as +mere funk. And it's not that I'm shirking—you +understand." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes. I understand," Mark rejoined, setting +his teeth on the stem of his pipe. +</p> + +<p> +But he did not seem disposed to enlarge on his +understanding of his private feelings; and Maurice, whose +mixed emotions were clamouring for expression, went +on: "Mere funk would at least give one something +to tackle and overcome. It's this cursed inferno +going on inside one's head that does the damage. +And the beastly thing seems quite independent of +one's thoughts or attention. Just keeps on +automatically at the back of my brain. Even when I'm +reading or talking, I can hear those infernal guns +and shells. I can see the mangled fragments that +once were men—the wounds—the blood—the slopes +of the Liége forts——" +</p> + +<p> +"Damn you! Shut <i>up</i>!" Mark leaned forward +suddenly, a spark of anger in his eyes. "D'you +suppose you're the only one that's plagued with an +imagination?" +</p> + +<p> +Maurice sighed. +</p> + +<p> +"Sorry, old chap," he said, disappointed, but +contrite. "It's a relief all the same. And I +thought—you understood——" +</p> + +<p> +"Of course I do: a long sight too well." Mark's +tone was gentler now. "If it's relief you're after, +you'll get that most effectively by going out yourself; +seeing things with your actual eyes: doing things with +your actual hands that'll give you no time for +cinematographs in your head. You can thank your stars +you're a man. It's the women given that way who'll +have the devil's own time of it. My mother's one, +worse luck; and it'll come hard on her—when I'm +gone." +</p> + +<p> +Maurice ventured no comment on a subject so +poignantly intimate as Lady Forsyth's anxiety for +her one remaining son; nor did Mark seem to expect +any. He took a few pulls at his pipe, then reverted +to generalities. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't write me down an unfeeling brute, Maurice," +he said with his friendly smile. "War's the roughest +game on earth and we've got to be a bit rough with +ourselves if we're to play it to any purpose. I'm +horribly well aware that the 'sorrowful great gift +of imagination' is the very deuce on these occasions. +A shade less of it in us, who have to do the killing, +and a shade more of it in our Westminster Olympians—who +have to do the foreseeing and forestalling—would +be a pleasanter business for ourselves and a +better look-out for the country. They're an agile +crew with their tongues; and if words were bullets, +we might be in Berlin the week after next! Personally, +I'd like to see most of 'em scrapped 'for the duration +of the war.' Kitchener paramount, with a picked +Council, would pull us through in half the time. +But that's not my business nor yours. It's for us to +play up all we can; thank God for one real Man, and +not waste our precious energies in grumbling. There's +a sermon for you. And you brought it on yourself!" +</p> + +<p> +Maurice rose, flung away his cigarette end, and +strolled down the length of the room and back. +</p> + +<p> +"It's done me a power of good being here," he +said, coming to a standstill by the mantelpiece and +contemplating Mark's "Triumph." "You're a man +as well as an artist, Forsyth; and the bulk of us are +not; I, personally, am cursed with too much of Uncle +Michael in my composition." +</p> + +<p> +Mark laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"Confound your Uncle Michael! You run along +and enlist and kill every German you can lay hands to +and your composition will take care of itself. A wee +bit stiffening's all you want; and a wee bit taste of +red-hot reality will put some backbone into your +studio-bred art, that ennobles nothing and nobody and +doesn't even want to make itself understood. It's +just on the cards that this war—when we're through +with it—may give us an altogether saner and more +robust revival of art that will spring naturally from a +more robust conception of life: an art that will +genuinely reflect the spirit of the age, as Michael Angelo +reflects the Renaissance. Our present age of machinery +and money-getting has precious little spirit to reflect. +No collective convictions. Practically no faith, +except in success. Consequently life has no vital use +for art: and we're ousted by the cinematograph. +A few, like myself and Sinclair, still hang on to +beauty and the classics. The rest, like the bulk of +your advanced friends, say 'Ugliness, be thou my +beauty' and proceed to make a little hell of their own +in the Grafton Galleries! Just at present, Maurice, +the mere artist is the most superfluous creature on +God's earth...." +</p> + +<p> +He suddenly laughed and checked himself. "Off +on my hobby-horse again! Why the deuce don't you +chuck a book at me, old chap? Too much spouting +at these recruiting shows will make me an infliction +to my friends. Ah—there goes Mrs. Melrose! Joy +for Mother! Likewise the devout Mrs. Clutterbuck, +who thinks to advertise her own virtue by maligning +better folk than herself. Come on down. We'll +get the tail-end of tea and the poor dears will need +cheering up." +</p> + +<p> +They found the poor dears in very fair +spirits—considering. Helen was delighted at recapturing +Sheila; and the girl herself made no secret of her +distaste for the restless superficial activities of her +own home. A telegram from Sir Nevil Sinclair +explained his non-appearance and begged Mark not +to fail him at the Bramleigh meeting next day. Then, +tea being removed and the others dispersed, Mark +found himself alone with Sheila, whom he had scarcely +seen since the day of Bel's regeneration. +</p> + +<p> +"It's good to get you back again, Mouse," he said, +with brotherly directness: and as she merely smiled +without looking up, he allowed his eyes to linger on +her face. "But I'm not sure I approve of the massage +plan, specially if it means careering off to France +with Miss Videlle." +</p> + +<p> +Sheila hesitated. "I thought—if you married—there +might be Bel. But if Mums really needs me, +I'd leave anything, anyone ... for her. She knows +that." The girl's voice throbbed with feeling and a +faint colour showed in her cheeks. "I'm very doubtful, +though, whether she could or would stay here +long—without you." +</p> + +<p> +Mark started and frowned. +</p> + +<p> +"She must! She'll be safe here; and there's no +end of useful work for her on the spot. All the same—" +he paused, looking deep into the heart of the wood, +at pine stems rosy with shafts of light. "I believe +you know best. She won't stop. She'd break her +heart. War comes cruel hard on the women." +</p> + +<p> +Sheila said nothing: but the set of her lips showed +a faint line of strain that he had not noticed before. +"Come for a quarter-deck prowl with me, Mouse," +he said. +</p> + +<p> +They paced the wide-flagged terrace, veined with +moss, till near dinner-time; and only at the last did +Mark speak the thought uppermost in his mind. They +had reached the far end when he came to a standstill +and faced her squarely. +</p> + +<p> +"Sheila—it goes against the grain asking favours +for Bel, even of you and Mother; but you were such a +brick before; and now—it's a bit of an ordeal for her +facing you all after—what happened up there. +Otherwise she'd have been here sooner. Of course I'll +make her speak to Mums straight away, which may +clear the air, between them. But I want you all to be +ever so kind and not let her feel a shadow of +awkwardness. Just pick up the threads again as if +nothing had happened. Will you—for my sake?" +</p> + +<p> +Sheila was leaning now against the balustrade, her +hands pressed palm downwards on the stone work. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, Mark," she said in an odd, contained voice, +"I'll do anything I can for your sake. But in my +heart—" she suddenly looked up at him with her clear +honest eyes, "I can't forgive her—ever!" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>You</i>?" His surprise brought the blood to her +cheeks. "But when it happened you were +so—understanding. It was you who took the edge off +my bitterness." +</p> + +<p> +"Because then—I didn't understand," Sheila +explained with difficulty. "I thought she had really +lost you through her own blindness; and—I was sorry +for her. But afterwards, one couldn't help suspecting +it was all ... that perhaps she was simply +... putting on the screw." +</p> + +<p> +"She admitted as much," he said, looking away +across the rose garden. +</p> + +<p> +"Mark! How <i>could</i> she?" Her low tone vibrated +like a smitten harp-string. +</p> + +<p> +"That's the mystery to a masculine brain. It +hurt—considerably. But it seems women do these +things." +</p> + +<p> +Sheila checked a natural impulse to repudiate the +sweeping assertion. She saw him deliberately erecting +a screen for Bel, at the expense of others; but she +had already been candid enough, and she would not +permit herself to insinuate disparagement. +</p> + +<p> +Her enigmatical silence urged Mark to add: "Bel's +had her share of unhappiness, anyhow. She didn't +enjoy those three days much more than I did and she's +lost more than a week down here. So just be good to +her, you deceptive little bit of adamant—and bless +you from my heart." +</p> + +<p> +"That's bribery!" Sheila said laughing, and straightening +her shoulders. "I don't take payment for +my services. But it's time to go and dress for dinner!" +</p> + +<p> +As they strolled back to the house she caught herself +reflecting quite philosophically on the impunity +with which the Bels of this world may steal horses, +while their less privileged sisters dare not cast a glance +over the hedge. +</p> + +<p> +But in spite of her excuse about dressing for dinner, +she seemed in no such hurry after all. A sudden +longing came over her to see the studio, to sit alone +for a few minutes in that shrine of blessed memories: +and, having seen Mark safely vanish into his bedroom, +she made bold to venture in. +</p> + +<p> +Sinking into Lady Forsyth's armchair, she let the +crowding memories sweep through her brain, while +her eyes ranged from picture to picture, from statue +to statue, as it were learning them by heart, because +in future the right of entry she so prized would belong +to another. For her, Mark and his art were one and +indivisible; and, by an unerring instinct, she dreaded +the effect of Bel's demoralising influence on both. +</p> + +<p> +Dearly she loved the virile figure of Triumph; +more dearly still, the Viking. Him, she saw and felt +as Mark had hoped that Bel might see and feel him. +She had been at Wynchcombe Friars during those +wonderful days when he came to life under Mark's +hands; and in her private heart he stood for the +symbol of his creator's unquenchable spirit. +</p> + +<p> +In all these children of his hand and brain, she found +the quintessence of the man, and it was her instinct +to seek the essence of things. +</p> + +<p> +Mark himself, without and within, was all that she +would have a man be—she, who seemed fated to +attract only the "poor things" of earth. Since Ailsa's +death and his return from Europe, she had worshipped +him, with the still intensity of her Northern nature. +So felicitous had been their relation, and she so young, +so happy in a home atmosphere the very antithesis +of her own, that no afterthought had troubled her +unclouded content. +</p> + +<p> +For this reason, she had been able to accept, loyally, +uncritically, his sudden and bewildering infatuation +for a girl obviously unworthy of him; an infatuation +that could survive even his knowledge of the motive +which had promoted Bel to such unsparing use of +her power. Entirely one with him in spirit, she could +not choose but will what he willed: and conviction +that Bel honestly loved him had mitigated the pain +of her own hidden disappointment in him. +</p> + +<p> +But now even that faint consolation was gone: +and here, where associations were more intimate +than at Inveraig, the shock to her belief in him seemed +infinitely harder to bear. Here the question forced +itself upon her—how could he, being what he was? +</p> + +<p> +And his fresh appeal on behalf of Bel had badly +shaken her innate capacity for acceptance. +</p> + +<p> +Because of that appeal—which would also be made +to the others—this girl, who had so cruelly tormented +him for her own ends, must not be allowed to suffer +a twinge of the discomfort she so richly deserved. +For the first time, Sheila was goaded almost to the +point of rebellion. For the first time her will was at +odds with his: and it hurt more than she chose to +admit. From a child she had invented her own +private code of courage that never allowed her to +say, "I can't bear it." And she would not say it now. +</p> + +<p> +She would do what he asked, under protest, because +he asked it. Her attitude, she was convinced, would +matter nothing to Bel, who obviously looked down on +her, from the attitude of her twenty-nine years, with a +mild good-humoured contempt. But it would matter +greatly to Mark;—and that sufficed. +</p> + +<p> +She rose at last and wandered round the beloved +room. Before the Viking she stood a long while, +trying to draw the valiant soul of him into her own +soul: then she went reluctantly out. +</p> + +<p> +As she closed the door behind her, Mark opened +his own and smilingly confronted her. "Hullo! +Is that the way you dress for dinner?" +</p> + +<p> +She coloured a little under his gaze. +</p> + +<p> +"I couldn't resist going in—just to greet them all." +</p> + +<p> +"Well—you might have let me come too! Are +they such very special friends?" +</p> + +<p> +"A part of me—almost," she said very low. "I've +known most of them—haven't I?—ever since they +were born." +</p> + +<p> +Then she went quickly down the passage; and for +several seconds Mark stood looking after her. The +sudden softening of his whole face, could she have +seen it, would have been balm to her heart. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0202"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER II +</h3> + +<p class="intro2"> + The heavens such grace did lend her<br> + That she might admired be.<br> + SHAKESPEARE.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Next morning early, Mark drove Maurice to the +main line station, despatched him with a final volley +of chaff, and proceeded patiently to tramp the lane +outside till the down train should bring him the desire +of his eyes. From the station-master he learnt that +"she" might be anything from twenty minutes to +two hours late. Yesterday five specials had run +through, packed with horses and men, and there would +be more to-night. +</p> + +<p> +"Jolly for they Germans, sir!" he added with a +jovial wink. "They <I>do</i> say now that the British +Army will be keeping Christmas in Berlin!" +</p> + +<p> +"And on the other side they say the Kaiser will +keep it in London," Mark answered him. "Best +leave fairy tales to the Germans. It's their line!" +</p> + +<p> +And he retired to commune with his own heart in +the lane. +</p> + +<p> +The train gave him ample time to lose patience and +recapture it; and the longer he waited, the brighter +grew the halo round Bel's golden head. Idealist as he +was, in art and life, he could not choose but idealise +the woman he loved: if, indeed, he were not rather in +love with a phantom of his own brain, who wore the +appearance and spoke with the voice of Bel. During +the last ten days, while his conscious mind had been +absorbed in things practical, the subconscious, +unoccupied artist in him had been sedulously gilding her +halo; and as for that bewildering jar in Scotland, he +had so completely credited her with his own sensitiveness +on the subject, that his one wish was to make her +forget it had ever been. He had shrunk even from +asking her to speak of it to his mother; and had made +the request in his last letter, rather than spring an +unpleasantness on her by way of greeting. +</p> + +<p> +And now—all he craved was herself. Her letters +were not the same thing at all. Clever, affectionate +and often amusing, they seemed just to miss something +that, for him, was the secret of her charm. In them +the slightly studied effect of her whole attitude to +life seemed more definitely artificial; and after reading +them, a troubled uncertainty was apt to pervade his +mind. But sight and touch of her would cure all +such lover's folly—— +</p> + +<p> +Ah—the whistle at last! +</p> + +<p> +He reached the platform as the train drew up, and +there emerged from a distant carriage the tall, +unmistakable figure in a bluish coat and skirt and +close-fitting hat. About midway down the platform they +met and clasped hands. She coloured a little when +their eyes met; but they merely talked of luggage and +the lateness of the train. +</p> + +<p> +It is a common experience, that first, faint shock of +actual meeting after keen anticipation; and in these +two it waked the undersense that, although they had +taken the most hazardous step in life, they were still +comparative strangers. In some vague way they +seemed to have lost touch; to have become suddenly +shy of each other—the man more so than the girl. +</p> + +<p> +Shy or no, she was contented, utterly, to be sitting +there beside him in the August sunlight, speeding +between stretches of ripe cornland; between purple +sweeps of heather, when they climbed a ridge; and +on through rolling open country where the earlier +trees showed a yellow leaf or two, and the oaks were +still sunset-tinted with their second blossoming. +England, relying serenely upon her grey ghosts of the +North Sea, lay dozing in the high noon of the year, +while little Belgium, like another Kate Barlass, thrust +her arm through the staple that the murderers might +be stayed, if only for a moment. A Territorial +Camp, an occasional motor decked with flags, a group +of khaki figures resting in the shade—these were the +sole reminders of that invisible horror across the +Channel, that for Bel was no more than the shadow +of a shadow, though the cloud of it overhung her own +life and set visibly upon her lover's brow. +</p> + +<p> +Every now and then she took stock of him under her +eyelids, from his rough motor-cap and his sensitive +mouth, safe-guarded by that uncompromising chin, +to the lean, strong fingers controlling the machine. +A woman could safely entrust her destiny to that +mouth and those hands, though she might wish, +incidentally, that he would take a less exaggerated +view of this singularly inopportune war. It was just +her luck that it should have been timed to spoil the +most promising "phase" of her life. If only Mark's +admirable virility were tempered by a touch of Rex +Maitland's intelligent common sense, matters would +be so much easier and pleasanter all round. And the +coming interview with Lady Forsyth was a nuisance, +to put it mildly: but still—— +</p> + +<p> +"Have I given you time to get through the worst +of your troublesome affairs?" she asked after an +interchange of commonplaces that led nowhere. "I'm +hoping for a clear field as the reward of my lost week." +</p> + +<p> +He gave her a contrite glance. +</p> + +<p> +"I wish it were clearer. Russell, my land-agent, +has played up like a Trojan. But the wood seems to +thicken as one goes on. And to-day I'm booked for a +recruiting show at Bramleigh. No getting out of it. +Sir Nevil Sinclair—the artist, you know—said I +must manage to placate you somehow. So please be +placated and save me the managing!" +</p> + +<p> +Down went the corners of her mouth. "Our first +day! And not even Mr. Lenox to play with." +</p> + +<p> +"Won't Sheila do?" +</p> + +<p> +"As a substitute for <i>you</i>? Mark, your modesty is +incredible! Is she with you still?" +</p> + +<p> +"She came back yesterday." +</p> + +<p> +"And Mr. Macnair?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"Are they part of your permanent family, those two?" +</p> + +<p> +"More or less. People just accrue to Mums. Are +you placated now—Queen of Wynchcombe Friars?" +</p> + +<p> +She laid gloved finger-tips on his knee. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm trying to be. I vowed a vow to be heavenly +good this time, to make up for...." +</p> + +<p> +His hand closed on hers. +</p> + +<p> +"That's over and done with," he said. "I'm +sorry—even about Mother. But it seemed only fair. +I'll take you to her straight——" +</p> + +<p> +"I'd prefer half an hour first with her son—not +in a motor on the open road! Darling, give me time +to feel more at home." +</p> + +<p> +His eyes sought hers. "I'm agreeable. We'll stop +at the gate and go up through the wood. I can fetch +the car afterwards. No superfluous attendants these +days!" +</p> + +<p> +On a cushion of moss in the cool of the pine-wood, +they recaptured the atmosphere of Scotland and the +little cloud of estrangement melted away. Mark, +who had keenly felt the momentary jar, was the more +relieved. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, my darling girl, time's up," he said, reluctant, +but inflexible; "Mother will be picturing us +wrecked on the road, and sending poor old Keith to +pick up the pieces! Come." +</p> + +<p> +At that, she knelt upright, and, with a charmingly +tender air of proprietorship, passed her hands over his +head, bringing them to rest on his shoulders. "I'm +glad I've found you again," she said. "That strange +man at the station rather alarmed me." +</p> + +<p> +"You knew how to conjure him away, you witch!" +he answered, stopping her lips with a kiss. +</p> + +<p> +She accepted the kiss, but not his tacit dismissal +of the subject. For her, a new sensation not analysed +was a sensation wasted. +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose it was that things hadn't time to crystallise +properly after the break," she went on, twisting a +button between her finger and thumb. "I hope the +War Office will be merciful and allow us a good spell +this time. Separations are rather uncanny things. +You never quite know——" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, if you don't know me when I get back this +evening," he said, with perfect gravity, "the marriage +that has been arranged, etc., had better not take +place." +</p> + +<p> +"Mark!" Her voice had a sharp, startled note. +</p> + +<p> +"That'll learn you!" he retorted, smiling. "We'll +make out our 'para' to-morrow." +</p> + +<p> +And he heard no more of the subject. +</p> + +<p> +They found Lady Forsyth alone in the drawing-room +reading her midday post. +</p> + +<p> +"My dears!" She sprang up to greet them. +"We've been wondering what had come to you." +</p> + +<p> +Mark explained, asked a few questions, backed +casually towards the door—and vanished, leaving the +women alone. +</p> + +<p> +Bel had resolved that there should be neither +awkwardness nor hesitation. Already she had rehearsed +the little scene half a dozen times; and as the +door closed, she turned to the small, upright figure +near the piano, both hands flung out. +</p> + +<p> +"Dear Lady Forsyth, you <i>are</i> going to forgive me, +aren't you? I know I don't deserve it. But Mark +has been so beautifully generous——" +</p> + +<p> +"That is easier for him than for his mother," Lady +Forsyth rejoined with her disconcerting frankness: +but her smile made partial atonement and she took +the proffered hands. "Not that I'm belittling Mark's +generosity. It takes a just man to be generous +even in exasperating circumstances; and Mark possesses +that rare quality in a high degree. He particularly +wants us all to make light of the whole matter; and—to +please him, Bel, I can at least condone what I can't +pretend to understand." +</p> + +<p> +This—as may be supposed—was not precisely the +due Bel had prepared for herself. But she had +the adaptability of the born actress; and she +recognised that Lady Forsyth had paid her the +embarrassing compliment of speaking her mind as to a +daughter. +</p> + +<p> +"That's rather a crushing form of forgiveness!" +she said, with the pretty droop of her lips. "And I +don't suppose it's much use trying to explain...." +</p> + +<p> +"Not the slightest, my dear." Lady Forsyth's +tone was brisk but kindly. "Facts, like beauty, are +best left unadorned. I take it for granted you must +have been very much upset to hurt a brave man so +unnecessarily. Had your refusal been final, I could +have better understood." +</p> + +<p> +The girl flinched at that and bit her lip. "You +don't sound much like forgiving me. And I don't +think," she made bold to add, "that Mark would be +quite pleased if he heard you." +</p> + +<p> +"He would probably bite my head off," Lady +Forsyth answered, taking the wind out of her sails. +"And if you want to make him angry with me, you can +tell him what I have said. I should say just the same +if he were present. Mark and I are in complete accord, +however much we squabble. He knows my bark is +worse than my bite: and you'll soon know it too, Bel. +So don't let's write in brass what is meant to be writ +in water. We shall gain nothing by making Mark +our apple of discord. He's a very large apple, big +enough for two! Now, after that, let me 'behave' +and show you to your room. Later on, you must see +over the dear old house." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. It's a dream of a place." Bel swerved +thankfully to a more congenial subject and the still +more congenial reflection that all this stately, +soft-toned beauty would some day be her own. +</p> + +<p> +Once this wretched war was over, everything would +go swimmingly. He would settle down and shed some +of his troublesome ideals. That flat in town—which +she had already chosen and furnished mentally—would +be the best possible antidote for what she vaguely +styled "that sort of thing." She washed her hands +and tidied her smooth hair in a frame of mind too +serene even to be clouded by the prospect of a whole +afternoon without Mark. +</p> + +<p> +And downstairs, alone in the drawing-room, Lady +Forsyth was playing Grieg's Temple Dance with a fire +and fury that brought Keith in from the terrace, +startled concern in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Bless my soul, Helen! Who are you wanting to +murder now? The Crown Prince or one of our own +super-Solomons?" +</p> + +<p> +"Neither," she answered, crashing out the last +double chord. Then, swinging round on the stool +she faced him with heightened colour, head in air. +"It's Mark's future wife. And I'm in terror that +he'll want to marry before he goes out. Keith—it's +not only wicked prejudice. I distrust her more +than ever. She came to me with a pretty, ready-made +apology which I am afraid I dislocated by my incurable +candour. Then, having let fly for my own satisfaction, +I proceeded to smooth things over for love of +Mark. Told her my bark was worse than my bite." +</p> + +<p> +"That I can swear to," Keith struck in smiling. +</p> + +<p> +"Still—by every oath I mustn't use, if I was a +natural savage instead of a Christian woman, who +adores her son, I'd <i>bite</i> her with all my teeth—There! +Between that and Grieg, I feel a little better. But, +oh, you sagacious bachelor, you have your divine +compensations. At times it's a positive curse to love +any human thing better than your own soul." +</p> + +<p> +"It is that," Macnair agreed with quiet emphasis, +as the door opened to admit Mark himself. +</p> + +<p> +The air seemed still to vibrate with Helen's +impassioned outburst, and he glanced quickly from one +to the other. +</p> + +<p> +"What have you two been plotting—eh?" +</p> + +<p> +"The wholesale reconstruction of the universe!" +Keith answered lightly; but Mark went straight to +his mother and laid his hand on her. +</p> + +<p> +"She's been working herself up about nothing," +he said. "I can feel her quivering all through. +Keith, you oughtn't to encourage her. She'll be +needing all her reserves of strength, if she's to pull +through this. Would the drive to Bramleigh calm +you down, Motherling? Or would it churn you up +again, hearing me speak?" +</p> + +<p> +"No: I should love it," she answered in a low +voice. The invitation and the touch of his hand had +soothed her already, as nothing else could have done. +It was as if, by some telepathic process, he had divined +the cause of her emotional stress; and when the two +girls came in he said casually, without removing his +hand: "I'm carrying Mums off with me to Bramleigh. +You've had your drive, Bel, and the outing +will do her a power of good." +</p> + +<p> +The announcement faintly ruffled Bel's conviction +that all was for the best in this best of all possible +worlds. But later in the evening, when her own turn +came, when she wandered with Mark through the +terraced gardens down to the river, he found her +apparently satisfied, if not communicative, as regards +her interview of the morning. Convinced of her +own supreme sovereignty, instinct told her that she +would gain nothing by "giving the woman away." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0203"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER III +</h3> + +<p class="intro"> +"I am the Fact," said War, "and I stand astride the path of +Life.... There can be nothing else and nothing more in human +life until you have reckoned with me."—H. G. WELLS. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +That same evening, a good deal later on, Lady Forsyth +sat at her dressing-table, brushing out her hair, +recalling, with pride, Mark's vivid speech, the cheers, +the record "bag" of recruits, and wondering if he would +forget to come for his usual good night. +</p> + +<p> +His room opened out of hers; and the door between +stood chronically ajar—a companionable habit begun +in her first days of loneliness after his father's death. +He rarely missed the little ceremony of early tea, +when he would establish himself at the foot of the bed +and argue or read aloud, or simply "rag" her, as the +spirit moved him. Then he would wander in and out, +in the later stages of dressing, hindering and delighting +her in about equal measure. Or they would carry on a +violent argument through the open door, a pair of +disembodied voices, till some climax would bring +one or other gesticulating to the threshold. These +morning and evening hours were the times of their +most formidable encounters, their wildest nonsense, +their utmost joy in each other's society, exhibited in +a manner peculiar to themselves. At night the +"hair-brush interview" had become a regular institution. +It might be over in ten minutes or last till +midnight, according to their mood. This was the +time for graver matters, for the give and take of advice; +and although there might be little outward show of +sentiment, those hours of comradeship were among the +most sacred treasures of the mother's heart. +</p> + +<p> +To-night she brushed till her arm ached, listening +for his footstep; and the moment she put the hated +thing down, he came, bringing with him the whiff of +cigarette smoke she loved. +</p> + +<p> +Standing behind her, he took her head between his +hands, lightly passing his fingers through her hair +and smiled at her in the glass. She was responsive +as a cat when her hair was caressed; and he knew it. +</p> + +<p> +"Poor deserted little Mums!" he said. "Had you +given me up in despair?" +</p> + +<p> +"Absolutely." +</p> + +<p> +"And how long would you have hung on past despair +point?" he asked with a twinkle. +</p> + +<p> +"Probably half an hour.... What have you +done with your lady-love?" +</p> + +<p> +"Ordered her to bed." +</p> + +<p> +"So early? All for my benefit? I scent an ulterior +motive." +</p> + +<p> +He laughed and pulled her hair. "Your instinct's +infallible! It's this marrying business. I know I +promised to wait; but the whole face of the world has +changed since then." +</p> + +<p> +He detected the faint compression of her lips. +</p> + +<p> +"Mums, you're incorrigible. She's a delicious +thing." +</p> + +<p> +"Who says otherwise?" +</p> + +<p> +"You do—internally! Not a mite of use throwing +dust in my eyes. When you're converted—as you +will be—I shall know it, to the tick of a minute. +Meantime"—he moved over to the window and stood +there facing her—"the question is, in a war like this, +oughtn't one to marry, if possible, before going out? +She got on to war weddings this evening, and I was +tongue-tied. That mustn't happen again. What's +your notion? D'you still think—wait?" +</p> + +<p> +A pause. She dreaded, as he did, the possibility +of Wynchcombe Friars passing into the hands of +Everard Forsyth and his son, whose views were not +their views, except in matters political. Had the +wife in question been Sheila, her answer would have +been unhesitating. As it was, she parried his +awkward question with another. +</p> + +<p> +"What do you think yourself, Mark?" +</p> + +<p> +He laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, you clever woman! I have my answer. +And in this case I believe you're right. Personally, +I'm game to marry her at once. But ... there are +other considerations. Seems her precious Harry's +been rubbing into her that these war marriages aren't +fair on women—that it's a bigger shadow on their +lives losing a husband than a lover. It's a tragic +sort of start, I admit; and once we're married the +wrench of separation would surely be harder for both. +Then, as regards myself, you know how this coming +struggle has obsessed my mind; how we've doubted, +both of us, the spirit of modern England—the selfish, +commercial spirit of the red-necktie brand. And +now that I see the old country shaming our doubts, +I simply want to fling myself into this business—heart +and brain and body. And, frankly, I've a +feeling I could give myself to things with a freer +mind ... as a bachelor. That's the truth—for your +very private ear. Thirdly and lastly, if we married, +she ought to be here with you, and I'm doubtful if +you'd either of you relish that arrangement, lacking +me to do buffer state. See?" +</p> + +<p> +"I do see, very clearly," she answered, regarding +him with grave tenderness, her elbows on the table, +her chin in her hands. +</p> + +<p> +"Thought you would. There's only one thing +worries me. As my wife—if the worst happened, +she'd at least be well provided for. Seems she has +literally no money, and a very fair gift for spending it." +</p> + +<p> +Helen's quick brain—lightened by her relief—sprang +to instant decision. "You could settle that by adding +a codicil to your will. Those investments of father's +that are not tied up with the place would give her +quite a comfortable income." +</p> + +<p> +"Capital!" he cried, slapping his leg. "Fool I +was not to think of it. Simply forestall my instructions +about her marriage settlement. We'll fix it +up at once and I'll talk things over with her +to-morrow. See how she feels about it herself." +</p> + +<p> +They discussed details for another half-hour; +then, in his peremptory fashion, he ordered her to +bed. +</p> + +<p> +"God bless you," she whispered as he shed a kiss +on her hair. "This afternoon I was the proudest +mother in England." +</p> + +<p> +"O fool woman—just because I caught the gift of +the gab! With practice I might even degenerate into +a politician. Just as well I'm in for a few years of the +silent service. Go to sleep quick, and don't let +yourself be bogey ridden by German devilments." +</p> + +<p> +But though wisdom endorsed his command, she +disobeyed it flatly. There was no sleep in her brain; +and instead of going to bed, she sat down in the +window-seat, leaned against the woodwork and looked +out upon the still serenity of garden, terrace, and +pine wood, softly illumined by an unclouded moon. +The very peace and beauty of those moonlit August +nights had an uncanny power of intensifying the +inner visions that daylight and ceaseless occupation +kept partially in check. She could not now look upon +the moon without seeing the sacked villages, the +human wreckage of battle that the same impartial +goddess illumined, over there, on the shell-battered +fields of Belgium and France. +</p> + +<p> +Earlier in the day her spirit had been uplifted by +Miss Sorabji's beautiful letter "England in Earnest," +by her exhortation, from the Gita, "Think of this not +as a war, but as a sacrifice of arms demanded of the +gods." But now, in the peace and silence of night, +it was the anguish of the flight from Tirlemont that +lived before her eyes and chilled her blood. Too +vividly, she pictured the flaming town; the rush of +panic-stricken people; women and children, shot, +bayoneted, ruthlessly ridden down. And already +there were whispers of things infinitely worse than +killing—things unnamable, at thought of which +imagination blenched—— +</p> + +<p> +From that great, confused mass of misery there +emerged the pathetic figure of one fugitive peasant +woman and five children who stood bewildered in the +Place de la Gare, crying all of them as if their hearts +would break. That morning the German soldiery +had killed the woman's husband and trampled two +of her children to death before her face—a minor +item in an orgy of horrors. But it is poignant personal +detail that pierces the heart: and the acute realisation +of one mother's anguish brought sudden tears to +Helen's eyes. +</p> + +<p> +So blurred was the moonlit garden, when she looked +down into it, that a shadow moving at the end of the +terrace set her heart fluttering in her throat. +</p> + +<p> +Spy hunting and spy mania were in the air. Almost +every day brought its crop of tales, credible and +incredible: horses poisoned wholesale at Aldershot, +mysterious gun-emplacements, hidden arms and +ammunition in the least expected places. Even +allowing for exaggeration, such rumours were +sufficiently disturbing. They gave a creepy, yet rather +thrilling sense of insecurity to things as perennially +and unshakably secure as the Bank of England or +Westminster Abbey. Nor could even these symbols +of stability be reckoned immune, with the financial +world in convulsions and a mysterious fleet of +Zeppelins threatening to bombard London! +</p> + +<p> +In the over-civilised and over-legislated world, +that came by a violent end in July, 1914, the +uncertainty of life had been little more than a pious +phrase, spasmodically justified by events. Now +it was an impious fact, vaguely or acutely felt almost +every hour of the day—by none more acutely than +by Helen Forsyth with her quick sensibilities and +vivid brain. Even Mark admitted that she was +keeping her head creditably on the whole; but in +certain moods she was quite capable of demanding +a drastic search for gun-emplacements in her own +grounds or suspecting a secret store of ammunition +among the ruins of Wynchcombe Abbey, all on the +strength of a semi-German gardener dismissed years +ago. Only last week a suspicious, Teutonic-looking +individual had come to the back door and put the +cook "all in a tremor" by asking superfluous questions +about the neighbourhood. And now this mysterious +wanderer in the garden—at such an hour——! +</p> + +<p> +She was on her feet, brushing aside the tears that +obscured her vision. But the shadow had vanished +behind a bush and did not seem disposed to reappear. +For a second she stood hesitating. If she called Mark, +he would either laugh at her or scold her for not +being in bed. The creature was probably harmless. +She would creep down-stairs quietly and explore. For +all her nerves and fanciful fears, she was no coward +in the grain. Hastily twisting up her hair, she slipped +on a long opera coat and crept noiselessly down into +the drawing-room. There she found that the French +window leading on to the terrace had been left +unlocked. +</p> + +<p> +"How careless of Mark!" she murmured; and, with +fluttering pulse, stepped out into the moonlight. +</p> + +<p> +There he was again! Summoning all her courage +she went forward, uncertain even now what she meant +to say. +</p> + +<p> +The shadowy figure had turned. It was coming +towards her. Then—with a start of recognition +she stopped dead. +</p> + +<p> +"Keith!" she exclaimed softly, and could have +laughed aloud in her relief. +</p> + +<p> +"Helen—what are you doing out here?" he asked, an +odd thrill in his low voice. +</p> + +<p> +"What are you doing?" she retorted. "Frightening +me out of my life! I saw a suspicious-looking shadow; +and—don't laugh at me—I thought it might be a spy." +</p> + +<p> +"And you came down to tackle him alone! Just +like you! Supposing it had been?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh—thank goodness it's not! But don't you +ever give me away." Helen's laugh ended in an +involuntary shiver. +</p> + +<p> +"Cold?" he asked quickly. +</p> + +<p> +"No—no! Let's walk a little and feel normal." +</p> + +<p> +He moved on beside her, anxious, yet deeply +content. Then: "Helen," he said suddenly. "If +you're going to let things get on your nerves like this, +you'll be done for. Your best chance is to take up +some absorbing war-work; the harder the better." +</p> + +<p> +"What work? And where?" +</p> + +<p> +He caught a note of desperation in her tone. +"Scrubbing hospital floors? Or playing about with +Belgians and invalids here, while Sheila is at Boulogne, +you scouring France in our car, and Mark in the thick +of it all? He wants me to stay here, I know. But, +Keith, I simply <i>can't</i>. What else, though, can a +useless woman of fifty do?" +</p> + +<p> +"To start with, she can refrain from calling herself +useless, which is a libel! To go on with—" He +paused, regarding her. The supposed spy was +meditating a bold suggestion. "Helen—could you +... would you ... come out with me as my +orderly? If so, I could confine my activities to the +Base. I verily believe you'd find the real thing less +nerve-racking than the nightmares of an imagination +like yours. But, could you stand it, physically? +And ... would the conventions permit?" +</p> + +<p> +Her low laugh answered him straight away. "My +dear Keith, talk of inspiration! It would just save +my soul alive. I can act infinitely better than I can +endure. I should feel nearer to Mark. And as for the +conventions, I hanged them all years ago. What +harm, if the poor dead things are drawn and +quartered?" She checked herself and looked up at him. +"Will you take your Bible oath that I shouldn't +simply be in the way?" +</p> + +<p> +"I'll take it on as many Bibles as you like to +produce," he answered, with becoming gravity. "But +I'm thinking ... for your sake ... another +woman.... How about Sheila?" +</p> + +<p> +"Sheila! Lovely." +</p> + +<p> +"Would she give up her precious massage?" +</p> + +<p> +"If I wanted her she'd give up anything. But—the +massage wouldn't bring her up against the worst +horrors. Your work would. And she's full +young—barely three and twenty." +</p> + +<p> +"She is that. Though, if I'm any good at observation, +I should say the stature of her spirit is far in +advance of her years. She gives me the impression +of great reserve power, that girl. She never seems +to put out her full strength, or to waste it in kicking +against the pricks." +</p> + +<p> +"One for me!" Lady Forsyth murmured meekly. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, one for you! And I make bold to prophesy +she would be worth five of you in a painful emergency!" +</p> + +<p> +He made that unflattering statement in a tone of +such extraordinary tenderness that she beamed as at a +compliment. +</p> + +<p> +"Let the righteous smite me friendly—when I +deserve it! You seem to have made a close study of +my Sheila. It only remains to secure her services +and Mark's consent——" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Mother</i>!" His deep voice called suddenly from +the window. "I'm ashamed of you. Come to bed at +once!" +</p> + +<p> +"Coming!" she called back, adding under her +breath: "Keith, remember I only came down for a +book. And you found me locking you out." +</p> + +<p> +Then she hurried away, obedient always to the +voice of her son. +</p> + +<p> +Nightmares had been effectually dispelled. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Bel's hope that the War Office would be merciful +was not fulfilled. The Juggernaut across the Channel +would not stand still at any one's bidding. The +Great Man who worked day and night, creating new +armies, had need of every promising semblance of an +officer he could lay hands on; and Mark's name was a +recommendation in itself. +</p> + +<p> +Bel was given little more than a week in which to +be "heavenly good"; and it must be admitted that +she made the most of it. She took kindly, on the +whole, to Mark's solution of the marriage problem. +How far her acquiescence was due to his exceeding +thoughtfulness in the matter of money it might be +invidious to enquire. There remained the fact that +Harry O'Neill—scenting a possible war wedding—had +skilfully put forward her own pronounced views +on the subject; while, incidentally, spoiling her idol +more egregiously than ever. And the girl herself +leaned towards a more auspicious beginning of her +married life. Mark found her oddly superstitious +on the subject; and, with her gift for evading unpleasant +facts, she had risen readily to the optimistic +conviction that the war would be over by Christmas +or the New Year. Apparently it did not occur to +her, or to others of her persuasion, that a short war +could only spell victory for Germany. But there +seemed little use in dispelling an illusion that kept +her happy; and, in her case, could do no harm. +</p> + +<p> +So she clung unchallenged to her comforting belief; +and, the great question being settled, Mark was free +to consider other matters. +</p> + +<p> +First and foremost, there was Keith's amazing +proposition to enlist Mums—a project that did not +square with Mark's private plan for keeping her +safely wrapped in cotton wool and harmless +war-activities at Wynchcombe Friars. Son-like, he had +scarce realised how infinitely dear she was to him, till +her eagerness to cross the Channel had driven him to +consider the possibility in all its bearings. And the +inclusion of Sheila in the programme brought to light +his hidden tenderness for her that seemed in no way +diminished by his passion for Bel. Why the deuce +couldn't the women be reasonable, and stay in England +where there would be work enough for all? And what +business had Keith to go encouraging them? But so +plainly were the three enamoured of their idea that +in the end he had not the heart to damp them. +</p> + +<p> +In the privacy of his thoughts, he thanked goodness +that Bel could be trusted not to emulate them; +though her attitude towards the war was now less +hostile than it had been. The very air she breathed +was impregnated with war-fever, war-talk and +war-realities. It was increasingly evident that new +war-activities were going to become the fashion; and she +was of those who unquestioningly follow a fashion, +lead it where it may. Having no taste for the menial +work of hospitals or for tending the sick and wounded, +she had elected to help in some sort of women's work +engineered by Harry, "the Cause" being temporarily +extinct. So far as possible she turned away her eyes +from beholding and her heart from feeling the full +measure of the invisible horror, which, to more +imaginative minds, became too acutely visible and +audible during that critical last week of August, +1914. +</p> + +<p> +For by now, across the Channel, the Great Retreat +had begun. Days that, at Wynchcombe Friars, +slipped by all too fast, seemed over there, to have +neither beginning nor end. Common standards of +time were lost in that ceaseless, sleepless nightmare of +dogged marching and still more dogged fighting, +whenever Prussian hordes gave the broken remnant +of an army a chance to turn and smite, as the British +soldier can smite even in retreat. +</p> + +<p> +It was from Le Cateau that an officer friend sent a +pencil scrawl to Mark. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"It is quite evident that we have taken the knock +badly. With any other army one would say we're +beaten. But Tommy doesn't understand the word. +You can only beat him by knocking the life out of +him. And even when you think he's dead, chances +are he'll get up and kick you. People at home +simply haven't begun to know what heroes these +chaps are. Makes me sick even to think of certain +supercilious folk, I seem to remember, who thought +the worst of any man in uniform on principle. Great +Scott, they're not fit to lick Tommy's boots." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Mark handed that letter to Bel. +</p> + +<p> +"There's one in the eye for your precious Maitland," +he remarked coolly. "Copy it out verbatim, +please, and send it to him with my compliments!" +</p> + +<p> +And Bel obeyed with exemplary meekness. She +had rather objected to the tone of Maitland's last +letter; and, in her own fashion, she was very much +impressed. Heroism, a long way off and entirely +unconnected with one's self, was an admirable thing +in man. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +It was near the end of August, when the Channel +ports were being evacuated and the fall of Paris +seemed merely a matter of days, that Mark at last +found his name in the <i>Gazette</i> coupled with that of a +distinguished Highland regiment; and in record +time he was ready—uniform, equipment, parting +presents and all. +</p> + +<p> +Like most of his race and kind, he would have +preferred an informal departure—casual "good-byes," +as though he were going off on business for a week +or so. But he had won the hearts of his people by +justice, understanding, and the personal touch that +was a tradition at Wynchcombe Friars: he had inspired +them, by precept and exhortation, to give of their +best ungrudgingly; and he could not deny them the +legitimate thrill of speeding his departure with +congratulations and cheers. +</p> + +<p> +Only on Sunday, his last day, he evaded one ordeal +by limiting his attendance at church to early service +with his mother. Bel had little taste for early rising, +and Mark did not press the point. +</p> + +<p> +In the afternoon he delighted his humbler friends—wives +of the gamekeeper, the coachman and the manager +of his arts and crafts colony—by calling on them in +full uniform. Though he occasionally wore the kilt and +glengarry at Inveraig, his Hampshire folk had never +seen him thus attired; and their open admiration was +so embarrassing that, after several hours of it, he +returned limp and exhausted, clamouring for whisky +and soda and the society of Bel, who could +always be trusted to keep her admiration within +bounds. +</p> + +<p> +To her he devoted the evening; and early on Monday +the more personal farewells must be said, the +cheerful, casual note vigorously maintained. It was +not "the real thing" yet; and the women, in their +hearts, prayed that the "the real thing" might be +deferred for many months to come. Meantime, +unless England was favoured with an invasion, he +would be safe enough on the south-east coast of +Scotland; and later on, if rooms were available, he would +permit his mother and Bel to intrude upon his violent +industry for a week. +</p> + +<p> +Keith drove them all to the station, and behold, +outside the grey stone gateway, an impromptu +guard of honour lined the road to Wendover: villagers +and farm hands, weavers and metal-workers, women, +children, and ineligible men. At sight of the motor, +they broke into shouts and ragged cheers that would +have moved a heart many degrees less responsive than +the heart of Mark Forsyth. +</p> + +<p> +"Drive slower, man," he said to Keith; and, standing +up in the car, he waved his glengarry—giving +them shout for shout—till he could no more. +</p> + +<p> +That vision of him, so standing, with the morning +light in his eyes, the sun upon his chestnut-red hair +and his kilt blown back by the wind, remained stamped +indelibly upon his mother's brain. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0204"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER IV +</h3> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Hearts that are as one high heart,<br> + Withholding nought from doom or bale,<br> + Burningly offered up—to bleed,<br> + To bear, to break, but not to fail."<br> + LAURENCE BINYON.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The dream of that coveted week at Mark's war +station materialised about the middle of September. +More: it was a success; a blessed memory unspoiled +by any jarring note, and it brought the two women +nearer to each other than they had been yet. +</p> + +<p> +They found Mark, in charge of a double company +chiefly armed with broom-sticks, handling his +Highlanders to some purpose; giving his spare hours to +revolver practice, with plump German targets in +view. His Colonel, who lost no time in making +friends with Lady Forsyth, spoke of him in glowing +terms, and gave his women folk every facility for +seeing the coast defences prepared against the +promised invasion. They wandered, shivering inwardly, +through a maze of genuine trenches, heavily sandbagged, +that, in the event of a landing, were to be held +"at all costs." They inspected cunning entanglements +of barbed wire on the beach and underground +forts that looked more like heat bumps on the face of +the earth than strong defensive positions; and they +heard amazing stories of spies, though the Government +had nominally demolished the system. They +had tea with half a dozen jilted officers, on a bare deal +table, in an upper room of a house that had been +shorn of its furniture to accommodate Mark, with +two fellow subalterns and three hundred men. +</p> + +<p> +Everything conspired to make those few September +days an untarnished memory. The tide of retreat +had turned. The miracle had happened and the +Germans, flung back from the gates of Paris, had +been brilliantly defeated on the Marne. India's +response to the call of her King-Emperor had sent a +thrill through the whole kingdom: and some impeccable +authority—name unknown—reported hundreds +of Russians at Ostend. Hopeful souls dreamed +again of a swift and decisive issue. But the Great +Brain piling up armies in Whitehall still pinned his +faith on England's "last million men." +</p> + +<p> +In fact, there was only one flaw in the week of their +content; it passed too soon. Then the price must +be paid in the renewed wrench of parting; and for +the first time Lady Forsyth saw tears in Bel's eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Of course they must come again, Mark assured +them at the last. "The C.O. has fallen in love with +Mums! He'd be heartbroken if I didn't give him +another chance. And he's a useful chap to please. +So that settles it!" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +But towards the end of September, before there was +time even to think of another chance, Mark had his +orders. A decimated battalion was clamouring for +reinforcements; and a message flashed to +Wynchcombe Friars that he would be home next day on +forty-eight hours leave, picking up Bel in town. +</p> + +<p> +That blunt announcement drove the blood from +Lady Forsyth's face. Sheila was back with her +again; and Keith had just returned from a week's +absence on business connected with the +Forsyth-Macnair Car. +</p> + +<p> +"He's got his wish," was all she said: and went +quickly out of the room. +</p> + +<p> +Next morning they arrived—the two of them; Mark +rather defiantly cheerful, Bel more than a little +subdued. Lady Forsyth had never liked the girl +better than in those two days. +</p> + +<p> +To the women it seemed hard that so many of his +precious hours at home must be squandered on business. +But Mark had to face the fact that he might +never return; and to make his dispositions accordingly. +It had always been his wish to emulate his father and +be practically his own land-agent. But four years +of minority and the long absence in Europe had +obliged him to employ a trustworthy man of +experience: and he was thankful for it now. George +Russell, happily well over forty, had proved as +capable as he was devoted: which is saying a good deal +for his capacity. He possessed, moreover, a shrewder +business head than either mother or son: and, on +occasion, to Mark's huge delight, he would assume a +tenderly protective attitude, as of one whose mission +in life was to save them from themselves. +</p> + +<p> +In the matter of Belgian refugees, for instance, +he regretted to report that Lady Forsyth was not +sufficiently discriminating. They were proving, as +was natural, "a very mixed lot," and Russell had a +positive flair for the wrong sort. It was not fair on +Sir Mark to crowd up his cottages with "foreign +riff-raff": the deserving would make a quite sufficient +drain on his limited resources. The good fellow learnt +with unconcealed relief that Lady Forsyth would +soon be going to Boulogne with Miss Melrose and that +he would be left practically in charge of everything. +They had decided to lend the house to Sir Richard's +two sisters chiefly with a view to keeping it available +for hospitality to officers, wounded or otherwise. +The little colony of arts and crafts had dwindled +considerably: but the workshops were not to be +altogether closed down. Lady Forsyth was anxious +to encourage refugee lace-makers, Belgian and +French. +</p> + +<p> +Mark himself was thankful for business details that +relieved the underlying strain. But he refused on this +occasion to bid any official "Good-byes." He had +taken leave of his people when he joined the army. +This final wrench was his own most private and +personal affair as they would doubtless understand. +</p> + +<p> +Tea on the terrace was a creditably cheerful meal; +and it was not till near dinner-time that Mark +managed to slip away by himself for an hour of quiet +communing with the land he loved—the woods, the +river, and the lordly ruins that, for him, were written +all over with the inner history of his own brief +twenty-seven years. Bel had asked him more than once +how he could bear to leave it all: and to-night, as he +saw the red sun tangled among his pine tops, that +question so shook his fortitude that he challenged it +with another. Could he bear to think of German +troops defiling the fair and stately face of it, +terrorising with torture and outrage, the men and women +whose welfare was his main concern in life? Confronted +with that challenge, the coward question fled +ashamed. +</p> + +<p> +After dinner he had half an hour's talk with Sheila, +into whose hands he solemnly commended his more +mercurial mother. "She's a jewel of price," he added +frankly, "but in certain moods, she takes some managing. +And on the whole you're better at it than old +Keith. Don't let her crock up from the strain of it +all. And write to me. Promise." +</p> + +<p> +She promised—and his mind felt more at rest. +</p> + +<p> +Later on he took Bel out on to the terrace, where +they paced up and down in the starlight, talking +fitfully. Time was too short for all they had to say: +and for that very reason they could not say one half +of it. Interludes of silence increased. At last came +one so prolonged that, by a mutual impulse, they +came to a standstill, near a low stone bench, +confronting each other and the inexorable fact. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh Mark—to-morrow!" Bel breathed unsteadily, +her dim face close to his. "It seems impossible." +</p> + +<p> +For answer he took hold of her: and sitting down, +gathered her on to his knees. Then, amazed, he heard +her whisper at his ear: "Darling—I'm horribly +afraid. I keep feeling—I shall never get you back." +</p> + +<p> +It was spoken at last, the fear of perpetual parting +that knocked at both their hearts. But the man +knew that spectre must be ignored. "I'll come +back with any luck, my Bel," he said, kissing her, "to +claim you for good, and worry your life out! I vote +we marry the first leave I get." +</p> + +<p> +He passed his hand slowly down her bare arm. +"Darling, you're cold," he said. "There's a dew +and a half falling. Come in at once. Are we +downhearted?—No!" +</p> + +<p> +The light of the hall showed her on the verge of +tears. But she pulled herself together and he +dismissed her with a blessing that meant more to him +than to her. +</p> + +<p> +In the drawing-room he found Keith alone, with a +solitary electric light switched on, smoking by the +open window; a privilege Helen permitted him for the +sake of his company. +</p> + +<p> +"Hullo! Gone—both of 'em?" Mark asked in surprise. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. I ordered them off. They looked strained +and tired. Couldn't read. Couldn't talk. Your +mother has some letters to write, I think. She left +word—would you look in?" +</p> + +<p> +"Bless her, she takes things beastly hard." +</p> + +<p> +"She does," Keith assented briefly: and Mark +proceeded to fill his pipe. +</p> + +<p> +During the process Keith watched him, appraising +his straight, clean manhood and cursing the devilish +nature of modern war. +</p> + +<p> +Presently, when Mark had finished with his pipe, +he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +"Keith, old chap, on the strength of peculiar +circumstances and the general uncertainty of things, +I'm going to make an infernally impertinent remark. +To begin with, Mother's most distractingly on my +mind. I've fixed up most things, with a view +to—possible contingencies. But I don't seem able to fix +up her. If I'm knocked out she's simply done for. +Not even this precious work of hers for consolation. +It all goes to Uncle Everard who'll make an end of +our colony straight away. She'll lose everything at a +stroke, except Inveraig. And she—alone there——!" +</p> + +<p> +He set his teeth; and Keith passed a long thin hand +across his eyes. "That's the tragedy of it," he said; +adding, with forced lightness, "Where does the +impertinence come in?" +</p> + +<p> +"It's jolly well coming in now. Don't bite my +head off. Truth is I'm not stone-blind; and just +lately—I've been wondering ... why the deuce +don't you make a match of it? You and Mums!" +</p> + +<p> +Macnair started, and his face looked rather a +queer colour in the dim light. +</p> + +<p> +"Great heavens, Mark! Talk of explosives!" +</p> + +<p> +For the moment he could get no further; and +Mark was puzzled. "You mean—it's never occurred +to you?" +</p> + +<p> +"I mean nothing of the sort." +</p> + +<p> +"Then I bet you <i>do</i> want to bite my head off——" +</p> + +<p> +"I'm not ... so sure," he said slowly. His +voice was more natural now. "I always like your +sledge-hammer directness. At the same time—" He +rose and paced the length of the room revolving +that amazing proposition. +</p> + +<p> +"If I thought there was a ghost of a chance," +Mark persisted, as Keith turned in his stride, "it +would take a ton weight off my mind." +</p> + +<p> +"Not to mention mine," Keith answered smiling; +and when he reached the window he put a hand on +Mark's shoulder. "As it seems a case of plain +speaking to-night, I may as well admit the truth. +She's been the star of my life for fifteen years—and +I'd give all I possess to marry her." +</p> + +<p> +Mark's eyebrows went up. +</p> + +<p> +"And she ten years a widow! Why not have a shot +at it, old chap, and make this Boulogne trip a sort of +war honeymoon——" +</p> + +<p> +"My dear boy! The pace you young fellows travel! +And you ignore ... there's Helen herself to be +reckoned with——" +</p> + +<p> +For the first time in his life Mark saw the blood +mount into Keith's face and heard him hesitate over +his mother's name;—phenomena that checked his +fluency a little but rather increased his zeal. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, if you don't have a try," he said, "hanged +if the C.O. won't forestall you. He's dead smitten. +Two lovers at fifty—she ought to be ashamed of +herself!" +</p> + +<p> +But Keith seemed no way perturbed by the +possibility of a rival. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>If</i> she ever marries again," he said quietly, "it +will be myself. But, Mark, is it possible you've never +realised that, for her, your father is still as much +alive as when he walked this earth. There's a modest +percentage of human beings so made, and a good few +of them are Scots. For them there is actually neither +death, nor separation. I believe your father still +bars my way, as much as he did when—I first loved her. +Of course ... I may exaggerate!" +</p> + +<p> +"Hope you do!" Mark was deeply moved. +"She doesn't often speak of him to me." +</p> + +<p> +"Nor to me. But—when she does, it's quite clear." +</p> + +<p> +"'M. Rough luck! All the same, if the worst +happens, give me your word you'll have a try +... for her sake and mine as well as your own. No one +would dream there's eight years between you." +</p> + +<p> +Keith simply held out his hand and Mark's closed +on it hard. The good understanding that had always +existed between them was complete. +</p> + +<p> +Mark found his mother writing letters in bed. He +had accused her more than once of writing them in her +bath. She looked strained and tired, as Keith +said; but in her blue dressing-jacket with hair +demurely parted and a thick plait over her shoulder, +she appeared younger, if anything, than the man he +had left downstairs. +</p> + +<p> +"Incurable woman!" he said lightly. "Who's +your victim this time?" +</p> + +<p> +She told him; and while she read out snatches of +her letter, Mark—watching her with new eyes—wondered, +had she the least inkling? Would a word +from him be of any service to Keith? +</p> + +<p> +Curiosity impelled him to talk of the Boulogne +trip, to enlarge on his confidence in Keith, and even +to touch on the unconventional character of the whole +plan. Neither in look nor tone could he detect a +glimmer of after-thought or shadow of self-consciousness. +The causes of her satisfaction were clear as +daylight: longing to be in the same country as himself: +candid pleasure in Keith's and Sheila's company and +her innate love of getting off the beaten track. +</p> + +<p> +"It's just one of the many beautiful things that a +genuine, understanding friendship makes possible," +she concluded, stamping and sealing her letter: and +Mark began to feel rather sorry for Keith. But he +wisely refrained from any hint of his own knowledge. +It would probably do no good and would certainly +spoil her pleasure in going. +</p> + +<p> +Instead, he commandeered her writing board, an +act of tyranny that would normally have involved a +fight. Her unnatural meekness hurt him more sharply +than any words of love, could she have brought herself +to speak them. When he came back to the bed, she +indicated a little pile of Active Service Compendiums +and a pocket Red-letter Testament on the table +beside her. She had already given him his wrist +watch and a silver flask. +</p> + +<p> +"That <i>from</i> me," she said touching the Book, +"and those <i>for</i> me. I shall be hungry for news +remember and out of touch with Bel, who will get it +all." +</p> + +<p> +"Not quite all—faithless and unbelieving!" he +answered echoing her lightness, then he added with +decision. "You're not coming up to town, Mums; +not even to the station—understand? It'll be bad +enough having Bel. But she's cooler all through. +No matter how brave you are, I can always feel you +quivering inside. And I couldn't stand it. Nor +could you." +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head. "It was only—a temptation. +Not to miss——" +</p> + +<p> +A spasm crossed her face and he went down on his +knees beside her. +</p> + +<p> +"Darling, if we are going to make fools of +ourselves," he said huskily. "I'd better be off. It's +near midnight. Time you were asleep." No answer; +and he spoke still lower. "Give me your blessing, +Mums—like when I went to school." +</p> + +<p> +Still without speaking she laid her hands on his +bowed head; and from his heart he echoed her +passionate silent plea for his safe return. +</p> + +<p> +Then he stood up and kissed her good night—— +</p> + +<p> +For sheer misery and discomfort nothing could +exceed the actual hour or two before departure. Bel +could be with him in his room while he "completed +his mobilisation." The rest could only hang about +aimlessly, making futile talk or inventing futile +occupations to keep thought at bay. In the +background, several maids and a grey-haired butler +hovered fitfully; and Bobs, a picture of abject misery, +lay awaiting his master at the foot of the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +He came at last, in a violent hurry, shouting an +order to Keith and springing clean over the prostrate +Bobs. +</p> + +<p> +Bel followed more leisurely; flushed a little, but +controlled. Then the hovering servants came forward +and Helen slipped quietly into her husband's study. +</p> + +<p> +There, at last, Mark came to her—followed closely +by a tailless Bobs. +</p> + +<p> +Somehow she contrived to smile. Then his arms +were round her, crushing her to him. +</p> + +<p> +"God bless you," he whispered. "Don't fret. +It's going to be all right. And—if it isn't ... it'll +<i>still</i> be all right." +</p> + +<p> +Then he kissed her again and let her go. +</p> + +<p> +From the threshold he waved to her, smiling resolutely, +though tears stood in his eyes. She waved back +to him. The door shut between them. He was gone. +</p> + +<p> +As she stood motionless, fighting back her grief, +she was startled by that sharp, familiar pang in the +region of her heart: and a momentary darkness as if +a raven's wing had brushed across her eyes. She +shivered and kneeled hastily down to comfort the +desolate Bobs, while her tears fell, unchecked now, +upon his rough brown head. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0205"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER V +</h3> + +<p class="intro"> +"Here is the hard paradox: war ... truly devilish, bestial, +senseless thing, produces in masses—as peace distinctly does not +produce them—brothers and sisters to Christ."—G. B. DAWAR. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Wynchcombe Friars without Mark was no place +to tarry in; but there seemed no end to the delays; +and Keith turned even these to good account by +teaching Sheila to drive the Forsyth-Macnair car. +Two drivers with one orderly would get through twice +the work. +</p> + +<p> +It was near the middle of October when, at last, +they found themselves speeding towards Folkestone. +Keith, who had laid aside philosophy "for the duration +of the war," delighted in his own small ark of +salvation as a Captain delights in his ship. From "stem +to stern" she was as perfect as skill and money could +make her; fitted up with four stretchers and bedding; +crammed to the limit of her capacity with first aid +appliances and a minimum of luggage. +</p> + +<p> +Here and there autumn had laid a fiery finger on the +woods. Birches and elms were tipped with gold. +Otherwise the October sun riding in a cloudless heaven +suggested high summer. Mark had been gone nearly +two weeks. Two brief cheerful letters assured his +mother he was alive and well. Till she could see him +again, those simple facts were all that vitally +concerned herself; though pessimists prophesied invasion +by Zeppelin and transport; and away over there—unseen, +yet acutely felt—Belgium continued her +heroic stand against the all-devouring, all-defiling +German Army. +</p> + +<p> +The fall of Antwerp, pronounced impregnable, +had resounded through Europe like the knell of doom. +For a time, even the bravest were shaken with dismay +and the stream of refugees increased daily. The +streets of Folkestone overflowed with that pitiful +flotsam of wrecked cities. Some wept; some cursed; +some prayed; but the prevailing expression was a +terrible stunned indifference, as though shock on +shock had hammered them into automata that +could move and eat and sleep, but could no longer +feel. +</p> + +<p> +In Boulogne—when they reached it—the flotsam +of wrecked battalions was more in evidence. Things +were still primitive here as regards organisation: but +already the place was an English colony. The British +Red Cross Society was beginning to make things +move and owners of private cars were doing splendid +service. To these were now added the unrelated +trio from Wynchcombe Friars. But their first +objective was Rouen, where a young Stuart nephew +lay badly wounded, craving for the sight of a face +from home. His invalid mother could not get to +him; so Lady Forsyth went in her stead, only to find +on arrival that the boy had been dead an hour. For +the sake of that faraway mother she asked to see him, +though privately she dreaded the ordeal. She was +aware, suddenly, of a very unheroic shrinking from +close contact with the awful actualities of war. But +that shrinking in no way affected her zeal for the +work in hand. +</p> + +<p> +News that a train-load of casualties was expected +that evening sent them full speed to the station; but +it was dusk when they arrived to find the process +of unloading begun. At the entrance, a group of +Red Cross officials stood talking and laughing, +hardened by habit to the painful scene. As the car drew +up they crowded round, admiring it and questioning +Macnair, while tragic burdens were being carried +past them in the half light. +</p> + +<p> +Helen, too overwrought to make allowances, +wondered how Keith had the patience to answer them. +</p> + +<p> +Presently, her attention was caught by a number of +black shadows, like wheelbarrows abnormally large +and high. +</p> + +<p> +"What are those?" she asked a porter, and +discovered that they were severely wounded men on +wheeled stretchers either too brave or too exhausted +to utter a sound of complaint. +</p> + +<p> +At that she could restrain herself no longer. +</p> + +<p> +"Keith," she exclaimed, flagrantly interrupting +a Medical Authority with a passion for cars. "Why +are those unfortunate men kept hanging about in this +noisy place? Can't we get four of them away?" +</p> + +<p> +But Medical Authority checked her impatience +in a tone of mild reproof. +</p> + +<p> +"Those fellows are all right where they are, Lady +Forsyth," he said. "They're not fit to be moved +off their stretchers. So we're waiting for the trams. +If you like to back into the station, you may pick +up some milder cases who'll be glad of a lift." +</p> + +<p> +They backed in accordingly and picked up two +maimed men and a remarkably cheerful subaltern +with his left arm in a sling and a bandage across one +eye. As they passed out, Keith offered to return +for another load; and to Helen's disgust, the offer was +politely declined. +</p> + +<p> +By the time they reached the field hospital—a collection +of marquees, fitted up with electric light—it +was nearly ten o'clock. +</p> + +<p> +"Quite early; but we don't seem to be <i>wanted</i>; so +I suppose we must go to bed," Helen remarked with +doleful emphasis, as they re-settled the car. "I +don't know what you think about it, Keith. <i>I</i> feel +distinctly snubbed. Four out of three hundred! +What's that?" +</p> + +<p> +"A beginning—and no bad one!" Keith answered +placidly, filling his pipe. "Fanshawe says if we report +ourselves at Boulogne we shall get all the work we +want. There's heavy fighting on the north. A +big battle developing for Ypres and Calais." +</p> + +<p> +To Boulogne they returned accordingly: and had +no cause this time to feel either snubbed or superfluous. +There was still a famine of cars at the Base and the +wounded were arriving in thousands: their bodies +mangled and mutilated; their spirits, in the main, +unquenched. +</p> + +<p> +Macnair and his party drove up to their Hotel at +noon: and their greeting from the Red Cross Authority +was very much to the point. +</p> + +<p> +"All available cars wanted immediately at the Gare +Maritime. Better get some lunch first." +</p> + +<p> +That lunch was of the briefest. Keith dumped +their luggage in the hall without so much as asking if +there were rooms to be had. Helen did not even open +the coveted letter from Mark, till they were back in +the motor, speeding towards the bare unsheltered +Gare, where impromptu and comfortless hospital +trains debouched their tragic loads. Mercifully +the sun of that miraculous autumn still shone +unclouded; and, by the time autumn gave place to the +wettest winter in decades, better arrangements had +been made. +</p> + +<p> +All that afternoon they worked, unceasingly, and +late into the night. Back and forth, back and forth +between station and hospital; jolting inevitably over +railway lines, and a strip of merciless cobble pavement +that, for men with shattered limbs, hurriedly dressed, +involved several minutes of excruciating agony. +</p> + +<p> +"Keith, couldn't they possibly take up that cruel +bit of pave?" Helen pleaded after their seventh +journey with three men at death's door. "Even a +raw road would be better than those stones." +</p> + +<p> +"I'll move heaven and earth to get it improved," +he assured her, little guessing that he had pledged +himself to a labour of Hercules. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +By the time they could take breath and think about +finding beds, they were all dead weary, sustained +only by the knowledge that they had given their mite +of service to the utmost of their power. In Mark's +letter, which Helen had scarcely found time to read, +there was a sentence on this head that had haunted +her brain throughout those strenuous hours. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh Mums, if only the good casual folk at home +could be made to see even the half of what we see in the +way of wanton destruction, and calculated brutality, +wherever the gentle German has left his trail, they'd +possibly begin to realise the powers of evil we're up +against in this war and things in general would march +to a different tune. But they can't see. That's the +trouble. And hearing about such things isn't the +same at all. If we're ever going to win through hell +to human conditions again it won't be merely by +signing cheques and making speeches, but by the +individual personal service of every man and woman +in whatever capacity; and I'm proud to feel you three +are giving it like Trojans. God bless you all!" +</p> + +<p> +She stood gleaning a few more scraps under an +electric light, when Keith came up to say he had +secured a room for her and Sheila; and a friendly Irish +doctor had offered him a bed in his hospital train. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm in great luck with my two assistants," he +added smiling down at her eager, tired face. "Sheila +betters my expectation, which is saying a good deal. +Her self-possession to-day astonished me. She'd +have the nerve for advance ambulance work in the +firing line, I do believe. But I'm glad we've got her +safe here." +</p> + +<p> +He glanced towards her where she sat at a writing-table +scribbling a hurried letter to Mark in praise +of their mutually beloved Mums. Then he went up +and touched her shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +"Good night, Sheila," he said. "Get to bed sharp, +both of you. I'll call for you to-morrow." +</p> + +<p> +"We'll be ready early," she answered looking up at +him; and he discovered, to his surprise, that her eyes +were swimming in tears. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +There was a certain monotony about the days of +unremitting work that followed; a monotony tinged +with its own peculiar high lights and shadows; with +beauty and terror, fortitude and anguish, the incoming +and outgoing pulse-beat of life at the Base. Scarcely a +day passed without some minor incident, some flash +of human revelation that neither Keith nor his +orderlies would forget while they lived. +</p> + +<p> +For Helen—with every nerve responsive to the +suffering around them—the strain of it all proved no +light matter; yet, in retrospect she counted those +terrible days as among the richest experiences of her +life. +</p> + +<p> +To her it was distracting that wounded men should +suffer additional miseries from the fact that even in +two and a half months of war it had been impossible to +cope with all the complex needs of the situation. +Hospitals were few and quite inadequate. The magnificent +ambulance trains of later days were still in the +workshops at home; while untiring men on the spot +did the best they could with the high, comfortless +passenger coaches of France. Even the more luxurious +sleeping carriages were too cramped for the ingress +and egress of badly wounded men: and when, at last, +these were landed, like so many bales of goods, on the +unsheltered platform of the Gare, shortage of +ambulance cars and trained stretcher-bearers added the +finishing touch to their nightmare journey. But soon +after Keith's arrival the zeal and organisation of the +British Red Cross began to make themselves felt, in +this respect as in others. Every ambulance that could +be raised in London was rushed across to Boulogne; +till in a few days there were eighty of one kind or +another plying between train and hospital and ship. +</p> + +<p> +For all that, there was still need of superhuman +exertion to cope, even inadequately with the terrible +stream of wounded; the back wash as it were, from +the Homeric struggle round Ypres. In that region, the +Belgians were making their last desperate stand, and +war-worn British Divisions,—haggard, sleepless, +cruelly depleted—were still miraculously holding their +own against Army Corps on Army Corps of fresh +German troops heartened by an overwhelming superiority +in guns and shells. There—during those awful +days—whole battalions of the finest troops on earth +practically ceased to exist; and thence came the main +influx of comfortless, over-crowded trains. +</p> + +<p> +Steadily the tale of wounded swelled, till it reached +an average of two thousand a day. And what were +eighty cars among so many? Little better than the +five loaves and two small fishes in Galilee: and here +was no hope of miraculous intervention. The +outstanding miracle of that golden October—when +England neither knew her peril nor the full cost of her +salvation—was the superhuman fortitude of those +that were broken on the wheel and the untiring +energy of those who served them in the teeth of baffling +conditions. +</p> + +<p> +Day after day the open platform was thronged +with men on stretchers in all stages of mental and +bodily collapse; British, Indian, French, Belgian, +German—brothers all, for the moment, in suffering +if in nothing else. Some stared wildly and talked +nonsense; some were apathetic; some incurably +cheerful; though often their wounds had not been +dressed for days. +</p> + +<p> +The lack of trained stretcher-bearers was a serious +difficulty till St. John's Ambulance Society came to the +rescue. Porters, willing but unskilful, did what they +could. Keith himself, and others like him, helped to +carry scores of men. From early morning till near +midnight the cars of rescue ran to and fro; but in +spite of every effort there were unavoidable delays. +Men died there on the stretchers, or in draughty +cars, while red-tape regulations kept them waiting +outside hospitals and ships. And that cruel strip +of pavé remained unsmoothed, though Keith had +pressed the point with unauthorised persistence. +And Helen cursed—so far as her ladyhood permitted—every +time they crossed it with patients in the last +extremity. +</p> + +<p> +The unceasing rush of work left small leisure for +nightmares or even for anxiety; but the strain and +pain of it was taxing her nerves to breaking-point. +Always, as they drew near the familiar crowded +station, there sprang the inevitable question: "Will +it be Mark this time?" But though the passing +days brought many from his regiment, Mark was not +found among them. +</p> + +<p> +As for Sheila, her sensitive spirit felt the test more +acutely than either of the elders, who kept watchful +eyes on her, were allowed to suspect. Only by clinging +desperately to her childhood's code of courage could +she save herself, at times, from the ignominy of +collapse. It was sustaining, too, to feel that Keith +trusted her, that Helen relied on her; and Mark's +occasional letters—full of a brotherly tenderness that +showed little in his speech—made it seem possible +to win through anything without flinching visibly. +The fact that she could face this inferno of pain and +death and mental anguish without a sense of +bitterness or rebellion was more of an asset than she knew. +It was, in fact, the keystone of her character, the +secret of her spiritual poise. For to accept, actively +to accept, spells capacity to transcend; but that she +had still to discover. +</p> + +<p> +They had little time, any of them, for abstract or +personal thought. The war, and its pressing demands +on them constituted their life. Keith had secured +a small private sitting-room, where they could enjoy +an occasional evening of quiet and rest. But as +work was seldom over till near eleven, such oases +were rare indeed. At times their heads felt stunned +with the eternal rattling to and fro, their hearts +numbed by contact with the awful harvest of a +modern battlefield. But on the whole they loved +their work, and would not have been otherwhere for +a kingdom. +</p> + +<p> +They grew skilled in the art of talking the men's +minds away from their sufferings: and Sheila—"Mouse" +though she was—showed so notable a gift +for this form of spiritual healing, that Lady Forsyth +finally christened her "Queen of the Poor Things." Some +mother-quality in her touch and tone seemed to +go straight to their hearts. Men who left the station +groaning and clenching their teeth, to keep the curses +back, would surprisingly soon be conjured into +recounting their adventures, or better still, talking of +wives and children at home. +</p> + +<p> +Keith himself confessed that he had never properly +appreciated the British Tommy till he carried him +wounded; and Helen lost her heart a dozen times +over. More than once when they chanced upon men +shattered and bandaged past human recognition, +she came very near losing her head: but only once did +she disgrace herself by fainting outright. +</p> + +<p> +On that occasion, Keith carried her straight back to +their Hotel, laid her on the sofa and stayed by her +till she was sufficiently recovered to feel very much +ashamed of herself. +</p> + +<p> +"Promise I won't do it again," she assured him +as he stood leaning over her. +</p> + +<p> +"No, that you certainly won't," he said sternly. +"If ever you do, I shall pack you straight off home. +To-night, for a punishment, you'll go early to bed. +Sheila will be quite safe with me." +</p> + +<p> +Argument and rebellion were useless. Moreover, +she was honestly exhausted; and before ten o'clock +she was sound asleep. +</p> + +<p> +But even weariness could not break the habit of +short rest; and by one of the morning she was +amazingly wide awake. +</p> + +<p> +Some distant sound had roused her, and now it drew +nearer:—footsteps and voices; men cheering and +singing of "La Gloire" and "La Mort." Nearer still +they came, tramping along the pavement, till they +were almost under her open window. +</p> + +<p> +Then she was aware of a discordant note in that +gallant chorus. One voice, raised in terror and +remonstrance, was trying to dominate those other +voices that were obviously shouting it down. +</p> + +<p> +"J'ai peur! Mon Dieu, camarades, j'ai peur!" +</p> + +<p> +The words reached her distinctly now. But the +rest, unheeding, sang louder than ever of "la mort" +and "la gloire." +</p> + +<p> +Possibly they were sorry for him. The coward +is the unhappiest of men. Yet he too being "enfant +de la patrie" must go, even as others went: and +Helen Forsyth, hearing him go, found the tears +streaming down her face—not for the coercion of one +reluctant citizen, but for the unending horror and +misery of it all: the fear and the anguish and the +calculated cruelty that were so infinitely worse than +death. +</p> + +<p> +Sheila, sleeping the profound sleep of healthily +exhausted youth, stirred not an eyelash even when the +noise was at its height. But, for Helen, that pitiful +interlude had put an end to rest; had opened the +door to nightmare memories and her own most private +fears. +</p> + +<p> +Since the long letter from Mark, that had greeted +her on arrival, there had been one barren field +postcard: and even that was ten days old. +</p> + +<p> +And away there, in the trenches, the struggle +seemed to wax fiercer every hour.... +</p> + +<p> +The blank parallelogram of her window gleamed +pale grey before, in spite of herself, she fell asleep. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0206"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER VI +</h3> + +<p class="intro2"> + "They stand to be her sacrifice,<br> + The sons this Mother flings like dice,<br> + To face the odds and brave the Fates...."<br> + GEORGE MEREDITH.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The strain of Mark's sudden silence told increasingly +upon the three of them. It was tacitly assumed +that postal arrangements were disorganised. Each +hoped that the others believed in that consoling +fiction; but privately, they were sceptics all. +</p> + +<p> +Helen continued to post his paper and her own thick +envelope every other day in the hope that he was +still to be found somewhere in the terrible maze of +trenches that drew England's best and bravest as a +magnet draws steel. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime, they were thankful for unremitting +work; for the constant movement and interest of life +at the Base. Young officers, eager for action, might +be bored to extinction by a few weeks in camp or in +one of the crowded hotels; but an observer, blessed +with humour and a large love of human nature, could +not fail to find at every turn food for thought, for +laughter and for tears. +</p> + +<p> +War is neither all horror, nor all heroism, or it +could not be waged by flesh and blood. Soldiers who +can die like gods, or fight as the beasts that perish, +are, in the intervals, men of like passions with their +kind. And genuine soldiers were scarce among those +who now poured into Boulogne, to fill the gaps in that +dangerously thin line round Ypres: Territorials and +schoolmasters, clergymen and clerks, lords of commerce +and lords of the land; dissimilar in almost every +essential, yet welded together by one common resolve, +one common faith:—a crusade indeed! +</p> + +<p> +And the manifold needs of a host undreamed of by +the wildest, wickedest "militarists," demanded the +existence of that other army chiefly congregated at the +Base;—doctors, nurses, chaplains, ambulance folk, +owners of private cars, and those sorrowful birds of +passage—relations of dying or dangerously wounded +men. On the quays, in streets and hotels they +thronged, those incongruous fragments of the world's +greatest drama; and Lady Forsyth never tired of +watching them or listening to their snatches of talk. +Neither weariness, nor nightmare visions, nor anxiety, +even, could blunt the edge of her keen interest in +the human panorama. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Sheila, my lamb," she exclaimed one evening +after a day of very varied emotions, "aren't people—all +sorts and kinds of them—passionately interesting? +Even when I'm laid on the uttermost shelf, I shall +still be always peeping over the edge!" +</p> + +<p> +"And you'll always find me peeping up at you!" +the girl answered, smiling at the quaint conceit. +"It's simply wonderful, being with you—through +all this!" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +A temporary lull in the stream of wounded was +followed, too soon, by a renewed rush of hospital trains +filled to overflowing; the harvest of a fresh German +onslaught. But by this time there were more cars +and more stretcher-bearers. Ambulance trains, +splendidly equipped, were being hurried out from England; +and the customs sheds at the station had become a +great shelter, roughly partitioned into dressing-stations +for those who had need of immediate care. +From this seed of voluntary effort there sprung up, in +time, a big stationary hospital, but by then the +Forsyth-Macnair car was needed elsewhere. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime, in every effort to minimise the sufferings +of the men he served, Keith was actively to the fore. +He even talked of running a second car. Helen herself +was amazed at his energy and versatility—he whom +she had hitherto regarded as a man wedded entirely +to books and thought. But among all the surprises +of a war rich in surprise, good and evil, were none +more remarkable than such unlooked-for revelations +of human capacity and character. +</p> + +<p> +Still no sign of Mark, though there were many +discoveries, sad and glad, on that ever-crowded +platform: and one morning, on a day they did not soon +forget, Sheila made a find on her own account that +concerned them all more nearly than they knew. +</p> + +<p> +It was a brilliant morning. Scarcely a cloud in the +sky or a ripple on the sea; and they reached the +station early to find a train had arrived before daylight. +Stretcher cases had been left undisturbed; but those +who could walk were strolling or limping up and +down in the sun. Others, more seriously damaged, +lay about in groups on the ground or propped against +bales of goods; great gaunt Highlanders, Gunners +and Guardsmen, Indians and Canadians—their coats, +boots, and puttees caked with the mud of Flanders; +heads and limbs swathed in bandages bright with +blood; rough jokes on their lips; a ready gleam of +laughter in their tired eyes. And the sun beat down +upon them all; and the last of the flies gave them no +peace. +</p> + +<p> +It was a sight to contract the heart in pity and to +lift it in pride of common human manhood that +could so smilingly suffer and endure. +</p> + +<p> +There must have been seven hundred of them, all +told. To dress their wounds and remove them would +be an arduous day's work; and only by very special +efforts could they be fed. Red Cross and V.A.D. ladies +hurried to and fro with food and hot drinks and +words of welcome, hardly less acceptable. +</p> + +<p> +Keith went off, at once, to help with the stretchers; +and for a space the three were separated. Helen +promptly attached herself to a Highlander whose +face was obliterated in bandages, save for his mouth +and one eye: and very soon Sheila came hurrying up +to them, two spots of colour in her pale cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +"Mums, <i>who</i> d'you think I've found?—No, not +Mark," she added quickly. "It's my very 'poor +thing,' Mr. Seldon, of all people on earth. I knew +he'd taken up motor cycling keenly; but I didn't +dream he'd volunteer for despatch riding. Just +shows you can never label people off-hand. It +seems he had furlough due and wanted to be useful; +so he's been running to and fro, in this awful fighting, +and had his right leg smashed for a reward. When +your Kiltie's had his breakfast, do come and be introduced." +</p> + +<p> +The Kiltie's one eye beamed at the familiar allusion +from so engaging a morsel of girlhood; and he nearly +choked himself in a gallant effort to empty his steaming +cup of coffee at a gulp. But Sheila noticed +nothing. She was engrossed in her regenerate "poor +thing": rather more so than Lady Forsyth quite +approved. +</p> + +<p> +She, herself, found him not unattractive; dark as a +gypsy, with thoughtful eyes that followed Sheila +wherever she moved. +</p> + +<p> +"That <i>you</i> should have found me! The most +amazing luck!" he kept repeating, at intervals, +apparently taking it for granted that Lady Forsyth +understood the situation. +</p> + +<p> +And, indeed, Helen caught herself wondering was it +out of pure consideration for him that the girl chiefly +confined her ministrations to men in his neighbourhood? +She even came back to ask for details of the culminating +adventure that had possibly cost him a leg. +</p> + +<p> +"There's just a shred of hope they may save it," +he added philosophically. "And I'm hanging on to +that. Anyway it's not likely now, I'd be quarrelling +with my fate! I told you I was coming over. Didn't +you get my letter?" +</p> + +<p> +"No. It'll probably follow me here. Now—I +mustn't stay talking. Shall I ask Mr. Macnair to +get you for our car?" +</p> + +<p> +"Do; angel of mercy!" +</p> + +<p> +Snatches, in this vein, Helen overheard as she came +and went upon her own errands and her swift brain +sprang half-way to meet possible developments not +entirely to her liking. Still—she was sorry for the +man and glad when Keith secured him as a passenger. +</p> + +<p> +They left him finally at the hospital where Mona +was beginning to earn distinction; and Sheila promised +to look him up later. Then back they rattled again +to that eternally familiar Gare. +</p> + +<p> +This time they lighted on Maurice Lenox—not +wounded, but shivering with fever, his nerves all ajar +from sleeplessness and shell fire. The hope that he +might give them news of Mark was soon extinguished. +Maurice had run across him earlier in the +day, and had since heard great things of his capacity +and courage; but where the regiment was at present +he had not the ghost of an idea. +</p> + +<p> +Maurice himself was a rather damaged edition +of the lively clever boy they had known at Inveraig. +He declared that the horrors of war "made in +Germany" exceeded the wildest cinematographs in his +brain. He had only been "forward" three times for +training purposes; but every time "the luck" had +been against him. He thanked his stars he had got +out of it alive; and had not the remotest desire to +go back. +</p> + +<p> +After her talk with him, Helen wilted visibly; and +by the end of their strenuous morning she looked so +white and strained that Keith prescribed an afternoon +of complete rest. The station work was too urgent +for Sheila and himself to cry off altogether; but they +would come back early and cheer her loneliness. +</p> + +<p> +Helen accepted her fate the more readily because, +from the moment of waking, her spirit had been +shadowed by a too-familiar sensation. Some large +event was hovering near. For this reason she felt +reluctant to leave the Hotel; and when the waiter +brought in her tea-tray with two envelopes on it, +she did not even need to look at the writing. Her +instincts—as Mark had once said—were infallible. +</p> + +<p> +The second letter was from his Colonel; but that +could wait. +</p> + +<p> +Page on close written page she scanned, while absently +sipping her tea; till her heart brimmed over afresh +with love and pride; and gratitude that, in spite of +all, she had him still. She could not help contrasting +the tone of his letter with the talk of Maurice that +morning. No insistence, here, on horrors, or on hell +fire; no easy optimism, either, as regards the gigantic +task in hand. +</p> + +<p> +"Every day makes it clearer," he wrote, "that we've +a thundering hard job before us and that our line +round here is dangerously thin. Officers and men are +about equally exhausted by the long strain and +insufficient reliefs; and enemy movements all suggest +that they're cheerfully reckoning to extinguish us in +time for Christmas in Town. Bless their innocent +hearts! They've yet to reckon with Tommy's talent +for hanging on with his back teeth, even when a good +few of them have been extracted! +</p> + +<p> +"Mums, he's simply a human miracle; and we're +all head over ears in pride of him, though we don't +let on to any great extent. We've had a welcome +breather in billets the last three days. But there +are big doings on; and I expect we'll soon go forward +again. Look out for a field PC and be of good heart +till you get one. 'Who dies if England lives?' That's +the only sane way to look at it. +</p> + +<p> +"Just had three ripping letters from you and Sheila +and Bel. It does a man's heart good, in the midst +of all this, to get such delicious whiffs of home. You +sound a shade anxious. But fretting's waste of +strength, little Mums, and your Highland laddie's +going strong. The C.O.'s a mighty man of valour. +Talks of making me Adjutant when Collins takes up +his staff job; all for love of you, I'll swear! +And—talking of love, I've one word for your very private +ear. If old Keith should suddenly startle you by an +offer of marriage, don't say 'No' if you can help +it. Mind, I'm not sure if he will. But I've reason +to suppose he may. What matter, after all, the +difference in years—you that, at fifty, can still behave +like a child of ten!" +</p> + +<p> +Helen read and re-read those amazing words in a +very mixed frame of mind. An offer of marriage—! +Mark's imagination was running away with him. +More than once of late she had wondered if Keith +cared for Sheila. But herself—! Impossible. Undeniably +it warmed her heart, true lover of love that she +was: yet Keith was right. She could still, at times, feel +that Other so near her, in spirit, as to make the idea of +a second husband seem little short of sacrilege. +</p> + +<p> +Dropping Mark's letter in her lap, she covered +her face. "Richard—Richard!" she whispered, and +yielded herself to the vague yet intimate sense of his +presence, that gradually enfolded her and as gradually +faded, leaving her doubly alone. +</p> + +<p> +By way of banishing ghosts she opened the Colonel's +letter and read, with uplifted heart, his sincere and +soldierly praise of her son whom he hoped very soon to +secure for his Adjutant. The first moment it was +possible, he added, Mark should have a few days' +leave. No man in the battalion had earned a better +right to it. Moreover, in the recent fighting, he had +shown such conspicuous gallantry that his name was +to be sent up for a decoration. +</p> + +<p> +Such news made royal atonement for anxiety; +and she was still reading when there came a knock at +the door. +</p> + +<p> +"Entrez!" she said casually, supposing the man +had come for her tea-things. Then she found that +he was holding a salver towards her; and on the +salver lay a telegram. +</p> + +<p> +At sight of it all the wheels of her being stopped +dead. Everything seemed slipping away from her. +Mechanically, she took the envelope and rose to her +feet. +</p> + +<p> +The waiter, too often a messenger of sorrow, vanished +swiftly: and Helen Forsyth stood alone reading, with +dazed iteration, the bald announcement that the +War Office regretted to report her son Lieutenant +Sir Mark Stuart Forsyth "Wounded and Missing, +believed killed." +</p> + +<p> +Her immobility was the measure of her anguish; +and the shock was the greater coming at a moment +when his voice had almost sounded in her ears. +</p> + +<p> +Still mechanically, she picked up that precious +letter and, for the first time, looked at the date. It +was a week old. +</p> + +<p> +Life without Mark——! +</p> + +<p> +She pressed a hand across her tearless eyes: and +while she stood so, the door opened again. She started +violently. A crazy hope of reprieve flashed through +her brain. But it was only Keith. +</p> + +<p> +The paper she held and the look in her eyes +enlightened him: and before he could master his voice, +she had recovered hers. +</p> + +<p> +"Keith—it's <i>come</i>!" she cried holding out the +telegram. "God help us!" +</p> + +<p> +A sudden faintness overwhelmed her, and she put +both hands to her head. Keith saw her sway just +perceptibly; and without an instant's hesitation he +put an arm round her shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +"Helen—my dear," was all he could say, as she +leaned limply against him, shaken with sharp, tearless +sobs. +</p> + +<p> +Once, in despair at the sheer impotence of speech, +he laid his hand on her head; a moment—no more. +Then very gently he led her to the sofa, and she lay +there, her rebel spirit broken by this last and cruelest +blow. +</p> + +<p> +He picked up the telegram; re-read it, and put it +on the mantelpiece. Its work was not yet done. +The news would hit Sheila hard. And Miss Alison. +Had Helen thought of that? +</p> + +<p> +She was thinking of it now. +</p> + +<p> +"Keith," she sat upright, her eyes tearless still. "I've +just remembered—poor Bel! Shall we wire or write?" +</p> + +<p> +"A letter would be more merciful," he said. +</p> + +<p> +"Very well. I don't know how to write it. But +I'll try." She sat silent, gazing at a photograph of +Mark in uniform. Then: "Keith—he <i>is alive</i>. I +am sure of it," she said slowly in a voice of impressive +quietness and conviction. "While I was lying there +something—Someone told me. If he were not, he +would have come to me, as Derek came. With all +three of them, I had the warning. So, unless he does +come, I shall cling to my conviction." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes:—cling to it," he said. "You've always +seen true. Meantime, I'll take the car to the Front +and not cease from searching, till I find him or some +trace of him. You two must go home at once." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Home</i>—?" She shivered. +</p> + +<p> +"Have faith—and patience," he said gently. +"Throw all your energy into some sort of work less +painful than the work here." +</p> + +<p> +"But Sheila will hate leaving it. Her whole heart +is given to the wounded." +</p> + +<p> +"A very large part of it is given to you. And now—you +are one of them; one of the wounded in spirit, +whose names appear in no casualty lists." +</p> + +<p> +At last, to his relief, he saw tears in her eyes. +She brushed them away and rose to her feet. +</p> + +<p> +"I must try and write to Bel. And oh—there were +letters from him and the Colonel. You must read +them——" +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly she remembered—and went hot all over +at thought of how he had held her while she was +immersed in grief. Dexterously abstracting Mark's +last sheet, she handed him the rest and went back +to the escritoire. +</p> + +<p> +For a while Keith sat watching her, love and pain +and pity contending in his heart. Then he opened +the letters. It was the first time she had given him +one of Mark's to read. +</p> + +<p> +Hers to Bel scarcely filled a sheet. But it took a +long time to write; and before it was finished, Sheila +came in, visibly refreshed by an hour's talk with +Mona and Seldon, who was not to lose his leg. +</p> + +<p> +Hearing her step, Lady Forsyth put down her pen +and covered her face. +</p> + +<p> +Keith, feeling like an executioner, again took up +the telegram that was propped against a vase; and +involuntarily Sheila put up a hand as if he had struck +her. +</p> + +<p> +"So soon?" she breathed, looking beyond him at +Helen's bowed head. +</p> + +<p> +"Not the worst—yet," Keith answered handing her +the paper. +</p> + +<p> +She took in the contents at a glance; and for a long +minute she stood gazing at it; lifeless as a statue; +white to the lips, their first tremor resolutely stilled. +</p> + +<p> +Presently she came back, as it were, from a long way +off. "We can still hope—and pray," she said just +above her breath. +</p> + +<p> +Then, turning from him, she hurried over to Helen; +and Keith went out, leaving them together—— +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Next morning there were hasty preparations to catch +the midday boat. Keith's idea had been to cross with +them and see them safe on English ground: but in the +end there was no resisting Helen's urgent plea that he +would not waste so many precious hours on them. +</p> + +<p> +She promised him a telegram from Dover, and +another from Wynchcombe Friars. Then, Helen-like, +when it came to the actual pang of parting, she +impulsively clutched his arm. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh—<i>take care</i> of yourself," she said with smothered +intensity. "Both of you gone: and we +alone—waiting——" +</p> + +<p> +"For the fulfilment of your conviction," he +reminded her. "Be sure <i>I</i> shall not rest till I have +found him." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you suppose I doubt that?" she asked, a +new tenderness in her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +But even to him she could not speak her inmost +fear—"What if Mark were wounded and in German +hands?" +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0207"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER VII +</h3> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Your hearts are lifted up; your hearts<br> + That have foreknown the utter price;<br> + Your hearts burn upward, as a flame<br> + Of splendour and of sacrifice,"<br> + <i>To Women</i>—LAWRENCE BINYON.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Wynchcombe Friars again—with the spirit of Mark +haunting them in every room and at every turn of the +grounds. Most intolerable were the little intimate +things that conjured up his presence, the very tone +of his voice: and—to crown all, there was Bobs. His +ecstatic greeting, the sobbing squeals of joy that Mark +so loved to hear; his rush beyond them, obviously +in search of his master; shook the foundations of their +fortitude. Not until now did Helen discover how +much virtue had gone out of her: and the reaction, +while it lasted, was a nightmare of which she +afterwards felt heartily ashamed. +</p> + +<p> +Sheila, thankful to be alone with her at such a time, +quietly took the reins of government into her small, +capable hands. On the day after their arrival she +put Lady Forsyth to bed and practically kept her there +for a week, soothing and stimulating, with massage, +the nerves of her head and her spirit. +</p> + +<p> +She had the peculiar love of the born healer for all +things hurt or unhappy; and the reserve force in her, +detected by Keith, had kept the poise of her spirit +unshaken through all. But the hovering shadow of a +smile no longer haunted her lips. She had learnt, +by aspiration rather than petition, to draw freely +upon the one unlimited Source of Strength; and +young as she was, the older woman grew to rely upon +her utterly during those days when the light within +her was darkness. +</p> + +<p> +Mercifully they found no strangers in the house; +and Sir Richard's sisters promptly discovered plausible +excuses for going home. Helen was evidently in +good hands; and in no mood for any other company. +So for a while they two had their shrine of sacred +memories to themselves; and Lady Forsyth who had +supposed she knew her Sheila through and through, +began to feel as if she had never really known her—till +now. Such still, strong natures are slow studies +always. In the ordinary way of life, they seldom +sparkle or allure. It needs the high demand to call +forth the hidden elements that make them the salt of +the earth. And now, in response to that high demand, +the true Sheila shone out like a star in darkness. +</p> + +<p> +Alone with her and the healing influences of home, +Helen's courage revived apace; and with it her natural +tendency to merge the personal in the larger view. +</p> + +<p> +All over England, all over Europe, suspense or +suffering, in some form, had become a paramount +law of life. It was the price of patriotism. Men +paid it with their blood and their mutilated bodies: +women with their tears and mutilated lives. One in +suffering, they had the more need, all of them, to be +one in courage. And Mark himself had willed to +give everything, without reserve, without regret. +Bitter repining on her part were simple disloyalty to +him: and there remained the saving mercy that her +sorrow was tinged with hope. +</p> + +<p> +There came a morning when she felt able to speak of +these things to Sheila; even to tell her in detail of +that talk in her turret-room; and their tacit, mutual +resolve not to fail him in this last and hardest test of +loyalty linked them closer than ever—— +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +So far no word from Bel; and Lady Forsyth felt +anxious, a little. Deep and real fellow-feeling had +wakened her first genuine impulse of affection towards +the girl. She had written almost as to a daughter. +And on this very morning of her talk with Sheila, +Bel's answer came:—heart-broken, purged of affectation, +yet emphasising, in every line, her complete +divergence of feeling and point of view. +</p> + +<p> +"You will wonder, dear, why I haven't written +sooner, but I'm an arrant coward inside, and I simply +couldn't face putting the cold truth on paper. Your +sweet letter, written while the shock was fresh upon +you, was a heroic thing. One sees where Mark got +his courage. If he'd only had a little less of it—he +might be with us still. You will disapprove of that +'If.' But I'm too utterly crushed to invent correct +sentiments. I can only put my own down anyhow, +even if they're all wrong. Sweet of you to tell me of +your private conviction. I hope to Heaven it may be +true: but I have no sustaining faith to keep me going. +Myself, I had a horrid feeling, that last night, that +it was—the end. It's dear of you to say I can come +when I like. But just now, having to work keeps +one from collapse and I am sure you two are happier +together. Later on—perhaps. Harry is an angel to +me. But I'm not pleasant company these days. +Nothing interests me now and I hate this abominable +war worse than ever. If you hear any news, please +wire. I got a letter from him—after yours. And it +smashed me up. That's partly why I didn't write. +Love to you and Sheila +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + from your desperately unhappy,<br> + BEL."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Lady Forsyth handed the letter to Sheila. It was +blotted at the end, where tears had dropped. +</p> + +<p> +"Poor child! She cares more than I gave her credit +for.—I wonder," she added, half to herself, "what +he would think of that letter?" +</p> + +<p> +Sheila bit her lip and was silent, and they fell to +discussing Lady Forsyth's latest scheme—country +Cottage Homes for Children Orphaned by the War. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +That morning proved a turning-point in their new, +shadowed life. On all sides there was work crying +out to be done. They had no right any longer to shut +themselves up with their sorrow. +</p> + +<p> +"If we believe he will come back, we must live up to +our faith," Lady Forsyth said simply: and they did +so, to the best of their power. Keith wrote every few +days, just to keep in touch with them and report +his movements. There was nothing else to report—as yet. +</p> + +<p> +Among countless notes of sympathy and hope, +and of admiration for Mark was none more uplifting +to the mother's heart than the sincere and simple +tribute of Colonel Munro. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"To the Regiment and to me personally," he +wrote, "the loss is so great that although the worst is +reported, we cannot give up hope. Neither will you, +I feel sure, for many weeks to come. Forsyth's +presence among us was an inspiration. It is not often +in these dead-level days that one meets with a man +who seems a natural-born king. Without exaggeration, +that was how we felt about him. Unfortunately, +those of his company who were with him last are also +missing; but I feel convinced we shall hear of them all +yet. I have named and described the men to Mr. Macnair, +who writes that he is instituting a search on +his own account. Good luck to him: and to you—the +very best that heart can wish. Yours ever, +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +R. MUNRO." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Sheila shared that letter, and every other, even as +she shared the difficult task of answering them all. +In this respect, at least, she was grateful to Bel who +had tacitly relinquished the sad, high privilege that +was hers by right. +</p> + +<p> +The cottage scheme involved much correspondence +and occasional journeys to London: and it was then +that they began to realise more acutely the contrast +between the "War drama" as visualised by an island +people, and the stern, yet stimulating actuality, just +across the Channel. +</p> + +<p> +There, even at the Base, the atmosphere was +electrical with the spirit of the Front, with the +enthusiasm and passion of a great imaginative race, for +whom invasion was no "bogey" but a bloody and +devastating fact. Here, the great unseen thing was +frankly a sensation fitfully discerned through the fog +of censored despatches; analysed, with bewildering +brilliance, by literary strategists; and distorted by +visionaries, who extolled "the war against War," +and feverishly planned a new heaven on earth. +</p> + +<p> +Happily for them, the real issues hung upon the +vigil and the valour of a negligible minority who were +only concerned to beat the Germans, and to make +good, with their lives, the State's miscalculations and +delays. +</p> + +<p> +But the very advantages of the islander are a part +of his many disabilities. Not only did realisation +come slowly to England: but it came too often in the +wrong guise. In London, the newspaper craze +became a form of dram-drinking. Everything that +could be said about the great obsession was repeated +over and over, in every conceivable tone of voice: till +a bewildered public began to wonder whether politicians +believed in their high-sounding generalities or +journalists in their inspired leaders. +</p> + +<p> +Though social life had practically ceased, the +pavements of the City were still thronged with men of +military age, quite convinced, by the tone of certain +journals, that their services were not urgently needed +elsewhere; that the War would probably be over by +Christmas; certainly by Easter. And, after all, were +they not doing good work, necessary work, on the +spot? +</p> + +<p> +Lady Forsyth herself had reason to feel grateful, +often, for the steadying effect of contact with the +real thing—even the fringe of it: and her native +sensibility to atmosphere made her feel, more keenly +than most, the clash of contrast between the often +unwholesome ferment of London and the immovable +phlegm of the countryside. Coming home, tired in +body and spirit, after a long day's work in Town, she +would be beset by distracting doubts as to how this +great and casual country of hers would emerge from +the searching test of war. +</p> + +<p> +It was then that Sheila, quick to read her mood, +would slip behind her, unloose her hair, and with +skilful finger-tips, magically pluck out weariness and +doubts alike, till Lady Forsyth would catch at her +hands and kiss them. +</p> + +<p> +"Sheila, that's not mere massage. You seem to +reach one's very soul." +</p> + +<p> +And the girl stood smiling down upon her like a +young goddess radiant with conscious power. +</p> + +<p> +"That's because I'm loving you hard all the time," +she said. "It's a heavenly gift. I used to feel—such +a dumb thing. Now I can give it all out through +my fingers, I feel free. And—Dearest," she added +gravely, "you mustn't get disheartened because +London, on the surface, seems unspeakable. The +unspeakables are always on the surface. Underneath, +there are hundreds of real workers and silent +sufferers, doing and bearing things without trumpets +or banners. And aren't our sailors and soldiers +miracles to praise God for? Surely such leaven as +that must end in leavening the whole lump——" +</p> + +<p> +"You're a miracle to praise God for," Lady Forsyth +began; but her lip trembled and she was silent. +</p> + +<p> +Then Sheila, in her protecting mother-fashion, +drew the older woman's head close to her breast. +"Nearly three weeks now," she whispered. "We +<i>must</i> hear something soon." +</p> + +<p> +Lady Forsyth shivered; but Sheila went resolutely +on: "London wears you out, Mums, body and soul. +Let's give it up for a little. There's plenty of work on +the spot. It will hearten up Mark's people to see +more of you. They must be anxious too, in their +own way." +</p> + +<p> +They were: and it was the very reflection of her own +anxiety, the hovering question on every face, that at +first made this paramount duty a very real ordeal. +But it was Mark's work; and his mother found it +by no means devoid of compensation. It drew them +all closer together; it threw fresh light on Mark's +individual fashion of upholding the aristocratic ideal +among a free people; and it steadily strengthened her +own conviction that there, where human nature is +still untainted by industrialism, lies the true hope of +England's future. She was sustained, also, by a +private resolve that when Mark returned he should +find, within the boundaries of his own kingdom, a +right spirit towards the War. +</p> + +<p> +Very soon she discovered an ally of equal enthusiasm +and wider experience—Dr. Warburton, Headmaster +of High Rough School. He had lost no time in getting +to the Front, as Chaplain of the Forces, leaving High +Rough in charge of Rex Maitland, to that gentleman's +undisguised satisfaction. Already the fatal word +"indispensable" had become a mark of distinction +more coveted in some quarters than a decoration. +Warburton, at home for the moment, on business +connected with the school, spent most of his spare +time trying to instil the spirit of the trenches into +cottages and country shops, where impassioned +leaders were dismissed as "hot air" and despatches +full of foreign names were only half understood. +</p> + +<p> +As an old friend of the family, he had been among +the first admitted to see Helen, on her return from +abroad: and the day after her talk with Sheila, he +turned up at tea-time in the private hope that he might +glean news of Mark. +</p> + +<p> +His leonine head with its shock of grizzled hair, +hawk's eyes under shaggy brows, and a Homeric laugh, +gave a general impression of bigness, belied by his +mere inches: but the man's inner stature corresponded +unmistakably with the laugh and the lion's +head. +</p> + +<p> +Within a week, now, he would be back in France. +"And high time, too," he added, thoughtfully sipping +his tea. "I'll miss coming here. Otherwise—" +he shot out his great moustache—"It's healthier at +the Front in spite of the shells. The real spirit of +England is in the trenches and on the sea." +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke the door opened and a parlour-maid +brought in the afternoon post. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah—Keith," Lady Forsyth murmured, seizing +a thin unstamped envelope and letting the rest fall +into her lap. +</p> + +<p> +Warburton rose, as if to put down his cup, and +strolled across to the window. Presently a small +sound of relief reached him and he turned quickly +about. "Found him, have they?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not yet," Helen answered with a brave smile. +"But the Sergeant, who was wounded trying to help +him, has made his way back to the Regiment after +hair-breadth adventures. They're sending him home +at once, Keith says. He has my address. He will +write. Then I can go and see him." She spoke in +short swift sentences, holding emotion in leash. Sheila +had risen and was standing near the fire, ostensibly +warming her hands. "He and another soldier +managed to drag Mark to a farm. He was hit in the +head. Unconscious. They could do no more. The +Germans began shelling the place: and there they +had to leave him with kind French people. They +weren't even sure—if he was alive. That's all—so +far." She tried to smile. "It doesn't lift the fog +much, does it? But still, just to see this man who +was with him——" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—yes," Warburton's regard held more of +admiration than of pity. "Let me go with you—if +the call comes in time," he added, and rather +abruptly took his leave. +</p> + +<p> +That night Lady Forsyth wrote to Bel. "Come to +me for the week-end, dear," she added, "if you feel +you can now, and would care to hear in detail what +little I may have to tell. With any luck I ought to +see Sergeant Macgregor before Saturday." +</p> + +<p> +And in a very few days the summons came. It was +from Aldershot; and Sheila decided to go with them. +While they interviewed Macgregor she would love +to make a round of the wards. For, in secret, she +missed her "poor things" and the work at Boulogne. +</p> + +<p> +It was hard not to hope for impossibilities; but the +Sergeant's rather disjointed tale served neither to +justify Helen's obstinate conviction, nor to dispel +her secret fears. He was a red-headed man, square +and sturdy, just able to hobble. His nerves were +obviously shaken by all he had been through; and +his emotion in speaking of that particular day made it +the harder to restrain her own. Of the nature of +Mark's wound he could tell her nothing except that +there was blood all over his head and that they had +bandaged it roughly—he and a British Tommy, +who contributed his own mud-stained puttee, worn +for weeks. +</p> + +<p> +The mother winced at that. "Did he know you?" +she asked quickly hoping he had not seen. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah canna rightly tell, ma leddy," was the +unsatisfactory reply. "Ah kneeled in the mud and +ah said: 'Ye ken verra weel who I am, sir?' An' +he smiled crooked-like an' pit up his hand to stroke me +cheek like a bairn. An' there came a sound in his +thrapple. But niver a word. The Lord shield +him from the hands o' they Jairman blayguards." +</p> + +<p> +But Helen knew, now, that the tide of war had +rolled over the village where they had left her son: +and for the moment hope and courage were dead +within her. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Warburton left for France next day, having promised +to look up Keith: and Bel arrived with Harry +to stay over Sunday. Lady Forsyth had smiled, not +without understanding, at her request that Harry +might "come too." Even in her sorrow Bel was +still a victim to fear of being bored: and Harry's +masculine attitude of worship and service was more +of an asset than she knew. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Forsyth discovered many fresh points in +common with Harry; but the change in Bel, obvious +to both, troubled her beyond measure. Not merely +was her smiling serenity subdued by grief: but it +seemed overlaid with a fine film of hardness from which +things painful or emotional glanced off like arrows +from a surface of steel. She would neither look at +the papers, nor talk of the war. This fact alone made +conversation difficult; but for Helen this stumbling-block +was as nothing to its inner significance. The +strain and pain of war, that was steadily softening +and enlarging Sheila, appeared to be having the +opposite effect on Bel. Deliberately she turned her +eyes away from beholding the world's anguish and +heroism: deliberately she hardened her heart against +its effect upon herself; so that she seemed in danger of +losing even the surface softness that had been no +small part of her charm. +</p> + +<p> +Plainly, her love for Mark, however sincere, had +no alchemic power to transmute the dross in her to +gold. Would his return, such as he was now, dissolve +that film of hardness? Or was the girl laying up +further tragedy for herself and others? +</p> + +<p> +Alone with Lady Forsyth, Bel was gentle and +affectionate, yet completely aloof. She listened to +Macgregor's story with set lips and a fine line between +her brows. Though the mother's voice shook and +tears threatened, Bel's eyes were dry. +</p> + +<p> +"And after that—you can <i>still</i> manage to hope?" +was all she said. +</p> + +<p> +"Dear, it is not so much hope with me, as—belief," +Lady Forsyth answered gently, and Bel's sigh had a +faint note of exasperation. +</p> + +<p> +"You are amazing," she said. "And—so like +him." Then with a swift dramatic gesture, she rose +and seemed to fling away her mantle of composure. +"Oh, this brutal, senseless war!" she cried, her eyes +still hard, her low voice tense with feeling. "A man +like that—splendid, strong, gifted—smashed up like a +bit of matchboard. And what earthly use has it +been to any one—his sacrifice or our pain?" +</p> + +<p> +The older woman listened to that strange outburst +with something very like relief. It proved that Bel +was not hard all through and it cried aloud the very +thoughts that had visited her own heart in the small +hours when all the wheels run low. +</p> + +<p> +"Bel—Bel!" she remonstrated gently, "that is +<i>the</i> question one dare not ask. It's hard not to. +No one knows that better than I do. But the answer +is, if Mark, and others of his quality, had taken that +point of view, where would England be now?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh England!" She dismissed her country with a +faint shrug. "Mark would be here with us, safe and +whole. That's all I know—or care." +</p> + +<p> +Her voice still had its low bitterness; but it shook a +little now and going over to the window she sat +awhile looking out upon the wood and the terrace +where she had walked with him in that other life, +gone beyond recall. +</p> + +<p> +Vaguely she heard the door open. Then a low +sound from Lady Forsyth made her look round +sharply. Helen had risen—her lips were set and +pale. +</p> + +<p> +Bel glanced at the open letter she held out to her. +It was a formal intimation, garnished with formal +regret, that Lieutenant Sir Mark Forsyth, formerly +reported missing, in November, was now officially +reported killed. The scanty information received +in the past three weeks gave no grounds for supposing +otherwise. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course this was bound to come," Helen said +mechanically. +</p> + +<p> +But Bel pushed aside the paper and covered her face. +</p> + +<p> +Helen stood silent a moment; then she found courage +to repeat her own conviction. +</p> + +<p> +"Dear, they may report what they please. Mark +<i>is</i> alive. I know it." +</p> + +<p> +Bel simply shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +"You don't believe me?" +</p> + +<p> +"No." +</p> + +<p> +"But—you won't go into mourning. Bel, you mustn't." +</p> + +<p> +"No—no. I detest mourning." +</p> + +<p> +The muffled voice broke suddenly. Lady Forsyth +put an arm round the girl's shoulders and Bel leaned +against her sobbing like a child. Then, with a shivering +sigh, she released herself and hurried out of the +room. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Forsyth picked up that hateful slip of paper +and dropped it into the fire. Mark was alive:—nothing +could shake her belief in that. But he was +wounded—and in German hands. Her inmost fear +had come true. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0301"></a></p> + +<h2> +BOOK III +<br> +VIA CRUCIS +</h2> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER I +</h3> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Love is swift of foot,<br> + Love's a man of war,<br> + And can hit and can shoot<br> + From far."<br> + GEORGE HERBERT.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +It was on the first of December that Sir Mark Forsyth +was officially reported killed; and it was upon an +evening of early November, on a battle-scarred road of +Northern France, that a certain waggon-load of dead +and wounded men jolted leisurely towards a certain +village lately recaptured by the Prussians. The open +body of the cart was spacious and full of straw that +had once been tolerably clean, but was now defiled +with mud and blood. It held six men—two French, +three British, and one German. Two of them were +obviously dead, three were as obviously alive and in +cruel pain. The sixth, who wore a kilt and a blood-stained +puttee wound about his head, lay on his back, +motionless, wide-eyed, watching a bank of grey +cloud dissolve into shredded wisps of gold. +Presently the sun broke through and smiled upon the +aftermath of battle as upon the sheaves of some +peaceful harvest garnered with thanks and praise. +</p> + +<p> +In this unceremonious fashion was Mark removed +from the farm where Macgregor had been forced to +leave him—dead, to all appearance, or at the point of +death. +</p> + +<p> +Of how he came to be there, in such woeful company, +he knew nothing. His brain seemed blurred and +curiously inert. He felt no pain, only a horrid +faintness; utter exhaustion from loss of blood. He would +have given the world for a sip of brandy. Where +was his flask? he wondered vaguely, but felt too weak +to stir a finger. +</p> + +<p> +Above him, beside the driver, sat a little French +doctor, talking and gesticulating vehemently. He +might be of use, Mark reflected with feeble +impatience, if one could only attract his attention. +</p> + +<p> +Summoning all his ebbing strength, he tried to +shout. The sole result was a horrid choking +sensation and an abortive noise in his throat. +</p> + +<p> +He grew suddenly alarmed. What did it mean? +And where were they going? Had he, possibly, been +taken prisoner in spite of himself? +</p> + +<p> +There was none to enlighten him, even could he have +spoken; and the torment of uncertainty remained. +The fact that he suffered no physical pain was a +minor item to be thankful for. Not altogether a +minor item, perhaps, judging from sounds emitted by +the German at the far end of the cart. Between +groans and broken curses he was calling impartially +on God and his mother. +</p> + +<p> +The last galvanised Mark's brain into momentary +life. What of his own mother—and Bel? Would +they believe him killed? How long was it since his +clock of time had stopped dead? Would it ever be +set going again? And—what of the fight? +</p> + +<p> +More questions—nothing but questions—unanswered +and unanswerable. They buzzed about him +like hornets; and to be rid of them he fell back on +memory. He recalled a world that rained shells and +shrapnel—a violent, friendly and increasingly muddy +world, in which Allies and enemies were wildly +intermingled, till it was cleft from end to end by long and +opposing lines of trenches, with a No Man's Land of +varying width between. In the No Man's Land +things had happened: things that left a scar on the +memory—things a man could not talk about and, +most unhappily, could not forget. In those early days +reliefs were few and infrequent; and Mark looked +back on trench life as an endless age of strain—nerve +and body and imaginative brain racked to the limit of +endurance, and under all a dogged resolve that there +should be no limit of endurance but the arbitrary limit +of death. +</p> + +<p> +Too vividly he remembered those last days, when +grey-green battalions had been hurled against them, +wave on wave, till his Highlanders, who stood like +rocks in a storm, had been forced to retire by an urgent +order from those who alone knew when wisdom +demanded sacrifice of ground rather than of men. +Stubbornly, foot by foot, they had fallen back from +their hard-won position. Then—consternation ... and +confusion. The battalion on their right seemed +to have melted away. +</p> + +<p> +But the enemy allowed them no breathing space +for dismay. They were in dire peril: and Mark +lost not a moment in rallying his men for a final +desperate stand.... Suddenly, in the midst of it, +when the struggle was fiercest, the earth had +seemed to collapse under him. He recalled a horrid +sensation of falling backwards, headlong—into +nothingness. +</p> + +<p> +At that point his memory broke off short. The +rest was a meaningless jumble of sights and sensations +like a troubled dream. +</p> + +<p> +He was lying in a turnip-field. Something had +happened to his head. Blood was flowing freely, but +he felt no pain. In vain he tried to move. Weakness +flowed over him. Living and conscious, he lay there +among the dead, listening to the roar of battle that +rolled steadily farther away; fearful exceedingly lest +they should bury or burn him; or, finding him alive, +should take him prisoner while this ignominious +helplessness hung like lead upon his limbs. +</p> + +<p> +At times he could hear voices and men passing. +But very soon darkness fell again; and out of the +darkness came a vision of Macgregor's face. He +remembered trying to speak, and the feel of the man's +rough cheek when he patted it in sign of recognition. +To his intense relief, he had felt them trying +to move him. What had come of it? Where were +they now? +</p> + +<p> +The questions were at him afresh and the haunting +thought of his mother. Once more he summoned all +his strength in an effort to reach her mentally. He +had succeeded in doing so on more than one occasion. +But now, the attempt was lunacy. It simply +exhausted his last remnant of strength, and once more +he slipped back into the outer dark.... +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +By some miracle, his resolute spirit hung on to the +thread of life that remained; and when next it struggled +up from the bottomless pit, the cart and the jolting +and the smell of blood had vanished like all the other +dreams. He was lying on a bed. He could feel +the blanket against his chin. The air he breathed +was faintly impregnated with antiseptics and the +scent of clean straw. +</p> + +<p> +As his brain cleared, he heard women's voices +murmuring rhythmically in a foreign tongue. Too weak +and weary to stir, he lay awhile steeped in contentment, +till that rhythmical murmur resolved itself +into Latin prayers. French nuns, good souls, must +be praying by his bed. +</p> + +<p> +Next moment, the chill trickle of water on his face +made him start and open his eyes. One of the nuns +was bending over him. +</p> + +<p> +"Our Lady be praised," she said softly. "The +spirit has returned. Monsieur will drink this, and +strength will also return." +</p> + +<p> +She held a cup to his lips; warm milk dashed with +brandy—pure nectar! It seemed to set life stirring +in his veins, even as the woman's face set some vague +memory stirring in his mind. The breadth of brow +and cheek-bones, the mouth, with its resolute softness +and the deep dent above the chin, struck a note of +dim familiarity; but he felt far too lazy and +comfortable to search for a clue. +</p> + +<p> +The barn-like room in which he found himself was +no hospital, but a rough makeshift. There were +but half a dozen beds like his own. The remaining +sufferers lay on straw pallets; and the little French +doctor, whose profile he recognised, appeared to be in +charge. That fact, and the presence of nuns made +him hopeful of being in the right hands. If only he +could ask! But the curse of dumbness was on him +still; and a fear that it might be permanent chilled the +flow of returning life. +</p> + +<p> +The other nuns had risen and moved away. She +whom they called Sœur Colette stood smiling down +on him. +</p> + +<p> +"Ça va bien," she said. "Monsieur comprend?" +</p> + +<p> +He made a sign of assent, then with his left hand +and eyebrow, tried to convey the question he could +not ask. Her face lit up. +</p> + +<p> +"Le bon Dieu soit bénit. Monsieur desires a little +conversation. As much as one can, I will relate." +</p> + +<p> +Serene and smiling, she sat beside him on a low +stool. It was purely refreshing to hear a woman's +voice again. +</p> + +<p> +"M. le docteur," she told him, "a saint of God with +a rough tongue, gathered up many dead and wounded +from the terrible battle, more than a week ago, and +brought them here to the Red Cross Hospital, then +in the hands of my people. Now—Mary Mother, +pity us!—it is once more taken by the Prussians. +The hospital is seized for themselves, and M. le docteur +is graciously permitted to use this ruined farm. +Those, alas, who recover become prisoners of war. +Monsieur himself on arriving was as one dead; and, +next evening, we of the Sisterhood must pray for the +souls of the departed. But I, who came to kneel +near Monsieur, said: 'This, surely, is not +death.' While others summoned M. le docteur, myself I +found, by the mercy of God, one pulse, so small, so +feeble, there in the neck of Monsieur. Imaginez!" +</p> + +<p> +Mark smiled his crooked smile and lifted his +eyebrows. He found it hard to believe in her fairy +tale. But, if it were true, this woman, with the +beautiful familiar face, had evidently been his good +angel. +</p> + +<p> +She was explaining to him now the nature of his +wound, and how splinters of bone pressing on the +brain made him powerless to speak or move. These +the little doctor had partially lifted. But the +complete operation was a delicate one; and he would +prefer to wait awhile, in hopes that the tide of battle +should roll eastward again. +</p> + +<p> +"It might be well for Monsieur, then, to seem as +one dead," Sœur Colette explained, with a flicker of +humour in her great dark eyes. "They would not +think him worth the trouble to remove; and in Paris all +is possible." +</p> + +<p> +Mark had need of the utmost consolation he could +extract from that thought. For, as strength returned, +impatience returned also, and his imprisoned spirit +girded at the hampering hulk of a body over which +it had lost command—for how long? +</p> + +<p> +Questions again! He grew to hate them heartily. +Wherever he turned for relief, there one or more would +spring up to confound him; and at moments of supreme +exasperation, his brain seemed alive with notes of +interrogation, seeking answers and finding none. More +than once he vowed mentally that if he regained the +power of speech, he would never again ask a question +while he lived. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +And he suffered more than exasperation during +those interminable November days. The very +inactivity of his body seemed to induce a restless activity +of mind. Fleeting inspirations mocked him: wonderful, +impossible ideas for bas-reliefs and great symbolic +figures. Strange moods swept through him and +strange unreasoning fears. There were visions +also—and dreams: visions of things he would have +given years of life to forget; dreams from which +he awoke in a cold sweat, so shaken that he would +lie staring at the darkness, positively afraid to close +his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Very often the dreams were nightmare distortions +of realities. These had a horrid knack of recurring at +intervals; and the one most dreaded by Mark +concerned a minor incident of No Man's Land that had +been permanently photographed on his brain. +</p> + +<p> +Always it began at the same point: dusk, illumined +fitfully by searchlights and bursting shells; the +silhouetted figure of a Sapper subaltern walking coolly +into the open with his coil of wire; then the scream +of a bursting shell—and there, where the boy had +stood, was a mound of earth and debris at a crater's +rim. +</p> + +<p> +Later on, the moon revealed something that moved +fitfully near the edge of the mound. It was the +leg of that Sapper subaltern—buried alive. Under +heavy and persistent enemy fire, any attempt at +rescue would have been madness; and Mark, digging +and carrying all that night, had prayed that a second +shell might put the boy out of his misery. But in the +morning the leg still moved, and continued to move +at intervals all day; till Mark, fresh to such horrors, +could endure it no more. +</p> + +<p> +That night, when the firing slackened a little, +another figure, armed with a spade, had crept over the +parapet and walked coolly out into the open. +</p> + +<p> +And again, just as it reached the mound, a shell +screamed and the earth yawned—and when Mark +recovered consciousness, he was lying on his face a +good many yards nearer his own trenches, himself +half buried in the debris of that other mound, which +was now no more. He thanked God the boy was +dead; but the memory of that twenty-four hours had +haunted him for weeks; and now with pitiless +persistence it haunted his dreams. +</p> + +<p> +The fact that he could neither speak nor shake off +mental obsessions by a rousing walk, aggravated their +tyranny over him; and there were times when it +crazed him, almost, to lie there, like a felled tree, +powerless even to ask how he could let his dear ones +know he was alive. +</p> + +<p> +One morning, in such a mood, he tried to convey by +gesture this question that so troubled him; and, to his +delight, Sœur Colette understood almost at once. +No, Monsieur could neither send nor receive letters +until the good day when "les poilus" or "les Tommies" +came to their rescue. And Monsieur had lost +his talisman. +</p> + +<p> +Mark's left hand went quickly to his throat. It +was true. The precious silver disc and silver chain +were gone. He glanced at his wrist. No leather-coated +watch—his mother's gift. Filled with sudden, +acute dismay, he went through the dumb show of +feeling in coat-pockets. +</p> + +<p> +Again Sœur Colette understood and shook her head. +There was nothing in Monsieur's coat—nothing at all. +Monsieur le docteur could discover neither his name +nor his regiment. In proof of her statement, she +brought him the coat. It was rifled very completely. +His flask, his gold pencil—Sheila's present—his +letter-case and letters—all gone. The very buttons and +badges had been neatly removed; a finishing touch that +suggested the gentle German. +</p> + +<p> +And Mark lay there realising that, unless and until +he recovered his speech, he was lost, absolutely—even +his identity gone. +</p> + +<p> +He was not merely a log, but a nameless log. He +chafed at the ignominy of it, as a man in sore straits +will chafe at a trifle, yet endure the worst with +fortitude. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, with vast relief, he remembered his +brogues. If only he could tell Sœur Colette to look +inside them! +</p> + +<p> +But the attempt produced such wild and ludicrous +misunderstandings that the little nun grew embarrassed +and Mark gave it up in despair. Perhaps his +brogues had also been stolen by the Germans. After +all, his precious name was no earthly use to him at +present, and the future was a blank. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +In this monotonous fashion the first weeks of +November ebbed away. On the whole they were left +in peace, except for periodical incursions of a +rough-mannered German officer with aggressive moustaches, +a high narrow forehead, and unmistakable Prussian +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +It was his joke, when in a humorous mood, to bid +the fierce little doctor hurry up with his contributions +for the nearest prison camp in the Fatherland. More +than once he infuriated Mark by alluding to him as +"that English swine." But it was the thinly-veiled +insolence of the man's manner to Sœur Colette that +made him long most vehemently for command of his +hands and tongue. Happily for himself, and for +those who loved him, he could do no more than glare +and clench a hidden fist. +</p> + +<p> +On one occasion it chanced that Captain Adler +encountered the flame of impotent wrath in his eyes, +and the sight appeared to tickle his Teutonic sense of +humour. With deliberate relish and a sneering smile +he looked Mark over from head to foot, then turned +to the doctor who stood near, inwardly nervous, +outwardly fiercer than ever. +</p> + +<p> +"Doubtless the hoch wohlgeboren a without-fear-or-reproach +knight is," he remarked, with a contemptuous +jerk of his thumb. "But never again will he for +the fair-and-distressed lady of his admiration one +blow of revenge strike." +</p> + +<p> +Mark could only set his teeth. Sœur Colette, +who knew a little German, bent very low over the +young Frenchman she was feeding; and the Prussian, +chuckling audibly, swung out of the barn. +</p> + +<p> +That afternoon there came a lull in the unceasing +rain and wind. The sky cleared and the sun shone +out with a divine effulgence upon all the ruin and +tragedy wrought by man. +</p> + +<p> +Since Mark's arrival there had been only one such +golden interval. It had lasted several days, and +he had succeeded in conveying his great wish to be +out in the open. So to-day the little doctor and his +orderly carried him, bed and all, into the homely +garden. +</p> + +<p> +There, storm-draggled chrysanthemums made +patches of colour. Stray leaves of Virginia creeper +flamed on the walls; and the farmhouse itself gaped +roofless to the indifferent heavens. A dovecot, battered +and empty of doves, leaned drunkenly against the +barn that was their hospital. The poplars behind it, +etched delicately upon the blue, had been stripped, +in this terrible autumn, of branches as well as leaves; +and the fields beyond were pock-marked by shell +fire. Yet peasant women still patiently tended the +wounded earth and its products. +</p> + +<p> +Some way off, on rising ground, stood the feudal +chateau—what remained of it: headless turrets, +gables shattered and distorted; windows, like empty +eye-sockets, mere gaping holes. And the garden, +beneath, sloping downward to the river, was a chaos +of trampled shrubberies and twisted iron. +</p> + +<p> +Mark, in his utter loneliness, cut off from letters and +activity and the companionable gift of speech, could, +at least, thank God for the "silver streak" and the +grey battleships that preserved his own most sacred +treasures from a like fate. But thought of those +treasures so tormented him and roused such a buzzing +swarm of questions, that he refrained—as far as +possible—from futile excursions into the future or the +past; and he began to grow impatient for the advent +of Sœur Colette with his chocolate. +</p> + +<p> +He accepted, without after-thought, the fact that +it was always she who attended him and entertained +him; nor was he disposed to quarrel with the arrangement. +He had discovered by this time why she created +about him an atmosphere of home and of assurance +that all was well. Dreaming one night of Sheila, +he had waked in the morning to find Sœur Colette +standing by his bed; and the haunting sense of +familiarity was a puzzle no longer. +</p> + +<p> +For a moment Mark had fancied he must still be +dreaming. Then the nun spoke and the illusion +vanished. But the charm remained; a charm that +carried him back to early days before Bel's disturbing +witchery had changed the complexion of life. In his +isolation and bitter uncertainty, he surrendered +himself, instinctively, to this blessed illusion of home. +It was his one real solace throughout those grey, +interminable weeks. +</p> + +<p> +What their one-sided talks and increasing friendliness +might mean to Sœur Colette he neither knew, nor +sought to know. As a nun, he deemed her sacred, a +being set apart. He was apt to forget—as the insolent +Adler never forgot—that a nun is nevertheless a +woman. But to-day, as the minutes lagged past and +she did not appear, there stirred in him an emotion +other than mere impatience—an emotion belonging +to that virile world where a man could walk and talk +and fight and hold a woman in his arms. +</p> + +<p> +He checked himself sharply. That would never +do. It was almost as if, through this unknown +Frenchwoman, the spirit of Sheila were drawing him +back to his old allegiance that, in those July days +before the deluge, had been on the verge—he knew it +now—of blossoming into a strong and deep love. +And she—? Had she, possibly, begun to care? But +that also, would never do. He had chosen; or, to be +more accurate, Bel had chosen and he had succumbed. +</p> + +<p> +He surveyed his great prostrate figure almost with +disgust. Would Bel, as revealed in her recent letters, +have any use for a lover who could neither pay her +compliments nor take her in his arms? Strange how, +in these few weeks, she seemed to have slipped away +from him. Even her face eluded his memory. It +was the face and form of his virile little mother that +was most constantly with him in these days. +</p> + +<p> +Now, deliberately, he called up a vision of an +earlier Bel—unknown, irresistible, ardently desired—sitting +on a rock beside the burn awaiting his avowal, +while he fondly believed her dreaming her own dreams. +This time memory played him no tricks; and the very +vividness of the scene intensified his dawning perception +of a change, gradual, indefinable, that had crept +into their relation since war wrenched them apart. +Her first letters, he remembered, had bothered him; +and he had found the same lack, the same touch of +artificiality in those that had followed him to France. +His very hunger for them had only increased the +vague disappointment they so often produced. He +recalled a remark of hers: "Separations are rather +uncanny things." Curiously true—in her own case. +While she was with him, it seemed, she approximated +instinctively to the woman he would have her be. +Without him, she became simply the product of her +unsatisfactory antecedents. +</p> + +<p> +Well, he had lost her letters with the rest of his +kit; and on the whole he was not sorry.... +</p> + +<p> +Just as impatience revived afresh, Sœur Colette +and the chocolate appeared at last. +</p> + +<p> +Sight of her recalled the morning's incident and +she saw the recollection in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Monsieur must not so concern himself on my +account," she said, after apologies for the delay. +"If Monsieur could know what one has seen, what one +has passed through unharmed, since they drove us +from our convent! I have no fear. I am shielded +by Our Lady!" +</p> + +<p> +For a few seconds Mark looked hard at her. Then, +to her amazement, he blurted out two words, the first +he had uttered for a month. "Tell me," he said. His +voice sounded strange; but he had produced the right +words, and he saw his own exultation repeated in her +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, Monsieur!" she cried. "It will come at +last—the miracle. We have prayed without ceasing. +And now—one must obey Monsieur's first command! +But it is a story too terrible for altogether telling, +Monsieur understands?" +</p> + +<p> +Monsieur understood very well; but he had a +great wish to know more of this sainted woman, +who smiled with Sheila's smile and spoke with her +voice. So in the quiet of that golden afternoon she +told him—sitting on the doctor's camp-stool—of the +town in Northern France that was her home, and of the +bombardment that was the beginning of sorrows; +when people lived in their cellars under the shadow +of a greater fear than the fear of death. For after +the shells came the Uhlans, demanding money and +wine and women; above all wine and more wine, +drowning their manhood so that no form of brutality +came amiss. +</p> + +<p> +With the same unimpassioned detachment, she +told him of her own Sisterhood that, in pity, had +stayed to help the wounded, and of "la petite +Pauline." A novice, beautiful and spirited, she had +resented the coarse gallantry of certain German +soldiers. Her contempt had roused the devil in them. +Embraces not willingly given, must be taken by force. +</p> + +<p> +"And she—poor innocent—she died in my arms, +crazed with terror and torment. And they laughed +... those devils!" She was silent a moment, looking +out over the disfigured landscape. "Monsieur, +there are things that even the good God Himself can +surely never forgive." +</p> + +<p> +Rising abruptly, she left him—haunted, enraged, +half wishing he had not asked for her tale. Yet these +were the very abominations that, if ever he reached +home again, must be remembered, verified, and +mercilessly avenged. She was right, that small +fearless woman: there were things that God Himself +could not forgive. +</p> + +<p> +From that day there came a slight change in Mark's +happy relation with Sœur Colette. Her likeness to +Sheila worried him now, almost as much as it had +charmed him before. The sense of having unconsciously +slipped away from Bel set him idealising her +afresh; regilding her halo, till she became again +almost the Bel of that July afternoon in the glen, +before the shock of her repudiation had temporarily +shaken his faith and love. +</p> + +<p> +Sœur Colette, dimly aware of some jar in their +communion, suffered her own private shock of +awakening. While all went smoothly, she had suspected +nothing. Now she knew—and shame overwhelmed +her. While her lips had prayed daily for the victorious +return of French or British soldiers, her heart, +dedicated to the Mother of God, had been secretly +dreading the end of this, the one idyll of her saintly life. +And because she shrank from confession of that most +human lapse, she devised for herself certain penances +that failed signally to still the strange new disturbance +within. +</p> + +<p> +At last, on a day, the dull thunder she had prayed +for reverberated along the horizon. By slow degrees +it rolled nearer, steadily nearer, till Mark could +distinguish the familiar note of bursting shells. Then +it was that he began to ask himself—would the +Germans think him worth taking along with them as a +prisoner of war? +</p> + +<p> +He hoped they might not even be given time to +save their own skins. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0302"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER II +</h3> + +<p class="intro2"> + "So hard it seems that one must bleed<br> + Because another needs will bite!<br> + All round we find cold nature slight<br> + The feelings of the totter-knee'd."<br> + MEREDITH.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Lady Forsyth sat in her bedroom window-seat, +looking out over the terrace to the restless pine woods +tossed and tumbled by the wind. Masses of grey +cloud sagged low above the trees. Here and there +patches of fragile blue showed fitfully. Then the sun +took courage and flashed a pale smile from between +two scurrying clouds. Gradually the sky cleared. +The wet flags of the terrace gleamed like polished +steel. Drenched and dismal trees stood suddenly +transfigured. Every leaf and twig flaunted a diamond. +</p> + +<p> +"How Mark would love it!" was the mother's +instinctive thought: and closing her eyes a moment +she lifted her face to the sun's caress. The clear light +revealed lines that had not been there in August. +She had passed through deep waters, this bereaved +woman, who refused to own herself bereaved: and in +some ways the past week had seemed the longest, the +hardest of all. While Bel mourned her lover as +dead, she, who refused to mourn her son, had been +subjected to requests for photographs and details +for obituary notices. She had been threatened with +a fresh epidemic of condolences; and, finally, in +self-defence, had sent a brief notice to the <i>Times</i>, and +<i>Morning Post</i>, announcing that Sir Mark Forsyth's +family had not yet given up hope. Let them +denounce her for a fool if they chose! The flame +within still burned on; tremulous, unquenchable. +</p> + +<p> +When she looked down again, two figures had +appeared on the terrace: Sheila and Mr. Seldon, +moving very slowly, deep in talk. The man was tall +and thin, with a small, aristocratic head. He could +not yet walk without crutches; but, by a miracle of +surgery, the leg had been saved. He seemed a homeless +creature: parents dead; married sister in India; +and Sheila had begged that he might spend part of his +convalescence at Wynchcombe Friars. +</p> + +<p> +She was quite frankly interested in his new +development. Whether that interest went deeper, Lady +Forsyth found it hard to tell; the more so, that she +felt doubtful how far Sheila had ever let herself go in +respect of Mark. That she loved him was certain, +and natural enough; but the extent and nature of that +love was her own most hidden secret, kept under +lock and key. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Forsyth herself had hoped honestly, for +Sheila's sake, that the girl's heart was not given +irrevocably to Mark. Yet here she was, with her +native inconsistency, resenting the least sign that +it might have strayed elsewhere. She had the grace +to remind herself that Sheila—by temperament and +by her own shy confession—was made for marriage, +for motherhood. But—it must not be Seldon. On +that point Helen was unwavering: though, in spite of +drawbacks, she liked the man. She found him clever, +interesting, and annoyingly self-conscious. Sheila, it +seemed, had complete faith in his remarkable +transmutation. Helen privately doubted whether it +would outlast the stimulus of the war. She even +suspected him of playing up to the girl's new view of +him in the hope that so he might win her after all. +</p> + +<p> +Well, Sheila was strong enough and wise enough to +work out her own salvation; but there were moments +when Helen was half tempted to wish that Mr. Seldon +had stuck to his desert station and his whisky. +</p> + +<p> +By now the fugitive gleam had brought two more +figures into the garden: Ralph Melrose, with his left +arm in a sling, and Mona's young step-brother, +Eldred Laurence: an infant of twenty who had been +through everything from Mons to Ypres. He limped +badly and wore a bandage over one eye. Both boys, +Helen perceived, had brought back from their great +ordeal an engaging modesty and cheerfulness; a truer +perspective of things in general. And they were not +rare phenomena. They were average specimens of +their kind; standing proofs of the hard paradox that +"the senseless, devilish, bestial thing" called War +had, even in a few months, done more to lift and +enlarge the characters of those who waged it, in a +right spirit, than a decade of material prosperity +and peace. +</p> + +<p> +These three convalescents, and one other, represented +Helen's household of the moment. That other +was the Rev. George Wilton, Wynchmere's new curate. +In an impulse of kindliness—since regretted—Helen +had succumbed to the importunity of Mrs. Clutterbuck +on his behalf. With a battalion temporarily billeted +on the little town, there were simply no "rooms" to +be had; none, at least, that suited the Rev. Wilton's +fastidious taste. The one Hotel was over-crowded +with officers. Three subalterns had invaded the +Vicarage and Mrs. Clutterbuck was in a quiver of +anxiety over the possible effect upon her two plain +daughters of khaki and frivolous conversation for +breakfast, lunch, and dinner. If "dear Lady Forsyth" +would take pity on Mr. Wilton, it would be an "act of +Christian kindness," and who knew but she might +find herself entertaining an angel unawares! +</p> + +<p> +She had entertained the angel for a week, now, and +was only aware of having stumbled on a specimen of +sanctified snobbery, who annoyed her to exasperation. +Though she numbered among her friends +more than one Scottish Minister, the average English +curate had a knack of setting all her bristles on end: +and Mr. Wilton was the average curate—with aggravations. +</p> + +<p> +"He is what Americans would call a 'bromide,'" +she had written to Keith shortly after his arrival. +"He discovers the obvious with enthusiasm. He +asks me for the toast or the salt as apologetically +as if he were asking for a five pound note; and he +says '<i>Eg</i>-zactly' to every word I utter—almost before +it's out! When I'm in a really wicked mood, I +contradict myself wildly just to test his mental and +moral agility! I'm convinced I shall catch him out one +day, backing up compulsion, or the right of churchmen +to defend their country. And he's dead against both. +By which you may see that I'm badly needing the +two of you to keep me in order...." +</p> + +<p> +By this time it was four o'clock. The strollers +had gone in for tea: and as Helen rose to join them, +the "angel unawares" came flapping down the path +through the rose-garden, a neatly folded mackintosh +and an unrolled umbrella hanging over his left arm. +</p> + +<p> +There had been a partial movement of troops. He +had been out to "try his luck": and in that one +respect, at least, she was his fervent well-wisher. +</p> + +<p> +She found them all in the drawing-room and Sheila +making tea. +</p> + +<p> +"Couldn't wait for you, Mums," she apologised. +"The kettle was having a fit!" +</p> + +<p> +The two subalterns rose at her entrance. But it +was Wilton who secured her favourite chair and +pushed it a couple of inches nearer the table. +</p> + +<p> +"I hope you didn't have your long wet walk in +vain?" she said; and he turned an eloquent eye upon +her as he sank back among his cushions. +</p> + +<p> +"I think not. But even if I had, I cannot pretend +I should have suffered serious disappointment." His +gaze wandered appreciatively round the firelit room. +"It has been such a pleasure—such a privilege... +Muffins? Sandwiches?" +</p> + +<p> +He proffered them with eager empressement; +and proceeded to recount, in minutest detail, the +happy chance by which he believed he had at last +secured the good cooking, the south aspect and the +unlimited supply of hot water indispensable to his +well-being. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Forsyth, it must be admitted, listened with +only one ear. The other was attentively following a +discussion between Ralph and Laurence as to the +best means of making a sheltered, complacent people +"sit up and begin to take notice of the scrap across the +water." +</p> + +<p> +Laurence was for compulsion; Ralph for a vigorous +revival of his Majesty's Opposition; and Helen was a +keen advocate of both. Skilfully and politely, she +slipped away from the vexed question of curtains and +pictures to the more congenial occupation of +reconstructing the Government, and "rounding up" +the slackers who were obviously "waiting to be +fetched." +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing short of <i>that</i>," she concluded in her +emphatic fashion, "will disturb their casual +conviction that England can beat Germany with one hand +tied behind her back." +</p> + +<p> +It was a subject on which she was apt to wax hot, +even a trifle caustic; but never, since Wilton's arrival, +had she spoken with such vehemence as she felt suddenly +moved to do by sheer irritation at his womanish +fiddle-faddling. For a while he listened in mute +amazement, with the bird-like tilt of his head and +eyes riveted on her face. Then, as she paused to +empty her cup, he leaned a little towards her. +</p> + +<p> +"But <i>dear</i> Lady Forsyth," he asked in his slowest, +silkiest tones, "how, precisely, would you define +that somewhat loose term of disparagement—a +slacker?" +</p> + +<p> +"A self-regarding, spiritual sluggard," she answered +him with a straight look. "Is that precise enough? +The 'slacker'—so far as I understand the breed—would +rather <i>not</i> see England share the fate of Belgium; +but would very <i>much</i> rather not risk his life or limbs, +to avert the calamity. At best, he is afflicted with a +disease called 'humanitarianism,' that would have +men save their skins at the cost of everything that +makes their skins worth saving. At worst, he simply +shirks his obvious duty for the sake of his own peace +and comfort." +</p> + +<p> +"Hear, hear!" from the three convalescents and +from Wilton a faint gasp of dismay. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Eg</i>-zactly," he murmured automatically, fingering +his remnant of cake. "But that sounds ... <i>just</i> a +little sweeping; not to say severe." +</p> + +<p> +With a sigh of impatience, Lady Forsyth rose and +went over to the fire. Her cheeks were flushed; but +her hands and feet were cold. +</p> + +<p> +"Certain sorts of people <i>require</i> a dash of severity," +she remarked to the room at large. "Browning was +right. There are some souls 'terror must burn the +truth into'... A good many in these islands, high +and low." +</p> + +<p> +Wilton nervously cleared his throat. "Ah—Browning," +he struck in, evading the issue. "A +stimulating writer. Rather too rough and obscure for +my taste." +</p> + +<p> +"That's not the point." She dismissed his taste +impatiently. Interruption annoyed her when she +was well under way. "The point is terror burning +the truth into people, who have a positive genius +for shutting their eyes to it—if it's likely to make +them uncomfortable. One wonders, will even these +unmasked Germans convince our intellectuals that +evil in all its forms is a deadly reality, to be fought +and conquered; not a sort of moral indigestion to be +cured with sugar-coated tabloids! Between science +and civilisation, we've exploded hell and chloroformed +the devil. And if we're properly advanced, we can't +even commit sin. We are merely the victims of +environment or inherited tendencies. Nothing like +the polysyllable steam-roller for flattening out +awkward facts! Take the case of the slacker. What does +his argument amount to in Saxon English? 'I +don't see the force of risking my life for my country.' But +deck it out in polysyllables, and you can conjure +it into quite a lofty sentiment. You try, Mr. Wilton, +in your next sermon——" +</p> + +<p> +"Hullo, here comes Sheila's scarlet spider." Ralph's +voice from the window-seat broke the thread of her +monologue and saved the slightly staggered curate +from further discomfiture. "A wire for one of us!" +</p> + +<p> +Lady Forsyth started. "Keith!" was her instant +thought. "Ralph, dear, run and get it," she said. +"Hester's out." +</p> + +<p> +An odd silence fell till he reappeared. "For you," +he said, "and the imp's waiting." +</p> + +<p> +With a sudden leap of conviction, she tore it open +and read: "Sir Mark Forsyth is alive and wounded +but safe. I have letter from France. Posting +to-night." +</p> + +<p> +It was signed by Mark's bootmaker at Winchester. +But, at the moment, her brain took in nothing +beyond the incredible fact. Mark was there—across +the Channel. She could go to him.... +</p> + +<p> +"Any answer?" Ralph asked. +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head. Then, suddenly, she looked up, +with a strange, uncertain smile. "Mark is alive—safe!" +she said, an uncontrollable note of triumph +in her low voice. +</p> + +<p> +She saw Sheila rise; heard disjointed sounds from +the four men: then a rush of tears blinded her, and +she hurried out of the room. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +It was some time before Sheila joined her. She, +who had shared all, knew that the mother's first +ecstasy of reprieve was a matter between her own soul +and God. And Sheila herself found it hard to speak +calmly of this great news. The blaze of it made one +realise what a shadowy thing hope had been at best. +</p> + +<p> +She found Lady Forsyth sitting over her fire drowned +fathoms deep in the wonder of it all. Undried tears +gleamed on her cheeks and the precious telegram +lay unheeded on the floor. +</p> + +<p> +Sheila knelt down by her and they clung together +in silence. Then, casually, Sheila picked up the +telegram. "I want—to see it written," she murmured +with a sudden stab of recollection. "But—why Jevons?" +</p> + +<p> +"That's the mystery. Why should he get a letter +about my boy? And what's wrong with Mark that he +didn't write himself? Oh my dear, what marvels of +perversity we are! Here have I kept myself going for +weeks by the firm belief that we must get him back: +and now it's come, I'm a shivering sceptic. I have +almost to pinch myself to make sure it's not a dream." +</p> + +<p> +But Sheila standing by her was reading the telegram +over and over. "It's no dream," she said. "It's—a +miracle. I suppose we can't wire to Mr. Macnair +or Colonel Munro till you get that letter. But—there's Bel." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—there's Bel." A pause. "I hope the shock +of joy will unfreeze her. She'd better come here, if +she can. Get me a form, darling, and see if the men +are happy. I'd like to sit here peacefully till +dinner—and think about my boy." +</p> + +<p> +Sheila dropped a kiss on her hair and vanished: +not for long. +</p> + +<p> +"Quite happy, are they? <i>All</i> of them?" Lady +Forsyth asked when the wire had been despatched. +"I'm pricked with faint compunction over the curate +man. He roused the devil in me with his hot bath +and his art curtains. But I didn't mean to hit quite +so hard...." +</p> + +<p> +Sheila's eyes twinkled. "I'm afraid we all loved +it! And you needn't be pricked with compunction, +Dearest. I found him on the drawing-room sofa, +quite audibly asleep, with his mouth open!" +</p> + +<p> +"There are <i>some</i> souls...!" Helen confided to +the blazing logs. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +That evening was the liveliest that the convalescents +had experienced at Wynchcombe Friars. After +dinner Lady Forsyth played to them for the first time. +Music was the one adequate outlet for her pent-up +emotion. She chose only triumphal themes and she +played them triumphantly. Let her audience +understand if they chose. +</p> + +<p> +Seldon, ensconced in an armchair by the fire, listened +with rapt attention, his neat profile cut like a cameo +on the oak panelling beyond. Sheila sat near him on +the wide fender-stool, absorbed in her own thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly when the music was loudest he leaned +towards her over the arm of his chair. +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Melrose," he said in a low voice. "Do tell +me, who is—Bel? Is she a connection? What's her +other name?" +</p> + +<p> +Sheila started and looked round. +</p> + +<p> +"Alison," she said, "Bel Alison. She's +engaged—to Sir Mark. Why? D'you know her?" +</p> + +<p> +"I seem to remember the name," he answered +evasively. "A tall, striking-looking girl?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." His manner pricked Sheila's curiosity; +but she did not repeat her question. +</p> + +<p> +"Coming to-morrow, is she?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," Sheila said again; and this time a wild +possibility darted through her brain. +</p> + +<p> +Seldon, frowning and biting his lip, still scrutinised +the fire. "Sounds like a girl—I met one summer," +he remarked casually. "Odd if it is the same.—And +she's to be mistress of all this? She's in luck. +Sir Mark, I take it, is a very fine fellow?" +</p> + +<p> +"A very fine fellow," the girl answered; and for a +few minutes Seldon seemed to ponder her statement. +Then, with an odd jerk of his head, he abruptly +changed the subject. +</p> + +<p> +"A treat to hear playing like that. What with +gramaphones and things, people won't be bothered +nowadays. And she's got such a ripping touch." +</p> + +<p> +"She's inspired to-night," Sheila said, glancing +towards the slender upright figure in the dull blue +teagown, shot through with gold, woven for her by +Mark's people and designed by Mark himself. +</p> + +<p> +Seldon, it was evident, would say no more about +Bel. That in itself lent colour to the wild possibility +that Sheila hoped, for Mark's sake, was too wild to be +true. The bare chance of it so troubled her that +long after she had soothed Lady Forsyth into a +deep sleep, she lay wide-eyed, in her own little +room, wondering and dreading and piecing things +together; wishing fervently that Seldon had held his +tongue. +</p> + +<p> +Well, to-morrow she would see them together; and +Bel, ignorant of Mr. Seldon's anonymous confidences, +would almost certainly give herself away. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0303"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER III +</h3> + +<p class="intro2"> + "She gave no vine of Love to rear,<br> + Love's wine drank not; yet bent her ear<br> + To themes of Love no less."<br> + MEREDITH.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Next morning, in spite of her vigil, Sheila appeared +earlier than usual in Lady Forsyth's room, to share +tea and letters—especially letters. And there failed +not the envelope with the Winchester postmark. +</p> + +<p> +The bootmaker—respectfully amazed and delighted—begged +to enclose a letter in French whose contents +he had learnt from a Belgian refugee. It was written +in Sœur Colette's fine clear hand; and beneath her +modest signature a circle of sealing-wax bore the +Forsyth crest. +</p> + +<p> +At sight of it the mother's tears started. "Oh, +I'm an idiot. Read it to me, darling," she said +handing the letter to Sheila. And Sheila read in a low +steady voice, the plain tale, simple yet astonishing, of +Mark's threefold reprieve from death: of the mystery +that surrounded him till Sœur Colette—who +attributed every detail to the goodness of God and the +Holy Virgin—discovered his name and regiment +written inside his brogues; of the victorious French +Army that returned at last, scattering and annihilating +"les Boches" so that there was scant time for +collecting sick prisoners or indeed for anything but a +hurried retreat upon stronger positions. +</p> + +<p> +"But already," continued the writer, "M. le +docteur had of his wisdom made them to suppose that +Monsieur was without hope of recovery. May the +good God forgive him that deception so well-intended. +Possessing no other address, I venture to report these +matters to M. le cordonnier, trusting that they may +yet arrive to the relations of Monsieur Sir Forsyth +who is of a courage and patience unsurpassed. Having +power to move his left hand he has pressed with his +own ring the wax one has spilt upon this page for a +message to Madame his mother. If one should come +soon and take him to Paris, M. le docteur has great +hope that in time he will walk and speak as before." +</p> + +<p> +Thus Sœur Colette, in her saintly simplicity; and +neither of the women, who read and read again the +letter she had written, with tears and prayers, caught +a glimpse of the idyll that had saddened and glorified +her life. They had far too much, on their own account, +to think of, to give thanks for, and to do. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, if I could only pack up and start this instant!" +was the cry of Helen's impatient spirit. "And he, +lying paralysed, all these weeks—my poor darling!" +</p> + +<p> +The first obvious move was a telegram to Keith, +care of Colonel Munro, whom he kept informed of his +movements: more telegrams to relations and friends; +and—a letter to Mark. Life was suddenly real +again; purposeful, genuinely worth living. +</p> + +<p> +Soon after breakfast came a wire from Bel. "Thanks +for splendid news. Arriving Westover 4.15." +</p> + +<p> +"I'll take the car out and meet her," Sheila +announced with decision. +</p> + +<p> +Something in her tone made Lady Forsyth look +up from the letter she was writing. "Very sweet of +you, my lamb," she said: but Sheila knew that +sweetness had nothing whatever to do with it. "Crown +your virtue by giving his Reverence a lift into +Wynchmere as you go through. We shall scarcely escape +tears at parting! The fleshpots and the title and the +joy of casually airing it can be trusted to eclipse all +my egregious remarks." +</p> + +<p> +It seemed she was not far wrong. After lunch +Wilton hovered about like a tame rook, murmuring +plaintive platitudes, lamenting his inability to put +into adequate words ... and so on and so forth. +But at the last, spurred by inexorable sounds without, +he found, in one breath, the adequate word and the +courage to speak it. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Dear</i> Lady Forsyth," he murmured bowing over +her hand. "It has been such a privilege. Quite a +liberal education. So hard to tear oneself away! +At lunch I was wishing—forgive the audacity—that I +had the luck to be your son. Then I need never go +away." +</p> + +<p> +"My son?" She started and changed colour: at +that moment it was the last audacity she felt +disposed to forgive. "If you were my son, Mr. Wilton, +you'd have to go a good deal farther than Wynchmere. +I should send you straight out to France—where you +ought to be now." +</p> + +<p> +The startled curate drew back as if from a blow. +"But my cloth—my sacred calling——" +</p> + +<p> +She gave him a direct look. "It may surprise +you," she said. "But I have looked carefully through +the ordering of priests and the Thirty-nine Articles +and I can find there no admonition whatever that +churchmen shall abstain from bearing arms in defence +of their country. And look at the French priests. +Hundreds of them in the ranks; lifting the Church, +by their manliness and courage, to a position it has +not occupied since the Revolution. I know several +clergymen, Scottish and English, with the colours. +And I am quite <i>sure</i> their sacred calling has suffered +no stain because they have bayoneted a few Germans +and quitted themselves like men. They will preach +sermons worth hearing, those brave fellows ... if +they win through. It's men, real men, that we need +if the Church is to regain her lost hold on us all." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Eg</i>-zactly," he agreed inadvertently, to her huge +delight. +</p> + +<p> +"Well then—why not go out and qualify——?" +</p> + +<p> +"Impossible, dear lady, impossible." He reddened +distressfully lifting one long hand as if to ward off the +devil in person. "Others—I would not presume to +judge. Every man is ultimately responsible to the +Inner Light. And <i>my</i> conscience would never +permit——" +</p> + +<p> +"That settles it," she interposed briskly, without a +touch of flippancy. "We can't start a full-dress debate +on the doorstep; Miss Melrose has a train to meet. +I hope the hot water and the cooking and the curtains +will leave nothing to be desired. I mean it," she +added with her kindest smile, and handed him over to +Sheila, who had found some difficulty in dispensing +with the services of Ralph. +</p> + +<p> +Wilton was abnormally silent all the way to +Wynchmere; and Sheila was absorbed in her driving and +her own thoughts. At intervals the pensive curate +glanced at her under his eyelids; appraised her +charming profile—a shade too resolute for his taste—and +her capable handling of the machine. Yet his +thoughts were practical rather than sentimental. +Thanks to a natural genius for gleaning personal items, +he already knew that Sheila Melrose possessed +advantages which distinctly enhanced her charming +profile. In the common phrase of parish gossips there +was "plenty of money going" at Westover Court. +Mrs. Melrose, he learnt, was a Burlton, daughter of a +great steel magnate in the North; married, by some +queer freak of fate, to George Melrose, the +distinguished antiquarian. Melrose, himself,—shy and +clever, drowned fathoms deep in his researches—appeared +to spend most of his time in Egypt, where +Sheila had stayed with him on her way from India. +Not even the War, nor a very real affection for his +youngest daughter, had power to lure him back to the +uncongenial atmosphere of the old home he had once +so loved that, in order to save it, he had married +money. Then, too late, a lucky speculation had +considerably increased his own private means; and, +as Westover Court had become a stronghold of the +entire Burlton family, he had found it expedient to +spend a good deal of his time elsewhere. +</p> + +<p> +Wynchmere had duly given the new curate its +garbled history of the Melrose <i>ménage</i>; but for Wilton +the chief point of interest lay in the assurance that +all three daughters would be well dowered; and this +one was an open favourite at Wynchcombe Friars. +Decidedly, if it came to business, the youngest Miss +Melrose would do very well. +</p> + +<p> +The glow of this secret decision made his limp +handshake at parting a degree less limp than usual: +but Sheila wore thick driving gloves and was visibly +in a hurry to be gone. +</p> + +<p> +At Westover station she annexed Bel—radiant, +friendly, and eager for further news. +</p> + +<p> +"Sheila—is it stark true?" she asked as they spun +along between bare hedges. "Have you got the +mysterious letter? Who wrote it? Please tell +everything." +</p> + +<p> +And Sheila told—keeping her eyes on the wheel. +</p> + +<p> +At the word "paralysis" Bel started. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, how horrible! So disfiguring.—I suppose +Lady Forsyth will go out to him. And she believed +it all the time. Isn't she a wonder? <i>I</i> can't, even +now. Not till I see him and feel him——" +</p> + +<p> +There flashed a vivid memory of her first drive +along this familiar road, when Mark had sat beside +her in the August sunlight: and she fell silent, thinking +her own thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +Sheila had just braced herself to a casual mention of +Seldon, when Bel spoke again. +</p> + +<p> +"Any wounded at Wynchcombe Friars just now?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, three of them. Ralph—almost well. Mona's +brother, Mr. Laurence. Such a delightful boy; and +Mr. Seldon, an Indian civilian. Came over as a +despatch-rider——" +</p> + +<p> +"Seldon? From India?" It was enough. Sheila +knew now that the wild possibility was true. "A +thin dark man, is he? Clever and rather good-looking?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. Have you been in India?" +</p> + +<p> +Sheila looked round now, curious to see if Bel were +the least put out by the reappearance of a lover she +had cruelly hurt and deceived. On the contrary she +seemed interested and rather amused. "No. I met +him on leave in Cornwall, some years ago. Odd he +should turn up again here!" +</p> + +<p> +"Not so very," Sheila said with her small smile. +"You see, he's a friend of mine. I met him in India +and we've corresponded ever since. Then he came +over to France: and I found him one day among +the wounded at Boulogne." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, <i>you</i> know him too!" Bel's amusement increased +visibly. "D'you like him? I thought him +rather a poor specimen." +</p> + +<p> +"The war has brought out all the best in him," +Sheila remarked. Every moment she grew angrier +with Bel; angrier, and more resolute to get at the +truth—in good time. For months she had been +sitting down severely on her own deep-seated jealousy +and pain; and this final proof of Bel's utter +unworthiness, coming at such a moment, seemed to shake the +foundations of things. +</p> + +<p> +Some women, it appeared, were privileged to go +about the world sowing pain and reaping adulation: +and Sheila, whose creed was acceptance, was still +young enough to be badly tripped up, on occasion, by +the bewildering injustices of life. It was her private +opinion that Bel deserved to be hurt, and probably +never would be. Not that she consciously sat in +judgment. There was nothing of the prig in her +composition. But, because her heart was the biggest +thing about her, she held peculiarly sacred the hearts +of men, that, for Bel and her kind, are so many +counters on the gaming-tables of life. Small, +contained creature though she was, sins of passion or +emotion were the sins she could most readily understand +and condone. It was Bel's smiling, unassailable +selfishness that alienated and enraged her. And +Mark, with his fiery sensitive spirit, at the mercy of +such an one for life! The thought of it was almost +more than she could bear. +</p> + +<p> +For Bel, herself, Sheila was simply a rather sweet +person who did not count in the least. Nothing +counted much, at the moment, except Mark and his +unbelievable resurrection. Yet she had no intention +of going out with Lady Forsyth. That was not her +way. Certain of his coming, she could wait. Meantime +her resurgent spirit, hungry for enjoyment, saw +possibilities in the Seldon coincidence that might +serve to pass the time. +</p> + +<p> +She turned smilingly to the suppressed volcano +at her side. +</p> + +<p> +"I say, Sheila, does Mr. Seldon know I'm coming? +Does he know ... I'm engaged to Mark?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. We spoke of it last night." +</p> + +<p> +"Did he say anything about meeting me before?" +</p> + +<p> +"He seemed to remember the name," Sheila answered +casually. It was the truth, if not the whole +truth; and she could not resist the chance of +administering a flick to Bel's omnivorous vanity. The +flick told. It also goaded Bel into further revelations +than she had intended. +</p> + +<p> +"I fancy he'll remember more than my name +when we meet," she remarked, looking out over the +sodden December landscape. "Not so very long ago +I was accused of having spoilt his life and broken his +heart: a tougher organism than sentimental people +care to admit!" +</p> + +<p> +Sheila betrayed no surprise. She would not +condescend to feign ignorance. "You could hardly +expect him to parade a broken heart in the +circumstances," was all she said. +</p> + +<p> +Bel laughed. "Well hit! What a practical person +you are. I merely thought he might have told +you, as you correspond and are evidently great +friends." +</p> + +<p> +Sheila did not answer. She was skilfully +manipulating a sharp turn into the town. Bel watched +her in frank admiration. +</p> + +<p> +"How awfully well you drive! Who taught you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Macnair." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! <i>I</i> always feel that man being horribly +critical underneath. But you're evidently privileged! +Is <i>he</i>—another great friend?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"Mark, too! You've quite a talent in that line." +</p> + +<p> +Sheila felt the light scratch under the velvet tone, +and turned her clear eyes full on Bel. +</p> + +<p> +"You mean—they don't fall in love with me? +Well, sometimes friendship is the higher compliment." +</p> + +<p> +"Sour grapes!" reflected Bel. Aloud she said +sweetly: "It's a compliment no man has ever paid +me yet. And I can do very well with ... the +other thing. Even if it results in only seeming to +remember my name!" +</p> + +<p> +That was all for the moment. But it set Sheila +thoroughly on edge; nor were matters improved by +Bel's behaviour throughout the evening. +</p> + +<p> +Seldon she greeted without a shadow of embarrassment; +asked after mutual acquaintances in Cornwall; +smilingly held his gaze a moment; then, as it were, +consigned him to Sheila, who missed no item of the +by-play between them. +</p> + +<p> +Later on, though ostensibly devoting herself to +Lady Forsyth and young Laurence, Bel never for a +moment allowed Seldon to be unaware of her. It was +a situation that appealed to all the actress in her; +and the whole performance was a piece of finished +coquetry, perfect of its kind. +</p> + +<p> +As for Seldon, he clung to Sheila with nervous +tenacity, as a man might cling to a talisman against +witchcraft; but his eyes and ears and the back of his +mind were intent on Bel. He talked in spasms +and his self-consciousness was more pronounced than +ever. Painfully he recalled the Seldon of Indian days: +and before the evening was over Sheila had arrived +at wondering could he, with open eyes, revert to the +girl who had used him so ill? Were his love and +friendship for herself such mere card-houses that +they could tumble to earth at a flicker of Bel's long +eyelashes, a careless word from her lips? +</p> + +<p> +The bare supposition was unflattering to say the +least. More; it was a shock to her young, ardent +faith in human nature. She had seen this man +rise—in a measure through love of her—above his +lesser self. She had been proud of him and for him. +Though he could marry neither of them, he was +hers in a very special sense; and Bel had no right to +him whatever. But the heart, like the tongue, can +no man tame; and Seldon's whole manner to Sheila +that evening conveyed the mute attestation: "I am +yours. Yet, if she beckons, I follow in spite of +myself." +</p> + +<p> +It was not a heroic confession. It angered Sheila, +even while it moved her to pity. She hated the +whole distracting affair: and felt thankful that Lady +Forsyth was incapable of perceiving anything but +the one supreme fact: thankful, even, that she would +soon be gone. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Next day came a telegram from Keith bidding +her get a passport to Boulogne whither he would +bring Mark—Authority permitting—in the +Forsyth-Macnair ambulance car. And for the time being, +all lesser matters were in abeyance. +</p> + +<p> +Bel decided not to go; and Lady Forsyth was too +relieved to press the point. Sheila did most of the +packing and dropped a few secret, rebellious tears +into Mark's valise. It hurt her bitterly that she +could not go too and complete the old happy quartet +that had seemed linked indissolubly till Bel stepped +into the picture and upset everything. She had a +knack of unsettling things whenever she appeared; +and that without seeming to lift a finger. In a minor +way, she was doing it again; doing it admirably; while +Sheila anointed Mark's familiar ties and shirts with +her tears. +</p> + +<p> +Quite incidentally it occurred to Lady Forsyth that +five young people could not, without scandalising +the proprieties, be left entirely to themselves. +</p> + +<p> +"It's ridiculous nonsense," she declared with a +touch of impatience. "And everyone's far too busy +to be bothered. Bel, how about your Harry? Not +married, of course, but still——" +</p> + +<p> +Bel smiled. "The more the safer, I suppose? +It's quite a pretty problem in arithmetic: how many +women, unmarried, equal one woman, married? +Harry could come to-morrow, I think, for a few days." +</p> + +<p> +"Good. And Mrs. Laurence might manage the +week end. Wire at once, dear, will you? Say I leave +this afternoon. I can't put off going for any +Propriety-bogey in creation." +</p> + +<p> +So that afternoon she set out on her glad errand, +armed with letters and messages of welcome to him +who, for five weeks, had been counted dead by all +except two brave women in England and the two men +who sought him in France. +</p> + +<p> +Harry wired that she would come next day, and +throughout that evening, Propriety—even in the +person of Mrs. Clutterbuck—could have found +nothing to cavil at in the behaviour of the five young +people left temporarily unshepherded at Wynchcombe +Friars. +</p> + +<p> +Only Sheila became increasingly aware of the effect +wrought upon Seldon by Bel's discreetly veiled +coquetry. Beneath his restlessness and his half-defiant +flippancy, she discerned the man's inner flutterings +that affected her like the sight of a live butterfly +impaled by a pin. She herself was quieter than +usual; but under the still surface her anger was +rising steadily; and before dinner was over, she +knew that she could not sleep to-night, till she had +spoken her mind to Bel. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0304"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER IV +</h3> + +<p class="intro"> +"It is the worst of crimes to feel life so cheap, and make it so +expensive for other people."—MARY A. HAMILTON. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Punctually at ten she made a move; and as she bid +Seldon good night his eyes clung to her face with a +pathetic mixture of apology and appeal. It needed +only that look to stiffen her resolve; though the last +thing she wanted at the moment was a quarrel with +Bel. She hoped it might not amount to that; but she +felt half afraid of her own inner tumult as she knocked +lightly at Bel's door. +</p> + +<p> +She found the girl already half undressed, sitting +before her glass in a cream-coloured wrapper, her pale +hair falling to her waist. Her face so framed, looked +engagingly young. She was smiling frankly at her +own image; and an aftermath of the same smile +served as greeting to her unexpected visitor. +</p> + +<p> +"Come for a talk? How nice of you!" +</p> + +<p> +She indicated a chair near the fire; and Sheila, +glad of the warmth, set one silver-shod foot on the +fender. But she remained standing—a slim grey +figure with a knot of turquoise blue at her waist and a +blue fillet threaded through the dark cloud of her +hair. +</p> + +<p> +So, for the first time, they seriously confronted +one another, these two—— +</p> + +<p> +"I'm not so sure," said Sheila slowly, "that you'll +think it nice of me when you hear what I have to +say." +</p> + +<p> +Bel's eyes expressed polite enquiry. +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing very formidable, I hope? And, for +Heaven's sake, don't be tragic. I've had enough +tragedy, all these weeks, to last me a lifetime." +</p> + +<p> +"So have ... most of us," Sheila put in quietly. +"And there's no question of tragedy, for any one, if +you'll only leave poor Mr. Seldon alone." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, that's all, is it? Hands off your property, +in fact?" +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing of the sort." Sheila's temper flared up, +do what she would. "Hands off a man who has +suffered <i>more</i> than enough on your account already. +I think if you realised how much——" +</p> + +<p> +"Suffered—has he? And poured it all into your +sympathetic ears? I rather suspected he was gone +on you." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, then—why can't you let him be? Isn't one +splendid lover enough for you?" +</p> + +<p> +"To possess—certainly," Bel answered with her +invincible good-humour. "That man Seldon's a +mere invertebrate. But he's clever, in his own way; +and he amuses me. If you don't want him for +yourself, why in the world d'you bother about him?" +</p> + +<p> +"Simply because he's a human being and he's made +a plucky fight against things, and—he's my friend." +</p> + +<p> +"Why not mine too?" +</p> + +<p> +"Friendship is not one of your gifts, Bel. The only +kindness you can do him is—what I said: let him +alone. He mayn't be worth very much. But he is +worth something ... now. Even you'd admit that +if you'd seen him as I did, last autumn: a wretched +cynical man with no heart in his work. Drinking +too, from sheer loneliness and ill-health. And so +obviously needing a woman in his life that it was hard +to refuse him. In the end—that I mightn't think too +badly of him—he told me about that summer in +Cornwall. And ... to think it should have been +you!" +</p> + +<p> +Something in her tone drew Bel's eyes to her face. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, what harm? I didn't commit murder. I +refused him—as you did. That's all." +</p> + +<p> +"It's <i>not</i> all," Sheila flashed out. "Bel—don't +prevaricate. He ... he told me everything." +</p> + +<p> +Bel started and a faintly hostile gleam showed in +her eyes. Then, very deliberately, she combed back a +lock that had fallen half over her face. +</p> + +<p> +"May I ask—what 'everything' amounted to?" +</p> + +<p> +Sheila moistened her lips. "Well ... the way +you simply made use of him to secure that other man +... the married one. Mr. Seldon heard afterwards +that you—went away with him. That he didn't +believe, except when he felt bitter enough to believe +anything. Bel—<i>is</i> it true? Any of it? I <i>must</i> +know." +</p> + +<p> +She spoke with unguarded urgency; and Bel turned +clear hard eyes upon her. The hostile gleam was no +longer faint. +</p> + +<p> +"Why must you know what is entirely my own affair? +In order to tell Lady Forsyth, or Mark, and make +trouble between us, after all I've just been through? +Model of virtue though you are, I believe you'd give +your beautiful violet eyes to put Mark out of love +with me. But you never will. Men don't easily +leave off loving me. Mr. Seldon's a case in point. I +understand one side of them. And I understand it +thoroughly. Mark's a bit straight-laced about some +things. But he's tremendously a man. And he'll +love <i>me</i>—worthless me—to the end of the chapter, +whatever I may have done, or do!" +</p> + +<p> +Sheila—amazed, disgusted and angrier than ever—had +listened so far without interruption, simply because +she could not trust herself to speak. At that +moment she hated Bel, as she had never hated any +fellow-being; and her white Northern anger would +rather have vented itself in blows than words. But, +by this time, she had herself in hand. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>I</i> tell Mark?" she said, on a note of concentrated +scorn, ignoring the implication of her motive. "It's +for you to tell him—whatever there is to tell." +</p> + +<p> +Bel let out a breath of relief. "Then he'll remain +in blessed ignorance. Men don't bore us with a recital +of their pre-nuptial peccadilloes. They've too much +sense. So why the dickens should we inflict ours on +them? I'm a modern woman, Sheila. You're not: +for all you're the younger. And Mark himself isn't +quite modern enough for my taste. It's my only +quarrel with him." +</p> + +<p> +She had quite recovered her complacence now. +Tilting her head, she swept the brush through her long +fine hair: and Sheila stood watching her a moment, +fascinated unwillingly. +</p> + +<p> +Then with a small sigh she sat down. +</p> + +<p> +"I rather think," she said slowly, "that, if this +war goes on long enough, it is you up-to-date people +who will end in being out-of-date. But Bel—" she +hesitated. Fuller knowledge would serve no purpose +save to increase her own secret misery. Yet, +perversely, she still wanted to know. "Are you +admitting that what Mr. Seldon heard was true?" +</p> + +<p> +"Just true enough to be a spiteful lie," Bel answered +enigmatically, discarding her brush and resting +her bare arms on the table. "What are you getting +at, you determined little person?" +</p> + +<p> +"The truth—if I can. I don't want to be unjust +to you." +</p> + +<p> +"Very scrupulous!" +</p> + +<p> +Bel paused a moment, smiling at her own image +... considering.... +</p> + +<p> +She was not given to verbal indiscretions, but she +had her reckless impulses: and with Sheila she +instinctively knew herself safe; knew that the truth +demanded of her by this gentle, inexorable girl would +hurt the more because—for very love of Mark and +his mother—Sheila could be trusted to keep silence. +Hidden knowledge of that kind rankles and pricks, +as Bel had learnt from experience; and her own galling +sense of Sheila's finer loyalty and courage made the +impulse to hurt and startle her irresistible. +</p> + +<p> +"Well," she said at length, turning from the glass, +just as Sheila had given up hope of hearing more, +"as you evidently won't play the sneak, I don't mind +admitting that I had every intention of going off with +that other man to Australia. I was at a loose end: +in the mood for any escape from humdrum England +and sufficiently in love to be tempted. It was Harry, +with her awkward genius for rescue-work, who upset +the apple-cart. So my 'going off' with him amounted +to no more than a week end together at the Lizard——" +</p> + +<p> +"Bel!" +</p> + +<p> +"Don't look so scarified, my dear innocent! Heaps +of the smartest girls do that sort of thing;—or rather +did, in happier days than these. And properly +modern-minded men condoned it. If you're for +giving women freedom you can't tie them by the leg +to the conventional moralities; and I wasn't going to +take such a big risk without due consideration. So +he found rooms in a wee cottage at the Lizard and +we went there—as temporary brother and sister—to +do the considering. He behaved beautifully; +and, in the end, we decided to take the plunge. Harry +happened to be in Cornwall just then, tackling a +troublesome 'case'. So I arranged to go to her and +join him in London when he wired. But somehow, +she suspicioned what was up: and as she believes in +the emancipation of woman, I thought she'd take it +reasonably. However—she didn't; and there was the +devil to pay. I stood out against her; but she got +at him and worked him up over his precious children. +So the great adventure fizzled out. And Harry, +having rescued me, has stuck to me ever since. I +suppose some of the fools at Bude heard we'd been to +the Lizard and invented the rest. There! That's the +extent of my villainy. The whole thing's dead and +gone, and you must admit I'd be a prize fool to tell +Mark. He'd worry needlessly; and distrust me. +Also needlessly. If any man can hold a woman, it's +Mark. Of course you think I'm not fit to black his +boots. I'm not. I've told him so. But it's me +he wants, my dear,—good or bad. Look here, +though; not a word of all this to your +'Mums.' She'd never forgive me." +</p> + +<p> +"No. Never." Sheila's cheeks were flushed and +her lips set. "I'm not sure that ... Mark would +either. I simply can't understand...." +</p> + +<p> +"Didn't suppose you would." Bel smiled sweetly. +"You're too limited. That's the trouble with you +good people——" +</p> + +<p> +"Mark's not limited," Sheila broke out with +sudden passion. "No more is Mums. Oh—and to +think I told her, without knowing it ... the very day +you two were out in the yacht——" +</p> + +<p> +"That day? Really, this approaches the dramatic! +But never you give her the key to your story. Promise!" +</p> + +<p> +Sheila sighed. "I'm not likely to—for her sake; +though it isn't easy keeping anything from Mums. +We're so close to each other all through." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, you must manage it somehow," Bel said +with decision. "And I expect you have your +reserves even from her. Have you ever, I wonder, let +her realise that you're dead in love—with Mark?" +</p> + +<p> +"How <i>dare</i> you!" Sheila broke in low and fiercely, +"when I've tried to do you justice—to be friends——" +</p> + +<p> +She checked herself, rose, and turned her back on +Bel, grasping the mantelpiece with her small fine +hands. +</p> + +<p> +The girl surveyed her in genuine surprise. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm sorry," she said good-naturedly. "One +would think I'd accused you of stealing! It's no +sin!" +</p> + +<p> +Sheila swung round in an access of sheer impatience. +"This time it's <i>you</i> who don't understand! If that +sort of thing's not sacred to you, it is to me——" +</p> + +<p> +Bel faintly raised her brows. "No," she said, +"I don't understand people who mix up falling in +love with religion. To me, it's simply the most +thrilling amusement on earth. Still, I'm sorry——" +</p> + +<p> +"You're not," Sheila retorted, unappeased. "And +I'd like you better if you said so, honestly. <i>I'm</i> +sorry I ever came in here at all. Good night." +</p> + +<p> +She moved to the door; but softly and swiftly as a +cat Bel sped after her and took her by the shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +"Sheila, my dear, don't be a high-flown little fool," +she said in her seductive voice that was seldom wasted +on a woman. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, let me alone, I'm tired," Sheila murmured, +and shook off the detaining hand, only to find it +slipped through her arm. +</p> + +<p> +"Come and make it up. Then I'll let you go," +Bel cooed invitingly. +</p> + +<p> +It was detestable; but Sheila was genuinely tired +and too disgusted for further argument. Unresisting, +and unresponsive, she allowed herself to be drawn +back to the fire and gently pulled down into the chair. +</p> + +<p> +"You're such a lovesome morsel of dignity and +reserve," Bel went on, kneeling beside her and warming +her hands. "It's quite an achievement to have drawn +you out a little. I can't let you shut up again with +a click. Besides, we must be friends <i>now</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +Sheila, who was hardly attending, did not grasp +the import of that last remark. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm not altogether depraved, you know." +</p> + +<p> +"I never said you were." +</p> + +<p> +"But you thought so." +</p> + +<p> +Sheila merely shook her head. She had no further +desire to discuss Bel or her very mixed attributes; +but, for Bel, there was no more congenial subject on +earth. +</p> + +<p> +"You <i>did</i> think so," she insisted, with untroubled +conviction. "But I do try to be decent, up to my +lights. Can't help it—can I?—if mine are candles +and yours are stars? And I admit this beastly war +has demoralized me badly. Your Mums talks of it +as a 'refiner's fire'; but ... I don't know. That +sort of thing doesn't agree with everyone. It may +exalt the good; but ... I rather think it makes the +bad worse." +</p> + +<p> +Sheila nodded. "It finds us all out. It's burning +away the husks of life and forcing us to be our +real selves.—<i>My</i> real self, at this moment," she added +lightly, "is a mere log of weariness. I must go now." +</p> + +<p> +"Very well—go. Good night, dear." +</p> + +<p> +Bel put up her face for a kiss; but Sheila was on her +feet again. "<i>Will</i> you leave Mr. Seldon alone?" +she said returning to her original attack. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll try—just to please you! But you can't +blame <i>me</i> if the man's a mere weather-cock." +</p> + +<p> +"I do blame you—all along the line," Sheila +answered with quiet obstinacy; and at last effected her +escape. +</p> + +<p> +But for all her weariness, sleep was long in coming. +Though her lids were heavy, her brain was wide +awake and haunted distractingly by visions of Bel; her +smiling self-complacence, her graceful, studied poses, +her serene assurance—cruelly emphasised—that no +revelation of her intrinsic worthlessness would affect +her dominion over Mark. +</p> + +<p> +Was that true, Sheila wondered, feeling of a sudden +very ignorant and limited—as Bel had said? Would +it make no difference even if he knew all? Was +a man's love so entirely a mixture of infatuation +and passion that the soul of a woman counted for +next to nothing? +</p> + +<p> +Personally, Sheila did not believe it; but she was +too young, too untravelled in the heart's byways, to +feel secure in that belief. She only saw Mark, her +god among men, lured and held by this elf-maiden +of a girl; fair without, hollow within. Mr. Seldon, +too—in spite of all he had suffered, in spite of genuine +love for herself—seemed powerless to hold his own +against Bel. And was it only Bel? Was it only +Mark and Seldon? Or, was their private tangle +simply part of the cruel, primitive essence of things? +Sheila lying there in the dark, pictured hundreds of +Bels dragging down hundreds of Marks and Seldons; +and her protective, mother-tenderness for the masculine +half of creation, raged impotently against it all. +One heard so much, in these outspoken days, about +men ruining women. Was there not fully as much to +be said about women ruining men? Between sleep and +waking her mind dwelt long on this side of a question +that touched her so nearly. The mixed emotions of the +last few days and the need to keep them hidden, had put +a severe strain on her. And closer contact with Bel +seemed to have rubbed the bloom off life; to have +shaken her faith in the nature of things—— +</p> + +<p> +Her heart, in its loneliness, yearned for the dear +comrade-woman; mother, sister, and friend in one; +who could light up even the dark places of life with +the fire of her brave enthusiasm. Soon they would +all be together, they three: while she, who was +intrinsically one with them, remained out in the cold; +and must so remain—as Bel had smilingly assured +her—to the end of the chapter. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0305"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER V +</h3> + +<p class="intro2"> + "And the land shall leave me or take, and the Woman shall<br> + take me or leave me....<br> + But Life shall hold me alive, and Death shall never deceive me,<br> + As long as I walk in England, in the lanes that let me pass."<br> + CHESTERTON.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +It was accomplished. The faith and courage of +Helen Forsyth had reaped their due reward; and +they three were together at last. But not yet under +one roof. The instant Mark emerged from supposed +extinction, Authority claimed him; and Helen rebelled +a little, inevitably against cast-iron regulations that +withheld her from taking immediate possession of her +own. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile she was thankful, on reaching the +hospital, to find him in a small room with two other +empty beds. Ignoring the chair that had been set for +her, she knelt beside him, her face radiating a silent +benediction. +</p> + +<p> +Prostrate, paralysed, his reddish hair almost hidden +by the cap-like bandage, he lay there smiling his +queer, crooked smile and his lashes were wet with +tears. When one or two of them escaped and ran +down his cheek, she wiped them away with her +handkerchief and leaning over him kissed his eyelids. +</p> + +<p> +He frowned as if vexed at his own weakness, but she +shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +"We needn't think shame of them," she said, +for her own were falling. "It's natural. Just the +blessed reaction. Don't you remember your favourite +bit of Blake? '"Damn" braces, "bless" relaxes.'" +</p> + +<p> +He smiled and pressed the hand he was clinging +to in a fashion that recalled nursery days when some +nightmare had so shaken him that he must hold +her to make sure she was really there. And to-day +in this first, incredible hour of reunion, both +felt unashamedly the childish need of that same +reassurance. +</p> + +<p> +As his hand clung to hers, so her eyes clung to his +face; and she saw now that he was making a desperate +effort to speak. +</p> + +<p> +"No, no. Bad for you, beloved," she said. "I +understand." +</p> + +<p> +But he would not be baulked of achievement; so +strong was the current of new life in his veins. And +the words came at last; though, till they were out, he +could not be sure whether sense or nonsense would +emerge. +</p> + +<p> +"M-Mother—Mums—Home!" +</p> + +<p> +He brought them out, one by one; the last with +triumphant emphasis and a stronger grip on her hand. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—home the first possible minute," she assured +him. "A Nursing Home first, I'm afraid, for some +time. We've been wondering if we could put off the +operation till we get across, as it's been delayed so +long already. The doctor here will see your head +to-night and decide. Of course half our best men are +on the spot. But it might keep us here weeks; and +it's England you want, isn't it, darling,—and Bel?" +</p> + +<p> +He nodded, then suddenly releasing her hand, he +put his left arm round her drawing her down to +him.... +</p> + +<p> +He was still holding her thus when the inexorable +knock sounded on the door. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +That night it was decided that no harm would +arise from a few days' delay: and Authority made +arrangements accordingly; thrusting its ruthless arm +once again between Helen and her son. +</p> + +<p> +For Mark, the mere exigencies of travelling +emphasised his own vexatious helplessness, so that he +understood, for the first time, something of the +monkish attitude towards the body as a despised +and hampering burden, rather than the beautiful +disciplined servant of the spirit: but he was cheered +beyond measure, by the sight and smell of the sea +and the faint salt of it on his lips. For the sea spelt +England: and England—Bel; haloed and idealised, +by this time, beyond the height of mortal woman. +While he lay on deck, delighting in wind-driven +clouds and wind-tossed waters, memories crowded +thick upon him.... +</p> + +<p> +He hated losing sight of Keith and his mother +even for a few hours: but his spirits rose steadily +as the steamer, mysteriously safe-guarded, nosed +her way toward the cliffs of Home. It was still +something of a wonder simply to be back again in the world +of men; to see papers, as a matter of course, and to +know more or less what was happening in that complex +maze of trenches that now cleft France from the +Vosges to the sea and changed the whole character +of the War. Wounded officers, who had heard his +story, came up to congratulate him and stayed to tell +their own experiences. It was good to hear them, +though conversation was a distractingly one-sided +affair: good to see, at last, the white cliffs of Kent, lit +by a frail ray of winter sunshine; to glide up alongside +the familiar quay with its cheering crowd, and to +hear the rough speech of his own people. It was +better still to watch Keith pushing his way through +them all, with a new uprightness and a squarer set of +his shoulders, though the weeks of anxious search had +left their mark on his rugged face. And there, at his +elbow, was "Mums" looking out eagerly for her "boy." +</p> + +<p> +His glimpse of them was brief but reassuring. +Then it was: "See you again in London": and for all +he longed to speed straight to Wynchcombe Friars, +the spell of the great grey city, throned upon its grey +river, under a shifting pall of fog, penetrated, as +never before, to the deep places of his imagination +and his heart. +</p> + +<p> +The squalor of her back alleys was shrouded in +darkness. Her great thoroughfares were dimmed +and emptier than of old. As they drove away from +the station, ragged flakes of snow and sleet were +falling, and sharp against a blurred background +loomed the stately splendour of the Abbey, the +Houses, and Big Ben. For him that shadowy mass of +architecture possessed something of the sublimity +and the aloofness of a great mountain range: and +to-night, above all, it was a vision to lift the heart of +one mere Englishman in thankfulness and praise.... +</p> + +<p> +His destination was a Nursing Home for Officers in +Park Lane—a paradise of ordered comfort and +spotlessness and peace, where the hum of London's +unresting voice sounded scarcely louder than the +breaking of waves upon a stony shore. Here his +mother reappeared to bid him welcome and good +night. She had found rooms, she told him, in a hotel +close by: and—yes, Bel was downstairs waiting for +permission to come up. +</p> + +<p> +A quarter of an hour—no longer, the Nurse decreed. +And presently she came—a vision supremely satisfying +to the eye. Her simple, costly-looking coat and +skirt were only a few shades darker than her hair. +On the brim of her beaver hat rested one yellow velvet +flower; and she wore her amber beads over a yellow +blouse. Every detail had been carefully thought +out; and the result, as she swiftly perceived, was +very much to his taste. +</p> + +<p> +But this new Mark, who in a few short months had +plumbed the heights and depths of human experience, +craved more from the woman he had been sedulously +glorifying than perfect finish of colour and form. +And he could neither utter that craving nor appraise +her with the sugar-plum compliments she loved. +He could only hold out his left hand and smile his +crooked smile. +</p> + +<p> +An attempt to speak her name produced only such +a strange, unnatural sound that she winced, ever so +slightly, and the blood mounted to his face. +</p> + +<p> +Pricked with genuine pity and remorse she swept +to him and caught his hand in both her own. +</p> + +<p> +"Darling—darling, don't try," she said in her +cooing voice of tenderness. "All in good time. +You're a wonder and a miracle to be here at all." +</p> + +<p> +Then—conquering his sudden painful shyness—he +pulled her nearer; and, as she stooped to kiss him, +captured her with his arm. For the moment he asked +nothing on earth but the sense of her living presence, +the soft surrender of her lips. Ecstasy flowed through +him: short-lived, but fiery sweet—— +</p> + +<p> +Loosening his hold, he pulled at her hat. She sat +back on the low chair facing him, removed the hat, +and considered it with critical approval. +</p> + +<p> +"Bought for the occasion!" she explained. "Rather +a gem, isn't it?" +</p> + +<p> +He nodded, smiling, and fingering her beads; and +she, suddenly slipping on to her knees, hid her face +against him. +</p> + +<p> +Comforted exceedingly, he caressed her hair, and +found courage for a fresh effort to speak. This time +he succeeded. +</p> + +<p> +"Beautiful—my Bel," he said slowly. +</p> + +<p> +She lifted her face and smiled at him: flushed but +dry-eyed. "Yes—your Bel. And you're going to shake +off this horror as soon as possible; so that we can stick +to our original date in spite of the war and its +abominations. There—I <i>must</i> go. I hear Nurse coming." +</p> + +<p> +She picked up the precious hat and stood before +the over-mantel pinning it on. Then she sighed. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, <i>won't</i> I be thankful when to-morrow's well +over. Sleep sound, darling, and I'll hope to see you +in the morning." +</p> + +<p> +She kissed him again and vanished with a parting +wave of the hand. And he lay a long while brooding +on the day's events: his body too tired and his brain +too full of impressions for coherent thought.... +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Next morning, before the operation, he had a brief +glimpse of her. Then his mother came, with +Sheila—graver, paler, and, in some indefinable fashion, +lovelier than he seemed to remember her. But of +late her image had been kept well in the background +of his brain: and it smote him now the more poignantly +as if in revenge. +</p> + +<p> +His hand closed firmly on hers and kept it +imprisoned, while she stood there smiling at him through +tears. Yesterday's failure made him shy of attempting +her name. His gaze travelled from her face to his +mother's and back again: and at last he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +"All my thanks—for Mums," he said and with an +abrupt movement pressed her fingers to his lips. +</p> + +<p> +Then he released them and her pale face glowed. +</p> + +<p> +"Mark, don't thank me," she murmured. "It +was simply ... we were everything to each other, +and it helped us to pull through. Some day when +she's not there, I'll tell you just how splendid she +was. And I want to hear about the Nun who wrote +that letter. She must be a jewel. When all this is +well over, we'll have a real long talk!" +</p> + +<p> +And Mark, more than ever enamoured of her +musical voice, felt ridiculously elated at the prospect. +</p> + +<p> +Even this unsatisfactory lop-sided talk was over +too soon: the eminent surgeon had arrived; and +they must surrender him to the saving mercy of +chloroform and the knife. Is the whole enlightened +race of man ever anything but ungrateful to these +grim agents of salvation—at least until the beloved +is safe out of the toils? +</p> + +<p> +Lady Forsyth's heart failed her badly as she stooped +to kiss her son. But seeing the tense set of his lips, +she spoke more bravely than she felt. +</p> + +<p> +"We've no reason at all to feel nervous, darling," +she said low in his ear. "I have Dr. Norton's word +for it. He says your condition's excellent and it +ought to be quite plain sailing. Keith is downstairs; +and we won't leave till everything is well over. God +keep you safe—till I see you again." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0306"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER VI +</h3> + +<p class="intro2"> + "... No longer can I cast<br> + A glory round about this head of gold.<br> + Glory she wears, but springing from the mould;<br> + Not like the consecration of the past."<br> + MEREDITH.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Dr. Norton proved no false prophet. +</p> + +<p> +Ten days later a very much revived Mark lay +propped up in bed, while his mother sat by him, reading +aloud, with emphatic relish, an outspoken article +from the <i>National Review</i>. +</p> + +<p> +The loyal, universal confidence accorded, in August, +to a Government mainly responsible for the failure to +save Belgium, was already on the wane. The political +leopard, it appeared, could not change his spots +even to preserve the British Empire from ruin. +Increasingly the note of criticism replaced the note of +confidence: and to none did the change seem more +ominous than to Helen Forsyth and her son. But +for Mark, at the moment, no larger anxieties could +cloud the joy of regaining his grip on life; of watching +his mother's expressive face as she snapped the thread +of a sentence to acclaim here or denounce there; till +he longed for command of speech to lure her into one +of their arguments that, for her, were at once an +exasperation and a delight. +</p> + +<p> +Words came more readily now; but still at times, +they played him ludicrous and disconcerting tricks, +that were not always matter for mirth. Bel—whose +sense of humour was an uncertain quantity—too +often winced at them; and then they covered him +with confusion or pricked him to momentary irritation +with her. They would pass, he assured her, as the +brain reasserted its full control. The fact that it had +proved to be slightly torn would retard things a little; +but already he began to move his right hand; and in +time recovery would be complete. They must have +patience: that was all. +</p> + +<p> +She proclaimed herself a miracle of patience; but +there were days when he suspected her of being +faintly bored; when her cheerfully persistent injunction +to "hurry up and get well" had, to his sensitive +ear, an almost metallic ring. Work and the war and +the strain of real suffering had wrought inner changes +of which he became gradually aware. The fine film +of hardness, that dismayed Lady Forsyth, had not +been altogether dissolved even by those first wonderful +days of reunion; and now when she spoke of painful +things, it was fatally apparent to Mark. +</p> + +<p> +He was, in fact, beginning to perceive the woman +beneath the glamour; yet the glamour remained, in +spite of disillusion. Only when he looked into the +future, or was tired and alone, the old distracting +doubts assailed him. For purposes of love-making she +was inimitable. To that end, she was born. For +the larger purposes of wifehood, motherhood, +companionship:—well, he had chosen her and he must take his +chance—— +</p> + +<p> +And all the while, he tried not to be aware that he +was watching for one face, waiting for the "real long +talk" she had promised him. Others came with +increasing frequency; but she never reappeared. What +was wrong? The uncertainty grew distracting; but he +felt reluctant to speak of her, these days; and when at +last, he achieved a casual question to his mother, +nervousness made it one of his failures. +</p> + +<p> +"Where is—become—Colette?" was the conundrum +that emerged. +</p> + +<p> +"I wrote to her, dear," Lady Forsyth answered, +pleased at his remembering. "But I haven't heard +yet." +</p> + +<p> +He frowned impatiently. "D-damn it! I mean—Sheila?" +</p> + +<p> +Then he learnt that her mother had claimed her for +work at Westover Court, where a number of half +convalescent nervous cases were in need of massage +and Mrs. Melrose was short of skilled hands. +</p> + +<p> +"Sheila is quite wonderful at it," Lady Forsyth +added. "A genuine gift. More magnetism than +massage, I verily believe." +</p> + +<p> +Mark smiled at her enthusiasm, but asked no more +questions. His belated discovery must not be +suffered to get out of hand.... +</p> + +<p> +So far, he had been a very saint for patience. But +as vigour increased, irritability increased also. In +certain moods, the monotony, the dependence, the +rubber-tyred routine of the hospital existence irked +him to exasperation; and if he were alone with Keith +he would let off steam, in an outburst of wholesome +profanity. +</p> + +<p> +He did his best not to upset the women; but when a +rare fine day flung panels of sunshine across the carpet +and a frolic wind set the blind-tassels tap-tapping on +the windows he felt like a caged thing. No garden +here, as in France, where at least he could commune +with trees and sky: and it was no garden he wanted +now. It was the road or the heather underfoot; +the wilds of Hampshire, the rolling hills of his native +Argyll; the sea-salt and heather-fragrant air that, for +him, was like no other air on earth. He wanted simply +to walk and walk, world without end; only Bobs for +company; Bobs, who most certainly was not forgetting +his master, though he was accepting with true canine +philosophy the homage paid him by the house of +Russell. +</p> + +<p> +One night he dreamed of a kingly tramp among +the hills and glens beyond Inveraig: Keith walked +beside him, while Bobs put the fear of God into rabbits, +visible and invisible. +</p> + +<p> +So vivid was the dream that he awoke with the dog's +bark and Keith's voice sounding in his ears—woke to +find he could scarcely shift himself in bed without help. +The contrast jarred so painfully that he cursed that +delusive dream and decided to ask a few straight +questions when Dr. Norton came, if his unruly +member would permit. +</p> + +<p> +They had subjected him to a thorough overhauling +the day before: but of information not a crumb could +he extract from them, beyond vague encouragement +and counsels of patience. And this morning he fared +very little better at Dr. Norton's hands. +</p> + +<p> +Norton was a lean tall man, with a humorous +grey-green eye and, on occasion, a slightly caustic +tongue. He had taken a great liking to this virile, +sensitive patient of his; who could thoroughly enjoy +a joke at his own expense. But, for all that, even +Mark's direct demand for enlightenment failed to +entice him from the cautious reserve of his kind. +</p> + +<p> +"My dear Sir Mark," he said, a gleam of sympathy +in his grave eye, "it's hardly fair to fling leading +questions at men whose reputation might not be +worth an hour's purchase if they took to scattering +inaccurate prophecies among their patients! The +damage to your brain was slight considering what it +might have been. With that well-seasoned puttee for +a first aid bandage, it's a miracle you didn't die of +septic meningitis within a week. The main thing to +guard against now is nerve trouble: if you let yourself +get worried or uncontrolled. With luck we shall +have you out of bed in a week. But it may be more +like a month before we can let you out of this." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh—<i>damn</i>!" The "good old word of sin" seldom +failed him at command. +</p> + +<p> +"Quite so," Norton remarked in his even voice. +"It's beastly having to lie up when you don't feel ill. +At the same time——" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, of course—all those other chaps," Mark +broke in, feeling suddenly very much ashamed of +himself. "Lucky enough getting away—intact. I won't +worry. I'll—what's it they say out there—carry on!" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +But for some reason—whether because of his dream +or because of Dr. Norton's guarded statement, +that morning marked a point from which his hopefulness +flagged; and the atmosphere about him seemed +to suffer some indefinable change that gave Norton's +injunction not to worry a slightly satirical tang. +</p> + +<p> +He became too keenly conscious of sympathy in the +air; and the more tactfully it was implied, the worse it +jarred. His kind, attentive Nurse seemed suddenly +kinder, more attentive. His mother's lively humour +sounded, at times, a trifle strained. More than once +he caught his mother gazing at him with a yearning +wistfulness that he had either not noticed or not +encountered before. She managed to laugh it off; but +it haunted him afterwards. +</p> + +<p> +Worse than all, he detected a fine shade of difference +in Bel: at times a hint of constraint in her manner +that he tried to dismiss as pure fantasy; at times, a +passion of affection, very rare with her. There was +less of mere lovers' talk between them now: and in the +intervals, a paucity of common interests was revealed. +Very often she would read to him; and her visits were +growing less regular. Some days she did not come at +all; but sent a hurried affectionate note of excuses, +lean diet for a man who needed companionship as +never before. +</p> + +<p> +And Sheila, except for an occasional letter, appeared +to have deserted him utterly. +</p> + +<p> +He put up with this state of things for a week: +during which time his arm and speech made good +progress towards recovery. Then, suddenly, his +patience gave out and he decided to tackle Keith, +the only one whose bearing had suffered no perceptible +change. +</p> + +<p> +Keith had been away for a few days at Montrose; +but he was due in Town that morning: and he came +straight from the station to Park Lane. +</p> + +<p> +He looked noticeably tired and worn: but Mark, +just then, was fiercely intent on his own +determination to be rid of half truths. +</p> + +<p> +"You—you damned lucky devil!" he broke out, +holding on to Keith's hand and searching his eyes +hungrily for knowledge withheld. "Scotland—mountains—the +sea! And I lie here—cursing. How much +taller—" the word eluded him and gesture failed—"Oh, +<i>you</i> know ... yard measure—longer? They +won't tell me. Those infernal doctors. I'm—no +coward. Let's have the damage straight. My legs +... rotten, useless. Don't improve." +</p> + +<p> +Keith shook his head, pain unconcealed in his eyes. +Then he sat down by the bed and faced the ordeal +thrust upon him. +</p> + +<p> +"The chances are—they won't—improve," he +said slowly. "That's the damage, Mark. Your +spine." +</p> + +<p> +Mark set his teeth and was silent. The breath of +tragedy had clean blown out the rushlight of +impatience. Keith hoped that Helen would never see +him look as he looked then. +</p> + +<p> +"I gather they didn't mend matters ... dragging +you to that farm," Keith went on in his low, contained +voice. "Not their fault, poor fellows. Very bad +ground, Macgregor said; and they were wounded +and under fire. But the result is—a lesion——" +</p> + +<p> +"Lesion," Mark repeated frowning with the +effort of thought. "Medical stuff. In plain English +... I'm done for ... physically. That it?" +</p> + +<p> +Keith was silent a moment. "That's ... about +it: so far as they can tell at present. But there's just +a possibility of gradual improvement. A very slow +business. And, at best, Dr. Norton fears recovery +would only be partial——" +</p> + +<p> +"Thanks very much." +</p> + +<p> +The quiet courtesy of his tone pierced Keith to the +heart. He would infinitely sooner have heard Mark +swear. The swearing was bound to come, soon or +late, and it would be a relief for both. +</p> + +<p> +At present, he merely closed his eyes and lay +silent a long, long while, facing naked and unlovely +facts with his vivid, forward-looking artist's brain.... +</p> + +<p> +Some fool had once said: "<i>Never</i> is a long word"; +but no word ever coined was interminable enough to +suggest the unnumbered army of days that threatened +him—that was the literal effect—between seven +and twenty and the merciful end of all. Try as he +would, he could not believe in it—yet. +</p> + +<p> +And the others—they had known it a week or more. +It must have been hell for them; and it explained +everything. Most startlingly, it explained—Bel. If +she had seemed, on occasion, to weary of an invalid +lover, what manner of use would she have for a +husband chained to a wheeled chair? Had he any shadow +of right to hold her—now? +</p> + +<p> +Unable to endure the torment of thought, he +opened his eyes. Keith still sat there, one elbow +on the bed; his hand across his forehead shutting out +the vision of Mark's face. +</p> + +<p> +"Keith, old man," he said, and Keith looked up with +a start. "Don't you worry. I can—stick it. Others, +worse off—eh? Half a life—half a loaf—" He struggled +to complete the connection; and failing, tried to +smile. "Mother?" he asked sharply and Keith drew +in his lips. +</p> + +<p> +"No thought of herself. Only you!" +</p> + +<p> +Then came the word he hardly dared speak. "Bel? +She knows too?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. She knows." +</p> + +<p> +Another long pause: but he forced himself to go on. +</p> + +<p> +"Keith—can I? Ought I—? Must I lose <i>every</i> +thing?" +</p> + +<p> +The words came out in a sudden rush. +</p> + +<p> +"That depends—" Keith answered with slow +emphasis—"on her. Naturally—she is free, if she +chooses. But she has every right to refuse freedom; +to wait ... on the chance.... Picture your mother +in such a case." +</p> + +<p> +Mark pictured her; and knew very well that no +lover of hers, so placed, would have need to fear the +double loss. But Bel—? How imperfectly he knew +her, how utterly unsure he was of her even now. +</p> + +<p> +"Why did they keep it from me?" he asked irrelevantly. +</p> + +<p> +"They were afraid for your head, till the three weeks +were up." +</p> + +<p> +"Weeks?—what are weeks?" Mark murmured. +"Look here—they must leave me alone a bit. Tell +them. An hour or two. I'll ring." +</p> + +<p> +"Very well. I will come again, this afternoon." +</p> + +<p> +Keith held out his hand and their mutual grasp +supplied all racial disabilities. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +They left him alone the greater part of that morning; +alone with the news that had come down on him +like a guillotine snapping his life in two. It struck +him, in his first access of bitterness, that the guillotine +would have been the more merciful fate—— +</p> + +<p> +But the one practical problem of the moment was +Bel. It amazed and hurt him to realise how little he +could foretell her line of action in this cruel dilemma. +Almost, he could see her rising, dramatically, superbly, +to the heroic plane. The difficulty was to see her +keeping it up. Throughout all her past "phases" +he detected that same incapacity running like a fatal +thread. Though it pleased her to pose as a rebel, +her instinctive skill lay, rather, in graceful evasion of +circumstances that threatened to prove too strong for +her. Would she regard a crippled husband as a +circumstance that called for graceful evasion? That +question she alone could answer. And how—and +when was he to ask it? +</p> + +<p> +He could not yet write; and, like all strong natures, +he inclined to the spoken word if anything unpleasant +must be done; but he still felt quite unfit for the strain +of a scene that might end disastrously. He would of +a certainty be tripped up by egregious verbal lapses, +that, at such a moment, would be intolerable. +</p> + +<p> +If she came, however, he must see her and take his +chance. +</p> + +<p> +She did not come; and the uncertainty, following +on the shock of knowledge, was none too good for +his nerves. Dr. Norton advised a sleeping draught +that afternoon and another at night. +</p> + +<p> +These gave him brief and merciful respite from the +torment of thought: but morning brought fresh +realisation, fresh perplexity. It also brought a letter +from Bel. +</p> + +<p> +He scarcely dared open it. Did she know that he +knew? And was she too great a coward to face his +pain? +</p> + +<p> +Her short note answered neither question. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Darling Man," she wrote, "this is to tell you that +Harry and I must run down to Folkestone for three +or four days on account of her work. A big meeting, +for one thing; and she wants me to speak. I'm rather +keen about it. Not so sure I haven't found my real +vocation at last. I looked in yesterday evening to +say good-bye: but Nurse said you were asleep and +not on any account to be disturbed. So the kisses +must be stored up for a few days. Forgive this hurried +scrawl. I'll write again from Folkestone. Always +your so loving Bel." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +He read that "hurried scrawl" several times over +without arriving at any clear conclusion, except the +obvious one that matters must stand over till her +return; unless he could bring himself to write through +his mother, an expedient that did not commend itself, +except as a last resort. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0307"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER VII +</h3> + +<p class="intro2"> + "God's own gifts<br> + Have a devil for the weak.<br> + Yea the very force that lifts<br> + Finds the vessel's secret leak."<br> + MEREDITH.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Bel's maiden speech at Folkestone proved an +unqualified success. Her sweet, well-modulated voice, +hardly suitable for platform purposes, carried well +enough in Mrs. Langton's double drawing-room +where some sixty ardent feminists and pacifists, of +both sexes, were gathered together mainly for the +glorification of woman—as martyr in chief of man's +recurrent lust for slaughter, and as the normal +promoter of peace between nations, whose eyes were +blinded with blood and wrath. +</p> + +<p> +Characteristically, she had concealed from Mark +the real nature of the meeting and the subject-matter +of her own speech. This last, as may be supposed, +emanated from Harry, though declaimed and decorated +by Bel. The Utopian vision of universal peace had +caught hold of her imagination. The fact that the +world's harmony spelt comfort and material prosperity +made a direct appeal to her practical brain: and +now the shadow of her own private tragedy seemed +more than ever to justify her leaning towards those +who denounced as criminal the ruthless indefinite +prolongation of war. +</p> + +<p> +"Woman and War";—the antithesis lent itself +to a rhetorical opening, a study in contrasts: and Bel +made the most of it. War destroys life; woman +creates and beautifies it. War is brutality and +coarseness <i>in excelsis</i>; woman is all tenderness +and grace. War stands for hate; woman for love. +War degrades; woman lifts and inspires. The scope +for contrast was infinite if not always exact. It +would quite spoil the effect to admit that there were +scores of women who had neither the will nor the +power to lift and inspire: scores, like herself, for whom +love was war, as fierce and unsparing as any conflict on +earth. Her concern was not with awkward realities, +but with the success of her speech; and from these +lofty opening flourishes, she swung downward to more +practical considerations. She reminded them that +the patriotic spirit in which the women of England +had worked and endured, through these first bewildering +and terrible months of war, must assuredly +win for them the all-round equality, economic and +political, out of which they had been cheated for so +long.... +</p> + +<p> +There spoke the soul of Harry through the voice of +Bel, vitiating fine service rendered by a perpetual eye +on the ballot-box of the future. But, for the moment, +even the obsession of years paled before her consuming +admiration of Bel in a new rôle. Her address +had been reserved as the finishing touch to a great +occasion, the inauguration of a movement that promised +far-reaching results. For three quarters of an hour +she held her audience—their eyes no less than their +brains; and the culminating burst of applause was +fully as much a tribute to the speaker as to the +speech: of which fact Bel was radiantly aware. +</p> + +<p> +A select company of the audience remained for tea +and talk. Fads and theories flourished. Compliments +rained. And Bel was never happier than in +the limelight of uncritical praise. Between Harry's +open adoration and the joy of achievement, she +was swept for the time being, right away from the +perplexities and tragic issues of her lover's return. +</p> + +<p> +It needed only the unexpected appearance of Rex +Maitland, and his discreet adulation, to complete +her enjoyment. But his polite enquiries about Mark +elicited brief and evasive answers. She had not yet +found courage to tell any one the truth, only excepting +Harry, whose honest sympathy for the man in no way +affected her inevitable opinion as regards Bel. +</p> + +<p> +Maitland was among the still further selected few +whom Mrs. Langton entertained at dinner: and Bel—in +an apricot-yellow gown and her leopard-skin cloak +was admittedly the heroine of the evening. The whole +affair was an experience after her own heart; marred +only by that hovering shadow of tragedy that waited +to engulf her when solitude and darkness left her at its +mercy. +</p> + +<p> +Alone at last in her bedroom, it engulfed her very +thoroughly, blotting out her tinsel triumphs, thrusting +her in upon herself, demanding decisions. +</p> + +<p> +For nearly two weeks she had deliberately evaded +the issue. Now the time for evasion was over. +</p> + +<p> +Mark must already know his fate: and for the last +few days she had been half hoping, half fearing that he +would write, through his mother, offering to release +her from their engagement. Not a word had come; +and to-morrow.... +</p> + +<p> +Mechanically discarding her robe of triumpn, she +slipped on a padded dressing-gown and sank into a +comfortable chair by the fire to confront the situation. +No comfort there; look whichever way she would, it +was all cruel and horrible: fresh proof that the Fates +were in league against her, as always. In her case, +pity for the broken or imperfect creatures of earth was +not akin to love, but to repulsion. It was one of the +chief horrors of this horrible war that it would fill +the world with hundreds of maimed and disfigured +men; perpetual reminders of an event which all sane +people must surely crave to forget. +</p> + +<p> +And now—Mark would be one of them: Mark, her +strong, splendid lover! +</p> + +<p> +To marry him would be to live with a perpetual +reminder of the thing she abhorred: to spend her days +either uncompanioned or tied to his chair. No seasons +in Town: no social triumphs. She could not see +Mark submitting to an invalid existence in London. +He would cling more obstinately than ever to +Wynchcombe Friars. So would the very position and +affluence she craved be robbed of its chief attraction. +She had enough imagination to foresee it all far too +clearly; and the more she looked at the prospect the +less she liked it. The hope of gradual improvement held +out by Dr. Norton, was too distant, too uncertain +to mitigate the tragic actuality that lay like a stone +upon her heart. For the great man had told her +plainly that if, in six months, there was no change +of condition, the case would be hopeless. He +considered improvement possible; but was too cautious +to say more, or to, prophecy how far it might +ultimately go. And vague possibilities were not enough +for Bel. Suppose she did wait six months and +then...? +</p> + +<p> +With a shiver of misery she leaned forward, covering +her face; and tears, that came so rarely, fell from +between her fingers. Too well she knew that the +compound of passion and sentiment which she called +"love," would never stand the strain; and, genuinely +though she sorrowed for Mark, she was many degrees +more sorry for herself. The root of her own tragedy +lay in the fact that now—for the first time in her +varied dealings with men—her heart was seriously +involved; and its promptings did not agree with the +promptings of her brain. +</p> + +<p> +Hitherto it had been an underling; obedient to the +dictates of self-interest, more becomingly designated +common-sense. It had played no leading part in her +swift, dramatic conquest of Mark; in the keen pleasure, +known only to her kind, of luring him from a girl +lovelier and worthier than herself, and with hardly a grain +of coquetry in her composition. Lady Forsyth's obvious +disapproval had been but one stimulus the more: +and, her head having guided her into a delectable +harbour, she had felt, at last, sufficiently secure to let +her heart have its way—with disastrous result. +</p> + +<p> +For, in her own fashion, she loved Mark now, more +deeply and genuinely than she would have believed +possible that day at Inveraig, when she had rejoiced +mainly in the capture of a strong man, against his +mother's wish and probably against his own cooler +judgment. Her triumph had been complete. She +had done more than capture him; she had held him; +and now—no denying it—he very certainly held her. +</p> + +<p> +In his case, absence, and the letters that revealed +unsuspected heights and depths in him, had served to +strengthen that hold; while her own letters were +having the opposite effect on him. Nor had Mark been +mistaken in thinking that she might rise, momentarily +to the heroic plane. For a few exalted days she had +seen herself in the grand rôle; and had almost believed +in her power to carry it through. But Nemesis +pursued her: the Nemesis of her own nature. Invariably +her high impulses had been short-lived; rootless +things, like seeds dropped on stony ground: and this +one had proved no exception to the rule. +</p> + +<p> +Hovering to-night at the cross-roads, vowed to a +decision before she slept, Bel discovered to her cost +that this, the one great choice of her life, was decided +already by the hundreds of minor, careless decisions +that had gone before. Since she had never yet, in +small matters, chosen the path of hardness or +unselfishness, so she could not choose it now. The Greeks, +as usual, were in the right of it: character is fate. +</p> + +<p> +For years, unconsciously, and with keen enjoyment, +Bel Alison had been building up her own tragedy. +Now it turned and overwhelmed her. +</p> + +<p> +But she did not long indulge in the futility of tears. +Very soon her practical mind was at work again devising +pleas that would throw a becoming light on her +quite justifiable, if unheroic, refusal to face marriage +with a husband who must either hamper her at every +turn, or be a cipher in her life. The main points in her +eyes were to do the thing gracefully, to preserve at +least a semblance of being in the right, and, if possible, +to avoid witnessing the pain she could not choose +but inflict. For that reason, his silence troubled her. +It implied either that he meant to do the thing personally +or—not to do it at all. In which case, she would +be driven to take the initiative. That unpleasant +possibility swung her back to her original lament. +It was all cruel and horrible: no escape any where from +pain for herself or him. She felt helpless, like a +squirrel in a revolving cage. +</p> + +<p> +At least she must see him to-morrow and chance +the result. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Better write and be done with it, Mavourneen," +was Harry's counsel next day, when Bel suggested a +train that would allow time to "look up Mark." "It's +a bitter business for the poor fellow losing +everything at a stroke; and I can't believe he's the man to +try and hold you in spite of all. But if he gets making +love to you—well! there's no knowing what might +happen. And there's only one end to the business +that's fair on you. Short and sharp's the kindest way +of it, Bel. It'll only be worse for the both of you if +you let things drag on. Cruel hard enough as it is." +</p> + +<p> +Bel admitted the hardship—and the risk: but she +insisted on the earlier train; and wired to Mark her +probable time of arrival at the Home. Marriage or +no marriage, she wanted simply to feel his arms round +her, his lips on hers again. +</p> + +<p> +At first sight of him, her heart contracted so sharply +that she had need of Harry's warning and vehement +conviction to fortify her own resolve. They had +dressed him and moved him into an arm-chair by the +fire. A fur rug covered his legs. The bandage had +given place to a velvet football cap that hid the shaven +patch on his head. Altogether, he looked more +normal than she had seen him yet. But the change +that smote her was in his face; the look of his eyes as if +some inner light had gone out. +</p> + +<p> +Those first few days of awful realisation as regards +himself and bewildering uncertainty as regards Bel +had told upon him visibly. The strong outline of his +chin and jaw seemed sharper. When he was not talking +or smiling the strained expression of his lips was +pitiful to see. And his greeting, for the moment, +unnerved her utterly. +</p> + +<p> +"Bel,—at last!" he cried, a queer ring in his voice, +and held out his hand. +</p> + +<p> +She came to him swiftly and half flung herself on +him kneeling beside his chair. Very seldom in her life +had she felt tongue-tied: but just then speech seemed +the last impossibility. And when she closed her +eyes the feel of his rough Norfolk coat against her +cheek carried her sharply back to days of cool, +assured conquest at Inveraig. If <i>only</i> she had +known!—— +</p> + +<p> +Very sorely she began to wish that she had followed +Harry's advice. For, though head governed heart, +she was, like most egoists, a sentimentalist at the core. +Evenly balanced on the knife-edge between pain and +pleasure, she leaned against her lover, expecting, +yet half dreading the word that he, poor man, was +doing his utmost to speak. +</p> + +<p> +So far he had said nothing to any one of the facts +wrung from Keith a few days ago. With his mother +there had been no need. Neither could have borne it: +and their understanding was complete. The mute +sympathy of his Nurse no longer jarred: and his few +recent visitors had continued to maintain a tactful +silence. Detailed talk on the subject would hurt +like salt on an open wound. It would also involve +the inevitable scene, so distressful to his shaken +nerves; and still, at critical moments, there lurked +the dread of making ludicrous mistakes. +</p> + +<p> +But the main stumbling-block was Bel herself. +Her flight to Folkestone—he did not believe in the +importance of that meeting—had convinced him that +retreat was simply a prelude to graceful acceptance +of her freedom. Yet here she was, incalculable +as ever, making passionate love to him: her lips mutely +attesting, "I am yours, in spite of all!" +</p> + +<p> +Every minute of silence, every fresh kiss, made +things harder for Mark. The mere glamour of her +most strangely out-lasted his own clearer vision. After +four of the worst days he had ever lived through, it +was undeniably refreshing, if only because it made no +demands on the higher centres of his brain and soul. +But it engendered neither true emotion nor response. +It was a pure anodyne; and as such he frankly +recognised it. +</p> + +<p> +Conversely, Bel's emotion had so genuine a ring that +it set him wondering had he after all, misjudged her? +Were there hidden deeps in her that this sharp test +might reach and bring to light? In that case it were +hard to put her aside in the hour of his own greatest +need for the best that woman can give; harder still +to resist her in an appealing vein. +</p> + +<p> +He was mentally unstrung—and he knew it. Not +otherwise could her mere genius for love-making +override his deep and real conviction that in freedom +from her spell lay his sole chance of salvation. That +very conviction made resistance seem unchivalrous; +and he felt utterly unfit for the emotional strain of a +dramatic scene, such as she would instinctively make +out of a noble resolve to devote herself to a crippled +husband. By one of life's ironic twists their positions +appeared to be reversed. +</p> + +<p> +It was not in him to conceive that she was merely +indulging herself to the full because this must be the +end; because, with the innate perversity of her kind +she had never loved him better than now, when her +will was set to give him up. +</p> + +<p> +Mark himself, with the deeper, ingrained perversity +of human nature, felt a sudden distaste for this +exuberance of sentiment, which thwarted his fixed +intent and seemed tacitly to rebuke the secret defection +of his heart. He began to think the thing would +have to be written after all. In any case he needed +time to readjust his mind in view of her possible +refusal to be set free. +</p> + +<p> +To-morrow—perhaps. Any idea of speaking to-day +was "off." ... +</p> + +<p> +She released him at last, and sat back in his mother's +low chair; her ringed hand resting close to his arm. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, fire away," he said in his natural manner. +"I want to know—all that—" a gesture filled the +gap. "Is the latest thing in ... vocations going to +be a thundering success?" +</p> + +<p> +She smiled at the recollection. +</p> + +<p> +"It started well anyway. Compliments were flying." +</p> + +<p> +"What subject?" +</p> + +<p> +"Harry's pet subject, of course! Chiefly glorification +of ourselves. But we women <i>do</i> get the kicks +in war time and precious few of the ha'pence!" Though +she spoke lightly, a shade of bitterness +crept into her tone. "What harm if we make +little tinsel crowns for ourselves just to keep up our +spirits!" +</p> + +<p> +Then, sheering away as from the edge of a precipice +she entertained him with thumb-nail sketches of +Mrs. Langton and her friends and with a judicious selection +of their flying compliments to herself. The longer +she stayed, the harder it became to get up and leave +him—for the last time. She felt convinced now, that +he would not speak; and she did not mean to see him +again. +</p> + +<p> +At last, somehow, she was on her feet, saying she +must go; and when she stooped to kiss him, he +looked searchingly into her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Badly bored—are you?—by your invalid lover?" +he asked, probing her on impulse; but she managed to +laugh it off. +</p> + +<p> +"Boring people is not one of his talents!" she said +lightly, and leaned her head against him. +</p> + +<p> +"To-morrow?" he said in her ear. And she, +humanly inconsistent—could not bear that her last +word to him should be a lie. So, for answer, she +kissed him lingeringly, and made haste to be gone. +</p> + +<p> +On the threshold she turned, for a last look. But +sudden tears blinded her; and, with a flutter of her +hand she left him. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Arrived at the flat, she found supper ready and +Harry impatient, more from anxiety than anything +else. Even now she did not feel quite secure about +Bel. No one ever did. It was perhaps half the secret +of her power. +</p> + +<p> +"Well?" she asked abruptly. Bel shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +"He never said a word." +</p> + +<p> +Crouching on the hearth-rug she drew off her gloves +and held her chilled hands to the blaze. +</p> + +<p> +Harry's eyes scrutinised her fire-lit face. "Perhaps +he doesn't mean to." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh—I don't know. But—I <i>can't</i> go on——" +</p> + +<p> +"Of course you can't. It's horribly unfair on you. +You must write yourself, Mavourneen. Do it +to-night; and get it over." +</p> + +<p> +Bel shivered. "I suppose—I must. But it seems +so ungracious coming from me. And ... it's not +only him. It's the whole thing——" +</p> + +<p> +Her voice broke suddenly and she sank on to the +floor, sobbing passionately, her face hidden in the +empty arm-chair. +</p> + +<p> +Quick as thought Harry was beside her, removing +her hat, clinging to her, murmuring endearments; to +all of which Bel submitted without response. +</p> + +<p> +"You're tired, my precious, and the strain of it all +has upset your nerves. It won't feel half so bad once +you've got it over. You shall have this room to +yourself after supper and I'll post it the minute it's +written. Cheer up and eat something before it all +gets cold. Your poor old Harry will be ever so good +to you——" +</p> + +<p> +Bel raised her head suddenly and shook off the +clinging hands. "Oh, let me alone! You're not a bit +sorry really. You only want me for yourself. But +I'm bound to marry—I <i>must</i> marry. You know that. +Yet you always try to prevent me. If you hadn't +made such an unholy fuss about Geoffrey, we might +have been quite happy together now in Australia. +He was a good fellow anyway; and I would have been +spared—<i>all this</i>. Now I've tasted the best and I'll +have to swallow the second best, with my eyes open +and my heart locked up. It's evidently not safe, even +to fall in love with one's affianced husband. God +knows I've had enough of tragedy——" +</p> + +<p> +With a superbly dramatic gesture she swept to her +feet and left the discomfited Harry kneeling +ignominiously by an empty chair. +</p> + +<p> +But if Harry's devotion was deep, her temper was +short. "And sometimes I think I've had enough of +you, Bel," she flung out, scrambling ungainly from her +knees. "I, that have loved you and slaved for +you—goodness knows why. For all your sweetness, you're +selfish, heartless, ungrateful——" +</p> + +<p> +She broke off, for Bel had vanished into her room +and locked the door. +</p> + +<p> +In her own time, she reappeared—dignified, +unapproachable and polite. But before their half-cold +meal was over, dignity had thawed; Harry's temper +had evaporated and Bel had talked herself into the +belief that her latest evasion was mainly prompted by +consideration for Mark. Since she could not rise to +his level, it were kinder to leave him than to drag +him down. It was a singularly sustaining belief and +it made her ungracious letter much easier to write. +</p> + +<p> +Harry, as good as her word, took a bundle of +pamphlets to read by the kitchen fire, leaving her +alone. +</p> + +<p> +After a little preliminary pacing and framing of +sentences, Bel sat down to her task, steeled outwardly +and composed. Harry was right. Once the thing +was done, past undoing, the worst wrench would be +over. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"My darling Mark," she began in her firm, clear +hand. "I can write that truthfully, in spite of what +I am going to say. It's not lack of love that forces me +to do this hateful thing. It's lack of something much +bigger, which you possess and I most certainly don't. +I knew, the minute I saw your face, that they had told +you. It's the cruelest, bitterest blow that could +have fallen on a man like you. To say I'm sorry would +be simply a travesty of what I feel about it. And +you'll understand now what sort of a purgatory +<i>I've</i> been going through this last two weeks. Let +that be my excuse—if you admit any. +</p> + +<p> +"Mark—I didn't properly love you at Inveraig, but +I do now. And yet—I <i>can't</i> marry you. No use +pretending. I couldn't go through the pain and strain +of it even for the finest man I've ever known. +</p> + +<p> +"I told you, when first this Inferno began, that you +were too big for a mere Bel; that in spite of it I couldn't +let you go. Now, <i>because</i> of it, I must. This war +has shrivelled up all I ever possessed in the way of a +soul. But it seems to have made you stand out bigger +than before. I believe that even this fiendish stroke of +Fate will only crush you for a time. You'll override +it. You and your astonishing mother. Perhaps even +wring some good out of it. That would simply drive +me to the other extreme. People ought <i>not</i> to accept +and glorify horrors like this. It's all wrong. Simply +encourages Kings and politicians to wallow in wholesale +murder for their own ends. +</p> + +<p> +"But this is heresy to you; so no more. If you hate +reading this letter, please believe I've hated writing it. +I thought you might speak this afternoon. But I +expect it was too hard for you, poor boy. And it's +really kinder on my part to do it this way, even though +it <i>seems</i> to put me in an ungracious position. If I saw +you again, I might give way after all, in spite of myself. +But it <i>wouldn't last</i>. A worse tragedy for you. At +least I'm sparing you that. And I'm not returning +your ring. I feel sure you would like me to keep it +with your letters, as a remembrance of the one real +phase in my rather artificial life. +</p> + +<p> +"Will you miss me tremendously, I wonder? But +it's no use thinking of that now. It's all cruel and +horrible for both of us. +</p> + +<p> +"If you ever hear of me marrying, you'll know it is +simply a business arrangement—and no doubt you'll +be very sorry for the man. Enough of this. Good-bye. +Your unworthy but not unloving Bel." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +There—it was done, even to the straight thick line +under her signature with a loop at one end. She +forced herself to read it through, with a critical +detachment, and decided that it could not well be +improved upon. Even the ungraceful thing, she had +managed to do gracefully. There was a gleam of +comfort in that. She felt half tempted to show it +to Harry; but refrained. Harry was allowed to run +out with it, however, though her cough was +troublesome and a fine cold rain was falling. +</p> + +<p> +Alone again, Bel sat down by the fire and tried not +to be aware of a chill emptiness at her heart.... +</p> + +<p> +It was a sharp pang, this parting: the sharpest she +had yet known. But she could and would live it +down. Her invincible common-sense assured her that, +after all, there were other men in the world, moneyed +and titled; that a woman between thirty and thirty-five +was at the zenith of her charm. But something else +told her that men of Mark's quality do not grow on +bramble bushes. Though he could not lift her to his +level, he had raised her standard, if only for a time. +The sort of husband who might have done very well six +months ago would, now, not do at all. More and +more she saw herself as the chief sufferer in this double +calamity. Mark had his own fineness to uphold him. +He had a beautiful home, devoted friends, a mother +who worshipped him, Mr. Macnair, Sheila—— +</p> + +<p> +Though Bel put Sheila last, the thought of her had +come first: and in the private corner of her heart she +was glad that her loss could not be Sheila's gain. +Though Mark might hesitate to set her free, she could +not see him proposing marriage to another woman. +It was her one crumb of consolation. +</p> + +<p> +At the sound of the latch-key in the lock she rose +and went hurriedly to her own room. Harry's +jealous devotion seemed to her suddenly a thing +intolerable—— +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0308"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER VIII +</h3> + +<p class="intro2"> + "There never was to God such worship sent<br> + By any angel in the heavenly ways<br> + As this, that Life has uttered for God's praise:—<br> + This girlhood—as the service of Life said<br> + In the beauty and the manners of this maid."<br> + L. ABERCROMBIE.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +But Mark Forsyth had still a long black road to +travel before he could arrive at mastering calamity, or +even at recognising the very real ameliorations which +Bel had enumerated for her own justification. +</p> + +<p> +During those first staggering days, realisation bit +into him like a corrosive acid, that he had lost, at a +stroke, all the manlier side of life; all free, independent +movement, and the right to hold his promised wife, +even if she willed. More and more he doubted this +last, in spite of recent proof that her love had been +growing deeper precisely as his own had begun to +wane. That was during her absence at Folkestone, +which, in the circumstances, looked like a prelude to +rejection. +</p> + +<p> +And all the while, locked in the depths of his being, +lay the hidden knowledge that he had jettisoned the +real woman for the sake of the tinsel sham and had +discovered the truth too late. He knew now why his +feeling for Sheila had been so curiously unaffected +by his passing passion for Bel. It belonged to the +depths; and there it had lain hidden, like a jewel in a +mine. Once he was blind. Now he saw. War and +its vicissitudes had effectually burnt away the husks +and left the real man—battered, enlightened, enlarged.... +</p> + +<p> +His sole ray of light, since the blow fell, had been one +of Sheila's rare letters, written directly she heard that +he knew the truth. Short and simple as it was, Mark +found in every line of it the inexpressible fragrance of +her spirit, the sure delicate touch of the healer on his +hidden wound. It had given him a passing uplift, +a glimpse of what life might be when the fog had +cleared. At present, it seemed to be choking the life +out of him, converting all his strength to weakness, his +blood to gall. +</p> + +<p> +Sheila wrote that she was still very much tied with +work at Westover. Mr. Nacnair had been angelic +about coming down and giving her first-hand news; but +the moment it was possible, she would fly up to +London for a glimpse of them both. +</p> + +<p> +And on the morning after Bel's return—just as +Mark was beginning to wonder at her non-appearance—the +door opened to admit Lady Forsyth and Sheila, +in squirrel furs, with a bunch of violets in her coat. +</p> + +<p> +"Sheila!" he exclaimed, startled, yet frankly +overjoyed. "Lord—it's like—seeing you suddenly—like a +breath of Hampshire in this confounded London. I'd +pretty well given you up." +</p> + +<p> +"I've been trying to come for nearly a week.—True." She +nodded, beaming on him and unfastening +her violets while she talked. "It seemed hopeless. +Then suddenly, to-day, I saw a free space ahead. +There was no time to cry, 'Look out!' So I just +flew off and nipped into a kind train. And these"—she +held out her violets—"are for you. I wanted to +bring a sheaf of Father's special chrysanthemums. +But I'd have lost the train." +</p> + +<p> +"I prefer these," he said, and under pretence of +sniffing them he touched them with his lips. "Fasten +them—will you? I'm no better than an overgrown +infant." +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head at the faint note of bitterness. +"A very capable infant! And your precious right +hand's ever so much better. There! They look +lovely." +</p> + +<p> +For answer, he merely glanced from the flowers to +her face. Lady Forsyth, standing near the window? +watched the little scene with a yearning ache at her +heart. Now she came forward and patted Mark's +shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +"You shall have her to yourself," she said, "for a +real long talk. I'll do dragon downstairs and keep +Londoners at bay!" +</p> + +<p> +"That's good." +</p> + +<p> +Mark's tone was gravely content. Reaching out, +he drew a low chair nearer to the fire and to himself. +"Sit—Mouse," he said, as his mother moved away. +"Take off your coat. Look as if—you'd come to stay." +</p> + +<p> +She obeyed, more gladly than he knew, and, sitting +down by him, drew a khaki sock out of her bag. "You +must excuse," she said smiling. "We're as bad as the +French Revolution, these days! I'm more or less +responsible for Ralph's men. They feel the cold +cruelly, poor dears! And I don't get overmuch time +now. Mums looks rather strained and tired, doesn't +she?" +</p> + +<p> +Mark nodded. "It's been cruel hard on her—this +business. But she's come through it all ... 'm +what's the confounded word?—a heroine. Has she +said much to you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not much. She knows I understand. We came +very close together ... before." +</p> + +<p> +Mark leaned forward. +</p> + +<p> +"You know, you promised you'd tell me ... all +that. And then—you never came!" +</p> + +<p> +"Dear, I couldn't," she said very low to the heel +of her sock. +</p> + +<p> +He watched her a while in silence; approving the +clear, delicate outline of her profile, the soft-toned blue +of her blouse, and the old lace collar he had given her +two years ago. He knew now how impermissibly +he had been craving to see her.... +</p> + +<p> +"Well, as you <i>have</i> turned up, at last," he said, +abruptly breaking the silence, "tell ... all about it +now. I'm dead sick of myself." +</p> + +<p> +And she told... +</p> + +<p> +For nearly an hour they were left in peace. Not +since that long-ago talk on the terrace, when she had +surprised him by denouncing Bel, had they talked so +intimately or at such length; and for Mark it was the +most satisfying hour he had known since his return. +Both of them, unsuspected by each other, clung +rather desperately to "Mums" as the one topic on +which they could safely draw near together. Then +Sheila wanted to hear about Sœur Colette. This +was not easy matter for Mark, but he achieved it, +after a fashion. He was describing his own abortive +attempt to thank the devoted little nun at parting, +when there came a knock at the door. +</p> + +<p> +It was the maid with two letters for Mark. With a +start—half relief, half vexation—he recognised Bel's +writing. +</p> + +<p> +"May I?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +And Sheila, rising casually, went over to the window +that looked across the Park. This quiet hour +together had been so rare and perfect a gift from the +blue that she could hardly endure to watch him read +a love-letter from Bel. That the girl could dream of +leaving him in his helplessness never so much as +entered her head. +</p> + +<p> +A smothered curse startled her and she turned sharply. +</p> + +<p> +"Mark!" she cried, an irrepressible ring of tenderness +in her tone; but he scarcely heard her. +</p> + +<p> +The Mark of five minutes earlier—her Mark—had +vanished. The man she confronted was of Bel's +making. He had tossed his letter on to his elbow-table. +He sat looking straight before him, his face +set and stern. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh—<i>what</i> is it?" she asked, rooted to the spot by a +feeling that she ought not to be there. No one ought +to see him suffering so. But Mark, dashed from his +haven of content by a great wave of anger and disgust, +was past troubling about any human presence. +</p> + +<p> +"She ... has no further use for me.—That's all," +he said, as if he were speaking into vacancy. "And +yesterday I was fool eno' ... Quite a ... masterly +composition!" +</p> + +<p> +Could Bel have heard that last she would have felt +punished indeed. But it was Sheila who heard +it—Sheila who stood grasping the window-sill, swept by a +tempest of anger scarcely less than his own. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh—she's a coward—a coward!" The words +flashed out involuntarily; and he seemed suddenly to +be aware of her. +</p> + +<p> +"You tender-hearted Mouse," he said, in a changed +voice. "You ... don't understand, eh? But ... it's +natural enough. Inevitable. No one ... but +Mums could be expected ... to have any use for me—now." +</p> + +<p> +To that tragic remark Sheila could find no answer. +Besides, she was fighting back her tears and wondering +desperately, ought she perhaps, to speak of what she +knew? Would it give him the smallest consolation? +Was it fair to kick even Bel when she was down—Bel, +who had taken her all? Fair, or not, the thing was not +in Sheila's nature. She was human enough to wish +that Mark could know—now. But she was not the one +to tell him. +</p> + +<p> +"Thank God—for Mums," she said softly, after a +long pause; and he bowed his head in heartfelt +acquiescence. +</p> + +<p> +The strained hardness had gone from his face. But +the irony of the whole situation was piercing his heart. +Sheila—who would have been staunch through thick +and thin—here alone with him, almost within arm's +length, yet irrevocably, eternally out of reach; lost to +him through his own blind folly. If ever mortal man +endured the torment of Tantalus it was Mark Forsyth +in that hour of bewildered anger and pain. +</p> + +<p> +Sheila, believing him heart-broken, remained near +the window, seeking some inadequate word of comfort, +and finding none. Instinct told her that, for the +moment, silence was best. Probably he was not even +aware of her: while she, startled out of her stoic +self-repression, had never been so intimately, so poignantly +aware of him. +</p> + +<p> +Unconsciously he had clenched his left hand until +the knuckles stood out sharp and white. He sat +staring into the fire with a fixed unseeing look. At +intervals his eyebrows twitched nervously; and sudden +fear seized her lest this blow had fallen on him +before he was fit for the strain. +</p> + +<p> +"Mark," she said at last, very gently, and came +closer to him now. "It simply ... bewilders me; +and it has come at such a cruel moment. But you +mustn't let—things upset you too much. Would +you rather be alone?" +</p> + +<p> +To her surprise he flung out his hand and grasped +her wrist. +</p> + +<p> +"No—no. Don't <i>you</i> leave me!" +</p> + +<p> +Was it fancy,—or was there an under-note of fear +in his tone? The mere possibility pierced her heart. +</p> + +<p> +"Sit down—please," he said abruptly, and released +her. "You've come all this way and I've been +simply——" +</p> + +<p> +He checked himself, and was thankful that she would +suppose he had forgotten a word. "I've been—looking +forward to it for so long. I'll be rotten company. +But do stay...." +</p> + +<p> +He let out a great sigh and she sat by him as before; +but the spell of their happy intercourse was broken. +Bel had come upon the scene, and, as usual, had spoilt +everything. +</p> + +<p> +"I think," she said, "you ought to lie back and rest +a little. Would you prefer ... shall I read?" +</p> + +<p> +"Do. I'd love it." +</p> + +<p> +"What have you got here? ... Roman Rolland?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes: a new one—the '<i>Michel Ange</i>.' It's splendid." +</p> + +<p> +He indicated the page; but first she must arrange his +chair and cushions at a restful slope. Leaning back +he gazed up at her. For a mere instant his eyes lingered +in hers, that had the clear depth and quiet of a +mountain lake. +</p> + +<p> +"Clever Mouse!" he said, in a voice of lazy content. +"And look here, not a word to Mums. She'd rage. +We'll have our afternoon in peace; and I'll tell her +to-night. Go ahead." +</p> + +<p> +Pocketing Bel's letter, he closed his eyes; and Sheila, +between the sentences, could scrutinise his face. +Cheek-bones and jaw and the fine strong curve of the +eye-bone still stood out too sharply; and she noted +with a pang the strained corners of his mouth. +Beneath his surface composure she detected unmistakable +signs of jarred nerves—signs she was learning +to know too well—and a great longing came over her +to soothe him with the touch of her skilled fingers over +his forehead and head. But the very intensity of +her feeling made her shrink from an offer that would +otherwise have been a mere matter of course. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime she must give her attention to Michael +Angelo—— +</p> + +<p> +And it was so that Lady Forsyth found them when +she came to carry Sheila off for lunch. +</p> + +<p> +After his prescribed rest, they returned and had their +afternoon in peace. Though Mark's natural cheerfulness +was still shadowed by his calamity, Sheila—seeing +what she had seen—marvelled at the controlled ease +of his manner. And few could estimate better the +manifold difficulties of self-control. +</p> + +<p> +The moment of parting put an almost equal strain +on both. +</p> + +<p> +"Come again soon, Mouse," he said, with a brave +show of lightness that wrung her heart. "It's done +me good—a breath of country air." +</p> + +<p> +She promised to come, when stress of work allowed, +and she frankly returned the pressure of his hand. +</p> + +<p> +Then—she was gone: and for Mark it was as if the +sun had fallen out of the sky. Alone—with the +haunting sense of her presence, the empty chair, and that +letter in his pocket, a chill conviction crept through +him that life—real life—was over and done with—that +he had reached the dead end of everything. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +His mother, when she reappeared, found him lying +listless and unoccupied, staring into space. As she +came to the fire and drew off her gloves, he glanced up +at her without a word of greeting: a glance that would +normally have hurt her. But, in those days, thought +and feeling were altogether concentrated on him. +</p> + +<p> +"Darling," she said, in a voice that tried not to +sound over-anxious, "you look horribly done up. It +was lovely, wasn't it? But I'm afraid it's all been +a little too much for you." +</p> + +<p> +His answer, spoken in a vehement undertone, jarred +all through her. +</p> + +<p> +"You're right. The whole cursed situation is just +a little too much for me." Then, seeing the startled +pain in her eyes, he handed her Bel's envelope, adding +more gently: "I'm not going off my head. That +came this morning." +</p> + +<p> +She read it slowly, with very mixed feelings, and +Mark's eyes never left her face. The breeze of her +thoughts rippled over it like wind over a pool. But +she did not "rage" as he had anticipated. She +was at once too thankful and too profoundly angered +by the girl's invincible coolness and selfishness to find +relief in mere explosives. +</p> + +<p> +"Well?" he asked, seeing that she had reached the end. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Well!</i>" she echoed, with eloquent brevity. Then, +after a pause: "No wonder that took the virtue out of +Sheila's visit. It's Bel through and through. I can +make no severer comment. And, after all, one detects +a touch of poetic justice. She did it ... before +to hurt you deliberately for her own ends. Now she's +compelled to do it, being what she is. Of course——" +</p> + +<p> +"Mother, be <i>quiet</i>!" Mark's eyebrows twitched +and he raised a commanding hand. "She's in the +right of it. But yesterday ... she never gave me +a chance.... Not likely I should dream of holding +her to... Oh Lord!" He clenched his hand and +closed his eyes, as if to shut out the intolerable truth. +But the enemy was within. +</p> + +<p> +And his mother stood there watching him. Every +nerve in her quivered with his pain as well as her own; +and two great tears rolled unheeded down her cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly Mark opened his eyes; and at sight of her +mute controlled misery, his heart smote him. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Mother</i> ... I'm a graceless beast," he said +slowly. "Thank God—there's <i>you</i>——" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—there's me—always!" With a sharp sob +she fell on her knees beside him and pressed her lips +upon his hand. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0309"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER IX +</h3> + +<p class="intro"> +"Suffer not woman in her tenderness to sit near him in the +darkness. Banish the frailties of hope, wither the relenting of +love, scorch the fountain of tears...."—DE QUINCEY. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Next morning they could speak of it all more calmly. +Mark had slept little and had done some unpleasantly +lucid thinking in the small hours. +</p> + +<p> +"Now—it must be business to-day," he said, when +his mother appeared after breakfast, to read or to write +for him according to his mood. "And first, we must +answer <i>this</i>." +</p> + +<p> +He brought his hand down sharply on Bel's letter. +</p> + +<p> +"Need you?" she asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—I need. I've ... one or two things to say. +My left-hand scrawl's not legible yet; so—you must +write them for me. She won't like that." +</p> + +<p> +It was the first time Helen Forsyth had heard a +vindictive note in her son's voice. +</p> + +<p> +"No," she said quietly; and, opening his despatch-case, +she laid out her materials, while he sat worrying +his moustache. +</p> + +<p> +When she was ready, he dictated in a low, +impersonal tone the "one or two things" that he had +thought out in the small hours. +</p> + +<p> +"Bel, I have your letter. Of course you are free. I +had no other intention. I meant to tell you on Thursday, +but ... I was a weak fool——" +</p> + +<p> +"Mark!" his mother remonstrated; and he frowned +sharply. +</p> + +<p> +"I was a weak fool," he repeated with emphasis. +"Written it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"As it's hard on you losing everything, I am +instructing my solicitors to pay you the £5000 I told +you about. Money is always useful." +</p> + +<p> +At that, his mother laid down her pen. +</p> + +<p> +"My dear boy, it's out of the question. Walker +will think you've gone mad." +</p> + +<p> +"Walker may think what he pleases. He will get his +instructions before he knows the engagement is off." +</p> + +<p> +The set of Mark's face warned her that she was +knocking her head against a wall; but she could not +give in without further protest. +</p> + +<p> +"Darling, do be reasonable," she pleaded. "It's +not fair——" +</p> + +<p> +"Not fair—on whom?" he blazed round at her. +"I'm not despoiling Wynchcombe Friars. And it +isn't as if ... there was any chance—Marriage is +out of the question. And ... it's a bit hard on Bel. +After all, she's lost her husband through the war. +I'm simply treating her as if she was my widow. And +it may save some other luckless chap from ... the +'business arrangement' she proposes to ratify at the +altar. Anyway, Mother, the money's mine, and I +don't feel fit to argue the point. If you won't write +what I want, I must do it through Keith—that's all." +</p> + +<p> +She bit her lip to keep back the futile retort. He +was plainly not himself this morning. Dr. Norton +had warned her of possible nerve complications. +Opposition was useless; probably harmful. And +what did a little money matter after all? +</p> + +<p> +"Of course I'll write what you want, Mark," she +said quietly. "But ... wouldn't three thousand +be enough?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, all right, three thousand," he agreed listlessly, +to her complete surprise. All the fire seemed to have +gone out of him. "Let's get it over. Have you +written everything? Thanks. Give it here." +</p> + +<p> +He read it through, while his mother watched him +with troubled eyes, then slowly, laboriously he +scrawled with his left hand: "Good-bye. Mark +Stuart Forsyth." +</p> + +<p> +"There—that's done," he said, pushing the paper +across the table. "Write instructions to Walker in +my name, will you? I feel fagged out. This cursed +lying up saps all one's energy." +</p> + +<p> +Though her heart yearned over him, she answered +nothing. He needed no cheap word of sympathy +from her. They were one in suffering; and he knew it. +All she could do for him was to be untiring in his +service. +</p> + +<p> +While she went on with her writing, he lay silent +and inert, not even troubling to fill his pipe—an +achievement that had delighted him a few days ago. +</p> + +<p> +Mechanically Helen's pen travelled over the paper; +but she scarcely knew what she wrote, so harassed was +her brain with perplexity and foreboding. She had +hoped much from Sheila's visit, but Bel had stepped in +and spoilt the effect. Just when the first realisation +of his fate was blackening everything, she must needs +rub salt into his wound by dwelling on the pain and +strain which she could not endure. And Mark +responded by heaping coals of fire on her head. It +was maddening of him; but at the moment every +minor consideration was dwarfed by the discouraging +state of his nerves. His alterations between listlessness +and irritability alarmed her. Mercifully, Dr. Norton +was coming to-morrow; and she hoped Keith +would arrive soon. +</p> + +<p> +At the first, far-off sound of his footstep she laid +down her pen. "I'll be back in a minute, darling," she +said, and hurried away. +</p> + +<p> +In the midst of all her anxiety and sorrow, it was a +very real blessing to have Keith back again; and, as +regards Mark, her reliance on him was absolute. To +her, their relation seemed a singularly perfect thing. +She had almost forgotten—in her concentration on +Mark—that he was supposed to be in love with her. +</p> + +<p> +"What's wrong now?" he asked: she was so +obviously thankful to see him. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, everything. Come in here a minute." +</p> + +<p> +She led him into the empty ante-room where +visitors waited; and there told him, in a few trenchant +phrases, the tale of Bel's defection, of Sheila's visit, +and of Mark's change for the worse. +</p> + +<p> +"I suspect he didn't sleep much last night, and I'm +afraid I ... rather ... get on his nerves," she +concluded, with a pitiful quiver of her lip. +"Something fresh is hurting him terribly—something +bigger, I think, than the loss of Bel. Keith ... I'm +afraid ... for his precious brain." +</p> + +<p> +"Don't get thinking that, Helen." Keith's eyes +were gentler than his tone. "How about another +drive? The first was a success. We'll ask Nurse." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, do." Her face cleared. "But I think—unless +he asks for me—I won't come. He can feel +my anxiety—just as I feel his pain. And it worries +him." +</p> + +<p> +"Well—perhaps you're right. You mothers are the +standing miracles of creation." +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head; but his quietly spoken tribute +cheered and comforted her, as he had meant that it +should. +</p> + +<p> +"Nurse" approved the suggestion of a drive, and +Mark assented without enthusiasm. He also accepted +without comment the fact that his mother was not +coming; and she, from the window, watched them go +in a mood of bewildered misery that came very +near despair. Could she have broken down the wall +of Mark's reserve and probed the depths of his hidden +pain, even her fine courage might altogether have +given way. But mercifully man "goes upon his long +business like a blind child...." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +To-day's drive was quite conspicuously not a +success. The first one had come at a happy moment. +But Mark was slipping steadily down into the dark +places of the soul where happy moments are not, +where he would have to fight with beasts—quite as real +and terrible as the beasts at Ephesus—before he could +win again to daylight and sanity and acceptance. +</p> + +<p> +To-day, though the sun shone fitfully and the sky +showed frail patches of blue, his soul was unresponsive, +utterly, to the still small voice of hope. To-day the +mere sight of whole men and women, walking, riding +free to come and go, to feel the good earth under their +feet, stirred him suddenly to such a fury of rebellion +that he felt as if his brain would burst. +</p> + +<p> +Bombs! That was what he wanted. Bombs to +hurl right and left into that complacent crowd, that +talked "war" and "atrocities" and "the Christmas +truce," and knew nothing about it all—nothing +whatever. Why were there no bombs? It was +scandalous mismanagement—— +</p> + +<p> +By some queer freak, the taxi had become a trench +and the complacent Londoners were Germans—swarms +of them. One couldn't imagine Germans otherwise +than in swarms. And there was only one way to +prevent these swarms from overrunning the earth:—shells +and guns, unlimited shells and guns. When the +deuce would Home Authorities even begin to wake up...? +</p> + +<p> +At this point the Germans vanished; the trench +was a taxi again, and Mark glanced furtively at Keith +as if to see whether he had noticed the transformation. +But Keith had merely seen the outer Mark sunk in an +unnatural apathy that seemed to confirm his own +worst forebodings; and now, in response to that +questioning glance, he smiled his tranquil, rather tired +smile. +</p> + +<p> +"A nice change getting out into the open, eh, old +man?" he said. "In a few months' time you may be +handling your own car." +</p> + +<p> +"Think so?" A flicker of interest sounded in +Mark's tone. +</p> + +<p> +"Quite possible, I should say. When that day +comes we'll go round recruiting again—you and I." +</p> + +<p> +Then, having caught Mark's attention, he dilated +a little upon that vexed question, and ventured a pious +hope that some day, something—perhaps Zeppelin +bombs in Downing Street—would convince a Government, +presumably anxious for victory, that, in war, +time spelt not merely money but infinitely precious +human lives. +</p> + +<p> +Mark gave the matter his polite consideration, +though it seemed to him curiously remote. Keith was +doing his best. They all were; but none of them had +a glimmering idea of the Sheila complication, or of +what the whole thing meant—for him. Just as well, +perhaps. +</p> + +<p> +He felt half ashamed, now, of the sudden rage that +had possessed him; and that brief vivid delusion had +startled him not a little. He must "hang on to +things" firmly or it might recur. +</p> + +<p> +He hung on, accordingly, till the drive ended and +they carried him up to his room, haunted now by +Sheila's presence. His mother was out; and Keith, as +luck would have it, began to talk of Sheila and to sing +her praises, till Mark could endure it no more. His +brows twitched and he hung on to things with desperate +tenacity. But it was useless. Keith, in the +kindness of his heart, was jabbing nails into him: +driving them home—— +</p> + +<p> +For a time Mark bore it in semi-silence: then, to +Keith's consternation, he suddenly and very +completely let himself go.... +</p> + +<p> +For close on half an hour he cursed everything and +everyone, more especially the devoted Macgregor, +whose superfluous zeal had saved him from extinction. +He raged against his dependence on others, against +the broken life ahead of him, with a terrible fluency +and command of language that Keith had not heard +from him since full power of speech returned. +</p> + +<p> +To interrupt or reason with him were worse than +useless: moreover, Macnair knew that, for a man of +Mark's passionate nature, some such explosion was +inevitable, and he devoutly hoped it might bring relief. +Much of it, both in manner and matter, was so foreign +to the true Mark, that Keith found it all unendurably +painful. Yet he endured; and at intervals said what +he could, which was little enough; first, because he +was a tongue-tied Scot; second, because Mark was in +no condition just then for comfort of any kind. +</p> + +<p> +Slowly the storm died down to disconnected mutterings +of apology and self-disgust; and the sound of his +mother's footstep without silenced him altogether. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh Lord! Here's Mums," he murmured, and +Keith did not fail to notice the worried look in his eyes. +"Don't go, old man. And for God's sake—don't +give me away." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Is</i> it likely?" Keith asked, with a reproachful look. +"She has more than enough to bear." +</p> + +<p> +Words and tone had their intended effect. When +his mother appeared, Mark achieved a smile. +</p> + +<p> +She came to him and kissed his forehead. +</p> + +<p> +"Had a nice drive?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, a damned delectable drive!" he answered with +a short laugh. "Beastly unfair on Keith, dosing +him with an hour of my society." +</p> + +<p> +"You shut up," Keith commanded sternly; and +Helen, seeing that something had gone wrong, made +haste to change the subject. +</p> + +<p> +Keith took her out to lunch and had a good deal to +say about the political situation. Then, the day being +Saturday, he insisted on a Symphony Concert. He +further insisted on ringing up Sir John Forsyth—who +happened to be in town—and asking him to look in on +Mark for tea. Helen never liked him better than in +these occasional autocratic moods. Too often +nowadays the one thing she prayed to be delivered from +was a decision, no matter how trifling; and at such +times the masculine note of command was restful +beyond belief. +</p> + +<p> +So she went with him to the Queen's Hall; and +Beethoven's music flowed like a river of healing over +the bruised places of her heart; and when they +returned to Park Lane, Sir John began insisting also. +</p> + +<p> +This, though she never guessed it, was equally +Keith's doing. +</p> + +<p> +Laura, he said, had given him strict injunctions to +bring Helen back for dinner. "Quite quiet," the +Admiral assured her, seeing hesitation on her face. +"Only ourselves and the Desmonds. He's up on +some recruiting business. Age cannot wither him. +Wonderful fellow!" +</p> + +<p> +"But—Mark," Helen murmured, glancing at her +son, who seemed lost in his own reflections. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll spend the evening with him," Keith struck in. +"Nothing I should enjoy better." +</p> + +<p> +Mark, who was listening fitfully, greeted that +statement with a grimace and a faint, very faint, +twinkle in his eye. The eclipse of his humour was, +to those who loved him, a bitter thing; and, in Keith's +opinion, a bad sign. +</p> + +<p> +It was certainly not in evidence that evening. The +afternoon's explosion seemed to have flung him to the +other extreme. He smoked pipe after pipe without +volunteering a word; and Keith, watching him +unobserved, grew more anxious than ever. Towards the +end, after a long silence, he suddenly leaned forward +and gave Keith a straight look. +</p> + +<p> +"I've got it!" he said, with decision. +</p> + +<p> +"Got what, old chap?" Keith asked, feeling +seriously alarmed. +</p> + +<p> +"A priceless sentence of Robert Louis'—rather apt +for the occasion," Mark answered; and Keith broke +into a low laugh of relief. "It's been wandering in +my head, bits of it. Couldn't piece them together. +Now it's come straight. 'When we have fallen +through storey after storey of our vanity and +aspiration, and sit rueful among the ruins, it is then +that we begin to measure the stature of our +friends.' Struck me I'd been ... measuring yours to-day. +Understand?" +</p> + +<p> +"I do understand." Keith was too deeply moved +to say more. +</p> + +<p> +"Not quite so crazy, am I, as I sounded this afternoon," +Mark went on, with a pathetic pride in his own +achievement. +</p> + +<p> +"Not a bit of it! If you can quote R.L.S. verbatim, +you'll do all right, in time." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—in time." Mark let out his breath and +leaned back against his cushions. "Meanwhile +I—'sit rueful among the ruins.' And you must +make allowances, you ... people." +</p> + +<p> +At that, Keith rose abruptly; it was time to be gone. +</p> + +<p> +"My dear fellow," he said, and laid a hand on +Mark's shoulder, "we're ready to make all the +allowances on earth. Only—" a pause—"as far as you +can ... be merciful to your mother." +</p> + +<p> +Mark sighed. "Mums? Yes—that's the difficulty. +Women are the deuce." +</p> + +<p> +"A few of them," Keith remarked with quiet +emphasis, "are about all the visible guarantee we +have that—there's a God in heaven!" +</p> + +<p> +Then he took his leave, feeling a shade less anxious, +but determined to be on the spot next morning and to +see Dr. Norton when he came. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Sleep sound, old chap," was his parting injunction; +but the brief snatches of sleep that came to Mark in +the early hours of the night were robbed of all healing +influence by dreams—hideous dreams, such as he had +not suffered from since his earlier days in the Red Cross +barn. Vividly he saw again that mound of earth, in +the moonlight, and the leg that would not be still; +and again, in imagination, he crept out into the open, +caring nothing for risks if only he could quiet that leg +or release its owner. +</p> + +<p> +Up to this point, the dream was always the same. +It varied only in its culmination. And to-night +there sprang from behind the mound a colossal German +with nails like talons and eyes like live coals. +But when Mark would have sprung at him he found +himself paralysed; while the Thing under the mound +whimpered for help, and the Creature—a very +Apollyon—loomed nearer every moment.... +</p> + +<p> +Miraculously, he shook off that nightmare rigidity. +He was locked in a suffocating death-grapple. The +Creature's breath scorched his face; and, with a start, +he awoke, shivering, beads of cold sweat upon his +forehead. +</p> + +<p> +"My God!" he breathed, between horror and relief, +and promptly switched on the light. It was just +after one o'clock; but sleep and the desire of sleep +were gone from him. +</p> + +<p> +To quiet his mind and cleanse it of fear he tried +reading a few pages of <i>Michel Ange</i>. It was useless. +His eyes followed the words but, although he +understood them, they made no connected impression on +his brain. +</p> + +<p> +With a sigh he gave it up, switched off the light +and lay there, open-eyed, hour after hour, watching +two panels of moonlight shift slowly across the carpet, +climb the wall, lessen and vanish as the moon swung +westward. Outside, the companionable hum of +traffic grew fainter; ceased altogether; and left him at +the mercy of his increasingly bitter thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +Too clearly he foresaw the peculiar trials of his +hampered, restricted life; devoid of freedom, devoid +of movement, save such as he could accomplish in a +wheeled chair, or a motor—perhaps. To a man of +independent spirit and immense physical vigour, the +prospect was intolerable; and the glimmer of hope +on the horizon was too dim to pierce the fog that +shrouded his spirit. Better a shattered limb, that +could have been replaced, than this hulk of useless +bone and sinew. Even now he could not grasp the +fact that in all probability, he would never stand +squarely on his feet again—— +</p> + +<p> +And that was only a part of the tragedy: the rest +was entirely of his own making, which did not mend +matters—rather the reverse. +</p> + +<p> +In the silence, one reiterate sentence kept hammering +at his brain: "All along, I have been a fool—worse +than a fool. All along, Mums has been right." +</p> + +<p> +Forcing himself to travel backward through the +years, he saw, now, how obviously it had been Sheila +from the very beginning; so obviously, that he had +taken things almost too much for granted. She and +Mums were his life. He had asked nothing better; +and having them constantly with him, he had scarcely +given a thought to marriage. On the whole, he had +preferred his freedom. Marriage could wait. +</p> + +<p> +It was her sudden departure from his horizon and +her charming letters—she was fairly communicative +on paper—that had set him thinking seriously of her, +dreaming of her, longing to see her again. That year +of her absence had seemed a rather blank year. +</p> + +<p> +Then—she had come back.... +</p> + +<p> +He remembered very well that moment of meeting; +the stir in his veins; the new touch of shyness between +them, and the light in his mother's eyes. He understood +it all now. She had been watching her dearest +dream come true. +</p> + +<p> +Soon after that he had found himself wondering—did +Sheila, by any chance, care? Or was it chiefly +Mums? And was he no more to her than Ralph? +</p> + +<p> +At that point—with a suddenness, a swiftness of +which he now felt half ashamed—Bel happened to +him. There is no other word for it. She came, +smiled, conquered; and for a time he was translated; +no longer master of his destiny and very hardly master +of himself. +</p> + +<p> +Living again through those plays, he began to suspect +that from the first her effect on him had been +conscious, deliberate. There was no true simplicity in +her. Yet with what engaging charm she could affect +simplicity, the better to secure her hold on him. +</p> + +<p> +Since his return, since he had been able to see her as +she was, he had perceived that she represented, in subtle +gracious guise, an appeal which, in its more obvious +forms, he had successfully withstood. For this, for +the glamour, the unsatisfying charm of the mere +courtesan—so he labelled her in his bitterness—he had +flung aside a real woman; one of the few, as Keith +had said, who are a visible guarantee of God. He had +dropped the substance to catch at a shadow: and +now, too late, the horrors and splendours of war, the +shining faith and saintliness of one small French nun, +had renewed a right spirit within him and opened +his eyes to the truth. +</p> + +<p> +It was the cruelest knowledge of his life. Even +the crippling of his manhood seemed a small thing +beside that other loss for which he alone was to blame. +</p> + +<p> +Strange how vivid was the feel of her in absence! +How near she had drawn to him in France! And +Bel, not seen, eluded him utterly. Proof—he knew +it now—that she was but the fair semblance of reality; +while Sheila, like the King's daughter, was "all +glorious within." Six months ago, she might have been +his for the asking. And she would have stood by him, +stood by him to the end—— +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Towards morning, he slept heavily for an hour; +and woke with a dead weight on heart and brain: a +weight, beyond his power to shift, that seemed steadily +pressing him down, down into the depths—— +</p> + +<p> +In this state Dr. Norton found him; and, after some +fifteen minutes of very lop-sided talk, he said +decisively: "Sir Mark, I've come to the conclusion we +can't keep you here your full time. The sooner we +get you out of Town the better." +</p> + +<p> +"Home?" Mark asked, a glimmer of hope in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm afraid—not yet. But a move in that direction. +'Mavins,' in Surrey; a beautiful old place. Perhaps +you know it?" +</p> + +<p> +Mark nodded. +</p> + +<p> +"Sir Howard Meredith has given it over to convalescents +like yourself, who need mental as well as physical +healing. I'll ring them up. Move you to-day, if +possible. You'll go quite comfortably by motor +ambulance." +</p> + +<p> +"Thanks." +</p> + +<p> +The veil of indifference had fallen again. "Anything's +preferable—to this." +</p> + +<p> +"Cheer up, then, and give yourself a chance," +Norton commanded briskly; but he walked down +the passage with an anxious line between his brows. +</p> + +<p> +He found Macnair and Lady Forsyth in the sitting-room, +and wasted no words in vain preliminaries. +</p> + +<p> +"My patient's all to pieces," he announced bluntly. +"Nerves in a rotten state. What have you been +doing to him these two days?" +</p> + +<p> +Helen briefly explained the situation and Bel's +latest move. +</p> + +<p> +As the doctor listened, anxiety gave place to anger. +</p> + +<p> +"Good Lord! As if he hadn't enough against him! +I've distrusted that young lady and her silky manners +from the start. Seen too many of her kind, in hospitals, +smoking cigarettes with wounded officers, under +the impression that they are doing their 'bit' for their +country. He's well rid of her; but this is a critical +moment for any fresh upset." +</p> + +<p> +He proceeded to unfold his plan; and to them he +explained more fully that "Mavins" was more a home +for nerve-shattered officers. There Sir Mark would +be in the best possible hands; noted specialists, +professors of psychology; and there was no reason to +suppose that he might not pull round completely, in +time. +</p> + +<p> +"We'll move him to-day if we can," Norton +concluded, addressing Lady Forsyth. "His best chance +just now is to get right away from everything and +everyone associated with this business; +especially—from you!" +</p> + +<p> +She managed to smile. "Oh, I know, I'm the +fatal one——" +</p> + +<p> +"Because he cares for you most," Norton reminded +her in a gentler tone. Then he went off to make the +necessary arrangements. +</p> + +<p> +After a good deal of telephoning, matters were +settled. Mark would leave in the early afternoon. +Dr. Norton, meanwhile, had discovered that Macnair +was a personal friend of Professor Langton, the great +psychologist. On the strength of this he proposed +that Keith should go down with Mark and stay a few +days till he felt settled in his new surroundings. +</p> + +<p> +Mark, himself, took no visible interest in it +all. He seemed to have slipped hopelessly out of +reach. +</p> + +<p> +After lunch his mother came in for a few minutes +to say good-bye; and there on his table lay an open +note in Bel's handwriting. For a moment it startled +her: then she remembered his quixotic gift. +</p> + +<p> +"May I?" she asked, and he nodded. +</p> + +<p> +Bel's acknowledgment was brief and, as usual, +effective. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Coals of fire on my head. How exactly like you! +And—what can one say, except that my utter +unworthiness is the measure of my gratitude.—BEL." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Posing to the last!" was Lady Forsyth's enraged +reflection. "That's the best place for it," she said +aloud; and tearing it across, she flung it in the fire. +</p> + +<p> +Mark, leaning back against his cushions watched +it burn. +</p> + +<p> +Helen was watching his face. It showed no glimmer +of feeling. Then, anxiety and curiosity so pricked +her that she ventured a question. +</p> + +<p> +"Darling," she said, a hand on his shoulder, "I'm +puzzled. Is this fresh trouble—altogether Bel?" +</p> + +<p> +"N—no. Not the way you mean. Still—she's +responsible——" +</p> + +<p> +His brows twitched. He seemed to force the words +out, frowning at the fire. +</p> + +<p> +Then, unexpectedly, he looked up at her, a strange, +wild light in his eyes. "Mums, it's—oh God! ... It's +<i>everything</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +To that heart-piercing cry there could be only one +answer. Stooping over him, she kissed him, holding +him close; and he, with sudden fervour, returned her +kiss, clutching her hand as if he could not bear to let it +go. +</p> + +<p> +So they parted, with never a word; and her +question remained unanswered;—the puzzle still +unsolved. +</p> + +<p> +Keith went with him, as arranged. Sheila was +presumably chained to Westover; and Helen, with +heart and hope near breaking-point, was left utterly +alone. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0401"></a></p> + +<h2> +BOOK IV +<br> +VIA LUCIS +</h2> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER I +</h3> + +<p class="intro"> +"So shall he read elder truths, grand truths, fearful truths. +And so shall our mission be accomplished, that from God we had—to +plague his heart till we had unfolded the capacities of his +spirit."—OUR LADY OF SORROWS. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Mavins, like Wynchcombe Friars, was set upon a +ridge; but the house was comparatively modern and +here was no falling and rising sea of pine-tops splashed +in dark foam against the sky. Lawns and shrubberies +ended in a low brick wall matted with arabis and +aubretia. And beyond the wall lay Surrey, and +again more Surrey, merging into Sussex: gentle +undulations, interlacing ridges and, in the clear +weather, the sweeping line of the Downs, mistily +blue along the horizon. When the wind was in the +south, Sir Howard Meredith would call upon his visitors +to note the whiff of sea-salt in the air: and those +who were sufficiently imaginative would scent that +phantom whiff with enthusiasm. +</p> + +<p> +But there was, now, no host at Mavins, though +there were many guests. For Sir Howard had entirely +devoted his beautiful place to those that—excepting +prisoners—were perhaps the saddest aftermath of war +as conceived and waged by modern Germany: men +broken in nerve and spirit; strong men, shaken by +dreams and delusions, who dreaded the night and +cried out in their sleep; men, who sat alone and +wept, quietly, hopelessly, because their manhood was +gone from them, and with it, their power of +self-control. One there was, a mere boy of two and +twenty, crazed permanently, the doctors feared, +because he had seen a lad of his own platoon crucified +with indignity by German soldiers; and—he could not +forget. That was the secret torment of so many who +came out of the trenches seemingly unscathed:—they +could not forget. Mark knew. It had been the +chief of his own troubles in that backwater in France. +</p> + +<p> +Yet now, for a time, under the deadening influence +of nervous depression, he lived and moved among +these tragic fellow-sufferers almost as though they +were not. The first few weeks of isolation from all he +loved, drifted by like a timeless, colourless dream. +He seldom opened a paper or troubled to read his +letters. He wrote none, and hardly a trace remained +of his keen interest in the war. He learnt with +blank indifference, that the Russian "steam-roller" +was rolling to some purpose through Galicia, that the +first Zeppelins had arrived in England and dropped +bombs on the east coast. Even the more personal +news of Ralph's gallant death in action scarcely +seemed to reach him. +</p> + +<p> +It was the crazed boy and his story that gave him +the first sharp twinge of pain—herald of returning life. +</p> + +<p> +He heard it from Honor Lenox, Maurice's elder +sister. She was at Mavins that winter, doing V.A.D. work, +to which she had devoted herself unremittingly +since the outbreak of war. As hospital orderly, +she had been through the siege of Antwerp and the +retreat upon Ostend. She had ministered to stunned +and starving refugees, had earned conspicuous +distinction in advance ambulance work, and had lately +been decorated by the King. A brief collapse, +following on those strenuous months in Flanders, +obliged her for the moment, to be content with lighter +work at home: and Mark, on arrival, had been +practically given into her charge. +</p> + +<p> +She was a tall, plain girl, strikingly plain: with +her father's rough-cut features and clear northern +eyes. The two were already acquainted: and Mark, +in his present mood, found refreshment in her +bluntness and dry humour and strong, unbeautiful face. +The normal Mark did not suffer plain women gladly. +But at the moment it was Honor's chief asset that +she was neither fair, fascinating nor conspicuously a +woman. The revulsion—as Keith had prophesied—was +complete. +</p> + +<p> +There was virtue also in her sane, soldierly attitude +towards the war. She neither denounced it as "devilish +and senseless," nor harped morbidly on horrors. She +had seen both sides of the shield. She knew—as he +knew—that from the pains of hell spring the splendours +of sacrifice and devotion: that the true peace +which passes understanding is not the prerogative of +the shirker and the pacifist; that in the trenches and +even in the shambles of a modern battlefield, "Death +rages but he does not reign." There you have, +perhaps, the main distinction between those who have +been in the firing line and those who have not: between +the soldiers who have resisted unto blood, and the +ineffectives—willing and unwilling—obsessed by casualty +lists, atrocities and shattered men. That spirit +Mark chiefly associated with Bel: and he was the +more thankful to find no trace of it in the daughter of +Sir Eldred Lenox. +</p> + +<p> +Not that she soothed him with fairy tales. On +the contrary, she recounted, purposely and in plain +terms, many of her worst experiences; probing him +with stiletto pricks of pain sharper than his own; if so +be that she might stab his spirit broad awake. +</p> + +<p> +It was his unnatural indifference to Ralph's death +that had prompted her to tell him in full the pitiful +tale of that crazed subaltern: a brilliant Oxford scholar, +whose brain had been unhinged not by the normal +rigours of war but by the abnormal cruelty of +scientifically dehumanised German soldiers. The +telling of it pained her horribly; and the hearing +of it hurt Mark as nothing had hurt him yet +since that night when the sword of realisation pierced +his soul. +</p> + +<p> +Manlike, pain vented itself in anger. Why the +dickens did she talk about such beastliness? he +demanded irritably: and she knew she had touched a +vulnerable spot. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't—as a rule," she said without apology. +"But, now and then, something goads me to remind +myself and others that this isn't an ordinary war. +It's a crusade against organised powers of evil. It +makes vengeance almost a sacred duty. And we've +got to realise things like that—however much we +shrink from them—in order to crush out, absolutely, +the spirit that makes them possible." +</p> + +<p> +There was no fervour, no touch of the didactic in her +quiet, rather flat voice. It spoke, with deep +conviction, the very thoughts that had burned in his own +brain after hearing the story of "la petite Pauline"; +and for the first time the real Mark looked with real +interest at Maurice's sister. +</p> + +<p> +"That's so," he agreed gruffly. "Not much use +though for the poor crocked-up devils who can't help +any more." +</p> + +<p> +She looked back at him in her direct, masculine +fashion. A smile hovered in her eyes. "There are +crocks <i>and</i> crocks!" she said. "And there are other +ways besides fighting. Think them over. You'll +find it as good as a tonic." +</p> + +<p> +He did think them over: and it was as good as a +tonic. He reverted more than once to the subject of +young Carmichael. Was there no hope? A shadow +of hope, Honor told him. His mother—who came +at intervals—was heart-broken. +</p> + +<p> +That last bit of information took effect, as intended. +Mark began to talk of his own mother. He also began +to think about Ralph and Sheila. He wondered.... +He wanted to know.... +</p> + +<p> +By slow degrees, light was breaking through the fog +that shrouded his spirit. Then came Sheila's letter +about Ralph, that let in quite a painful flood of +sensation. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"I wonder, have they told you," she wrote, "that +my Ralph has had the honour of dying for his country? +It was an honour he coveted with all his heart; and +they say he came by it splendidly. I promised him +long ago that, if this happened, I would not grieve +nor wear mourning. But, oh Mark (if you are really +waking up again), you will know, better than any one +but Mums, how blank everything feels some days +when pride seems no prop at all and there is simply the +emptiness—the longing——. +</p> + +<p> +"He was the one bit of home that seemed really to +belong. I know to the outside world he seemed just a +very ordinary subaltern overburdened with brains. But +I'm sure England need think no shame of her very +ordinary subalterns judging from their record in war. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + 'To sacrifice she prompts her best,<br> + She reaps them as the sower reaps.'<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +That's Meredith, isn't it? It has the sound of him. +Mother has really been wonderful in refusing to let our +private sorrow interfere with her work. She says we +are all dedicated—with an extra big D. You know her +way. But it is not all talk. She's proved that these +last few weeks. Dear Mark, forgive if my letter +makes you sad. It's only to you two I can say a little +of what I feel—on the bad days. In between, I can +go quietly on and be grateful for my gift, such as it is, +and pray that you may soon be home again to cheer +the brave Mums in her great loneliness! I go to her +whenever I can. Mr. Macnair is ambulance driver +in France again. I do wish he would come back. +And oh—a fresh trouble. My dear Mona is very ill +with typhoid at Boulogne. I long to go to her. +But I'm badly wanted here. Isn't your right arm +well enough yet to manage a letter? Mums tells me +she hasn't heard. Half a dozen lines, the merest +scrawl even, would cheer her ever so. Do try. Yours +always, Sheila." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +That letter gave him a sudden blessed sense of +enlargement; as if a window had been opened in his +brain. It also pricked his awakening conscience: and +he did try, with very fair success. +</p> + +<p> +Surely and steadily his right hand regained its +cunning: and even the tentative return of power +feelingly persuaded him that this skilled servant of his +brain, was worth all the rest of his body put together. +After all, he had willed to risk everything; to give +everything. He had recognised that the price of +patriotism might be a very long price: but he had never +dreamed of paying it in this form. +</p> + +<p> +He tried to express some of these thoughts in a long +outpouring to that brave lonely mother he had treated +so ill. He also attempted a letter to Sheila: but the +only thing he really wanted to tell her was the one +thing that must never be told. +</p> + +<p> +Having written the words: "My dear Sheila," he +sat there, pen in hand, cursing the fate that forbade +him to add, "I love you—I love you—I love +you." Simply that. The sheer relief of it! +</p> + +<p> +Suppose he did—what would her answer be? +</p> + +<p> +Oh—coward and fool! Apart from every other +disability how could he account for Bel? +</p> + +<p> +In the end he wrote to her at some length of Ralph +and Mona and Mums. It frightened him afterwards +to realise how near he had come to the cliff's edge. +</p> + +<p> +Sheila's mention of Mona set him thinking of +Maurice. Queer that Miss Lenox had never +mentioned him. Next time they were alone together he +spoke of Mona's illness and asked after her brother. +</p> + +<p> +Honor's face clouded a little. +</p> + +<p> +"My poor Maurice," she said, "was not made for +great days or terrible events. He has had a bitter +bad time. It has broken him to pieces. And Father, +who is always rather down on him, takes it very hard. +There are the Desmond boys winning decorations—and +his own eldest son——" +</p> + +<p> +"How about his eldest daughter?" Mark asked smiling. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh—she's a faint consolation! But not quite the +same thing. Dick's doing good work in the Flying +Corps, which is much more to the point." +</p> + +<p> +"But Maurice—where is he, poor chap? There's +good stuff in him if he isn't a fighter. I'd like to hear +more." +</p> + +<p> +So she told him more; glad of his increasing concern +for others; though it went hard with her to speak freely +of anything so near her heart. Maurice, it seemed, +had returned to the Front after a fortnight in the +hospital where Mona worked and a week at home. +</p> + +<p> +"In love with her—is he?" Mark asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. Very much so. That made a fresh jar with +Father. He's devoted to Colonel and Mrs. Laurence. +But he could not bear the idea of Dr. Videlle's +daughter marrying his son; though he wouldn't +have Mrs. Laurence know that for the world. It +was a most awkward tangle. Father objected and +Maurice insisted; and it quite spoilt the poor boy's +crumb of leave. Then he had an awful spell in the +trenches. His letters to me—" she paused to steady +her lips. "I think—he was thankful when he got hit. +But it's his right hand—badly damaged——" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh Lord! D'you mean—he may lose it?" +</p> + +<p> +"I'm not sure. They still hope to save it—partially. +He's back at Boulogne. The same hospital. His +poor nerves worse than ever. Mother's out there +too." +</p> + +<p> +"And Mona?" +</p> + +<p> +Honor was silent a moment; then she said in a +quiet, toneless voice: "Mona ... is dead. I only +heard yesterday!" +</p> + +<p> +"Good God!" Mark's voice was hushed also. He +wanted to say more. Miss Lenox was evidently upset. +But before he found the adequate word, she was +speaking again in the same level tone. +</p> + +<p> +"It is sometimes difficult, in these days, to go on +believing that God is good. Maurice knew—she +cared. He spoke to her a few days before she fell ill. +It gave him such a lift. And now—he's half crazed, +Mother says. They talk of sending him here. I hope +they will. Professor Langton is working marvels." +</p> + +<p> +They did send him to Mavins, with the remains of +his right hand in a sling. The bulk of it had been +saved. Only the little finger and half the forefinger +were gone: so that eventually, with practice, he would +draw and paint again. But at present no word of comfort +could reach his half-distracted brain. All day long +he talked wildly and rapidly of Mona; and at night he +could not sleep for dreams. A troublesome case; not +an obstinate one, the friendly Professor of Psychology +told Honor; but it was not advisable at present to let +him see much of his sister or his friend. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile the girl devoted herself to Sir Mark, and +found no small comfort in his gradual progress toward +a saner, happier mood of mind. +</p> + +<p> +Keith—definitely back from France—came to see +him oftener now, and they talked of Sheila. To Mark +the mere sound of her name was like the music of +running water in a barren land. It struck him that +Keith seemed to be a good deal at Westover Court; +and he fell to wondering about "Mums." Because +he, Mark, had not been knocked out, did the queer +fellow mean to keep silence for ever? +</p> + +<p> +It also struck him as strange that his mother had +never been to see him. At last he asked for her; +and she came, straightway, on the wings of the first +available express. Resolutely she had held to her +hard resolve not to go near him till he needed her; and +now she had her reward. He said little, but his hand +clutched hers; and his eyes, that had a gleam of the old +light in them, followed her wherever she moved. +</p> + +<p> +"Come again soon," he said at parting; and she +came again soon.... +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +So February slipped by; and light increased without +and within. Far away, in the Mediterranean, by way +of prelude to the splendid and terrible Gallipoli +adventure, British warships were lobbing shells into +the forts along the Narrows: and cheerful prophets +predicted the fall of Constantinople within a month. +And still, across the Channel, the interminable +underground war dragged on. And still a sanguine +Government did its casual best to defeat the frankly +malignant German with the maximum of polite consideration; +to which end, Ministers temporised, fatally, +over conscription and enemy aliens and high explosives +and other awkward trifles that involved the removal of +kid gloves. And the voice of criticism and division—hushed +in the inaugural days of 1914—was once more +heard in the land. +</p> + +<p> +And still, week after week, War—that is no respecter +of Governments—exacted its inexorable toll of +the young and the incomparably brave; and the fearful +also: and from Germany came the cry of the +prisoners—starved, tortured, yet unbroken—"How long, +O Lord, how long!" +</p> + +<p> +Each dawn brought some new shock of grief to +hundreds of hearts; brought also its golden grain of +healing to those already stricken—— +</p> + +<p> +At Mavins, as the days grew longer and milder, +healing came gradually both to Maurice and Mark. +</p> + +<p> +Maurice's mercurial nature had responded more +rapidly to both atmosphere and treatment than the +doctors had dared to hope. He talked less and slept +more. The strange, unseeing stare went out of his +eyes; and there came a day when Langton—who +looked favourably on Miss Lenox—declared that it +rested with her to complete his cure. +</p> + +<p> +Events justified him; and Mark found a new interest +not untinged with envy, in watching the two together. +The very qualities that made for discord between +Maurice and his father, seemed to link the brother +and sister in a bond closer than common. It set Mark +thinking of Ailsa and wondering—would he eventually +arrive at accepting Sheila in that relation, the only one +now possible between them. Increasingly he longed +to see her. But she did not come and he would not ask. +</p> + +<p> +In this fashion February drew to an end and Dr. Norton +came down to inspect his former patient. In +his old guarded manner, he expressed himself satisfied +with Mark's general condition; and confirmed the +opinion of his colleague at Mavins that improvement, +slight yet unmistakable, had already begun. But +how far it might ultimately go, not a doctor among +them would venture to prophesy yet. Mark's nerves, +at all events, were obviously on the mend. For a time, +they told him, he must "go softly" and keep clear of +worry or strain. The more normal his life and surroundings, +the better his chance of complete mental readjustment; +and there was talk of going home before long. +</p> + +<p> +That, unquestionably, was a move in the right +direction: and yet—he felt half afraid. Coward +selfishness whispered that, in this peaceful backwater, +"things" were easier to bear. Manhood urged that +he had been long enough on the shelf. It was high +time to rouse himself and give his country such service +as he could; to conquer a certain morbid dread of +facing his own world—in a wheeled chair. +</p> + +<p> +He did some hard and wholesome thinking on the +subject while Maurice, in the transition stage, claimed +the chief part of Honor's attention; and he discovered +that here was the secret of his faint reluctance to go +home, though well he knew that his mother was +counting the days to his return. +</p> + +<p> +He made that unheroic discovery on the last day of +February, a day of fugitive, appealing beauty. +</p> + +<p> +With the help of the despised wheeled chair—that +gave him a small measure of freedom—he had established +himself in his special corner of the grounds, at +the far end of the long low wall looking southward +across Surrey and Sussex to the sea. The February +sun was warm as April. Close to him loomed a +wide-spreading yew, centuries old. In the shadow of its +blackness snowdrops gleamed; and on its uppermost +branch sat a thrush, pouring out a torrent of song. +Almost, in response to that brave music, Mark could +feel the earth stirring in her sleep, even as his own +benumbed spirit was stirring within him after the +darkest winter he had ever known. A light breeze +blew from the south. Stately masses of cloud drifted +across the heavens; the Downs—grey-blue, against a +toneless horizon—seemed astonishingly near.... +</p> + +<p> +Mark, brooding on them, recalled Meredith's +phrase: "The Downs have swiftness." They set a +man longing for a winged horse or for the Seven-League +boots. At first he had hardly been able to +bear the sight of them. He was learning to bear it now; +even as he was learning to accept cheerfully, almost +gratefully, quite a number of things that in the +beginning had seemed unendurable. He was discovering, +at first hand, the amazing adaptability of the human +organism and the native resilience of his own spirit. +There were black moods still, when the curses came. +But these were increasingly offset by moods of +high-hearted resolve to fling into his art all the energy +and passion of his stultified life: moods far truer to his +essential self; likelier therefore to endure. +</p> + +<p> +And on this February day of drifting cloud and +snowdrops and a jubilant thrush, the more normal +Mark held the field. +</p> + +<p> +For an hour and a half, to his great satisfaction, he +had been left alone with his sketch-book and Meredith's +<i>Nature Poems</i>—a favourite, illustrated edition—and +his own resurgent thoughts. He knew now, +definitely, that his time at Mavins was nearing an end. +Dr. Carstairs had spoken yesterday of a week or ten days. +That fact alone served to stiffen his manlier resolves. +</p> + +<p> +And there was also another fact; quite unlooked-for, +decidedly stimulating. Miss Lenox had discovered +it in the <i>Times</i> that morning under the heading of +"Army Honours." It notified the award of the +Distinguished Service Order to Lieut. Sir Mark Stuart +Forsyth: and, from the bone-dry record appended, +Mark made the surprising discovery that on two +occasions he had "exhibited conspicuous coolness and +courage." Once, by his intrepid leading, he had +carried a full trench against overwhelming odds: an +unpleasant business, he remembered it very well. +Another time during a retreat, when one flank of the +battalion had been left in the air, he had, it seemed, +held on tenaciously to a critical position and saved +the regiment from annihilation. That must have +been on the terrible last day of his recollection, when +he had himself been annihilated for his pains. +</p> + +<p> +Baldly set down, it struck him as very ordinary +average behaviour in the circumstances. Quite likely +poor old Maurice had been just as sporting now and +then. Only no one happened to notice. It was all a +matter of luck and partiality. A war that rained +shells, rained decorations—naturally enough. It was +very gratifying all the same, to have "stopped one": +to possess a lasting memento of his own brief strenuous +flash of effort. +</p> + +<p> +And what did it amount to after all? For sixty +days—whether in billets or trenches, or in the stress of +actual fighting—he had lived at the full stretch of his +being. He had quailed and suffered and exulted. He +had seen with his eyes that, in nature and in human +nature, beauty shines out undimmed, though all the +devils of hell are leagued for its extinction. He had +proved, in his own body and soul, that "in war man +values the power which it affords to life of rising +above life." +</p> + +<p> +And now—this! +</p> + +<p> +He glanced ruefully at the fur rug over his knees. +Well, it was just a question whether those sixty days +were not worth a lifetime of limitation. But—the +loss of Sheila! There was the rub.... +</p> + +<p> +With a deliberate wrench he shifted his thoughts back +to their starting-point—those three proud letters after +his name. He must write to the Colonel—and to +"Mums." No doubt she had been secretly watching +that list for weeks! And now there would be no +holding her. A wonder she had not wired already. +She would need repressing badly; or goodness knew +what manner of fool she would make of him. He had +been a beast to her all these weeks. He would atone +for it when he got home. Then days seemed suddenly +an intolerable time to wait. Impatience stirred in +him: the best possible sign. He shook himself +mentally—he had been mooning long enough;—and picked +up his book again. +</p> + +<p> +It was open at "The Thrush in February." Nothing +like Meredith for tuning up the strings of a man's +spirit: and this particular poem vibrates with the +morning quality of his genius; his sane loyalty to +Earth—Mother and Slayer in one. +</p> + +<p> +He read on, now, from the point at which his +personal affairs had intruded on the poet's thought. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "She, judged of shrinking nerves, appears,<br> + A Mother whom no cry can melt;—<br> + A slayer, yea, as when she pressed<br> + Her savage to the slaughter-heaps.<br> + To sacrifice she prompts her best;<br> + She reaps them as the sower reaps.<br> + But read her thought; to speed the race—<br> + And stars rush forth of blackest night...."<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Again Mark paused, pondering those vigorous lines +that might well have been written in this year of turmoil; +of evil, self-exposed and rampant, that it may be +the more squarely smitten. "To speed the race," at +no matter what cost of individual life, individual pain: +there you have the hard paradox of Nature, underlying +every form of human activity; but focused, +intensified, and poignantly realised when "God holds +his assizes and hurls the nations on one another." +</p> + +<p> +If a cog in the machinery is broken, what matter? +There are scores of others available. It has given its +mite of service toward the progress of the whole. But +this particular cog was not altogether useless even +now; for the which compensation God be praised. +</p> + +<p> +To that mountain-top of philosophy Mark had +clambered painfully enough: and to-day he caught an +echo of it, clear and heartening, in the song of the poet +and the song of the thrush—— +</p> + +<p> +At this point he became aware of approaching footsteps +and voices. The thrush became aware of them +also and took flight. +</p> + +<p> +They drew nearer; and their owners came into view: +Keith, Mums, Sheila,—all three of them, with Maurice +and his sister. Now he knew why there had been +no telegram. Just like her. He might have guessed. +</p> + +<p> +Closing his book, he waved a welcome and his +mother hurried forward. +</p> + +<p> +"A surprise visit of congratulation, darling," she +explained superfluously. "Well done!" +</p> + +<p> +And she kissed him, unashamedly, before them +all. There were moments when the Irish streak in her +carried the day. There were also moments when even +a son could not find it in his heart to be repressive. +</p> + +<p> +Mark had enough ado to repress himself, when +Sheila stood before him, her soft, cool hand in his; and +Keith demanded gravely what the dickens he meant +by giving his family such a shock: and Maurice, the +born talker, looked on enviously and said nothing. +</p> + +<p> +The happy event, the sunshine and the smell of +spring in the air went to their heads like wine. It +was as if some tension within had snapped. They +talked nonsense once again with zeal and fluency; and +Mark himself was as foolish as any of them. It was +a vast relief, after those endless grey weeks when +humour—the star of life—had dwindled to a farthing +dip in the outer dark. Now it sparkled again, clear as +ever: and Mark found it very good.... +</p> + +<p> +Then, quite casually, in the middle of it all, Keith +slipped in his own surprise contribution, that had been +kept a profound secret during its incubation. It +consisted of a small motor car, specially designed, light +and easy to handle, in which—Mark with Keith's +help—could drive about his beloved country, and regain a +measure of the independent movement so dear to his +heart. Keith himself was responsible for the thought, +but the car was to be a combined gift from all three; +the outward and visible sign of their joy in his return. +</p> + +<p> +Mark—too overwhelmed for mere thanks—could +only evince the liveliest interest in the "little beauty" +and her manifold perfections. From car talk they +drifted naturally to ambulance driving and an +exchange of experiences between Honor and Keith. +Even Maurice revived considerably under Lady +Forsyth's sympathetic handling. +</p> + +<p> +And through it all, Mark's inner self was chiefly aware +of Sheila's voice, too seldom heard, and Sheila's +eyes—their twilight colour intensified by the grey-violet hat +and gown that she wore in place of conventional +mourning. +</p> + +<p> +She sat on the low wall, a little apart from the group +round his chair; her sweet, serious face shadowed by +the double loss of brother and friend. The shadow +lifted a little at sight of Mark's sketch-book. With a +glance at him for permission, she opened it and went +through it slowly, lingering a long while over each +page. +</p> + +<p> +He wanted her to himself so urgently that he wished +the others at Jericho. Now and again he contrived +an exchange of glances. Then he would hold her +gaze a minute and reluctantly let her go. He had no +business whatever to do this: and he knew it. But +to-day he felt like a schoolboy out of bounds. He +refused to look beyond the sunshine into the waiting +dark. +</p> + +<p> +Honor Lenox, he found, had planned a semi-secluded +tea-party in a corner of the wide verandah,—the +real Indian article; added by Sir Howard, who +declared he would as soon live without shaving-soap as +without a verandah. And Mark enjoyed it all +consumedly, though not five minutes' talk did he get +with Sheila alone. Suddenly and surprisingly, life had +righted itself in defiance of tragic limitations. The +good minute would pass; but the fact that it had +come at all was of hopeful augury. And while it +lasted, Mark could forget everything except that he +had not lost his art; and that Sheila, however +unattainable, was part of the vital fabric of his life. +</p> + +<p> +"Will you still be at home when I come?" he asked +her at parting; and she shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +"'Fraid not. I go back on Friday, when 'Mums' +goes to Lady John. But I'm to get leave for a visit +soon, she says——" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>I</i> say—" he corrected, under his breath; and +again there passed between them that flash of understanding; +a direct contact of spirit with spirit, never +achieved in all his passionate courtship of Bel. +</p> + +<p> +Oh, that he could banish her from his memory as +though she had never been! +</p> + +<p> +But Bel would not let herself be so easily forgotten. +Though disenchantment was complete, she could still +reassert herself, at inopportune moments, to tarnish +a love so different in quality that there was need of +some other name to call it by. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +These thoughts visited him much later on that same +evening, as he sat beside his fire reviewing the events +of a day that marked a definite step towards the +recovery of his spiritual balance; of a normal, if +tempered, thankfulness for all that still remained +to him of joy in life. +</p> + +<p> +Lately Maurice had taken to looking in at this time +for a talk; and he very soon appeared, with the +inevitable cigarette and a rather doleful countenance. +</p> + +<p> +For a while he sat smoking moodily, staring at the +fire. Then, to Mark's surprise, he said in a +constrained voice: "I suppose Honor told you—about +Mona." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." Mark did his best to convey his own dumb +depth of fellow-feeling in that one word. Maurice +let out a great sigh. +</p> + +<p> +"She—cared. She'd have married me, Father or +no. Seeing Miss Melrose brought it all back again. +She ... Mona ... understood. <i>She</i> didn't think +me a hopeless rotter because I've been a bit broken up +by this cursed, inhuman war." +</p> + +<p> +That tone towards the world's greatest crusade +against machine-made tyranny and brutality jarred +Mark always. And it savoured too much of Bel. +</p> + +<p> +"Not a bit of use cursing the war, old chap," he +said kindly. "Nearer the mark to curse the apostles +of cheapness for cheapness' sake, who thwarted Joe +Chamberlain, killed our economic independence, and +delivered the Empire into the tentacles of the German +octopus. But it's all done now; and we've just got to +put our backs into it and pull things through. You've +done your level best, Maurice, and no one thinks you a +hopeless rotter. <i>I</i> don't. Your sister doesn't. Your +mother——?" +</p> + +<p> +Maurice frowned. "I'm hanged if I know what +Mother thinks. She's awfully fond of me. But she's +not the soft kind. And she hugely admires the genuine +man of action; which accounts for my splendid but +rather formidable father. <i>He</i> thinks me the out and +outest rotter that ever stepped. If it wasn't for Honor, +God knows where I'd be at this moment. And, as for +going home—I believe a week of it would simply smash +me up again.' +</p> + +<p> +"'M. I know what you mean. Why not come +along to my place when you're quit of this? We've +both got to make a fresh start somehow; and I've still +to complete your conversion to Beauty and the +Classics!" +</p> + +<p> +"D'you <i>mean</i> that?" Maurice asked in genuine delight. +</p> + +<p> +"Rather. It would give me a spurt. And your +sister could come for weekends. She's a rare good +sort." +</p> + +<p> +"Wish I had half her pluck. She ought to have +been the soldier. I believe she'd give her eyes to take +my place; and here am I—wondering if they've +lopped and chopped my precious hand enough to keep +me out of those unholy trenches for good." +</p> + +<p> +Mark, scanning his friend's rueful profile, decided that +mere sympathy was not the tonic for his complaint. +</p> + +<p> +"You can't shoot without your trigger finger," he +remarked in practical tones. "But that's no matter, +now they've given you a commission." +</p> + +<p> +Maurice grimaced. +</p> + +<p> +"You don't want to go back—in any capacity, eh?" +Mark asked casually. +</p> + +<p> +"No. I'm damned if I do. Honestly, d'you suppose +any man does who has a grain of sensibility in his +composition?" +</p> + +<p> +Mark was silent a moment, considering. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know. Hard to say. In either case, +they wouldn't shout it from the housetops. +Personally, I was keen to get back. Sheer perversity, +perhaps: but it's true. God knows, killing and getting +killed, the way it's done now, is a pretty gruesome +business. But exterminating Prussianised Germans is +a service to the civilised world; not to mention a man's +first duty to his country. And to me there's beauty +everywhere, Maurice, even on a battle-field. And, +oh Lord, it's big. It's <i>real</i>—overpoweringly real." He +paused and set his teeth hard. "I simply hate +being out of it all—shelved. Wish to God I was in +your case! And you can't have the face to pretend +you'd sooner be—as I am." +</p> + +<p> +Maurice was lighting a fresh cigarette. +</p> + +<p> +"Honour bright," he said, "I was thinking out +there, this afternoon, what a lucky devil you were!" +</p> + +<p> +Mark flashed round on him. "Lucky—<i>me</i>?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes: as things go these days. You're through +with the worst of it. You've done jolly well. Your +people think no end of you and you'll probably do +thundering big things once you get started again. +As for me——" +</p> + +<p> +"As for <i>you</i>," Mark's friendly tone had a touch of +sternness, "you're a graceless ingrate. Your hand's +been saved. You've everything before you and your +spurs still to win. Strikes me, the sooner I get on with +your conversion, all round, the better!" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +But later, when Maurice had gone, those astonishing +words "lucky devil" returned and walked to and fro +in his brain and flashed light into dark corners, where +for weeks no light had been. His own tragedy had +seemed to him a thing so absolute that he had +forgotten in his misery, the relative nature of all +sensation: and he frankly admitted, now, that "as +these times go" a worse fate might have befallen him. +On the wings of imagination, he had explored the long +unchanging road ahead of him—and had found it too +hard to travel. And again he had forgotten that +the actual journey must be taken day by day, mile by +mile; that, imperceptibly, the face of that road would +change, in response to his own unconquered spirit +and the healing influence of time. +</p> + +<p> +Life, that is more inexorable than death, cannot +away with that crowning mercy. The veiled hours +come to us single file. Were it not so, which of us +would find courage to face them at all? In war, +and in the anguish of blows that shatter faith and +courage, it is perhaps this crowning mercy that +withholds tortured humanity from running headlong down +a steep place into the sea—— +</p> + +<p> +Mark sat late that night over the red embers of his +fire, smoking ... pondering.... +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0402"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER II +</h3> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Even the wise man's feet are turned astray<br> + by tumult of the soul."<br> + PINDAR.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +On a certain afternoon of March, Lady Forsyth sat in +a third-class carriage of a certain casual train that +loafed along the line, these disorganised days, between +Waterloo and Westover. She religiously travelled +third now, and as religiously put the difference into +her war-purse for prisoners. Mark was not told, lest +he prove unmanageable: and Keith's objections +had been overruled with a high hand. +</p> + +<p> +This particular train was the slowest in the day. +Helen never patronised it except from force of +circumstances; and she irreverently christened it "the +British Government"—not altogether without +provocation. For, as the War dragged inconclusively on, +and Germans continued to flourish in forbidden areas, +in the City, and even in harbours of the first +importance, she found herself growing more critical, more +intolerant towards that sacrosanct institution. If +she could be said to dislike, whole-heartedly, anything +in the nature of a human being, it was certain supple, +self-regarding phrase-mongers who had been overlong +predominant in the Mother of Parliaments. +</p> + +<p> +Hers was not the only heart, in those anxious times, +that cried out for a Triumvirate: a sailor, a soldier, and +a genuine statesman to organise all the resources of a +great and willing Empire for the salvation of the world. +But the cry went up in vain. And still politicians +talked and soldiers prayed for the Great Offensive, and +the war of trenches and sectors went lumbering on. +Constantinople had not fallen within the given month. +A feeling hovered in the air that something had gone +wrong with this very great adventure; that arrangements +had been sketchy; action premature. And +there were uncomfortable rumours about the King of +Greece—— +</p> + +<p> +Then, suddenly, the West had leaped to life. +"Victory at last!" sang the posters and the headlines. +And the journalists, given a freer hand this time, +vied with each other in chronicling Homeric feats and +"enormous enemy losses." ... +</p> + +<p> +That was a week ago. And now it appeared there +had been some mistake about this "great and glorious +victory." One indisputable fact stood out—the casualty +lists. It began to look as if, after all, they were +likely to prove the biggest thing about it. Helen +Forsyth had heard talk in London that she tried to +dismiss as mere pessimism; but her instinct told her it +was probably true. +</p> + +<p> +The train groaned and jolted to a standstill:—Little +Franton. It was far too courteous to overlook even +the smallest thing in stations. Another hour to +Westover. Lady Forsyth leaned back and closed her +eyes. She had had two strenuous days in town. She +was very tired and longing to get home—to Mark. It +was still a strange and wonderful fact that home +should also mean Mark. He was her private reason +for courting the present infliction. She had failed to +catch an earlier express and refused to wait for a later +one. It was sufficiently distracting being called away +for a night so soon after his return. How they would +laugh at her when she got back! And how good it was +to be laughed at again: even if, in between, there were +still moods of gloomy silence or of irritability, that kept +her anxiety at stretch. +</p> + +<p> +The first few days of their frank joy in each other +had been flawless. And for her, there was the secret +satisfaction of having him all to herself again, with no +superfluous Bel to claim the lion's share of his thoughts +and heart: a forgivable form of selfishness that perhaps +only a mother can condone. But the necessary +intrusion of the world at large marked the beginning +of trouble. It was plain that he would not easily +overcome a certain sensitive shrinking from outside +people; though, in his more normal moods, he spurned +this weakness and overrode it ruthlessly. +</p> + +<p> +For this reason, visitors—with the exception of +Dr. Warburton and the Sinclairs—were not very welcome. +Warburton was on the "sick list" combating a severe +bout of rheumatism and Sir Nevil, like Mark, was +knocked out of the actual fighting, with a frost-bitten +foot and his left forearm gone to save the spread of +blood poisoning from a septic wound. Wynchmere +tenants and workers, eager to come and do him homage, +would not be denied; and Mark himself, touched to +the heart, was yet consumed with shyness at the prospect +of facing the music. A few days ago, with Keith's +diplomatic help, Lady Forsyth had persuaded him to +summon an informal afternoon gathering—the gamekeeper, +the manager of their handicrafts colony, his +better class tenants and their wives. And he had been +at his best: friendly, sympathetic, full of humorous +talk. She had only discovered the effort it cost him +by the reaction that followed: and had reproached +herself not a little for having pressed the point. +</p> + +<p> +Keith, however, insisted rightly that the sooner +Mark did violence to his natural shrinking the sooner +he would conquer it: and conquer it he must. But his +recurrent headaches troubled her. She had made a +point of seeing Dr. Norton while in town. Her faith +in him was implicit and his encouraging view of things +had comforted her considerably. +</p> + +<p> +"Give him plenty of fresh air. A little gentle +massage. And avoid friction over trifles." That had +been the great man's final injunction, heartily +endorsed by Helen. +</p> + +<p> +Privately she had feared that the massage part of it +might produce friction straightaway: and at lunch, in +Mrs. Laurence's war-work flat (Colonel Laurence +was serving in France) that fear had been confirmed. +Honor Lenox and Sheila, who had struck up a friendship, +were lunching there too; and Honor bore witness +that, when massage was prescribed at Mavins, Mark +had proved intractable. +</p> + +<p> +"I believe if I could have done it myself," she +added, "I might have persuaded him. But nothing +would induce him to let 'a strange woman maul his +head.' And they thought it unadvisable to press the +point. But now—why not Sheila? The very person." +</p> + +<p> +Naturally that had been Helen's first thought, and +Sheila's also. But the older woman—because of her +secret hope—had felt a scrupulous hesitancy about +volunteering the suggestion; and the girl had her own +private qualms to overcome. Both were proportionately +grateful for Honor's blunt directness, and common-sense, +professional point of view. She saw only a +man in need of healing and the one acceptable healer +happily on the spot: and on the whole, Lady Forsyth +felt justified in taking the same view. It had finally +been decided that she should sound Mark on the +subject and let Sheila know the result. +</p> + +<p> +After all, his complete recovery was a matter of the +first importance. She had no sure knowledge of +Sheila's heart; and, as regards her own son, she was +altogether in the dark. Since that day at the +Nursing Home, he had never mentioned Bel: and she +devoutly hoped he never gave a thought to that +devastating young woman. +</p> + +<p> +Only to-day, she had heard from Lyndsay Laurence +that, in January, Bel had deserted Harry O'Neill and +gone upon a protracted visit to friends in the west of +England where Zeppelins were not. She wasn't +afraid of them, Mrs. Laurence had explained with a +gleam in her serious blue eyes, she merely objected +to living in a Zeppelin area when there were other +areas available. Further, it appeared that some +casual word let fall by Harry had given Mr. Maitland +an inkling of Mark's generosity. Certainly he had +spent his holidays in the west of England; had duly +proposed to a Bel no longer penniless—and been +rejected. Helen was exceedingly glad to hear it. +She wondered if Mark would appreciate the humour +of it, but dared not risk telling him—yet. +</p> + +<p> +His uncertain moods put a severer strain upon her +than she would admit even to herself. Even her longing +to get back to him was secretly tinged with dread +lest something should upset him and spoil the +whole evening. Lately, she had persuaded him to +sing again; and sometimes, with that or her own +music, she could exorcise the fiends that tormented +him. But if any one could spirit them away permanently +it would be Sheila: and ... supposing things +went farther still—well, why not? The question had +a touch of defiance, as though some unseen mentor +had ventured a rebuke. Mentor or no, she could not, +or would not see any cause or just impediment. For +once in a way, she—who set such store by truth in the +inward parts, was not altogether honest with herself: a +pardonable lapse, in the circumstances. +</p> + +<p> +Could Mark once be made to realise that a woman +loved him enough to marry him, disabled as he was, +all his uncertain moods and irritations would vanish +into air. In time, she felt convinced, this cruel +paralysis would loosen its hold on him; and if Sheila cared +sufficiently to take all risks, whose business was it to +come between them? +</p> + +<p> +But as usual she was racing ahead miles too fast. +Possibly neither of them cared—in that way. +Probably Mark would snub the massage idea. More +than probably he would now refuse to marry Sheila +even if he loved her to distraction. So she swung +round again to those jarring uncertainties that threatened, +almost, to spoil the joy of getting him back.... +</p> + +<p> +At this point her attention was distracted from +personal worries by women's voices opposite. One of +them she recognised: Mrs. Beck, proprietor of the +Post Office and sweet shop at Wynchmere. It was +the War, of course. People of all grades and classes +could still talk of little else: and Helen, keeping +her eyes shut, dismissed her own anxieties and +listened. +</p> + +<p> +It was a compensation for the occasional discomforts +of travelling third that one caught glimpses of +the War through the eyes of working men and women +who neither painted it all red nor garnished it with +false sentimentalities; but accepted it—cheerfully, +sullenly or doggedly—as one more item among the +many bewildering puzzles of life. +</p> + +<p> +Said the voice that was not Mrs. Beck's: "Your son +'as 'e gone back yet to them trenches?" +</p> + +<p> +"No. 'E's not near fit: never was," came Mrs. Beck's +emphatic tones. "But 'e'll be goin' sure 'nough +before long." +</p> + +<p> +"Frettin' to get back, is he? My word, it's no +pantomime. I got a brother been out since Christmas. +Up to his blessed middle in water. Matches an' fags +too damp for strikin'. You do 'ear some tell they +want to go back. An' it makes yer wonder——" +</p> + +<p> +"Want to go back? O' <i>course</i> they don't: not my +boy, nor any of 'em.' Mrs. Beck's voice was angry +now as well as emphatic. "'Oo could? Them that +talks that way says it to hearten their woman folks. +But 'tis on'y fools as believes 'em. And most on 'em +says nothing. They knows it's <i>djuty</i>. So they shuts +their teeth an' goes, wonderin' if they'll ever see 'ome +again. But they <i>says nothing</i>—not they. It's 'ow +they're made. There was jest one o' mine did—once. +Pore Alf! 'E come clean through Monsse, and all +them 'orrors without a scratch. An' when 'e was +leavin' 'ome again, I says to 'im, I says: '<i>You'll</i> come +back for sure. You've a charmed life.' But 'e shook +'is 'ead. 'Their turn last time. Mine next,' 'e said +jokin'-like. 'E knew 'e'd be took—and 'e woz.' +</p> + +<p> +Followed a sympathetic silence from the mere sister, +and Helen—who remembered Alf and all the +circumstances—thought shame of herself for allowing Mark's +moods to blur the supreme fact that she had him +safe—permanently safe—from jagged bayonets, explosive +bullets, and all the scientific barbarities that still hurt +her soul. +</p> + +<p> +Her one remaining treasure had not been "took." It +was enough. +</p> + +<p> +The leisurely train was nearing home now. She sat +up and greeted Mrs. Beck; and they talked Neuve +Chapelle till the name-board said "Westover" at last. +</p> + +<p> +And there was Keith on the platform and Mark +awaiting her in the car, brown and vigorous looking; +quite himself again in motor-coat and cap. And she +felt more than ever ashamed of fitful repinings. +</p> + +<p> +Mark evinced his joy at her return by keeping a +hand on her knee under the fur rug and ragging her +mercilessly all the way home. At dinner he was +quieter, with the brooding look in his eyes that Helen +had learnt to dread. Afterwards Keith settled them +in the drawing-room and went off to the library +leaving them together. +</p> + +<p> +He had now definitely given up his ambulance work +on the other side and divided his time between local +recruiting, a committee for the welfare of prisoners, +and a deeply thought-out treatise on the psychological +effects of war. Underlying all these obvious activities, +was the cherished conviction that Helen had need of +him; more especially in these first difficult days +... when Mark must learn, slowly and painfully, the art of +adapting himself to his limited conditions of life. He +had never said another word about her to Mark; +nor had he found the opportune moment for speaking +to her himself. He was hyper-fastidious in respect +of that critical moment. Life had, so far, given him +no lovelier gift than her frank confidence and comradeship; +and he was in no hurry to risk putting them out of +gear, even for the sake of that greater gift for which +Mark had encouraged him to hope. Moreover, when +a lover—and that lover, a Scot—has kept silence for +fifteen years, it is almost easier to go on keeping silence +than to speak: and Keith Macnair was essentially of +those who know how to wait. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The two he had left in the drawing-room fell silent +after a little desultory talk. Helen could think of +nothing but Sheila. Mark's reviving soul was +shadowed by ominous signs of failure at Neuve Chapelle. +Names of officers in his own battalion had been +painfully prominent in the Roll of Honour: men he had +lived with, fought with, and loved. He was girding +at his own inability to go out and replace one of them: +picturing the welcome they would give him:—Mackail, +Fordyce, the Colonel. <i>His</i> name was not in the list, +thank God. Quite recently the battalion had been +made up to strength and given a well-earned rest—only +to be decimated afresh. And no victory to show +for it: nothing but a costly failure. A bad omen for +the Great Offensive that was to sweep the Germans +back to the Rhine. +</p> + +<p> +It all hurt him so acutely that he could not manage +to talk of it even to his mother: so he fell back on +silence. +</p> + +<p> +His quietness was deceptive: his frown might +merely mean headache. Helen could not know that +the devil within was making peculiarly malignant +remarks to him just then: and her very anxiety to +choose the right moment made her almost certain to +stumble on the wrong one. +</p> + +<p> +"Mums, will you play a little," he said at last, +"if you're not too tired?" +</p> + +<p> +She was too tired and she wanted to talk about +Sheila: but she did not say so. If he was "brooding," +music might be a wise prelude to speech. +</p> + +<p> +For a quarter of an hour or so, she played without +her notes; slow soft music. Preludes and Largoes. +Then she came back to the fire determined to hesitate +no longer. She still remained standing, one foot on +the fender-stool. +</p> + +<p> +"I saw Dr. Norton to-day," she remarked casually. +"He wanted to hear about you—and the headaches. +Swears by two simple remedies; plenty of +fresh air—and massage:—the nerves of the head and +neck. And afterwards, at the flat, Honor suggested +Sheila——" +</p> + +<p> +Mark's frown deepened unpromisingly. +</p> + +<p> +"My dear Mother, <i>I'm</i> all right. For God's sake, +don't fuss!" +</p> + +<p> +"Darling, I'm not fussing. Dr. Norton prescribed +it. And Sheila did wonders for me—after Boulogne." +</p> + +<p> +"I can well believe it. But I won't have her +bothered on my account. She's overworked as it is." +</p> + +<p> +"But, Mark, she delights in it," Helen persisted +fatally. "And for you, of all people——" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—for <i>me</i> of all people!" Mark flung out with +a sudden uncontrollable bitterness that effectually +silenced her. Startled by his vehemence, she could +only stand gazing at him, pain and bewilderment +in her eyes. But his own pain blinded him to hers and +he sharply turned away his head. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh—<i>don't</i> look at me like that," he muttered. +"You make too much of things. All those poor chaps +killed and wounded out there and you're worrying +over my twopenny headaches. Let Sheila come—if +she's willing and if it'll make you happy." +</p> + +<p> +His mother compressed her lips. "Nothing will +make me happy, Mark," she said quietly, "till I see +you more nearly your old self again." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I'll <i>never</i> be my old self again—if I live to +be eighty: which God forbid!" +</p> + +<p> +The moment the words were out he realised their +cruelty. He felt as if he had struck her; and +impulsively he put out his hand. +</p> + +<p> +But she had turned from him swiftly to hide her +tears—and she was gone. +</p> + +<p> +Helpless to follow her he sat there alone with his +bitterness and his shame and his desperate longing +for Sheila, that had instinctively prompted him to +veto his mother's tempting plan.... +</p> + +<p> +Presently the door opened and Keith came in. +He looked grave, almost stern. +</p> + +<p> +"What have you been saying to upset Helen?" he +asked bluntly. "Couldn't you see she was tired out?" +</p> + +<p> +Beneath the reproof Mark detected the unconscious, +possessive note of the lover and responded to it +straightway, incurable lover that he was. His faint +annoyance at being taken to task evaporated. If +any one had hurt Sheila as he had just hurt Mums he +would have wanted to commit murder. +</p> + +<p> +"Where is she? What's she doing?" he asked, +patently contrite yet vouchsafing no explanation. +</p> + +<p> +"In the library. She <i>thinks</i> she's writing letters." +</p> + +<p> +"Did she say anything?" +</p> + +<p> +"Is it likely? What did <i>you</i> say? That's the point." +</p> + +<p> +Mark frowned. "Nothing would induce me to +repeat it. It was only—she got worrying over my +confounded head. Massage and that sort of rot. +She's keen for Sheila to come and try her hand on me." +</p> + +<p> +"Well—what's wrong with Sheila?" +</p> + +<p> +"There's nothing wrong with Sheila," Mark answered; +and this time the lover's note was in his own +voice. "But—at the moment, everything was wrong +with me. And, like a coward, I let fly at Mums." +</p> + +<p> +Keith's eyes lightened strangely. "Well, no matter +how bad things are with you—and I don't belittle +them—I can't have you hurting <i>her</i> like that. She's +suffered more this winter than you, or any of us, will +ever know. Sheila's been no less than an angel +of consolation; and if Helen wants her here, let her +come. She would probably do you a deal of good. +And anyway she'd be a healing influence in the house, +which is precisely what you're both needing just now. +Mark, old chap, I'm not down on you. But—<i>you</i> +understand?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. I understand." +</p> + +<p> +A pause. Mark felt suddenly tempted, by Keith's +change of tone, to break through his own reserve. +It would be a vast relief to tell Keith about Sheila and +discover his unbiased view of things. But Bel, +though no longer loved, still left her trail over his life. +Three months ago she was presumably all the world to +him: and now—to make parade of his love for Sheila +would seem but a poor compliment: an insult, almost. +Hard to make another understand that the two +emotions had as little in common as the girls themselves. +Still harder to explain that strange, spiritual +awakening in France. Obviously, the Fates had +decreed that she should come. Let her come then,—and +chance the result. They could have devised no +finer test for his power of self-mastery. +</p> + +<p> +Keith, who shrewdly suspected the truth, adjusted +a blazing log with his foot and said nothing. +</p> + +<p> +"I say, go and tell Mums I want her," Mark said +suddenly; and Keith, with a nod of approval, went +back to the library. +</p> + +<p> +Mark had time to grow impatient before she +reappeared. And, when she did come, he was +tongue-tied. He could only hold out his arms—— +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0403"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER III +</h3> + +<p class="intro2"> + "Through such souls alone<br> + God stooping shows sufficient of his light<br> + For us i' the dark to rise by."<br> + BROWNING.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +So Sheila came again to Wynchcombe Friars—the +real Wynchcombe Friars; no longer an empty shrine +lit by twin lamps of memory and hope. How gladly, +how thankfully she answered that summons no one +guessed, Mark least of all: and that fact alone made it +possible to come. Neither did she herself guess that +Keith knew. Her secret was as safe with him as in a +tomb: and he it was who, three days later, drove out +to fetch her in Mark's two-seater car, in which he +was just beginning to reconnoitre his property and +look up his tenants as of old. +</p> + +<p> +"If there was a third seat, for the inevitable +attendant, I could have fetched her myself," he +remarked casually. +</p> + +<p> +"We'll contrive a third seat—for these little +emergencies," Keith promised him. "Till then, the +privilege must be mine." +</p> + +<p> +Mark and his mother were in the studio when +sounds of arrival whisked Helen to her feet. Her +natural instinct was to run downstairs and greet +them: but she was learning to restrain many such +impulses that Mark might not too acutely feel his +minor disabilities. +</p> + +<p> +Presently the door opened and Sheila appeared, +glowing from her drive, violet-gowned as on the day +he had seen her last: a bunch of violets in her squirrel +cap, and distinctly dewy violets in her eyes. The +long low room with its restful blue tones and dark oak +panelling was flooded with March sunlight, fragrant +with the scent of hyacinths that stood about in bowls: +and to Mark, the small gallant figure of his first and +last allegiance seemed in tune with it all, visibly and +vitally, as Bel had never been. +</p> + +<p> +Sheila, for her part, would have summed up her +own mixed emotions in the one word "home": the +home of her spirit and her heart. +</p> + +<p> +After a swift survey of the room, her eyes rested +smiling on Mark in his wheeled chair by the window. +</p> + +<p> +"The quartette complete again, at last, under one +roof!" she said, a thrill of gladness in her low voice. +Then the underlying tragedy caught at her heart +and she took refuge in her Viking. "<i>He</i> must be +glad to have you back again. Hasn't he told you so?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—lately he has," Mark answered, looking at +her, not at the Viking, whom it pleased them to +regard as a member of the family. "He was a bit +reticent at first. But the gladdest of all was Bobs, +here. No blooming reticence about him!" +</p> + +<p> +"The darling!" And crouching down Sheila +stroked the chestnut head. +</p> + +<p> +The devoted creature lay close pressed against his +master's legs, using Mark's feet for a chin-rest; an +endearing form of caress. But Mark could not +feel it any more. He sometimes wondered—did the +others realise? He hoped they did not. +</p> + +<p> +"I thought the poor little chap would go crazy, +the first day," he said. "Kept flinging himself against +me with his little shivering squeals, tearing up and +down the room, sending the rugs to blazes; asking me, +plain as speech, to get up and play the fool with him. +Now—he understands and he's just glued to my chair. +Won't even go for a walk with Keith. Yes, old man, +I'm telling tales of you." This last to Bobs, who +glanced upward without shifting his position. +</p> + +<p> +Sheila's eyes were so dewy by this time that she +had to make the most of Bobs, who wanted to go to +sleep again and found her attentions rather +superfluous. He was a man's dog, first and last. +</p> + +<p> +They lunched at the far end of the long room. It +was a convenient arrangement for Mark and it +economised coal. Every penny that could be saved +at Wynchcombe Friars went to help Mark's poorest +cottagers and war-increasing colony of refugees, +through that first hard winter of war;—a prelude, +merely, to the gigantic struggle ahead. Yet there +was still a certain amount of loose, comforting talk +about the worst being over by the autumn. A good +deal of it emanated from those who were resolved +to avert conscription at any price—to others. +"Traitors' talk," Mark called it bluntly: and in essence +it was no less. +</p> + +<p> +Lunch was a brief and cheerful meal: Keith for a +wonder being the principal talker. He had gleaned +some inside information, from a wounded officer at +Winchester, of the dispositions at Neuve Chapelle, +and he proceeded to demonstrate them, for Mark's +benefit, with the toast rack, the muffineers, the cake, +and several apples, blandly ignoring murmurs from +Helen about "the geography of the table." +</p> + +<p> +The meal ended, he retired to the library and his +treatise; and Helen went down to interview a refugee +dressmaker; a forlorn and pathetic creature in whom +she took a very special interest. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll be back soon, my lambs," she said as she went. +</p> + +<p> +There was a perceptible moment of embarrassment; +but Sheila swiftly conquered her shyness. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't see anything new here yet," she remarked, +glancing round his sanctuary. "And you know I'm +expecting—great things!" +</p> + +<p> +Mark shook his head. "I've not touched a bit +of clay or plasticine since I got back. But in that +folio, there's a big rough crayon of a charging +Highlander on a bit of brown board, if you'd care to make +his acquaintance." +</p> + +<p> +No need to answer that. She had him out instantly +and propped him on an antique table against the +wall. Rough he certainly was, but of a vigour and +vitality that went far to justify her expectation of +great things. No artist by temperament, like Bel, +Sheila could neither appraise nor criticise technically: +but she had an unerring eye for motive, for the +underlying spirit of art in all its manifestations. Certain +sketches she had seen at Mavins and this barbaric +figure that sprang yelling from the parapet—bayonet +fixed, head back, kilt flying—told her that Mark's +idealism had gained rather than lost by contact with +the uglier, more staggering aspects of life and death. +And there can be no sharper test of its quality. Cruel +things, tragic things, seen and suffered, had drawn his +Muse closer to earth; had imparted a certain +ruthlessness both to his manner and matter: but exultingly +she knew that he belonged, and would unfailingly +belong, to the great company for whom there is always +a window that looks to the sky. +</p> + +<p> +"I saw him—just like that." Mark explained +to her silence. "Five minutes afterwards a shell +came our way—" an expressive gesture filled the +hiatus. "And somehow he stuck in my brain." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—he would," she said, still dwelling upon him. +"Why not make a small statue of him? He is +simply—Scotland for ever!" +</p> + +<p> +Mark's eyes were on her face and her low tone +thrilled through him. +</p> + +<p> +"He shall be yours—if I ever get him into clay. +At present ... that side of things seems dead." +</p> + +<p> +"Not dead—but sleeping," she said in her softest +voice. "It will all come back—bigger and more +splendidly alive—when you've struck root again in this +dear deserted place." +</p> + +<p> +He sighed. "Hope you're right. I'll need it +more than ever I did, once I'm ... renewed mentally. +It isn't an altogether painless process. And I'm +no stoic——" +</p> + +<p> +"I expect Mums would tell a different tale," she +put in gently. +</p> + +<p> +"Mums would glorify me—from sheer habit! +Yet it's she who gets the full benefit of my lapses from +stoicism—bless her. It'll be a real service to her if +you succeed in exorcising the devil!" +</p> + +<p> +The light in her eyes was enough to banish all the +devils in creation—for the moment, "<i>I</i> don't believe +in him," she said softly. "I'm going to concentrate +on waking up the other thing——" +</p> + +<p> +At this point Lady Forsyth reappeared with her +knitting and her <i>National Review</i>. She knitted for +her war orphans now that spring had smiled upon the +sodden trenches "out there." +</p> + +<p> +"Very fine, isn't it?" she said indicating the +Highlander, and Sheila nodded. +</p> + +<p> +"He's going to be my first own statue: a bronze." +</p> + +<p> +Then they arranged Mark's invalid table and set +a cushion on it. "There," said his mother shaking +it up.—"Bow your head upon your arms and try not +to feel heart-broken!" +</p> + +<p> +"Try not to feel a fool would be more like it," he +grumbled ungratefully. As a matter of fact he +found no difficulty in obeying her last injunction. +But Bobs, who had been taking stock of these mysterious +doings, had his own private opinion on the subject. +</p> + +<p> +Springing up, paws on the table, he anxiously +investigated Mark's bowed head and tried to thrust +a moist loving nose under his forehead. +</p> + +<p> +"Down, old boy, lie down," Mark muttered; and +for the minute he obeyed. But no self-respecting +dog could submit to see his master so humiliated. +The call for championship was obvious. With little +snarling sounds, he sprang up again, snapped at Sheila's +hands and nibbled at her ankles half playful, half +vicious, and wholly determined to rescue his helpless +owner, till Mark flung up his head and laughed. +"Officious little beggar! Turn him out, please, +Mums." He glanced at Sheila. "I won't have you bullied. +He tried to eat Macgregor and Keith first time he +saw them handle me." +</p> + +<p> +"Macgregor—your sergeant——?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. He's knocked out too, poor chap! Lost his +foot, after all. But he's a sturdy fellow, so I secured +him for my bodyguard and he was no end pleased." +</p> + +<p> +It was a very chastened and reproachful Bobs +who at last suffered himself to be forcibly removed +from the scene. Mark patted his head by way of +explanation: but the rank injustice of the whole +proceeding must have galled his faithful soul. +</p> + +<p> +"Now," said Mark the ungrateful, as the door closed +on his defender. "Go ahead. It's not half bad!" +</p> + +<p> +In his heart he found in her unerring discovery and +manipulation of each sensitive nerve little short of +magic. But that sort of thing could not be said. +Since his mother's concern was entirely for himself, +his own concern must be entirely for Sheila. His +will, too long in abeyance, must stand between him +and the temptation to discover, by imperceptible +means, whether his defection had killed outright the +shy response he was just beginning to discern when +Bel appeared on the scene. By some means he +must contrive to keep the lover's note out of their +intercourse. He was glad at least that a deeper +expression of brotherly tenderness had crept into +his letters from France. It would make things a +trifle easier now. +</p> + +<p> +This renewal of intimacy would, he perceived, be +no light ordeal; so closely interwoven were the strands +of joy and pain. But it was the price of her sweet +companionship; and he would pay it willingly, just +so long as it involved no risk for her. +</p> + +<p> +To-day, while her fingers made magical passes +across his forehead, or fluttered over his head like +soft, strong wings, he had need to reaffirm his resolve: +and his best chance of keeping it, though he guessed +it not, lay less in the strength of his own will than in +Sheila's simplicity and singleness of heart. +</p> + +<p> +For nearly an hour he surrendered himself to the +healing influence of her spirit and her touch, till +definite thought was stilled and peace flowed through +him, as in the days when Sœur Colette had kneeled +and prayed beside his bed.... +</p> + +<p> +Then it was over; and he was bidden to be quiet +till tea-time, while his mother and Sheila strolled on +the terrace in the sun. Helen tilted back his +adjustable chair, rearranged his cushion and lightly +kissed his forehead. +</p> + +<p> +"Didn't I do well to insist?" she asked smiling; +and he smiled back at her without a word. +</p> + +<p> +Keith came in for tea; and before it was over, +Dr. Warburton appeared. The illusion of old times was +strong upon them all. Except for war-talk and +Mark's wheeled chair, it was almost as if their summer +and winter of tragic memory had never been. But +the fact that Sheila must leave them broke the spell. +</p> + +<p> +"Till Wednesday," Mark said at parting. "And +one of these days I swear I'll kick over the traces and +come for you myself." +</p> + +<p> +To that announcement she had no ready-made +answer at command. +</p> + +<p> +"It's lovely to be home again—and spoilt again," +she remarked irrelevantly to whom it might concern. +"And remember,—<i>I</i> expect to find something begun +if it's only a terra-cotta trifle." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +On Wednesday she returned to find the terra-cotta +trifle awaiting her on his modelling table that had +stood empty since the outbreak of war. It was a +rugged and very vital study of Bobs in a gamesome +mood; hindquarters in the air, shoulders down, +head laid sideways between outflung paws and an +upward glance of appeal from his only visible eye. +</p> + +<p> +Beneath him, on the pedestal, Mark had scratched +the words: "St. Roberts the Blest. An invitation +to play the fool!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yours," he said as she stood before it, entranced. +</p> + +<p> +"Mark! You don't mean it!" But she knew very +well that he did, and her heart sang for joy. +</p> + +<p> +"Done to order," he explained gravely. "The +first fruits of your magic." +</p> + +<p> +At that she took it up between her hands and held +it for a moment against her cheek. +</p> + +<p> +"It's a lovesome thing.—And there'll be bigger +fruits still in a few weeks' time." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm ... not so sure," he said slowly. "It was mostly +my long tramps that brought the big inspirations." +</p> + +<p> +He was forcing himself, these days, to speak naturally +and casually of his tragic disability; but he had +not yet been so frank with Sheila and she winced in +spite of herself. Too well she remembered his boyish +delight when he persuaded his father to lengthen the +studio by throwing two rooms into one, and how he +had declared that merely from the extra space for +prowling there would spring a masterpiece. And he +had always worked standing. In absence she +instinctively pictured him on his feet. Even now—— +</p> + +<p> +Yet, if he could face things and speak of it all like +this, she must face them too.... +</p> + +<p> +"I believe when ... genius really comes alive +again, it will override everything," she said in a +voice of subdued conviction. "I'm not just prophesying +smooth things. I'm confessing ... the faith +that is in me." +</p> + +<p> +Mark was silent. He dared not speak. He dared +hardly look at her, lest she read the worship in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Forsyth, being in no wise hampered, impulsively +held out her hands. +</p> + +<p> +"Darling, you and I are of one faith," she said: +and Sheila swept to her and kneeled beside her, glad to +hide her face a moment against the shoulder of Mark's +mother. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +After that, she came again and again, and the +effect on Mark's temper and spirits was obvious to all. +She was not merely a healing influence, but a source +of inspiration; an incentive to renewed effort, to a +more purposeful grip on the far from futile activities +that still remained to him. +</p> + +<p> +Inevitably he found himself contrasting the high +felicity of this girl's companionship with that other +who had led him hopelessly astray from the path of +true happiness. On the one hand a spell, a desire, +a troubled unsatisfying charm: on the other, a real +woman's heart,—gracious, consoling, understanding, +that rang true to every testing touch, and would, he +felt convinced, could he test her to the uttermost. +If, at times, Sheila seemed narrow where Bel was +diffused, she had the higher merit of being deep +where Bel was shallow. While there was scarcely a +surface in life or art that Bel had not skimmed, she +had penetrated nowhere. Sheila—ignorant of much +that the modern girl deems essential to her equipment +for life—was yet profoundly versed in the eternal +lore of the heart. Bel could never let a man forget +he was primarily a man and she primarily a woman: +whereas, some finer quality in Sheila enabled Mark +to rest content—almost—with the enchantment of +her voice, her eyes and the fellowship of her spirit. +For all that, there were moments when he wondered +how much longer he could keep it up—— +</p> + +<p> +And again Sheila, though he did not guess it, +was his best safeguard. She had come, simply and +gladly, without after-thought, convinced that she could +heal his hurt spirit, though his body was beyond her +help. +</p> + +<p> +For the moment, it sufficed that she was privileged +through her own gift of healing, to revive his greater +gift of creation: and to that end she marshalled all +the forces of her still, strong nature. Self-dedicated +to his service, the unspoken prayer of her spirit was +the prayer of Theodolind, the mystic: "Give me +wings of great desire, lest I look within and fail." And +gradually, unconsciously, she imparted something +of her exalted mood to Mark. A growing conviction +that this blessed state of things involved no danger +to her, gave him fresh courage to control his own +emotion lest he lose the best he had any right to ask +of her now. +</p> + +<p> +So, for awhile, things went well at Wynchcombe +Friars: and for Lady Forsyth those last two weeks +of March were the happiest, the most hopeful, she +had known since Mark's return from France. +</p> + +<p> +He had reverted, by now, to his old keen interest +in the management of his property; and began to enjoy +driving with Russell through his woods and +farmlands, and supervising his handicrafts colony, chiefly +given over to French and Flemish refugees. Since +no son of his would ever reign at Wynchcombe Friars, +he was the more zealous to do his utmost—while +time and opportunity were given him—for the people +and the land he loved. In this way he grew to be +aware that his tenants and workers regarded him +with a new and peculiar devotion, often touchingly +exhibited, inexpressive creatures though they were by +heritage and habit. He was even persuaded to put +in an appearance at a big recruiting demonstration at +Winchester, where he called upon Jevons, the bootmaker, +to the old man's huge delight. He read voraciously +and played chess with his mother; though in their case, +it was apt to become a prolonged argument rather +than a game. He also started a bust of Keith, who +quarrelled with his undiscerning choice of a subject +and in secret was mightily pleased at the compliment. +</p> + +<p> +Mark did not fail to note his mother's eager interest +in this new venture: or the pains she was at not to let it +be suspected. It set him wondering what on earth +the dear good fellow was up to—he that was free to +go in and win the woman of his heart. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +March departed lamblike; and April came in with +primroses and violets and dappled skies; with coral +buds on the wild almond at the end of the terrace, and +the gleam of young leaves on black boughs. +</p> + +<p> +April was Mark's own month and for him there +was none like it in all the year. He too felt the leap +of new life and hope within him: and Sheila began to +talk of getting leave for her promised visit. +</p> + +<p> +But, before her dream came true, that stir of new +life, within and without, precipitated a crisis—almost +inevitable between unavowed lovers, using +the language of friendship and thinking the thoughts +of love. It came precisely when and precisely +because increasing confidence and intimacy had thrown +them a little off their guard. +</p> + +<p> +Upon the afternoon of Sheila's seventh visit they +were left practically alone. Keith had driven Lady +Forsyth over to Bramleigh Beeches to meet a +distinguished Indian poetess, who had expressed +admiration of Helen's small volume of French and +Belgian War poems. These she had translated during +the winter to keep her mind from brooding on Mark +and to raise extra money for their refugees. Helen +was eager to meet the little lady who had written so +charmingly about her work; and they left early that +Keith might be back in time to drive Sheila home. +</p> + +<p> +Mark's elation should have warned him that there +was peculiar need for caution and control. But the +wine of spring sparkled in his veins. The air was full +of love-songs and Te Deums. Daffodil buds were +breaking and the first butterflies were out. All the +morning he had been scouring the country with +Keith in the little car that was now the joy of his life: +and an afternoon alone with Sheila fittingly crowned +his content. +</p> + +<p> +When massage was over, he voted for tea at the +south-west corner of the terrace where they would +secure the last of the sun. +</p> + +<p> +"A Japanese tea-party," said Sheila, "to worship +the almond blossom!" +</p> + +<p> +Mark privately added another object of worship, +no less emblematic of spring. For Sheila, happy in +her devotion and in her power of healing, was emerging +from the shadow of her double loss; shyly watching, +at last, the dawning of her secret hope. Her eyes +and skin were clearer, her cheeks less pale, her beauty +and her spirit seemed visibly to blossom with the +blossoming year. Her delight in the day and the +occasion was no less than Mark's, but it was of a +stiller quality. +</p> + +<p> +They carried him down to the terrace, chair and +all; and there, established in the sunny corner, watched +over by the almond tree, she made tea for him and +told stories of her other patients, whom she was +neglecting a little these days. +</p> + +<p> +More by instinct than design, they kept their talk +in a lighter vein than usual; and Bobs, as gay as either +of them, proved very serviceable in this respect. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly there flashed on Mark a memory of that +other picnic on the shore of Loch Etive: the +love-making, the conscious coquetry; the first intimation +of underlying rocks that would have wrecked +their ship of marriage. Summarily he dismissed the +intrusive reminder, that made him angry with himself, +angrier still with Bel and her shallow witchery. Yet +the indelible shadow of what had been lay right across +his path. Painfully he was learning that "the whole +life is mixed; the mocking Past will stay." +</p> + +<p> +But this afternoon he would have none of it—— +</p> + +<p> +Hester had come out to remove the tea-things and +she brought a letter for Mark from Colonel Munro. +When he looked up from reading it, Sheila sat lost +in thought, one elbow on the empty tea-table, looking +away across the valley, where a gap in the pine woods +revealed a glimpse of blue distance clear against the +evening sky. +</p> + +<p> +For a space he watched her, till he dared watch +no longer. Then: "Mouse," he said very quietly, +"what are you brooding on so deeply?" +</p> + +<p> +And she answered him, as quietly, in one word. "Ralph." +</p> + +<p> +Her tone in speaking of that very ordinary, very +brave and beloved brother gave Mark always a sense +of standing on sacred ground. He said nothing; and +after a pause she sighed and sat upright in her low +straightbacked chair resting her arms on the table, her +hands loosely clasped. +</p> + +<p> +On the middle finger of her left hand she wore a +curious, antique ring; a Christmas present from her +absentee father. +</p> + +<p> +"A day like this is double-edged, isn't it? It +seems to stir all the deeps—joy and pain. He +was such a dear simple thing. So close to earth, +loving it all so. And yet—the other was what +he wished. Just when you spoke I was thinking of +that wonderful Roumanian ballad, the dead soldier +who was content: the last lines—you know, when he +asks the passers-by are they remembering him? +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + '"Not so, my hero," the lovers said,<br> + "We are those who remember not.<br> + For the Spring has come and the Earth has smiled<br> + And the dead must be forgot."<br> + And the soldier spake from the deep dark grave—<br> + "I am content!"'"<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +At the last, her voice shook so that there was a +moment of silence before she added: "I believe +that's what most of them would say—our 'noble army +of martyrs'—if only we could hear——" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes: most of them," Mark answered slowly, with +quiet conviction. "And on the whole, I'm not sure +... they haven't the best of it." +</p> + +<p> +She turned quickly and met his direct gaze. "You +mustn't say that." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't—to the others. But I feel it—pretty +acutely ... sometimes." +</p> + +<p> +"Not so often—now." +</p> + +<p> +It was a statement rather than a question. +</p> + +<p> +"Not nearly so often. That's your doing." +</p> + +<p> +Her deep blush so startled him that he promptly +took refuge in generalities:—the effect of the war on +character, national and individual: which tendency +would prevail on the whole, the spiritual exaltation of +a high purpose and tragedy nobly borne; or demoralisation +from sheer horror and strain? Maurice Lenox, +for instance, how would he and his type eventually +emerge from the war? And even where there had +been a genuine uplift, would it last? Or, would the +pendulum swing back farther than ever, if the struggle +dragged endlessly, sullenly on? +</p> + +<p> +Sheila admitted reluctantly that the pendulum had +to be reckoned with. She was thinking of Seldon +and of Bel: and some hidden channel of communion +conveyed her thought to Mark. He had heard of +Seldon from Ralph at Inveraig and again, lately, from +his mother. But he had no idea how far things had +ever gone between them and he very much wanted to +know. He had no business whatever to be jealous +of the man; but he was fiercely jealous, none the +less. +</p> + +<p> +"How about that particular friend of yours, +Seldon?" he asked casually. "Mums told me you had +him here. Quite regenerate. All your +achievement—what d'you think? Will it last?"' +</p> + +<p> +She started and looked up. "How odd you should +speak of him. He was in my mind." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Why</i> was he in your mind?" +</p> + +<p> +Jealousy flashed out in spite of him: and she smiled. +</p> + +<p> +"Isn't he allowed to be?" +</p> + +<p> +"I'm not sure. Depends how he's going to behave +himself!" The chaffing tone was deliberately +assumed. "As a patient——" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, he's not my patient any more," she put in +quickly. "But I'm bothered about him all the same." +</p> + +<p> +"Why? <i>Isn't</i> it going to last?" +</p> + +<p> +"He'll go out again. At least, I believe he will," +she answered evasively. "Motor transport, he says. +He can't do despatch riding any more." +</p> + +<p> +"Still writes to you, does he?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not very often—now." She paused; longing to +tell him everything; yet doubtful, still, whether any +shred of feeling remained for Bel. +</p> + +<p> +"And ... he doesn't want to marry you?" +Mark asked irrelevantly. He simply had to know. +</p> + +<p> +"He did. That was the beginning of it." +</p> + +<p> +"Of what?—The drink? Because you wouldn't +have him?" +</p> + +<p> +"Mark—that's an insult!" But it was useless +pretending to be angry. The discovery that he could +be jealous, even half in joke, sent her spirits up with a +run. "Someone else was responsible for that, thank +goodness. And unluckily, he's come across her again. +I'm not at all happy about it; and I don't think he is +either." +</p> + +<p> +"Wrong sort, is she?" +</p> + +<p> +"M-yes. I don't believe she wants him. Yet—she's +holding him in spite of himself." +</p> + +<p> +"Poor devil!" Mark was quite ready now to extend +the hand of sympathy. "<i>I</i> know—all about that." He +spoke slowly and with emphasis. He had +decided, on the spur of the moment, to break through +his misleading silence about Bel; to explain frankly +the process and the completeness of his disenchantment. +She must know. She had the right to know: +she, whom he had so cavalierly deserted, after their +names had been coupled by relatives and friends. +Though power to make reparation was denied him, +he felt imperatively that she must know. +</p> + +<p> +So, after a pause, he went on, with the same slow +emphasis: "You see—perhaps you did see—Miss +Alison was that sort." +</p> + +<p> +The formal name, so casually spoken, sounded +very strange on his lips; and her heart, that was now +in a troublesome state of commotion, rejoiced to hear +it. "Yes: I did see—afterwards," she said in her +quietest voice. "Not at first." +</p> + +<p> +"Nor did I—at first. In fact, not clearly, till I +got out to France. Machine-guns and high explosives +play havoc with more than the landscape and +the human envelope. They smash up unrealities +and readjust all the values. Oh yes, out there one +saw things clear—horrid clear. Her letters too..." he +paused. "And all those weeks, when +... I was dead, when I seemed to have no real link +with anything, any one but that devoted little nun. +Her saintliness, her simplicity ... made things +clearer than ever. I saw—" he paused, looking down +into the heart of the wood; tempted beyond measure +to defy Fate and iron decrees and tell her all he had +seen in those strange days, when his lips were closed +and his eyes were dazzlingly opened to the truth. +The one thing he did not see at that moment, fortunately +perhaps, was Sheila's face, bright with the dawn +of realisation, of an almost incredible hope. "I saw," +he repeated in a low, impersonal tone, as if talking to +himself, "how rootless our whole relation was and +always had been. She never reached the depths. +Didn't want to. She had no earthly use for them. Her +effect on me was an artificial stimulus all along. Mind, +I'm not excusing myself. It's no credit to me that +she could and did take such a hold. And I came very +near marrying her before I went out. Makes me +shiver now to think of it: for her sake as much as my +own. Dangerous things, these war marriages. I've +heard of some painful cases.—Then, when I came back, +there she was—irresistible as ever. But the something +in me that couldn't resist her had been burnt away—out +there. Then they told me I was a permanent +crock.... No choice—after that. Marrying days +were over." A pause. "Perhaps, after all, it's +worth being smashed up, like this, to save one's soul +alive. There—now you know. I've been wanting +to tell you ... all that this long while." +</p> + +<p> +"And I've been badly ... wanting to know," she +admitted very softly; but his quick ear caught a new +vibration in her voice. Startled out of his passing +relief, he turned swiftly and was confronted by a +transfigured Sheila, gifts in her eyes, the colour rising +in her cheeks. For her there was no iron decree. +Heart and soul she was ready. And Mark, for one +measureless moment, sat there tongue-tied, realising +what he had done, realising still more acutely what he +dared not do.... With a supreme effort he forced +himself to look away from her. +</p> + +<p> +"I was <i>right</i> when I said ... just now ... the +dead have the best of it," he muttered in a tone of +concentrated bitterness. +</p> + +<p> +Sheila sat silent, motionless. It was as if with one +hand he had lifted her to heaven and with the other +had flung her back into the dust—Her eyes were +blinded so that she could not see the pain in his face: +and suddenly her ears caught the purr of the motor +coming down the drive. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah—there they are!" It was Mark who spoke. +</p> + +<p> +Sheila heard the note of relief in his voice and it +cut her to the heart. +</p> + +<p> +Without a word she rose and went to meet them—— +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0404"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER IV +</h3> + +<p class="intro2"> + "A seed of fire is in the human soul<br> + That tears can quench not...."<br> + F. W. B.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Helen, herself, had seen at a glance that something +was wrong: very wrong indeed. When the two were +gone, she returned to Mark with a flutter of trepidation +at her heart. +</p> + +<p> +Sheila cared. By this time she was convinced of it. +And Mark? Once already, in his blindness, he had +flung aside this jewel of a girl. Did he mean to do it +a second time open-eyed, because his body had suffered +shipwreck in the service of his country? If he had got +that resolve in his brain, she foreknew the futility of +argument. Yet—given the chance and the facts—she +was prepared to fight it out with him, for Sheila's +sake no less than his own. +</p> + +<p> +But it was for him to speak first; and she feared his +silence. +</p> + +<p> +During her absence he had wheeled himself along +the terrace and back again to that fatal corner, where a +ghostly Sheila still sat in the empty chair, her arms +resting on the table, a light of unearthly beauty in her +eyes. His face wore the hard closed-up look that his +mother had not seen for weeks. Casual talk about +Bramleigh Beeches was sheerly impossible. +</p> + +<p> +"My darling, what <i>has</i> gone wrong?" she made bold +to ask. +</p> + +<p> +He frowned and set his teeth. "Everything. Too +perfect to last. I might have known it." He looked +about him uneasily. "We can't talk out here. Let's +get indoors." +</p> + +<p> +They proceeded to get indoors accordingly; and +there by the freshly crackling drawing-room fire it +was possible to talk. Mark lit a cigarette to steady +himself. Lady Forsyth sat in her favourite small +chair, warming her hands, that always went cold under +stress of emotion. +</p> + +<p> +"Mark, did you speak to her?" she asked quietly. +</p> + +<p> +"I came within an ace of it—God forgive me!" +</p> + +<p> +Those three words confirmed her worst fears. But +she could say nothing yet. Her heart was beating +fast. It was a distressing symptom, greatly increased +by months of anxiety and the ceaseless strain of the +war. +</p> + +<p> +So she remained silent, awaiting further revelations. +And after a pause Mark went on:—"I deserve a +thorough good kicking. Wish I'd a father to give it +me. Perhaps Keith will. I'm not blaming you, +Mums. This massage business has done me no end +of good. But in every other respect it's been the very +devil. As for <i>her</i>—she's the most perfect thing God +ever made. And I'm afraid ... I'm horribly afraid +... she cares. The look in her eyes dumbfounded +me. There was no choice between a clean cut +... and surrender...." +</p> + +<p> +"And why <i>not</i> surrender?" his mother ventured, +fearful yet undaunted. "Honestly I believe—it +would be better and happier for us all." +</p> + +<p> +At that the stifled flame in him leaped out even as +she had feared. +</p> + +<p> +"Better for <i>me</i> ... for you. That's the extent +of your honest belief. Mums, you're not facing this +business straight: though you think you are. You're +just a dear devoted mother-woman. Whatever your +son cries for, from a Noah's ark to a wife, you'll move +heaven and earth to get it for him at any cost—to any +one. And I love you for it. But you can't expect me, +always, to see it the same way. I'm considering +Sheila and no one but Sheila——" +</p> + +<p> +"My dear boy, <i>I'm</i> considering her too!" his mother +cried out, unable to endure that last reproach. "I've +been doing so a good deal longer than you have; and, +believe it or not, my understanding of her goes deeper +than yours. I'm a woman. She's a woman——" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>There</i> you are!" Mark fairly took the word out +of her mouth. "It's because she's so divinely a woman +that I refuse to let her in for ... a travesty of a +marriage. A girl like that was created for better things +than dancing attendance on a broken man. It would +be a sin. You know that as well as I do." +</p> + +<p> +She was silent a moment, recognising that he spoke +the truth: one side of it. But even while she loved +and honoured him for his refusal, conviction remained +that Sheila, if she really cared, would recognise no +obstacles. +</p> + +<p> +"But, dear, after all, things aren't quite past +mending," she urged in a quieter tone. "Surely Sheila +has the right to know you love her, and to make her +own choice." +</p> + +<p> +Mark shook his head. "She wouldn't think things +out. And she'd be too tender-hearted to refuse.—As +for me, there probably will be improvement, of sorts. +But, so far as I can see, the chances are I'll never be a +whole man again: and I don't see myself marrying +Sheila, on the off chance——" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh—you're hopeless! And <i>she's</i> helpless, poor +darling! Why must we wretched women always be +dumb on this matter that concerns us above everything +else? She ought to be allowed to take the initiative +in a case like this." +</p> + +<p> +"Just as well for me that she isn't," Mark muttered +grimly. But she detected in his voice the mere ghost +of a vibration, and a wild hope leaped in her heart. +Sheila might move him, or Keith—— +</p> + +<p> +At this point Mark leaned forward suddenly and +flung away his cigarette. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't let's talk of this again, Mums," he said, +more gently than he had spoken yet. "It hurts us +both too much. Also it's futile. Nothing on earth +would induce me to offer Sheila—damaged goods: +damaged in every sense. I'm the sinner first and last. +When I ought to have been at her feet, I was wasting +my substance on ... Miss Alison. Oh yes ... you +knew ... you're welcome to your private triumph.' +</p> + +<p> +"My son—it's no triumph," she broke out bitterly. +"It's torment. I would sooner have been entirely +wrong and that Bel should have turned out worthy of +your chivalrous love——" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, <i>I</i> wouldn't," he contradicted her inevitably. +"I wouldn't sooner anything that might have robbed +me of discovering Sheila as I've been discovering her +these few weeks; even though it's made things in +general ten times harder to bear. She's a perpetual +inspiration. A light of earth. If she were only that—! +But she's more. And so ... she's not for me. +Possibly I was mistaken this afternoon. It might +have been ... just her heavenly sympathy. I hope +to God it was! We'll run no more risks, anyway. +If she gets this leave of hers, I'd better go off on some +sort of tour with Keith:—doctor's orders! If he's too +busy, the Sinclairs might put up with me for a bit, or +Uncle John down at Weymouth. The farther the +better. We must furbish up some sort of presentable +excuse. It's pretty detestable, just when things in +general seemed to be taking a real lift all round." +</p> + +<p> +And his mother sat listening to it all, mute and +miserable, envisaging the spring and summer—that +had seemed to promise resurrection—darkened by +this fresh tragedy. She knew, now, just how high +hope had risen of late. +</p> + +<p> +"And is this sort of thing ... to be permanent?" +she asked, with a sigh of utter weariness. +</p> + +<p> +He turned and regarded her reproachfully, the +faintest flicker of humour in his grave eyes. "My dear +Mums, I sometimes wonder if you really have walked +this earth for fifty years! Is anything ever +permanent—except change? I suppose ... we shall both +shake down in time and accept the horrid fact. But +at present, as things stand, the less she sees of me the +better. She ought—to marry. And she probably +will. Oh <i>God</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +The last words were no more than a fierce whisper, +and his hand closed sharply on the arm of his chair. +</p> + +<p> +His mother neither moved nor spoke. She leaned +forward over the fire, her face half turned away from +him, thankful the lights were not switched on. +</p> + +<p> +But although no sob escaped her, Mark knew very +well that she was crying. In other circumstances he +would have been on his knees beside her. As it was, +he sat there dumb; chained to the accursed chair, raging +at his helplessness; raging still more at his very +belated readiness to fulfil her heart's desire. +</p> + +<p> +Soon she rose hurriedly, murmured something about +coming back soon, and left him.... +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +They were alone that evening. Keith was dining at +Wynchmere and speaking afterwards at the Working +Man's Club on ambulance driving in France. They +missed him badly, both of them. It is often the way +with such quiet, unobtrusive natures. Keith and +Sheila were alike in that respect: and all through +dinner, both were vividly present to the minds of +mother and son. But their talk in the main was of +Bramleigh Beeches, Indian genius, and the poetry of +Tagore. +</p> + +<p> +After dinner Mark asked for <i>Sadhana</i> and music. +He wanted to escape from talk that could not, just +then, be anything but a mere makeshift between them: +a state of things unnatural and intolerable to both. +While his mother played Grieg and Beethoven, he +opened his book haphazard at the poet's exquisite +clear-eyed discourse on "Realisation in Love." +</p> + +<p> +"Our individual soul," he read, "has been separated +from the Supreme Soul not from alienation, but +from fulness of love. It is for this reason that +untruths, sufferings, and evil are not at a standstill: +the human soul can defy them, can overcome them; +nay, can altogether transform them into new power +and beauty...." +</p> + +<p> +Mark pondered that sentence a long while. It was +like a light flashed upon the dark path before him; like +the voice of God in his own soul, saying, "This do and +thou shalt live." His faith in the Unseen was, like +that of most Britons, an inarticulate and very hidden +thing. But his brief, strenuous spell of service, +followed by weeks of intimate, yet unspoken +communion with the passionate soul of one small French +nun, had intensified his inner vision and deepened +the measure of faith that was in him. To-night he +recognised and accepted the task assigned him; +recognised also that, just in so far as he fulfilled it, he +would be still able to serve his country and his own +people, in defiance of his handicap. The struggle +between spirit and matter, that had hitherto been the +keynote of his art, must now become the keynote of his +life.... "Unconquering, yet unconquered...." Stevenson +knew. +</p> + +<p> +Yet still his desolate, rebellious heart cried out that +<i>with Sheila</i> any achievement were possible: without +her the future loomed dark and formless, a night +devoid of stars.... +</p> + +<p> +Punctually at ten he asked to be taken up to bed. +When he was gone, the house felt so silent and empty +that Helen fled for refuge to her own room and her own +fire. Anxious and disheartened by this fresh trouble, +she clung to the thought of Keith as a shipwrecked +man to a spar. Her own pleading was vitiated—no +denying it—by the mere fact of her motherhood. +Keith could speak more impartially, more frankly, as +one man to another. She wanted to see him, and +unburden her heart to him before she slept. But he +expected to be late and had begged her not to sit up. +Besides, he would be tired and it would not be fair on +him. She must have patience till the morning. Her +rebel spirit was being drilled into patience these days. +</p> + +<p> +The door into Mark's room was shut. It most +often had to be, now. But she heard no sound of +footsteps. The men had evidently left him. Should +she go in and say good night? Her heart yearned +over him; and it was hateful to feel unsure of her +welcome. Did he guess how acutely she missed his casual +wanderings in and out; the arguments, the "ragging," +and the dear delights of their ancient comradeship, +that almost seemed to belong to another life? +</p> + +<p> +Latterly, under Sheila's reviving influence, the old +happy relation had been renewed with a difference. +It was she who now went in to him for early tea, +when he did not peremptorily order her back lest she +catch cold; and the "hair-brush interview" often +took place beside his bed. Being dependent on the +men, he could not sit up till all hours. Now, +to-day—just as hope was sending green shoots into the +sunshine—she felt jerked back into the miseries and +uncertainties of a winter that she would fain wipe +clean out of her memory. +</p> + +<p> +Finally, she decided to go in to him and chance the +result. +</p> + +<p> +The comfort of finding she was welcome would be +worth the risk. +</p> + +<p> +His room was in darkness: curtains drawn back, +windows flung open, revealing a strip of starry sky +and black pine branches blotting out a constellation +or two. The light from her own room guided her +to his bed. +</p> + +<p> +He said not a word. But his arms came out to greet +her; and he drew her down, clinging to her, as he had +never done in the days before War had crippled his +strong, shapely body and shaken his nerves. +</p> + +<p> +"I thought—you had forgotten," he said at last. +</p> + +<p> +"And <i>I</i> thought perhaps—you would rather not." +</p> + +<p> +He tightened his hold. "I forbid you to think that, +ever. No matter what the devil inside me may say +or do. A nice sort of curse I am to you, little Mums." +</p> + +<p> +"You're the dearest blessing of my life," she +answered, her cheek against his. +</p> + +<p> +It was some time before he let her go: but neither +of them spoke the word uppermost in their minds. +</p> + +<p> +She left him at last, with his fervent "God bless +you" in her ears and hope renewed in her heart. +Sheila—if she loved him sufficiently—must win in the +end. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0405"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER V +</h3> + +<p class="intro"> +"Yea, there shall be a time that shall lay hold on a man unaware +and shall give him one thing beyond his hope."—PINDAR. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +She woke late, after a restless night, to find letters +already on her tray and the housemaid at her washing-stand. +</p> + +<p> +In her room, as in Mark's, there was never any need +for drawing back curtains or opening windows to let in +the morning. Winter and summer she performed +both offices herself before going to sleep. For her, +boxed-up bedrooms, stuffily curtained, were anathema. +Nature's night was a thing of brooding beauty; +and the stars were her friends. If she woke in the +small hours, a frequent event, she liked to find them +looking in on her, to see them glimmering like Christmas +candles through the blackness of her sentinel pines. +</p> + +<p> +Now the birds were making music in their branches, +and the stars had long since been blown out by the sun. +</p> + +<p> +"Has Sir Mark had his tea?" she asked, as the maid +went out. +</p> + +<p> +"No, my lady: he's still asleep." +</p> + +<p> +"Tell Macgregor not to disturb him." +</p> + +<p> +That meant—a bad night: for he was an early waker. +And, for all her devotion, she could do practically +nothing to ease his misery. It is one of the hardest +though perhaps not the least salutary laws of life. +</p> + +<p> +She lit her spirit lamp and took up her letters. One +of them was from Mrs. Melrose: an unusual event. +In spite of the link between their children, and the +natural inference that some day Sheila would marry +Mark, these two were not friends. They were merely +life-long acquaintances. But Mrs. Melrose, like many +of her kind, could slip on the cloak of friendship when +it happened to serve her purpose. And it served her +purpose now. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"My dear Lady Forsyth," she wrote—"I've been +feeling rather concerned lately about our Sheila +and her future prospects. I say 'our,' because, by +her own choice, she seems to belong almost as much to +you as to her father and me. But—after all—she is +mine. I am responsible for her welfare. And as we +are such very old friends, I am going to write to you +quite frankly on the subject of her possible marriage. +Of course I know how you discourage gossip in every +shape and form, but you are, no doubt, aware that for +a long time Sheila's name was coupled with Mark's +all over the neighbourhood. Quite natural—you must +admit. And if Mark had not suddenly gone off at a +tangent in another direction, I wouldn't have given +the matter a thought. I am far too busy to worry over +trifles." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +("Too busy to win your daughter's confidence or +her heart!" was Helen's mental interjection.) +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"But even in these casual days, it does not +improve a girl's chances if her name is bandied about, +coupled with this man and that. Last autumn there +was that Mr. Seldon. Now I hear <i>he</i> is running after +Miss Alison. She seems a dangerous young woman. +</p> + +<p> +"But what chiefly worries me is this. I discovered +the other day that people round here are again +speculating about Sheila and Mark. And I am sure, dear +Lady Forsyth, you will agree with me that this won't +do at all. Mind, I am not saying a word against +Mark. But I do think that, for Sheila's sake, he should +be careful not to set people talking again in that way, +as he would not, I feel sure, think of asking her to +marry him, now. To be quite frank, neither her father +nor I would wish it. And I feel sure you would not +wish it either——" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +At this point Helen flushed furiously. Those velvety +phrases barely concealed the direct hit at herself: +but the next few sentences so startled her that she +almost forgot to be angry. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Personally, in strict confidence, I am convinced +that Mr. Macnair is seriously <i>épris</i> with our little girl. +Surely you must have noticed it yourself? And +nothing would delight me more. He is clever, charming, +eligible in every way. I thought of it first when +he began teaching her to drive. And it has been very +marked since his return from France. I have said +nothing yet, to Sheila herself. She is difficult about +such things; so shut in. Her Melrose grandmother +all over. And Mr. Macnair is so modest. The sort of +man who needs a certain amount of <i>discreet</i> encouragement. +But darling Sheila is rather a little fool in that +way. I've told her more than once her pride will be +her ruin! Now she talks about spending her leave at +Wynchcombe Friars. This would be <i>such</i> a good +chance to complete matters and put an end to all this +gossip, that I hope I am not presuming on our friendship, +if I ask you to give them both a <i>little</i> push in the +right direction—quite unobtrusively, as only an older +woman can. It's all they need, dear foolish creatures, +and I may add you would earn my eternal gratitude. +Forgive me if I have written too frankly. But being +a mother yourself, I am <i>sure</i> you will understand. So +glad to hear from Sheila that Mark is really better in +every way. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + "Yours most sincerely,<br> + "ADELA MELROSE.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +It is hardly too much to say that before Helen +Forsyth reached the end of that amazing burst of +confidence, she had a sudden dizzying sensation of +seeing the world, her familiar home-world, the wrong +side up. Keith and Sheila—whom she had always +regarded as belonging respectively to herself and +Mark! And she—with her tragic knowledge of her +son's belated awakening—was to give those two the +"little push" that would send them into each other's +arms! +</p> + +<p> +Once or twice, at Boulogne, she remembered, this +very idea had dimly occurred to her. But now—coming +from Mrs. Melrose of all people—she found it +intolerable. She resented it vehemently; and not on +Mark's account alone. Yet the disconcerting fact +remained that Keith might hold other views on the +subject. She had always been sceptical over Mark's +nonsense about herself. At least—until this +bewildering moment—she had honestly believed in her own +scepticism. She had put the idea away from her and +thanked God for the treasure of Keith's devoted +friendship. But this morning she perceived, for the +first time, that she was not at all prepared for his +falling in love elsewhere. +</p> + +<p> +Was she fundamentally given to self-deception, +without knowing it—she who set such store by sincerity +of soul? Only last night Mark had turned another of +her "honest beliefs" inside out. What would he say to +this? +</p> + +<p> +And Sheila herself? Incredible! +</p> + +<p> +Distracted by conflicting emotions and utterly +perplexed, she leaned back among her pillows. There +could be no peace, on her own account or Mark's, +till she had got at the truth. But—a gleam of +humour flashed through her dismay—how was it to be +done? Wire to Sheila: "Are you in love with Keith?"? +Ask Keith over his coffee and newspaper: "Are you in +love with Sheila?"? Confront each with the other on +Wednesday, and say point-blank: "Look here, if you +two want to marry, Mark and I have no objections to +make"? +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps they were hesitating on that score. It +would be just like them. And as to Keith, there was +no denying that Mrs. Melrose had a case. He had +never disguised his admiration for Sheila. Words and +incidents, unnoticed at the time, came crowding back +to her memory—— +</p> + +<p> +It was mainly to Sheila that Helen looked for +reprieve, especially after last night. Yet, if she went to +Mark now, with this Melrose fantasy, he would +simply say: "What did I tell you? The real mother +has a natural eye to Sheila's real interests. If there's +a ghost of a chance for Keith, let the whole man win +her if he can." +</p> + +<p> +Yes. Mark would say that: and he would be right. +</p> + +<p> +Of a sudden, she felt heartily ashamed of herself. +What was it she had said to Sheila at Inveraig?—"Be +as kind as you please to your poor things so long +as you stop short of marrying them." Yet when it +came to her own son, she was ready to eat her counsel +without compunction. But then—Mark was Mark. +And if Sheila loved him—if she preferred mothering +her one disabled hero——? +</p> + +<p> +If—if! She was simply back again at her argument +of last night. Till she knew the facts, speculation was +futile. And until she did know, she would certainly +say nothing to Mark. Keith, as usual, was her city of +refuge. After breakfast she would get him away +alone and tell him everything. If necessary, she +would even show him that detestable letter..... +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +At breakfast in the study they talked war news and +Government delays and the Great Offensive, that +appeared to have been slain either by bad Staff work, +or by lack of ammunition and shells. And while +they talked, Helen was surreptitiously watching +Keith's lean, thoughtful face, with awakened eyes; +listening to the even quiet of his voice with new ears. +And all the time she was telling herself sternly that +perhaps this very Keith, her own peculiar property, +was in love with Sheila. +</p> + +<p> +When at last he went down to the library, she +followed him at a casual distance. He had just grasped +the door-handle when she reached the last of the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +"Keith," she called; and he turned quickly. "I've +had a letter that puzzles me rather. Can you spare +me a few minutes?" +</p> + +<p> +"The whole morning if you like." +</p> + +<p> +There was no fervour in his tone. He simply stated +an obvious fact. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, come out on the terrace and bask in this +lovely day. When the sun is kind enough to take +notice of England we ought to give him every encouragement!" +</p> + +<p> +She talked on rather rapidly for the sake of saying +something and keeping nervousness at bay. She had +a deep respect for the reserves of her men-folk: and +now, too late, she shrank from laying a finger on the +curtain that hid the real Keith from her. Outside +on the terrace she fell silent till they reached the far +corner, where Mark and Sheila had parted so abruptly +the day before. +</p> + +<p> +"Well—what about your letter?" he asked, an +amused note in his voice. It was so like Helen to ask +for an urgent few minutes and then talk about April +sunshine. It was the sort of thing that made her at +once so aggravating and so lovable. +</p> + +<p> +No escape now; and she plunged headlong. +</p> + +<p> +"It's from Mrs. Melrose. She has an idea ... +she says ... you and Sheila...." Quite useless. +She could get no further. "I think," she added, +handing him that innocuous-looking bombshell, "you'd +better read it for yourself." +</p> + +<p> +Mystified by her manner and mildly curious, he +obeyed: and she, feeling uncomfortably shaky, half +sat on the edge of the stone balustrade, watching his +face for some sign of confirmation or reprieve. She +saw his eyebrows go up, then draw together in a +sharp frown. Then there leaped a flame in his grey +eyes such as she had seen once or twice at Boulogne +when he came into collision with immobile Authority. +Finally she saw a dull flush creep into his face:—anger +or emotion? It was hard to tell. The curtain was +not lifted—yet. +</p> + +<p> +Quite suddenly, he looked up and caught her eyes on him. +</p> + +<p> +"Has the woman taken leave of her senses?" he +asked, in a dazed voice. "Sheer insolence—all that +twaddle about Mark. As for the rest—" He +paused, and his flush deepened. "Sheila and I are +quite capable of managing our own affairs without her +inspired assistance." +</p> + +<p> +"Precisely what I thought," Helen murmured. +That "Sheila and I" produced a horrid sinking at her +heart. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>You</i>? What have you been thinking?" +</p> + +<p> +"A good deal ... since I read that letter." And +the pang she had no business to feel gave her +courage to go on: "Keith, if it's true ... what +Mrs. Melrose says, I want to say ... on my own account, +that you need have no hesitation in this matter, +because of Mark. He ... he only spoke of it +yesterday. He feels ... he has no right. I confess +I had hoped—but ... we both care so immensely +for you two...." +</p> + +<p> +"That you are graciously willing to fling us at each +other's heads," Keith broke out angrily, "at the +instigation of this impertinent woman. Upon my +word, Helen, I stand confounded——!" +</p> + +<p> +She also stood confounded. Anger from Keith was +more than she had bargained for: and she was further +inconvenienced by an ignominious impulse to weep. +</p> + +<p> +This gave Keith a distinct advantage: and he went +on speaking with the same phenomenal vehemence. "I +gave you credit for a better understanding of us both. +Sheila and I, let me tell you, know our own minds very +thoroughly, and have done so for years. You say +Mark spoke of this yesterday? I'll warrant <i>he</i> never +coupled Sheila's name with mine." +</p> + +<p> +"No. He was speaking of himself. He feels ... it +isn't fair on her...." +</p> + +<p> +"A good deal fairer, in my opinion, than sending her +home crumpled up as she was last night. Something +happened, while we were out, that broke her all to +pieces. Obviously, from the way you are both behaving, +neither of you have a glimmering notion of what +that girl feels for Mark. It's my belief that, through +long repression, her love has reached a height of almost +sacrificial devotion; and that's not the sort of thing a +man can afford to fling aside for a scruple—even an +honourable scruple." +</p> + +<p> +"Would you say the same," she ventured—secretly +overjoyed that he shared her opinion—"if you +... were in Mark's position?" +</p> + +<p> +Keith smiled. His anger had spent itself. +</p> + +<p> +"Most likely I should be as cruelly considerate as he +is being now. But standing outside, I can get a clearer +view of things. Helen, if he persists in holding back, +it's she that will suffer most: and I wouldn't mind +telling him so in very plain English. But it would +be infinitely better, for her own chances, if Sheila +could be induced to speak for herself." +</p> + +<p> +"Keith! By whom?" +</p> + +<p> +"By me." +</p> + +<p> +"Would you do it—really?" +</p> + +<p> +"I would, if only to refute that woman's fairy tale...." +</p> + +<p> +"But—when?" +</p> + +<p> +"To-day, if possible." +</p> + +<p> +Helen's eyebrows were eloquent. It was not the +first time, since war awakened him, that she had been +taken aback by his quiet swiftness of thought and +decision. +</p> + +<p> +Before she had recovered from her surprise, he was +speaking again. "So much for Mark and Sheila—good +luck to them! As for yourself—" He +paused, gazing at her steadfastly. "You ... blessed +woman, has the truth never once dawned on +you ... in all these years...?" +</p> + +<p> +It was visibly dawning on her now, half blinding +her with its brightness. She had thought to lift a +corner of the curtain, and here he was flinging back +the whole of it that she might see and know the depth +of her misunderstanding. Confronted thus by the +real, hidden Keith, she found it amazingly difficult +to say even a word in reply. +</p> + +<p> +"Mark did write something once," she admitted +lamely, "in his last letter from the trenches." +</p> + +<p> +He could smile now at the tragic memory. +</p> + +<p> +"That accounts for the missing sheet?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"And you didn't believe him?" +</p> + +<p> +"No. Somehow it seemed ... preposterous." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Why</i> preposterous?" +</p> + +<p> +His laconic bluntness told her how deeply he was +moved. +</p> + +<p> +"Keith, I'm eight years older than you. And ... I +felt as if it ought to be Sheila. And—" A still +longer pause. Her heart was beating in jerks. "I +wasn't altogether sure ... of myself. Then when +you came back, you gave no sign——" +</p> + +<p> +"'He either fears his fate too much, or his deserts +are small,'" Keith quoted, still watching her sunlit +face. "A little of both—in this case. My dear ... it's +more than fifteen years now that I've loved you. +I've never given a thought to any other woman. And +I've never entertained a shred of hope——" +</p> + +<p> +She tried to speak. It was useless: but the quiver +of her lips emboldened him. +</p> + +<p> +"Helen—was I wrong?" +</p> + +<p> +"Partly wrong." +</p> + +<p> +"Does that mean ... would you—could you +marry me?" +</p> + +<p> +"I think it's rather ... could <i>you</i>," she said very +low; and if her words were faintly discouraging, he +had the tender assurance of her eyes. "I must be +frank with you, Keith. What I have to give—though +I give it with all my heart—is not the same thing +... quite. I can't be—you understand?" +</p> + +<p> +"Of course I understand....' +</p> + +<p> +"But that's only half," she interposed, smiling. +"And I had to say it. The other half is ... I love +you dearly. I need you ... at every turn. We +seem to belong in a very special way to each other. +And this morning I wanted to murder Mrs. Melrose. +If that's confession enough...?" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>If</i>?" he echoed: and she had never heard his +expressive voice condense so much feeling into a single +word. +</p> + +<p> +She had risen in speaking, and now she stood before +him in the clear sunlight, that made her eyes look bluer +than ever, and discovered gleams of silver in her +red-brown hair. But Keith had no concern for these, or +for the lines pencilled by sorrow and strain. He looked +beyond them to the springs of eternal youth within +her. Frankly, and in a manner delightfully her own, +she had confessed her need of him; yet he made no +move towards her. They simply stood there, a foot +of space between them, their spirits linked in closest +communion—satisfied. +</p> + +<p> +Even had they been indoors it is doubtful whether +Keith would have done otherwise. The truth +penetrated slowly; and for him that moment had a +sacredness, an exaltation—— +</p> + +<p> +A touch, a word, would have brought them down to +earth. +</p> + +<p> +Yet it was he who first became aware of the "scarlet +spider" skimming down the drive. "Sheila," he +said quietly. "I'm certain of it." +</p> + +<p> +And he was right. The telegram was addressed +to Helen, and it ran: "Cannot come Wednesday. +Please forgive.—SHEILA." +</p> + +<p> +She handed it to Keith. He read it without +comment and put out his hand for a form. +</p> + +<p> +Helen stood close to him, almost touching his elbow, +while he wrote: "Arrange to be free to-day. I am +coming this morning. Urgent.—MACNAIR." +</p> + +<p> +"Be off with that double quick," he said to the +boy. Then, as the red wheels vanished, he turned +to Helen. "Just a chance it may get there before me +and pave the way. I've business first in Wynchmere +that can't wait." +</p> + +<p> +He spoke so completely in his ordinary manner that +Helen felt almost as if their wonderful moment must +have been a dream. But it was no dream. He was +talking of it now in the same calm fashion. +</p> + +<p> +"We won't tell Mark—yet," he said. +</p> + +<p> +"No. It would be cruel. I may not even go up till +you come back. He said he might work this morning +and wanted to be alone. Afraid, I suspect, of my +returning to the attack! Oh, Keith, I <i>hope</i> you +succeed." +</p> + +<p> +"I mean to. I hope she will. That's more to the +point." +</p> + +<p> +Helen sighed. "He simply adores her. One sees +the difference—after Bel. But he's hopelessly obstinate +about it. I was quite angry with him last night." +</p> + +<p> +"Poor old chap!" His eyes dwelt upon her tenderly. +"Sometimes I wonder which of your two children +you love best." +</p> + +<p> +"And I've sometimes wondered which of them <i>you</i> +loved best!" was her counter-thrust to that +impermissible remark. "Go soon. And ... come back +soon. Mrs. Melrose will never forgive me!" +</p> + +<p> +"We'll survive that. And she'll have me to reckon +with now...." +</p> + +<p> +Before leaving, he came to her in the drawing-room, +where she was filling a bowl with daffodils. Silently +he held out his hands, and she gave him both her own. +</p> + +<p> +"Rather wet!" she said, to cover a troublesome +feeling of confusion. +</p> + +<p> +He smiled and drew her nearer. Then, very quietly, +as if it were an act of consecration, he stooped and +kissed her. +</p> + +<p> +Afterwards she came out and waved to him from +the doorstep as he drove away: the same Keith to +whom she had played elder sister for years; and yet so +strange a Keith that it was as if she had barely known +him till to-day. +</p> + +<p> +Putting on her garden hat, she wandered out into +the pinewood, dappled with sun and shadow, jewelled +with patches of moss. Letters were waiting to be +written. Let them wait. She had a consuming need +to be alone with her amazing knowledge and her so +strangely reawakened heart. +</p> + +<p> +Fifteen years! What was she, to deserve such love +from two such men as Richard and Keith? Deliberately +she linked their names in her mind. Deliberately +she stood still with uplifted face and closed eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Richard, <i>do</i> you understand?" she whispered +just above her breath. +</p> + +<p> +Only the pine branches rustled overhead. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0406"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER VI +</h3> + +<p class="intro2"> + "You yourself know not how beautiful is your gift."<br> + SIR RABINDRANATH TAGORE.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +It was Mrs. Melrose who opened Keith's telegram, +and her elation may be conceived. Sheila was +engaged, at the moment, on a new arrival; but directly +she was free, her mother beckoned her mysteriously +into the passage and handed her the envelope. +</p> + +<p> +"I opened it, just to see if there was any answer," +she explained with repressed eagerness, while Sheila +stood frowning at the cryptic message that might +mean ... anything, everything. +</p> + +<p> +"I <i>wish</i> you wouldn't open telegrams addressed to +me, Mother," she said, none too graciously. It was +the second time lately that Mrs. Melrose had been +guilty of that dire offence; and she was one of the very +few people who knew that Sheila could snap on provocation: +a sufficiently illuminating comment on their +relation. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, really, dear, one doesn't <i>expect</i> a wire to be a +love-letter in disguise!" Sheila, who could be dense +at times, missed the delicate implication that Keith's +message amounted to a proposal of marriage. "Of +course you must be free. I'll arrange it with Sister +Nelson." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, please don't trouble. <i>I</i> can arrange things all +right." +</p> + +<p> +And she did. +</p> + +<p> +Some twenty minutes later, Mark's car drew up before +the spacious, flat-fronted Georgian house; and +Keith sprang out of it. To-day all his movements had +a new alertness. He looked and felt five years younger. +</p> + +<p> +Three shallow steps led up to the front door; and +just as he reached these, Sheila came out in hat and +coat, plainly prepared to join him. She looked paler +than usual, but entirely mistress of herself. +</p> + +<p> +"You got my wire?" he asked superfluously. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. Very mysterious! So I thought ... better +be prepared for emergencies. Nothing wrong with +Mums?" +</p> + +<p> +"No. Mums is particularly well this morning. +It's not on <i>her</i> account I'm here." +</p> + +<p> +The emphasised word brought a faint glow to her +cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +"Mark?" she asked, almost under her breath. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—Mark." +</p> + +<p> +"You mean—he sent you?" +</p> + +<p> +"No. The impulse was altogether my own. I am +here because I believe in you, Sheila. Come for a +stroll down the garden before we start back." +</p> + +<p> +She came—bewildered, palpitating; prepared for +almost anything but the actual event. +</p> + +<p> +From the house of many windows, park-like grounds +sloped gently down to the Wynch, broader and lazier +here than at Wynchcombe Friars. The grass was +bright with crocuses and early daffodils; and on the +bare boughs overhead, half-opened leaf-buds gleamed +like jewels in the sun. +</p> + +<p> +Keith, as he turned, caught sight of Mrs. Melrose +at an upper window, watching them go. +</p> + +<p> +"Your mother has her eye on us," he remarked +casually. "I believe she thinks I've come tearing over +to make you an offer of marriage!" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>You</i>!" Sheila confronted him in blank surprise. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't be alarmed," Keith reassured her, with +his whimsical smile. "I've already been guilty of it +once this morning." +</p> + +<p> +At that her eyes opened wider than ever, and he +saw light dawn in their depths. +</p> + +<p> +"Mums?" +</p> + +<p> +He nodded. +</p> + +<p> +"How simply splendid! It's been my pet, private +dream for ages. But I was afraid...." +</p> + +<p> +"So was I. Horribly afraid. Without reason, I +am thankful to say." +</p> + +<p> +A pause. +</p> + +<p> +"I want ... to congratulate you," she said softly. +"There's no one on earth like Mums. She's the +youngest of us all. And ... Mark? Isn't he glad?" +</p> + +<p> +"Mark's in no mood to be glad about anything," +Keith answered, with a straight look. "That's why +I am here. We haven't told him. We can't tell +him ... yet. And we can't help him, either of us. +Only you can do that." +</p> + +<p> +She flushed hotly and looked down at the crocuses. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm afraid you overestimate my powers. I've +done all ... I can.' +</p> + +<p> +"No, you've <i>not</i> done all," he corrected her gently. +"Or I should not be standing here. I take it that you +... care for Mark: that you have always cared." +</p> + +<p> +She drew in her lips and answered nothing. Then +she looked up at him, her secret unveiled. Strangely, +it did not hurt her that he should know. +</p> + +<p> +"I thought so," he remarked to her silence. "And +on the strength of that conviction, I've come over to +put the whole truth before you. It's no easy thing +I'm going to ask of you, Sheila. But I believe in +you—as I said." +</p> + +<p> +He moved on in speaking, and she moved on +beside him—wondering, fearing, yet longing to +know all. +</p> + +<p> +Plainly and straightforwardly he told of her mother's +letter; quieting, with a tactful hand, her incidental +burst of indignation. Personally, he assured her, he +felt quite grateful to Mrs. Melrose, who, in trying +to do him one good turn, had inadvertently done him +another. That consideration calmed her a little and +touched up her sense of humour. +</p> + +<p> +"If she's been any help to you and Mums, I forgive +her ... for that part of it," she said in a voice that +quivered between a laugh and a sob. "But I won't +forgive her ... about Mark ... <i>ever</i>." +</p> + +<p> +And when Sheila said that, she meant it. She had +never forgiven Bel. It was the streak of Northern +granite in her disposition. Keith had purposely +included those remarks that had roused his own +anger. He had reckoned them his strongest cards. +He now perceived them to be stronger than he had +supposed, and he suffered a passing twinge of +conscience. But the matter at stake was too vital to +be tripped up by side issues: and he went on to tell her, +in quiet forcible phrases, of Helen's distress, of Mark's +devotion that appeared to confirm rather than weaken +his flat refusal to sacrifice her on the altar of his own +supreme need. +</p> + +<p> +And Sheila heard him out in an unbroken silence. +He could only gauge the effect of his revelation by her +uneven breathing and an occasional movement of her +lips. +</p> + +<p> +When he had told all, he stood still and confronted +her. "There, my dear," he said, a deep note of feeling +in his voice. "It's a tragic tangle. And, for love of +Mark and you ... and Helen, I'd go almost any +length to unravel it. But there's only one who can +do that. And now perhaps you can guess what it is I +came to say." +</p> + +<p> +She still remained silent, studying a patch of crocuses, +realising acutely all that his request implied; +shrinking, yet passionately longing to go in and win +that which was her own. She had gone very pale +again. But as realisation deepened, her face became +one burning blush. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you mean ... that I must offer ... myself?" +she asked at length, addressing her question +to the crocuses. "I—I almost did it yesterday. +At least ... I'm sure he saw it in my eyes. And +... he slipped away." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. He would. I am afraid—if you really want +to convince him, you must put aside all the +conventionalities, all your natural reluctance, and +... show him your heart. <i>Make</i> him believe. He only +hesitates, remember, from the highest motives and +because he has no conception how deeply you care.—Now, +will you come along with me and put everything +right for the four of us?" +</p> + +<p> +There fell another tremendous silence. Keith knew +well that he could scarcely have asked a harder thing +of her. Second after second she stood there, her hands +clenched, wrestling with her pride, her dumbness.... +</p> + +<p> +Then she said slowly, as if speaking to herself: "I +can't ... I <i>can't</i>. It's against my whole nature. +The words would never come. Oh <i>why</i> ... won't +he understand?" +</p> + +<p> +"Because he is a very chivalrous gentleman," +Keith answered with significant emphasis. "And if +you really can't bring yourself to make a move, well +... I must go back alone and confess I was mistaken. +Of course, <i>I</i> can speak to him myself. But +if I failed, I should fail fatally.—It is strange. I felt +absolutely certain of you, Sheila.—Is that your final, +considered answer? Am I to go?" +</p> + +<p> +By a wise intuition he refrained from pleading or +further argument, and his stern quietness stung her +as no reproach would have done. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly she felt Mark himself tugging at her heart. +She saw the look in his eyes, heard again those terrible +words that haunted her brain. And was this to be +the end? Were they all to be made miserable because +there were bounds that her pride could not pass, a +limit beyond which she could not or would not go? +</p> + +<p> +Against that arbitrary decree all her deeper, truer +nature rose up in revolt. There were no bounds +... no limits. In that critical moment of decision her +childhood's creed of courage came timely to her aid. +</p> + +<p> +She looked up at last: and Keith saw that he had +prevailed. +</p> + +<p> +"No. You are <i>not</i> going back alone," she said, +steadfastly meeting his gaze. "I was a coward to say +... I couldn't speak to him. I can. And I will." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah—that's more like it!" There was vast relief +in Keith's tone. "You've saved my reputation for +omniscience. Now, come and save Mark from himself." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>If</i> I can," she murmured, with a catch in her +breath; and they hurried back up the slope towards +the house. +</p> + +<p> +There on the steps they descried, afar off, the +severely repressed figure of Mrs. Melrose radiating +congratulations. Keith, the resourceful, felt +suddenly nonplussed. +</p> + +<p> +"Sheila, look there! We're done for." +</p> + +<p> +"Not a bit of it," Sheila replied in her most +matter-of-fact tone. "We're in a mortal hurry and we don't +happen to notice her till we're in the car." +</p> + +<p> +"Capital! Lucky I backed it well away from the +entrance." +</p> + +<p> +It was done—and neatly done. Keith was just +turning the car when he ostentatiously caught sight of +his would-be mother-in-law. +</p> + +<p> +"Good morning, Mrs. Melrose," he called out +cheerfully. "I'm sorry I can't stop. So good of you to +spare her. She's badly wanted over there." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Melrose, completely mystified and very much +annoyed, fluttered a perfunctory hand and went back +into the house wondering irritably what on earth had +happened to Mr. Macnair. +</p> + +<p> +That Lady Forsyth could have happened to him +never so much as entered her head. There had been +a good deal of talk at one time; but it had fizzled out +for want of fuel. Her chief concern at the moment +was to prevent Sheila from becoming entangled +again with Mark. When he would have been a really +suitable match, she had muddled things. Just like +her! But now—position or no position—it wouldn't +do at all—— +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +And Sheila, with never a word of her intent, was +speeding through the April sunshine, bent upon a +permanent entanglement with Mark: one that no mother +in creation could undo. +</p> + +<p> +As the little car lightly tossed the miles aside, he? +courage and purpose rose steadily. +</p> + +<p> +Keith, for all his own eagerness, drove at a low speed. +He knew well, from experience, how rushing through +the air scatters and paralyses thought. They had +but seven miles to cover; and he guessed rightly that +Sheila needed a quiet breathing space to mobilise her +spiritual forces for the brave adventure in hand. So +they drove leisurely between woods and fields and +uplands, quick with new life and young desires. And +throughout that most companionable drive they +scarcely exchanged a word. +</p> + +<p> +Only when Keith handed Sheila out of the car, he +retained her hand a moment in his own. +</p> + +<p> +"Luck follows pluck," he said, smiling. "<i>I</i> have +no fear. But first we must find Helen." +</p> + +<p> +They found her basking on the terrace with an +open book in her lap. As a matter of fact, she had +not read two pages. She had done literally nothing +but await their arrival. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, here she is," Keith said, as Helen sprang +up to greet them. "My private trophy. How's +Mark?" +</p> + +<p> +"I haven't been near him. I began to think you +would never come." +</p> + +<p> +"Ungrateful!" he reproached her gravely. "We've +done it all in record time. We deserve congratulation. +Now—give her your blessing and don't keep +her long." +</p> + +<p> +While the blessing was in progress he left them. +His own turn would come in time. +</p> + +<p> +"Dearest one," Sheila murmured between her +kisses, "I <i>do</i> congratulate you with all my soul. He's +a treasure. This morning.... But you shall hear +all that ... afterwards." Then she stood back a +little, blushing and smiling. "Mums, tell me true. +Am I being very unspeakable ... after yesterday?" +</p> + +<p> +"Very unspeakable!" The older woman slipped +an arm round her and drew her through the open +French window into the house. "God bless you, +child," she added gravely, kissing her again. "You're +being angelically a woman. But, darling ... are +you quite, <i>quite</i> sure...?" Her eyes completed the +question. "I've had pricks of conscience, waiting +here. Have you realised ... <i>every</i>thing?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. Everything. Long ago," Sheila answered +steadily, a hot wave of colour in her cheeks. "It +simply doesn't count. Nothing counts ... except him." +</p> + +<p> +"In that case I'm satisfied. But I couldn't forget +what you said once at Inveraig." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, that! Fancy your remembering. But +now—it's Mark. He's my share of the War. And +... gospel truth, Mums—I'd sooner 'mother' him than +anything else on earth." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh—if you can only make him understand <i>that</i>!" Tears +stood in Helen's eyes. "It was not for nothing +I christened you 'Queen of the Poor Things.'" +</p> + +<p> +"Mums, how <i>dare</i> you!" For a moment Sheila was +really angry. "He's <i>not</i> a poor thing. He's the most +glorious thing that was ever made.—Now, let me fly +upstairs. 'Valour will come and go!'" +</p> + +<p> +Her low laugh had a break in it, and she hurried +from the room. +</p> + +<p> +Outside the studio, she paused to steady herself. +No sound came from within; and she opened the door +an inch or two. +</p> + +<p> +"Mark," she called softly. "It's Sheila. Can I +come in?" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Sheila!</i>" Amazement and smothered passion +sounded in his voice. But there was fear in it also. +</p> + +<p> +"Come in, of course," he added hastily, as if to +cover both. +</p> + +<p> +She found him by the open window, sitting at his +easel, crayon in hand: and on the easel stood a delicate +pastel study of herself. If courage had wavered +a moment, it revived at that. She looked from him to +the picture with lifted brows. +</p> + +<p> +"Quite good," she said, slipping past the awkward +explanation of her presence. +</p> + +<p> +"It isn't. It's a wretched travesty!'" he answered +bluntly. "But one must do something ... to keep +going." He paused and scanned her face searchingly. +She did not attempt to avoid his gaze. Her eyes were +radiant, as if the windows of her soul were flung open +to the sunrise. +</p> + +<p> +Sudden fear came upon him and sudden remembrance +of his mother's words. He had not fortified +himself to resist this. Yet resist it he must. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Why</i> have you come again so soon ... like this?" +he asked, going straight to the point in his usual fashion. +</p> + +<p> +"Because ... after yesterday..." She hesitated +and drew in her lips. "There could be only one +way to put things straight between us and make you +unsay that bitter thing about the dead having the best +of it. Mark, it haunted me. But ... I couldn't +have brought myself to come, like this, so soon, except +for Mr. Macnair and Mother's extraordinary letter +to Mums." +</p> + +<p> +"What letter? Has Mums anything to do with +this?" Mark flashed out. +</p> + +<p> +And Sheila was thankful she could answer +truthfully: "No. It was all Mr. Macnair. He came +over because of that letter—I'll tell you afterwards—and +I found he knew ... about my caring. He was +splendid. He made me see ... there was only this +one way. He said—'Come!' And he encouraged +me...." +</p> + +<p> +"Keith encouraged you? It was no business of +his." Mark had found his voice at last. He had +forgotten the mysterious letter. There was only +room in him for one hope, one fear. "Sheila +... what does it all mean? Are you——?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, Mark"—her voice took its deepest, tenderest +tone—"I am ... asking you to marry me, because +I know, now, that you will never do it yourself. And +I know, now, that you do ... care...." +</p> + +<p> +"'<i>Care</i>?' ... I simply worship you. And, for that +very reason, I will not take advantage of your heavenly +impulse of devotion; though God knows I honour you +for it. Broken things appeal so strongly to your +heart. You have to make allowance for that." +</p> + +<p> +"I have to make allowance for nothing." +</p> + +<p> +Her tone was repressed now and her eyes veiled. +Was she to repeat yesterday's ordeal, with aggravations? +</p> + +<p> +"You don't understand," he forced himself to say. +"You can't understand all it would mean. Sheila +... a man in my case has no right to offer, or to accept, +marriage: and I ... I refuse to snatch happiness at +your expense. Keith ought to have known me better +by now.... You, of all people, tied to a cripple +... a sort of glorified hospital nurse! If I shrank +from sacrificing a worthless woman like Miss Alison, +is it likely I would sacrifice you...?" +</p> + +<p> +But Sheila had endured enough. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Mark, can't you see? Are you determined not +to see?" she cried, her low voice tremulous with +passion, her twilight blue eyes full of pain. "For her, +it would have been a sacrifice. For me ... I—I +can't find the word that's big enough. It's not that I +don't understand—and admire your reluctance. But +you have to understand too. Mark ... must I say all? +Must I tell you that from the very beginning, since I +was sixteen, there's been no one ... but you. There +will never be. You are all I want on earth. You +say ... you have no right. But remember, there's +every hope.... Dr. Norton says so. And even if +there was ... no hope, if you were three times as +helpless as you are, I would still rather be <i>your</i> +hospital nurse than any other man's ... wife." +</p> + +<p> +At that, with an abrupt movement, he turned away +and hid his face in his hands. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, leave me ... leave me," he murmured +desperately. "How <i>can</i> I see clear, think clear, when +you stand there ... tempting me——" +</p> + +<p> +His voice broke. Silence fell—and lasted. +</p> + +<p> +Sheila continued to stand there. Her hands were +cold, her limbs shaking. If she left him now, his +strong will would reassert itself. She could not go +through this again. And there an end. +</p> + +<p> +Pride argued: "In the face of flat refusal, you can go +no further." But she saw Mark's shoulders heave +... once; and there could be no more argument; +no more pride—— +</p> + +<p> +Without a word she went close up to him, slipped +a hand round his head and drew it against her breast. +</p> + +<p> +In that fashion she gave him her answer. Yet he +made no sign, till two tears fell upon his hands that hid +him from her. Then he uncovered his face and looked +up into hers, as an earth-bound soul may look into +heaven. +</p> + +<p> +"Beloved," he whispered, "it's a desperate risk. +You've no right ... I've no right...." But his +arms were round her; and his head, that still leaned +against her, felt the glad leap of her heart. +</p> + +<p> +"We have the right, if we choose," she whispered, +and stooped her face to his.... +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +At last he drew her down on to his knee and set +her a little away to reassure himself that the impossible +had actually come to pass. +</p> + +<p> +And she sat there smiling at him: too purely exultant +to do anything but smile. +</p> + +<p> +"You little thing—you little lovely thing!" he said +in a low voice of rapture. "You're the first person +that's ever cut right across my will and bowled me +over. I swore to poor Mums last night that nothing +would induce me——" +</p> + +<p> +"And you were conquered by a little thing!" +</p> + +<p> +Very tenderly she laid her cheek against his. "Most +wholesome for you—and a triumph for me!" She +paused, dwelling on him ... realising in her turn. +"Mark, I wish I wasn't quite so small, then I could +help you more, my own self. Lifting you—and +that." +</p> + +<p> +"Lifting me!" His eyes were misty with tenderness. +"You've lifted me clean out of the nethermost +hell. Isn't that enough in the way of assistance?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—if I could believe——!" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, you may believe. I'm not given to high-flown +talk. You've saved me from being a curse to +myself and every one belonging to me. That's the +way Sheila-people are made!" +</p> + +<p> +Then his face grew grave and the arm that was +round her tightened its hold. "Mouse, it's difficult to +speak of ... the hidden things. But I do want you +to know what it means to me that you should have +come, like this, refusing to let convention or my own +limitations stand in the way of our great reality. It's +readjusted the whole perspective of things, that was in +great danger of getting out of gear altogether." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I saw that," she answered, her eyes filling. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course you did, angel of wisdom. And you've +made me see—no end of things. There'll be some +talk, no doubt, among the kind of people who must +talk—or perish. But, when all's said, if you and I +choose not to regard this irksome disability, no +one else has any call to make a howl about it. After +all it's nothing—less than nothing—in to-day's vast +sum of tragedy. And there remains the great +outstanding fact that it has saved me, so as by fire, from +a woman whose love would have wrecked my life. +Also—it has given me you, which is a long sight more +than I deserve." +</p> + +<p> +"No—<i>no</i>," she protested low and passionately. +</p> + +<p> +"I say 'Yes!' And I mean it. But—there's one +thing I wanted to tell you yesterday and couldn't, +for fear of telling ... all the rest." +</p> + +<p> +"You were very cruel yesterday." A quiver +crossed her face, and he held her closer still. +</p> + +<p> +"My darling, how could I dream you cared—like +that! It knocked me to pieces. And now—I can +only thank God all my days for Keith's insight and +your courage. But ... what I'm trying to tell you +is this. The deepest and best in me, that was yours +in the beginning, <i>has been</i> yours all along—buried +under rubbish, but alive and untarnished by any +contact with <i>her</i>. That's what I meant when I said +she never touched the depths. Mouse—are you glad +to know that?" +</p> + +<p> +She only sat there gazing at him, mute homage in +her eyes. "It's too much. I can't say it," she +murmured at last. "And now—there's poor Mr. Seldon +torn in two. Perhaps ... it's the same with +him——" +</p> + +<p> +"Seldon! Was it <i>her</i> you were talking of? Poor +devil! Is she going to marry him?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't even know if he's asked her. They seem +to have talked round it all. She says ... you raised +her standard. He implies ... I've done the +same for him. That seems to make complications. +So there they are——" +</p> + +<p> +"And here <i>we</i> are—God be praised!" Mark broke +in, a note of triumph in his deep voice. "And we're +going to achieve something between us, you and I, +now you've made a live man of me again. There's +a deal of work I can still do with a Sheila-wife to +help me. How about dedicating the arts and crafts +colony entirely to our own fellows disabled in this war. +And those who are fit for it shall be put on to the land. +My own disablement won't hamper me there. It's a +mustard-seed of a notion. It may grow into a tree. +There's a programme for you. All your doing! +You've been my real source of inspiration from the +first. And you always will be.—Don't cry about it, +Beloved. It's too splendid for anything." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—that's why," she answered lucidly—and +could no more. The great wave of joy that swelled up +within her broke softly in a shower of tears. It was +the pent-up emotion of months. And Mark drew +her head against his shoulder, comforted and +caressed her; kissed away her tears and held her to +him without a word till she had regained her lost +control. +</p> + +<p> +Then: "You're not going back to-night; don't you +think it!" he said in her ear. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't think it," she answered, with a small +shiver of happiness. "Mother would bite me to +pieces." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, that settles it. You're under my orders +now: and you take your leave from to-day. You must +write a note to explain. Macgregor can handle the +little car. She almost drives herself, and he can +bring any scrap of luggage you're wanting." +</p> + +<p> +"Listen to the autocrat!" She sat upright now, +beaming on him. "And I've got to write a note of +explanation. And <i>you</i> don't realise yet what that +means." +</p> + +<p> +"Why? Where's the mystery? That letter?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. Interfering people are quite useful +sometimes—by accident!" +</p> + +<p> +"Well—let's hear. What's she been up to now?" +</p> + +<p> +Thus invited, Sheila gave him a revised version of +the letter that had achieved precisely what it set out to +prevent. She omitted the most egregious remarks +and skimmed lightly over the talk about herself and +him; but before she had finished her recital, Mark's +quick brain perceived whither it led. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course, Mums took it straight to Keith," he +broke in, exultantly, "and of course the good fellow +had to blurt out the truth in self-defence. Well +played, Mrs. Melrose! But why the dickens didn't +they come straight up and tell me. Here I've been +left in the dark for hours: and I'm supposed to be +master of this house!" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, you see," Sheila explained, dimpling, +"Mr. Macnair was too busy rushing off to fetch me. And +Mums couldn't bear to tell you when you were so +unhappy." +</p> + +<p> +Mark's eyes softened at that. "Just like her. How +the woman spoils me! And I'm afraid you'll be as bad." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm not so sure. I can be sterner than Mums. +Mr. Macnair could tell you that...." +</p> + +<p> +"Could he? I'll ask him. And he carried you off, +like an elderly Lochinvar, under your mother's very +eyes! Splendid chap, Keith!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. But he ought to know you better by now," +she reminded him gravely. "And he had no business +to encourage me! But with Mother flinging me at his +head, you can't blame the poor man if he was in a +hurry to account for me by foisting me on to you.—And +I'm going to tell Mother the whole truth," she +concluded, colouring a little at thought of the ordeal. +"That I knew you wanted me and wouldn't ask, so I +came over and proposed to you ... and I'm not +ashamed of the fact!—Oh, look, there they are on the +terrace, too pleased with each other to bother about us." +</p> + +<p> +For a few minutes Mark sat watching them with a +very full heart. Keith was talking in his grave quiet +fashion, and Helen walked close beside him, +listening—absorbed. +</p> + +<p> +"Seems a shame to interrupt them," Mark said +softly. "But I want her. She's had worry enough +on my account, bless her! And this is going to atone +for it all." +</p> + +<p> +Then at the top of his voice, he called out: "Hullo, +Mother! Mums! Come along and report yourself +at headquarters." +</p> + +<p> +She stopped, turned, and stood a moment smiling +up at him. His voice, his face told her all she needed +to know. +</p> + +<p> +"Come on—quick!" he repeated; and she came, as +always, obedient to his summons. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +THE END +</p> + +<p><br><br><br><br></p> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78882 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |